Let us for a moment picture this scene, one of the most unusual in history. It was a winter afternoon, when the choir and altars alone could have light enough to relieve the gloom of the cathedral, filled by an excited crowd, each man of which felt the responsibility (we know with how little reason) of the "Yes" or "No" he was to speak. There was no humility here, such as the foreign nobles were accustomed to; these sea-faring, weather-beaten men looked on them as equals.
Before the high altar, where the silvery hair and ducal robes of Dandolo were glistening in the light, knelt these splendidly attired nobles, weeping and begging for what these poor vassals believed that they could grant or withhold. We cannot imagine the varied and overpowering emotions that ascended with that shout of "Concediamo," nor the echoes of the great dome that hung so gloomily over all.
The treaty, written on parchment, and strengthened with oaths and seals, was despatched to Innocent for his approval, and all Venice began to hum with the unusual preparations for the expedition. The small coins were found insufficient to pay the necessary workmen at the arsenal; and a new silver coin, stamped with the effigy of Dandolo, was issued for their payment.
Besides the many ships to be built, there was armor to be furnished for a host; catapults and battering-rams must be made ready; the Venetian galleys were to be provided with lofty towers to be used in attacking fortresses on the seashore; while an enormous amount of grain, food, wine, swords, daggers, and battle-axes, thousands of bows and tens of thousands of arrows with metal tips, as well as supplies of cordage, oars, sails, anchors, and chains, and many other things, must be made ready to load one hundred and ten large store-ships. And for all this but sixteen months of hand labor!
The vast amount of stores always kept in Venice were insufficient, and men and ships must be spared to go in search of materials. The laborers were divided and subdivided, and employed both day and night. The whole work went on as if by magic. As soon as a transport or galley was completed, it was launched, and another rose in its place; Venice bustled with labor and bristled with its results, and seemed a vast Babel for noise.
At San Niccolo and elsewhere on the Lido, barracks for troops, stables, and storehouses were built, provisions were abundantly supplied; and the skilful and generous manner in which Venice fulfilled her great contract would have made her famous, had this not been eclipsed by greater deeds.
As it became known in all Europe that Venice had undertaken the transport of the Crusaders, adventurers began to pour into the city. They came singly and in bands, until early in 1202 fifteen thousand had gathered; and this number was nearly doubled by June. These strangers added greatly to the gayety of life in Venice; for, bent upon dangerous adventures, they were determined to amuse themselves while they could. They explored the lagoons in the fascinating barchette by day, and by night told stories of love and war, and woke the echoes to the unusual sound of the national airs of many nations and tribes, all more or less martial and inspiriting as heard from one island to another.
But alas! as month followed month and the expedition did not move, when it began to be whispered that the barons could not fulfil their engagements, these harmless amusements changed to drinking and gambling and such other license of behavior as often led to fatal quarrels.
The leaders who had come at the appointed time were shocked by the absence of numbers of those who should have brought their share of men and money. There had been great discouragements; young Thibault of Champagne, their chosen leader, had died; and in the long time that had elapsed since the treaty was made, many impatient spirits had embarked from other ports and taken various routes to Palestine.
Boniface, Marquis of Monteferrato, was now the leader of the Crusade; and he and the other nobles, after stripping themselves of money, jewels, and other valuables, were still unable to pay the last thirty-two thousand marks of their debt. The situation was deplorable; the crowded barracks were full of disease, and many were dying daily, and no one could see any prospect of relief. Even Dandolo was touched by the troubles and the devotion of the barons; and now came his temptation,—for it is not probable, as some authors seem to believe, that he could have seen the end from the beginning; but his patriotism, which we must allow to have been a refined sort of selfishness, suggested to him a compromise which was finally made.