¡Santiago y a ellos!

 

Opening another front against the revolutionary world, Ignisfer is now on Facebook and Twitter. Expect to find links and other content that sometimes might not get published or addressed immediately at the blog. Follow us and stay tuned!

Meanwhile in Dar-al-Islam

It seems Sultan Erdogan is in trouble.

President of Turkey Urges Resistance as Military Attempts Coup

 

 

ISTANBUL — Military factions in Turkey attempted to seize control of the country Friday night, setting off a furious scramble for power and plunging the crucial NATO member and American ally into chaos in what already was one of the world’s most unstable regions.

Meanwhile in Dar-al-Islam

How dare they open a restaurant during Ramadan?

Gunmen take hostages in Bangladeshi capital Dhaka

  

Gunmen have stormed a popular cafe in the diplomatic area of the Bangladeshi capital, Dhaka, taking a number of hostages, officials say.

Several foreigners are among those being held by eight or nine armed men in the Holey Artisan Bakery cafe in the city's Gulshan district, they add.

Brexit's epilogue

Great Britain did it. The people have voiced their dissent and their express wish to remove the shackles of the EU, and sail off on their own once more. In spite of all the celebrities, pundits, and politicians wagging their fingers, threatening to send them “to the back of the queue,” and telling them exactly what they ought to do, the Britons held their ground and told them, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off. This could prove to be the beginning of something much larger. Or not.

As many might have guessed, this morning the bankers and the globalist plutocrats threw their expected huffy temper tantrum, under the pretense of having been “surprised,” and sent ripples across the world markets, but there mustn’t be, I believe, cause for much alarm in the next few days. London remains a major financial hub, and in the end their greed – the very same one that led them to make the case for markets over people – will bring them back.

And although I would love more than anything that this newly won independence would lead to a rebirth of nationalism and a reaffirmation and recognition of the Crown’s place in society, I won’t be holding my breath. On the contrary, even the end result expressed in the vote itself might not be as certain. With the initial enthusiasm dying down some problems will start. Now that the government will officially have to invoke Article 50 of the Treaty of the European Union, the protracted negotiations will begin and may take up to two years. This was done intentionally by the Eurocrats from the start, making a practical exit for anyone rather difficult. And though the vote indicates which way the people wish to go, politicians – ever the stalwarts of decency and honesty in the UK and the world over – have a long twenty four months ahead to pull a fast one.

 

The Eurocrats themselves will not go down easily either. Although the first stone has been cast against their Goliath, they will continue to push for a further dissolution of national identities and traditions with their insistence in reinvigorating a thing-that-should-not-be. Their tactics are clear after the Treaty of Lisbon. Thus, the days ahead will be interesting for the future of all of Europe.

In the meantime, nonetheless, a standing ovation for the Kingdom of Great Britain and God save the Queen!

On Brexit

About ten years ago, we had another of Hollywood’s “masterpieces” vomited upon us under the name of V for Vendetta, based loosely on the graphic novel of the same name. It told the story of a daring revolutionary, once tortured and abused, who dares to stand up to the corrupted, fascist party that runs the United Kingdom with an iron fist and imprisons political opponents and “undesirables” willy-nilly.

Throughout its duration, the film loses no time, in true hollywoodian fashion, in presenting a bishop as a pedophiliac party official, in introducing a closeted homosexual with a comedy show who collects Korans as a victim of the totalitarian state, and in sparing time for an imprisoned lesbian to tell her love story before behind dragged into the night, etc. etc. etc. Yet in the end, when the hero is dead but triumphant and the bad guys are even deader, thousands of Londoners donning Guy Fawkes masks march on the Palace of Westminster, to behold the final scene, which sees the representative building go up in flames, signifying the death of the overthrown regime.

Britain in the next few hours stands at the threshold of regaining or forsaking the je-ne-se-quoi that, since Henry VIII turned his back on the continent, granted it endurance, strength, and a world empire. During the vote that is to come, the nation is reliving the struggles of Gravelines, Trafalgar, and the Battle of Britain. It is again, the chance for the Kingdom to go on alone, and hopefully restore sanity and tradition (eventually), or succumb before the latest, and worst possible, incarnation of the Pan-European project; but one which differs greatly from Christendom of old, and even from the Napoleonic Order, and which instead serves naught but the interests of plutocrats, bureaucrats, and leftists and, furthermore, threatens even the continued existence of the European peoples themselves.

If the cinematic barf referenced above is any clue then, I would most certainly hope that the voters show up in droves to show their disdain for the unelected officials that rule their lives with greater power than their true and legitimate monarch. From the depths of this monastic cell, it is with earnest hope that, to quote from the flick, in the words of High Chancellor Adam Sutler: “England prevails.”

Oh God, the heathen are come

I’ve always liked the Roman Empire. The story of a city that conquered the world, and put its indelible stamp upon it has stayed with me since I first came across the subject in my grandfather’s library as a child. All aspects of ancient Rome; its language, its religion its culture, became something of a puerile obsession for a while, until another topic replaced it as the center of my historical interest.

It wasn’t until my late teens however, that I came back to Rome and its “fall.” Up until then I had been satisfied with the layman’s notion of the fall of Rome amidst the barbarian gentes from across the Rhine. But during the final year in high school, and at the school library, I came across John Julius Norwich’s Byzantium. And I came to embrace and love that other long half of Roman history. Its Christian half.

Today then, it is a sad anniversary, and it is with a heavy heart we remember that yet another year has passed since the death of the Roman world, and the fall of the Queen of Cities: Constantinople.

***

By Tuesday May 29^th, 1453, The City had been under siege for 53 days by the mahometan armies of the Turkish Sultan Mehmed II. During that time, the defending forces had dwindled from an initial 5,000 Romans and 2,000 foreign allies and volunteers to less than 3,000 men guarding a perimeter of twelve miles. The outer barrier of the Theodosian Walls had been all but obliterated, and even the greater parapets of the inner wall had collapsed in several places under the relentless bombing of the Turkish cannon and the assaults of the near 100,000 strong mahometan army.

It is not my intention to recount the story of siege here, or the deteriorated condition of the Roman state by then. The bravery of the defenders, the dashed hopes of the citizens, and the tactics employed by both sides during those fatidic weeks must be left for another occasion. Today, I tell the story of this saddest of days in Constantinople.

By the end of the day on the 28^th, the Emperor Constantine XI Dragases Palaiologos had concluded a final speech to his commanders. As Norwich tells us:

“He spoke first to his Greek subjects, telling them there were four great causes for which a man should be ready to die: his faith, his country, his family and his sovereign. They must now be prepared to give their lives for all four. He for his part would willingly sacrifice his own for his faith, his city and his people. They were a great and noble people, the descendants of the heroes of Greece and Rome, and he had no doubt that they would prove themselves worthy of their forefathers in the defence of their city, in which the infidel Sultan wished to seat his false prophet on the throne of Jesus Christ. Turning to the Italians, he thanked them for all that they had done and assured them of his love and trust in the dangers that lay ahead. They and the Greeks were now one people, united in God; with His help they would be victorious. Finally he walked slowly round the room, speaking to each man in turn and begging forgiveness if he had ever caused him any offence.” [1]

The night was spent in suspense, like all the others, by those manning the walls, while in Hagia Sophia a joint vespers service for Orthodox and Catholic alike was attended by the residents and, towards the end, even the Emperor. Later on, while just some candles were still lit amidst the darkness, Constantine XI returned, and prayed, and prayed, and prayed. Near midnight he returned to the walls.

Sometime half past one in the morning, the stillness of the night was shattered by the drums and trumpets of the Turk. Amidst their war cries the regiments of irregulars from all lands subjugated by the Ottomans lounged themselves on the walls and the defenders and attempted, in vain, for two hours to break through. They failed.

Then came the Anatolians, fanatic mahometans from Asia Minor who went forth with the certainty of their paradise awaiting them, under a cannonade centered in the middle of the wall, in the Lycus valley. For hours they fought, until dawn broke, trying to pierce the defenses. And they failed.

And behind then came the Janissaries. Men indoctrinated in their duty to their Sultan and the god of the mahometans, kidnapped from their Christian mothers while babies, marched on with demonical temerity and courage. The defenders had been fighting by now for close to five hours. Many were utterly exhausted, yet they did not abandon their posts. Their Emperor and the captain of the Genoese allies, Giovanni Giustiniani Longo still remained in their midst, hacking away, right beside their soldiers, for another hour. And the Ottoman push faltered, if slightly. Constantine, hopeful, declared “brave soldiers, the enemy’s army is weakening, the crown of victory is ours. God is on our side – keep fighting!” [2] And the mahometans almost failed.

 

Two things took place at this point. One of the detachments from the northern end of the wall, having returned form a raid, had left a small gate unsecured, and through this opening about fifty Turks snuck into a tower and raised the flag of the crescent. Although they were cut down, the banner had been seen by the rest of the besieging army, and renewed their spirits. Almost in tandem, Giustiniani was wounded. Not mortally it seemed, but the fatigued commandeer collapsed. He had fought gallantly since the beginning of the siege, and had been wounded the day before. Unable to move he asked to be carried to the doctors on his ship, anchored in the Golden Horn. The Emperor was horrified and pleaded with the Genoese to remain, but Giustiniani would not. He entrusts his command to two junior officers and is carried to his vessel. But behind him, other Genoese rush to the port, demoralized.

Having witnessed the crescent atop one of the turrets, one of the Sultan’s favorites, a certain Caffer Bey led a group of janissaries under the cry of Allahu Akbar onto all that remained of the outer wall: a mound of dirt with a stockade, and they began to push back the defenders. And they succeeded.

The gap between the two walls flooded with mahometans and many of the defenders gave up the cause. Some were crushed to death while trying to flee; others were killed from behind by the Turk. And somewhere in the melee remained the Emperor surrounded by a faithful retinue of Romans – Theophilus Palaiologos, and John Dalmata – and an elder Castilian nobleman who had traveled to assist The City in whatever manner possible – Don Francisco de Toledo. Constantine, seeing all was lost and flinging away his imperial regalia, he cried out: “The city has been taken and I am still alive!” [3] Followed by his companions, sword in hand he charged the mahometan mass. He was never seen again.

By six in the morning the Turks were pouring into Constantinople. Many of the Italians at the walls rushed to reach the docks, and deserted their posts. Some were killed, others captured, but enough reached their ships, carrying the ill news to Giustiniani. The Genoese ordered all of his men recalled. The Romans, however, that were left were indiscriminately cut down. “Everyone they found they dispatched at the point of scimitar, women and men, old and young, of any condition.” [4] The gutters were overflowing with blood.

Near the Golden Horn, stood the Church of St. Theodosia, whose fast day was to be celebrated on that day. As a procession neared the portico, which had been laden with fresh roses to honor the saint, the mahometans rushed in and captured those who did not resist, slaughtered those who did, and ransacked the temple. Minutes later, St. Theodosia’s bones were thrown out into the street. This sacrilegious act was repeated throughout Constantinople; the Church of St. John the Baptist at Petra, the Chora monastery, and the Church of St. George by the Charisian Gate were all plundered soon after of the breakthrough. The most ancient and Holy Icon of the Hodegetria, painted by St. Luke himself, was hacked into four pieces for its gold frame and discarded. Crosses were smashed, reliquaries and tombs of the saints opened and their contents thrown out, chalices, goblets, patens, and holy robes stolen. The nuns fell prey to rape and the monks to massacre.

Those who could fled to Hagia Sophia. Those who couldn’t were dragged from their beds or the streets and snatched away. And many who couldn’t be moved like the old or infirm were simply cut down. Some of the nobler ladies and matrons, sure of their fate, jumped into wells, while those who were captured were fought over by the invaders. But the ones who made it to the great Church were hoping against hope that an old prophecy proved to be true. The enemy was to advance as far as the Forum of Constantine, when an angel would descend, fiery sword in hand, and lead the defenders to drive them out of The City. Men, women and children crossed themselves as the bronze doors of the temple were barred.

At the piers, the Italian and some Roman ships were sailing away laden with survivors and refugees. Luckily, the Turkish sailors had grounded their ships and rushed into Constantinople, lest they be deprived of booty. But many more Christians were still racing to the shore and seeing the ships depart would implore them to return, or even jump into the water and try to swim to reach them. Soon after, the sea was covered with floating corpses.

In Hagia Sophia, as the matins were underway, the people continued to pray for a miracle. And soon added to the sound of the liturgy and private prayers were added the axe blows of the Janissaries as the barred doors were battered down. Those poorest and oldest of the congregation were killed outright. The rest were marched off as slaves in long, wailing lines. Many of the children would later be sent off as presents to the mahometan courts in Tunis, Egypt and Spain. The officiating priests courageously continued with the Mass until they were killed at the high altar. Then the temple itself was despoiled. The vessels, the icons, the relics, the candelabra, the lamps, the Imperial throne, the iconostasis itself, all were hacked to pieces and carted off.

By the early afternoon, the Sultan himself marched in through the Gate of Charisius. He rode straight into the dilapidated Church, and called for an imam to ascend the pulpit and recite the Shahada as he knelt down; “there is no god but Allah, and Mohammed is his prophet.”  

***

There is a most excellent chant performed by Capella Romana, which was originally written by Manuel Doukas Chrysaphes, a singer and composer at the Imperial court who survived the fall of The City.  Based on the text of Psalm 79, I leave you with this haunting Oh God, the heathen are come.

Let us pray for the souls of those who defended their faith, their sovereign and their land, and that, Deo volente, one day the Christians of the West, having reawaked from their indolence and seen the mahometan peril as it is in their midst, strive for a reunion with our Orthodox brethren and make the city of Constantine Christian once more.



[1] John Julius Norwich, Byzantium: The Decline and Fall. (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1996) p. 431
[2] Leonard of Chios, De Capta a Mehemethe II Constantinopoli. (Paris, 1823) p. 44
[3] Robert Barr Smith, To the Last Cartridge. (New York: Avon Books, 1994) p. 31
[4] Nicolo Barbaro, Giornalle dell’ Assedio di Constantinopoli 1453. (Vienna, 1856) p.55