his life on condition of his embracing Christianity and yielding himself prisoner.

   “The rest of the poem has comparatively little interest. Old Naymes in turn kills his man—a brother of Guiteclin—in single combat, Dyalas, the Emperor’s new vassal, ‘armed in French fashion,’ performs wonders in honour of his new allegiance. Finally the Herupese come up, and of course overthrow the Saxons. An abbey is founded on the field of battle, which Sebile enters; Dyalas, baptized as ‘Guiteclin the convert,’ receives charge of the kingdom, and the Emperor returns, bearing with him the bodies of Baldwin and Berard; after which ‘well was France in peace many a year and many a day; the Emperor found not any who should make him wroth.’”

   Fastrada: a Legend of Aix-la-Chapelle

   Fastrada, we are told, was the fourth wife of the Emperor Charlemagne and the best beloved. Historians have judged that the lady was by no means worthy of the extraordinary affection bestowed upon her by her husband, some maintaining that she practised the arts of sorcery, others crediting her with political intrigues, and still others roundly asserting that she was not so virtuous as she should have been.

   History failing to account for Charlemagne’s devotion to his fourth wife, the task has devolved upon tradition. Once upon a time (so runs the tale), when Charlemagne dwelt at Zurich, he had a pillar erected before his house, and on the top of the pillar a bell was placed, so that any one desiring justice had but to ring it to be immediately conducted before the Emperor, there to have his case considered.

   One day, just as Charlemagne was about to dine, the bell was rung loudly. He at once dispatched his attendants to bring the importunate claimant into his presence. A moment later they re-entered with the assurance that no one waited outside. Even as they spoke the bell rang again, and again the attendants withdrew at the bidding of their royal master. Once more they returned with the information that none was to be seen. When the bell rang for the third time the Emperor himself rose from the table and went outside to satisfy himself as to the ringer’s identity. This time the mystery was solved; for twining round the pillar was a great snake, which, before the astonished eyes of the Emperor and his suite, was lustily pulling the bell-rope.

   “Bring the snake before me,” said Charlemagne. “Whether to man or beast, I may not refuse justice.”

   

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