For this all belonged to Dechani, and it was beyond the power of the state to touch their riches; nor had they been molested even in the days of Turkish rule.

“You see, monastery ’e pay money to the toughest Albanians—­Albanian they give besa—­and nobody never do no ’arm to the monasteries.  Russia she send much money, she send always her priest to Dechani and the Turks they keep sorter respectful.”

Our first sight of Dechani disappointed us a little, the proportions lacked the beauty of the Ipek church; but the big old door marked by the fire the Turks had built against it, decades before, cheered us up a bit.

A pleasant priest with a smooth face and ringlets two feet long greeted us and led us to the little Russian hospital which was fitted into the Abbey, warning us not to bang our heads against the heavy oak beams in the corridors.

The Russians welcomed us heartily, preparing the most wonderful tea, Australian butter, white bread made with flour brought from Russia.

Pavlovitch enjoyed himself immensely.  Food was thin in the barracks.  But he was very worried about the priest’s long ringlets.

“I’d soon cure ‘im, a month diggin’ de trench!” he murmured.

After tea we examined the church.  The interior was one miraculous blue:  pictures with blue backgrounds, apostles with blue draperies, blue skies, a wonderful lapis lazuli.

Once the Moslems had overpowered the defenders of the church and had got in, the eyes of some of the saints were picked through the plaster.  Legend runs, however, that while they were desecrating the tomb of Tzar Stephan who founded the church, the tomb of the queen, which lay alongside, exploded with a violent report and terror struck the Turks, who fled.

They showed us the queen’s tomb, split from top to bottom.  The priests naturally claim a miracle; but Pavlovitch said, “I tink dey verry clever, dey done dat wi’ gunpowder.”

The Tzar Stephan had wished to build the church of gold and precious stones, but a soothsayer said—­

“No, my lord, build it of plain stone, for your empire will be robbed from you, and if it be of gold greedy men will tear it to pieces, but if it be of plain stone it will remain a monument for ever.”

So he built it of fine marble.  The central pillars were forty feet high, and each cut from a single piece, with grotesque carved capitals.  The great screen was wonderfully carved and gilded.  Wherever one looked was decoration, almost in excess.

Ringlets invited us to tea with the Russian bishop who was in charge.  He was a stout, sweet-mannered little man, who shook his head woefully over the war.