From the very beginning, the guide and I did not like it: three local residents refused immediately, and only a thin old man of about seventy-five, slowly feeding the sheep, agreed to ride with us to the old chapel. On the way, we started asking the guide what he knew about this tomb chapel, and that's what he told us.…
From ancient times until the First World War, there was a small but quite successful estate on these lands. The owner, according to rumors, built a railway in Russia, and met his death there. Pani Elzbieta, that was the name of the mistress of the estate, was left alone with three adult sons. Two of them went abroad to study, and they stayed there. However, they occasionally visited their mothers, and they came with their young wives and children. The youngest son was always with his mother. He also studied in Warsaw at one time, but returned to the estate and helped his mother manage the household.
So, this guy fell in love with a beautiful woman from the neighboring village, who was nearby, across the river. Old haspadyny seemed to like her son's fiancee. But as soon as the wedding was celebrated, the First World War broke out. The young owner went to the front, and his mother invited her son's pregnant wife to her estate. It is said that it was from this hill, where the chapel now stands, that two women escorted a recruit to war.
And Mrs. Elzbieta's chapel began to be built even earlier, and when her son went to war, it was already almost completed.
After some time– the young wife gave birth to a child, a daughter. But a great misfortune happened – the daughter-in-law quickly fell ill, and all the efforts of the old lady to heal her were in vain. A young mother died without waiting for her husband, and the baby daughter remained in her mother-in-law's arms.
The unfortunate woman rests in this particular chapel.…
– That's it, – the old man interrupted his story, - leave the cart here, our way is on foot. We'll go through the woods here, and then we'll hit the fence. Although... what kind of fence is there. The village has been uninhabited for a long time, so it means. I haven't heard anyone go there. You just can't sit in the city.
- We need to take a picture, for the sake of history, - we justify ourselves.
- Who is interested in her, this story. Although there are different people.
- Of course! Hence, they are interested in different things.
"Tell me more?" The old man asked.
.. After a while, one of the eldest sons came to the old lady and, looking at everything, convinced the mother to move in with the baby to him. That's what Elzbieta did. They were in a foreign land, and they were in a foreign land. And then, as you know, the Civil War raged, and in Stalin's time, an awful lot of people disappeared. You've been through a lot…
We walked through the woods and came to a ditch without a bridge. Apparently, it became dilapidated over time and collapsed into the water. The roofs of the houses were black above the bright greenery of the old gardens on the other bank. There was a chapel on the hill to the right.
"So we have to turn around," the old man said, disappointed as much as we were. - I do not advise wading, it is not known what depth it is. I also think it would be interesting for you to find out... I did not see it myself, but people from that village said in fear that immediately after the departure of the mistress of the estate, strange things began to happen on the hill where the young lady was buried. When the fog rose from the swamp all the way to the chapel, a shadow appeared in it, like a woman, and stood motionless until the fog lifted in the morning. Apparently, nebozhitsa's soul was tormented-she continued to wait for her husband and daughter. But since then, none of the owners of the estate have returned here. Or maybe someone came. I don't know.
The darkness was thickening fast. Ragged flakes of fog from the lowlands crept uphill towards the chapel.
"It's time for us to hurry back, sons," the old man said softly. - Although the day is long, the night will not miss its chance. You have a long way to go, and I, an old man, need to carry my bones to the warmth, to the stove. Let's hurry, son, let's hurry.
We reluctantly agreed, and plunged back into the forest, often looking over our shoulders at the approaching fog.