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by Wiesiek Powaga

  Now, before he became the bishop of Cracow, Kayetan Soltyk was bishop of Kiev and as such had considerable Episcopal estates in the Ukraine. When taking his Cracow throne he had brought with him one Pogorzelski, a man of noble birth who despite having "Wrong" in his escutcheon was an honest and very able administrator. It was to him that the bishop entrusted the Salomonov domain, one of the largest in the Episcopal estates. And even though brought up in the Ukraine, where by God's grace the land bears fruit whether one works it or not, this Pogorzelski soon acquired such skill in our way of running things that he stood as an example to other Crakovian landholders and the bishop valued him above all his land-stewards.

  We all liked Mr Pogorzelski, for he was a virtuous and learned man, and on top of that a cheerful, kind and obliging soul. According to some of the bishop's courtiers he was a bit of a queer fish, though I have never shared in this opinion. But true enough, he used to tell strange tales, like this story he told us, calling Heaven as his witness, about his travels through Polesie.

  One day he stopped at an inn to rest his horses. He was sitting in the cart when a Poleshan approached him with an old arquebuse and said: "Good sir, will you buy this gun from me? Very handy when it comes to shooting game, she is."

  "And how much are you asking?"

  "Thirty silver pieces and not a shilling less."

  "Are you mad? Every bit of it is from a different parish, the lock's held in place by a piece of string, the barrel's eaten by rust and the butt - good grief - how can you put such a lump of rot to your face?"

  "'Tis true, sir, but it has one virtue."

  "What's that?"

  "Well, it's this, that when you take aim, having loaded it first, whatever game you fancy, just think of it and it'll come to you. But you have to fire right away, sir, or there will be trouble."

  "Well, gentlemen," Pogorzelski carried on, "I was mighty tempted to try it, so I took aim, thought of a bear and sure enough, some dozen paces away I saw a Gypsy leading a bear on a chain. I fired. The Gypsy vanished with the chain, leaving just the big bear lying dead. I paid the Poleshan what he was asking, and had he asked three times as much for this gun I would have paid it even if I'd had to sell the shirt off my back.

  "So, there was I, driving along, gun in hand, and trying it all the time I soon had my cart loaded with all kinds of game. Then a thought struck me - `Isn't this all the trick of some evil spirit?' I began to pray. When I finished I was even more convinced it was a gift from the devil. I threw all the game off my cart, and the gun too, but then I glanced over my shoulder and saw the gun following me. So I stopped, took the gun and tied it to a tree with my own hands. A while later, the gun carne running alongside the cart. That made me really scared. But as I was near Uszomierz I put the gun in the cart and told the driver to take me straight to the Carmelites. There, I handed the gun to the prior telling him the whole story and he ordered it to be burnt in the courtyard, in my presence. And what do you say, gentlemen? Such a stench of sulphur came from the fire it was impossible to stay in the courtyard. But what's more, when the fire died out there was no trace of the gun left - lock, stock and barrel - all burnt like straw."

  Another time he told us that one day, when he went hunting with his dogs, he ventured deep into the woods whereupon a beggar-woman seized his horse by the reins and asked for alms.

  "I put my hand in my pocket," said Pogorzelski, "to see if I hadn't a spare copper, for it's a sin to let the poor go unprovided, but all I found was a half-zloty. That was the time when they had just introduced zlotys, half-zlotys and silver groshes. I felt pity for the woman but was just as sorry to part with the coin - in our Ukraine everything's aplenty but money is dear. I said to myself aloud: `I wouldn't stint a silver grosh but a half-zloty - that hurts. If you change it with a silver grosh I'll give you what I have in my pocket.' And she says to me: `Give it to me, sir, and here is a silver grosh.' We exchanged the coins and I put hers in my pocket. And what do you think - I could not get rid of it. Whenever I gave it to anyone I found it back in my pocket. I did not pass a beggar without giving it away and yet it always came back to me. Until one day I got carried away at a card table and lost all my money, including my silver grosh. Shame. But then I thought `It'll come back.' Well, it didn't. It sank like a pebble in the well, and I swore never to take up a pack of cards again, which vow, as you know gentlemen, I honour to this very day."

  These are tales which defy belief, and it was everybody's view that he, being a Russian and thus naturally inclined to superstition, would blab on about things he thought he had experienced but in truth had not. As for myself, I knew him to be so upright that I believed his every word, for if we were to withhold our belief in such people the sum of human knowledge would be very small indeed. He who puts too much faith in others is often cheated, especially if he keeps bad company, but he who puts all his trust in his own judgement and holds the word of decent people for nothing, thinking their reason inferior to his own - he will never be a wise man.

  Now, you should know that the Samsonov domain used to belong to the dukes of Zator, who, though Poles, were the vassals of the German Emperor. There is a story that Wilibald, the last of the dukes, had an only daughter whom he betrothed at the age of ten to the Emperor's nephew. His intention was to save the independence of his dukedom, which with the end of the male line was to be reincorporated into the Polish Crown. This powerful and independent ruler built a fortified castle in Samsonov where he liked to stay sometimes. He was an arrogant and cruel man with neither fear of God nor love for his people. Now it so happened, that when she was sixteen his daughter fell in love with a young Polish knight and let him carry her off on the very day that the Emperor's nephew arrived in Zator to take her hand in marriage. You can easily imagine the shame and anger of the duke at the offence done to so powerful a prince, as well as the ruin of all his plans. He left Zator and settled for good, as he proclaimed, in Samsonov Castle. There, he dedicated himself to a life of piety, praying every day in his chapel, receiving monks and pilgrims, but he did not forgive his daughter and forbade everybody to speak to him about her.

  All this time his daughter lived and suffered under the weight of her father's curse. In the end she and her husband went to see the bishop of Cracow, with whose indulgence they had married, to ask if he could obtain for her the duke's forgiveness. The bishop went to Samsonov and when the duke received him kindly he ventured to speak of his pastoral mission, begging him to purge his heart of the anger he bore his daughter. The duke agreed and even told the bishop that if his daughter and son-in-law were to come to his castle, together with the priest who had married them, he would endeavour to show them what his true feelings were. So the bishop brought them to Samsonov, wanting to witness for himself such a moving reconciliation between the father and his daughter. All this happened in his presence, and the duke showed himself to be so kind that the bishop blessed him many times, repeating that it was the happiest day of his pastoral office.

  But scarcely had the bishop left the castle when he was attacked by a detachment of armed men, who quickly defeated his escort. He himself was dragged from the carriage and wounded, and would have been hacked to death had the good Lord not sent unexpected deliverance in the person of the brave Earl of Skalka, who happened to be passing with a handful of other knights and his own escort on his way to a tournament in Tyniec. The Earl saved the bishop from the hands of the bandits, rounded them all up and, together with the half-dead cleric, brought them to Cracow. There, the attackers were recognised as belonging to the duke's army and confessed that they had been sent by him to kill the bishop and his escort.

  The bishop excommunicated the duke, and the king ordered him to come to Cracow. The duke answered proudly that being a sovereign ruler he did not recognise any other jurisdiction but that of the Emperor himself, that he therefore would not submit himself to any Episcopal or royal trial and that he was ready to answer force with force, confident that the Emperor would not allow h
is vassal to be humiliated.

  The duke would no doubt have met a bad end, as there was no trace of his daughter, son-in-law or the priest who had come with them, though one could surmise that he had had them all murdered. Just one thing saved him and that was that he died soon after, cursed forever, without the last sacrament for which he did not even ask. They say he died blaspheming, his body black as coal.

  After his death, the duchy of Zator with some of its land was incorporated into the Crown. The rest was shared out among the relatives of the duke's son-in-law and the priest's family who claimed compensation for the murder. The Samsonov domain was included in the Episcopal estate and in time the whole affair was forgotten.

  When, during Pogorzelski's administration, the bishop was touring his estates he also visited Samsonov, where he stayed a few days, and where I, with other courtiers, attended him. The bishop expressed a wish to see the interior of the castle, which had remained undisturbed by human presence for centuries. The peasants used to say that it was haunted at night, that sometimes one could hear groans and strange noises coming from the castle's chambers. Pogorzelski and his workmen opened all the castle doors and on the next day we all went with the bishop to see it.

  The castle, built solidly in the old-fashioned way, had survived the centuries intact, but inside it was infested by bats, with spider-webs everywhere and so much dust that it looked an utter ruin. There were remnants of old paintings, stuccoes carved in stone, spiders hanging from the ceiling and furniture which made such an impression on us that we walked around greatly saddened. As for the bishop, he did not seem to be much bothered and what is more, when he had seen the whole castle, he said to Pogorzelski: "My dear fellow, it's a beautiful castle, with such a magnificent view We must make it habitable again. Prepare yourself a lodging in the castle so that you can keep an eye on the work and start on it right away. Next year, God willing, I shall be your guest, as I have a mind to spend a few weeks here with my little flock."

  Soon after our departure, Pogorzelski found space for himself and his office in some comfortable rooms in the east wing of the castle. He had them cleared, put in new stoves and windows, and before long, complying with his master's wish, he moved in. The restoration commenced immediately and the castle was cleaned thoroughly from the cellars to the roof. Even a huge cask of Hungarian wine was found, hanging in the vaults on an iron girdle. It was so old one could cut it with a knife, and barely a dozen bottles were filled with its liquid.

  Mr Pogorzelski visited Cracow often and, knowing him to be a jolly character, we noted with surprise that he was becoming strangely moody, till in the end he succumbed to something akin to black melancholy. Finally it came to the point that he went to see the bishop, requesting to be released from his duties and asking permission to return to the Ukraine.

  Our bishop, who had the heart of an angel and was very attached to his servants, was surprised and saddened: "Why, my Poggy," he says, "have I wronged you that you want to leave me so?"

  "No, Your Excellency, nowhere will I find a better life. The bread's good here and it grieves me to leave so good a master, but I cannot stand such molestation any longer."

  "From whom, my dear?"

  "From whom? Evil spirits, that's from whom."

  "Good God, Poggy! Have you lost all your faculties? You must be sick."

  "I know your Excellency will think me out of my right mind, but I swear on Christ's wounds that what I have said is the truth and since I have moved into this accursed castle I've had no peace from the devil."

  "And what does he do to you?"

  "What does he do? He keeps telling me what I am doing, that's what. I get up, say my prayers and the moment I have finished I hear these words: `Mr Pogorzelski, here you are praying and I AM BURNIN'!' I cross myself and the voice says: `Mr Pogorzelski, here you are crossing yourself and I AM BURNIN'!' I command the horses to be got ready and it goes again: `Mr Pogorzelski, here you are leaving and I AM BURNIN'!' No matter what I do the devil's voice is telling me `Mr Pogorzelski, I AM BURNIN'!"

  "Why don't you move out and go back to your previous lodgings?" asked the bishop.

  "Ha, I would, but once you've got into trouble it's not so easy to get out. The voice follows me around the castle, out in the fields, and it has even come with me to Cracow. Only this morning, when I had my things packed to come to Cracow and from there to the Ukraine, I hear the same voice: `Mr Pogorzelski, here you are going back to the Ukraine to be rid of me, but it's no use. You are packing and I AM BURNIN'!"

  "And tell me, my Pogorzelski, has anyone apart from yourself heard the voice?"

  "That is just the crux of it: if it was only me I would think myself sick and that would be the end of it. But a few nights ago I got such a headache that I woke my servant Khvedko, a Russian like myself, and told him to bring me some saffron tea. He went off, prepared it quite quickly and was soon back with a pot of boiling tea and a cup on a tray. Just as I was reaching my hand for my tea the voice said: `Mr Pogorzelski, here you are drinking your tea and I AM BURNIN'!' My Khvedko dropped the tray on me, burning me in turn with the hot tea, and ran off screaming."

  My dear gentlemen, I was present with others at the conversation,just as you see me here.

  "This is extraordinary," said the bishop, "but it is no good you leaving me for as you say yourself the voice follows you everywhere and so it will follow you to the Ukraine."

  "I hope that the Holy Lady of Berdichov will deliver me from it."

  "My dear Poggy, the Holy Lady reigns as much here as in Berdichov. Why, Jesus granted to our person the power to cast out evil spirits too, so go back to Samsonov. We shall follow on after you tomorrow and say a mass pontificaliter in the castle, you just prepare everything with my chaplain."

  Next day, we all went with the bishop to Samsonov. The bishop stayed at the manor, as the castle was not ready yet, the masons, carpenters and stove-setters being still hard at work inside. Early next morning the bishop asked to be taken to the castle, where we were all awaiting him. A proper altar was set up in a clean room and quite a crowd was already there. I myself and Pogorzelski welcomed the bishop at the door and just as we were leading him to the room where the holy mysteries were to be officiated we heard the voice: "Mr Pogorzelski, verily, you are setting a bishop on me and I AM BURNIN'!" This disconcerted the bishop a little, but he only stopped for a moment and then moved on.

  We looked on as he prayed for a long time before beginning the mass, obviously trying to muster all his powers, and we saw his face brighten with a kind of holiness. Then he officiated pontificaliter a sung mass. The clerics who came with him, his court and the people of Samsonov answered, while Mr Pogorzelski lay prostrate in the shape of a cross on the floor listening to the mass. After the mass the bishop, still standing at the altar, leaned on his crosier and, taking the cross in his hand, spoke in a powerful voice: "Praise be to the Lord!" to which we all answered "And we praise Him." Suddenly a single voice could be heard: "Mr Pogorzelski, here you are praising the Lord and I AM BURNIN'!"

  Just imagine, gentlemen, how scared we were, even though it was not night but a bright morning.

  The bishop began his exorcism. There are still peasants in Samsonov who remember it well and you can ask them whether what I say is true. When the exorcism was over the bishop said: "Hear, Spirit created by God! In the name of this God born Man by the Holy Virgin, who put me as his shepherd to tend this flock, I order you to tell us who you are and what I can do to help you."

  And the terrible voice answered: "There is no help for me. I was the duke of Zator who caused the death of my daughter, my son-in-law and the priest who married them, and for as long as there is any living creature in the castle I shall haunt whoever resides here till the bodies of my victims are buried in consecrated ground."

  "Where are these bodies?" asked the bishop.

  "In this castle. Bring your architect and he will find them."

  Bojanowski, the bishop's architect, was immediatel
y sent for from Cracow. When he measured the castle he found a double wall, had it pulled down and indeed, a narrow room was revealed with three skeletons in it, two male and one female. Apparently, the duke had them bricked up alive and they died of starvation.

  The bishop gave them a splendid burial, founded a memorial chapel of great beauty, which stands in Samsonov to this very day, and left the chaplain there to say three masses a week for the peace of the three souls. After the funeral Mr Pogorzelski was never again molested by the voice.

  My new room didn't satisfy me either. At first, it seemed that what had made me leave my previous lodgings could not possibly happen again, that here I should be safe from that strange malaise which had forced me to abandon the other place. But a few days spent in this newly rented room convinced me that my latest refuge was even worse, as certain familiar, unsettling characteristics began to manifest themselves in sharper and more defined form. After a week's stay in the new place I came to the unpleasant conclusion that I had fallen into a trap a hundred times more complex than the previous one, that the uncomfortable atmosphere which drove me out of my last dwelling had appeared again, and with considerably greater force.

  As I became aware of this undesirable state of affairs I started to look for the reasons in myself. Perhaps the room had nothing to do with it? Perhaps it was I who had dragged the unpleasant mood along with me and unaware of it I was trying to project it into my new surroundings, regarding it as something outside of me I was dishonestly attempting to mask my own weakness?

  But this supposition seemed to be undermined by the sense of inner peace which at that time was pervading my whole being and by my exceptionally good state of health. And so, I soon stumbled upon a new hypothesis, which quickly turned into a certainty confirmed by my everyday experience.