Chapter III

Chapter III

The thunderous and persistent ringing of the bells mounted on the tallest bell tower in Bucharest woke Stefan. The first ones to ring were the large, loud bells with harmonized rhythm. After each ring the smaller bells, with muffled irritating sounds, swung through the air. Daylight had already penetrated the window of his room surrounded by a thick wall. Lying in bed in the simple monastery room, Stefan’s sleepy eyes wandered aimlessly over the white-washed walls and plain ceiling, but his mind couldn’t stand the idleness. He got up and went to the window. His room was located on the highest floor of the building and had a beautiful view of the entire monastery complex, surrounded by walls that made up a large square. In the middle of it was the church of “Sveta Petka”, consisting of three chapels symmetrically arranged with Saint Basil (Sveti Vasilei) to the east, Saint Gregory (Sveti Grigorei) to the north and Saint John (Sveti Jovan) to the south. The almost fifty metre tall tower at the monastery entrance housed the bells that woke Stefan. This was the most impressive building in the city. From his window Stefan spotted the coach in which he had arrived here over the Danube two summers ago. It was parked near the shed with the collapsed roof and a monk and a novice were getting it ready for travel.

“Oh, today is the day,” said Stefan to himself remembering that today he was going to Kraiova. He felt excited about going on a trip. The road he had come on from Istanbul was still carved in his mind. His youthful brain absorbed everything it saw and heard during the long trip from the village huts to the city houses and inns. He remembered everything that he’d experienced from his arrival in Varna by boat and the long journey by coach that took him through Bulgaria, Shumen, Razgrad and Rushchuk. Razgrad, the smallest of the three cities, which consisted of about two thousand five hundred

houses, had the most antiquities. Only one third of the houses belonged to Christians.

“Razgrad – razuran grad (ruined city) hence its name,” said Stefan making the connection. There were many stones, support poles and statues in the ruins. The only other place that contained so much debris was the port of Istanbul… Stefan remembered from when he’d boarded the boat that brought him here. After leaving Razgrad Stefan remembered stopping at Pisnitsa for a short while then traveling for five hours before reaching Rushchuk, the final city before the Danube. They spent the night there before sailing to Duvan the next morning. They arrived in Giurgievo, the first city in Walachia located on the opposite side of Rushchuk. (Giurgievo or Giurgiu in Romanian; Rushchuk or Ruse in Bulgarian.) The coast of this city was full of islands and canals. There were long walls on the largest island guarded by soldiers. Then they sailed along the canal in front of Giurgievo where they were greeted by a wide wall.

“This wall was built by the Romans and fortified over time to prevent attacks beyond the Danube. The Russians built the tower behind the wall eight years ago,” explained his uncle, the abbot.

Father Daniel had made all the arrangements for this trip just like he had the last time when they were welcomed by the monks in Giurgievo. It was a long way to Kraiova. They would have to travel for days through all kinds of landscapes and situations. During this trip, just after they left Giurgievo for Bucharest, a sandstorm struck which made it difficult for them to see and breathe. Nothing could have been worse, as the abbot explained at the time:

“It’s okay now but when it rains hard and the snow melts fast, the Danube floods and carries torrents of mud and debris, dragging trees, roots and dead livestock. The river carries so much debris it becomes impossible to cross.”

And it’s true; the road from the Danube to Bucharest goes through a plain traversing many rivers, pastures and swamps which flood during the wet season. One could see the snow-capped mountain peaks in the distance in Transylvania on the way to Bucharest.

“Are you ready?” asked Father Daniel, startling Stefan.

“I am Father; I was distracted thinking about the trip.”

“Let’s go and have a quick breakfast. It’s going to be a long trip.”

After he washed and got ready, Stefan went to eat breakfast. There were tables covered with thin tablecloths set under the long porch and carpets lay on the benches. The monks and nuns sat in wait as the abbot delivered the breakfast prayer. They were having cold, sour corn porridge.

“This is it! Eating with the monks and nuns here isn’t like eating back home (in Macedonia). With the firefighting measures imposed by Karadzha, the new master, the kitchen is far and the food is cold,” said Father Daniel justifying himself to Stefan.

“The food is fine! I’m satisfied with it, with the bread, the plums and other fruits we eat,” said Stefan calmly, trying not to worry his uncle about the food. Stefan remembered his mother telling him not to worry his uncle too much. So he did as his mother had told him. To change the subject he asked his uncle:

“How will they prevent fires, Father, when fires always existed?”

“Well, they made sure kitchens and chimneys are away from flammable materials. The authorities go to kitchens and inns where there are dry leaves, dry brush and dry grass and make sure they’re cleared. The government makes sure the chimneys are cleaned because the soot is fine and can catch fire. They make sure that the entire city doesn’t suffer from one unattended chimney,” concluded Father Daniel and dismissed Stefan so that he could go and get ready. When he went back to his room, Stefan thought about what his uncle had said about the fires. He then remembered what his uncle had said when he first arrived here:

“The monastery was built by Mihail Kantakuzin about seventy years ago, on top of an old church, and was repaired after a fire took place about forty years ago when hundreds of houses, shops and churches burned down in the city.”

“Was the tower damaged?” Stefan asked his uncle.

“Partly, but it was repaired the same summer. It was weird that the tallest building in Bucharest would catch fire!”

“It’s different somehow! There are many towers in Istanbul. This one is similar in size to the Galata Tower, but different from all the others!”

“You have a sharp eye! It wasn’t built by local people or by anyone under Ottoman rule. It wasn’t built by the Russians, Hungarians, or Austrians. It was built by people from the northernmost part of Europe. It was built by King Carlo of Sweden’s soldiers. When King Carlo was defeated by Tsar Peter at Poltava (a river in Ukraine, the site of the historic battle of 1709 between Tsar Peter the Great of Russia and Charles XII of Sweden), the then Sultan gave King Carlo’s soldiers refuge here. A symbol was placed at the entrance above the small room in the attic and two guards stood above the gates.”

“They are waiting for you at the hospital for the medicine,” said Deacon Kozma from behind the door, disrupting Stefan’s thoughts.

“Let me finish here first!” replied Stefan from the room. Then, after packing and loading, he went to the hospital.

The monastery hospital was the oldest hospital in Bucharest. It was opened during the summer before the fire. It was later rebuilt based on the Venetian hospitals which had a doctor, a barber and orderlies. The pharmacy was full of medicinal herbs, ointments and balms. There were many medical books brought from everywhere that dealt with diagnosing and monitoring the sick and various other therapies to use. Stefan learned the Church Slavonic and Greek scripts and kept the monastery books. He also mastered the Latin language which allowed him to study the medical books. The hospital had twelve beds for men and women and was supported by the monastery.

“The booklets have all kinds of information on when and how much medication to prescribe, God forbid if it’s needed,” said the doctor before saying goodbye to Stefan. Stefan wasn’t happy about the doctor leaving. He wasn’t happy listening to his uncle giving him a lecture:

“By entering here, you have entered a godly court. You have left human nature and entered the care of Christ’s grace. But when you go there you will be tested whether you will take the right or wrong path. You are a quick learner son, but you need to have a little humility. You need to be thoughtful and patient so that you don’t have regrets. There you will be in the midst of laymen with envy, malice and greed. Don’t let their pride and titles fool you, even if they are worshipers. They could have gained their titles with bribes and by crooked means, like the patriarchs. For example a sultan from a different (non-Christian) religion appointed patriarchs; the man who offered him the highest bribe. Those men were loyal to the sultan. People like that are unworthy; stay away from them.”

His uncle paused for a moment and continued:

“Those patriarchs are also enemies of the Greeks, their own kind. They condemn Christian revolts about which the Greeks are most bitter. Their sons are in their trusted service, from dragomans (high-ranking interpreters and diplomats in Ottoman negotiations with other countries) to royalty. Sixteen summers ago Mavrogeni was the prince of Walachia, and six more summers of Moldavia. He fought against the Russians during the Russian-Ottoman war during which he was captured and imprisoned for thirteen years before his death. He died loyal to the sultan. According to the fatal man’s name, he was one of us. Patriarch Samuel Handzherli was a “handzher”, meaning he was well connected with the Ottoman hierarchy. Apparently one of his grandfathers had saved a sultan. Handzherli and Ioaniki Karadzha were Ohrid’s greatest opponents. Why am I telling you this about them? ...Let this be your first lesson, if patriarchs could harm Christians for the sake of other religions imagine what kind of harm laymen can do to you. If they managed to plant our people in the Archbishop’s yard, to sell him and their own families, imagine what an outsider or a villain could do to deceive the most faithful, and the kind of harm they could do to you.

And just like our Archbishop Arsenei who offered his resignation and ended up on ‘Mount Athos’ in a cell, with devalued royal decrees and letters, you could end up just like him. So be careful what you write and do, so that you don’t end up in a worse cell. Justice comes after the bad, because ‘if someone does bad, bad will come back to haunt them’. But by then it will be too late. Handzherli expelled Arsenei in the summer and he ended up in a cell. What happened after everything from Ohrid left us? The evil which deceived eventually took the deceivers, temporarily punishing them and then throwing them into new sins to be revealed just like the fornications between Roxana Karadzha and Samuel Handzherli. False dignity has an unworthy end. Why do I say this to you? ...This is another lesson for you. You need to keep your eyes open and mind sharp. You have an important job to do in Kraiova where you will be keeping the books for the tailor Ion. The old economist will introduce you and then leave you to be with his son. You will meet all kinds of people there. This is how you will learn the craft, but you must keep your eyes open!” concluded his uncle.

“Of course, father, I will be careful. If you don’t wear spiritual clothes you become prey for the cunning one. Only a spiritualist knows the right way. Philosophers speak of wisdom but have no solutions to problems. Forgive me if I’m wrong!”

“You are forgiven Stefan by me and by God. I will continue with the lessons. It’s the duty of the older people to teach the younger lessons. You are at your most vulnerable summers, when anger, impatience and energy get in the way of wisdom, patience and humility which hold your salvation,” said Father Daniel, extending his right hand to Stefan, who accepted it and kissed it gently over his fingers.

Father Daniel continued:

“May your path, home and work be blessed; May the providence of God guide you, and may God always be with you through the Holy Spirit, to protect you from temptation with which the ever-cunning one will attack, Amen!” concluded Father Daniel, making a cross in the air with his right hand folded over Stefan’s slightly bowing head, similar to when clergy read the Gospel or perform rites.

“Never start doing work without a blessing,” said his uncle, the abbot, as he hugged Stefan and escorted him to the coach.

Deacon Kosma and a novice accompanied Stefan on the long journey. The moment they were settled the coach started to roll and they went through the small tunnel under the tower. As they passed through the gates, Stefan was becoming aware that he was leaving this sacred place and going to a strange and unknown place. He was overwhelmed by sorrow that weighed on him.

As he left the monastery he remembered how diverse the world beyond this great tower was before he arrived here. It seemed as if, from this outer and distant side, everything was different. It’s true, for Stefan the world was different even before; when he used to return from the city with provisions, from visits to other places or from other needs, but this time it wasn’t the same. In those days he rejoiced seeing the tall tower from afar, which seemed like a raised hand waving at him to welcome him in the warm embrace of the monastery. And now it seemed like he was saying goodbye to all that forever. But, as the coach wheels continued to bounce over the cobbled stones on the street and amidst the clacking rhythm of horse hooves hitting the stone slabs, Stefan’s thoughts turned to Kraiova. Uncertainty worried him so much so that he didn’t notice the bright sky and the clear glow of the day. Deacon Kozma, who was aware of Stefan’s problem, began to talk to him in an attempt to console him.

“How are you feeling? Are you anxious about how it’s going to be…? Don’t worry; everything will be okay for you. You are going to be with a respectable man in Kraiova. He is a friend of the abbot. You will be well looked after!”

“It’s okay, but I don’t know anyone there! I came to the monastery with my uncle and he was by my side until I got into things. Who will help me there…? Who do I have?”

“You are right about that…! I will help you with some things. Time will help you with the rest! It will take time before things settle down. It will take some time to make new friends. Soon you will be

able to visit places, meet new people and make friends. And when you’re among new friends you will not be alone.”

They passed by the two fountains and a small pond in the middle of a park. These were built by Master Ypsilanti three summers ago. Stefan remembered seeing them before. Every time he passed by there he used to stop and enjoy the tranquility and their beauty. But now it seemed like they didn’t exist. Stefan was so preoccupied in his own thoughts that he left them behind without looking at them. It got worse on the streets. He refused to look at the houses they were passing by. No one spoke. The only sounds heard were the squeaking of the coach, the noises the horses made and the barking of the dogs in the distance.

Stefan was physically in the coach but his disembodied being was somewhere far away. It was further away from the monastery and from this world. He visited every corner of his past journeys. He even returned to Istanbul to visit his relatives and then went back to his native village Linotopi. When he got there his strength was shaken by deep feelings that led to a quiet cry. There he was with the closest people in his family - his father Dimitria, his mother Despina, his sister Maria and his brother Konstantin. And when he remembered the victims of Linotopi, tears welled up in his eyes. He was especially sad about his older brother Giorgi who was presumed to be dead. Stefan remembered the long dusty road that extended to infinity. He remembered the view of Linotopi and little Giorgi starting out in the yard and going down the road towards “Dolno Maalo”. He remembered the poor boy happily rushing down the road with the privilege of being the eldest son who had fulfilled his father’s wishes. He remembered the warmth of his grandparents waiting for Giorgi. Stefan also remembered that there was some childish jealousy in him because of that. He remembered angrily looking at his brother as he disappeared down the hill. Unfortunately Giorgi disappeared forever, leaving his family behind. Stefan’s memory of his native home in the south, while the coach traveled westward, caused him pain. Being well aware of this, Deacon Kozma silently tried to help Stefan ease his anxiety and loneliness. After they had left the city and were far beyond it, they could still see the monastery tower that dominated Bucharest, looking smaller and smaller as they made their way along the dusty road. Both the

bell tower and the huge German clock, whose hour and minute hands were now blurred by distance, were procured in Vienna. As the coach traveled further and further, the bell tower, left behind, was disappearing into the horizon until finally it was no longer visible. Only the road leading them west was now clear. But that too seemed to disappear somewhere beyond the vast plains and hills in the distance ahead of them.