That’s the other thing I hadn’t realized—just how much and how long the three provinces (Wallachia, Transylvania, and Moldova) were separated. They were each their own kingdom until Carol I in the late 1800s/ early 1900s. Stoker really used a lot of artistic license with the area and characters, because again, Vlad the Impaler was only ever king of Wallachia. That’s one thing that struck about all of today—there’s always so much than the surface. We read great articles during the fall about Vlad, realizing who he really was apart from the character, but it’s nothing like hearing a local man telling us with a ruddy face and a gleam in his eye about a great national hero of theirs. Apart from being the very draconian (get it? Draco, dragon, dracul… never mind) ruler he really was, he also freed the peasants from the slavery of their landlords and made them members of his army and police force. He constantly defeated the Turks until the end, which only happened by a fabulously diabolical betrayal.
As for the court itself, it was amazing in it’s subtley. Tibi explained that because of Romania’s placement as the middle man between the Ottoman Empire and Western Europe, they never were able to build tall , grand palaces, instead prioritizing the fortification of royal homes, and even churches. Another call to their warrior way of life is in the churches themselves—in Romania the warrior saints are painted nearest the shrine (the part of the church that is walled off from the laypeople). The chapel was special in it’s balcony for the queen—in the 1400s women were not allowed to be in the church, but for the queen an exception was made.The watchtower was the best preserved portion of the complex, on each floor being different sets of facts on the royal families and Vlad Tepes specifically. You could see so much of the city, I could see why the royal family built there in Tirgoviste.
After that we headed to Curtea de Arges, home to Manole Church and St. Nicholas Hermitage. I must say, nothing can be quite as beautiful as St. Nicholas’. The ornation of both churches was, again, gorgeous in it’s “conservativeness”. They were so ornate and yet so…homey. St. Nicholas’ had the body of a young girl who, while living, was known for her continual aid to the poor and animals. Unfortunately for her, she had a rather rude stepfather who, while drunk, killed her by throwing his woodchopping ax at her. If this wasn’t enough, during her reburial it was found her body was still perfect and smelling of flowers. In light of all this, she was made a saint and her body lies enshrined, granting blessings to those who visit her.
Manole’s story is a bit more tragic, if you can imagine. The legend goes that the architect was the best around, but the church, at night, kept falling down. He prays to God to ask his help and is told he must sacrifice the first woman who enters the church the next day. Unfortunately, that morning his wife decides to bring him his things while he’s working. He sees her coming from the tower and prays for the wind and the rain, thunder and lightening to keep her away, but she is only more driven by the awful weather to get her husband’s things to him. He obeys God and buries her in the walls, a mark still on the wall of her remains. If this isn’t bad enough for him, he’s left on the roof of the church after the king has the scaffolding removed so he can’t build another church better than this. This is the mark of where she was built in, or so the legends go…
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