THE UNDERGROUND
VAULTS OF THE BERNARDINE MONASTERY
Graži mūsų
sostinė, senasis Vilniaus miestas su savo senoviškais pastatais, su
meniškomis bažnyčiomis ir siauromis, vingiuotomis gatvelėmis………..
Translated from Lithuanian by Gloria O’Brien
How beautiful is our
capital, the ancient city of
The Bernardines
established their monastery and church near
From olden times, rumors
had spread among the populace that a network of underground tunnels led from
the Bernardine monastery to Gediminas Hill, to Bekešo Hill, and thence to the castle at Trakai. There were many legends about
the caves, which were said
to be extremely old, although no living
resident
claimed to have seen
them. As time passed, people forgot
about the underground passages, and eventually, hardly anyone believed the old
stories, though occasionally someone would stumble upon a trace of their existence.
At the right-hand side
altar of the monastery’s chapel, there had been a well-known miraculous
painting of St. Anthony of
Franciscan monastery at Kretinga,
they secretly took the painting with them.
The
surface of the painting
was hung with gold and silver miniature representations of
arms, legs or hearts, or
plain silver plates with engraved notations, donated by people petitioning St.
Anthony for help, or in thanks for the saint’s aid in restoring health or
happiness.
Amongst all those gold and
silver treasures, there was a worn old leather purse, obviously a little
moneybag, with the letter “R” embroidered in gold. No one knew what it meant, or who had put it
there, but in 1864, when the painting was taken
down to be sent to
Kretinga, a thick brown envelope was discovered attached to its back, telling
the story of the purse, and also touching on the monastery’s underground. The story had been written by one of the
monks of that time, and is given here.
*********************************
1831 was a disastrous year
for
Those whose participation
in the rebellion could not be proven were exiled to
throughout the land.
Some rebels from
Avoiding roads and
villages as well as open meadows, he made his way through fields and
woods. It was a very difficult journey,
requiring frequent long loops around dangerous inhabited places, and careful
searches for places to safely ford a river or pass through a bog or marshland.
He thought about the past
month’s student meeting, when the students
had enthusiastically received his public invitation to join the
insurrection. The very next day, the university had been practically emptied,
as the students gathered
at the designated place
deep in the Rudninkų forest. After a few days, more than forty persons had
joined the group, and training began. It
wasn’t long, however, before they were discovered by the Russian troops and
dispersed. Thankfully, it was close to
evening, and most of the students were able to conceal themselves in the dense
thickets and avoid capture.
And now Adomas was himself
in hiding, though this very morning he had been a leader of this group of
student rebels, full of hope for a successful fight for
courage and resolve.
Now he had to run, if he
wanted to avoid exile at the point of a bayonet to
His journey to
Dawn had begun to streak
the sky as he reached the outskirts of
Slowly he advanced,
stopping to look around every now and then.
Seeing a patrol or a guard, he would jump into a nearby courtyard and
wait until they had passed. He wasted a
great deal of time moving so slowly, and by the time he reached his own street,
the day had lightened considerably. He
lived in a busy neighborhood, on Pilies Gatvė (
A few hundred steps from
his own home, he hid in a courtyard and carefully surveyed his building and
those surrounding it. Everything looked
the same; all was quiet. Just the same,
he was not entirely satisfied and feared an ambush.
He continued to move
slowly and quietly, always looking around, ready to slip into some place or
other at any moment. Drawing closer, he
noticed that the courtyard gates of the house directly across the street from
his, were slightly ajar. There was
nothing he could see, but just the same, the open gates looked suspicious. He knew that a Greek merchant named Varonas
lived in that house with his family.
Varonas was very cautious and tidy, and would not commonly leave a gate
open, not even by chance.
Adomas, flattening himself
against a corner of the house, watched the gate from afar. Though he waited for a long while, he saw
nothing suspicious, and so he decided to slowly approach his home. But just as he made his move, he saw a
Russian gendarme’s red hat at the opening of Varona’s gate. He jumped back into the yard, but it was
already too late. He had been seen. The Russian blew a sharp whistle, and a few
more gendarmes shot across the street toward the yard where Adomas had been
hiding. But he wasted no time, and
scaled the fence into a garden, and, with all his strength began to run, hidden
between fences and hedges, until he found himself by St. Mykolo church.
The police had not lost
his trail; their group had even been enlarged.
A group of Cossack riders had joined the chase at the Orthodox Spaso
church, and a group of Russian infantry marching along
Hidden by buildings and
bushes, Adomas quietly slipped further towards the Bernardine monastery. Soon he had reached the hedges against the
eastern side of the building. On the western side rose the tall stone wall,
and on the north, there was his salvation – the little Bernardine forest.
Adomas, slipping into a large, thick bush, stopped to
wipe the sweat from his
brow,
Adomas was preparing to
run to the next large bush, when he heard
the voices of policemen a few hundred steps in back of him, and at the
same time, just in front of him, a twig snapped. Turning around, he saw the gray uniform of a
soldier standing against a tree just a few yards away. He understood that the enemy had surrounded
him on all sides. Sooner or later, they
would find him, take him and most probably kill him right then and there. If only he could climb over the wall, he
might be able to find a place to hide.
He drew his pistols and again looked over at the monastery. He was amazed to see that the apparently
sealed gate had opened, and that a monk stood there beckoning to him. Wasting no time, Adomas reached the monk’s
side in one great leap, and the gate silently closed behind him.
This maneuver was not
unobserved; the soldier who had been standing against the tree shot off his
rifle and shouted: “There he
is! There he is!”
The bullet hit the
monastery wall. Soldiers and police
hurried in from all sides. An officer
ran up and the soldier loudly and excitedly began to explain that he had seen a
person jump from the bushes, through a gate in the wall, and disappear into the
monastery courtyard.
The officer stepped up to
the gate in the wall, and noted that it was securely
nailed shut with
cross-wise heavy beams. It would have
been impossible to open the gate without prying off the beams. He drew his sword and tried to shove it
through several cracks, but the weapon’s point struck more stone in back of the
gates. It was obvious that, in addition
to being nailed shut on the outside, the gates were also bricked up on the
inside, and there was no way to pass through.
But the soldier stubbornly
insisted, that he definitely had seen a person run through the gates, and gave
a detailed description of the individual, down to his clothing and
appearance. The police recognized the
description as that of the student rebel leader, Adomas Jasas. The officer, finally convinced, ordered that
the monastery be completely surrounded, set a guard on the sealed gate, and,
with the remaining police and military, himself marched up to the main
monastery gate. He rang the bell and ordered
the monk who responded, to open the gates and summon the abbot. The gatekeeper didn’t dare refuse, and
opened the gates so that the troops could enter the courtyard. Soon the abbot appeared.
The officer ordered all
monks to line up in the courtyard, and, having required the monastery’s list of
personnel, checked and examined everyone,
with a policeman who knew and would recognize Adomas Jasas. They found no one remotely resembling him. All the monks were much older men. Then ensued a search of the monastery and the
church. Crawling through every corner,
searching through every loft and space, thoroughly investigating the cellars,
and verifying the solidity of the bricked-up little gate, no one and nothing suspicious was found. The search lasted for five hours, and the
afternoon was well-advanced by the time the soldiers and police gathered in the
courtyard and reported to the officer that the rebel had not been found. The officer decided that the soldier had been
mistaken in thinking he had seen the student, and he and his company left the
monastery. They returned to the woods to
search further, but found nothing.
Led by the monk who had
admitted him, Adomas descended a steep flight of stone steps, to the
underground. It was very dark, and he
had to step carefully. His guide held
him by the hand, and Adomas counted twenty-one steps before he felt level
ground beneath his feet. They stopped
there, while the monk took a candle from his pocket, lit it and led Adomas
further. After a few turns to the
right, then to the left, they entered a spacious chamber, with several openings
leading in various directions. Here the
monk lit a torch which hung on the wall, instructed Adomas to wait until he
returned, and disappeared through one of the openings.
Adomas, exhausted from his
long journey and flight from the authorities, sat down on the ground, covered
by large, flat slabs of rock, and stretching out his legs, leaned back against
the wall. He felt weariness and tension
in every joint and muscle, but as he sat the tension began to recede. He didn’t know it, when his head drooped, his
eyes closed, and a deep, refreshing sleep suspended his thoughts.
He didn’t know how long he
had slept, but when he woke, he saw a basket which held a loaf of bread. He remembered that he hadn’t eaten in two
days, and was
assailed by a sharp
hunger. He drew the basket nearer,
seizing the bread, and also found a piece of smoked meat and a bottle of
milk. Never had he tasted such delicious
bread and meat. Half the loaf and a good
part of the meat disappeared immediately.
As he drank the milk, he felt his strength and energy return.
He considered his
situation, and understood that he was in the Bernardine monastery’s
underground, but wasn’t certain how he had gotten there. He wanted to believe that the Russians
wouldn’t find him. He knew that the
police had surrounded the monastery, and had heard the soldier shout , so
surely they knew of his whereabouts. How long would he have to stay here? Had he brought some misfortune upon the
monks? He wouldn’t want that. What should he do now? All these thoughts kept running through his
mind, but he had no answers.
Later, the monk appeared at one of the cave openings,
carrying a bag. Drawing closer, he said,
“I have brought you some other clothes and food for a few days. Change your clothing and we will leave
here. It is now evening, and by the time
we reach the exit, night will have fallen and it will be safer to travel.”
Adomas changed
quickly. Now he looked like a young
merchant from a big city. As he changed,
he rained questions on the monk, but he gave no answer, as if he hadn’t heard a
thing. Adomas made as if to take his
pistols, but the monk took them instead.
“Weapons don’t go with your disguise”, he said. Adomas was very reluctant to part with those
pistols, as they had been in his family for many years. They were antique, beautifully made, and so
handsomely decorated that they might better have belonged in a museum than to a
soldier. Adomas’s father had gotten them
from his grandfather in 1794, when he went off to join Kosciuško’s insurrection against the Russians. Adomas got them from his father when he
prepared to join this rebellion. The
pistols should pass to his own sons, as he firmly believed they would also
fight for their country’s freedom.
The monk noted his
reluctance to part with the pistols:
“Your war is over now, but when it is necessary that you fight again,
they will be returned”.
Tying up the bundle of
food, the monk took the torch from the wall, and led him through another of the cave openings. They walked for a long time. In some places the passage became very
narrow; at times it was even necessary to walk bent over. The path branched out in different directions
in a few places, and it seemed easy to get lost. In some places the walls were damp, and it
was once necessary to wade through a narrow stream. The monk led Adomas without hesitation, and
appeared to be well-acquainted with the underground. After more than an hour, the monk
stopped: “Take the torch and wait here,
while I go to see if it is safe “.
After a while he returned and, leaving the torch in a bracket, he led
Adomas through an opening and turned to the left. Walking a few more yards they exited the cave
and found themselves amid thick shrubbery.
“Here we must part”, said
the monk. “We are not far from the right
bank of the Neris. Now, walk towards
Adomas didn’t know how to
begin to thank the monk for having saved his life, and for all his care of
him. “I am still young”, he said, “and I
believe that I will be able to earn enough money to repay this loan – for that
is how I regard it -- ten times
over. Only please tell me your name,
which I will remember always.”
“They called me Father
Romualdas”, answered the monk. “And now
go, and may the Lord preserve you. And
when you want to repay the money, you may give it not to me, but to a
monastery, whose patron is St. Anthony.”
Adomas said farewell and
left. Following the monk’s instructions,
he safely reached
Seven years passed.
In 1838, a carriage was
driven up to the monastery entrance, and a man, young-looking but with hair
beginning to gray, stepped down, boldly approached the doors and pulled the
bell cord. A distant peal was heard,
then footsteps. The little grilled
window opened, and a monk’s face peered out.
“I would like to see
Father Romualdas” , said the visitor.
“Father Romualdas? There is no one here by that name.” – and the
gatekeeper
started to close the
window.
“Wait!’ cried the visitor -- “If Father Romualdas isn’t here, then I
want to speak with the abbot about an important matter”.
The monk asked the visitor
to wait, closed the window and stepped away.
Five minutes later, he returned, opened the door to admit the visitor,
and instructed:
“Follow me.”
The gatekeeper led him
through a heavy oaken doorway through a corridor, and stopped before another
door, which he opened without knocking and invited him to enter a large, dark
room.
A long table with chairs
set against both sides stood in the middle of the floor; it seemed to the
visitor that this might be a refectory or conference room. An elderly monk sat at the head of the table
and his deep-set eyes studied the new-comer.
“I am Adomas Jasas” – the
visitor introduced himself. “I have come
to thank Father Romualdas for saving my life in 1831 and making it possible for
me to leave the country.”
“There is no Father
Romualdas in our monastery”, answered the abbot.
“Then where is he? Where can I find him?”
“There was no Father
Romualdas in our monastery in 1831, and I don’t know who told you that he was
here. It appears you are mistaken and
have come to the wrong monastery.”
“No, no, I am not
mistaken! cried Adomas. “Father Romualdas led me to the Neris through
this monastery’s underground!”
“I know nothing about any
underground passages here, and neither does anyone else in this monastery!”
said the abbot.
Adomas realized that the
abbot didn’t trust him, and suspected him of being someone who could do harm to
the monastery. He knew that the Russians
often employed provo
Adomas pulled something
out of his pocket -- a small leather
purse, with the letter “R” embroidered in gold.
“Father”, he said, “this
purse was given to me by Father Romualdas.
In it were seven gold coins for my journey and to help me establish
myself in a foreign land. I promised him
I would return the loan tenfold, and now this purse holds seventy gold coins,
which I conscientiously and honestly earned while living in a far-off
land. Father Romualdas said that I could
repay the loan to a monastery whose patron was St. Anthony of
The abbot accepted the
purse and carefully examined it, paying particular attention to the embroidered
letter “R”. He began to question Adomas
in detail, asking when he had been at the monastery, why the police had pursued
him, who were his parents, when had he returned to
“That is just like Father
Romualdas. He often played this kind of
trick on the Russians - and for the money, well, he always gave whatever
he had to someone who may have needed it more than he. But your having met Father Romualdas is puzzling,
as he died in 1827. Drunken Cossacks,
coming upon him on the road from Eišiškių and
This was difficult for
Adomas to believe, but he couldn’t doubt the abbot’s words.
He remembered meeting
Father Romualdas as if it had been yesterday.
He saw again, the living figure of a tall man, his face shadowed by his
hooded habit, beckoning to him, urging him to run to the gate. He remembered the underground very well,
though he couldn’t say how he got there.
He remembered falling asleep in the chamber where Father Romualdas had
left him, and the basket of food that he found when he woke. And finally, he remembered the moment of
leave-taking, when he had asked the monk his name:
“They called me Father
Romualdas” -- the monk had replied.
Why use the word “called”
instead of “call”? He had thought
nothing of it at the time, but now the word became meaningful. But he could not be dead, he was alive,
Adomas saw him, spoke with him. Adomas
decided he wouldn’t think about it.
He asked the abbot to
accept the seventy gold coins and use the money for the monastery’s needs, and
to attach the purse to the portrait of St. Anthony at the chapel’s altar.
************************************************
Adomas had changed his
name before returning to
In February of 1863, when Adomas was about sixty years old, a
traveler arrived and asked if he could stay overnight. The times were unsettled, rumors were rife,
and the Russian authorities had strengthened their occupying forces. No one seemed to know what was really
happening, and the Beržėnas family welcomed the
guest, hoping to hear the latest, reliable news.
The traveler said that a
new rebellion against the Russians was growing.
A unit
had already formed in the Rudninkų forest under the leadership of Ludvikas Narbuttas,
and had carried out several attacks on larger groups of Russian soldiers and
annihilated them. Adomas spoke about his
own role in the 1831 uprising, and the reasons for its failure.
The next day, as their
guest was leaving, he suddenly remembered:
“I would have gone on and forgotten, that I have something for you. A stranger, having heard that I was on my way
to Kretinga, asked me to deliver this to you.”
He handed Adomas a package securely wrapped in a cloth.
Adomas couldn’t imagine
who might have sent him a package.
Seeing his guest off and returning to the house, he unwrapped it and
found two pistols, the same ones that Father Romualdas had taken from him in
the Bernardine monastery’s underground.
He respectfully laid them on the table and fell to thinking.
He remembered days long
gone. Again, he saw Father Romualdas
standing at the little gate and beckoning to him. And he remembered the monk’s words, as he
took the pistols from him:
“When it is necessary that
you fight again, they will be returned to you.”
The time had come.
His son, Jurgis, came home
and saw his father standing at the table, looking at the pistols. Adomas had told him the story of the 1831
uprising, about his flight from the authorities, and about the Bernardine
monastery.
“Father, give them to
me!” Adomas, embracing his son, gave him
the pistols. “I hope you will be
luckier than I was, and that you will bring back liberty to us and to our
Motherland.”
Three days later, Jurgis
Berzenas-Jasas was on his way to the Rudninku forest. He joined Narbutt’s team using his old
family name of Jasas. The family left at
home told neighbors that Jurgis had gone to school in
way home. His first words were: “Father, I have returned without your
pistols, as the Germans took them from me.”
“It’s nothing, Son …. the day will come when they will repay us for
those pistols with cannon.”
Neither Adomas nor Jurgis
lived to see the day or the payment, but this saying survived and remained in
the family. Even their neighbors knew of
it, and often mentioned, that the Germans owed the Berzenases two cannon. But no one knew how or why this debt had come
to be.
The World War tore through
the countryside, and in 1919 the battle for Lithuanian independence began. Two descendants of Adomas Berzenas-Jasas
immediately volunteered for the fight, and soon the Bolseviks were driven from
volunteer Berzenas
brothers were able to seize a pair of brand-new cannon as the Germans were
transporting them from Radviliskis to
Then ensued a time of
peace and creativity in
Rumors flew in 1941, that
the Bolsheviks were looting churches, monasteries and convents, driving out
monks and nuns and arresting priests.
The Bolshevik army had plundered the Franciscan monastery at Kretinga,
and driven away the monks. In June, the
youngest Berzenas son found a leather purse on the road, embroidered with the
letter “R”, containing seven Russian
paper rubles. It must have been dropped
by a Russian solder who had participated in the looting of the Kretinga
monastery. The boy showed it to his
parents, but they paid no attention, as the past had been forgotten, along with
the role that this little purse had played in their ancestor’s life.
On
One night, the Berzenas
homestead was unexpectedly surrounded by Bolshevik troops. The men, women and children were put into a
truck and driven to the railroad station, where they were stuffed into a
Jonas, like his ancestor,
Adomas, was determined never to forget his country, and when the time came, to
return to
The exiled Berzenas family
vanished in the Siberian taiga, their unknown graves clad in eternal ice and
deep, silent snow.
Source:
“Vilniaus
Krašto Legendos” by
Genrikas
Songinas, printed in
1988,
Draugo Spaustuve
Publisher
Linas Raslavičius
© English translation - Gloria O’Brien 2006
This article was published in
Bridges, March, April 2006