That evening about six o’clock the knighthood of Christ sheathed bloody weapons and agreed to rest because it would take a while to subdue this great city. Doge Enrico camped beside his fleet, which had performed such gallant service. Count Baldwin took for himself the tent of Murzuphulus. The marquis of Montferrat lodged near the disputed quarter. Thus it happened on the anniversary of Saint Basil that for the first time in nine centuries Constantinople was taken. No relic availed the Queen City. Not the holy icon at Blachernae, which housed a portrait of Our Lady and a shred of her robe, nor bones of apostles, martyrs, saints, nor even the head of John the Baptist.
That night Count Bernard of Katzenellenbogen, frightened by shadows, dreading attack in the darkness, set fire to certain buildings. Flames once again took hold. Until vespers next day the city burned. More houses burned than could be found in three of the largest cities in France. This according to Geoffrey de Villehardouin.
Now the marquis of Montferrat rode through smouldering ruins to the imperial palace, Boukoleon, which he understood to be the governing seat and spiritual heart of Constantinople. He expected strong resistance and was followed by knights in armor, but no one opposed him. The palace surrendered on condition that the lives of those inside be spared. Many noble ladies had gathered within, among them Empress Marie who was sister to the king of Hungary. So the marquis took Boukoleon for himself. Henri, brother to the count of Flanders, took Blachernae. Other lords occupied lesser palaces and abbeys.
What was Boukoleon in its glory? Old men used to speak of what their fathers knew. Beside the imperial throne stood two gold lions that could open their mouths to roar. Mechanical birds in golden trees would trill and flap their wings. The palace contained five hundred rooms conjoined and blazoned with gold mosaic. Here were thirty chapels, the Holy Chapel so rich that hinges and latchets were silver, every column porphyry or jasper, the pavement of marble glistening like crystal. Here were enshrined two fragments of the Cross upon which He suffered. Two of the nails that pierced His body. Here was the tunic He wore and that crown of reeds with thorns more cruel than dagger points. Here were famous relics such as that image of Saint Demetrius painted on a panel, exuding so much oil it could not be wiped away as quickly as it flowed, which Emperor Manuel selfishly took from the sarcophagus of the saint at Thessalonika. Was this Boukoleon? Or the faded dream that old men dream? Years later a Greek from Nicaea, Michael Palaeologus, would subjugate Constantinople, by which time the palace lay in hopeless disrepair. They say the last Frankish emperor stripped lead from the roof to pay his debts.
However it was, Robert de Clari asserts that important lords secured fine accommodations, each according to rank, but did not mention this to lower nobility, much less to common folk. Thus, when pilgrims heard of the barons in opulent quarters they felt justified in doing what they pleased. So began the sack of the wealthiest city on earth. Never had such treasure been accumulated, not in the days of Alexander, not in the days of Charlemagne. Greeks themselves claimed proudly that two-thirds of the world’s valuables reposed at Constantinople. Monasteries, churches, shops, homes, all were looted. Some have said these pilgrims behaved like infidels, disciples of Satan, raping children and nuns, murdering, spoiling, pausing often enough to break open wine cellars. Into the cathedral of Sancta Sophia, sanctuary of divine wisdom, they spurred their horses and stripped vestments from priests. They took gold reliquaries preserving gifts the Magi brought to Lord Jesus. Here lay tablets of the Law that Moses once held, which they took. Here stood an image of Our Lady whose eyes dripped tears, which they took. Slender trumpets played at Jericho. These and more. Vessels that might be melted, converted to coin. Gemstones, chalices, enameled boxes, patens, icons, manuscripts, whatever richness they found. The altar had been made like a church spire of solid silver and the table of gold with precious jewels mixed. And the place where these Byzantines read the Gospel exceeded description. An hundred chandeliers hung down, each hanging by a silver chain thicker than a man’s arm, each chandelier with twenty lamps. In the choir stood twelve silver columns, which they broke. On the altar twelve crosses in the shape of trees, the largest taller than a man, all broken. Forty chalices encrusted with gems. Censers of pure gold. Whatever was gold or silver or studded with jewels they took. Did one among them gaze into that dark alcove where the guardian angel dwelt?
Columns held up the dome of Sancta Sophia and not one but failed to work miraculous cures. One healed sickness of the kidney if rubbed against, another sickness of the side, and so forth. And from a bolt on one of the silver doors hung a tube like the pipe that shepherds play, which possessed marvelous virtue. If any sick man put this tube in his mouth his eyes would roll up and down while venom dribbled from his lips and he could not get free until the sickness had been sucked out. But the pilgrims dismantled these silver doors because corruption prevailed in their hearts. Nor was gold and silver enough. On the throne of the patriarch they seated a harlot who bawled lewd songs dishonoring the name of Jesus Christ and danced lasciviously to flaunt her private parts. Thus did Constantinople fall into the hands of men led astray through wicked error and ignorance. Wisely does Boethius inform us that it is natural for other living things to be ignorant of themselves, but for man this is a defect.
How much was melted, plundered, bartered for gold? The bronze image Lysippus made of Hercules, reputed to be so large that the waist of a living
