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Old September 3rd, 2018 #1
Senior Member
Tiwaz's Avatar
Join Date: Oct 2013
Location: Europa, Serbia
Posts: 576
Default Orders of Stefan Nemanja-Old Serb NS of 11 Century



The nation which doesn’t have the land cannot be called a nation.

Land makes the nation, my dear child.

The nation is not the flock of birds or the herd moving from the south to the north, landing to the land for picking up the seeds or stopping by just to graze and drink a water.

The human hordes, which are still moving through the space in this way, are not a nation. They can become the nation just after they stop and inhabit the fields, forests, rivers and lakes, seas and coasts. Nations are still transiting through Serbia from one part of the world to another. AVARI and HUNI, PECENEZI and KUMANI, and together with them all the other nations stormed through these lands as a foreign flows. But, child of mine, these flows have never become rivers. Only the trails of destruction were left behind.

They were born at one end of the world and died on another. They have never drunk the water form the same well. They have never spent the night where they’ve spent the day. They have never passed the winter where they’ve passed the summer.

From the land they were passing through they had only the roads. The fields, forests, rivers and mountains, villages and cities belonged to the ones who lived there before their arrival and to the ones who lived there after they came.

My dear child, those hordes can become the nation after they are borne and they die on the same ground, start to inseminate and plant, than harvest and gather on the same land and not only taking by force fruits from a land that belong to others.

Write this down, child of mine, for this nation to remember, nation destined to move and walk in the path of blood.

Write this down, child of mine, the land as well as a woman belongs to the one who’s leaving the seed, fructifies it and to whom she bears. Write down, my child, the following: the land as well as the woman cannot be abducted or taken away on a journey. If you desire the land to stay yours, you have to be present and stay in it.

The nations, which intrude one country, to rob, burn or destroy it are not its masters. We have entered these lands long time ago to inhabit, model and master by it.

Child of mine, for hundreds of years we have already been here and still we haven’t mastered with the wanderers urge within us. We are everywhere. This nation bursts and flows on every side as a young wine.

The land still can’t keep us, neither can we keep her.

Sometimes I fear, my child, that we will flow to some other, solid nations and will be spilled like a water down the mountain to some outlandish rivers and vanish in them as if nothing had ever existed.

Never be separated from the land and never separate it by yourself.

Gather all of our countries and never take away the land from yourself or from another.

If one nation has a mother, than his mother would be the land she lives on. The land bears and feeds us over and over again. The land is eternal bearer of the nation.

Take a good care of her and don’t lose it, my child. Kiss not only all of her fields and mountains, rivers and seas; but also every grain of hers. You have to know, my dear child that that grain which fits in a palm is all the land. That’s why you must take your land in your palms and never for any reason let it go from your hands, because you are nation only with this land in your hands; and without it, empty handed we are just lost wanderers between nations.


And remember my child, a blood and the blood only make a nation.

The blood is eternal.

The blood of a new borne child is thousands of years old. The child is young, but a blood in his veins is that same old blood which flew through the veins of his ancestors thousands of years before.

Mine blood, dear child, flows in your veins as well and if you hadn’t intended to go through the life and time with a streams of a body and blood, but with the spiritual wings; your blood would also flow in your children. But you already have your spiritual children and they will take you to the depth of the centuries and remote times.

My dear child, as the great river flows through the gorges to the fields, such is the streaming of the blood through time, from one generation to other, from one century further away and so on.

What is than a man, but a small cup ceding the eternal and holy blood from one generation to another.

That’s why the blood doesn’t belong to the man but to nation, it’s never in flow for one man but for the whole nation and when the time comes they don’t’ ask you who are you and what are you like but what blood do you bare: Serbian or Hungarian, Greece or AVARSKA. In horrible time like that when everyone are silent, the blood speaks in language of ancestors and you will not be asked who are you and what are you like but whose blood flows in your veins.

Children of mine, in the name of the blood and the spirit of mine, let there be no hatred towards the other blood and especially not toward the brotherly blood.

Don’t spill others blood because it’s form another nation. But and the same time my child without any doubt strongly defend yourself because its your blood and the blood of your ancestors.

Never give our blood to be spilled because it’s Serbian.

Go with peace into war and with war give peace.

Return love with love, but defend the Serbian blood with the blood.


The graves, my dear child, graves and bones makes the nation.

Those who are not aware of their graves and their bones can never become a nation. They are more aliken to the wolves and foxes, those who do not know their graves.

And the graves are, my child, silent villages under the ground still having deceased for its inhabitants. The graves are silent beds they sleep in forever, resting in untouchable peace, these bodies of our ancestors.

The nation is not build just of the living ones who walk and create above the ground, but each and every of the dead as well, resting inside.

One swath does not make a field, nor does one mow. One swath for the field is the same as the one battle or qualm for the nation.

The nation grows in waves and falls in mows of death as grass, but at the same time it develops thicker and thicker through the ground and flourishes with new generations.

Remember, my child, our graves are the holiest marks of our nation and the holiest boundaries of our country.

If no one of the living can give you the answer to the question, what distance does you land and your heritage reach, search for the bones and graves, and the dead will tell you the truth.


Certain things cannot be at earth, man and nation cannot be without them or, if they can, they are neither humans nor nation.

Certain things cannot be plowed, forged in the blacksmith shop, become covered with leaves within wood, dreamed within dream, told by tongue, attained by mind, killed by sward, within story told, child of mine.

Certain things cannot be onto the earth at all.

Moreover, every man has its own sky over his head, every nation its own heaven. There is everything they have not in the earth.

There is, child of mine, exactly everything that at the cultivated field cannot be grown, in the blacksmith shop cannot be forged, does not become covered with leaves within wood, cannot be burned by fire, cannot be dreamed within dream, and cannot be told by tongue, not attained by mind, cannot be killed by sword and within story told.

Everything that is not onto earth, there is, really.

Everything is possible there. Moreover, not everybody can know that nor see it.

Only prophets and clairvoyants, astronomers and astrologers can know that. Again, that can nebogledac and nebotvorac, neboteča and nebohodac, neboslov and neboslovac, neboljub and neboljubac, neboplovni neboplovac and neborodni neborodac (Serbian various terms for gifted people in a meaning of knowing and loving the sky and heavenly things). In addition, there are other spirituals and wonder men, heroes and sages, lunatics, martyrs and lucky men, the wizards of sky; those who has knowledge of ascending earth to heavens, VOZNESUT ZEMLJU DO NEBES, AND WHO HAS POWER TO BRING DOWN HEAVENS TO THE EARTH.

Those are people with knowledge of opening heavens.

Above is everything we do not possess down here, everything we are waiting for.

Remember well, child of mine, that human’s body exists on earth, but his soul flutters trough sky.

In such a way, nation exists on earth but his soul lives in the sky. Nation without soul has no its own sky. Heavens


Guard to your language like your country, child of mine. The word can be lost like city, like land, like soul. What would the nation be if lost all that?

Do not talk with foreign words. If you do, know that you have not take it over, but that you converted yourself. You would better lose the greatest and hardest city and your countries than the smallest and most insignificant word of your language.

Swards are not the only arms to conquer the countries and lands, languages are too. Know that your enemy conquers you by quantity of words he cancels and overcomes.

If the nation lost its words, it is no longer the nation.

There are illnesses, child of mine that attacks language like an infection the body. I can remember those illnesses and foolishnesses. Oftentimes that is happening at the edges of people, at points of contact, where one language rubs with another.

Two nations, my dear, can fight and reconcile. Two languages can never reconcile. Two nations can live within greatest peace and love, but their languages can only fight. Whenever two languages meet and mix, they are like two armies in a battle for death and life. Until when both can be listened, the battle is equal; when one starts to overpower, that one will prevail over. At the end, there is the only one. The battle is over. One language vanished and one nation disappeared.

That battle between languages neither lasts for a day or two, child of mine, like battle between armies, nor for a year or two like war between people, but a century or two; and for language that is so tiny measure of time like a moment or two for a man. Therefore, it is much better, child of mine, to lose all battles and wars than lose a language. If the language is lost so is the nation.

Man learns his language for one year and memorizes it as long as he lives. Nation memorizes its language as long as exist. Foreign language man learns for one year also. That is time he needs to gave up of his own and accept foreign. Dear child of mine that is the illness and the peril of language, when one man starts to give up his own one and accepts a foreign one, no matter if that is by his own will or to be obliged to.

Even I have been using the language as the most dangerous weapon in my battles, child of mine. Even I have been releasing the illnesses and perils onto their languages. During sieges and long after, I have been sending herdsman, peasants, artisans and vagabonds to flood their cities and villages as servants and slaves, merchants, bandits, libertines and promiscuous women. I have conquered more by language than by sword.

Be aware child of mine from those speaking different languages. They imperceptible arrive, you do not know when and how. They are bowing and getting away at every step. They are lovable and fawning like dogs cause, they do not know your language. You can never tell what are they thinking of you, and you cannot, they are mostly silent. The first ones coming to investigate the situation inform others and, here they are, they crawl over the night in constant rows like ants.

Some day you dawns surrounded by a mob of people speaking different languages from all sides.

You are too late finding out they are not mute; they have their own language, songs, dances and rites. They are becoming louder, they are not pleasing and begging but asking for and grabbing. You are staying at your own but in a foreign country. All you can is to drive them away, or you to run away which seems more possible.

Conqueror of land conquered that way needs no army, just to take what language won.

Language is harder than any rampart, child of mine. When all your ramparts and fortresses are broken by your enemy, do not desperate but listen to what is going on with your language. If the language remains intact, you do not have to worry. Send spies and merchants deep into the villages and cities, to observe. Where our word echoes and revolves like gold coins, there our country still exists in spite of the ruler, child of mine. Emperors are changing, states collapsing, but language and people stays; in such a way overcame parts of country and people will be rejoining some day with its source of language and home of people. Remember well, child of mine, not every overcoming or secession is of that danger for a nation as for a generation. It can harm only one


Man builds a house not only for himself but also for his children and grandchildren. That is the genesis of family and household.

Ruler builds a church not only for himself and his sons and grandchildren but also for his people that will attend it trough centuries. That is the genesis of state.

What remains after man is the house.

Church remains after the ruler.

House remains to children, church to people.

The church is like great ship sailing to deeper and further times and nations unknown to us, child of mine. Arriving to any century, it will bring us and reveal to our unborn descendants.

I feel happy and tranquil child of mine that now, my Studenica departed toward centuries. At the universal deluge of time only ships like Noah’s boat are capable of saving us from deepest abyss and oblivions. We, builders of those churches, shall be the navigators of time at those big ships, child of mine. I, Nemanja, the son of Zavida, I, Simeon the monk, am crying and mourning for those splendid people who couldn’t sail to present times onto their fragile structures, whose descendants we are. Their huts and hovels were weaker than they were and not able to bring them into our times. Their giant figures are coming in sight through unclear contours of stories and songs.

Into our solid churches that are capable of withstanding the horrible gusts of time, we immured ourselves. They are all of stone and marble, all the toughest in the world. We gave us into our churches, we wrote in our faith and we painted figures within. In Studenica, our far ancestors shall recognize us. They shall know who we are and what kind of we are. Moreover, they shall be proud to have us I know that, for sure. They shall be proud to be of Nemanjic’s tribe, child of mine.

When I decided to construct Studenica, you were only eight years old. I asked a skilled artisan how many years he would need to construct the church.

- Seven – he answered shortly.

- That is too long!

- If I build it for at least seven years, it will last for seven centuries at least.

- How many times it takes people to destroy it artisan?

- Neither people for seven days, time for seven centuries, the great head of a tribal state, but neither after seven days nor seven centuries you shall not lose Studenica, for I shall build it to be magnificent and very beautiful. I have seen more beautiful and magnificent ruins than completed structures, the great head of tribal state.

Build them for today; build them for tomorrow child of mine, but for centuries too. When you build for nation, build to be lasting and strong as nation itself.


The country and the nation are not the same.

The nation is older than the state. The nation is older than everything is.

The nation lasts longer than the state. Exist before state and remains after.

One nation can live in different countries; also, one country can have different nations.

Now, here me well child of mine, listen attentively. One nation, one country, that was my intention and that remains, and I am handing it over to all of you as bequeath, from now to forever.

Serbs does not own their own country yet, they are scattered in all directions. Slavs swarmed lands from northern to eastern seas. They could become the greatest empire on the earth and the greatest people under the heaven. They remained and they still are just a multitude in foreign countries.

Every tribe is fighting to create its country. The great people of Slavs are scattered into minorities and smaller countries. Small country is like small fish in the sea that the big one swallows.

Big countries swallow smaller ones.

Serbia is too small in the mouth of big Byzantium, child of mine. It always protrudes out of entrails of big countries. As soon as that grasping has left us or we managed to escape, immediately the other grabbed us.

The biggest trouble was when everyone wanted to create a kingdom of his hill and valley.

I have decided to create the country of all Serbs, child of mine, so I have done it. I have not created a kingdom or empire. That is your inheritance. There are enough Serbs for the kingdom and the empire. In front of the great tribal state that I have created, bigger and smaller kingdoms and empires stepped back.

No village can dream to become an empire in my country. Now I have my own state confirmed by its own force, golden seals of kingdoms and empires and charters.

Guard to it, spread it and strengthen it. There are enough room to spread it and with whom to strengthen. In foreign countries around us live our fellow tribesmen with the same blood and the same language.

There are more Serbs out of our country than within. That has a meaning that the state of mine is just the beginning, child of mine.

That looks like when childbirth starts and only a head perceived.

Primordial birth pangs move within woman, head appears and part by part of body. That is the bearing of man.


Primordial instincts of many generations and tribes of same blood and same language began to gather in one state. That is the bearing of the nation. NAROD ROŽDAETSJA! (THE NATION IS BORN!)

The end of my life is near, child of mine. I can declare the most joyous proclamation: that is the born of the great child of mine, Serbia.



To be the beggar is better than the czar in Serbia, child of mine.

Everywhere is the same. Czar dies, another came, the third kills him, the fourth dethrone the third, while the fifth is overthrow by the sixth, and so on until kingdoms and empires lasts. The worst is while neither empire nor czar exists, neither kingdom nor king, neither authority nor ruler, but only disbanded people as ours, ready to easily accept everyone for czar and master, and even readier to throw him of and renounce like of leper.

That cannot happen to beggar.

I have had the happiness and the unhappiness child of mine to govern the Serbia. The biggest achievement I was able to reach was to become the great head of a tribal state, which often meant to be the great servant of great emperors.

Foreign czars and emperors have not allowed us to establish our kingdom. Their greatest mercy started and ended with let me, the great head of a tribal state to govern with the people they could not cope with, because they neither can conquer us nor recognize as equal.

They needed someone to keep with this craggy people, to mobilize army for wars, to collect taxes and to protect them like human impenetrable barrier from other nations at borders of empire.

While we are doing it, we are fine; even we can become the great heads of a tribal state. If we think of our country and us, here they are with great army to punish us and demonstrate who the master is and who the servant at our own land is.

When they move into campaign against Serbia, they are more relying on our army commanders than onto theirs. Their messengers proclaim that czar will overturn the head of a tribal state and replace him with Serbian army commander or duke that helps the most.

One by one, Serbian traitors are crossing then on czar’s side; the great head of a tribal state is running away with some followers into deepest forests and caves or asking help from some other czar.

Nobody recognize the Serbian ruler, czar nor king, pope nor patriarch, either foreigner nor brother, or last cobbler of peasant shoe. There was a poor cobbler named Blaž at Dioklitija. Even he was not recognizing me. He was over his head of awl and a cord so he fled into the woods, roads, and gathers quite a bit associates all alike him. Therefore, decided Blaž to crown him and took over not only the woods and roads but also the whole country.

If a cobbler of peasant shoe can decide that, than duke or prince certainly can. At the end, everything remained as at the beginning, child of mine, only awl stayed without cobbler, principalities without princes and armies without dukes. God and all the saints were helping me.

What else our history is, child of mine, than constant appointing and removing of the rulers, innumerable attempts to establish authority and state.

When I was born I had everything, but my given name Nemanja means one that has no possessions. My second name is Stefan, the one who carries the wreath. Stefanos, the wreathed, but on my head fell no wreath or crown. Now I am Simeon the monk; from all possesses I have had now remains this feeble body and from governance my naked soul. The body I am handing over to the earth it walked on, and my sinful soul to you child of mine, to cleanse it with your prays in front of the judge of heavens.


A nation without possessions of its own literacy and books, writers and book lovers cannot have name of the nation.

Say our biggest word, child of mine, say SRB and tell how long it rings in your ears. One moment it rings. Said word lasts only while saying it, than vanishes like breath from chests that made them.

Only written word can survive.

Say AZ (A – letter), BUKI (B), VJEDI (V), GLAGOL (G), and all these words will fly away as soon as said, like flock of birds. However, write them on the stone, wood, stags skin, frail peace of papyrus, and you will always find them where you left them. Written words last longer than mouth saying them, throats shouting and ears hearing them. Forever lasts. Even after thousand years of silence on stags and papyrus, they shall speak. I saw and read ancient books, child of mine, written thousand years ago. You are reading yourself the books written by heads turned into dust or hollow skulls long time ago.

Facts written down in the books are remaining after us.

We are groping in the dark of past and searching through far history something about us Serbians and not finding any trace of us, like we have never been existed. However, we have been. If we have never been than we could never be here now. We Serbians are children of Adam too. We existed but we have never been record. Only nations written in enter the history.

I am telling you, child of mine, speaking is like having conversation with the moment. Writing is like talking to centuries, so we must begin our great conversation with our descendants for the eternity, VO VJEKI VJEKOV, child of mine.

Letters are an odd seed, the best semen of every nation. It buds from the paper after thousand years, blooms into voice and word within picture and tale, thought and emotion, ancient hard-beats.

What a nation cannot with a sword and plow, with book and pencil it can, my dear child of mine. Quill of cane and light feather makes deeper furrows than plow or hoe.

GLAGOLJATI (to say mass – from the Glagolitic missal) means passing by; writing means eternity.

Nation without its own writers and bookbinders does not own the history in the past and life in the future. Sometimes foreign hands by foreign letters wrote about us in foreign books. Quill in a foreign hand is more dangerous than a sword, my son. We shall come into being as nation when we record about us in our books, by our language and letter.

Good writer values more than three severe dukes and three great cities.

Capable duke can conquer any city, other can seize. Nobody can subjugate the book; the book between hard covers saved many countries and cities.

Your hand is skilled for quill and paper, child of mine. God endowed and determined you first, to legible record us within books. Record us in the book of people of this world, for knowledge that we have always been, we are and we shall be.


Guard to the Serbian names, child of mine. They recognize us by them between other nations. The names of our fathers and mothers, our brothers and sisters, and our personal names. Rastko, my son, they are sacred, as these saintly we are having now.

The foreign clergymen, Greece and Latin, would gladly put us on their foreign names. They would gladly die out every Serbian name.

And what would it be if just all the Serbs put over their sacred names? I am afraid; there are will not be any more Serbs. And our fight is not to annihilate Serbs, Serbia and everything that is Serbian, but to praise. Splendid are the Serbian names.

Have, for example, child of mine, any Serbian name. For example, look at Dobrašin. Is there anything wrong with our Dobrašin? In that name, in Dobrašin, there is a lot of goodness and something more than goodness, because if it is not, it would be simply Good (name Dobrashin, caries the significance of being good). In such a way, our name Dobrilo, is not having a character that he is good, but that he makes other to be better. Child of mine, without our Dobre and Dobraša, Dobrašina and Dobreše, Dobrice and Dobrihne, Dobrila and Dobromila, Dobrimira and Dobrinka, Dobriše and Dobrivoja, Dobroja and Dobroje, Dobrohvala and Dobroljuba, Dobromira and Dobronje, Dobroslava and Dobrote, what would we be? The nation possesses such goodness in their names, can only be The People of God. By their names, they preserve goodness, longing for it and carrying throughout the world. We should not take away that goodness and touch their souls. Their names consider the soul of nation.

I am not saying, child of mine, that it is not worthy to name our people by holy names. It is good, but not with force and not to all of them. Like yeast and salt placed in flour, to slowly and a little bit, raise the bread, and be flavorful. Bread made with too much salt and yeast is not edible.

We, child of mine, have started the great fight for faith and Serbia. In that fight, we must not obtain religion and lose Serbia.

God, what are we doing? To these people we are taking away their old religion, destroying their shrines and old Gods. We have forbidden their old rites and habits, reversed their souls. Here, we started to replace their names with foreign once, although sacred. God, is there anything to left out of this people? Will it be, when we are done with all our intentions? Would wasteland and ruins be everything to left behind us? To destroy we have to, to destroy to be able to create. Oh God, let us to create as much as possible, and to destroy as less as possible.

Let us not touch their names. Their names are innocent and very beautiful. Let us add them some holy names, and that would be sufficient for God and nation. Why would we name them by foreign and unwilling names they would not recognize by significance? We should not take away from them what is the most precious and the most beautiful that Love devised and placed in their names. Those names hold their secret of life, Love and happiness. They devised the most beautiful names in the world, splendid with sound and full of sense. There would be too much sadness if there would not be any more Držislava, Vojislava and Vladimira in this country. And who would create our country, who would defend our country and who would govern our country? What should we get if our common shepherds and peasants became Anastazije, Teodore, Simonide, Veronike and Magdalene or some other saints and empresses? Would they be better than our Milica, Danica, Cvijeta or Tankoslava? How many joys are there in Radojka and Radovan, graciousness in Milinka and Milun, gloriousness in Slavna and Slavoljub, peacefulness in Tijana and Tihomir? What a thick hair are there within Kosara, charm within Miljana and Miljan, scent within Ljubica and Miomir, soul within Dušan and Dušica? Zlatko and Zlata with gold gild us. Srebrenka with silver silver-plate us. Who would defend us without too many Branislava? Who would expel the evil away if there would not be Zlogonje? Herbs without Biljana would not name herbs. Gentleness would not be known without Blaža, Blagoja and Blaženke. Who would guard tenderness without Grube, Grubiše and Grubana. Miroljub and Miroslav are kissing the peace. The most beautiful collection of poems could be composed of our names; they could be stringed like pearls! And what are we doing?

So, remember well, the child of mine: we shall never be the grater Christians if we have been the Serbs.


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