A.D. 1198-1204.
WHEN war and revolutions have shaken an empire to its foundation,
evils arise against which no human wisdom can provide. It is then
that princes, called to the throne, are more to be pitied than their
subjects, and that their power is more likely to excite commiseration
than to awaken the ambition or hatred of other men. The people, in the
extreme of misery, know not what bounds to put to their hopes, and
always demand of the future more than the future can possibly bring.
When they continue to suffer irreparable misfortunes, they blame their
leaders, by whose influence they expected all sorts of prosperity;
the murmurs of unjust hatred soon succeed to the acclamations of an
irreflective enthusiasm, and, not unfrequently, virtue itself is
accused of having caused evils which are the effects of revolt, war, or
bad fortune.
Nations themselves, when they have succumbed, and have for ever
lost their political existence, are not judged with less severity
or injustice than princes or monarchs: after the fall of an empire,
the terrible axiom _væ victis_, receives its application even in the
judgment of posterity. Generations, quite equally with contemporaries,
allow themselves to be dazzled by victory, and entertain nothing but
contempt for conquered nations. We shall endeavour, whilst speaking
of the Greeks and their princes, to guard against the prejudices that
history has transmitted to us, and when we shall pronounce a severe
judgment upon the character and people of Greece, our opinion will
be always founded upon authentic traditions and the testimony of the
historians of Byzantium.
Whilst young Alexius had nothing to do but make promises and give
hopes, he was gratified by the flattering benedictions of both Greeks
and Crusaders; but when the time arrived for him to perform all he
had promised, he met with nothing but enemies and obstacles. In the
position in which his return had placed him, it was extremely difficult
for him to preserve at the same time the confidence of his liberators
and the love of his subjects. If, in order to fulfil his engagements,
the young emperor undertook to unite the Greek Church with the Church
of Rome; if, to pay that which he owed to the Crusaders, he oppressed
his people with taxes, he must expect to hear violent murmurs arise
throughout his empire. If, on the contrary, he respected the religion
of Greece, if he lightened the excessive weight of the imposts, the
treaties would remain unexecuted, and the throne he had so recently
ascended, might be overturned by the arms of the Latins.
Dreading every day to see the fires of either revolt or war kindled,
obliged to choose between two perils, after having long and earnestly
deliberated, he did not dare to confide his destiny to the equivocal
valour of the Greeks, and conjured the barons to become a second time
his liberators. He repaired to the tent of the count of Flanders, and
spoke as follows to the assembled leaders of the crusade.[107] “You
have restored to me life, honour, and empire, and I have only one thing
to desire: that is, to be able to perform all the promises I have made
you. But if you abandon me now, in order to go into Syria, it will be
impossible for me to find the money, the troops, or the vessels I have
undertaken to furnish. The people of Constantinople have received me
with joy; but the frequency of revolutions has caused them to lose the
habits of submission and obedience. The laws of their country, the
majesty of the throne, no longer inspire them with respect; a spirit
of faction reigns in the capital, and throughout the too-long agitated
provinces. I conjure you then, in the name of your own glory, in the
name of your own interests, to finish your work, and render firm the
power you have reëstablished. Winter is approaching, the navigation
is perilous, and the rains will not permit you to commence the war in
Syria; wait then till the spring, when the sea will present fewer
dangers, and war greater success and glory; you will then have all
Greece as auxiliaries in your enterprises; I shall myself be able to
keep the oaths that chain me to your cause, and accompany you with an
army worthy of an emperor.” At the conclusion of his speech, Alexius
promised to furnish all that the army would require, and to make
such suitable arrangements with the doge, that the Venetian fleet
might remain at the disposal of the Crusaders during their abode at
Constantinople, and to the end of their expedition.
A council was called to deliberate upon the proposals of the young
emperor: those who had been desirous of separating themselves from the
army at Zara and Corfu, represented to the assembly that they had,
until that time, fought for the glory and profane interests of princes
of the earth, but that the time was now come for them to fight for
religion and for Jesus Christ. They were indignant at new obstacles
being raised to retard the holy enterprise. This opinion was warmly
combated by the doge of Venice and the barons who had embarked their
glory in the expedition against Constantinople, and could not make
up their minds to lose the fruit of all their labours. “Shall we,”
said they, “allow a young prince, whose cause we have brought to a
triumphant issue, to be delivered over to his enemies, who are as
ours, and an enterprise so gloriously begun, become for us a source
of shame and repentance? Shall we allow the heresy that our arms have
stifled in humbled Greece, to reconstruct its impure altars, and be
again a subject of scandal for the Christian church? Shall we leave
the Greeks the dangerous faculty of declaring against us, and allying
themselves with the Saracens, to war with the soldiers of Christ?” To
these weighty motives the princes and lords did not disdain to add
supplication and prayers; at length their opinion triumphed over an
obstinate opposition, and the council decided that the departure of
the army should be deferred until the festival of the Easter of the
following year.
Alexius, in concert with Isaac, thanked the Crusaders for their
favourable determination, and neglected nothing that could prove his
gratitude to them. For the purpose of paying the sums he had promised,
he exhausted his treasury, increased the imposts, and even melted the
images of the saints and the sacred vases. Upon seeing the churches
despoiled of the sacred images, the people of Constantinople were
struck with surprise and terror, and yet had not the courage to utter
their complaints aloud. Nicetas reproaches his compatriots bitterly
with having remained quiet spectators of such sacrilege, and accuses
them of having, by their cowardly indifference, drawn upon the empire
the anger of Heaven. The most fervent of the Greeks deplored, as
Nicetas did, the violation of their holy places; but scenes much more
grievous were soon to be brought before their eyes.
The leaders of the army, influenced by the counsels of the Latin clergy
and by the fear of the pontiff of Rome, required that the patriarch,
the priests, and the monks of Constantinople should abjure the errors
that separated them from the Romish church; and neither the clergy, nor
the people, nor the emperor, attempted to resist this demand, although
it alarmed every conscience and alienated all hearts. The patriarch,
from the pulpit of St. Sophia, declared, in his own name, and in the
name of the emperor and the Christian people of the East, that he
acknowledged _Innocent, third of that name, as the successor of St.
Peter, first vicar of Jesus Christ upon earth, pastor of the faithful
flock_. The Greeks who were present at this ceremony believed they
beheld the abomination of desolation in the holy place, and if they
afterwards pardoned the patriarch the commission of such a scandal, it
was from the strange persuasion in which they were, that the head of
their church was deceiving the Latins, and that the imposture of his
words redeemed in some sort the crime of blasphemy and the shame of
perjury.
The Greeks persisted in believing that the Holy Ghost does not proceed
from the Son, and quoted in support of their belief, the Creed of Nice;
the discipline of their church differed in some points from that of
the Church of Rome; in the early days of the schism it might have been
easy to effect a reunion, but now the disputes of theologians had too
much exasperated men’s minds.[108] The hatred of the Greeks and the
Latins appeared but too likely to separate the two creeds for ever.
The law that was imposed upon the Greeks only served to promote the
growth of their invincible resistance. Such among them as scarcely
knew what the subject was of the long debates that had sprung up
between Byzantium and Rome, showed no less fanaticism and opposition
than all the others; whilst such as had no religion at all adopted
with warmth the opinions of the theologians, and appeared all at once
disposed to die for a cause which till that time had inspired them with
nothing but indifference. The Greek people, in a word, who believed
themselves to be superior to all other nations of the earth, repulsed
with contempt all knowledge that came from the West, and could not
consent to recognise the superiority of the Latins. The Crusaders, who
had changed the emperors and conquered the empire, were astonished at
not being able to change men’s hearts likewise; but, persuaded that
everything must in the end yield to their arms, they employed, in
subduing minds and opinions, a rigour which only augmented the hatred
of the vanquished, and prepared the fall of the emperors whom victory
had replaced upon the throne.
In the mean time, the usurper Alexius, on flying from Constantinople,
had found a retreat in the province of Thrace; several cities opened
their gates to him, and a few partisans assembled under his banner.
The son of Isaac resolved to seek the rebels and give them battle.
Henry of Hainault, the count of St. Pol, and many knights, accompanied
him in this expedition. At their approach, the usurper, shut up in
Adrianople, quickly abandoned the city and fled away towards Mount
Hemus. All the rebels who had the courage to await them, were either
conquered or dispersed. But young Alexius and the Crusaders had a
much more formidable enemy to contend with: this was the nation of
the Bulgarians. These wild and ferocious people obedient to the
laws of Constantinople at the time of the first crusade, had taken
advantage of the troubles of the empire to shake off the yoke of its
rulers.[109] The leader of the Bulgarians, Joannices, an implacable
enemy of the Greeks, had embraced the faith of the Church of Rome, and
declared himself a vassal of the sovereign pontiff, to obtain from
him the title of king. He concealed under the veil of a new religion
the most vindictive hatred and aspiring ambition, and employed the
support and credit of the court of Rome to make war against the masters
of Byzantium. Joannices made frequent incursions into the countries
adjoining his own territories, and threatened the richest provinces
of the empire with invasion. If young Alexius had been guided by
prudent counsels, he would have taken advantage of the presence of the
Crusaders to intimidate the Bulgarians, and compel them to remain on
the other side of Mount Hemus: this expedition might have deservedly
obtained him the confidence and esteem of the Greeks, and assured
the repose of several provinces; but whether he was not seconded by
the Crusaders, or that he did not perceive the advantages of such an
enterprise, he contented himself with threatening Joannices; and,
without having made either peace or war, after receiving the oaths of
the cities of Thrace, his sole wish was to return to Constantinople.
The capital of the empire, which had already undergone so many
evils, had just experienced a fresh calamity. Some Flemish soldiers,
encouraged by the Latins established in Constantinople, had provoked
and insulted the Jews in their synagogue, and the people had taken
up the defence of the latter against the aggressors. Both sides had
recourse to arms, and in the tumult of fight, chance, or malevolence,
set fire to some neighbouring houses. The conflagration extended on
all sides, during the night and the following day, with a rapidity and
violence that nothing could stop or confine; the flames meeting from
several points, rolled on with the swiftness of a torrent, consuming,
as if of straw, galleries, columns, temples, and palaces. From the
bosom of this frightful mass of fire issued fragments of burning
matter, which, falling upon distant houses, reduced them to ashes. The
flames, at first impelled by a north wind, were afterwards driven back,
by a strong change, from the south, and poured upon places that had
appeared secure from danger. The conflagration began at the synagogue,
near the sea, on the eastern side of the city, and extended its ravages
as far as the church of St. Sophia, on the western side, traversing a
space of two leagues, and in its course including the port, where many
ships were consumed upon the waters.[110]
During eight days the fearful element continued the destruction; the
crash of houses and towers falling on all sides, and the roaring of the
winds and flames mingling with the cries of a ruined and distracted
multitude. The crowds of inhabitants rushed over and against each
other in the streets, flying before the closely-pursuing fire, some
bearing their goods and most valuable effects, others dragging along
the sick and the aged. Such as perished in the conflagration were the
least unfortunate, for multitudes of others, weeping the death of their
relations and friends, and the loss of their whole worldly property,
many of them wounded, some half-burnt, wandered about bewildered among
the ruins, or were huddled together in the public places, without any
means of subsistence, or the hope of finding an asylum.
The Crusaders viewed the progress of this horrible disaster from the
heights of Galata, and deplored the calamities of Constantinople. A
great number of knights lent their most earnest endeavour to subdue
the raging element, and lamented that they had to contend with an
enemy against which valour was powerless. The princes and barons sent
a deputation to the emperor Isaac, to assure him how sincerely they
participated in his sorrow, and to declare that they would punish the
authors of the conflagration with the utmost severity, if they should
prove to be among their soldiers. The protestations and assistance
which they promptly and earnestly offered to the victims, could neither
console nor appease the Greeks, who, whilst contemplating the ruins
and misfortunes of their capital, accused the two emperors, and threw
out horrible imprecations against the Latins.
The families of the Franks established at Constantinople, who, in spite
of persecutions, had remained in the city, became again subject to the
ill-treatment of the people; and, forced to seek an asylum without
the walls, they took refuge in the faubourg of Galata. Their groans
and complaints revived all the animosity of the Crusaders against
the Greeks. Thus everything contributed to inflame the hatred of two
nations, whom such great misfortunes ought to have more closely united,
and to rekindle discords that were doomed to bring in their train new
and incurable calamities.
When Alexius re-entered Constantinople in triumph, the people received
him with moody silence; the Crusaders alone applauded victories he had
gained over Greeks; and his triumph, which contrasted so keenly with
the public calamities, and his laurels, gathered in a civil war, only
served to render him more odious to the inhabitants of his capital.
He was obliged, more than ever, to throw himself into the arms of the
Latins; he passed his days and nights in their camp; he took part in
their warlike games, and associated himself with their gross orgies.
Amidst the intoxication of banquets, the Frank warriors treated Alexius
with insolent familiarity, and more than once they pulled off his
jewelled diadem to place on his head the woollen cap worn by Venetian
sailors. The Greeks, who took great pride in the magnificence of their
sovereigns, only conceived the stronger contempt for a prince, who,
after abjuring his religion, degraded the imperial dignity, and did
not blush to adopt the manners of nations that were only known at
Constantinople under the name of barbarians.
Nicetas, whose opinions are not wanting in moderation, never speaks of
this prince but with a sort of anger and violence. According to the
historian of Byzantium, “Alexius had a countenance resembling that of
the exterminating angel; he was a true incendiary; and far from being
afflicted by the burning of his capital, he would have wished to see
the whole city reduced to ashes.” Isaac himself accused his son of
having pernicious inclinations, and of corrupting himself daily by an
intercourse with the wicked; he was indignant that the name of Alexius
should be proclaimed at court and in public ceremonies, whilst that
of Isaac was rarely mentioned. In his blind anger, he loaded the young
emperor with imprecations; but, governed by a vain jealousy, much more
than by any proper sentiment of dignity, whilst he applauded the hatred
of the people for Alexius, he evaded the duties of a sovereign, and did
nothing to merit the esteem of men of worth. Isaac lived retired in
his palace, surrounded by monks and astrologers, who, whilst kissing
his hands still scarred with the irons of his captivity, celebrated
his power, made him believe that he would deliver Jerusalem, that he
would plant his throne upon Mount Libanus, and would reign over the
whole universe. Full of confidence in an image of the Virgin which he
always carried with him, and boasting of being acquainted, by means
of astrology, with all the secrets of policy, he could yet imagine,
to prevent sedition, nothing more effective than to have transported
from the hippodrome to his palace, the statue of the wild boar of
Calydon, which was considered the symbol of revolt and the image of an
infuriated people.
The people of Constantinople, no less superstitious than Isaac,
whilst deploring the evils of their country, laid the blame upon both
marble and brass. A statue of Minerva which decorated the Square of
Constantine, had its eyes and arms turned towards the West; it was
believed that she had called in the barbarians, and the statue was torn
down and dashed to pieces by an exasperated mob:[111] “cruel blindness
of the Greeks,” cries an historical _bel esprit_,[112] “who took arms
against themselves, and could not endure in their city the image of a
goddess who presides over prudence and valour!”
Whilst the capital of the empire was thus agitated by popular
commotions, the ministers of Alexius and Isaac were busied in levying
taxes for the payment of the sums promised to the Latins. Extravagance,
abuses of power, and numerous instances of injustice, added still
further to the public calamities; loud complaints were proclaimed
by every class of the citizens. It was at first intended to lay the
principal burden of the imposts upon the people; but the people,
says Nicetas, arose like a sea agitated by the winds. Extraordinary
taxes were then, by necessity, laid upon the richer citizens, and the
churches continued to be plundered of their gold and silver ornaments.
All the treasures they could collect were not sufficient to satisfy the
insatiable desires of the Latins, who began to ravage the country, and
pillage the houses and monasteries of the Propontis.
The hostilities and violence of the Crusaders excited the indignation
of the people to a greater degree than they moved that of the
patricians and the great. In the course of so many revolutions, it is
astonishing to find that the spirit of patriotism so frequently revives
amongst the multitude, when it is extinct in the more elevated classes.
In a corrupt nation, so long as revolutions have not broken forth, and
the day of peril and destruction is not arrived, the riches of the
citizens is a sure pledge of their devotedness and patriotism; but this
pledge is no longer the same at the height of danger, when society
finds itself in antagonism with all the enemies of its existence and
its repose; a fortune, the loss of which is dreaded, is often the cause
of shameful transactions with the party of the conquerors; it enervates
more than it fortifies moral courage. Amidst the greatest perils,
the multitude, who have nothing to lose, sometimes preserve generous
passions that skilful policy may direct with advantage. Unfortunately,
the same multitude scarcely ever obey anything but a blind instinct;
and in moments of crisis, become a dangerous instrument in the hands
of the ambitious, who abuse the names of liberty and patriotism. It is
then that a nation has no less to complain of those who are not willing
to save her, than of those who do not dare defend her; and that she
perishes, the victim at once of culpable indifference and senseless
ardour.
The people of Constantinople, irritated against the enemies of the
empire, and urged on by a spirit of faction, complained at first
of their leaders; and, soon passing from complaint to revolt, they
rushed in a crowd to the palace of the emperors, reproached them with
having abandoned the cause of God and the cause of their country, and
demanded, with loud cries, avengers and arms.
Among those who encouraged the multitude, a young prince of the
illustrious family of Ducas was conspicuous. He bore the name of
Alexius, a name which must always be associated with the history of the
misfortunes of the empire: in addition, he had obtained the surname
of _Mourzoufle_, a Greek word, signifying that his two eyebrows met
together. Mourzoufle[113] concealed a subtle spirit beneath that severe
and stern air that the vulgar never fail to take for an indication of
frankness. The words patriotism and liberty, which always seduce the
people; the words glory and religion, which recall noble sentiments,
were for ever in his mouth, and only served to veil the machinations
of his ambition. Amidst a timid and pusillanimous court, surrounded by
princes, who, according to the expression of Nicetas, _had greater fear
of making war against the Crusaders, than stags would have in attacking
a lion_, Mourzoufle was not deficient in bravery, and his reputation
for courage was quite sufficient to draw upon him the eyes of the
whole capital. As he possessed a strong voice, a haughty look, and an
imperious tone, he was pronounced fit to command. The more vehemently
he declaimed against tyranny, the more ardent were the wishes of the
multitude that he should be clothed with great power. The hatred that
he affected to entertain for foreigners, gave birth to the hope that he
would one day defend the empire, and caused him to be considered the
future liberator of Constantinople.
Skilful in seizing every available chance, and in following all
parties, after having rendered criminal services to the usurper,
Mourzoufle gathered the reward of them under the reign that followed
the usurpation; and he who was everywhere accused of having been the
gaoler and executioner of Isaac,[114] became the favourite of young
Alexius. He neglected no means of pleasing the multitude, in order
to render himself necessary to the prince; and knew how to brave, on
fit occasions, the hatred of the courtiers, to augment his credit
among the people. He was not tardy in taking advantage of this double
influence to sow the seeds of new troubles, and bring about the triumph
of his ambition.
His counsels persuaded young Alexius, that it was necessary for
him to break with the Latins, and prove himself ungrateful to his
liberators, to obtain the confidence of the Greeks; he inflamed the
minds of the people, and to make a rupture certain, he himself took
up arms. His friends and some men of the people followed his example,
and, led by Mourzoufle, a numerous troop rushed from the city, in the
hope of surprising the Latins; but the multitude, always ready to
declaim against the warriors of the West, did not dare to face them.
Mourzoufle, abandoned on the field of battle, had nearly fallen into
the hands of the Crusaders. This imprudent action, that might have been
expected to ruin him, only tended to increase his power and influence;
he might be accused of having risked the safety of the empire by
provoking a war without the means of sustaining it; but the people
boasted of the heroism of a young prince, who had dared to brave the
warlike hosts of the Franks; and even they who had deserted him in the
fight, celebrated his valour, and swore, as he did, to exterminate the
enemies of their country.
The frenzy of the Greeks was at its height; and, on their side, the
Latins loudly expressed their dissatisfaction. In the faubourg of
Galata, inhabited by the French and Venetians, as well as within the
walls of Constantinople, nothing was heard but cries for war, and
nobody durst speak of peace. At this period a deputation from the
Christians of Palestine arrived in the camp of the Crusaders. The
deputies, the principal of whom was Martin Litz, were clothed in
mourning vestments, which, with the sadness of their aspect, made it
sufficiently plain that they came to announce fresh misfortunes. Their
accounts drew tears from all the pilgrims.
In the year that preceded the expedition to Constantinople the Flemish
and Champenois Crusaders, who had embarked at the ports of Bruges and
Marseilles, landed at Ptolemaïs. At the same time came many English
warriors, commanded by the earls of Northumberland, Norwich, and
Salisbury; and a great number of pilgrims from Lower Brittany, who had
chosen for leader the monk Hélain, one of the preachers of the crusade.
These Crusaders, when united with those who had quitted the Christian
army after the siege of Zara, became impatient to attack the Saracens,
and as the king of Jerusalem was averse to breaking the truce made with
the infidels, the greater part of them left Palestine, to fight under
the banners of the prince of Antioch, who was at war with the prince
of Armenia. Having refused to take guides, they were surprised and
dispersed by a body of Saracens, sent against them by the sultan of
Aleppo;[115] the few that escaped from the carnage, among whom history
names two seigneurs de Neuilly, Bernard de Montmirail, and Renard de
Dampierre, remained in the chains of the infidels. Hélain, the monk,
had the grief to see the bravest of the Breton Crusaders perish on the
field of battle, and returned almost alone to Ptolemaïs, to announce
the bloody defeat of the soldiers of the cross. A horrible famine
had, during two years, desolated Egypt, and extended its ravages into
Syria. Contagious diseases followed the famine; the plague swept away
the inhabitants of the Holy Land; more than two thousand Christians
had received the rights of sepulture in the city of Ptolemaïs, in one
single day!
The deputies from the Holy Land, after rendering their melancholy
account, invoked by tears and groans the prompt assistance of the army
of the Crusaders; but the barons and knights could not abandon the
enterprise they had begun; they promised the envoys from Palestine that
they would turn their arms towards Syria, as soon as they had subdued
the Greeks; and, pointing towards the walls of Constantinople, said:
“_This is the road to salvation; this is the way to Jerusalem._”
Alexius was bound to pay the Latins the sums he had promised; if he was
faithful to his word, he had to apprehend a revolt of the Greeks; if he
did not fulfil his engagements, he dreaded the arms of the Crusaders.
Terrified by the general agitation that prevailed, and restrained by
a double fear, the two emperors remained inactive in their palace,
without daring to seek for peace, or prepare for war.
The Crusaders, dissatisfied with the conduct of Alexius,[116] deputed
several barons and knights to demand of him peremptorily whether
he would be their friend or their enemy. The deputies, on entering
Constantinople, heard nothing throughout their passage but the
insults and threats of an irritated populace. Received in the palace
of Blachernæ, amidst the pomp of the throne and the court,[117] they
addressed the emperor Alexius, and expressed the complaints of their
companions in arms in these terms: “We are sent by the French barons
and the doge of Venice to recall to your mind the treaty that you
and your father have sworn to upon the Gospel, and to require you to
fulfil your promises as we have fulfilled ours. If you do us justice,
we shall only have to forget the past, and give due praise to your
good faith; if you are not true to your oaths, the Crusaders will no
longer remember they have been your friends and allies, they will have
recourse to no more prayers, but to their own good swords. They have
felt it their duty to lay their complaints before you, and to warn you
of their intentions, for the warriors of the West hold treachery in
horror, and never make war without having declared it; we offer you
our friendship, which has placed you upon the throne, or our hatred,
which is able to remove you from it; we bring you war with all its
calamities, or peace with all its blessings: it is for you to choose,
and to deliberate upon the part you have to take.”
These complaints of the Crusaders were expressed with so little
respect, that they must have been highly offensive to the ears of
the emperors. In this palace, which constantly resounded with the
acclamations of a servile court, the sovereigns of Byzantium had never
listened to language so insolent and haughty. The emperor Alexius, to
whom this menacing tone appeared to reveal his own helplessness and
the unhappy state of his empire, could not restrain his indignation;
the courtiers fully partook of the anger of their masters, and were
desirous of punishing the insolent orator of the Latins on the
spot;[118] but the deputies left the palace of Blachernæ, and hastened
to regain the camp of the Crusaders.
The council of Isaac and Alexius breathed nothing but vengeance; and,
on the return of the deputies, war was decided on in the council of
the barons. The Latins determined to attack Constantinople; nothing
could equal the hatred and fury of the Greeks; but fury and hatred
cannot supply the place of courage: not daring to meet their enemy in
the open field, they resolved to burn the fleet of the Venetians. The
Greeks, on this occasion, had again recourse to that Greek fire, which
had, more than once, served them instead of courage, and saved their
capital. This terrible fire, skilfully hurled or directed, devoured
vessels, soldiers, and their arms; like the bolt of Heaven, nothing
could prevent its explosion, or arrest its ravages; the waves of the
sea, so far from extinguishing it, redoubled its activity. Seventeen
ships, charged with the Greek fire and combustible matter, were carried
by a favourable wind towards the port in which the Venetian vessels
lay at anchor. To assure the success of this attempt, the Greeks took
advantage of the darkness of night; and the port, the gulf, and the
faubourg of Galata were, all at once, illumined by a threatening and
sinister light. At the aspect of the danger, the trumpets sounded the
alarm in the camp of the Latins; the French flew to arms and prepared
for the fight, whilst the Venetians cast themselves into their barks,
and went out to meet vessels bearing within their sides destruction
and fire.
The crowd of Greeks assembled on the shore, applauded the spectacle,
and enjoyed the terror of the Crusaders. Many of them embarked
in small boats, and rowed out upon the sea, darting arrows and
endeavouring to carry disorder among the Venetians. The Crusaders
encouraged each other; they rushed in crowds to encounter the danger,
some raising plaintive and piercing cries towards Heaven, and others
uttering horrible imprecations against the Greeks: on the walls
of Constantinople, clapping of hands and cries of joy resounded,
and were redoubled as the vessels covered with flames drew nearer.
Villehardouin, an ocular witness, says that amidst this frightful
tumult, nature appeared to be in confusion, and the sea about to
swallow up the earth. Nevertheless, the Venetians, by the means of
strong arms and numberless oars, succeeded in turning the course of
the fire-ships wide of the port, and they were carried by the current
beyond the canal. The Crusaders, in battle array, standing on their
vessels or dispersed among the barks, rendered thanks to God for having
preserved them from so great a disaster; whilst the Greeks beheld
with terror their fire-ships consuming away upon the waters of the
Propontis, without having effected the least injury.
The irritated Latins could not pardon the perfidy and ingratitude of
the emperor Alexius: “It was not enough for him to have failed in his
engagements and broken his oaths, he endeavoured to burn the fleet that
had borne him triumphantly to the heart of his empire: the time was now
come to repress the enterprises of traitors by the sword, and to punish
base enemies, who were acquainted with no other arms but treachery and
deceit; and, like the vilest brigands, only ventured to deal their
blows in the darkness and silence of night.” Alexius, terrified at
these threats, could think of no other resource than that of imploring
the clemency of the Crusaders. He offered them fresh oaths and fresh
promises, and threw the blame of the hostilities upon the fury of
the people, which he had not the power to restrain. He conjured his
friends, his allies, his liberators, to come and defend a throne ready
to fall to pieces beneath him, and proposed to give up his own palace
to them.
Mourzoufle was directed to convey to the Latins the supplications and
offers of the emperor, and, seizing the opportunity to augment the
alarms and discontent of the multitude, he caused the report to be
spread that he was going to deliver Constantinople up to the barbarians
of the West. On learning this, the people assembled tumultuously in the
streets and public places; the report became general that the enemies
were already in the city, and all joined in the cry that to prevent the
greatest calamities, not a moment was to be lost; the empire required a
master who was able to defend and protect it.
Whilst the young prince, seized with terror, shut himself up in his
palace, the crowd of insurgents flocked to the church of St. Sophia to
choose a new emperor.
Since the imperial dynasties had become the playthings of the caprice
of the multitude, and of the ambition of conspirators, the Greeks made
the changing of their sovereigns quite a sport, without reflecting
that one revolution produces other revolutions; and, to avoid present
calamities, rushed headlong into new ones. The most prudent of the
clergy and the patricians presented themselves at the church of St.
Sophia, and earnestly endeavoured to prevent the evils with which
the country was threatened. But it was in vain they explained to
their excited auditory that by changing their master they were sure
to overthrow both the throne and the empire. “When they asked my
opinion,” says the historian Nicetas, “I was careful not to consent to
the deposition of Isaac and Alexius, because I felt assured that the
man they would elect in their place would not be the most able. But
the people,” adds the same historian, “whose only motive of action is
passion,—the people, who twenty years before had killed Andronicus and
crowned Isaac, could not endure their own work and live under princes
whom they themselves had chosen.” The multitude reproached their
sovereign with their misery, which was the bitter fruit of the war;
and with the weakness of their government, which was but the result
of general corruption. The victories of the Latins, the inefficiency
of the laws, the caprices of fortune, the very will of Heaven, all
were gathered into one great accusation to be brought against those
who governed the empire. The distracted crowd looked to a revolution
for everything; a change of emperors appeared to them the only remedy
for the ills under which they groaned. They pressed, they solicited
the patricians and senators,—they scarcely knew the names of the men
they wished to choose as masters; but any other than Isaac, any other
than Alexius, must merit the esteem and love of the Greeks. To be the
wearer of a purple robe, was quite enough to entitle a man to ascend
the throne of Constantine. Some excused themselves on account of age,
others from alleged incapacity. The people, sword in hand, required
them to accept the sovereign authority. At length, after three days
of stormy debate, an imprudent young man, named Canabus, allowed
himself to be prevailed upon by the prayers and threats of the people.
A phantom of an emperor was crowned in the church of St. Sophia, and
proclaimed in Constantinople. Mourzoufle was no stranger to this
popular revolution. Several historians have thought that he promoted
the election of an obscure man, to test the peril in some sort, and to
become acquainted with the power and will of the people, in order, one
day, to profit by it himself.
Alexius, made aware of this revolution, trembled in the recesses of
his deserted palace; he had no hope but in the Latins; he solicited,
by messages, the support of the barons; he implored the pity of
the marquis of Montferrat; who, touched by his prayers, entered
Constantinople by night, and came, at the head of a chosen troop,
to defend the throne and the lives of the emperors. Mourzoufle, who
dreaded the presence of the Latins, flew to Alexius, to convince him
that they were the most dangerous enemies he had, and told him that all
would inevitably be lost if the Franks once appeared in arms in the
palace.
When Boniface presented himself before the palace of Blachernæ, he
found all the doors closed; Alexius caused him to be informed that he
was no longer at liberty to receive him, and conjured him to leave
Constantinople with his soldiers. The sight of the warriors of the West
had spread terror throughout the city; their retreat revived both the
courage and fury of the people. A thousand different rumours prevailed
at once; the public places resounded with complaints and imprecations;
from moment to moment the crowd became more numerous and the tumult
increased. Amidst all this confusion and disorder, Mourzoufle never
lost sight of the prosecution of his designs; by promises and caresses
he won over the imperial guard, whilst his friends pervaded the
capital, exciting the fury and rage of the multitude by their speeches
and insinuations. An immense crowd soon assembled before the palace
of Blachernæ, uttering seditious cries. Mourzoufle then presented
himself before Alexius: he employed every means to aggravate the
alarm of the young prince, and, under the pretext of providing for
his safety, drew him into a secluded apartment, where his creatures,
under his direction, loaded him with irons and cast him into a dungeon.
Coming forth, he boldly informed the people what he had done for the
salvation of the empire; and the throne, from which he had dragged his
master, benefactor, and friend, appeared but a just recompense for the
devotedness of his services: he was carried in triumph to the church of
St. Sophia, and crowned emperor amidst the acclamations of the people.
Scarcely was Mourzoufle clothed with the imperial purple, than he
resolved to possess the fruit of his crime in security; dreading the
caprice of both fortune and the people, he repaired to the prison of
Alexius, forced him to swallow an empoisoned draught, and because death
did not keep pace with his impatience, strangled him with his own hands.
Thus perished, after a reign of six months and a few days, the emperor
Alexius, whom one revolution had placed upon a throne, and who
disappeared amidst the storms of another, without having tasted any
of the sweets of supreme rank, and without an opportunity of proving
whether he was worthy of it. This young prince, placed in a most
difficult situation, had not the power, and perhaps not the will, to
rouse the Greeks to oppose the Crusaders. On the other side, he had
not the tact to employ the support of the Latins so as to keep the
Greeks within the bounds of obedience; directed by perfidious counsels,
ever vacillating between patriotism and gratitude, fearing by turns to
alienate his unhappy subjects, or to irritate his formidable allies,
he perished, the victim of his own weakness and irresolution. Isaac
Angelus, on learning the tragical end of his son, died of terror and
despair; thus sparing Mourzoufle another parricide, of which he was
not the less suspected to be guilty. History makes no more mention of
Canabus; the confusion was so great that the Greeks were ignorant of
the fate of a man whom but a few days before they had elevated to the
rank of their sovereign; four emperors had been dragged violently from
the throne since the arrival of the Latins, and fortune reserved the
same fate for Mourzoufle.
In order to profit by the crime that had ministered to his ambitious
views, the murderer of Alexius formed the project of committing
another, and to bring about by treachery the death of all the principal
leaders of the army of the Crusaders. An officer, sent to the camp of
the Latins, was directed to say that he came on the part of the emperor
Alexius, of whose death they were ignorant, to engage the doge of
Venice and the French nobles to come to the palace of Blachernæ, where
all the sums promised by the treaties, should be placed in their hands.
The barons at first agreed to accept the invitation of the emperor,
and prepared to set out with great joy; but Dandolo, who, according to
Nicetas, deservedly obtained the name of the _Prudent of the Prudent_,
awakened their mistrust, and pointed out strong reasons for fearing a
fresh perfidy of the Greeks. It was not long before they were fully
informed of the death of Isaac, the murder of Alexius, and all the
crimes of Mourzoufle. At this news the indignation of the Crusaders was
strong and general; knights had difficulty in crediting such baseness;
every fresh account made them tremble with horror; they forgot the
wrongs of Alexius towards themselves, deplored his unfortunate end,
and swore to avenge him. In the council, the leaders loudly exclaimed
that an implacable war must be made against Mourzoufle, and that the
nation that had crowned treachery and parricide should be punished. The
prelates and ecclesiastics, more animated than all the others, invoked
at once the thunders of religion and earthly war against the usurper of
the imperial throne, and against the Greeks, untrue to their sovereign,
untrue to God himself. Above all, they could not pardon the subjects of
Mourzoufle, for willingly remaining plunged in the darkness of heresy,
and escaping, by an impious revolt, from the domination of the Holy
See. They promised all the indulgences of the sovereign pontiff and all
the riches of Greece to the warriors called upon to avenge the cause
of God and men.
Whilst the Crusaders thus breathed nothing but war against the emperor
and people of Constantinople, Mourzoufle was preparing to repel their
attacks; he earnestly endeavoured to attach the inhabitants of the
capital to his cause; he reproached the great with their indifference
and effeminacy, and laid before them the example of the multitude;
to increase his popularity and fill his treasury, he persecuted the
courtiers of Alexius and Isaac, and confiscated the property of all
those who had enriched themselves in public offices.[119] The usurper
at the same time set about reëstablishing discipline among the troops,
and augmenting the fortifications of the city; he no longer indulged in
pleasures or allowed himself repose; as he was accused of the greatest
crimes, he had not only to contend for empire, but for impunity;
remorse doubled his activity, excited his bravery, and proved to him
that he could have no safety but in victory. He was constantly seen
parading the streets, with his sword by his side, and an iron club in
his hand, animating the courage of the people and the soldiers.
The Greeks, however, contented themselves with declaiming against the
Crusaders. After having made another attempt to burn the fleet of the
Venetians, they shut themselves up within their walls, and supported
with patience the insults and menaces of the Latins.[120] The Crusaders
appeared to have nothing to fear but famine; as they began to feel
the want of provisions, Henry of Hainault, brother of the count of
Flanders, undertook, in order to obtain supplies for the army, an
expedition to the shores of the Euxine Sea; and, followed by several
knights, laid siege to Philea. The city of Philea was the ancient
Philopolis, celebrated in the heroic ages of antiquity for the palace
in which were received Jason and the Argonauts, who, like the French
knights, had left their country, to seek distant adventures and perils.
Henry of Hainault, after a short resistance from the inhabitants, made
himself master of the city, in which he met with a considerable booty,
and found provisions in abundance; the latter he transported by sea to
the army.
Mourzoufle, being informed of this excursion, marched out, by night,
with a numerous body of troops, and placed himself in ambush on the
route which Henry of Hainault would take on his return to the camp. The
Greeks attacked the Crusaders unexpectedly, in the full persuasion that
their victory would be an easy one; but the Frank warriors, without
displaying the least alarm, closed in their ranks, and made so firm and
good a resistance, that the ambuscaders themselves were very quickly
obliged to fly. Mourzoufle was upon the point of falling into the hands
of his enemies, and only owed his safety to the swiftness of his horse;
he left behind on the field of battle, his buckler, his arms, and the
standard of the Virgin, which the emperors were accustomed to have
borne before them in all great perils. The loss of this ancient and
revered banner was a source of great regret to the Greeks. The Latins,
on their part, when they saw the standard and image of the patroness
of Byzantium floating amongst their victorious ranks, were persuaded
that the mother of God had abandoned the Greeks, and declared herself
favourable to their cause.
After this defeat, the Greeks became convinced that there existed no
other means of safety for them but the fortification of their capital;
it was much more easy for them to find workmen than soldiers, and
a hundred thousand men laboured day and night at the reparation of
the walls. The subjects of Mourzoufle appeared satisfied that their
ramparts would defend them, and handled the implements of masonry
without repugnance, in the hope that they would prevent the necessity
for their wielding the sword or lance.
Mourzoufle had learnt to dread the courage of his enemies, and as
strongly doubted the valour of his subjects; therefore, before risking
any fresh warlike attempts, he determined to sue for peace, and
demanded an interview with the leaders of the Crusaders. The lords and
barons refused with horror to have an interview with the usurper of
the throne, the murderer, the executioner of Alexius; but the love of
peace, and the cause of humanity, induced the doge of Venice to consent
to listen to the proposals of Mourzoufle. Henry Dandolo repaired in his
galley to the point of the gulf, and the usurper, mounted on horseback,
approached him as near as possible. The conference was long and
animated. The doge required Mourzoufle to pay immediately five thousand
pounds’ weight of gold, to aid the Crusaders in their expedition to
Syria, and again to swear obedience to the Romish church. After a
long altercation, Mourzoufle promised to give the Latins the money
and assistance they demanded; but he could not consent to submit to
the yoke of the Church of Rome.[121] The doge, astonished that, after
having outraged all the laws of Heaven and nature, he should attach so
much importance to religious opinions, casting a glance of contempt
at Mourzoufle, asked him, if the Greek religion excused treachery and
parricide?[122] The usurper, although much irritated, dissembled his
anger, and was endeavouring to justify his conduct, when the conference
was interrupted by some Latin horsemen.
Mourzoufle, on his return to Constantinople, convinced that he must
prepare for war, set earnestly about his task, and determined to
die with arms in his hand. By his orders, the walls and towers that
defended the city on the side of the port, were elevated many feet.
He constructed upon the walls galleries of several stages, from which
the soldiers might launch arrows and javelins, and employ balistas
and other machines of war; at the top of each tower was placed a
drawbridge, which, when lowered upon the vessels, might afford the
besieged a means of pursuing their enemies, even to their own fleet.
The Crusaders, although supported by their natural bravery, could not
view all these preparations with indifference.[123] The most intrepid
could not help feeling some inquietude on comparing the small number of
the Franks with the imperial army and the population of Constantinople;
all the resources they had till that time found in their alliance with
the emperors were about to fail them, without their having any hope of
supplying their place but by some miraculous victory: for they had no
succour to look for from the West. Every day war became more dangerous,
and peace more difficult; the time was gone by for retreat. In this
situation, such were the spirit and character of the heroes of this
crusade, that they drew fresh strength from the very circumstances that
would appear likely to have depressed them, and filled them with dread;
the greater the danger, the more courage and firmness they displayed;
menaced on all sides, expecting to meet with no asylum on either sea
or land, there remained no other part to take but that of besieging a
city from which they could not retire with safety: thus nothing could
overcome their invincible bravery.[124]
On viewing the towers that the Greeks considered as a certain means of
safety, the leaders assembled in their camp, and shared amongst them
the spoils of the empire and the capital, of which they entertained no
doubt of achieving the conquest. It was decided in the council of the
princes, barons, and knights, that a new emperor should be nominated
instead of Mourzoufle, and that this emperor should be chosen from
the victorious army of the Latins. The chief of the new empire should
possess by right a fourth of the conquest, with the two palaces of
Blachernæ and Bucoleon. The cities and lands of the empire, as well as
the booty they should obtain in the capital, were to be distributed
among the Franks and Venetians, with the condition of rendering homage
to the emperor. In the same council regulations were made to assign
the proportions of the Latin clergy, and of the lords and barons. They
regulated, according to the feudal laws, the rights and duties of
the emperors and subjects, of the great and small vassals.[125] Thus
Constantinople, under the dominion of the Greeks, beheld before its
walls a small band of warriors, who, helm on head, and sword in hand,
abolished in her walls the legislation of Greece, and imposed upon her
beforehand the laws of the West. By this act of legislation, which they
derived from Europe, the knights and barons appeared to take possession
of the empire; and, whilst making war against the inhabitants of
Constantinople, might imagine that they were already fighting for the
safety and glory of their own country.
In the first siege of Byzantium, the French had been desirous of
attacking the city by land, but experience had taught them to
appreciate properly the wiser counsels of the Venetians. They
determined, with an unanimous voice, to direct all their efforts to an
attack by sea. They conveyed into the vessels the arms, provisions, and
appointments of all kinds; and the whole army embarked on Thursday, the
8th day of April, 1204. On the morrow, with the first rays of the sun,
the fleet which bore the knights and their horses, the pilgrims and
all they possessed, the tents, the machines of the Crusaders, _and the
destinies of a great empire_, heaved anchor, and crossed the breadth
of the gulf. The ships and galleys, arranged in line, covered the sea
for the space of half a league. The sight of the towers and ramparts,
bristling with arms and soldiers, and covered with murderous machines
and long tubes of brass, from which poured the Greek fire, did not in
the least intimidate the warriors of the West. The Greeks had trembled
with fright at seeing the fleet of the Crusaders in motion; but as they
could look for no safety but in resistance, they appeared disposed to
brave all perils in defence of their property and their families.
Mourzoufle had pitched his tents in the part of the city ravaged by
the fire; his army was encamped amidst ruins, and his soldiers had
nothing beneath their eyes but melancholy pictures, the sight of which
he thought must necessarily excite them to vengeance. From the summit
of one of the seven hills, the emperor was able to view the contest, to
send succours where he saw they were wanted, and to reanimate at every
moment the courage of those who defended the walls and towers.
At the first signal, the Greeks put all their machines in full
operation, and endeavoured to defend the approach to the ramparts;
but several ships soon gained the shore; the ladders are planted, and
the walls shake beneath the continuous blows of the rams. The attack
and defence proceed with equal fury. The Greeks fight with advantage
from the tops of their elevated towers; the Crusaders, everywhere
overpowered by numbers, cannot open themselves a passage, and find
death at the foot of the ramparts they burn to surmount. The ardour for
fight, itself, produced disorder among the assailants, and confusion in
their fleet. The Latins faced all perils, and sustained the impetuous
shock of the Greeks till the third hour of the evening: “It was then,”
says the marshal of Champagne, “that fortune and our sins decreed that
we should be repulsed.” The leaders, dreading the destruction of their
fleet and army, ordered the retreat to be sounded. When the Greeks saw
the Crusaders drawing off, they believed that their capital was saved;
the people of Byzantium flocked to the churches to return thanks to
Heaven for so great a victory, and, by the excess of their transports,
proved how great the fear had been with which the Latins had inspired
them.
On the evening of the same day, the doge and barons assembled in a
church near the sea, to deliberate upon their future proceedings; they
spoke with deep grief of the check they had sustained, and expatiated
strongly upon the necessity of promptly retrieving their defeat.[126]
“The Crusaders were still the same men that had already surmounted
the ramparts of Byzantium; the Greeks were still the same frivolous,
pusillanimous nation, that could oppose no other arms but those of
cunning to those of valour. The soldiers of Mourzoufle had been able
to resist for one day; but they would soon remember that the Latins
had conquered them many times; the recollections of the past were
sufficient to revive the confidence of the one party, and to fill the
others with terror. Besides, it was well known that the Greeks only
contended for the triumph of usurpation and parricide; whilst the
Crusaders fought for the triumph of humanity and justice. God would
recognise his true servants, and would protect his own cause.”
These discourses could not reassure all the Crusaders, and many
proposed to change the point of attack, and make a new assault on the
side of the Propontis. The Venetians did not agree with this opinion,
and dreaded lest the fleet should be drawn away by the currents
of the sea. Some of the leaders despaired of the success of the
enterprise; and, in their despair, would have been very willing, says
an eyewitness, “that the winds and the waves should carry them away
beyond the Archipelago.”[127] The advice of the Venetians was, however,
adopted; and the council decided that the attack upon Constantinople
should be renewed on the same side, and at the same point at which the
army had been repulsed. Two days were employed in repairing the vessels
and machines; and on the third day, the 12th of April, the trumpets
once more sounded the signal for battle. The fleet got into motion,
and advanced in good order towards the ramparts of Constantinople.
The Greeks, who were still rejoicing over their first advantage,
could scarcely believe the approach of the Latins to be reality, and
their surprise was by no means free from terror. On the other side,
the Crusaders, who had met with a resistance they had not at all
expected, advanced with precaution towards the ramparts, at the foot
of which they had fought in vain. To inflame the ardour and emulation
of the soldiers, the leaders of the Latins had proclaimed, by a
herald-at-arms, that he that should plant the first banner of the cross
upon a tower of the city, should receive a hundred and fifty silver
marks.
The combat soon commenced, and was as quickly general; the defence was
no less vigorous than the attack: beams, stones, javelins were hurled
from one side to the other, crossed or met in mid-air, and fell with
a loud noise on the ramparts and the ships; the whole shore resounded
with the cries of the combatants and the clashing of swords and lances.
In the fleet, the vessels were joined together, and proceeded two
by two, in order that upon each point of attack, the number of the
assailants might correspond with that of the besieged. The drawbridges
are soon let down, and are covered with intrepid warriors, who threaten
the invasion of the most lofty towers. The soldiers mount in file, and
gain the battlements; the opponents seek, attack, and repulse each
other in a thousand different places. Some, on the point of seizing
victory, are overthrown by a mass of stone: others are consumed by the
Greek fire; but they who are repulsed, again return to the charge, and
the leaders everywhere set an example by mounting to the assault like
common soldiers.
The sun had run half his course, and prodigies of valour had not
been able to triumph over the resistance of the besieged, when a
strong breeze from the north arose, and brought two ships that fought
together close under the walls. The bishop of Troie and the bishop
of Soissons were on board of these two vessels, called the _Pilgrim_
and the _Paradise_. Scarcely were the drawbridges lowered, than two
Frank warriors were seen upon one of the towers of the city. These two
warriors, one of whom was a Frenchman, named D’Urboise, and the other a
Venetian, Pietro Alberti, drew after them a crowd of their companions,
and the Greeks were massacred or took to flight. In the confusion of
the _mêlée_, the brave Alberti was slain by a Frenchman, who mistook
him for a Greek, and who, on discovering his mistake, attempted to
kill himself in despair. The Crusaders, excited by the fight, scarcely
perceived this sad and tragical scene, but pursued the flying,
disordered enemy.
The banners of the bishops of Troie and Soissons were planted on the
top of the towers, and attracted the eager eyes of the whole army. This
sight inflames those who are still on board the vessels; on all sides
they press, they rush forward, they fly to the escalade. The Franks
obtain possession of four towers: terror prevails among the Greeks,
and the few who resist are slaughtered at every point they endeavour
to defend; three of the gates of the city fall to pieces beneath the
strokes of the rams; the horsemen issue from the ships with their
horses, and the whole army of the Crusaders precipitates itself at
once into the city.[128] A horseman (Pierre Bacheux), who preceded
his fellows, advanced almost alone to the hill upon which Mourzoufle
was encamped, and the Greeks, in their fright, took him for a giant.
Nicetas himself says that his helmet appeared as large as a tower;
the soldiers of the emperor could not stand against the appearance of
a single Frank horseman. Mourzoufle, abandoned by his troops, fled:
the Crusaders took possession of the imperial tents, continued their
victorious course into the city, and put to the sword every Greek they
met with. “_It was a horrible spectacle_,” says Villehardouin, “_to see
women and young children running distractedly here and there, trembling
and half dead with fright, lamenting piteously, and begging for mercy._”
The Crusaders set fire to the quarter they had invaded,[129] and the
flames, driven by the wind, announced to the other extremities of
the city the presence of an irritated conqueror. Terror and despair
prevailed in every street of Constantinople. Some Greek soldiers
retired to the palace, whilst others, to escape recognition, threw
away both their clothes and their arms. The people and the clergy took
refuge in the churches, and the more wealthy inhabitants, in all parts,
endeavoured to conceal their most valuable property by burying it in
the earth. Many rushed out of the city, without at all knowing whither
to direct their steps.[130]
Whilst all were flying before them, the Crusaders were in a state of
astonishment at their own victory. At the approach of night, they
dreaded an ambuscade, and did not venture to pursue the conquered enemy
further; the Venetians encamped within sight of their vessels; the
count of Flanders, by a happy augury, occupied the imperial tents, and
the marquis of Montferrat advanced towards the palace of Blachernæ.
The Latins entertained no idea that the conflict was ended, and kept
careful watch under the ramparts they had invaded and won.
Mourzoufle went through many quarters of the city, endeavouring to
rally the soldiers: he spoke to them of glory, he invoked the name of
their country, he promised rich rewards for valour: but the voice of
patriotism was no longer listened to, and neither the love of glory
nor the hopes of reward could affect men whose whole thoughts were
engaged in the means of saving their lives. Mourzoufle no longer
inspired either respect or confidence, and the people, in reply to
his exhortations, reproached him with his parricide, and attributed
to him all the calamities of the war. When he found himself without
hope, it became necessary to endeavour to escape both the pursuit of
the conquerors and the resentment of the conquered, and he embarked
secretly on the Propontis, with the purpose of seeking an army, or
rather an asylum, in the mountains of Thrace. When his flight became
known in Constantinople, his name was loaded with maledictions, and, as
if it was necessary that an emperor should be present at the fall of
the empire, a distracted crowd flocked to the church of St. Sophia, to
choose a new master.
Theodore Ducas and Theodore Lascaris solicited the suffrages of the
assembly, and contended for a throne that no longer existed. Lascaris
was chosen emperor, but he did not dare to assume the imperial crown.
This prince possessed both firmness and spirit; the Greeks even boasted
of his skill in war, and he undertook to reanimate their courage and
arouse their patriotism. “The Latins,” said he, “are few, and advance
with trembling caution into a city that has still numberless defenders;
the Crusaders are afraid to leave their ships at any distance, as
they know they are their only refuge in case of defeat: pressed by
the approach of danger, they have called in the assistance of fire as
their faithful auxiliary, and conceal their fears behind a rampart of
flames and a heap of ruins. The warriors of the West neither fight for
religion, nor their country, nor their property, nor the honour of
their families. The Greeks, on the contrary, defend all they hold most
dear, and must carry to the contest every sentiment that can increase
the courage and inflame the zeal of citizens. If you are still Romans,”
added Lascaris, “the victory is easy; twenty thousand barbarians have
shut themselves up within your walls; fortune has given them up to our
arms.” The new emperor then addressed the soldiers and the imperial
guards; he represented to them that their safety was inseparably
connected with that of Constantinople, that the enemy would never
pardon being driven back by them several times from the ramparts of the
capital; that in victory they would find all the advantages of fortune,
all the pleasures of life: whilst in flight, neither land nor sea
could afford them an asylum, and that shame, misery, and death itself
would follow their footsteps everywhere. Lascaris did not neglect to
flatter the pride, and endeavour to kindle the zeal of the patricians.
He reminded them of the heroes of ancient Rome, and presented to their
valour the great examples of history. “It was to their arms Providence
had confided the safety of the imperial city; if, contrary to all
hopes, the country should be subdued, they could have but few regrets
in abandoning life, and would find perhaps some glory in dying on the
same day on which the old empire of the Cæsars should be doomed to
fall.”
The soldiers only replied to his speech by demanding their pay; the
people listened to Lascaris with more surprise than confidence, and
the patricians preserved a gloomy silence, sensible to no other feeling
but a profound despair. The trumpets of the Crusaders were soon heard,
and at this signal, terror seized even the bravest; there was no longer
any idea of disputing the victory with the Latins. Lascaris, left
alone, was himself obliged to abandon a city which he could find no one
to assist him in defending. Thus Constantinople, that had beheld two
emperors in one night, was once again without a master, and presented
the image of a vessel without a rudder, dashed about by the winds, and
ready to perish amidst the howling of the tempest. The conflagration
begun by the Latins, extended to several other quarters, and consumed,
by the admission of the barons, more houses than three of the greatest
cities of either France or Germany contained. The fire continued its
ravages during the whole night, and before day the Crusaders prepared,
by the light of its flames, to follow up their victory. Ranged in order
of battle, they were advancing with precaution and mistrust, when their
ears were saluted with supplicating voices that filled the air with
lamentations and prayers. Women, children, and old men, preceded by
the clergy, bearing crosses and images of saints, came in procession,
to throw themselves at the feet of the conquerors. The leaders allowed
their hearts to be touched by the cries and entreaties of this weeping
crowd, and a herald-at-arms was ordered to pass through the ranks, and
proclaim the laws of clemency; the soldiers were commanded to spare
the lives of the inhabitants, and to respect the honour of women and
maidens. The Latin clergy joined their exhortations with those of the
leaders of the army, and threatened with the vengeance of the Church
all who should abuse victory by outraging humanity.
In the mean time the Crusaders advanced amidst the braying of trumpets
and the noise of clarions, and their banners were soon planted in the
principal quarters of the city. When Boniface entered the palace of
Bucoleon, which was supposed to be occupied by the imperial guard, he
was surprised to find a great number of women, of the first families of
the empire, whose only defence was their groans and tears. Marguerite,
daughter of the king of Hungary, and wife of Isaac, and Agnes,
daughter of a king of France,[131] the wife of two emperors, threw
themselves at the feet of the barons, and implored their mercy. The
marquis of Montferrat respected their misfortunes, and placed them
under the protection of a guard. Whilst Boniface occupied the palace of
Bucoleon, Henry of Hainault took possession of that of Blachernæ; these
two palaces, filled with immense riches, were preserved from pillage,
and were exempted from the lamentable scenes which, during several
days, desolated the city of Constantinople.[132]
The Crusaders, impatient to gather the treasures they had shared
beforehand, spread themselves through all the quarters of the capital,
and carried off, without pity or consideration, everything that offered
itself to their avidity. The houses of the poorest citizens were no
more respected than the mansions of the rich. The Greeks, plundered of
their property, ill-treated by the conquerors, and turned out of their
homes, implored the humanity of the counts and barons, and pressed
around the marquis of Montferrat, crying, “_Holy king marquis, have
pity upon us!_” Boniface was touched by their prayers, and endeavoured
to recall the Crusaders to some sentiments of moderation; but the
license of the soldiers increased with the sight of booty; the most
dissolute and most undisciplined gave the signal, and marched at
their head, and their example led on all the rest: the intoxication of
victory had no longer any restraint,—it was sensible to neither fear
nor pity.[133]
When the Crusaders discontinued the slaughter, they had recourse
to every kind of outrage and violence to plunder the conquered; no
spot in Constantinople was free from brutal search. In spite of the
frequently-repeated prohibitions of their leaders and priests, they
respected neither the modesty of women nor the sanctity of churches.
Some soldiers and followers of the army plundered the tombs and coffins
of the emperors; the body of Justinian, which ages had spared, and
which presented itself to their eyes in a fresh and undecayed state,
could not repel their sacrilegious hands, or make them respect the
peace of the grave; in every temple where a rag of silk shone, or a
particle of gold glittered, their greedy fingers were stretched out to
clutch them. The altar of the Virgin, which decorated the church of St.
Sophia, and which was admired as a masterpiece of art, was beaten to
pieces, and the veil of the sanctuary was torn to rags. The conquerors
played at dice upon the marble tables which represented the apostles,
and got drunk out of the cups reserved for divine service. Horses and
mules led into the sanctuary, bent beneath the weight of the spoils,
and, pierced by sword-points, stained with their blood and their ordure
the vestibule of St. Sophia. A prostitute girl, whom Nicetas calls the
follower of demons, the priestess of furies, mounted the patriarchal
pulpit, sang an immodest song, and danced in the church, amidst a crowd
of soldiers, as if to insult the ceremonies of religion.
The Greeks could not behold these impious scenes without trembling with
horror. Nicetas, whilst deploring the misfortunes of the empire and the
Greek Church, declaims with vehemence against the barbarous race of the
Franks. “Here,” says he, “is what was promised by that golden gorget,
that haughty bearing, those elevated eyebrows, that closely shaven
beard, that hand so ready to shed blood, those nostrils breathing
anger, that proud eye, that cruel disposition, that prompt and hurried
utterance.”[134] The historian of Byzantium reproaches the Crusaders
with having surpassed the Saracens in barbarity, and reminds them of
the example of the soldiers of Saladin, who, when masters of Jerusalem,
neither violated the modesty of matrons and virgins, nor filled
the sepulchre of the Saviour with bloody carcasses, nor subjected
Christians to fire, sword, hunger, or nakedness.
The country on the shores of the Bosphorus offered a no less deplorable
spectacle than the capital. Villages, churches, country-houses were
all devastated and given over to pillage. A distracted crowd covered
the roads, and wandered about at hazard, pursued by fear, bending
under fatigue, and uttering cries of despair. Senators, patricians,
the offspring of a family of emperors, strayed homeless about, covered
with rags, seeking for any miserable asylum. When the church of St.
Sophia was pillaged, the patriarch fled away, imploring the charity
of passengers; all the rich fell into indigence, and inspired nothing
but contempt; the most illustrious nobility, the highest dignities,
the splendour of talents or virtues, possessed nothing to create
respect or attract admiration. Misery, like inevitable death, effaced
all distinctions, and confounded all ranks; the dregs of the people
completed the spoliation of the fugitives, at the same time insulting
their misfortunes. A senseless multitude rejoiced at the public evils,
applauded the degradation of the noble and the rich, and called these
disastrous days, days of justice and equality.
Nicetas describes his misfortune and his own deplorable adventures; the
house he had inhabited under the reign of the emperors was consumed
by the flames of the second conflagration: having retired with his
family to another house, built near the church of St. Sophia, he soon
found himself in danger in this last asylum, and only owed his safety
to devoted friendship and gratitude. A Venetian merchant, whom he had
saved from the fury of the Greeks before the flight of Alexius, was
desirous, in his turn, of saving his benefactor; he armed himself with
a sword and a lance, assumed the dress of a soldier of the cross, and
as he spoke the languages of the West, he defended the entrance of the
house of Nicetas, saying it was his, the price of his blood, shed in
fight. This vigilant sentinel at first repulsed all aggressors, and
braved a thousand perils; a model of fidelity and virtue, amidst the
horrid disorders that desolated Constantinople.
The turbulent crowd of soldiers that filled the streets and penetrated
everywhere, became indignant that a single house should be thus exempt
from their brutal searches. The despairing Venetian at length came to
Nicetas, and told him that it was totally out of his power to defend
him any longer. “If you remain here,” said he, “to-morrow, perhaps,
you will be loaded with chains, and your family become a prey to all
the violences of the conquerors. Follow me, and I will conduct you out
of the gates of Constantinople.” Nicetas, with his wife and children,
followed the faithful Venetian: their liberator, in armour, marched at
their head, and led them as if they were prisoners.
This unfortunate family proceeded, filled with fear, meeting at every
step soldiers greedy of pillage, who ill-treated the Greeks they
plundered, and threatened every woman with insult. Nicetas, and some
of his friends who had come to join him, carried their children in
their arms, the only wealth that Heaven had left them; and defended
alone by the pity which their despair and misery inspired. They walked
together, placing their wives and daughters in the centre, after having
advised the youngest to blacken their faces with earth. In spite of
this precaution, the beauty of one young girl attracted the attention
of a soldier, and she was borne away from the arms of her father,
weighed down by age and infirmities. Nicetas, touched by the tears of
the old man, flew after the ravisher, and addressing himself to all the
warriors he met, he implored their pity, and conjured them, in the name
of Heaven, the protector of virtue, in the name of their own families,
to snatch a daughter from dishonour, to save a father from despair. The
Frank warriors were affected by his prayer, and the unfortunate father
soon saw his daughter restored to him, the only hope of his exile, the
last consolation of his grey hairs. Nicetas and his companions in
trouble encountered still further dangers, but at length got safely
out of Constantinople by the Golden Gate, happy at being able to quit
a country so lately the object of all their affections. The generous
Venetian received their blessings, and in return prayed Heaven to
protect them in their exile.
Nicetas, with tears, embraced his liberator, whom he never had the good
fortune to see again; then casting a look upon Constantinople, upon his
unhappy country, he addressed to it these touching complaints, which
express the griefs of his exile, and which he himself has transmitted
to us:[135]—“O Queen of Cities, what power has been able to separate
us from thee! What consolation shall we find on issuing from thy walls,
as naked as we issued from the bosom of our mothers! Become the sport
of strangers, the companions of wild animals that inhabit the forests,
we shall never again visit thy august domes, and can only fly with
terror around thee, like sparrows round the spot where their nest has
been destroyed.”
Nicetas arrived with his family at Cylindria, and afterwards retired
to Nice, where he employed himself in retracing the history of the
misfortunes of his country.
Constantinople did not cease to be the theatre of the frightful deeds
of violence that war brings in its train. Amidst the sanguinary sports
of victory, the Latins, to insult the effeminate manners of the Greeks,
clothed themselves in long flowing robes, painted of various colours;
they fastened to the heads of their horses linen hoods with their
silken cords, in which the Orientals dress themselves; whilst others
paraded the streets carrying in their hands, instead of a sword, some
paper and an ink-horn; thus ridiculing the conquered, whom they termed
scribes and copyers.
The Greeks had on all occasions insulted the ignorance of the Latins;
the knights, without seeking to retort upon the quiet occupations of
peace. With these dispositions it was not likely they should spare
the monuments that decorated the public places, the palaces, or the
edifices of Byzantium. Constantinople, which to this period had stood
erect amidst the ruins of several empires, had collected within its
walls the scattered relics of the arts, and was proud to exhibit the
masterpieces that had been saved from the destruction of barbarous
ages. The bronze, in which breathed the genius of antiquity, was cast
into the furnace, and converted into money, to satisfy the greedy
soldiers. The heroes and gods of the Nile, those of ancient Greece and
of ancient Rome, the masterpieces of Praxiteles, Phidias, and the most
celebrated artists, fell beneath the strokes of the conquerors.
Nicetas, who deplores the loss of these monuments, has left us
a description, from which the history of art may derive some
advantage.[136] The historian of Byzantium informs us that in the
Place of Constantine stood, before the siege, the statue of Juno, and
that of Paris offering to Venus the prize of beauty, or the apple of
discord. The statue of Juno, which had formerly adorned the temple
of the goddess at Samos, was of so colossal a size, that when it was
destroyed by the Crusaders, eight harnessed oxen were required to drag
the gigantic head to the palace of Bucoleon. In the same place was
erected an obelisk of a square form, which astonished the spectator by
the multitude and variety of the objects it presented to his view. On
the sides of this obelisk the artist had represented, in basso-relievo,
all sorts of birds saluting the return of the sun, villagers employed
in their rustic labours, shepherds playing on their pipes, sheep
bleating, lambs bounding on the grass; further on, a tranquil sea and
fishes of a thousand sorts, some taken alive, others breaking the nets
and regaining their deep retreats; at the back of the landscape, naked
cupids playing and throwing apples at each other; at the top of the
obelisk, which terminated in a pyramidal form, was the figure of a
woman that turned with the least breath of air, which was called _the
attendant of the winds_.
An equestrian statue[137] ornamented the place of Mount Taurus; the
horse appeared to throw up the dust with his feet, and outspeed the
winds in his course. As the horseman had his arm extended towards the
sun, some supposed it to represent Joshua, commanding the star of day
to stand still, on the plains of Gabaon; others believed the artist
meant to describe Bellerophon mounted on Pegasus.[138]
A colossal statue of Hercules,[139] attributed to Lysippus, was one
of the ornaments of the Hippodrome; the demigod had neither his bow
nor his club; he was seated on a bed of osier;[140] his left knee
bent, sustained his elbow; his head reclining on his left hand; his
pensive looks and air expressing the vexation and sorrow caused by
the jealousy of Eurystheus. The shoulders and chest of Hercules were
broad, his hair was curled, and his limbs were large and muscular; his
leg alone exceeded in height the stature of an ordinary man. The skin
of the Nemean lion, exhibited over the shoulders of the son of Alemena,
the erected mane and the head of the animal, which might be fancied
still to roar and terrify the passers by, who stopped to contemplate
the statue.
Not far from the terrible Hercules, was a group of an ass and its
driver, which Augustus placed in his colony of Nicopolis, to perpetuate
the remembrance of a singular circumstance that had foretold the
victory of Actium to him. Near this were the hyena or she-wolf that
suckled Romulus and Remus, a monument from the old nations of the
West;[141] the sphinx, with the face of a woman, dragging frightful
animals behind her; the crocodile, an inhabitant of the Nile, with
his tail covered with horrible scales; a man fighting with a lion; an
elephant with his supple trunk; and the antique Scylla, showing before,
the features of a woman, with large breasts and a deformed figure; and
behind, such monsters as those that pursued Ulysses and his companions.
In the same place was an eagle clutching a serpent in his talons,
and bearing it away towards the azure vault; the bronze beautifully
exhibited the pain of the reptile, and the haughty fierceness of the
bird of Jupiter. When the sun shone on the horizon, the extended wings
of the king of the air denoted, by lines skilfully traced, the twelve
hours of the day.
All who, in that gross age, preserved any taste for the arts, admired
the figure of a young woman, her hair plaited on her brow, and gathered
into a knot behind, placed upon a column of the Circus; this young
woman, as if by enchantment, bore in her right hand a horseman, whose
horse she held by one foot; the horseman covered with his cuirass, and
the spirited, neighing steed, seemed listening to the warlike trumpet,
and to breathe nothing but eagerness for the fight. Near the eastern
boundary of the Circus were represented in bronze, the charioteers who
had gained prizes, and whose triumphs, in times gone by, had often
divided the empire into two factions; they appeared standing in their
chariots, running in the lists, pulling and loosening by turns the
reins of their coursers, and encouraging them by gesture and voice. Not
far from this, upon a basis of stone, were several Egyptian animals,
the aspic, the basilisk, and the crocodile, all engaged in mortal
combat,—an image of the war made by the wicked on each other; the
hideous forms of these animals, the rage and pain expressed throughout
their bodies, the livid poison which seemed to exhale with their
bites, altogether inspired a feeling of disgust and terror. Another
masterpiece, made to charm the sight, ought, at least, to have touched
and disarmed the conquerors. Among the statues described by Nicetas,
none is more conspicuous than a Helen with her charming smile and her
voluptuous attitude; a Helen, with perfect regularity of features, her
hair floating at the pleasure of the winds, her eyes full of languor,
her lips, which even in the bronze were rosy; her arms, of which even
the same bronze showed the whiteness; Helen, in short, with all her
beauty, and such as she appeared before the old men of Ilium, who were
ravished at her presence.
Constantinople contained many other splendid objects of art, which
preceding ages had admired; almost all such as were of bronze were
condemned to perish, the Crusaders seeing in these monuments nothing
but the metal of which they were composed. “That which antiquity had
judged,” says Nicetas, “of inestimable value, became, all at once, a
common matter; and that which had cost immense sums, was changed by
the Latins into pieces of coin of very little value!” The statues of
marble held out less temptation for the cupidity of the conquerors,
and received no other injuries than such as were inseparable from the
tumult and disorders of war.
The Greeks, who appeared so proud of their knowledge, themselves
neglected the fine arts. The sciences of Greece, the profane wisdom
of the Academy and the Lyceum, had given place among them to the
debates of scholastic theology, they passed by the Hippodrome with
indifference, and held nothing in reverence but relics and images
of saints. These religious treasures, preserved with care in the
churches and palaces of Byzantium, had, during several ages, attracted
the attention of the Christian world; in the days that followed the
conquest, they tempted the pious cupidity of the Crusaders. Whilst
the greater part of the warriors bore away the gold, the jewels, the
carpets, and the rich stuffs of the East, the more devout of the
pilgrims, particularly the ecclesiastics, collected a booty much more
innocent and appropriate to the soldiers of Christ. Many braved the
prohibitions of their leaders and their superiors, and did not disdain
to employ by turns supplications and menaces, stratagem or violence, to
procure relics that were the objects of their respect and veneration.
Contemporary history relates several examples of this, which serve
to make us acquainted with the spirit of the pilgrim conquerors of
Byzantium. Martin Litz, abbot of Paris, in the diocese of Bâle, entered
into a church that had been given up to pillage, and penetrated,
without being observed, into a retired place, where numerous relics
were deposited, under the guardianship of a Greek monk.[142] This Greek
monk was then at prayers, with his hands raised supplicatingly towards
heaven. His old age, his white hairs, his fervent piety, and the grief
impressed upon his brow, were calculated to inspire both respect and
pity; but Martin, approaching the venerable guardian of the treasures
with an angry manner, exclaimed in a threatening tone, “Miserable old
man, if thou dost not instantly conduct me to the place where thy
relics are hidden, prepare to die on the spot!” The monk, terrified
by this menace, immediately and tremblingly arose, and pointed to a
large iron coffer, into which the pious abbot eagerly plunged both his
hands, and seized everything precious that he could grasp. Delighted
with this conquest, he ran to conceal his treasures on board a vessel,
and contrived, by a holy fraud, to keep them for several days from the
knowledge of the leaders and prelates of the army, who had strictly
ordered the pilgrims to bring to an appointed place all the relics that
fell into their hands.