seem to be impossible in the moral government of God, who rules the fate of war.  Conquests are only possible when civilization seems to require them.  In seeking to invade Spain, Charlemagne warred against a race from whom Europe had nothing more to fear.  His grandfather, Charles Martel, had arrested the conquests of the Saracens; and they were quiet in their settlements in Spain, and had made considerable attainments in science and literature.  Their schools of medicine and their arts were in advance of the rest of Europe.  They were the translators of Aristotle, who reigned in the rising universities during the Middle Ages.  As this war was unnecessary, Providence seemed to rebuke Charlemagne.  His defeat at Roncesvalles was one of the most memorable events in his military history.  Prodigies of valor were wrought by him and his gallant Paladins.  The early heroic poetry of the Middle Ages has commemorated his exploits, as well as those of his nephew Roland, to whom some writers have ascribed the origin of Chivalry.  But the Frankish forces were signally defeated amid the passes of the Pyrenees; and it was not until after several centuries that the Gothic princes of Spain shook off the yoke of their Saracenic conquerors, and drove them from Europe.

The Lombard wars of Charlemagne are the last to which I allude.  These were undertaken in defence of the Church, to rescue his ally the Pope.  The Lombards belonged to the great Germanic family, but they were unfriendly to the Pope and to the Church.  They stood out against the Empire, which was then the chief hope of Europe and of civilization.  They would have reduced the Pope to insignificance and seized his territories, without uniting Italy.  So Charlemagne, like his father Pepin, lent his powerful aid to the Roman bishop, and the Lombards were easily subdued.  This conquest, although the easiest which he ever made, most flattered his pride.  Lombardy was not only joined to his Empire, but he received unparalleled honors from the Pope, being crowned by him Emperor of the West.

It was a proud day when, in the ancient metropolis of the world, and in the fulness of his fame, Pope Leo III. placed the crown of Augustus upon Charlemagne’s brow, and gave to him, amid the festivities of Christmas, his apostolic benediction.  His dominions now extended from Catalonia to the Bohemian forests, embracing Germany, France, the Netherlands, Italy, and the Spanish main,—­the largest empire which any one man has possessed since the fall of the Roman Empire.  What more natural than for Charlemagne to feel that he had restored the Western Empire?  What more natural than that he should have taken the title, still claimed by the Austrian emperor, in one sense his legitimate successor,—­Kaiser, or Caesar?  In the possession of such enormous power, he naturally dreamed of establishing a new universal military monarchy like that of the Romans,—­as Charles V. dreamed, and Napoleon after him.  But this is