the bitterness of defeat. Yet Alp Arslan, the sultan of the Seljouks, did not retain his prisoner, but concluding a treaty of peace with him, let him go.
The news of his defeat and captivity produced at Constantinople exactly the same effects which the news of Sedan in 1870 produced at Paris. The empress had to fly to a monastery; the emperor was dethroned; John Ducas, the Cæsar, became the real sovereign in the name of young Michael, who was now proclaimed the ruling emperor. The unfortunate Romanus, attempting to fight his way back to his throne, was defeated, captured, and forced to resign. His safety was guaranteed, but no guarantee could prevent the Cæsar from wreaking his revenge upon his enemy by putting out his eyes. They left him without an attendant to dress his wounds, and the miserable man died in the greatest extremities of agony. Before death he collected what little money he could and sent it to his generous victor, Alp Arslan. "I am dethroned," he said, "and dependent upon others. I send you all that I have, as a proof of my gratitude."
At the same time the empire lost its last hold upon Italy when the four cities which still acknowledged the rule of Constantinople, Otranto, Tarentum, Brindisi, and Bari, were taken by Robert Guiscard.
The next few disgraceful years must be passed over rapidly. They present a dreary monotony of rebellion, murder, and defeat. Michael VII. spent his time in idle rhetorical exercises and writing iambics. The Turks extended their ravages to the very walls of Nicæa and Nicomedia. A minister, whose only principle was that
