i.

The epic poems of Serbia are some of the most artistically refined pieces of art Europe has created. Few have ever heard of them. They were poems and epics written in defeat, after the fall of the last Serbian capital at Krushevats at the end of the 14th century. Defeat for the Serbs is not the end, but only a pause before the next battle of liberation. Given that today, Serbia is a colony of the global oligarchy, the lines of the epic poetry seem vividly salient. When the next Karageorge will appear is anyone’s guess, but sources deep within the Serbian nationalist movement speak of widespread defeatism. In 2004, when the nationalist Radical Party swept the Serbian elections (along with the more or less nationalist Socialist party), NATO simply annulled them, installing instead a puppet government beholden solely to the oligarchy.

The single most powerful aspect of the epic poetry has already been hinted at by St. Nikolaij of Ohrid, that the life of the sacraments, the ascetic life of Orthodoxy is the same as that of the warrior: both have to give up any selfish pretensions that their life is somehow “theirs” but rather belongs to the people, to Serbia and to God. Both the warrior ethic and that of the ascetic are identical: the giving up of one’s life and comfort to Serbia and the God who has chosen her.

Today, since the war against Serbia began in 1995, American publishers have been put on a high level of official surveillance. The works on Serbian history over the last decade have been forced to ignore Serbian culture and tradition and focus on what is termed “myth,” which is a code word for whatever aspects of the Serbian tradition are threatening to the oligarchy. Outside of a handful of websites such as the Serbian Unity Congress (www.suc.org), nothing of substance is being published on Serbia and her martial/ascetic tradition. Of course, this book is a meek attempt to help rectify this situation.

We will begin with the longest of the poems, the Montenegrin Mountain Wreath, written by the poet/bishop/monarch, Petar II Petrovic Njegos in 1847. Then the shorter poems will be dealt with, none of which have a single author or date of authorship; as they are the crystallization of a nation in defeat, but a nation hopeful and mindful of their traditions and sacred rites.

ii

Njegos writes this in the first lines of the epic, setting the stage for the connection between the sacraments and the war for liberation:

Several things are of interest here: first, that a lion comes forth from a bush, a reference to the Burning Bush in the Old Testament, where God spoke from. Karageorge, in leading the first modern war for national liberation in 1804 against the Turks, is said to have “christened the land.” The sacrament of chrisimation is the reception of a catechumen into the Orthodox faith, it is the seal of his baptism and the bond of connection between the Holy Spirit and the catechumen, recently washed with the water of baptism. In this case, the removal of the Turks means both the rebirth of the church as well as the rebirth of the public worship within Orthodoxy, largely banned under Turk rule. Here, an explicit connection is made between the sacraments and the warrior ethic of leading a war of liberation.

The central theme in this poem is the destruction of treason: those in Montenegro who have converted to the Turk religion for political gain. Of course, Christianity is not a religion of pacifism but of warfare, whether spiritual or physical. The Orthodox church was nurtured in war, whether against the Mongols, The Turks, the Persians, the communists, NATO, the United States and so many others, Christ says: “I came not to bring peace, but the sword.” Christianity would not have survived had it not been part of a state or an empire, with its armies to fight off those who would have liquidated the faith at the first chance. The fact that the religion of Christ is somehow equated with passivity simply shows the level to which it has been brought under the regime of the oligarchs, who need a Christianity not threatening to them. Certainly not the true Orthodoxy represented in this epic.

He writes further:

There can be no question that Islam is a “political religion.” In other words, there is no present God, only the “cosmic general” Allah, who promises his faithful troops carnal pleasures in heaven if they fight for him. For Islam, there are two regions, the sphere of war, and the sphere of Allah. The former represents all aspects of the globe where Islam is not dominant. In societies where Islam has not taken over, they demand equal recognition, using trite liberal phrases, usually supported by amazingly stupid liberal people. As soon as they reach a critical mass, a certain percentage of the population, they begin the war of conquest: this has been the pattern in Nigeria, Sudan, Indonesia, the Philippines, Thailand, western China, Burma, Trinidad and Tobago, Chechnya, Bosnia and dozens of other places. There are no exceptions to this rule. Throughout the Mideast, they have all but wiped out competing religions, and even secular Islamic states such as Egypt have placed many legal and semi-legal burdens on non-Muslims. Therefore, the words printed above are fact, that Islam is a creed of the warrior only (much like Japanese Bushido) and seeks a world state under the rule of Shar’ria. The reference to France is to Charles Martel, who stopped the advance of Islam into Europe after the fall of Spain to the Muslims in the Middle Ages.

The dark thoughts of the bishop are quickly interrupted by a warrior, Vuk Mikonovic. He makes reference to two things: first, that it seems if the bishop has lost his faith in God by his negativity. The bishop is complaining about the fact that so many among the Serbs have converted and have become servants of the Turk. The warrior reminds him (in an interesting dialectic between the ascetic and the warrior) that this day is his Slava day, the day of the protecting saints of heaven, and that is a sign of hope. The Slava was the only institution open to Serbs who did not convert, and it became the most important day of the calendar. The slava day is the day of days, the last line of defense against the Turk and his strictly warrior creed if Islam. Those who wish to “de-ethnize” Orthodoxy are either willing or unwilling instruments of the regime, who need a defanged and weak Orthodoxy to manipulate. “Our struggle won't come to an end until we or the Turks are exterminated,” the warrior says. It was nothing less than this, and it was this realization where the ethnic nature of Orthodoxy was forged. Much of this introductory part of the epic is made up of laments at the sheep like nature of the people in this time. Conquest has led to defeat, and continued occupation has led to defeatism. The warrior speak s again and reminds the bishop/monarch that th young are being trained in the martial arts, and will soon take up the holy standard of rebellion.

The kolo (or circle), acts in this epic very much like the chorus in ancient Greek epics. The circle provides the background, a sort of semi-ideological foundation for the conversations between the principle participants at the meetings where the warriors and bishops meet to plan the much needed extermination of traitors from their midst. The Kolo sings this:

The theological aspects of this should be obvious. Christ was given gall on a sponge at His crucifixion. Here, the Serbian nation is that which is crucified at the hands of both the sick Turk empire as well s those even sicker, those who became Turkish for political gain. Keep in mind that throughout the epic poetry, both Serb and Turk are cast in primarily religious, not ethnic terms. A Turk was a Muslim, therefore one could “convert to Turkish.” The cryptic statement that honey and gall are swallowed both together makes a statement relevant both to the warrior as well as the ascetic life. The nature of struggle, the nature of warfare, whether spiritual or physical, is the notion that growth comes from the dialectic of good and evil, or rather, that the nature of the struggle is such that evil is used to bring about good, that struggle is about using evils for good ends. The ascetic life in Orthodoxy does not “make up” for sins, as the heretical Latins maintain, but rather to steel oneself from committing further sins. The ascetic life is a sort of “boot camp” where the sufferings of training in the martial arts make one less vulnerable to being killed on the battlefield. Vuk Micunovic says a bit later: “Without effort no great song can be sung; without effort no saber can be forged ”

In this same vein the bishop speaks:

The central notion here is the nature of honor. Islam is a worldly warrior sect. Calling it a religion is to render the nature of religion meaningless. It is primarily secular. Therefore, if one honors the Cross, one honors the life of heaven, and its imitation in the ascetic life on earth. If one honors the crescent, then one honors the secular warrior code (very different from the Christian warrior code). It should also be noted that the crescent of Islam denotes both the fact that it derives from the pagan worship of the Moon god, at one time dominant in Arabia, as well as, more significantly, representing a naval formation. The Islamic navy would attack in a surrounding formation, much like a crescent. The bishop laments that “the moon seems to be my only sun,” a direct reference to the historical connection between Islam and pagan moon worship.

It is interesting that in the midst of this confrontation between the Turk and the Serb, the subject of women comes up, and it comes up again and again. Of course, it is a natural and instinctive trait for men of substance to seek the defense of women, as they are physically weaker than men and serve often as “booty” for foreign enemies. The Serbian warlords speak of the instability of their wives, even to the point of believing them possessed. Earlier in the epic, one warrior speaks of his wife running away with a Turk. Now, several things are at issue here. First, the traditional (and factual) notion of women is that they are highly impressionable and unstable, in that they will search after what will protect them, what will, in addition, provide them with power. A strong man, therefore, is necessary to keep women’s nature in check, for without a strong man, women become whores, looking for acceptance and protection, and using their bodies as collateral. It is at the basis of the present debasing of masculinity under the system of the oligarchs, for “liberated” woman is liberated from something, and, in this case, it is liberation from strong men (particular husbands or fathers). Male feminists exist because they realize a simple truth: if women are “liberated” from strong husbands or fathers, they become easy prey for the sexually motivated man. In this case, the battle against the female nature exists because of the dangers of assimilation, where a strong Turkish man will dominate a Christian woman, bringing up the children as Turks. Keeping women’s nature in check became a matter of defending the fatherland against genocide, both culturally and physically. However, later in the poem, the beautiful girl who has captured the heart of Vuk Mandusic has also lost many members of her family to the Turk. The description of her weeping by the field fire tells another side of women’s nature, that of the loyal wife, or in her case, sister. Though women are easily led and manipulated, the emotional ties to family (and in her case, strong brothers maintained her loyalty) are very difficult to break. In other words, the emotional and symbolic nature of woman can either be manipulated against, as well as for, the true Serb rebel.

One of the Turkish negotiators says this to the Christians:

How similar is this statement to our theological modernists today who demand the church become defanged, or de-ethnicized. This statement from the Turk is clear proof that the process of de-ethnicization is tantamount to cultural genocide and conversion to Islam or secularism in general.

The Turks at the negotiating table have the nerve to say that the two peoples can live together. Suddenly, the Turk becomes an ecumenist when it serves his interest. The reader is supposed to see through this drivel of course, and such an ecumenical course is merely a means to soften up the Serb resistance for the final blow, that is, the destruction, one way or anther, of the remaining Serb rebels. Little has changed to this day, and the ecumenical movement has nothing else but this in mind, the trivialization of the true faith and the martyrs who died for it. Any Serb that has any relations with ecumenical bodies acts no differently than the Serbs who converted to the pseudo-faith of Mohammed.

The next part of the epic is when the vizier of the pasha makes a tour of his domains. It is significant that part of his mission is to “tighten the reins of the raya.” The term raya was a term used by the Turk to designate true Serb rebels, or actually, any Serb who is a subject of the Ottomans. It is akin to the Jewish goyim, and means “the others,” or more accurately, cattle. The Turk representative says in his letter that resistance is futile, and no one can resist the Ottomans. It is a call to convert, which, in the Orthodox faith, is a call to death and eternal punishment. The bishop answers him by recounting the deeds of all who have defeated the Turk in battle, from the French to the Austrians.

Afterwards, Obrad, a young warrior, awakes from his sleep and tells of his dream:

The symbolism here is everywhere. Firstly, it begins as a public procession with the cross. Processions in Orthodoxy are found everywhere, but especially at Pascha, as well as the Sunday of Orthodoxy, or the “Triumph of Orthodoxy” over the heretics. It seems clear that it is this festival that is alluded to here. It is public, and therefore, it represents the defeat of the Ottomans, for they banned all public processions of Holy Orthodoxy, as they realized that it was the ethnic Orthodoxy of the peasant that threatened them the most. Secondly, the sun was bright and the ground hard. The sun represents Christ, but in his vengeance and punishment, which is a common metaphor in eastern literature. The hard ground represents the sufferings necessary to reach the “Triumph of Orthodoxy,” not just in the ancient world, but also in modern Serbia. When this poem was written, the Turks had suffered many defeats at th hands of the Serb peasant, with massive losses for the Serbian side.

Thirdly the procession stops at an oasis, an apple tree next to a brook. This represents the fruits of victory against the heretic. Furthermore, the apple in Serbian lore represents future generations. In this case, they represent future Serbs who grow up in a free and Orthodox Serbia. The long hard road with the burning sun ends at Eden, complete with the apples. They stop and rest. Then, the warriors Martinovic get up and scale the walls of a church. The scaling represents the struggle, for it is a military manouevre. The warriors go inside the altar, significant in itself for laymen are only rarely permitted there, and women not at all. The warriors, that is, have earned their place at the altar, and represent a true mingling of the ascetic and warrior principles. The cross shone like the sun, again Christ, but represented in his mercy and compassion. Such brilliant ethnic Christian symbolism has never been written before or since.

Though slightly off our topic, the discussion of the Venetian republic made in the poem is extraordinary, and a piece of historical evidence historians cannot ignore (though they universally have). Venice is depicted as one might expect of an oligarchy: a significant cleavage between rich and poor, and a court system controlled by the rich. The beggars were everywhere, and no one helped them. In an oligarchy, money is the only good, and those with it have, according to their view, have a right to oppress others. The descriptions of the poor in Venice are heart wrenching, and bear little difference to the typical American under the Global Oligarchy.

The principles of Venice have been transferred to the institutions of global control, from NATO to the IMF to Chase Manhattan Bank. One must also keep in mind that in Serbian history, it is around the time of the writing of the Mountain Wreath when the western oligarchy, represented b y Vienna, began to place the peasantry, at one time completely free and prosperous, into debt slavery. In the mid-nineteenth century, peasant debt began to skyrocket under the westernized regime, and Beograd began to look more and more like Venice. There is no question that the author here is making reference to western attacks on the peasantry. The regime in Venice is controlled by “spies and secret policemen,” unheard of in Medieval Serbia, but a central set of institutions for an oligarchy who rules by money is necessary, and thus makes enemies of all citizens who it needs to control. It is also significant that the connection between the occult and oligarchy is emphasized by the warrior Obrad. In the marketplace near the Bay of Kotor (a major trading port), the Venetians would use hallucinations and sleights of hand to trick the simple Slavic peasantry. The use of magic and spells to control the population was reported to be one of the main sources of the Venetians’s strength among the peasantry of the Slav lands. Oligarchies are always interested in alchemy and other aspect of occultism, for it is an ideological predisposition for such people to believe life can be drawn from dead matter, as money is.

Afterwards, a group of young women come near the meeting place, wailing for a fallen family member, Batric. Again, the good side of the female nature is emphasized; loyalty and the maintenance of family honor once the male warrior has been killed. The wailing songs are typical and not remarkable, but what is significant is that the leaders of the Serbs approach the women, who act as messengers concerning Batric’s death. This is the mirror image of the Biblical narrative of the women at the tomb, who bring the good news to the disciples. Again, within the death of a true hero comes hope, and the use of the Biblical imagery here is the manifestation of that hope.

Afterwards, a group of Serb warriors approach the meeting. Among them is a priest, Father Mico. He is given a letter to read, and he cannot, he is basically illiterate. Of course, this is not meant insultingly, but rather that it represents the state of the priesthood under the Turk domination. They were kept from their schooling. In medieval Serbia, the clergy were literate, as were a substantial number of the peasantry. Literacy was universal around port cities and the coastlands. It is significant that the priest says he knows all the proper services of the church by heart. This was not uncommon in Turk-controlled Serbia. It was also the case throughout much of Russian history. It is the case that though many were illiterate, this did not stop them from being cultured, memorizing the services of the church, the psalter and many other things from their Byzantine and Bulgarian inheritance. This was common in medieval times.

iii.

The female theme is again brought about with the appearance of the witch. She is a woman from Bar who has made “amulets” which she says will protect from guns. She again, represents woman from the bad side, the side without male guidance. She becomes a manipulator and s deceiver. As women without strong male leadership become whores using their bodies to control, older women use witchcraft. The result is the same and represents the same bad aspects of the female nature. The women is brought before the Serb council, and at the very presence of strong Serb men begins to repent, as if brought before the icons– she is brought before living icons of martyrdom and true Christian worship.

As night falls, a blood red moon rises, and an earthquake shakes the landscape. At this time, Abbot Stepan, blind, comes to the gathering, with his prayer rope in hand. (NB - this is usually translated as “rosary.” It is actually a chotki, or the prayer rope of the Orthodox monastics. It is not a “rosary,” and any similarities between it and the Latin practice is coincidental). In Stepan both the royal and the ascetic are manifest. Stepan is the royal Serbian name, and all Serbian Grand Zupans were called Stepan.

Stepan is questioned on his “counting” of his “beads.” First of all, this is a horrid translation. He is not counting. He is saying the “Jesus prayer” over and over on the knots of wool which make up the chotki (usually 100, although this varies). Some of the Knezes, however, do not see the utility in this and suggest that its “for nothing.” For some of the Serbian rebels, they may have lost some of their Orthodoxy, which is another point the author makes here.

Abbot Stepan is asked to tell a story. The blind ascetic tells them that to encourage the rebellion within the context of Orthodoxy is precisely the reason why he came to the gathering. Here, it is seen in the most clear light, that the ascetic and the royal, or warrior ethic is identical, represented in the same person.

Stepan begins to tell them that he traveled all over the Christian world, especially in the Middle East, to the monasteries and holy places there. It should be noted that this also was the travels of St. Sava, who traveled though the Orthodox world and especially the Mideast. The abbot has seen the affects of Islam upon the Orthodox peoples. His comment that “the rivers do not have the bed to support the flow,” is a reference to the low level of theological education of the clergy, both in the Islamic Mideast as well as Turk controlled Serbia. The waters are both the waters of baptism as well as the word of God. Christ himself said to the Samaritan woman that He will give the pure waters from heaven to her and those who believe. The bed is a foundation, and that foundation that supports the waters needs to be solid, a good grounding in doctrine and history. At present, given the depredations of Islam and secularism, this foundation is lacking. The Abbot says this:

It should not be surprising that the Abbot strengthens the brethren assembled by saying that the duties to protect family, church and fatherland is what separate the men from to boys, so to speak. Each of these struggles manifests the divine order, he says, in bringing about the perfection of those who believe in Him. The climax of the story comes in the next few lines, which summarize the entire purpose of this epic, done, appropriately enough, by Stepan, who embodies Serbia: both monarch and ascetic:

Your destiny it is to bear the Cross of the fierce fight against brothers and foes The wreath's heavy, but the fruit is so sweet Without death there is no resurrection. Under a shroud of glory I see you and our nation's honor resurrected. I also see the altar turned eastward and a fragrant incense burning on it. Die in glory, if die indeed you must Wounded honor inspires courageous hearts; those hearts cannot tolerate such illness. The altar by pagans desecrated will once again receive the grace of God.

These are the fruits of the struggle. After telling his story, all sleep after their meal. The abbot alone stays awake, manifesting the Serbs hope for liberation. The figure of the abbot, both priest, prophet and king, remaining sleepless, praying, is Serbia, or the eternal idea of liberation and peace. The men go into the church after they have awoke to swear in front of the icons and the altar that they will fight the Turk as a united force. The church as the context for the battle is extremely significant, for it manifests the nature of Heavenly Serbia, the building of human iconastases of martyrdom for nation and faith, united in the single person of the abbot, then, more generally, in the swearing the oath in the church. There is no rebellion without Orthodoxy, and no purpose to fight without her strength and memory.

iv.

The next scene is Christmas eve: The badnyak log is being laid in the shape of a cross, and the abbot asks for a liter and a half of wine, drinking to the customs of the Serbs. Here is a direct assault on the recent “de-ethnicization” campaigns brought about by many pseudo-bishops of American Orthodoxy. It is these customs that bind the Serb to the Church, not abstract theology. Those there is always a place for the didactic study of doctrine, for the simple folk, it is custom and tradition that bind him to the faith.

Abbot Stepan’s Christmas song is another summary of the Serbian ethic, and the nature of Christian nationalism:

There is a clear statement here about tradition, represented by the three generations dancing the kolo. The Abbot’s references to Athos and Kiev show that, even within the ethnic nationalism of the Serbs, the true universal nature of Christian dogma is never forgotten. One does not contradict the other, but rather elevates the other. It might also be noted that the bishop is technically superior to the abbot, but in this context it is the abbot that teaches the bishop, and the bishop is clear the actual inferior to the abbot.

Afterward, a student tells the Abbot of a great battle that took place on Christmas Day. The Serb rebels killed Turks and those loyal to them, while those that converted (or converted back), were spared and called brothers. The abbot quickly acts to give communion to all present, lest they die in any coming battle without the sacrament. The abbot says that no communion preparation is necessary due to the nature of the emergency. This is significant, for many Serbs only receive the sacraments twice a year. The bishop author here seems to be condemning such a practice, with is not a traditional Orthodox one. Serbs need to being receiving more frequently, given the nature of our contemporary emergency.

A battle had been fought at Cetinje, the capital of Montenegro an the seat of hits chief monastery, yet anther identification of the monastic life with political/warrior life. The battle was another defeat for the Turks, and many of the oppressors were slaughtered. For the abbot, the deaths of the Serbs on that battle field were for the best, and the cause of joy, for Serbs would have more heavenly intercessors and more heroes to boast of. Death in battle for the cross is the ultimate measure of self-sacrifice. It is the ultimate asceticism, and it is the cause for joy, terrible though the deaths were.

v.

The main distinction between the longer and shorter poetry is that the latter deal primarily with the Battle of Kosovo itself. The Mountain Wreath deals with a specific aspect of that loss, namely the occupation and attempted genocide of the Serbian nation.

However, in beauty, style and emotion, the shorter poems are ever the match for the longer masterpiece. I deal with a handful of the best known poems that have made their way onto the web and, to some extent into the consciousness of Slavists, who, as usual, misinterpret and misunderstand them. Among the shorter poems, there is even a more powerful intersection between the ascetic, or sacramental life, on the one hand and the warrior, royalist creed, on the other. In no other cycle of poems has this all important intersection been made more clear or more profound.

There is no specific date for these poems, as they are the crystallization of an oral tradition. However, they have been collected in comparatively modern times and arranged in no specific order. They are a calcified understanding of the battle of Kosovo in the popular imagination; in the emotional waves that follow defeat and occupation. Western scholars have no conception of any of this. They live in comparatively stable and prosperous societies, and make their snide judgements from their air-conditioned offices. To truly understand this cycle, one must try to get into the heads of those defeated and humiliated, tortured regularly by a vicious and inhuman occupation, facing the threat of violent death, and that of their families every moment the occupation lasts. Without this leap of the imagination, as well as a thorough knowledge of the Slavic Orthodox tradition, historical dilettantism will be the invariable result.

In “The Downfall of the Serbian Kingdom,” the author makes a clear identity between the talons of a falcon and the prophet Elias (sometimes spelled “Elijah.”) Instead of its prey, the prophet holds in his hands a letter from the Mother of God. It might be noted that both the prophet and the Theotokos were taken up to heaven bodily, in other words, they were both “assumed” in the theological meaning of that term. Thus, the identity between the two makes more sense. The note from the Virgin sounds a familiar Serbian theme, a theme that has defined the Serbian people: whether Lazar will chose the heavenly or earthly path. If he choose earthly glory, he will defeat his foes, if the heavenly, he will be defeated, but counted among the martyrs of heaven. Lazar chooses the heavenly.

The facts of the case bear out this interpretation: St. Lazar knew his armies were inferior to the Turk, but he fought regardless, even though he knew he could have worked out a state of vassalage from the Sultan. He chose that of martyrdom rather than see his people choke under the violent yoke of the Islamicists. For Lazar in the poem, his view is that earthly glory fades, while heavenly glory does not. Certainly, the consistent move to monasteries of Serbian rulers throughout the centuries prove that this view is no mere mythmaking, but part of the soul of the Serb, that the monastic struggle gives what the earthly struggles do not–eternal life.

As Lazar gathers his forces, he attends church with the twelve bishops (some Slavists claim St. Sava founded nine sees, others twelve), showing an identity of the ascetic and warrior creed. For Lazar, power and riches are not ends in themselves, but eternal life is, and thus his decision is made.

In the poem “Dinner in Krushevats,” the last Serbian capital, the first two lines show the identity between the proper worship of God and the nature of warfare: he is celebrating his slava in a well protected fortress. Thus two aspects of the Serb soul are laconically shown: the veneration of the saints and the fortress; in many hymns to the saints the fortress imagery is used, and explicitly in the case of the Theotokos, in both the Canon and the Akathist to her, this metaphor is used, and is clearly being used her as well.

As his lords are present and identified by the author, it is written, “Now the Tsar lifts up his golden goblet.” Here, a direct liturgical reference is made, as, during the consecration, the golden cup is raised to God by the priest. Afterwards, Lazar goes though the roster of the nobles, each with his specific virtue. Here, all Serbia, unified, is represented; all its areas and prior divisions, divisions which helped the fall of Serbia become a reality. It is also a reference to the 12 tribes of Israel, as Gods chosen people, the Serbs among them, fighting Europe’s battle, as well as Orthodoxy’s for the faith. In Israel too, a division between the Judean kingdom and the south brought untold suffering upon the Hebrews.

In the poem “Captain Milos and Ivan Kosanchic” the author writes that “if the Serbs were changed into grains of salt, we would not be able to salt the Turk’s dinners ” Salt is a metaphor known from the Bible, where grains of salt that lose their flavor are compared to those who lose the faith. The notion that Serbs would not flavor anything is not merely that there are so few Serbs (though that is the primary meaning), but that the Serbs left have lost their savor in disunity–a significant aspect of Serbian laments at their defeat.

The description of the Turkish hordes so large that they take up entire regions of Serbia is a metaphor for the Orthodox faith: that those who preach the true gospel are reduced to a few, while those who preach a false faith are many. The description of their armor and weapons, using wild exaggerations such as their lances “as tree trunks,” suggest not bad poetic licence, but a theological point that these man are driven by Satan, he who promises earthly wealth and benefits, and thus have been given superhuman power to defeat the people of God, disunified as the Israelites were, and doomed to their same fate.

Once the massive nature of the Turkish armies is understood, the speaker then says not to tell the Tsar, for it would instill fear in the troops. It is clear that this battle is not for earthly victory, but rather for the achievement of martyrdom.

In “Musich Stepan,” an economic angle is brought in. The first line reads, “In Maidan where they mine the purest silver...” suggests than an economic elite is being spoken of. He also resides in a large and lordly castle, suggesting he is richer than the others. He looks to the west and sees a “bright moon,” a suggestion of the power of Islam. He quotes St. Lazar to the effect that those who do not live the “heritage of Kosovo” are doomed to not have progeny. This is a significant prophesy. What this quote means is that the nature of the Kosovo battle in bringing unity to the Serbs is the true (earthly) significance of the war, not for victory and its spoils.

The lord goes to Kosovo when it suits him, and not with the Tzar. Of course, disunity is the issue here, and it is strongly suggested that economic motives are part of the force that prevents unity against the Turk enemy. The wealthy mining lord gets to Kosovo after the bulk of the battle has been lost, though he does kill several Turks. He meets a young maiden prior to this, showing his two empty goblets and a beautiful battle helmet without an owner. The empty goblets are a symbol if the end of liturgies, if the faith is destroyed by Islam, the blood of Christ will no more be drunk in Serbia. The youth of the maiden shows one important thing: the older generation have perished on the plain, the younger must now take up the banner, not of victory, but of survival. The wealthy lord says, at the words of the maiden that “the curse of Lazar” surely falls, meaning the Serbian nation is decimated, and only a handful are left to carry on. The last line of the poem reads, “With him [Lazar] died the kingdom fo the earth,” meaning that the earthly kingdom of Serbian glory, specifically Dusan, is lost, and now the kingdom of the heavenly is at hand: ascetic suffering is the norm now for all as the younger generation takes over from the old, not to mention the realm of heaven has been filled with brave Serbian martyrs.

The imagery in the poem, “Tsar Lazar and Tsaritsa Mititsa” is some of the more powerful in the cycle, and a great deal of knowledge of theology if necessary to properly understand it in its context. The first significant passage concerns the Tsaritsa’s brother, Boshko Yugovic. He carries a staff topped by a golden apple, atop which stand golden crosses and underneath which hand golden tassels. The apple and the crosses signify two overlapping notions: first, the serpent that Moses lifted high in the desert, protecting the Israelites from defeat, and second, the consciousness of sin, the apple being the forbidden fruit in the garden of Eden. Both are related, for in the Orthodox patristic tradition, the lifting of the serpent was a foreshadowing of Christ on the cross, which was to bridge the chasm that developed between God and man with the eating of the apple. The tassels signify the graces of the holy spirit. This is because the prayer rope, or chotki, has several tassels hanging from it, which in the Orthodox tradition represent these graces. The close connection between Serbian Christianity and monasticism suggest this as the most likely understanding.

In a passage reminiscent of Sophocles Antigone, the Tsaritsa tries to talk her brother out of going to war. Her brother answers her in a very normal fashion, saying that basically, duty takes precedent over family. This was the precise position of the king in Antigone. He would be mocked if he did not go to Kosovo. After, her other brothers and nobles ride past. She goes to her younger brother and lies: she says that “Lazar gives you to me as a present.” Again, here the nature of woman is woven very intricately: she is devoted to family and will do whatever it takes, even lie, to save at least one of her brothers. Even so, the young man rejects her (likely knowing the tricks of woman) and says duty comes first.

She faints. Lazar comes riding past, and tears fall from his eyes as he sees his wife. He releases a servant, Goluban, from his service to ride to Kosovo to stay with the Tsaritsa. The servants immediately begins to cry. His heart is driving him to Kosovo–he takes a horse and rides–duty comes even before a royal command.

Two blackbirds fly to the castle: they are symbols of death (and often translated as “ravens”); they tell the queen that there was a great slaughter on the plane. Just then, a servant, symbolically named Milutin (one of the great expansionist Tsars of Serbia, as well as a saint), comes riding up, severely wounded, holding his right arm, severed, in his left hand. He asks that wine be poured on his wounds. This is a reference to the story of the Good Samaritan, where the Samaritan, representing Jesus, pours oil and wine upon the beaten man: this in turn symbolizes the baptism and Eucharist of the Orthodox people. The same is meant here as wine is poured on Milutin’s body. In a certain way, Milutin’s body is Serbia itself, as Tsar Milutin was a great tsar, and responsible for setting the stage for Dusan’s later victories.

In the poem, “Tsaritsa Militsa and Vladeta the Voivod” the first lines show the Tsaritsa walking outside the castle walls: a symbol of the fact that the old fortresses of the Serbian empire no longer can protect the women–or anyone for that matter. It is here where the first news of the defeat is told. She asks the knight telling her the news an interesting question: “Did you see the husbands of my daughters.” The working of this translation is exact, because she is making reference to protection: the husband ‘s job is to protect the family as well as the nation; with them gone, the women stand exposed to the Turk.

One of the most famous poems of the cycle is called the “Kosovo Maiden.” A very famous painting of a scene in this poem has immortalized it. The first lines read:

On a Sunday early in the morning The Maid of Kosovo awoke to a brilliant sun And rolled her sleeves above her snow-white elbows; On her back she caries warn white bread And in her hands she bears two golden goblets one of water, one of dark wine.

The liturgical imagery is difficult to miss, and the “sacramental” nature of this is explicitly mentioned regardless. The two goblets represent two things, each overlapping: the water and blood that spewed out of Christ when the soldier pierced Him; and second, the sacraments of baptism and the Eucharist, typified on the Cross as well. In other words, the defeat here is really a victory, for eternal life await the men who died for Orthodoxy and Serbia.

The Maiden recounts her meetings with the Yugovici before the battle, where each gave her a present: the first a scarlet cloak, the second a gold ring and a third, a gold bracelet. They were given to her so as to remember them. All of them promise Milan the Tall as her husband (which rules out her representing the Theotokos, as the imagery would make no sense). The identity of the Kosovo maiden is very difficult to establish. The evidence, seems to point to her as being a type of Serbia, a nation as an idea rather than as a physical reality. She is given all symbols of royalty, or rather power: a scarlet cloak, a gold ring and a gold bracelet. Therefore, the woman represents “affective” Serbia, or Serbia as a memory, a romantic concept, something to be drawn to erotically. Furthermore, she may also represent at the same time, Serbia’s women, left with nothing but keepsakes of the generation that died at Kosovo; the women were left vulnerable and very much alone, maintaining the old traditions as best they could (which is the symbol of her tending the mortally wounded on the plain). The Maiden is a pathetic figure, alone and vulnerable; she is all that is left of Serbia.

Equally interesting is the poem, “The Death of the Mother of the Yugovici.” In it, the mother flies to Kosovo, seeing the dead bodies of the Yugovici, her sons. As she sees them, falcons land on their lances, and a bit further away, nine brave horses, and further still, nine lions. All of these are symbols of power: the falcon representing the warriors (this is the case in many of the Serb poems of this cycle), the horses and lion representing both Christ (who is called in Scripture the “Lion of Judah”) and Lazar himself as a Christ-like figure. Further, the use of the animal imagery also suggests that all nature laments at the defeat of the Serbian cause, nature as the creation of God and the defeat of those who properly worship Him. It is a common phenomenon at monasteries that the holiest of monks carries on an Eden-like discourse with animals: that the fiercest of animals become tame when confronted with holiness.

The mother of the Yugovici is described as “having a heart of stone,” in that she does not cry. Even as she leads the animals back to the castle, she hears the weeping of the wives of the brothers, but she herself is unmoved: she understands duty (she is an older woman), and the necessity of the battle. The women, it should be noted, as seen waling outside the fortress to meet the mother of the Yugovici, again showing their vulnerability. Eventually, upon seeing the severed hand of one of her sons, she breaks down, showing the fate of Serbia in her immediate future.

“The Miracle of Lazar’s Head” shows the centrality of hope in the epic cycle. After the severed head of Lazar has been found by travelers, it begins to roll back to where its body was, showing the hope of the rebirth of Serbia, whole, with all its territories. After seeing this, the travelers send for the “holy priests,” as well as for the major patriarchates of Orthodoxy, specifically in this case, Pec, Constantinople and Jerusalem, showing, firstly, that Lazar was to be a universal saint of Orthodoxy, not merely a Serb one, and, second, in a similar vein, that Serbia’s cause was Orthodoxy’s cause.

“The Death of Duke Prijezda” shows something else, that is, the nature of Orthodoxy and its purity. The Sultan asks the duke for three things, his sword (which has supernatural qualities), his faithful warhorse and his wife. All three have symbolism in Orthodoxy: the first, the Sword of the Spirit from the Pauline Letters (this might also include the nature of the Christian state), secondly, the war horse, or the power of will, and third, his wife, literally the women of Serbia, but more symbolically the “bride of Christ,” or the Church, which she is called in Scriptures and the patristic texts. The duke makes no compromises and says to the Sultan that he may attack his city when he will, for he will willingly give up nothing. The siege of the city lasts for three years, and “he found no way to conquer that white city [beograd].” This is a reference to the purity of Orthodoxy, which “the gates of hell shall not conquer.” The white city is a figure from the Book of Revelation, and is a type both of the church as well as the kingdom of heaven.

The wife of the duke becomes afraid and believes that the Turk will eventually try and tunnel under the Morava river. Now, this is symbolic in that the river is a symbol of thr Jordan, or, more specifically, the waters of baptism which wipe away one’s former sins. Sunday dawns and the nobles all go into the church. They do not go to hear a “mass,” which is often translated, but the “liturgy,” translated from the Greek as the “common work,” and a clearly more appropriate translation for the events here described. After the service is a desperate plan hatched: in other words, after their souls are put right, then they can worry about battles and conquests.

What follows is very interesting: the queen goes into the basement to fetch brandy and wine for the troops for their assault on the Turk forces. She sees that Turks have already broken in to this part of the castle and they “drank wine from their boots.” Given that Muslims are forbidden to drink alcohol, this is rather puzzling. Either the men are not real Muslims, but are rather traitors to the Serb nation, or that the troops do not take Islam seriously, for it is rather a military and legal doctrine rather than a religious one. It is doubtful that the author was unfamiliar with the famous prohibition of Islam, and thus a deeper meaning needs to be understood.

Eventually, the inhabitants of the white city make a desperate attack thought the main gates to the Turkish camp,. Of course, it ends in disaster and the duke breaks his sword, kills his horse, and, with his wife, commits suicide. This is not the suicide of the modern world, but a true form of martyrdom for Christ. Their suicide was not voluntary, but was considered a more worthy end than for the wife of the duke to become a part of a harem. It is not suicide properly speaking, but true martyrdom.

The poems of Marko are more replete with imagery than many of the others. Marko became himself a symbol of Serbian resistance. In the poem “Marko and the Eagle,” the eagle shades him and gives him cool water to drink. Now, anyone who knows anything about Orthodoxy knows that this eagle is the two headed eagle of the Byzantine empire: it gave Orthodoxy both “shade” (protection) underneath its wings, as well as “cool water,” which Christ says in the Scriptures are the truth of God, namely Orthodoxy, as well as baptism. The imagery is too easy for any other interpretation to make sense. The eagle speaks:

As we ate our fill of human flesh And drank our fill of human blood My wings grew wet and sticky in the sun Which burst out flaming in the crystal sky And suddenly I could not fly at all So stiff with blood & scorched had grown my wings. When all the other birds had flown away I alone remained on level Kosovo Trampled under foot by horses and by heroes. Then God sent Marko to me on that plain Who plucked me from the flowing blood of heroes And set me down behind him on the back of Sharats. He took me straight into the nearest woods And put me on the green branch of a pine. Then a gentle rain began to rain. It fell down from the sky and washed my wings, Washed away the blood of noble heroes, And I could fly above beyond the forest And join all the eagles, join my swift companions.

The imagery here is rather clear for those familiar with both the theology and history of Orthodoxy. The blood that immobilizes the eagle is both the defeat of the Serbs as well as the falling of Constantinople to the Turk. Specifically, the civil wars and political disunity that marred Byzantine-Serb relations in the generations coming before Kosovo. The details of that need not be repeated here, but the theological unity that was a fact throughout eastern Europe was not matched by political unity and common purpose. The eagle was immobilized. Understand further that all states that came under the Byzantine heritage adopted the two headed eagle in some form to make manifest this common inheritance, an inheritance that maintained unity in the midst of warfare. The first head, looking east, is the church, the second, looking west, is the state, united in one body. The “eating of flesh and drinking of blood” is a clear reference to the political disunity that even afflicted the Serbs themselves, even at their most desperate hour. Marko brings the eagle back from humiliation on the battlefield and nurses her back to health, meaning that the great heroes of the Serbian resistance, both secular and sacred, are charged with the task of rebuilding that inheritance even under the evil suzerainty of the Turk. Even deeper in the notion that the eagle represents all Orthodox civilization, suffering in defeat, from the Islamic conquests of the Mideast, the Balkans and North Africa, as well as the defeats of the Russians and Ukrainians by the Mongols (who later, unsurprisingly, converted to Islam). Orthodox civilization was at one of her lowest points in history: only the blood of the martyrs and heroes can make her clean again, wash her from her sins and place her back on the right path.