The History of the Crusades (vol. 2 of 3)Michaud, J. Fr. (Joseph Fr.)
History
The History of the Crusades (vol. 2 of 3)
Michaud, J. Fr. (Joseph Fr.)
Crusades
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]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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