Through the Land of the Serb

by M. E. Durham

Revived and cheered by the food, the wine, and the company, I arose when the inevitable interview was over and strolled across to the open gate of the monastery. Within the walls lay smooth green lawns from which arose the little lily church, its white marble pale gold with age; beyond were the quaint wood and plaster buildings of the monastery, with wide wooden balconies and tall bell tower. Little acacias, clipped to round balls, were ranged stiffly along the paths, the air was heavy with the scent of lime blossoms, and a stillness so dead that it seemed supernatural hung over all. I stole quietly round the church, which was shut, and saw no living creature.

As I was returning I came face to face with an armed youth, a picturesque figure who, but for his weapons, looked very mediæval in closely-fitting black leg-gear of the Albanian pattern and a very short straight jacket. His feet were shod with leathern sandals, into the straps of which were twisted long spurs; his rifle was slung on his back; the bright green cord to which his revolver was fastened hung round his neck, and his cartridge belt was well filled. He stood up straight, a lithe slim young thing, saluted with great style, and told me that he was a "pandur" (gendarme), had been sent over from Rashka to take care of me and to escort me thither when I was ready to go. Meanwhile he was entirely at my service. His captain had received a telegram about me from Ivanitza and had sent him at once. He added that Rashka expected me and wanted to see me. I was greatly astonished. I had intended going to Kraljevo. The pandur looked grieved. He thought evidently that he should have failed in his duty to his captain if he did not produce me at Rashka. Impelled largely, I confess, by a wicked desire to have such a very good-looking fellow at my beck and call, I was inquiring the means of arriving at Rashka, when the pandur said suddenly, in an awestruck whisper, "Gospoditza, here is the Archimandrite!" and there was the Archimandrite himself advancing slowly down the path towards us.

A very beautiful old man, with a kindly, benevolent face, tall and stately in his black robes and high velvet hat. His long grey hair flowed over his shoulders, and he fingered a string of amber beads as he came along. The pandur bared his head, dropped on one knee reverently and kissed the hand extended to him, and I wondered miserably whether it would be foolish or polite to follow his example. The Archimandrite relieved me at once by shaking hands with me and welcoming me to Studenitza. Anyone who had come so far, he said, must be his guest. It would have been grossly rude to refuse such a kindly-meant invitation, but I accepted it with fear. To the manners and customs of a Servian inn I was now accustomed. The primitive building outside the monastery walls suddenly seemed to me to be a homelike and wholly desirable resting-place, and the monastery was a strange unknown world. The pandur, on the other hand, was filled with joy. "This is very, very good," he whispered to me; "they are very rich here"; and we followed the Archimandrite over the lawn to the long low guest building on the other side, up a wooden staircase and along a long blue-and-white corridor, to a room at the end which he offered me. It was a beautiful room, luxuriously furnished. I accepted it gratefully, and the pandur whispered his admiration and enthusiasm. He was sent off at once to fetch my bag from the inn, and the Archimandrite, who was greatly overcome at learning that I had come on horseback from Ivanitza, begged that I would rest myself. To-morrow, he said, I should see all, and was at liberty to draw what I pleased. At what time would I have supper? He added with a little smile, "I fear that to-day I cannot feed you well. We are monks here, and it is one of our great fasts." (It was that of SS. Peter and Paul.) He knew no word of any language but Servian, and waited patiently while I looked up words in the dictionary. I told him I would eat whatever they had. "But no," he said, and he shook his head; "those of our own Church do not keep these fasts as they should. For us monks it is our duty; but for you, who are a stranger, it is different." His words I can give, but not the charm of his manner, nor his simple dignity and his courtesy. His amber beads clicked as he went.

And when he had gone there was a great silence, and I sat at the window and stared at the little white church and at the mountain that rose up just behind it. The world beyond was a vague, far-off recollection; part of a previous existence. I felt that I had passed all my life in that lonely hollow among the hills, and then wondered whether I had any right to be there at all. But I did not wish to ever forget the scene, and in spite of the old man's recommendation to sleep, I coiled up on the window-sill and began a drawing.

Time passed like a flash, and the light was rapidly dying, when I became aware of the clink of spurs and the clicking of the amber beads, and the Archimandrite followed by a servant and my pandur, bearing lamp and supper, came in a little procession down the corridor. I had not realised till then that I was to sup with the Archimandrite himself. He was distressed that I remained standing, and spoke to the pandur, who hurried away, and returned with a big and throne-like arm-chair. Meanwhile Nikola the servant spread two newspapers on the table, put the lamp in the middle and arranged the plates and dishes. Then he placed a small cane-bottomed chair and stood attention by it. My pandur drew himself up by the arm-chair, the Archimandrite motioned me to it ceremoniously, murmured a blessing, and took his seat. He tucked his large table napkin under his chin, spread the other end of it on the table and stood his plate upon it, thus making a bridge from food to mouth. Foolishly, I did not imitate him, but put mine on my knees. Now the tablecloth was a product of Western civilisation, of that make called "tapestry" in Tottenham Court Road. It was black-and-yellow, and round the border were pyramids, palm trees, camels, Arabs and damsels—a very secular tablecloth. It was greatly treasured by the old man, and the centre only was protected by newspaper. He was distressed to see that I did not know how to use a table napkin, but he was far too polite to say so. He murmured something to Nikola, and before I had realised the mistake I had made, Nikola returned with another newspaper, which he put under my plate. Then the meal began. "Nikola, serve rakija," said the Archimandrite, and Nikola filled two little glasses with slivovitz and put them before us. "This," said the Archimandrite, "is from our own plums," and he raised his glass and bowed gravely; I raised mine; he clinked with it. "God give you health," he said, and drained his glass. I drained mine, and restrained a violent desire to gasp as the spirit went down like a red-hot poker, for it was the fieriest liqueur I had ever met. "Nikola, serve the rakija," said the Archimandrite again, and we repeated the ceremony. I left some at the bottom of my glass. He pointed this out, and waited patiently. I swallowed it. "Nikola, serve the rakija," said the Archimandrite a third time. "No, thank you," said I timidly. "Three times is Servian," he said pleasantly. My glass was filled. "God give you health," said I bravely; we clinked, and the ceremony was completed.

With a burning gullet, I began dinner. There was no sign of anything else to drink. Bread, cheese, kaimak, onions and poached eggs were spread before me, and a dish of haricot beans and a lettuce before him. "You had better see what I eat," he said, with a funny little smile; "your friends in England will wish to know how an Archimandrite in Servia lives."

I had my dictionary and struggled hard to follow his conversation and to reply, but was sometimes entirely lost, for the strain after the long day was almost more than I could stand. A very great many English, he told me, had been to Studenitza. I was surprised. He counted upon his fingers, and said that since 1865, including myself, there had been eight. "Yes," he said gaily, "here we know the English very well, and your Church is not unlike our own," Feeling quite unequal to discussing theology in Servian, I did not rise to this remark. "At any rate," he said cheerfully, "we both dislike the Pope." "How old are you?" asked the Archimandrite. I told him. "And you are not married?" he said. I agreed. "That, Gospoditza," and he bowed to me, "is very good—it is the best"; and the pandur smiled a little smile under his moustache. Nikola removed our plates, and appeared with three small trout on a dish. Very excellent trout, fresh from the river, which the Archimandrite shared with me with great relish. But he seemed anxious and had little private housekeeping whispers with Nikola, and produced large keys furtively from his flowing garments. The good man was certain I had not had enough. I assured him I had had plenty; but Nikola returned presently with a small mutton ham, off which he chipped pieces which he offered me. Meanwhile my pandur had removed my knife, fork, and plate. The Archimandrite remedied this by taking his own fork, wiping it on the newspaper and presenting it to me ceremoniously. I accepted it in the spirit in which it was offered and ate as many of the little pieces of meat as I could manage, thereby pleasing my host a good deal more than myself, and the meal was concluded.

It was a dry meal. We now began to wash it down. "Nikola, serve the wine," said his master. Nikola appeared with a bottle of red wine and two small tumblers. The Archimandrite uttered pious wishes for my welfare, we clinked and drank together. I perceived very shortly that politeness did not permit him to take more while there was any left in my glass, and hoped that he was not very thirsty. He, on his part, tried to encourage me by saying that it was excellent wine and not at all strong, and the latter part of the remark fortunately was perfectly true.

When I thought we had nearly done, Nikola again went on a mysterious errand, and returned with two young monks to whom I was introduced. The two younger men were more interested in the outer world than the old one, and I had to work the dictionary hard. Then came more wine, fortunately not much, for we all four had to clink with each other and utter polite wishes, and this occupied time and made a little go a long way. Obedient to the Archimandrite, we raised and emptied our glasses simultaneously with military precision.

Each day of my life seemed stranger than the last, and I wondered how much longer this one was to be, for I had begun it at 4 a.m. When at 9.30 they arose and wished me good-night, I was more grateful to them than for anything they had yet done for me.