The more than occasional bumps in the road reminded Blavatsky that her wounds were still healing. All things considered, she was lucky to be alive after fighting in Garibaldi’s army at the Battle of Mentana.[1] Two months after the battle, her teacher instructed her to go to Constantinople, so she left Florence during the Christmas season of 1867. She passed through Serbia, where her teacher gave her further instructions in the Karpat Mountains. She then traveled in the direction of Antemari in a small wagon of her own, and hired a horse whenever it was needed (in the fashion of that primitive, trusting country.)
“Transylvania might well be termed the land of superstition,” it was said. “It would almost seem as though the whole species of demons, pixies, witches, and hobgoblins, driven from the rest of Europe by the wand of science, had taken refuge within this mountain rampart.”[2] As a matter of course, churchyards, gallow-trees, and cross-roads were to be avoided, however, the people did not always endeavour to keep the evil one away. On the contrary, sometimes the devil was invoked for assistance, and one entered into a regular compact with him. To do so, one had needed only to go to the junction of a cross-road and trace a circle on the ground. Standing in this circle, the summoner would deposit a copper coin as payment, and say: “Satan, I give thee over my flock (garden or field, etc.) to keep till (such and such a term,) that thou mayest defend and protect it for me and be my servant till this time has expired.” One had to be careful, however, to stay within the circle until the devil (who likely assumed the form of a goat, crow, toad, or serpent) had completely disappeared, otherwise the unfortunate soul was irretrievably lost. (One was equally sure to lose their soul if they died before the of the contract has elapsed.)
As for the dead, the peace of the defunct person depended upon the strict observance of the Pomana (funeral feast.) During this banquet all the favorite dishes of the dead man were served, and every guest received a colac (cake,) an ulcior (jug,) and a wax candle in their memory. Similar Pomanas were repeated after a fortnight, six weeks, and on each anniversary for the next seven years. Likewise, whenever the dead in question appeared in the dream of any family member, another Pomana was held. When these conditions were not complied with in strict accordance, the neglected soul was apt to restlessly wandering the earth. These spirits were known as the strigoi. Though they were not malicious, their appearance was an ill-omen, for they were harbingers of sickness or misfortune.
As for evil spirits, there was the vampyr, or nosferatu, in whom every Roumanian peasant believed as firmly as he did in heaven or hell. There were two sorts of vampyrs—the living and the dead. The former were the illegitimate offspring of two illegitimate persons. A flawless pedigree, however, was not a surefire method of preventing the intrusion of a vampyr into one’s family vault, because every person killed by a nosferatu became, likewise, a vampyr after death. They would then continue to suck the blood of other innocent people until the spirit was exorcised. This could be accomplished in two ways. One could open the grave of the vampyr and driving a stake through the corpse, or one could fire a pistol shot into the coffin. (Of course, in very obstinate cases, it was recommended as an extra precaution, to cut off the head of the vampyr, fill the mouth with garlic, and place it back in the coffin. Should that measure prove too barbaric, one could also extract the heart, burn it, and scatter the ashes over the grave.)
It would be difficult to discover a single wood, river bank, valley, or mountain-top that was not—at least in the opinion of the local population—haunted by spirits of one sort or another. The were firmly wedded to the conviction that trees and flowers, rocks and streams, lakes and marshes, were endowed with both corporeal and spiritual existence. Earth, air, fire, and water were inhabited by mysterious beings, not the ghosts of anybody in particular it was said, but, as it were, the souls of the elements that were capable of rendering themselves apparent to the human eye. These entities were by no means indisposed to hold commune with ordinary mortals (for good or evil.) Sometimes these spirits made themselves manifest in the form of a “zmeu,” (giant)—sometimes in the form of a “drat.” (a dragon or a fiend.) Another supernatural institution of “Baba Cloantsa,” an old, toothless, ever-spinning, hag, reprehensibly prone to becoming enamored with any handsome youth who happened to be at once the pride of his village and affianced to its leading beauty. Baba Cloantsa was said to be a distant relative of Satan himself, the chief of all the “draculi.” There were innumerable apparitions belonging to the “wood-devil” category (fairies, gnomes, etc.) in these forests. Other spirits were of a more local character. No true Moldavian doubted that the pale, flickering light, visible at a certain spot on the bank of the Bistritza, was the sad spirit of the fair, hapless Maghiara, who drowned herself for love in that river. Werewolves and willis, ghouls and Lamiae were indeed at home in Wallachia, Moldavia, Transylvania, and the Bukovina.[3]
After checking into a modest inn in Belgrade, Blavatsky found herself in the company of guests and villagers assembled around the fireside. They were telling strange stories and legends in this land that cartographers feared. The fat innkeeper told of a relative of his who had been troubled by a wandering vampire and was nearly bled to death by the nocturnal visitor. The efforts and exorcisms of the local priest proved fruitless, but the victim was luckily delivered by Gospoja Popesco, an old Serbian woman who lived nearby said to possess certain occult knowledge. It was said that she made the disturbing ghoul flee just by shaking her fist at them and shaming him in his own language.
Blavatsky had met Gospoja Popesco before during her travels; in 1857, when learning Astral Projection from Shamans, she even communicated with the “Romanian lady of Walachia.” Though a mystic by disposition, at that time Gospoja Popesco was a thorough disbeliever in that kind of occult phenomena.[4] (That changed after Blavatsky’s Astral visitation.) It seemed Gospoja Popesco was now attended by a fourteen-year-old gypsy girl named Frosya who came from some part of Romania.
“She was brought one day by a party of strolling gypsies, and left in the yard of the old lady, from which moment she became an inmate of the house,” someone told Blavatsky. “She is called ‘the sleeping girl,’ as she is said to be gifted with the faculty of dropping asleep wherever she stood and speaking her dreams aloud.”
~
The assassination of Serbian Prince Mihailo Obrenovic,
Princess Katarina, and Princess Anka.
Three months later, Mihailo Obrenović, Prince of Serbia, Princess Katarina (his aunt,) and Princess Anka (her daughter,) were murdered in broad daylight in their garden near Belgrade. The assassin remained unknown. The Prince was shot and stabbed several times; Princess Katarina was killed on the spot, her head smashed, and Princess Anka, though still alive, was not expected to survive. No high family felt secure in the Austrian dominions, nor those under the doubtful protectorate of Turkey. It was rumored that the bloody deed was perpetrated by Prince Karađorđević, an old pretender to the modest throne of Serbia, whose father had been wronged by the first Obrenović. Several persons innocent of the act were imprisoned (as per tradition with such cases,) while the real murderers escaped justice. A young relative of the victim, greatly beloved by his people, was taken from his school in Paris and brought over in ceremony to Belgrade where he was proclaimed Hospodar of Serbia. In the turmoil of political excitement, the tragedy of Belgrade was soon forgotten by all. Forgotten by everyone except Gospoja Popesco, that is, for the old matron was attached to the Obrenovitch family. After the proclamation of the young Obrenovitch, Gospoja Popesco sold her property and disappeared, but not before taking a solemn oath of vengeance on the tombs of the victims.
Blavatsky learned of the Obrenović murders a month later while traveling over the Banat, bounded by Wallachia and Transylvania.[5] It was also when she learned, for the first time, a highly interesting fact in philology—Ghosts have a language of their own. It happened like this. One morning she discovered an old man sleeping in a wilderness of shrubs and flowers. She nearly passed over him, absorbed, as she was, in the contemplation of the glorious surrounding scenery. The acquaintance was soon made, no great ceremony of mutual introduction being needed. He was a Frenchman named Saladin, a scientist, whose name she heard in Paris in circles interested in mesmerism. She knew him to be a powerful adept of the school of Baron Du Potet.[6] So Saladin accompanied Blavatsky as her travel companion; Blavatsky dominating the road in her jolting wagon, perched on a throne of dry hay. Saladin walked beside her.
“Come,” said Blavatsky, “sit with me.”
This he did.
“I have found one of the most wonderful subjects in this lovely Thebaide,” Saladin remarked, in the course of their conversation. “I have an appointment tonight with the family. They are seeking to unravel the mystery of a murder by means of the clairvoyance of a girl—une fille magnifique!”
“Who is she?” Blavatsky asked.
“A Romanian gypsy. She was brought up, it appears, in the family of the Serbian reigning Prince, who reigns no more, for he was very mysteriously murdered. Hol-la-a-h! take care! diable, you will upset us over the precipice!” Saladin quickly exclaimed, unceremoniously snatching the reins from Blavatsky, and giving the horse a violent pull.
“You do not mean Prince Obrenović?” Blavatsky asked, aghast.
“Yes, I do! Him precisely. Tonight I have to be there, hoping to close a series of séances by finally developing a most marvelous manifestation of the hidden power of the human spirit, and you may come with me. I will introduce you; and besides, you can help me as an interpreter, for they do not speak French.”
Wallachian Woman.[7]
As she was fairly certain that if the somnambula was Frosya, the rest of the family must be Gospoja Popesco, Blavatsky readily accepted. At sunset they were at the foot of the mountain, leading to the “old castle,” Saladin called the place. It fully lived up to its name. Saladin gallantly busied himself with Blavatsky’s horse on the suspicious-looking bridge that led across the water to the entrance gate. A tall figure slowly rose from a stone bench and approached the travelers. It was Gospoja Popesco, looking pale and mysterious. She showed no surprise at seeing Blavatsky, rather she greeted her in the Serbian fashion, that is, with a triple kiss on both cheeks. Gospoja Popesco then took hold of Blavatsky’s hand and led her straight to the nest of ivy, where Frosya half-reclined on a small carpet spread on the tall grass, her back leaning against the wall.
She was dressed in the national costume of the Wallachian women, a gauze headdress intermingled with beads and guilt medals, a white shirt with opened sleeves, and a petticoat of variegated colors. Her face looked pale, and her eyes were closed. If it were not for the heaving motion of her chest, beautified with rows of medals, and necklaces which jingled weakly at every breath, one might have presumed her dead.
“I sent her to sleep,” Saladin told Blavatsky, as they approached the house. “Frosya is exactly how I left her the last night.”
Saladin then shook Frosya by the hand, and, making a few rapid passes, stretched out her arm and stiffened it. The arm remained in that position rigid as iron. He then closed all Frosya’s fingers but one—the middle finger—which he caused to point at the evening star twinkling in the deep blue sky.
Gospoja Popesco was silently watching him with her chin in her hand.
Saladin then turned round and went over from right to left, dispersing some of his mesmeric solution, and discharging at other place, like a painter with his brush when applying the finishing touches to a portrait.
The thin, skeletal hand of Gospoja Popesco arrested Saladin as he prepared himself for the regular mesmeric passes. “Podozhdi, poka zaydet zvezda i nastupit devyatyy chas!” she whispered. “Vokrug brodyat Vordalaki, oni mogut isportit’ vpechatleniye.”
“What does she say?” asked Saladin, annoyed at her interference.
“The old lady fears the pernicious influences of the Voordalaki,” Blavatsky explained.
“Voordalaki! What’s that—the Voordalaki?” exclaimed Saladin. “Let us be satisfied with Christian spirits, if they honor us tonight with a visit, and lose no time for the Voordalaki!”
Blavatsky glanced at Gospoja Popesco. She was now deathly pale, and her brow was sternly knit over her flashing black eyes.
“Tell him not to jest at this hour of the night!” she cried. “He does not know the country. Even this Holy Church may fail to protect us, once the Voordalaki are aroused.” Gospoja Popesco pushed with her foot a bundle of herbs Saladin had laid on the grass. “What’s this?” She bent over the collection and anxiously examined the contents of the bundle. “It must not be left here!” she said, flinging the botanicals into the river. “These are the St. John’s plants, and they might attract the wandering ones,” she firmly added.
Night arrived. Saladin discarded his traveling blouse, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and struck a theatrical attitude as he continued his experiments in the open air, under pale, ghastly, moonlight. The Odic Force seemed to flash under his quivering fingers. In a few minutes, large droplets of sparkling perspiration appeared on Frosya’s brow, which slowly rolled down her pale face. Frosya moved about uneasily and began to chant some words in a low melody. Gospoja Popesco, anxiously hovering over the girl, listened with avidity, trying to catch every syllable. The motionless frame of the old matron was parched to mummification with an unquenched thirst for revenge. Her thin finger pressed to her lips, and eyes nearly protruding from their sockets, she seemed herself transfixed into a statue of attention, waiting for the long-expected name of the Prince’s assassin to be at pronounced. She was the very picture of Nemesis.
Saladin, too, seemed transfigured. All theatrical pretense was gone. There remained only a mesmerizer, aware of his solemn responsibility, studying with anxious expectation. His grey hair stood on end, and his bulky, clumsy form seemed as though it had grown taller in a matter of moments.
Frosya suddenly stood erect before them, as though lifted by some supernatural force, but remained otherwise motionless, waiting for the magnetic currents to direct her. Saladin silently took hold of the hand of Gospoja Popesco and placed it in that of the somnambulist.
“Put yourself en rapport with Gospoja,” Saladin instructed Frosya.
“What sayest thou, my daughter?” Gospoja Popesco softly murmured. “Can your spirit seek out the murderers?”
“Search and behold!” Saladin sternly commanded, with a gaze fixed on Frosya.
“I am on my way—I go,” Frosya faintly whispered in a voice that seemed not of her own but rather from the surrounding atmosphere.
At that very moment, a vaporous incandescence closely enveloped the girl’s body. At first, it was about an inch in thickness, but it gradually expanded, and collected itself, until it suddenly broke off from the body of somnambula altogether and condensed itself into a viscous shadow that assumed the likeness of Frosya herself. It flickered above the surface of the earth, vacillating for a few seconds before noiselessly gliding toward the river where it seemingly dissolved in the moonlight.
With a rapid motion, Gospoja Popesco drew a stiletto from under her pelisse, and quickly placed it in Frosya’s bosom. The action was so fast that Saladin, absorbed in his work, failed to notice.
A few minutes elapsed in a dead silence, when suddenly Frosya emitted a piercing cry. Bending forward, Frosya snatched the stiletto from her bosom, and plunged it furiously around her in the air, as if fighting imaginary foes. She issued wild, incoherent exclamations from her foamy lips and the occasional Christian names of men. Saladin, terrified, lost all control over himself. Instead of withdrawing the mesmeric force, he loaded Frosya with it still more.
“Take care,” Blavatsky exclaimed. “Stop! You will kill her, or she will kill you!”
Saladin, however, had unwittingly raised subtle potencies of nature, over which he had no control.
Frosya turned round furiously and struck at him with such force that it would have killed him, had he not avoided it by jumping aside. Saladin, panic-stricken, hurdled onto a wall with extraordinary agility for a man of his bulk. Gathering the remnant of his willpower, he sent a series of passes in the direction of Frosya, and the girl dropped the weapon and remained motionless.
“What are you about?” Saladin hoarsely shouted in French. “Answer me, I command you!”
“I did—but what she—whom you ordered me to obey—commanded me to do,” answered Frosya, also in French.
“What did that old witch command you?” Saladin irreverently asked.
“To find them—who murdered—kill them—I did so—and they are no more!—Avenged!—Avenged!! They are—”
“I am avenged! I feel it! I know it!” shouted Gospoja Popesco with loud, infernal joy. “My warning heart tells me that the fiends are no more.” She fell panting on the ground, dragging Frosya down with her as if she were a bag of wood.
“I hope my subject did no further mischief tonight. She is a dangerous as well as a very wonderful subject,” said Saladin.[8]
SOURCES:
[1] Sinnett, Alfred Percy. The Letters Of H. P. Blavatsky To A. P. Sinnett And Other Miscellaneous Letters. T. Fisher Unwin Ltd. London, England. (1925): 144, 152
[2] Gerard, Emily. “Transylvanian Superstitions.” The Nineteenth Century. Vol. XVIII, No. 101 (July 1885): 130-150.
[3] “The Superstitions of Roumania.” The Spiritualist. (London, England) October 21, 1881; Romana, Umbra. “The Truth About Ghosts.” The Daily Telegraph. (London, England) October 11, 1881.
[4] Blavatsky, H.P. Isis Unveiled: Vol. II. J.W. Bouton. New York, New York. (1877): 626-628.
[5] Sinnett, Alfred Percy. The Letters Of H. P. Blavatsky To A. P. Sinnett And Other Miscellaneous Letters. T. Fisher Unwin Ltd. London, England. (1925): 152.
[6] Blavatsky does not mention the name “Saladin.” I chose to use this name based off of a piece she wrote, “The Magnetic Chain,” in which she names a disciple of Du Potet. Blavatsky writes: “We have read with great interest the first number of a new French journal devoted to the science of Mesmerism, or, as it is called Animal Magnetism, which has been kindly sent us by that venerable and most illustrious practitioner of that science, the Baron du Potet, of Paris. Its title is La Chaine Magnetique (the Magnetic Chain). After long years of comparative indifference, caused by the encroachments of skeptical science, this fascinating subject is again absorbing a large share of the attention of Western students of Psychology. Mesmerism is the very key to the mystery of man’s interior nature; and enables one familiar with its laws to understand not only the phenomena of Western Spiritualism, but also that vast subject—so vast as to embrace every branch of Occultism within itself—of Eastern Magic. The whole object of the Hindu Yogi is to bring into activity his interior power, to make himself ruler over physical self and over everything else besides. That the developed yogi can influence, sometimes control the operations of vegetable and animal life, proves that the soul within his body has an intimate relationship with the soul of all other things. Mesmerism goes far towards teaching us how to read this occult secret; and Baron Reichenbach’s great discovery of Odyle or Od force, together with Professor Buchanan’s Psychometry, and the recent advances in electrical and magnetic science complete the demonstration. The Theosophist will give great attention to all these—Mesmerism, the laws of Od, Psychometry, etc. In this connection we give translated extracts from La Chaine Magnetique that will repay perusal. There is a great truth in what Baron du Potet says about the Mesmeric fluid: ‘It is no utopian theory, but a universal Force, ever the same; which we will irrefutably prove […] A law of nature as positive as electricity, yet different from it; as real as night and day. A law of which physicians, notwithstanding all their learning and science, have hitherto been ignorant. Only with a knowledge of magnetism does it become possible to prolong life and heal the sick. Physicians must study it some day or—cease to be regarded as physicians.’ Though now almost a nonogenarian, the Baron’s intellect is as clear and his courageous devotion to his favorite Science as ardent as when, in the year 1826, he appeared before the French Academy of Medicine and experimentally demonstrated the reality of animal magnetism. France, the mother of many great men of science, has produced few greater than du Potet. A disciple of the Baron’s—a Mr. Saladin of Tarascon-sur-Rhone—reporting to him the results of recent magnetic experiments for the cure of disease, says: Once, while magnetizing my wife, I made a powerful effort of my will to project the magnetic fluid, when I felt streaming from each of my fingertips as it were little threads of cool breeze, such as might come from the mouth of an opened air-bag. My wife distinctly felt this singular breeze, and what is still more strange, the servant girl, when told to interpose her hand between my own hand and my wife’s body, and asked what she felt, replied that ‘it seemed as though something were blowing from the tips of my fingers.’ The peculiar phenomenon here indicated has often been noticed in therapeutic magnetization; it is the vital force, intensely concentrated by the magnetizer’s will, pouring out of his system into the patient’s. The blowing of a cool breeze over the hands and faces of persons present, is also frequently observed at spiritualistic ‘circles.’” [Blavatsky, Helena Petrovna. “The Magnetic Chain.” The Theosophist. Vol. I, No. 1 (October 1879): 30.]
[7] de Colange, Leo. Voyages And Travels: Vol. I, Pt. 2. E.W. Walker & Co. Boston, Massachusetts. (1887): 449.
[8] Blavatsky, Helena Petrovna. “A Story Of The Mystical.” The Sun. (New York, New York) December 26, 1875.
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