Serbia in Light and Darkness | Page 4

we must
unwillingly exclaim in the words of the Psalmist: O Lord, what is man,
that thou art mindful of him?--or with a little change: O England, what
is Serbia, that thou art mindful of her? And the poor sons of Serbia, that
thou visitest them?
A small strip of land with five million inhabitants and without seaboard.

A peasant people devoted to agriculture and to nature, to the forest and
cattle, to songs and tales. A past full of glory, of blood and sins. A
present full of tears, pains and hopes. A king carried on a stretcher
through the rocky desert of Albania,--a loyal parliament which refused
to make a separate peace with the enemy even in the darkest hour of
national tragedy,--an honest government which did everything possible
to save the country, and which, when the country was nearly conquered,
exclaimed through its President: "It is better to die in beauty than to
live in shame!"--a fearless army, which for three years only knew
victory, now watching in snow on the mountains of Montenegro and
Albania, and lodging in the dens of wolves and eagles.[1] Another
army of old men, of women and children, fleeing away from death and
rushing to death. Shall I say that is Serbia?
No: that is only a part of Serbia.
You have heard talk of Greater Serbia. I personally think that Serbia
can never be greater than in this solemn hour of her supreme suffering,
in which all the civilised world in both hemispheres trembles because
of her catastrophe and sympathises with her. I personally love my little
country just because it is so little; and just because its deeds are greater
than its size. I am not sure that I should love it so much should it
happen to become territorially so big as Spain or Italy. But I cannot
help it; I must say that our Irridentists in Austro-Hungary are more
numerous than our population in Serbia. Eight millions of our
Serbo-Croat and Slovene brothers have been looking towards Serbia as
towards their Piedmont, waiting their salvation from Serbia, as
Alsace-Lorraine is waiting its salvation from France, and being proud
of Serbia as all slaves are proud of their free kinsmen. All the slaves
from Isonzo to Scutari are groaning under the yoke of an inhuman
Austro-Magyar regime, and are singing of Serbia as their redeemer
from chains and shame. Little Serbia has been conscious of her great
historic task, to liberate and unite all the Southern-Slavs in one
independent being; therefore she, with supreme effort, collected all her
forces to fulfil her task and her duty, and so to respond to the vital
hopes of her brethren.

Shall I say that is Serbia?
No; that is only physical Serbia.
But there is a soul of Serbia.
For five hundred years the Serbian soul suffered and believed.
Suffering sometimes breaks the belief. But the Serbian suffering
strengthened the belief of the Serbian people. With belief came hope,
with hope strength; and so the Serbs endured the hardest and darkest
slavery ever recorded in history, not so much by their physical strength
as by the strength of their soul. Besides, it was a great temptation for
the Serbs to abandon the Christian faith and to accept the faith of the
Crescent. Under this condition only, the Turks promised freedom to the
Serbs and equal rights. Several of the aristocratic families could not
resist this temptation and became renegade to the faith of their
ancestors in order to save their lives. But the mass of the people
fearlessly continued to be faithful to the belief in the Cross.
Allow me to give you only a few examples of the
ACTIVITY OF THE SERBIAN SOUL
in the time when the Serbian body was in chains. Although the Serbian
body was enslaved, the Serbian soul was still free and active. Here are
some proverbs made during the time of slavery and abasement of the
body:
It is better not to be born than to misuse life.
The sun sees everything and keeps silent; the foolish man knows
nothing and still talks.
Why does God send suffering to the best of His children? Because the
weak cannot endure it.
The tears of the weak are accusations of the strong; the tears of the poor
are accusations of the rich; the tears of the righteous will be

transformed into diamonds under the throne of God.
A king asks another king: How many people do you govern? But if
God speaks to a king, he asks: How many people are you helping?
Even the dry leaves cry out when trodden on; why should not the
trodden man cry out?
It is better to give life than to take life. If you give life, you do what
God does; if