The last siege of Constantinople took 57 days. The old core city had been built at the point where the Bosphorus met the Mediterranean and some smaller rivers fed into it with a long inlet, shaping the city’s site into a horn. The smaller inlet was known as the Golden Horn; it was a major part of the city’s defenses. The Emperor had strung an iron chain across it, to keep ships out, which meant the walls along that stretch of water did not need to be manned as heavily.
Mehmet’s gigantic bombard was firing at the main gate that faced his Bulgarian territories. His navy surrounded the city by sea and river. The city appeared able to hold out until Mehmet did one last thing: he moved a fleet of light warships across land and into the Golden Horn, so that they suddenly appeared upriver of the iron chain. Constantinople’s last hope was that Venice, by now a major sea power, would send a large relief fleet since it technically owned part of the city. It didn’t. Smaller Venetian and Genoese fleets were already part of the failing defense.
On May 28, 1453, everyone knew the end was near. The Turks prepared for a huge push in places where the wall had been breached. The Emperor attended one last mass at Hagia Sophia, and on this occasion, the Greeks and Latins worshiped together. The offensive began a few hours later, after midnight.
Mehmet II sent in his Bulgarian and Serbian troops first, so that when the defenders were able to throw them back, his Turks and Janissaries did not suffer the casualties. When the Janissaries finally rushed in against the exhausted defenders, the resistance crumbled. Greeks and Italians surrendered or leaped off walls to end their lives. The Emperor died in the fighting; one legend says he led a sortie, while another says he hanged himself.
The city’s sacking had a few interesting details. Mehmet was planning to rebuild the city on a grand scale, and he already knew he wanted to preserve the biggest churches. So his advance guard already protected Hagia Sophia and other historic churches as his army began to loot. The city’s wealth was so famous that the Turkish army did not focus on hunting down and killing the remaining resistance, as they were searching buildings for gold and other loot. Many of the city’s Genoese and Venetians escaped to the harbor, where their ships fled the scene.
It was sheer misery in the city itself, for those who did not have ships to flee. The Turkish army had been promised three days of free looting. It was chaotic and bloody, as you can imagine. In fact, it went way beyond anything Mehmet had intended. The city was left utterly despoiled with ruined buildings and whole deserted sectors: the people had been raped, killed, enslaved, or (in lucky cases) fled or deported. Shops and houses were empty.
After three days, the Sultan proclaimed an end to the looting. From that day forward, he declared, any Greek survivors were welcome in the city and they would be protected. They could go home; perhaps some did, but in most cases the homes were uninhabitable. He turned Hagia Sophia into a mosque, but other churches remained in operation and he confirmed that the Greek Patriarch was in office. The Sultan located the Emperor’s heirs, his nephews. He took them into his care and they lived out their lives as Ottoman officials.
Europe did not trust the new ruler of Constantinople at all, with good reason. Every nearby city was afraid he was coming for them next (and in some cases he was). Greek survivors did not trust Ottoman rule; it was in the years just after 1453 that scholars began to arrive in Italy with whatever books they could carry. Many had existing ties to Italian universities and took up lecturer posts there. The Greek language and books they brought were the sea change that shifted Italy and the rest of Europe—-at least from our point of view—-from Medieval to Renaissance. The “rebirth” part of the Renaissance was this return of Europe’s past legacy that had sheltered at its eastern margin during the barbarian years.