Trei Ierarhi Monastery

Stand close to the wall and look at it from a hand's width away. The stone is not smooth. It is cut into ropes, rosettes, zigzags and tiny chevrons, layer on layer, from the plinth to the roofline. Run your eyes upward and the pattern never stops. It feels less like a building and more like a carpet, or a piece of embroidery that someone turned to stone and wrapped around a church.

This is the Church of the Three Holy Hierarchs, known in Romanian as Trei Ierarhi. The name honours three teachers of the early Church — Basil the Great, Gregory the Theologian and John Chrysostom. In the Orthodox world, these three stand for learning, faith and the spoken word. That choice of patrons matters here. As you will hear, this church was built to be a centre of books and schooling, not only of prayer.

The man behind it was Vasile Lupu, Prince of Moldavia in the seventeenth century. Moldavia was then a principality between larger powers, paying tribute to the Ottoman Empire while trading with Poland, Russia and the Greek world. Lupu was ambitious and wealthy. He wanted Iași to look like a capital that could stand beside Constantinople. The church was finished and consecrated in 1639, and it became the centrepiece of his reign.

Now step back and take in the whole shape. The plan is classic Moldavian — a long body with rounded side apses, and two slender towers rising over the roof, one above the nave and one above the entrance hall. The proportions are tall and narrow. But the surface is something else entirely. Builders here drew on Moldavian tradition, on Georgian and Armenian stone carving from the Caucasus, and on Ottoman and Persian ornament. All of it meets on one facade.

Try to follow a single band of carving around the building. You will find that each horizontal belt uses a different motif. Some are geometric, some look like twisted cord, some like flowering plants. In the middle of the wall runs a thick, rope-like moulding that divides the church into upper and lower halves. That cord is a Moldavian signature. Everything above and below it is a pattern book in stone.

Here is a detail many visitors never hear. When the church was new, the carved exterior was not grey. Contemporary accounts describe the surface as gilded, so the whole building shone gold in the sun. Popular tradition says that raiders who reached Iași in the middle of the seventeenth century lit fires against the walls to melt the gold away. Whether every part of that tale is true, the gold is long gone. What remains is the bare stone, which some people find even more beautiful.

The church had a hard life after Lupu. Fires, earthquakes and neglect damaged it over the following centuries. In the late nineteenth century, the French architect André Lecomte du Noüy led a major restoration. He rebuilt large parts of the complex, and his work is still debated. Critics say he imposed his own taste. Supporters say he saved a ruin. Either way, much of what you see today passed through his hands.

Vasile Lupu did not build only a church. He built an institution around it. Inside this monastery he founded a school, often called the Vasilian Academy, which taught in Greek, Latin and Slavonic. He also brought one of the first printing presses to Moldavia here. Books printed at Trei Ierarhi helped spread written Romanian. One of the best known is a collection of sermons prepared by the Metropolitan Varlaam in the 1640s, among the earliest major books in the Romanian language.

That is the second surprise. This ornate building, which looks made for display, was also a working workshop of words. Monks and scholars set type, bound pages and copied manuscripts here. The three learned saints above the door were a statement of purpose. Lupu wanted his capital to have not just gold, but scholars and books. For a small principality in the seventeenth century, that was a bold idea.

The church also held a famous relic. In 1641 Lupu brought the remains of Saint Paraskeva, a much-loved Orthodox saint, to Iași from Constantinople. For generations, pilgrims came to this church to venerate her. In the late nineteenth century the relics were moved to the Metropolitan Cathedral further along the boulevard. Every October, crowds still fill the streets of Iași for her feast, so the link between saint and city remains very much alive.

Inside, the light is softer and the air is cool. Look for the tombs. Vasile Lupu and members of his family are buried here. So is Dimitrie Cantemir, the scholar-prince of Moldavia, whose remains were returned to Romania in the twentieth century. And here too lies Alexandru Ioan Cuza, the ruler who united Moldavia and Wallachia in the nineteenth century, laying the foundation of modern Romania. Three very different princes rest under one carved roof.

Before you leave the grounds, find the Gothic Hall. This separate building beside the church has pointed vaulting that feels closer to central Europe than to the Orthodox East. It once served the monastery community and today it is used for exhibitions of old religious art and objects. Even if it is closed when you visit, walk around it. Its plain, heavy walls make a quiet contrast to the carved church.

Outside the gate, the city carries on. The monastery stands on Ștefan cel Mare Boulevard, the old central avenue of Iași, a short walk from the Palace of Culture and the Metropolitan Cathedral. Trams pass, students cross with bags and coffee, and church bells answer one another across the rooftops. It is easy to see how this spot sat at the heart of Lupu's capital, and still sits at the heart of the city today.

Take one more look at the wall as you go. Pick a single rosette and trace its petals with your eyes. Somebody carved that by hand nearly four hundred years ago, under a prince who dreamed of gold and books. The gold has gone. The books have moved to libraries. But the stone is still here — patient, patterned, catching the light on Ștefan cel Mare Boulevard as you walk away.