Standing on Petrova Glavica above Nikšić, the Cathedral Church of Saint Basil of Ostrog is one of the city’s most prominent landmarks and Jonathan and I were keen to meander up the hill to have a look at it. It wasn’t an overly hot day, but it was still a little muggy, although of course I hardly even mention when it’s too warm.
Prince Nikola I commissioned it to commemorate Montenegrin and Herzegovinian soldiers killed during the uprisings and wars against the Ottoman Empire between 1875 and 1878. Construction began in 1895 and the church was consecrated in 1900, having been designed by the Russian architect Mikhail Preobrazhensky. It was built from carefully cut local stone as a three aisled basilica, combining Byzantine influences with a tall Romanesque style bell tower. Scaffolding covered part of the building during our visit and they were busy doing something loud to the stonework, but there’s something strangely effective about the combination of spiritual reflection and industrial drilling.
The mosaic above the main doorway depicts Saint Basil of Ostrog, the seventeenth century Orthodox bishop after whom the cathedral is named. He is shown wearing episcopal robes, raising his right hand in blessing and holding an open book in his left. The miniature building across his chest represents the church itself, while the Cyrillic inscription identifies him as the miracle worker of Ostrog. Saint Basil founded the famous Ostrog Monastery south of Nikšić, where his relics are preserved and where he became one of the most widely venerated saints in Montenegro and the Serbian Orthodox Church. It’s nice when a church makes an effort to be clear about their patron saint, as I easily get muddled up without some hints.
The church occupies an elevated position overlooking Nikšić and forms part of a wider group of monuments around the hill, including the nearby palace built for Prince Nikola, who later became King Nikola. Nearby is the much smaller Church of Saints Peter and Paul, whose origins may reach back as far as the ninth century. We also went to have a look at that, but more on that later.
At the eastern end of the church is the iconostasis, the decorated screen which separates the sanctuary containing the altar from the main body of an Orthodox church. I am always intrigued by these and, although I instinctively prefer the more open arrangement familiar to me from the Church of England, the concealed sanctuary does give an Orthodox church an undeniable air of mystique. Its doors and panels carry images of Christ, the Virgin Mary and important saints, while the upper row presents a sequence of smaller sacred figures.
Looking along the nave reveals the cathedral’s considerable height, with massive stone columns and rounded arches supporting the vaulted roof and central dome. I rather liked the white walls which made the interior feel brighter and less visually crowded than many Orthodox churches. More importantly, it was quite cool inside, which immediately improved my theological appreciation of the building as I can’t enjoy a hot church.
Individual icons are displayed in richly carved wooden stands around the nave, allowing worshippers to approach, pray and light candles before particular holy figures. Incidentally, I rather liked the queue barrier for the iconostasis. After exploring the church, we then had a little sit down outside as this voyage of discovery can be quite tiring, especially when I insist on taking industrial amounts of photographs.