 |
| Ivan Nikolaevich Ponomarev |
...continued from part sixteen.
15. In “Memories of the Polish Rebellion of 1863” by Mr. I. N. Ponomarev, in the September issue of the “Istorichesky Vestnik” for 1896, the author recounts the following inexplicable fact, which he himself witnessed, together with the officers of the Uhlan Regiment, where the author was released from the corps shortly before the start of the 1863 uprising.
The author tells us:
The third squadron, in which I was, was assigned to camp in the village of Kvitki, located ten miles from the headquarters that remained in the city of Korsun (Kiev province). The large village consisted of several hundred houses, and since in Little Russia almost every house has a garden, Kvitki, buried in greenery, occupied several miles in circumference. The quartermasters who met us announced that there were no comfortable apartments for the officers, and the only tolerable premises were allocated for the squadron commander, adding that there was a good private residence, but they did not dare to occupy it either.
“On what grounds did you not take him?” asked the senior officer, turning to the non-commissioned officer.
"Your Honor, according to the peasants, evil spirits have been inhabiting the place for several years now."
“What nonsense are you talking about?” the officer cried out with a laugh. “It was probably the women who told you this.”
"No, your honor, for this reason the manager left it. And not a single peasant will touch the apples and pears in the garden."
"Is the house nice?"
"Good, your honor: four large rooms, a kitchen and a servant's room."
“Can we all fit?” Staff Captain Markovich continued to interrogate.
"Quite, your honor."
"Will they give her up for boarding?"
"With great pleasure."
We happily agreed and, six officers and eight servants, headed to the enchanted house. The house was one-story, surrounded by a large orchard and decently furnished. As soon as the manager learned of our desire to take the premises, he came to us at once. He was a man of about 60 years old, with a very good-natured face. This is what he told us:
"I have been serving His lordship for about thirty years and five years ago I was transferred from another farm. Since the day of my move, there was a hum in this house at night, reminiscent of a groan; and sometimes it happened that some invisible hand rearranged all the furniture. Somehow I suffered for two months, but then I could not stand it, and with the lord's permission I moved to another house. There are lots of apples and pears in the garden, but you can make any peasant rich, he will still not touch the fruit. There is a legend that this place is cursed, and that here, several decades ago, one of the managers, in delirium tremens, slaughtered his entire family, including an infant. My predecessor did not listen to the peasants and built a little house here. He lived in it for five months, and one morning they found him lying on the floor without signs of life. So I took his place. And maybe, with your arrival," he finished his story, "everything will be fine, and the evil spirits will leave this house alone."
Having thanked the manager for the information he had given us, which had not changed our decision in the least, we settled down nicely in the room favored by the sons of hell. Having gathered in the dining room, we chatted cheerfully, recalling the old camp.
Suddenly there was a rumble, as if someone was hammering on iron, and then a groan was heard in the house. We looked at the clock: it was exactly a quarter to twelve. The frightened servants jumped out of the kitchen and ran to us. With lanterns in their hands, they examined the whole house, all the nooks and crannies, visited the cellar, walked around the garden, and found nothing suspicious anywhere. The rumble continued until a quarter to twelve, and then everything became quiet.
"This is the first benefit performance that has been arranged for us," said Staff Captain Markovich, "you know, gentlemen, I'm ready to bet that this is nothing other than some kind of hoax. Perhaps someone needs this house to be free of lodgings, so they blamed it all on devilry. Tomorrow I'll start looking for the dungeon, and when I find it, the spirit will disappear."
We took part in the search, but did not find the dungeon.
It was assumed that someone was getting into the garden at night and, hiding there, was playing mysterious music, and so, with the permission of the squadron commander, Major Osmanov, sentries were posted in the garden and around the house in the evening. But nothing helped. The next day, exactly from a quarter past 12 to a quarter past one, the same thing happened as the day before. The sentries also heard a groan, as if coming from our premises. If our servants had not consisted of orderlies, we would have lost them. Only strict discipline could keep them in place.
One of the young officers told us that his nerves were so frayed that he immediately went to look for a room. No matter how hard we tried to persuade him, nothing helped. An hour later he returned very pleased, since he had managed to rent a room from a peasant for three rubles a month. His orderly, probably overjoyed at leaving the cursed place, got drunk, and P. was forced to have him arrested. With the help of our orderlies, the comrade moved to a new apartment. At the appointed hour the hum resumed, and half an hour later everything was quiet. We went to bed. Not more than twenty minutes had passed since then when there was a loud knock at the door, and immediately after that we heard the voice of P., who had left us...
"Gentlemen, open the door quickly, it’s me."
Our comrade came in among us, pale as a sheet.
“What happened to you?” we cried out in unison.
"Now listen. At 12 o'clock I went to bed. After the excitement I had experienced, I gladly looked around my tiny room. Suddenly someone knocked on my door. Assuming it was the owner, I asked: 'Who's there?' There was no answer, but the knock, even louder this time, was repeated.
My orderly, as you know, is under arrest, but I, wanting to show whoever was knocking on my door that I was not alone, said loudly: 'Ivan, look who's there?' After there was a third knock, but it was so loud that the door shook. The thought flashed through my mind that the peasants had rebelled again and, taking advantage of my solitude, had decided to attack me. Well, I thought to myself, I won't sell you my life cheaply. Instantly I jumped out of bed, put on my coat, snatched my sabre from its sheath, took it in my left hand and the revolver in my right. Going up to the door, I pushed the hook aside with my elbow and opened the door with my foot. The corridor was empty. The exit door was locked with a wooden beam. Here, gentlemen, I got goosebumps. I returned to the room, lit the lantern and blew out the candle. Having put my sabre in the corner of the corridor, I opened the beam and went out into the vegetable garden. It was pitch black outside, and despite the fact that I had a lantern, I couldn't find the gate. I had to climb over the fence. I caught my spur on the fence and, of course, fell to the ground. The lantern broke and went out, and my weapon fell out of my hands. I barely found it and barely made it to you."
At this phrase, Homeric laughter rang out. It was so infectious that P. burst out laughing himself.
The next day, our comrade, having released his orderly from custody, sent him for things, and also ordered him to bring the owner of his apartment.
We were all assembled when he came to the call. He was an old man of about 70 years old, white as a harrier.
“Well, brother,” said P., “take the ruble given to you as a deposit, and I won’t return to your accursed hut again.”
"Thank you, your honor, for your kindness, but I brought you your money back, I shouldn't have deceived you in my old age, but poverty made me tempt myself with these three rubles. And so I had to blush for the deception."
"For what deception?" - asked P.
"It was necessary to reveal the whole truth to your honor. You see, I had an only son, a kind, quiet lad. When he was twenty, I married him off. He had an exemplary wife, and they lived in perfect harmony. A year later, the woman bore me a granddaughter, and gave her soul to God. After that, my dear son withered away, and a year later he himself went to the next world with his beloved woman." There were tears in the old man’s voice. "My granddaughter, may the Kingdom of Heaven be hers, was a beauty, just like my late son. My old woman and I found only comfort in her. When she grew up, well, suitors began to fawn over her. They were rich, but she, a beauty, did not like them. We had one bachelor, a soldier’s son, the granddaughter fell in love with him, and she began to ask for our blessing. The old woman and I were even glad that since we were taking a bachelor into the house, our granddaughter would stay with us. They got married. They lived happily for two years, only one thing was missing - children. We began to notice that our adopted son was becoming thoughtful. No matter how we asked him, he remained silent. Later it turned out that he was jealous of our dove for some guy, and, God knows, in vain. One night he stabbed Masha, and wanted to kill himself, but the Lord did not let him die. He was cured, and the court sent Peter to hard labor. He did not reach the place, he died on the way. Since then, twice a month, someone knocks on the door. For this very reason, we moved from this room. Here, your honor, your ruble, forgive me, an old man, my sin.
P. almost forced the owner to take the money.
Officers from the regiment headquarters came almost daily to personally verify the mysterious knock. Having heard enough of it, they themselves conducted searches, but achieved no results.
Soon we received an order to go into winter quarters in the town of Medzhybizh, Podolsk province, and the question of the mysterious phenomenon remained unexplained. ("Istorichesky Vestnik", September 1896).
PART EIGHTEEN
15. In “Memories of the Polish Rebellion of 1863” by Mr. I. N. Ponomarev, in the September issue of the “Istorichesky Vestnik” for 1896, the author recounts the following inexplicable fact, which he himself witnessed, together with the officers of the Uhlan Regiment, where the author was released from the corps shortly before the start of the 1863 uprising.
The author tells us:
The third squadron, in which I was, was assigned to camp in the village of Kvitki, located ten miles from the headquarters that remained in the city of Korsun (Kiev province). The large village consisted of several hundred houses, and since in Little Russia almost every house has a garden, Kvitki, buried in greenery, occupied several miles in circumference. The quartermasters who met us announced that there were no comfortable apartments for the officers, and the only tolerable premises were allocated for the squadron commander, adding that there was a good private residence, but they did not dare to occupy it either.
“On what grounds did you not take him?” asked the senior officer, turning to the non-commissioned officer.
"Your Honor, according to the peasants, evil spirits have been inhabiting the place for several years now."
“What nonsense are you talking about?” the officer cried out with a laugh. “It was probably the women who told you this.”
"No, your honor, for this reason the manager left it. And not a single peasant will touch the apples and pears in the garden."
"Is the house nice?"
"Good, your honor: four large rooms, a kitchen and a servant's room."
“Can we all fit?” Staff Captain Markovich continued to interrogate.
"Quite, your honor."
"Will they give her up for boarding?"
"With great pleasure."
We happily agreed and, six officers and eight servants, headed to the enchanted house. The house was one-story, surrounded by a large orchard and decently furnished. As soon as the manager learned of our desire to take the premises, he came to us at once. He was a man of about 60 years old, with a very good-natured face. This is what he told us:
"I have been serving His lordship for about thirty years and five years ago I was transferred from another farm. Since the day of my move, there was a hum in this house at night, reminiscent of a groan; and sometimes it happened that some invisible hand rearranged all the furniture. Somehow I suffered for two months, but then I could not stand it, and with the lord's permission I moved to another house. There are lots of apples and pears in the garden, but you can make any peasant rich, he will still not touch the fruit. There is a legend that this place is cursed, and that here, several decades ago, one of the managers, in delirium tremens, slaughtered his entire family, including an infant. My predecessor did not listen to the peasants and built a little house here. He lived in it for five months, and one morning they found him lying on the floor without signs of life. So I took his place. And maybe, with your arrival," he finished his story, "everything will be fine, and the evil spirits will leave this house alone."
Having thanked the manager for the information he had given us, which had not changed our decision in the least, we settled down nicely in the room favored by the sons of hell. Having gathered in the dining room, we chatted cheerfully, recalling the old camp.
Suddenly there was a rumble, as if someone was hammering on iron, and then a groan was heard in the house. We looked at the clock: it was exactly a quarter to twelve. The frightened servants jumped out of the kitchen and ran to us. With lanterns in their hands, they examined the whole house, all the nooks and crannies, visited the cellar, walked around the garden, and found nothing suspicious anywhere. The rumble continued until a quarter to twelve, and then everything became quiet.
"This is the first benefit performance that has been arranged for us," said Staff Captain Markovich, "you know, gentlemen, I'm ready to bet that this is nothing other than some kind of hoax. Perhaps someone needs this house to be free of lodgings, so they blamed it all on devilry. Tomorrow I'll start looking for the dungeon, and when I find it, the spirit will disappear."
We took part in the search, but did not find the dungeon.
It was assumed that someone was getting into the garden at night and, hiding there, was playing mysterious music, and so, with the permission of the squadron commander, Major Osmanov, sentries were posted in the garden and around the house in the evening. But nothing helped. The next day, exactly from a quarter past 12 to a quarter past one, the same thing happened as the day before. The sentries also heard a groan, as if coming from our premises. If our servants had not consisted of orderlies, we would have lost them. Only strict discipline could keep them in place.
One of the young officers told us that his nerves were so frayed that he immediately went to look for a room. No matter how hard we tried to persuade him, nothing helped. An hour later he returned very pleased, since he had managed to rent a room from a peasant for three rubles a month. His orderly, probably overjoyed at leaving the cursed place, got drunk, and P. was forced to have him arrested. With the help of our orderlies, the comrade moved to a new apartment. At the appointed hour the hum resumed, and half an hour later everything was quiet. We went to bed. Not more than twenty minutes had passed since then when there was a loud knock at the door, and immediately after that we heard the voice of P., who had left us...
"Gentlemen, open the door quickly, it’s me."
Our comrade came in among us, pale as a sheet.
“What happened to you?” we cried out in unison.
"Now listen. At 12 o'clock I went to bed. After the excitement I had experienced, I gladly looked around my tiny room. Suddenly someone knocked on my door. Assuming it was the owner, I asked: 'Who's there?' There was no answer, but the knock, even louder this time, was repeated.
My orderly, as you know, is under arrest, but I, wanting to show whoever was knocking on my door that I was not alone, said loudly: 'Ivan, look who's there?' After there was a third knock, but it was so loud that the door shook. The thought flashed through my mind that the peasants had rebelled again and, taking advantage of my solitude, had decided to attack me. Well, I thought to myself, I won't sell you my life cheaply. Instantly I jumped out of bed, put on my coat, snatched my sabre from its sheath, took it in my left hand and the revolver in my right. Going up to the door, I pushed the hook aside with my elbow and opened the door with my foot. The corridor was empty. The exit door was locked with a wooden beam. Here, gentlemen, I got goosebumps. I returned to the room, lit the lantern and blew out the candle. Having put my sabre in the corner of the corridor, I opened the beam and went out into the vegetable garden. It was pitch black outside, and despite the fact that I had a lantern, I couldn't find the gate. I had to climb over the fence. I caught my spur on the fence and, of course, fell to the ground. The lantern broke and went out, and my weapon fell out of my hands. I barely found it and barely made it to you."
At this phrase, Homeric laughter rang out. It was so infectious that P. burst out laughing himself.
The next day, our comrade, having released his orderly from custody, sent him for things, and also ordered him to bring the owner of his apartment.
We were all assembled when he came to the call. He was an old man of about 70 years old, white as a harrier.
“Well, brother,” said P., “take the ruble given to you as a deposit, and I won’t return to your accursed hut again.”
"Thank you, your honor, for your kindness, but I brought you your money back, I shouldn't have deceived you in my old age, but poverty made me tempt myself with these three rubles. And so I had to blush for the deception."
"For what deception?" - asked P.
"It was necessary to reveal the whole truth to your honor. You see, I had an only son, a kind, quiet lad. When he was twenty, I married him off. He had an exemplary wife, and they lived in perfect harmony. A year later, the woman bore me a granddaughter, and gave her soul to God. After that, my dear son withered away, and a year later he himself went to the next world with his beloved woman." There were tears in the old man’s voice. "My granddaughter, may the Kingdom of Heaven be hers, was a beauty, just like my late son. My old woman and I found only comfort in her. When she grew up, well, suitors began to fawn over her. They were rich, but she, a beauty, did not like them. We had one bachelor, a soldier’s son, the granddaughter fell in love with him, and she began to ask for our blessing. The old woman and I were even glad that since we were taking a bachelor into the house, our granddaughter would stay with us. They got married. They lived happily for two years, only one thing was missing - children. We began to notice that our adopted son was becoming thoughtful. No matter how we asked him, he remained silent. Later it turned out that he was jealous of our dove for some guy, and, God knows, in vain. One night he stabbed Masha, and wanted to kill himself, but the Lord did not let him die. He was cured, and the court sent Peter to hard labor. He did not reach the place, he died on the way. Since then, twice a month, someone knocks on the door. For this very reason, we moved from this room. Here, your honor, your ruble, forgive me, an old man, my sin.
P. almost forced the owner to take the money.
Officers from the regiment headquarters came almost daily to personally verify the mysterious knock. Having heard enough of it, they themselves conducted searches, but achieved no results.
Soon we received an order to go into winter quarters in the town of Medzhybizh, Podolsk province, and the question of the mysterious phenomenon remained unexplained. ("Istorichesky Vestnik", September 1896).
PART EIGHTEEN
