its jewels and vestments, were carried
off to enrich S. Mark's at Venice, and other shrines of Western
Christendom. How great a value was set upon such trophies, and by what
strange methods they were secured, is seen in the account which
Guntherus,[379] a contemporary historian, gives of the way in which some
of the relics of the church were acquired. As soon as the Crusaders
captured the city in 1204 and gave it over to pillage, a numerous band
of looters made for the Pantokrator in search of spoil, having heard
that many valuables had been deposited for safe keeping within the
strong walls around the monastery. Among the crowd hastening thither was
Martin, abbot of the Cistercian Abbey of Parisis in Alsace, who
accompanied the Crusade as chaplain and chronicler. The fever of plunder
raging about him was too infectious for the good man to escape. When
everybody else was getting rich he could not consent to remain poor. His
only scruple was not to defile his holy hands with the filthy lucre
which worldlings coveted. To purloin sacred relics, however, was lawful
booty. Entering, therefore, the Pantokrator with his chaplain, Martin
accosted a venerable, white-bearded man who seemed familiar with the
building, and in stentorian tones demanded where the relics of the
church were to be found. The person addressed was, in fact, a priest,
though Martin had mistaken him for a layman on account of the
strangeness of the Greek clerical garb. The priest did not understand
Latin any more than the abbot understood Greek, and the situation became
awkward, for the pitch of Martin's voice made it evident that he was not
a person to be trifled with. The old man therefore tried what the
Romance patois, which he had picked up from foreign residents in the
city, could do to establish intelligible intercourse with the rough
visitor. Fortunately the crusader also knew something of that patois,
and made the purpose of his visit sufficiently clear. As soon as the
iron safe containing the coveted relics was opened, abbot and chaplain
plunged four greedy hands into the hoard and stowed relic after relic
under the ample folds of their robes until there was no room for more.
Thus laden, the pious thieves made as fast as they could for the ship in
which they had come to Constantinople, not stopping to converse with
friends on the way, and giving to all curious inquiries the brief and
enigmatical reply, 'We have done well.' Upon reaching the ship Mar