Meanwhile, heavy but deserved judgment descended on Christendom. After an existence of more than a thousand years the sin-laden Byzantine empire, which had stood its ground for centuries in spite of its rottenness, had at length collapsed with the fall of Constantinople (May 29th, 1453). The Turkish conqueror, Mahomet II, had given New Rome over to slavery, spoliation, massacre, and every horror and outrage, yet had, by no means, requited the wrongs she had inflicted on others and herself. From Constantine, the founder of the Byzantine empire, who placed a blood-stained sword in the hands of the church, to the last of the emperors, Constantine Dragosses, of the Palæologus family, everyone in the long series of rulers (with the exception of the apostate Julian) was more or less inspired by falsehood and treachery, and an arrogant, hypocritical, persecuting spirit. And the people, as well as the servants of state and church, were worthy of their rulers. From them the German, Latin and Slavonic peoples had derived the principle that the Jews ought to be degraded by exceptional laws, or even exterminated. Now, however, Byzantium itself lay shattered in the dust, and wild barbarians were raising the new Turkish empire on its site. Heavy vengeance had been exacted. Mahomet II, the conqueror of Constantinople, threw a threatening glance at the remainder of Europe, the countries of the Latin Church. The whole of Christendom was in danger; yet the Christian rulers and nations were unable to organize an effective resistance against the Turkish conquerors. The perfidy and corruption of the papacy now bore bitter fruit. When the faithless pope, Nicholas V, called upon Christendom to undertake a crusade against the Turks, his legates at the diet of Ratisbon were compelled to listen to unsparing denunciation of his corruption. Neither the pope nor the emperor, they were told, had any real thought of undertaking a war against the Turks; their sole idea was to squander upon themselves the money they might collect. When the Turks made preparations to invade Hungary, and threatened to carry the victorious crescent from the right to the left side of the Danube, Capistrano preached himself hoarse to kindle enthusiasm for a new crusade. His tirades had ceased to draw. Their only effect was to assemble a ragged mob of students, peasants, mendicant friars, half-starved adventurers and romantic fanatics. The ghost of mediævalism vanished before the dawn of a new day.