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Authors: Stefan Zweig
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the bells in the city to be rung to summon to the walls the last men capable of fighting, for sailors to be brought from the ships now that the crucial battle is in progress. To the undoing of the defenders, a rockfall strikes the leader of the Genoese troop, the bold condottiere Giustiniani, who is taken to the ships severely injured, and his fall makes the energy of the defenders falter for a moment. But then the emperor himself comes up to prevent the Turks breaking in, and once again the storm ladders are fended off. Determination stands against ultimate determination, and for the span of a breath it seems that Byzantium is saved, the worst of its need has withstood the wildest attack. Then a tragic incident tips the balance, one of those mysterious moments that history sometimes brings forth in accordance with its unfathomable will, and at a stroke the fate of Byzantium is decided.
Something wholly improbable has happened. A few Turks have made their way through one of the many breaches in the outer walls, not far from the real point of attack. Theydo not venture to attack the inner wall, but as they wander aimlessly and full of curiosity between the first and second city walls they discover that one of the smaller gates in the inner-city wall, known as the Kerkoporta, has by some incomprehensible oversight been left open. In itself it is only a small postern gate, meant for pedestrians in times of peace while the larger gates are still closed. Simply because it has no military importance, its existence has obviously been forgotten in the general turmoil of the previous night. Now, to their astonishment, the janissaries find this door in the middle of the sturdy bulwark usefully open to them. At first they suspect some trick of war, for it is so absurd that—while otherwise thousands of bodies are piled outside every breach and gap, every gate in the fortifications, while boiling oil and spears rain down—the gate here, the Kerkoporta, stands open to the heart of the city as if on a peaceful Sunday. For safety’s sake they call up reinforcements, and without any resistance at all a whole troop makes its way into the inner city, suddenly attacking the unsuspecting defenders of the outer wall from behind. A few fighting men become aware of the Turks behind their own ranks, and the fatal cry rises, more murderous than any cannon in every battle, the cry of a false rumour. “The city is taken!” The Turks pass it on, louder and louder. “The city is taken!” That cry breaks all resistance. The troops of mercenaries, thinking themselves betrayed, leave their posts to get down to the harbour and the safety of the ships in time. It is useless for Constantine to fling himself and a few loyal men against the intruders; he falls unnoticed in the midst of the turmoil, and not until next day will anyone know, fromthe sight of crimson shoes decked with a golden eagle in a pile of bodies, that the last emperor of the eastern Roman Empire has lost his life and his empire in the honourable Roman fashion. A mote of coincidence, the forgotten door of Kerkoporta, has decided the course of the world’s history.
THE CROSS FALLS
Sometimes history plays with numbers. The looting of Byzantium begins exactly 1,000 years after Rome was so memorably looted by the Vandals. It is terrible to say that, true to the oath he swore, Mahomet the victor keeps his word. After the first massacre, he indiscriminately leaves houses and palaces, churches and cloisters, men, women and children to his men to be plundered, and like devils out of hell thousands of them race through the streets to get what they want ahead of someone else. The first to suffer are the churches where vessels of gold shine and jewels sparkle, and whenever the looters break into a dwelling house they hoist their banner over it, so that the next arrivals will know that the loot here has already been claimed. That loot consists not only of jewels, fabrics, money and portable
Something wholly improbable has happened. A few Turks have made their way through one of the many breaches in the outer walls, not far from the real point of attack. Theydo not venture to attack the inner wall, but as they wander aimlessly and full of curiosity between the first and second city walls they discover that one of the smaller gates in the inner-city wall, known as the Kerkoporta, has by some incomprehensible oversight been left open. In itself it is only a small postern gate, meant for pedestrians in times of peace while the larger gates are still closed. Simply because it has no military importance, its existence has obviously been forgotten in the general turmoil of the previous night. Now, to their astonishment, the janissaries find this door in the middle of the sturdy bulwark usefully open to them. At first they suspect some trick of war, for it is so absurd that—while otherwise thousands of bodies are piled outside every breach and gap, every gate in the fortifications, while boiling oil and spears rain down—the gate here, the Kerkoporta, stands open to the heart of the city as if on a peaceful Sunday. For safety’s sake they call up reinforcements, and without any resistance at all a whole troop makes its way into the inner city, suddenly attacking the unsuspecting defenders of the outer wall from behind. A few fighting men become aware of the Turks behind their own ranks, and the fatal cry rises, more murderous than any cannon in every battle, the cry of a false rumour. “The city is taken!” The Turks pass it on, louder and louder. “The city is taken!” That cry breaks all resistance. The troops of mercenaries, thinking themselves betrayed, leave their posts to get down to the harbour and the safety of the ships in time. It is useless for Constantine to fling himself and a few loyal men against the intruders; he falls unnoticed in the midst of the turmoil, and not until next day will anyone know, fromthe sight of crimson shoes decked with a golden eagle in a pile of bodies, that the last emperor of the eastern Roman Empire has lost his life and his empire in the honourable Roman fashion. A mote of coincidence, the forgotten door of Kerkoporta, has decided the course of the world’s history.
THE CROSS FALLS
Sometimes history plays with numbers. The looting of Byzantium begins exactly 1,000 years after Rome was so memorably looted by the Vandals. It is terrible to say that, true to the oath he swore, Mahomet the victor keeps his word. After the first massacre, he indiscriminately leaves houses and palaces, churches and cloisters, men, women and children to his men to be plundered, and like devils out of hell thousands of them race through the streets to get what they want ahead of someone else. The first to suffer are the churches where vessels of gold shine and jewels sparkle, and whenever the looters break into a dwelling house they hoist their banner over it, so that the next arrivals will know that the loot here has already been claimed. That loot consists not only of jewels, fabrics, money and portable
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