THE DAMNED IN ST

The Lithuanians love a spooky ghost story -- the scarier the better. The following tells a legend about the goings-on one night in the Church of Saints John, located at the edge of Vilnius University.

THE CELLARS OF STS. JOHNS’ CHURCH

ŠV. JONŲ BAŽNYČIOS RŪSIAI

„Šv. Jonų bažnyčios rūsiai kaip ir daugelis senojo Vilniaus rūsių yra apgaubti paslapties šydu.............“

Translated from Lithuanian by Gloria O‘Brien

The cellars of Sts. John’s Church, like many others in Old Vilnius, lie shrouded in a veil of mystery. Very little is currently known about the cellars’ contents, but this legend tells a story about the brotherhood of the damned.

In 1600, a wealthy Vilnius resident, known for his debauched way of life, died, and his remains were brought to the Annunciation Chapel of Sts. John Church. The chapel was hung with the customary black mourning cloths, and the body was laid out on an impressive catafalque. According to the custom of the time, the corpse was laid in a silk-lined coffin, having been dressed in the finest clothing, fitted with costly sables, fingers covered with expensive golden rings. Those rings, with their gold and precious stones glittering on the hands of the deceased, drew the attention of some thieves loafing about the church, and they resolved to acquire them. They seized a young man employed as a sexton, and, under threats of death, commanded him to enter the church that night, remove the rings from the corpse, and pass them to the thieves through an open window.

Frightened, the young fellow agreed, and using his key, entered the church that evening. The chapels and vaults were steeped in the shadows of dusk, as the saints arrayed against the walls cast suspicious glances at him through the flickering candlelight. In the silence of the night, every footstep reverberated from the walls with a sudden clang. Stepping up to the catafalque and uncovering the

coffin, he reached inside with a trembling hand to take the rings. And suddenly the corpse sat up and with a horrible voice called “Accursed brothers, help me!”

Suddenly there was a monstrous knocking, and a rumbling, whistling wind, as the very walls of the church began to tremble. Stone sarcophagi shattered, underground trapdoors blasted open, and window glass shattered. The dead rose from their coffins, howling and moaning, until the church seemed to be filled with them. A few looked as though they had only recently been interred; others were in varying stages of decay; the rest were only skeletons. These had been wealthy dignitaries -- nobles, merchants, city-dwellers -- who had been interred in the cellars of the church. They all fell to chasing the young man, and he, faint from fright, was just able to run up to the choir loft and bar the door to its stairway. The dead were unable to open the door, repelled by a large cross engraved on it. Howling and cursing, they carried chairs, pews, coffins and stone grave markers from the underground, piling it all up and climbing upon the structure to reach the choir loft. The terrified fellow clung to the tops of the organ pipes, but the macabre heap grew taller and taller, and it seemed that the skeletal hands of the ghastly crew would soon reach and seize him.

But, luckily, day began to break. The first rays of dawn shone through the windows, and the city’s roosters woke, crowing. The dead fell back, clattering, to the stone floor of the church, not to rise again.

The faithful arriving at the church that morning were greeted by a dreadful sight: hundreds of decaying corpses, desiccated skeletons and

piles of skulls littered the stone floors. Entrance doors to the cellars stood open, and coffins were empty. Only a few coffins had not been touched by the chaos: in them, the Jesuits rested in their eternal sleep, the only residents of the cellars who had not been accursed.

The young man, barely alive, was helped down from his perch on the organ, but he was so sickened by his terrible experience that he died a few days later.

The church was closed for cleansing. It became clear that the damned were so many, that at least two weeks would be needed to cleanse the sacred precincts. The remains were all gathered and placed in the remaining undamaged coffins, then taken beyond the Rudninkų gates, and buried near St. Stephen‘s Church. Since that time, there have been no more burials in the cellars of Sts. Johns‘ Church.

Source:

“Vilniaus Gatvių Istorija“ - History of Vilnius‘ Streets

By Antanas Rimvydas Čaplinskas

Publ - Caribde, Vilnius 1998

This artile was printed in Bridges, Oct. 2008

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