by David Jacobs
I: THE DEATH OF A CITY
II: BYZANTIUM
III: NEW ROME
IV: THE CITY OF JUSTINIAN
V: THE CHRISTIAN CAPITAL
VI: SEAT OF EMPIRE
VII: CITY OF THE SULTANS
VIII: ISTANBUL
GALLERY
SOURCES
COPYRIGHT
For seven weeks, the citizens of the Christian city of Constantinople had been living with the sounds of impending destruction. Cannon balls whistled toward them, artillery reverberated against the city walls, and stones and rubble crashed and fell to the ground. They heard the constant clatter of flapping sails, announcing the presence of enemy ships in the waters around the peninsula on which their city was built. The distant but bloodcurdling cries of the infidel warriors, the Ottoman Turks, awakened them. A tense and terrified people, they needed no reminders of their danger.
Then, abruptly, on May 28, 1453, after several days of intense, noisy destruction, the siege of Constantinople stopped. For one of the few times in nearly two months, there was silence. No whistle, boom, or crash, no flapping clatter cut across the warm morning breezes. Even the Muslim troops were still.
The people were suspicious as they woke up that sunny Monday in May and waited for the sounds of battle to shatter the unfamiliar quiet. But when no noise came, they realized that the siege of their city was over.
As all the church bells began to ring, families poured out of their houses and called to friends and relatives. Together, old and young, nobleman and beggar, priest and thief formed a grand procession through the narrow, hilly streets. At each of the many churches on their route, the marchers stopped. Several would enter, pray, and come out carrying high and proudly on their shoulders the sacred relics and icons that they had found inside. All day long, the procession grew more impressive with the addition of these colorful artifacts and more tuneful as the marchers sang their favorite hymns. Every now and then, a priest would halt the march and chant a prayer. An important figure - a government official, a military leader, a foreign diplomat, even the emperor himself, Constantine XI - would arrive, make a brief speech, and march along for a while.
As the sun sank in the afternoon sky, the procession moved on toward the most famous landmark in Constantinople: the church called Hagia Sophia - “Holy Wisdom.” Although it was the spiritual center of the Eastern Christian world, most of the pious people of the city, and most of the local religious leaders as well, had not entered the sacred shrine in more than five months.
The year before, when he knew that the threat of an Ottoman invasion was imminent, Emperor Constantine XI had appealed to the Christians of the West for military assistance. Most of the European leaders had been unresponsive, but a few had offered help after Pope Nicholas V had pressured them. In return, they had demanded a costly repayment. The emperor had to agree to the unification of his Eastern (Greek) Orthodox Church with the Roman Catholic Church. Constantine IV had had no choice, even though he knew that the union would appall his subjects, who were Orthodox. A ceremony in Hagia Sophia on December 12, 1452, had united the two churches officially. The appearance of Roman clergy in Roman vestments chanting Mass in the Latin language had offended the residents of Constantinople so much that they had refused to enter their beloved church. Their resentment of the West had increased in the months that followed because the promised military assistance had not been adequate.
But on this Monday in May 1453, they forgot all this bitterness. The local people and the European soldiers embraced each other and entered Hagia Sophia together. Standing side by side at the altar were bishops of both churches, taking turns chanting the sacred Liturgy in Latin and Greek. Worshipers took Holy Communion from Roman and Greek priests alike, without bothering to notice which was which. The emperor, his ministers, and their allies arrived; having apologized to one another for past insults and injustices, they prayed together - not as Romans and Greeks bound by treaty, but as Christians bound by faith and blood brotherhood.
A stranger arriving in Constantinople on May 28, 1453, might have thought that he was witnessing a joyous celebration. Clearly, the ringing bells, the grand procession, the speech-making, praying, and demonstrations of good fellowship were the sounds and sights of a momentous occasion. But if the stranger had taken part in the events and moved among the people, he would have realized he was attending a wake.
The people knew their enemy. They knew that the determined young Ottoman Sultan, Mehmet II, had stopped the siege not because it had failed, but because it had been successful. It had exhausted the defenders and weakened the city walls. It had broken the spirit of the Christians so that they were now resigned to their fate. Mehmet II’s silence told the citizens of Constantinople that he was now ready to strike and destroy. The people knew the sultan was giving his well-prepared, battle-primed warriors a day of rest before the final assault. The Christians knew that the Turks were as confident of victory as they, the besieged, were of defeat.
Knowing this, the people of Constantinople did not wait to hold their wake. They mended damaged friendships, marched, sang, and prayed, hoping to attract God’s attention. Not all expected a miracle, but they hoped He would see them ending their lives the way they should have lived them.
Outside the city walls, the sultan was both calm and concerned. He was calm because he knew he was going to win. He had planned long and carefully and had been faithful to his plans. When, during the siege, he had seen great vulnerable holes open in the city walls, when invasion appeared easy, when his men were anxious to take advantage of a breach and to pour through it then and there, he had restrained them. He had wanted to formulate a strategy to cover any eventuality: Invasion on the spur of the moment would have made that impossible. He had insisted on following his plans, not his impulses, and he had done his homework well.
But Mehmet II also was wise enough to respect his enemy. He understood that planning and strategy could not always offset the courage and tenacity of opponents defending not only a military fortress but their homes and families. More importantly, he was concerned because the moment itself dictated concern, earnestness, even reverence. The capture of Constantinople had been a goal of Muslims for almost as long as there had been Muslims. Although he was just twenty-one, Mehmet II appreciated that he was the commanding officer of a generations-old army on the brink of achieving an objective of eight centuries. Solemnity seemed appropriate on the eve of so significant a moment for Islam, the spiritual nation of all Muslims.
Young as he was, Mehmet II undoubtedly realized also that the following day would be the climax of his own life. To say he had lived for this moment would be an understatement; he had, in fact, lived for little else.
His dreams of conquest had filled a youth that was otherwise empty. His father, Ottoman Sultan Murad II, had kept many wives in a harem with branches in several cities of his empire. Born in Adrianople on March 30, 1432, Mehmet II was Murad II’s third son. But while the mothers of his two elder half-brothers were noblewomen, Mehmet II’s mother once had been a slave. Officially, this made no difference in Mehmet II’s status, and he was no less a prince because of it. It did, however, make a difference in Murad II’s attitude toward him. The sultan favored his noble-born wives and their children over those of humbler birth. For the first eleven years of Mehmet II’s life, his father had virtually ignored him.
The death of Murad II’s oldest son in 1437 moved Mehmet II a step closer to the royal inheritance, and in 1443, a mysterious murder took the life of the other heir. At the age of eleven, Mehmet II thus became the probable successor to his father as sultan of the Ottoman Turks.
Because of his father’s previous neglect, Mehmet II had had little of the education appropriate to a prince. The sultan, therefore, summ
oned many of the most prominent scholars and teachers in the Middle East to give the boy instruction in the arts and sciences. As though making up for lost time, Mehmet II devoted all his energy to his studies and quickly became an excellent scholar. He developed a thorough knowledge of history and the principles of military strategy. He became acquainted with ancient philosophies and well versed in the literature of many cultures. A distinguished writer, he also could speak six languages fluently. Tutored by his father, he effortlessly mastered the basics of government and administration. After only one year at court, he had convinced his father he was ready to help govern. The sultan thus left most of the affairs of state to the talents of his twelve-year-old son and his tutor and began a relaxed semiretirement.
As a reigning prince, Mehmet II revealed his deep childhood scars. Embittered by years of neglect, he was mistrustful, secretive, and cynical. He kept almost entirely to himself. He dined alone, made decisions alone, and relaxed alone. He had no friends in whom in could confide and didn’t accept either suggestions or advice. He ignored the ministers of his father’s court. Although he was educated, he was not capable of applying this knowledge to human affairs. For example, he knew that a ruler must be firm yet benevolent, but he could not easily tell the difference between occasions that demanded firmness and those that required kindness. As a result, he might order the execution of petty thieves and then pardon a band of murderers. One day he might dismiss as meaningless some reports of activity indicating an imminent attack on his empire. The next day he might recommend the immediate invasion of Constantinople.
The constant complaints of his ministers and his subjects brought Murad II back to Adrianople on several occasions, but until 1446, he was satisfied with his son’s performance. In that year, however, the army’s unhappiness with their youthful commander and the possibility of a military uprising against him convinced the sultan to take back control. This experience proved quite valuable to Mehmet II. It gave him time to think about the mistakes he had made, and he vowed not to make them again. After his father exiled him for two years, he brought him back honorably to participate in several military campaigns. The military experience provided valuable battlefield training. Both the patience he had learned and the tactics he had studied would serve him well.
Murad II died on February 13, 1451. Although there was no doubt that Mehmet II would become sultan, he took no chances. His father had had one other son, an infant whose mother was a noblewoman. Arriving at Adrianople, Mehmet II sent a court official to kill the child. At the very moment when the mother was congratulating the new sultan on his coronation, the court official was drowning the baby in his bath. Then Mehmet II ordered the official to be executed. Another command decreed that the mother marry a government official to whom Mehmet II had given a position in Asia Minor. With a half-brother and his father’s most distinguished widow out of the way, Mehmet II took over the throne with no threats (real or imagined) and concentrated on capturing Constantinople.
Like many Ottoman sultans before him, Murad II had posed a constant threat to the peace and well-being of Constantinople. Because it was the gateway to power in the West, capturing the Christian city had been a Muslim goal for many years.
With the rapport that sometimes develops between traditional foes, however, Emperor Constantine XI assumed that Murad would rather not launch the major attack that would be needed to conquer the city. Constantine XI knew that he could not let down his defenses or make it easy for Murad II to invade. But he believed that if he prepared himself with fortifications and alliances, Murad II probably would not move against his capital. Despite periodic crises, the emperor’s impression proved true.
Now Murad II was dead, and Constantine XI knew enough about the new Ottoman sultan to realize the uneasy peace was over. At first, the emperor may have underestimated the strength and skills of his new enemy, perhaps remembering Mehmet II’s earlier problems as reigning prince. But soon, Constantine XI appealed to the West for help and reinforced the defenses of his grand but decaying city. Unfortunately, European leaders also underestimated the young sultan’s intentions and abilities and withheld the support the emperor desperately needed.
In any case, Mehmet II had few problems in preparing for the assault. Constantinople was on the tip of Thrace, the European peninsula that tapers from the Balkans and reaches out toward Anatolia, or Asia Minor. Both Thrace and Anatolia belonged to the Ottoman Empire, and the sultan could establish operations anywhere he wanted to encircle the city.
In the summer of 1452, Mehmet II built a massive fortress on the Bosporus shore to control the waters north of the city. Early the next year, he moved his men into encampments on Thrace, behind the city walls and across the Golden Horn - the inlet of Thrace that served as Constantinople’s harbor. Then he sent for the Turkish armada, which arrived through the Dardanelles into the Sea of Marmara to the south of the city, through the Black Sea and Bosporus to the north and east of the city. By filling the waters separating Europe from Asia with his ships, Mehmet II now controlled the waters that had made the city overlooking them one of the most important on earth for some 2,000 years.
Early in 1453, the Genoese sent several hundred men commanded by Giovanni Giustiniani Longo to help defend Constantinople. However, the Genoese were concerned mainly with the suburb of Pera, which was a Genoese colony, and Constantine wasn’t certain that Giustiniani’s men would concentrate on saving that city. Workmen converted into warships the nine Venetian vessels that were in the harbor. Their commanders agreed to help defend the city “For the honor of God and the honor of all Christendom.” Constantine XI continued to hope that help would come from Europe because he had received reports that many Europeans were traveling eastward.
The reports were true. But the Europeans were not coming to defend Constantinople. They were mercenaries on their way to work for the sultan. With the addition of these mercenaries, Mehmet II now had forces of more than 80,000 men.
The siege began on April 6. Two weeks later, three large Genoese galleys and an imperial transport appeared in the Marmara bearing supplies and ammunition. Reacting promptly, Mehmet II dispatched a fleet of 140 small, oar-driven boats to stop the vessels. But on a windy day in the rough waters of the Bosporus Strait, the lightweight boats had difficulty navigating, and the sailors on the larger ships bore down on them, ramming and sinking many. From the decks of their vessels, the Genoese sailors threw rocks at the Turks and made fire bombs, which they flung into the Ottoman boats.
Late in the afternoon, the wind died down briefly, and the supply ships drifted helplessly toward Pera. Taking advantage of their enemy’s sudden lack of maneuverability, the Turks launched an attack, setting fire to the hulls and attempting to board the vessels. The Christian sailors tried to defend themselves by putting out the fires and driving back those men who tried to board. But by evening, just when the exhausted crews of the damaged ships seemed ready to surrender, the breezes suddenly returned, the sails billowed full, and all four ships cruised safely into the Golden Horn.
Watching from horseback on shore, Mehmet II was violently angry. He even had driven his horse into the water to try to spur on his sailors. The fate of Balta Oghlu, his unsuccessful admiral, is not known. One story relates that Mehmet II killed the officer himself; another indicates that he ordered his men to beat the admiral to death with sticks; in still another version, Mehmet II pardoned him. After this incident, the sultan was determined to suffer no more setbacks.
The Christians inside the city felt safe from a sea attack because of their elaborate system set up in the harbor. Two hills, each with towered walls, were on either side of the Bosporus entrance to the inlet. Fastened to each wall was an end of a huge length of chain, which extended across the entrance to the inlet, just under the surface of the water. The chain effectively stopped ships entering the harbor, making them vulnerable to an assault from the towers. Thus, attackers did not take this approach.
But on April 22, Mehmet II
surprised the inhabitants with his ingenious solution. First, he had ordered a road built from the Bosporus over the land north of the city, around the suburb of Pera, to the Golden Horn. Workmen then made huge rope cradles and fastened them to wooden bases on metal wheels. They sank these cradles in the water beneath the large ships and used pulleys to drag the ships ashore. They tied the rope to teams of oxen, which hauled the ships across the road, their sails flapping in the wind. The crews sat in place and rowed against thin air. Sailors raised flags, and musicians played battle songs.
After the Christian leaders in the city recovered from the shock of seeing this peculiar procession, they gathered to try to organize resistance to the Turkish takeover of the harbor. Unfortunately, they delayed for six days. Officers did not release for combat the Venetian and Genoese ships that were docked at Pera until April 28. By this time, the Turks had secured their artillery on shore. Although the Christians fought fiercely and well, Turkish numbers and firepower were overwhelming; soon the Italian and Greek vessels in the harbor were either fleeing or sinking.
At one point during the battle, forty Christian sailors from a sinking ship swam to shore, where the Turks captured and executed them while the city watched. In retaliation, the citizens brought the 260 prisoners they had captured to the walls of the city and beheaded them one by one, while the Turks looked on from below.
When the bloodletting stopped, the Golden Horn belonged to Mehmet II. To secure the harbor, he built a pontoon bridge - constructed with about 100 wine barrels. The bridge made it possible for the Muslim troops to cross from one side of the harbor to the other quickly, moving men and cannons to where they were needed most. From then on, Christian Constantinople was living on borrowed time. On May 28, the sultan decided its time was up. He examined the breaches in the city walls, reviewed the strategy, and gave his men a day of rest.
Monday night it rained, and the people inside Hagia Sophia wondered if this was a sign that the miracle they had been praying for had come. The rain stopped, and the people prayed on. Midnight came. The next hour passed quietly. Constantinople was as still as it had been at daybreak.
