When the next day dawned, there came two black ravens from the wide field of Kosovo, and they settled upon the white tower. And one of them croaked, and the other cried, "Is this the tower of the mighty Lazar?" The Empress Militza heard them, and she stepped forth from the white castle, crying, "God save you, O ye ravens! Have ye seen the meeting of two mighty armies?" And they answered her, saying, "God save thee, O Empress. We have flown from Kosovo field. We have seen the meeting of the mighty armies, and the leader of either is slain. Lo, lady, here comes thy servant Milutin, and he sways in his saddle from right to left; for he has seventeen wounds upon him, and his blood streams upon his steed." And the Empress called to him, "O Milutin, why hast thou deserted thy Tsar at Kosovo?" But Milutin answered her, "Take me from my horse, O lady; wash me with cold water; give me red wine, for I am sorely stricken." And she did as he begged her. And when he had come to himself a little, she prayed of him, "O Milutin, what has come to pass upon the field of Kosovo? Where is the glorious Tsar Lazar? Where are old Yug Bogdan and his nine sons?" Then the serving-man began to speak. "Lady, they all lie on the field at Kosovo by the cold waters of the Sitnitza, and where Tsar Lazar fell there are many weapons broken, and the Serbs lie thick around him. And old Yug Bogdan and his nine sons fell in the front of the fight: all are dead, lady, and the last that fell was Boshko Jugovich. Milosh is dead that slew Tsar Murad, and dead also is Banovich Strahinja that fought knee-deep in blood. All lie dead on the field at Kosovo; all save Yuk Brankovich, whose name be for ever accursed. He betrayed the Emperor; upon the field of battle he betrayed all glorious Lazar!"
On the hill in the midst of Krushevatz there stands one shattered lonely fragment of the white castle up against the sky—all that is left of Tsar Lazar's palace. But time has worked its revenges, and the Turkish mosque that was built of its stones in the town below is now too but a heap of ruins.
The church, which dates from the days of the Great Tsar Dushan (circa 1350), alone has survived the warring of the nations. Used as a powder magazine by the Turks and all the interior decoration destroyed, the exquisite details of its tracery still make Krushevatz worth a journey; its delicate pierced work, round windows laced with stone, strange monsters and wild Byzantine fancies—in a word, its barbaric imaginativeness, struck me as more characteristic of its land and times than anything I met with in Servia.
CHURCH, KRUSHEVATZ, SIDE WINDOW OF APSE.
Here as elsewhere the restorations are not skilful, but Servia should always be deeply grateful to Alexander Karageorgevich, who with such means as he could command saved her most interesting monuments from complete ruin. Better an unsatisfactory roof than no roof at all.
For a brief time, during the first reign of Michael Obrenovich, Krushevatz was again the capital. Now it is merely an industrious and flourishing country town, and a most friendly one. No one suspected me, although I came with no letter of introduction, nor was I cross-questioned about personal and political matters.
From Krushevatz I drove to Stalacs, and at Stalacs is a railway station. Ponies, post-waggons, carriages and mountain tracks, and the life of the old world were all left behind, and I was soon whirled back to Belgrade, where the pale blue youth in the police bureau welcomed me back, and forbade the officials in search of town dues to open my bundle. And when for the goodness—knows—how—manyeth and last time he stamped my passport, that I might leave Belgrade altogether, he remarked cheerfully, "And now, Gospoditza, please speak well of us. Tell all your friends to come to Servia, and come back yourself."