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They brought out all the usual arguments.  But the Venetians were not so much convinced by the French as they convinced themselves.  They were, they said to themselves (just as Madeleine Albright would repeat centuries later), the “indispensible nation.”  Without them, the effort would fail; therefore they must act.  Yes, they could still fail, they acknowledged, but look what they had to gain!  For not only would they being doing good, but they stood to do well, too-implanting trading posts and ports along the way.

And so a fleet of 50 galleys was assembled and set off, the old doge leading the way.  Finding their French allies a bit worse for wear and tear, the Venetians proposed a new deal:  Instead of attacking the infidels forthwith, they would warm up with an assault on Zara, a town on the Dalmation coast that had recently rebelled against its Venetian masters.

The French protested.  They had come to make war against the enemies of Christ, not against other Christians.  But since they needed the Venetians’ support, they had no choice.

In five days, the city of Zara surrendered; its defenses were no match for the armies in front of them.  And so the city was sacked and the booty divided up.  Soon after came a letter from Pope Innocent III, who wondered why they were killing fellow Christians; it was the pagans they were meant to be killing, he reminded them.  He commanded them to leave Zara and proceed to Syria, “neither turning to the right hand nor to the left”

The pope’s letters greatly troubled the pious French, but the Venetians seemed undisturbed.  They ignored the letters and remained in Zara until a new comic opportunity presented itself.

This time Constantinople was the unfortunate target.  A young prince from that city had come to them, asking for support for a mission at once as audacios as it was absurd.  His father had been blinded and thrown in a dungeon; the capital of Eastern Christendom was in the hands of men who must have been the ancestors of Saddam Hussein-evil usurpers, dictators whom the people detested.  If the Venetians would come to his aid, he promised , the would be rewarded genourously.  More than that, he and his father would return the entire Eastern Empire back to the one true church of St. Peter in Rome.

The Venetians couldn’t resist.  In April 1204, they set sail for Bosporus Strait.  And in a great battle that must have been an undertaker’s dream, they took the city.

It proved, however, that the young prince on whose stories and promises the campaign was launched had been a bit frugal with the truth.  Like the intelligence services’ warnings of weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, his depiction of the circumstances prevailing in Constantinople at the time was inaccurate.  Much of it seemed fanciful.

Though the initial conquest was fairly easy and glorious, subsequent events were less so.  The local population rose up against the invaders.  The city had to be retaken; this time the battle was bloodier, and thousands of innocent citizens were put to the sword.

As near as historians can tell, the Venetians earned no lasting gain or benefit.  Dandolo died in 1205, never having set foot in his homeland again.  As for his compatriots, what was left of them eventually returned to Venice.

“But there still remains in Venice,” adds Mrs Oliphant, “one striking evidence of the splendid, disastrous expedition, the unexampled conquests and victories yet dismal end, of what is called the Fourth Crusade.  And that is four great bronze horses, curios, inappropriate bizaree ornaments that stand above the doorways of San Marco.  This was the blind doge’s lasting piece of spoil.’

“Been there. Done that,” whispers the old doge.

Tommorrow “The Tyranny of the Living”

She shouts to him, “Excuse me, can you help me? I promised a friend I would meet him an hour ago, but I don’t know where I am.”

The man consults his portable GPS and replies, “You’re in a hot air balloon, approximately 30 feet above a ground elevation of 2346 feet above sea level. You are at 31 degrees, 14.97 minutes north latitude and 100 degrees, 49.09 minutes west longitude.

She rolls her eyes and says, “You must be a Republican!”

“I am,” replies the man. “How did you know?”

“Well,” answers the balloonist, “everything you tell me is technically correct, but I have no idea what to do with your information, and I’m still lost. Frankly, you’re not much help to me.”
The man smiles and responds, “You must be a Democrat.”

“I am,” replies the balloonist. “How did you know?”

“Well,” says the man, “You don’t know where you are or where you’re going. You’ve risen to where you are, due to a large quantity of hot air. You made a promise that you have no idea how to keep, and now you expect me to solve your problem. You’re in exactly the same position you were in before we met , but, somehow, now it’s my fault.”