The Acropolis in Athens Between Glory and Catastrophe

The Acropolis of Athens, Greece

Why did Mehmet II, the conqueror of Constantinople, spare the Parthenon, while Morosini, the Venetian admiral, reduced it to ruins? The answer lies in the Sultan's education: he knew Greek, Latin, Persian, Arabic, and even Chaldean. When he visited Athens in 1458, staying for four days, he was profoundly moved by the city’s ancient splendour. So taken was he that he granted privileges to the Athenians and, above all, declared the monuments his personal property—an act intended to protect them from pillage and desecration.

The Erechteion on the Acropolis, dedicated to Athena and Poseidon, late 5th century BC.

The Sacred Rock was closed to the Athenians without express permission. The Turkish commander resided in the Propylaea; his harem occupied the Erechtheion; and scattered across the hill stood the homes of guards and their families. Athens was under the administration of the Pasha of Negroponte, though it later came under the authority of the Chief Eunuch, who resided in the Topkapi Palace in Istanbul.

An Athenian archon living under Ottoman rule, 1458–1833. In Greek, ‘archon’ signifies someone of rank or authority.

An Athenian lady living under Ottoman rule, 1458–1833

Yet the Athenians were not entirely powerless. Men from the city’s most prominent families were allowed to wear yellow shoes — the colour reserved for the empire’s highest officials — followed by merchants, artisans, and cultivators of the surrounding lands. Relations with the Turks were cautiously amicable, and when Morosini prepared to take Athens, the citizens sent word that he would have their support.

Then, one September morning in 1687, fear struck the defenders as Venetian ships appeared from the vantage of the Acropolis. Expecting reinforcements from the Sultan, the Turks ordered 2,500 women and children to shelter upon the Sacred Rock. Within hours, the hill was cluttered with furniture, provisions, and household goods, all left in the open air. Below, the Athenians — nearly 75,000 strong — stood in silent apprehension, having buried their most treasured possessions to protect them from the chaos to come.

A glimpse of life in Athens beneath the Acropolis, Ottoman era, 1458–1833

The cannons of Morosini opened fire on the Propylaea from a nearby hill, damaging much of the structure. But the greater horror lay ahead. A signal — most likely from a Turkish traitor — revealed that gunpowder was stored within the Parthenon. “Target the Parthenon!” came the order. Artillery thundered, and the sacred temple became a pyre.

The marble columns and roof resisted for a time, but at half-past midnight, a tremendous explosion split the Parthenon in two. Columns and blocks cascaded like the earth itself shaking; flames and smoke, lit by a full moon, rose hundreds of metres, like fiery blossoms against the night sky. Amid the carnage, the Venetians’ triumphant cries rang out: “Long live our Republic!”

View of Athens with the Acropolis, c. 1820, by William Purser. Courtesy of The Benaki Museum, Athens

With the Sultan’s army absent and their commander dead, the Turks sent two men under a white flag to surrender. Morosini released them, yet uncertainty lingered. He feared he could not hold the Acropolis, nor continue his campaign to capture Negroponte, a strategic Venetian objective. Still, he also feared for the Athenians’ fate. A year later, he returned the city to Turkish control and evacuated its people to Venetian possessions in the Peloponnese, much as Themistocles had done centuries before when Xerxes approached.

The Lion of Piraeus at the left side of the monumental entrance to the Arsenal in Venice

The operation had been meticulous. The Turks reoccupied Athens, and Morosini prepared to depart. During the retreat, he attempted to remove some of the temple’s marbles for Venice, but his men lacked the skill; the stones were ruined. The only artefact that survived the journey was the lion that once guarded the entrance to Piraeus, which today stands at Venice’s Arsenal.

For the first time in its history, Athens lay utterly deserted. The city fell into an eerie, almost sacred silence.

The Temple of Athena Nike, overlooking Athens and gazing peacefully towards the sea

And one cannot help but wonder, as a traveller stands today before the Parthenon, knowing the tale of its devastation: “All this catastrophe… for what?” Perhaps a sense of profound sorrow lingers still, a quiet bitterness mingled with awe at the fragile glory of human achievement.

In my book GREECE, The Dance of the Seas, immerse yourself into hidden corners and captivating stories of the country’s rich history and culture.