Sometimes an incredible setting is what gives impetus to my writing. It is said that “setting is a sexy character” and certainly some have a seductive quality to them. This could be said about the 1600 year old monastery of Sumela in present day Turkey. Carved impossibly high in the rocky face of a cliff, it has silently observed the comings and goings of mankind for over a millennium and a half.
Sumela is a Greek Orthodox monastery dedicated to the Virgin Mary. The name comes from the Greek for “black mountain.”
Basil II was known to be quite generous in his donations to Sumela. This was perhaps what first led to my interest in this UNESCO World Heritage site that was founded possibly as early as 386 CE in the Black Sea region of Turkey (near modern day Trazbon), then part of the Eastern Roman Empire.
Describing this marvel from the point of view of someone who was seeing it for the first time (in this case Ulf Svensson) was intriguing as I myself have never been here. Reconstructing it from travel videos, personal accounts and photos brought me hopefully to a somewhat accurate rendering as Ulf and his men accompany the emperor and the archimandrite (Greek Orthodox abbot) up the steep steps that wind their way to the monastery. In this context, Basil II and his Varangians are head to Kartli (modern day Georgia) to negotiate terms and head off a possible alliance with the youthful king of Kartli Giorgi I and the Fatamid caliph al-Hakim. Sumela was a stop off point for Basil and worked itself beautifully into the plot of the story.
The emperor had sent word ahead to the archimandrite of the Sumela Monastery to expect him. From what Ulf had heard, Basil had gifted the religious establishment handsomely. He expected the monastery to be lavish, like a palace, to be so fortunate as to receive the special notice of the emperor. Now they stood at the foot of the mountains and looked up at the craggy pinnacle. Nestled in the rocks and swathed in a shroud of fog that was beginning to settle over the valley lay the face of a monastery, looking out upon the forests and valleys like a sentinel. It appeared more of a fortress than a sacred place. The archimandrite appeared like a specter at the base of the winding trail that disappeared into the forest. He held up one hand in silent benediction. The emperor likewise nodded to him without speaking a word. They left their horses with the grooms at the foot of the mountain and began their ascent. The heat of the day had become oppressive. The sun long ago had burned off the fog, but a sticky humidity lay in the air. The men shed their cloaks. Ring mail and shields had been left with the horses. The trail was fraught with rocks and roots from the trees that clung to the mountain like a suckling child to its mother. It twisted and writhed around the rock face and then suddenly, there were stairs, cut into the rock, merciful only in the evenness they provided, but no less steep than the trail had been. Ulf felt his hair stick to his neck. The archimandrite, though seemingly a frail man, did not slacken his step in the slightest or even pause. The emperor was the oldest among them and his Varangians adjusted their pace for him, till soon it seemed to Ulf that they might lose the archimandrite around the twisting stairs hugging the ancient mountain. He paused momentarily, looking down at the expanse of trees in the valley below. It seemed incredible to him that such a building could be so constructed as if it were a part of the mountain itself. And then suddenly, the rock face opened up and they stood before a courtyard over which the mountain loomed. Ulf now saw that they were behind the face of stone that they had seen from the bottom of the mountain. The buildings were squat and angular and seemed to emerge from the mountain itself as if the rock had given them birth. In the center – a part of the cave itself – was a large church, covered in frescoes of brilliant colors, all depicting religious figures. Ulf had done much traveling all his life, but he took a moment to marvel at the sight before him. He had never seen anything like it. All at once, he seemed to forget his weariness from the weeks of travel. Beside him, his companions’ sudden stillness indicated that the view had much the same effect on them. There was nothing palatial in the edifice, as Ulf might have supposed but the place had a quiet, and reserved dignity, almost, he thought, a touch of aloofness.
The Secret Testament by G.S. Brown
Many visitors come to it every year (though it was closed for three years for restoration work as the structure had become unsafe). The attraction lies not only in its incredible design, but the frescoes on the walls. Many have unfortunately been touched by vandalism, yet the brilliant colors with which they were imbued is still evident today. The monastery is supplied with its own aqueduct and has numerous rooms and buildings including a library and a kitchen. It appears that, for at least the standards of its time, it was quite comfortable.
A secret tunnel was discovered at one point and even more frescoes were found. As described in The Secret Testament, visitors to the monastery must first make their way up a steep trail and then a series of steep stairs before they emerge in the aerie that is the monastery. The long flights of stairs, wend this way and that before they emerge at the monastery. The engineering genius to build an edifice of this size into the sheer cliff of a mountain is astounding.
Furthermore, that the paint on the frescoes has lasted as long as it has, albeit with vandalism, shows the knowledge in their materials. In modern times we struggle to keep our surfaces painted without peeling completely in a few years. The incredible detail and magnificent designs show us the the monks put their time in their lofty isolation into good use. This site is yet another example of how those who came before us were far from regressive or backward.