Chapter XIV

Chapter XIV

Vienna greeted him with snow one December morning. Movement in the streets was difficult. The tree branches in the parks, the Danube River and its islands were covered in snow. But as the hours passed, by noon it had eased up and pedestrians and coaches had resumed their movements trampling on the snow. The cold too eased up a lot after the winter sun appeared in the celestial whiteness. More people emerged on the streets talking loudly and their chatter merged with the creaking of coaches and the trotting, neighing and snorting of horses.

A church bell started ringing exactly at noon. The sound came from the direction of “St. Trinity” and “St. George” Orthodox churches. It was a quiet, monotonous and spiritless sound; as if summoning a departed soul. This happened when a person was separated from our sad world. The yard of the “Holy Trinity” was packed with mourners. There was a line of wagons pulled by horses waiting on the side. When the memorial service for the departed ended all those inside the church came out and mingled with those outside. When the coffin was loaded onto a wagon, a long procession was started. A long black line of people followed the lead wagon, meandering crookedly over the endless snow. It seemed like God’s black pen was sliding over a white page. It seemed like the Creator from above was recording the name of the person He was about to receive. Today, that person was Konstantin Belio the “Macedonian”, he was the deceased.

It was December 12, 1838, according to the Orthodox calendar, and December 26, 1838 according to the papal calendar. (The Catholic Church adopted the Gregorian calendar in 1582 and the Orthodox Church continued to use the older Julian calendar.) It was a sad day when he appeared before God. His older brother, by five years, Stefan had passed away at age sixty and Konstantin passed away at age sixty-six. The procession continued to move in perfect order for

him, marching on the snow with a muffled rhythmic sound, followed by the occasional cough from the mourners and snort from the horses. Leading the procession was a priest, a confessor and a deacon from the church “Holy Trinity”. All the others walked behind them. The Orthodox community in Vienna had two churches and there seemed to be a division between them. The Serbians, Macedonians and Bulgarians went to the “Holy Trinity” church and the Greeks, Vlachs and Orthodox Albanians went to the “St. George” church. The Belio, Karajanov, Nakov, Nikolich, Dumbalov, Shekierev, Popovich and other families regularly attended the “Holy Trinity” church. At the same time they also supported “St. George” church because they had relatives going there. And on days like today, when a nobleman was sent away, both churches performed services because the entire community was in mourning. When the procession finally arrived in front of St. Marx’s Cemetery, a sight of greatness set in. A baron was being sent away with an old ritual taking place on the stone bridge over the Danube River. The wagon carrying the casket stopped in the middle of the bridge displaying the black canvases on which, embroidered with silver thread, was the “Belio” coat of arms and above it was a baron’s crown. The wagon was pulled by four horses and led by two horsemen. The body was accompanied by thirteen soldiers. Only they wore white uniforms but with black hats and black stripes on their sleeves. The leading soldier stood in front and wore a wide black stripe across his chest. In front of them stood the black barons; sixteen in number and all dressed in mourning clothes; from hats, gloves and boots, to overcoats, coats and trousers. That blackness marched in unison with a single step, making an impression on the observers. The last two led a dark horse with a dark fabric on top of it.

The rest of the people followed behind the funeral wagon. The first were the baron’s nephews Dimitri and Konstantin - “Kocho” Belio with their wives. Behind them were the counts Nako, Sina Karajan and Nikolich followed by the barons Ikonomov, Dumbalov, Kazanov, Lazarev, Shekerov and Radokonachiev. Also in attendance were local businessmen, bankers, dignitaries, etc., that the deceased was close to and had worked with. When they reached the tomb, they first took down the coffin and the priest recited a

prayer. Then, after the coffin was placed in the tomb, the priest began to recite the farewell sermon:

“The late servant of God, Konstantin, from the first day he arrived until the sad day yesterday, was one of us. With a sharp spirit he understood circumstance and always worked hard and had his people in his mind and his heart. In times of war, plagues and calamities he helped the helpless and distressed. And with those and other good deeds, he became prominent; like he did with his learning, dedication and work. Konstantin was rich in Christ’s humility and his successes didn’t make him arrogant, nor did his defeats push him into unworthiness. He didn’t deceive or persuade another, nor exalt himself with an undeserved gift or another’s decoration, because that would have been a disgrace to him. And for the things he deserved to get, he said he was unworthy because they came from God, who made him this way in his far away native Macedonia.

Konstantin left his native Macedonia, his first mother country, when he was a child. He left, because even though it was sunny there, the sun didn’t shine on his people because of slavery. He arrived to a second mother (Walachia) country that raised and educated him. And now he left her too and came here to his third mother country (Austria), the land under the snow, but also a ray of freedom. He loved all three mothers. He especially loved his first mother, his real mother, despite the slavery he suffered there. He did his best to help her because every person is obliged to help his mother country. Wherever he went he carried her with him, in every part of his body and everything he tasted there first; her waters, grains and her sun. That’s why he took the name Konstantin Belio - the Macedonian. He cared for his country and for his compatriots until the last moment of his life. It has been said that ‘in order to be able to love other people, you must first love your own’. It is said that all people are the same in death. Unfortunately, the living tend to divide themselves over material goods. It is true that the All Mighty also divides the dead, but who goes where is decided on how well people did in life. The late Konstantin did a lot of good things about which we learned from others, he himself didn’t want to tell us because he didn’t want to boast. We pray that he will be closer to God and to God’s will. His noble soul will land on Upper Earth and his body to

Lower Earth. People are born from earth and will return to earth. We, who are in the middle will visit, respect and mention the deceased for the good he has done while he was with us. Let him enter heaven… He is the last of the Belio siblings. Let him be with his father, mother, brothers and sister; they are all waiting for him. May he rest in peace. Amen.”

The priest took three handfuls of soil from the dug soil next to the grave and threw them on top of the coffin resting inside the tomb. After that the other people did the same. They all whispered the words “rest in peace” (Lesna ti zamja). When they were done, the grave diggers threw shovels full of soil from the same pile on top of the coffin. While that was going on, Konstantin, the baron’s nephew, silently watched them and the small chapel with a recessed altar sitting over his uncle’s grave. He was reminded of the day two summers ago when his adopted son Jovan was buried under a similar chapel. Like his uncle Konstantin he was unlucky with children, so he adopted two, Sophia and Jovan, whom he brought home from the plains of Walachia; from a suffering family in Bachalbasha. Even though Konstantin and Elena did their best to make them happy, the poor boy was sad and painfully sick. He couldn’t adapt to the climate and slowly faded away and became weaker and weaker. They moved his bed close to the window to get more sun and fresh air but that didn’t help much. They prayed and had doctors examine and care for him but that too didn’t help. His dewy and warm forehead got worse and worse. Then, one gloomy morning in May, 1836, Jovan didn’t wake up. His little soul said goodbye to this world and went to heaven. About an hour or two later it started raining and rained for a long time. It seemed like the sky was crying for him. Pushed by the wind, raindrops kept rolling down the misty windows as tears rolled down Elena and Konstantin’s cheeks. The next day, after the memorial service held at the “Holy Trinity” church, they buried him. Later they raised a small chapel which they visited regularly. Now, the baron was there too, next to little Jovan, and the need for Konstantin the “Younger” to keep coming here became even greater. Little Jovan was Kostantin’s adopted son, just like Konstantin was the Baron’s adopted son.

The chapel was separated from the baron by another tomb, with a pedestal, an elevated marble slab and ornaments recognizable from under the melted snow. Between them stood a figure of a woman looking like she was in rapturous mourning. She was well covered which made her face barely visible. There was a name on the plate, Dimitar Jovanov. He was the son of a Macedonian goldsmith. He was one of the best in the guild. He had died last November and was sent away on a sad day like today. This place was full of memories like that.

Looking at the mound of moist soil over the Baron’s grave Konstantin was reminded of Baron Belio telling him, “We have been seeded all over the world.” His thoughts took him back to the moment when the baron was still alive and Konstantin was trying to save him after suffering a severe stroke. It would appear that the baron was weakened by many things; his long journeys, his worries and his exhausting negotiations. Twenty days ago the unthinkable happened. The baron felt an icy shadow standing over him. He had just returned from the cafeteria when he felt light-headed, dizzy and had blurred vision. Then he noticed his left hand rise up in front of his eyes, without him having control over it; he just simply didn’t recognize it as his own. He started talking incoherently to convince himself that he was still okay... But who knows!? He reached for the bed and fell onto it. Five of six minutes later his nephew Konstantin appeared at the door. He had come to visit him and noticed that he was lying there helpless and convulsing. Konstantin grabbed a jug of water, ran to the bed and started spraying it on his neck and face, telling him to relax, while he himself was panicking. After the Baron took a sip of the water Konstantin put a pillow under his head and began to massage him. When he was convinced that the baron was seriously ill he ran to get the doctor next door. The doctor examined him and gave him medicine. The following days the baron seemed to have recovered but he knew he wouldn’t last long. And he was right, the life into which he had been born and the life he lived came to an end; god Chronos was never defeated by anyone. While he rested, his adopted nephews Dimitri and Konstantin were always there with him. He, in the meantime, busied himself walking, writing things down and verifying them. He arranged everything because he didn’t want to leave a mess or burden to anyone. He supplemented the wills with items even for things he hadn’t

considered, such as possible additional expenses if the day of his funeral was stormy; and this December it was stormy every day. His nephews begged him not to talk about dying and that he would be able to recover and work again. But he wasn’t wrong. On the ninth of December, the baron finished writing his “Bequest”, and below it he wrote something for his compatriots under the title “Appeal to my Macedonian compatriots”, after which he rested. But, yesterday, after the twentieth day of the first light stroke, came the fatal one. It began like the first with a blurred consciousness, and with an interrupted but clearer speech. He called his nephew to come over.

“Son, son, forgive me... if I have wronged you... if I have said something wrong... or if I am angry with you... You are a good son…! You forgive me... right?” said the baron with difficulty as soon as his nephew came over.

“Yes, yes... everything is forgiven... father…! But please don’t talk like that.”

“Remember... The Will!” whispered the baron in a barely audible voice which didn’t break.

The next blow that followed was stronger. The baron plunged into a dying spasm, with bloodshot eyes and flickering eyelids, and, while looking at the ceiling, he lasted another minute or two. And in that time he quickly passed in and out of consciousness. It seemed like an eternity because time has no limit; only people try to limit it. He first visited the place where he’d sat on a rocking saddle of a horse, like it was when he was three years old, when he was taken away from Linotopi. It wasn’t a full memory, only a trace of it. It was more like a dream, but very realistic. It was one of those events that had no significance or a need to remember. It seemed strange how he could even remember such a thing from such a young age… It was more like an effect of something “already seen”... or who knows what? But it appeared to him in those last moments of his life, no matter how meaningless it was. The second thing that happened to him were short moments like a scratch on a book, leaving a harmonious embroidery of rows of letters - births written by the baron’s pen with black ink from his engraved, thick glass inkwell. It was a text from an older introductory paragraph from

which the “Appeal” arose. He thought it was an urgent call that should be shared with the Macedonians:

“This call is about our struggling and suffering country. Of everything that needs to be done, the noblest mission of our youth is to end the suffering. At the same time, I call on all of you, my compatriots, with a strong voice, to embrace unity among you. If you want to see lasting peace, don’t punish one another, embrace unity. The Macedonians too have the right to a bright future as they have the right to their own history. I am ready to help, and I will contribute in a brotherly way in any way that I can, my dear compatriots.”

These last lines were his final thoughts written down while a trace of bodily consciousness still existed in him, just before his spirit left him to ascend through a whirlpool tunnel, at the end of which waited the Archangel and the Almighty. Before leaving for heaven he made sure all his earthly possessions were well distributed. Apart from his closest ones, he also considered those who had suffered the most in the three mother countries; the poor, the sick and the unhappy. In Vienna and in this country where his life ended, he made donations as follows:

- To the general hospital he donated four thousand forints for the treatment of poor Orthodox people, and another two thousand forints for the treatment of those of the order of the “Brothers of St. John the Baptist”;

- To the Catholic churches he donated one hundred forints for “St. Peter”, and two hundred for “St. Stefan”;

- To the poor Austrians he donated three hundred forints. To two poor people - Austrian and Orthodox - in the police service he donated a thousand forints for a dowry;

- To the “Home for the Disabled” from “Landshtrasse” he donated two hundred forints;

- To the “Home for children without parents” he donated two hundred forints;

- To the “Institute for the Blind” he donated one hundred forints;

- To the Orthodox churches “Holy Trinity” and “St. George” he donated two and a half thousand forints for commemorations. To “Holy Trinity” he donated another five hundred forints for the confessor to whom he confessed, one hundred and fifty for the priest, fifty for the deacon and the attendant, and thirty forints for the manager. To “St. George” he donated three hundred forints for the priest and fifty forints for the church singer and attendant;

- For his funeral expenses, for mercy, for the poor and for memorial services in the first three years after his death, he set aside another three thousand forints to be given to the two churches. In case there was a storm during the funeral, he set aside three hundred forints.

The baron also considered the country where he grew up, where he was educated and where his parents, brother and other close ones ended up:

- To the hospital in Bucharest he donated two thousand forints for the treatment of the poor;

- To the “Radovoda” monastery where his father Dimitri and his brother Stefan were buried he donated two hundred forints;

- To the poorest woman in the village Peretu in the Teleorman vicinity he donated one hundred and ninety forints, and fifty ducats each for four poor people there.

The part of the property that Baron Belio purchased in Athens five or six summers ago, for almost nothing, which had a house, a garden and two plots with vineyards, he donated to Greece’s Archaeological Museum. Finally, to his native Macedonia and to the Macedonians, Baron Belio made donations as follows:

- He donated thirty thousand forints in convertible currency for scholarships for two young Macedonians. They were to be the “adopted sons of Mr. Belio” and to spend six summers at the Lyceum in Munich; they, in turn, would be obliged to “love and

respect our dear, once glorious homeland Macedonia”. (After Baron Belio died the fund was transferred from Munich to Athens with Philhellene King Ludwig’s help along with the purchase of 85 National Bank shares. After 1850, the commission used this money to provide scholarships for more than two scholarship holders. By 1908, the number of scholarship holders had grown to 354).

- He donated sixteen thousand and three hundred forints in convertible currency to fund a library worth one thousand eight hundred and eighty-six titles. Initially this was to serve the Macedonian people in Nova Pella, and “when Macedonia reached the level of development to have its own schools, the municipal council of Nova Pella would be obliged to hand over the books to the public in Macedonia”.

- For the treatment of Macedonians in the hospital “Hope”, built in 1837 from funds obtained from the sales of the remainder of Belio’s properties in Athens, he left two thousand and six hundred piastres. But there was a condition to this. He added clauses in the Agreement with the City Council which, under “Y”, strictly stated:

“Always and on every occasion, Macedonians have the right to be the most privileged for hospitalization in these beds. If a poor and helpless Macedonian patient comes, he should be immediately accepted in one of the beds donated by his compatriot and benefactor. In case there were no poor Macedonian patients, then Greek and non-Macedonian patients should not be hospitalized, without exception.”

Yes, insisting on a clause of exclusion may not have seemed good, but the baron was embittered by his experience with the Greek government, and with the city council of Athens. Athens officially became Greece’s capital in 1834. While Greek officials easily accepted bribes and construction money for themselves, they showed no obligation to others. They tried to twist everything to fit their own interests. They abused beds, inventory, medicines and other things in the hospital. They even took the library books, which Belio brought from Vienna for his Macedonians, and placed them in the new library in Athens with the excuse that Nova Pella still had no proper storage facilities for them!

These inconsistencies would be the basis for future events in the legacy, intentions and wishes of Baron Konstantin Belio - the Macedonian, but, unfortunately, they would not be carried out as the Baron really wanted.