Coronation Church of the ancient Kings of Servia.--Enter the
Highlands.--Valley of the Ybar.--First view of the High
Balkan.--Convent of Studenitza.--Byzantine Architecture.--Phlegmatic
Monk.--Servian Frontier.--New Quarantine.--Russian Major.
We again started after mid-day, with the captain and his momkes, and,
proceeding through meadows, arrived at Zhitchka Jicha. This is an
ancient Servian convent, of Byzantine architecture, where seven kings
of Servia were crowned, a door being broken into the wall for the
entrance of each sovereign, and built up again on his departure. It is
situated on a rising ground, just where the river Ybar enters the
plain of Karanovatz. The environs are beautiful. The hills are of
moderate height, covered with verdure and foliage; only campaniles
were wanting to the illusion of my being in Italy, somewhere about
Verona or Vicenza, where the last picturesque undulations of the Alps
meet the bountiful alluvia of the Po. Quitting the valley of the
Morava, we struck southwards into the highlands. Here the scene
changed; the valley of the Ybar became narrow, the vegetation scanty;
and, at evening, we arrived at a tent made of thick matted branches of
trees, which had been strewn for us with fresh hay. The elders of
Magletch, a hamlet an hour off, came with an offer of their services,
in case they were wanted.
The sun set; and a bright crackling fire of withered branches of pine,
mingling its light with the rays of the moon in the clear chill of a
September evening, threw a wild and unworldly pallor over the sterile
scene of our bivouac, and the uncouth figures of the elders. They
offered me a supper; but contenting myself with a roasted head of
Indian corn, and rolling my cloak and pea jacket about me, I fell
asleep: but felt so cold that, at two o'clock, I roused the
encampment, sounded to horse, and, in a few minutes, was again
mounting the steep paths that lead to Studenitza.
Day gradually dawned, and the scene became wilder and wilder; not a
chalet was to be seen, for the ruined castle of Magletch on its lone
crag, betokened nothing of humanity. Tall cedars replaced the oak and
the beech, the scanty herbage was covered with hoar-frost. The clear
brooks murmured chillingly down the unshaded gullies, and a grand line
of sterile peaks to the South, showed me that I was approaching the
backbone of the Balkan. All on a sadden I found the path overlooking
a valley, with a few cocks of hay on a narrow meadow; and another turn
of the road showed me the lines of a Byzantine edifice with a graceful
dome, sheltered in a wood from the chilling winter blasts of this
highland region. Descending, and crossing the stream, we now proceeded
up to the eminence on which the convent was placed, and I perceived
thick walls and stout turrets, which bade a sturdy defiance to all
hostile intentions, except such as might be supported by artillery.
On dismounting and entering the wicket, I found myself in an extensive
court, one side of which was formed by a newly built crescent-shaped
cloister; the other by a line of irregular out-houses with wooden
stairs, _chardacks_ and other picturesque but fragile appendages of
Turkish domestic architecture.
Between these pigeon-holes and the new substantial, but mean-looking
cloister, on the other side rose the church of polished white marble,
a splendid specimen of pure Byzantine architecture, if I dare apply
such an adjective to that fantastic middle manner, which succeeded to
the style of the fourth century, and was subsequently re-cast by
Christians and Moslems into what are called the Gothic and
Saracenic.[11]
A fat, feeble-voiced, lymphatic-faced Superior, leaning on a long
staff, received us; but the conversation was all on one side, for
"_Blagodarim_," (I thank you,) was all that I could get out of him.
After reposing a little in the parlour, I came out to view the church
again, and expressed my pleasure at seeing so fair an edifice in the
midst of such a wilderness.
The Superior slowly raised his eyebrows, looked first at the church,
then at me, and relapsed into a frowning interrogative stupor; at
last, suddenly rekindling as if he had comprehended my meaning, added
"_Blagodarim_" (I thank you). A shrewd young man, from a village a few
miles off, now came forward just as the Superior's courage pricked him
on to ask if there were any convents in my country; "Very few," said
I.
"But there are," said the young pert Servian, "a great many schools
and colleges where useful sciences are taught to the young, and
hospitals, where active physicians cure diseases."
This was meant as a cut to the reverend Farniente. He looked blank,
but evidently wanted the boldness and ingenuity to frame an answer to
this redoubtable innovator. At last he gaped at me to help him out of
the dilemma.
"I should be sorry," said I, "if any thing were to happen to this
convent. It is a most interesting and beautiful monument of the
ancient kingdom of Servia; I hope it will be preserved and honourably
kept up to a late period."
"_Blagodarim_, (I am obliged to you,)" said the Superior, pleased at
the Gordian knot being loosed, and then relapsed into his atrophy,
without moving a muscle of his countenance.
I now examined the church; the details of the architecture showed that
it had suffered severely from the Turks. The curiously twisted pillars
of the outer door were sadly chipped, while noseless angels, and
fearfully mutilated lions guarded the inner portal. Passing through a
vestibule, we saw the remains of the font, which must have been
magnificent; and covered with a cupola, the stumps of the white marble
columns which support it are still visible; high on the wall is a
piece of sculpture, supposed to represent St. George.
Entering the church, I saw on the right the tomb of St. Simeon, the
sainted king of Servia; beside it hung his banner with the half-moon
on it, the insignium of the South Slavonic nation from the dawn of
heraldry. Near the altar was the body of his son, St. Stephen, the
patron saint of Servia. Those who accompanied us paid little attention
to the architecture of the church, but burst into raptures at the
sight of the carved wood of the screen, which had been most minutely
and elaborately cut by Tsinsars, (as the Macedonian Latins are called
to this day).
Close to the church is a chapel with the following inscription:
"I, Stephen Urosh, servant of God, great grandson of Saint Simeon and
son of the great king Urosh, king of all the Servian lands and coasts,
built this temple in honour of the holy and just Joachim and Anna,
1314. Whoever destroys this temple of Christ be accursed of God and of
me a sinner."
Thirty-five churches in this district, mostly in ruins, attest the
piety of the Neman dynasty. The convent of Studenitza was built
towards the end of the twelfth century, by the first of the dynasty.
The old cloister of the convent was burnt down by the Turks. The new
cloister was built in 1839. In fact it is a wonder that so fine a
monument as the church should have been preserved at all.
There is a total want of arable land in this part of Servia, and the
pasture is neither good nor abundant; but the Ybar is the most
celebrated of all the streams of Servia for large quantities of trout.
Next day we continued our route direct South, through scenery of the
same rugged and sterile description as that we had passed on the way
hither. How different from the velvet verdure and woodland music of
the Gutchevo and the Drina! At one place on the bank of the Ybar,
there was room for only a led horse, by a passage cut in the rock.
This place bears the name of Demir Kapu, or Iron Gate. In the evening
we arrived at the frontier quarantine, called Raska, which is situated
at two hours' distance from Novibazar.
In the midst of an amphitheatre of hills destitute of vegetation,
which appeared low from the valley, although they must have been high
enough above the level of the sea, was such a busy scene as one may
find in the back settlements of Eastern Russia. Within an extensive
inclosure of high palings was a heterogeneous mass of new buildings,
some unfinished, and resounding with the saw, the plane, and the
hatchet; others in possession of the employes in their uniforms;
others again devoted to the safe keeping of the well-armed caravans,
which bring their cordovans, oils, and cottons, from Saloniki, through
Macedonia, and over the Balkan, to the gates of Belgrade.
On dismounting, the Director, a thin elderly man, with a modest and
pleasing manner, told me in German that he was a native of the
Austrian side of the Save, and had been attached to the quarantine at
Semlin; that he had joined the quarantine service, with the permission
of his government, and after having directed various other
establishments, was now occupied in organizing this new point.
The _traiteur_ of the quarantine gave us for dinner a very fair
pillaff, as well as roast and boiled fowl; and going outside to our
bench, in front of the finished buildings, I began to smoke. A
slightly built and rather genteel-looking man, with a braided surtout,
and a piece of ribbon at his button-hole, was sitting on the step of
the next door, and wished me good evening in German. I asked him who
he was, and he told me that he was a Pole, and had been a major in the
Russian service, but was compelled to quit it in consequence of a
duel.
I asked him if he was content with his present condition; and he
answered, "Indeed, I am not; I am perfectly miserable, and sometimes
think of returning to Russia, _coute qui coute_.--My salary is £20
sterling a year, and everything is dear here; for there is no
village, but an artificial settlement; and I have neither books nor
European society. I can hold out pretty well now, for the weather is
fine; but I assure you that in winter, when the snow is on the ground,
it exhausts my patience." We now took a turn down the inclosure to his
house, which was the ground-floor of the guard-house. Here was a bed
on wooden boards, a single chair and table, without any other
furniture.
The Director, obliging me, made up a bed for me in his own house,
since the only resource at the _traiteur's_ would have been my own
carpet and pillow.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 11: Ingenious treaties have been written on the origin of the
Gothic and Saracenic styles of architecture; but it seems to me
impossible to contemplate many Byzantine edifices without feeling
persuaded that this manner is the parent of both. Taking the Lower
Empire for the point of departure, the Christian style spread north to
the Baltic and westwards to the Atlantic. Saint Stephen's in Vienna,
standing half way between Byzantium and Wisby, has a Byzantine facade
and a Gothic tower. The Saracenic style followed the Moslem conquests
round by the southern coasts of the Mediterranean to Morocco and
Andaloss. Thus both the northern and the eastern styles met each
other, first in Sicily and then in Spain, both having started from
Constantinople.]