#Cemetery | Parish Church

[xtruss]

Ships that stopped at Whitby Harbor (Seen here circa 1880) inspired Bram Stoker as he wrote Dracula. Photograph By Frank Meadow Sutcliffe, The Royal Photographic Society Collection/Victoria and Albert Museum, London/Getty Images

The Little-Known Shipwreck That Inspired Bram Stoker’s ‘Dracula’

Stoker was moved by grim details from the world around him while penning his horror masterpiece. The real fate of a ship called the Dmitry played an outsized role in his imaginings.

— By Melissa Sartore | August 18, 2023

The arrival of the Demeter in Bram Stoker's Dracula serves as a fundamental part of the titular character's story: the ship brings death himself to England.

Stoker drew inspiration for his genre-defining horror novel from his time in Whitby, and the dark 1885 fate of the real ship Dmitry on the town’s shore.

The death and tragedy around Stoker ultimately shaped the story that became one of the most famous pieces of English literature and set the stage for the next century of vampire lore.

The wreck of the Dmitry from Narva, now Estonia, aground on Tate Hill Beach in 1885, Whitby, Yorkshire, UK. Photograph By Frank Meadow Sutcliffe, Colin Waters/Alamy Stock Photo

The Dmitry Becomes the Demeter

During the summer of 1890, Irish novelist Bram Stoker vacationed at the seaside town of Whitby in northeast England. Despite spending only a month in the town, Stoker was enthralled by his surroundings: Grand Mansions and Hotels lined the West Cliff while remains of the seventh century Whitby Abbey towered over the East Cliff. Nearby, the cemetery at the Parish Church also served as inspiration as the story of Dracula came to life.

Stoker was also enchanted by the many ships making harbor here. He reportedly visited the Whitby Museum to explore the history of these vessels, as well as a local library, where he came upon William Wilkinson’s book The Accounts of Principalities of Wallachia and Moldova. Stoker marked in his notes:

DRACULA in the Wallachian language means DEVIL. The Wallachians were, at that time, as they are at present, used to give this as a surname to any person who rendered himself conspicuous either by courage, cruel actions, or cunning.

Stoker reportedly asked around the shore about shipwrecks in Whitby, notably the Dmitry, a ship that had wrecked five years earlier.

The cargo vessel Dmitry had set sail from Narva in Russia (modern-day Estonia) in 1885. On October 24, the Dmitry was one of two ships run ashore at Whitby by “a storm of great violence,” according to contemporary newspaper accounts. The other vessel, the Mary and Agnes, was stranded in the raging sea and a lifeboat was sent to rescue its crew. When the crew of the Mary and Agnes was ferried to the shore, per the Leeds Mercury, “their safe landing [was] the signal for loud huzzas by the thousands of people assembled on shore.”

Those same onlookers watched on to see what would happen with the Dmitry. As reported by the North-Eastern Daily Gazette, the crew remained on board in the hopes they would be able to dock, but “the sea beat savagely against the vessel. Her masts gave way and fell with a crash over her side, and the vessel herself began to break up.”

Though unclear exactly how they were rescued, in the end, all seven members of the Dmitry’s crew were safely brought to shore.

There were several unique aspects to the last voyage of the Dmitry that appear to have stood out to Stoker. The Demeter originated in Varna (an anagram for Narva, where the Dmitry originated), and similarly carried “ballast of silver sand, with only a small amount of cargo—a number of great wooden boxes filled with mould.”

Through conversations with fishermen in Whitby, Stoker learned of an untold number of local deaths at sea. Stoker reportedly made note of some 90 names from gravestones in Whitby for future use in his story, including the surname “Swales.” Soon after the arrival of the Demeter in Dracula, he wrote “Mr. Swales was found dead… his neck being broken.”

What Inspired Dracula’s Canine Form?

In Stoker’s novel, Dracula himself took the form of a dog to make his way from the Demeter to dry land, but there was no dog reported to have been on the Dmitry. According to Mel Ni Mhaolanfaidh and Marlon McGarry in 2021, the dog in Dracula may be an homage to the wreck of the Greyhound in 1770.

The Greyhound sailed from Whitby and sank off the coast of Ireland on December 12, 1770 (120 years prior to Stoker’s arrival in the town). Stoker’s mother, Charlotte, was from Sligo, a town in close proximity to the wreck. When the storm that sank the ship surged again, a young cabin boy was left stranded. The rescue effort failed, with only one out of the some 20 men sent to save him tragically dying in the process.

Stoker made no reference to a dog in his notes until two months after he’d departed from Whitby. On October 15, 1890, Stoker wrote, “When ship ran in to Collier's Hope, big dog jumped off bow & ran over pier - up Kiln Yard & church steps & into churchyard…Local dog found ripped open & graves torn up…” It’s not clear if Stoker learned of these details from the Dmitry wreck, another Whitby wreck, or was his own creation.

In the novel, the arrival of the Demeter was paired with a similarly remarkable incident: “The very instant the shore was touched, an immense dog sprang up on deck from below, as if shot up by the concussion, and running forward, jumped from the bow on the sand.”

The dog, a disguised Dracula, wrought bloodshed and death from that point forward. This dog resembled the barghest, a mythical monster often associated with Yorkshire. Spellings and specific forms of barghest vary but the dog-like being foretold of pain, disaster, or even death to all who saw it. The barghest also elicited howling from dogs in its vicinity, something Dracula protagonist Mina Murray reported took place soon after the arrival of the Demeter.

[vox-anglosphere]

Jersey-Christmas

There is a tradition in Jersey that from noon on Christmas Eve to noon on Christmas Day, you can ring the bells of the western parishes. This is to remember one of the many French invasions and the role of St Peter’s, St Ouen’s and St Mary’s parish churches warning the island militia that ‘the French are coming!’

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This home looks like a country cottage, so I was not prepared for the interior. It was built in 1830 in Charlotte Parish, Prince Edward Island, Canada. 4bds, 3ba, C$649K.

The entrance door is black with gold accents and it's not the typical country house door.

I didn't expect to be greeted by a mannequin.

The hall is typically Victorian, but the decor is so interesting.

Great antique organ. I expect that the keyboard comes down- how can you play it like that?

Guest powder room.

Wow, look at the sitting room. Looks like it's sunken- there are 2 steps on the right.

I like the dining room. It's incredibly elegant.

The kitchen is industrial style.

Probably the primary bedroom. I like the fireplace and stick walls.

Very cozy bedroom. This home was carefully and lovingly decorated. I always wonder what makes people sell homes that were obviously loved.

This room has a half bath.

Here's a lovely elegant bedroom.

It's empty, but this room could be anything.

Love the fireplace in here.

The full bath looks like it could use some updating.

The shower looks new, though.

There's potential above the garage.

A pretty, small country church is next door and the new owner of the house will also share and enjoy its cemetery.

The house is on a .51 acre lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/14173-Saint-Peters-Rd-Charlotte-Parish-PE-C1C-0N6/349631687_zpid/?

[writingquestionsanswered]

I’ve been reading some craft books and online posts about the world building because my story is an urban fantasy set in present day US, in a fictional town, and theres not a secondary world where the fantasy happens, it’s all in the real world, except the magic is a secret that only certain people know about, but all of the resources I find about world building only talk about fantastical worlds that exist by themselves and not the kind of more subtle world building that I’d have to do. Do you have any tips?

Guide: Creating a Fictional Town in the Real World

Step 1 - Choose Your Location - There are two ways to go about choosing a location for your fictional town. One is to go the "Springfield U.S.A." route, ala The Simpsons, and be vague about the specific location (borough, parish, district, county, region, state, or province) and instead give a broader geographic region... "the East Coast," "the Pacific Northwest," "Central Canada," Northern Scotland," etc. The other option is to go ahead and put your fictional town in a specific location. Just figure out where (for example, somewhere outside of Des Moines, Iowa) and go to Google Maps, click on satellite view, then start zooming in on big empty areas. Choose a place big enough to fit a town. Yes, in reality it's probably farm fields, pasture, or someone's property, but that doesn't matter. You don't have to actually show it on a map. It's just a plausible spot to build your town. Now you can measure how far it is to other places, you know what highways to take to get to it. You can even do street view to get the lay of the land, see what the landscape looks like and try to envision the buildings there. You can also use what's there to create parks, popular recreational areas, and anything else your town needs.

Step 2 - Choose Your Inspiration - Even when you're creating a fictional town, it's still a good idea to use a real town (or two, or three) from that general area as inspiration for your town. For a fictional town in Des Moines, I would zoom in on the map to find a nearby town of similar size... like Elkhart, then I can take a look around to see what it's like. Just looking at the map, I can see they have a couple of churches, a couple baseball fields, a very small main street/downtown area with a couple shops and restaurants, a post office, a few different neighborhoods, and a cemetery. This would be a great model for a small fictional town outside of Des Moines. And, as I said, you could look at a couple other sand combine them. Once you have your inspiration town/s, you can walk around on Google Maps street view, go to the town's web site, watch a tour on YouTube (if one exists), or look up pictures in Google Image search.

Step 3 - Start Planning - This is the really fun part! First, you might want to draw a basic map of your fictional town using your inspiration town/s as a guide. This doesn't have to be a pretty map... just a basic line drawing to help you envision where everything is. Think about some of the basic things this town might have, like the ones I listed in step two, and any other things you might want your town to have, like maybe a library, a hospital, a city hall, school, and maybe a movie theater. It might even be helpful and fun to put together a collage of pictures to represent your town so you've got something in mind as you write about it. You can even choose representatives for specific locations in your story, like your MC's house, school, and their favorite hangout.

Step 4 - Naming Your Town - Start by looking at the kinds of town names that surround your town. Look for common naming conventions... suffixes like -ton, -ville, -dale, -burg, -wood, -field, etc. Words in a particular language, like a lot of French-inspired town names, or towns with geographical terms (lake, hill, valley, river, canyon, gap, etc.) My guide to Naming Locations has additional tips.

Step 5 - Populate Your Town and Give it a History - Last but not least, make up a little history for your town, again, using surrounding towns as inspiration. Who founded it? When was it founded? What's the town's main industry? What are the people like in this town? What jobs do they have? What do they do for fun?

Here are some other posts that might help:

Five Things to Help You Describe Fictional Locations Setting Your Story in an Unfamiliar Place WQA’s Guide to Internet Research Happy writing!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[katatty]

Driftwood MMC - Year 1 - Summer

Now with Summer over, the crown has collected a grand total of $45,339. Phew! I'm definitely finding the royal treasury is filling up waaaaay faster than expected, so I've raised the thresholds for things being unlocked.

Next season, we get a brand new church and cemetery! Just as well, since this summer we had two deaths and a resurrection. I think this is meant to be just a community lot to visit, but I like playing with owned churches and will be introducing a parson to run services in this parish. Hopefully it will get to host a wedding or two!

I'm also thinking of how to go about unlocking the hedge tavern. I like the idea of it being female-owned if possible, since that was apparently quite common in the middle ages. But I'm not 100% decided on who the settlement's alewife should be. Hopefully I'll figure it out in the fall!

[kemetic-dreams]

Joseph “Uncle Joe” Clovese was the last known surviving African soldier of the Union Army in the American Civil War, and lived in Pontiac at the time of his death in 1951. Clovese, who lived to be 107 years old, was born into slavery on a plantation in St. Bernard Parish, Louisiana, and escaped slavery in his teens to join the Union Army during the Siege of Vicksburg. He stayed with the Northern Army, first as a drummer, later as an infantryman. He was a private in Co. "C", 63rd Colored Infantry Regiment.

Following the war he worked on Mississippi river steamboats, and he later worked on the crew stringing the first telegraph wires between New Orleans and Biloxi, Mississippi. At the age of 104, Clovese moved from Louisiana to Pontiac, Michigan to be near family. Once the community learned about “Uncle Joe,” the citizens of Pontiac embraced him. Large gatherings were organized for his 105th, 106th and 107th birthdays on January 30th.

For his funeral, more than 300 people were packed into Newman A.M.E. Church in Pontiac (their former location, in downtown) for the service. Hundreds more gathered at the gravesite in Pontiac’s Perry Mount Park Cemetery. Veterans from the Oakland County Council of Veterans served as pall bearers. A firing party from Selfridge Air Force Base fired the final salute and taps was sounded over the cemetery. Pontiac even named a road in his honor, that ran through the Lakeside Homes complex.

[endeavourfiles]

LUDOVICO TALENTI (1460-1527) : AN HISTORICAL PERSONAGE ( ZENANA S07/03)

The final scene of 7*series is actually set in Brompton Cemetery in London (1) : in the fiction Ludo Talenti is framed next to a tombstone ( 2 ) on which was written "LUDOVICUS TALENTI - SACERDOS - MCDLX - MDXXVII".

The tombstone is a prop (3) and Ludo (4) wants to indicate - to Morse and to the viewers- where he got the inspiration for his fake identity.

But a Ludovico Talenti , priest and great promoter of the arts, really existed in Venice and was parish priest of the Church of S.Crisostomos from 1480 to 1516 , contributing to its reconstruction.Maybe, the idea of this particular name cames to R.Lewis and/or Evans when they were in Venice to filming Oracle, the first episode....

Small details..but a demonstration of the extreme accuracy of the series.

Excellent!

[sanseterrer]

Dudakovichi village; part two. The rector of the Dudakovichi Church noted that many peasants not only do not go to divine services, but also do not baptize newborn children and bury the dead in the cemetery without a priest. (In fact, the babies, apparently, were baptized secretly by the believers themselves; in the case of burials, prayers were read at the cemetery by them, and masses were celebrated for the deceased in the nearest parish church afterward.)

The story dragged on. The drastic measures taken against the residents did not bring almost any expected results. Someone even confidently concluded that «there is a hidden spirit of perseverance among the people». In the second half of the nineteenth century, the authorities decided to give the church the appearance of an Orthodox church in the Byzantine style in order to deprive the peasants of any hope that «this church can continue to convert to Latinism». In 1869, the new Dudakovichi Church was consecrated (that can still be seen today). Comically, however, it still did not work out to persuade the local peasants and gentry to a new faith. After 1905, here, as throughout the region, there is a transition to «Latinism». And even more than sixty years after the church was rededicated, it was written that «served in the old way».

In general, religious coercion in Dudakovichi caused only a cooling towards religion. It manifested itself, as you can see, in the fact that the Orthodox parish was never revived. Services in the church were discontinued at the beginning of the last century, then the building was used as a granary; the bell tower adjacent to the main entrance to the church was dismantled for farm material.

In the 90s, architectural and archaeological research was carried out on the territory where the church is located. Fragments of glove bricks dating back to the 17th century were found; single burials, apparently of monks, were found under the foundations of the object

[rinaforpages]

christmas cheer # 5 : merry christmas!

inspired by events that occurred today, jake x reader non idol au

reader and jake take a shower together but nothing happens its christmas

———

christmas eve

the car ride to mass was 30 minutes long and filled with jovially singing along to christmas carols and harsh debates on whether or not the bruins would make it past the first round of the playoffs that jake had no input to (consensus: no). he held your hand the whole way, giving it squeezes when the grandparents or aunt or uncles he had never met were brought up.

your dad assured him there wouldnt be much socializing at mass: everyone wanted to get out of there.

but when you pulled up, and walked to your grandfather and aunt and uncles standing outside, seeing your grandfather shake his head, you looked at your brothers in confusion. your twin raced up to him, only to come racing back with the words, “its full” falling out of his mouth.

jaws were on the concrete. “this is why they should’ve had it at the other place!” being said by the older generation. “lets go back to my house,” great rallying by your grandfather, and everyone nodded along.

“what does he mean its full?” jake whispered to you, as you two walked side by side in the back of the pack.

“the church must be full,” you shrugged. “usually they had christmas mass over at the parish center which was larger but i guess they didnt want to? maybe theyll decide to next year.” he nodded, grabbing at your hand. you swatted it away. “my catholic grandfather is right there along with my nosy aunt and my nosy uncles, and i have an even nosier grandmother. sorry babe”

jake laughed, nodding, as you all piled into the car once again.

in the car-ride, your brother paused as he was saying something, and asked if you all could swing by the cemetery to see your mom. you, who wanted to introduce her to jake, agreed quickly.

after your dad gave directions to the lone-gone brother, two left turns and a right, you all arrived promptly. getting out, you trekked across the snow begging your dad with a bad back and a bum need didnt fall as you held hands with jake all the way there.

at your mom’s gravestone, you muttered a hi. “this is jake. hes my boyfriend. weve been dating for…a while.” she would know. you didnt need to say it. “jake, this is my mom. and to her side is my uncle mark. hi uncle mark.” jake said hello, talking to your mother in a hushed tone like he did when he met your father.

by the time you finished at the cemetery, you were rushing to your grandparents house.

they were waiting, although the food hadnt started, and your grandmother had gotten word of a man with the baby in the family. naturally, she laid on the questions.

“whats your name? how old are you? what do you do? howd you meet?” every question jake answered with extreme grace, even with interruption from your aunt to beg your grandmother to stop interrogating the poor boy. jake said he was fine.

your grandmother liked that.

when dinner ended with stuffing your faces with lasagna and alcohol, and jake being approved by everyone in the family—your grandfather took some time—you made your way to your next stop, your dad’s best friends/your moms cousin.

——

your cousins welcomed you with almost tears in their eyes—although they mightve been drunk. jake didnt get the nosy reaction that he got at your grandparents’, but he got the same reaction as from your brothers’.

the night went on smoothly, if you count joking and catching up and meeting and consuming copious amounts of alcohol, then yeah it was going extremely smoothly.

so extremely smooth, in fact, that you all hadnt realized you had been there for 5 hours, the clock already 11:40. none of you really paid attention, the alcohol did plenty to keep you all awake until your heads hit your pillows later that night.

jake and you stayed cuddled up on the couch, despite retching noises from cousins and brothers alike, and continued drinking. your eyes were the only ones that kept checking the analogue clock on the wall of their living room.

11:57

11:58

11:59

12:00

christmas day

“merry christmas,” you whispered to jake, kissing him while on the couch.

“merry christmas,” he whispered on your lips.

lying in bed, two hours later, slowly falling asleep, the two of you traced trees and stars into the others arms.

[orthopunkfox]

The Restoration of Slavic Orthodoxy in the Foothills of Appalachia

Belle Valley is a small village nestled in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains on the Eastern boarder of Ohio. The village with a current population of 201 (as of 2020), was originally settled in 1875 as a railroad and mining town. The laborers and their families who carved their living in steel and coal came from Eastern Europe, from Russia, Ukraine, Serbia, Romania, and other slavic nations. The mountains of Appalachia would've been comforting to them, reminding them of the Carpathian and Balkan mountains that wound their way through these settlers' homelands.

It is recorded that those first immigrants worshipped in whatever buildings were available to them, calling a Russian Orthodox priest from the nearby settlement of Robins, Ohio. In January of 1914, construction on a permanent parish began and in 1915, Elevation of the Holy Cross Russian Orthodox Church was consecrated.

Although under the authority of the Patriarch of Moscow, it seems that the Orthodox Christians of the Appalachian foothills in Ohio found a home there no matter what their country of origin. This is especially interesting considering the vast amount of political and social turmoil that wracked the Russian Orthodox Church throughout the 20th century. Yet, by the grace of Almighty God, slavs from Serbia, Russia, Yugoslavia, Romania, Ukraine, Slovania (Yugoslavia), and Latvia were all able to gather together in peace and worship together. With the mining and railroad work dwindling and population moving from small villages to urban centers, the faithful of the parish dwindled and the church was closed in 1967. I found rumors that a Greek Catholic funeral service was held in the parish in the early 1990s but have found no evidence to support this. Either way, weekly divine liturgies ceased and the building fell into acute disrepair.

However in 2020, descendants of the original Belle Valley immigrants (now part of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church) formed the Belle Valley Historical Preservation Society for the express purpose of restoring the church. Tired of commuting to various Orthodox churches in the surrounding area, the Orthodox citizens of Belle Valley have registered the parish on the National Historic Register as Holy Cross Ukrainian Orthodox Church and begun the restoration process. As of 2024, they have repaired foundational issues (the parish was sinking and beginning to slide down the steep hill), fixed the onion dome (which will also stop water damage in the interior), replaced the entryway doors, and restored several Orthodox gravestones in the accompanying Saint Michael's cemetery.

The Belle Valley Orthodox community has a priest who visits them to celebrate a monthly Divine Liturgy (held at the community center) and hopes to celebrate the first Divine Liturgy in the partially restored building for Pascha 2025. The Historic Preservation Society will continue restoration projects as funds become available. Their tenacity and indomitability reveal the heart of the Appalachian people and their love of the tradition of their ancestors is a central characteristic of Appalachian culture.

Photos: The no-longer abandoned Holy Cross Ukrainian Orthodox Church. Founded as Elevation of the Holy Cross Russian Orthodox Church in 1914/15, the decedents of the original faithful are working to restore this gem of the Appalachia foothills to its former glory

[fromthedust]

The Winged Skull (two views) - probably originally carved on an old tombstone, is built into the outside wall of Pencaitland Parish Church, Pencaitland, Scotland

Skull and Crossbones (two views) - Iglesia de Santa Cecilia (Church of Saint Cecelia), Trastévere, Rome

Facade of Santa Maria dell'Orazione e Morte (Santa Maria of Oration and Death), Rome

Gilles Peress - Seventeenth Century headstone - Enniskillen Cemetery, County Fermanagh, Ireland - 1987

Skull of Mary Magdelene at Saint Maximin la Sainte Baume

[ancestorsalive]

La Gran'mere du Chimquiere (Guernesiais: the grandmother of the cemetery) is a Neolithic statue menhir which stands at the gate to St Martins Parish Church, St Martins in Guernsey, Channel Islands, UK.

[scotianostra]

On 15th June 1996 Sir Fitzroy MacLean, the Scottish soldier, diplomat, politician and author, died.

Fitzroy Maclean was a British diplomat who was one of the first Westerners to explore Soviet Russia. He was a founder member of the SAS, and later liaised on behalf of the allies with the Partisans in Yugoslavia.

Before World War II Fitzroy Maclean served as a diplomat at the British embassy in Moscow, from where he made several notable journeys to Siberia, the Caucasus and Soviet Central Asia.

During the war he served in the SAS and was also involved with the Free French forces in Iran. In 1943 he was dropped by parachute into German-occupied Yugoslavia as Winston Churchill's personal envoy and Commander of the British Military Mission to Tito and the partisans. He recorded some of these experiences in 'Eastern Approaches', a classic memoir, which has sold more than a million copies.

McLean wrote many other best-selling books and in addition to serving as Under Secretary for War in the post-war Churchill and Eden governments. Diplomat, soldier, statesman, traveller, writer - a true modern hero - Sir Fitzroy was often put forward as the model for his friend Ian Fleming's 'James Bond', a distinction he neither accepted nor denied.

Fitzroy Maclean died while he was visiting friends in the English village of Hertford having just completed a swim at the age of 85!!!, he was stricken by a heart attack and died instantly, I think he would rather have gone that way rather than faded away. . He was returned to the location of the family home in the village of Strachur, Argyll County and was interred in the cemetery of historic Parish Church.

There’s a great article about the man here https://warisboring.com/fitzroy-maclean-fought-the-nazis-blew-up-forts-and-met-a-king/

[life-of-architecture]

Kraków Kościół Wniebowzięcia Najświętszej Marii Panny czyli Bazylika Mariacka foto z 18 grudnia 2019 i 15 lipca 2020

Wysokie na ponad cztery metry epitafium z czarnego marmuru dębnickiego, projektu Franciszka Placidiego, poświęcone dwudziestemu czwartemu archiprezbiterowi parafii mariackiej. Jacek Augustyn Łopacki herbu Kotwica (1690-1761) był doktorem filozofii i medycyny oraz fundatorem licznych przedsięwzięć charytatywnych i artystycznych. W młodości osobisty medyk kardynała Conti zanim ten został papieżem Innocentym XIII, potem w Krakowie leczył na równi magnatów i robotników. Pochowano go w tym miejscu zgodnie z jego własnym życzeniem.

Pragnę i nieodmiennie naznaczam, aby ciało moje bez żadnej odwłoki, zaraz in crastino śmierci pogrzebione było przy kościele Najświętszej Panny Maryi w Krakowie na cmentarzu w ziemi w tyle ołtarza Crucifixi przy murze kościelnym. fragment testamentu J.A. Łopackiego

Czemu się mam żalić, że chociaż dopiero przy zaczynających się żniwach, a już frumentum Electorum nieodżałowany Prałat grobowym na proch jest starty kamieniem, że usechł w oczach naszych tak ozdobny rozmaitym cnót Świętych kolorem, dosyć pięknego bo liliowej niewinności różowego wstydu, ten hiacyntowy kwiat flos decidit & decor. fragment mowy Jana Kantego Laskiewicza na pogrzebie Łopackiego

rysunek Stanisława Cerchy z 1902 r.

akwarela Stanisława Fabijańskiego z 1917 r.

rysunek Leona Kowalskiego z 1924 r.

akwarela Stanisława Janowskiego sprzed 1942 r.

Zdzisław Gajda, historyk medycyny, przytacza anegdotę o Łopackim: …były krakowskie odpusty u Panny Maryi okazją do swoistego widowiska: przychodziły tłumy opętanych, wzbudzając widokiem swych cierpień najwyższe politowanie, co równoznaczne było z rozsupływaniem mieszka. Otóż po głównych uroczystościach kościelnych wychodził archiprezbiter na plac przed kościołem w stroju pontyfikalnym, przed nim zbierała się gromada dręczonych przez złe duchy (…). Otóż Łopacki, jak to u dobrych lekarzy bywa, nie był w ciemię bity i miał dobry zmysł obserwacji, nie odmawiał tradycją przyjętego zwyczaju, ale podejrzenie miał. I pewnego dnia się przejadło. Wyszedł jak zwykle, modły odmówił, kropidło wziął, opętanych pokropił, a gdy spodziewanego skutku wszyscy się dopatrzyli, rzekł: A oszuści, a nicponie! A udawacze! Gdybyście byli prawdziwie opętani, nic by wam nie dało to moje kropienie, bom zwykłej, a nie święconej wody na was użył!

fragmenty dyplomu doktora medycyny Jacka Łopackiego wydanego przez Uniwersytet w Padwie w 1711 r.

portret Iacentego (Jacka) Łopackiego w siedzibie Arcybractwa Miłosierdzia, mniej niż 100 metrów od jego grobu

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Kraków, Poland Saint Mary's Basilica taken on 18 December 2019 and 15 July 2020

Over four meters (14 ft) tall epitaph made of black marble, designed by Francesco Placidi, marking the grave of Jacek Augustyn Łopacki (1690-1761) of the Kotwica coat of arms, the 24th Arch-Priest of the St. Mary's parish, and also Doctor of Medicine and Philosophy, a philanthropist and art patron. In his younger years he was the personal physician of Cardinal Michelangelo dei Conti before the latter became Pope Innocent XIII; later in Kraków he kept treating magnates as well as laborers. He was buried on this site in accordance with his own wish.

I want and consistently make a disposition for that my body, with no delay [and] just in crastino of death, shall have buried in the cemetery next to St. Mary's Church in Kraków, in the ground behind the Crucifixi altar next to the church's wall. excerpt from J.A. Łopacki's last will

Why should I complain that though the harvest time has barely started, frumentum Electorum lamented Prelate already is ground by tombstone into dust, that a Hyacinth flower, so adorned with the color of various Holy virtues [that is] quite beautiful lily-rose innocent modesty, already wilted before our eyes, flos decidit & decor. excerpt from the speech of Jan Kanty Laskiewicz at Łopacki's funeral

[drawing by Stanisław Cercha, 1902]

[watercolor by Stanisław Fabijański, 1917]

[drawing by Leon Kowalski, 1924]

[watercolor by Stanisław Janowski, before 1942]

Zdzisław Gajda, historian of medicine, recounts an anecdote about Łopacki: …parish festivals at St Mary's used to be an occasion for a peculiar spectacle: crowds of possessed came arousing pity with the sight of their suffering, which resulted in loosening the purse strings. After the main celebration the Arch-Priest used to come out wearing the pontifical vestments to the square in front of the church and before him gathered a huddle of those tormented by evil spirits … Łopacki, as good doctors are, was no fool and had good observation skills, hence while not denying the tradition, he had his suspicions. And some day he had enough. He came out as usual, said the prayers, took the aspergillum, sprinkled the possessed, and as soon as everybody saw the expected result, he exclaimed: Ah, you frauds! Scallywags and impostors! If you were truly possessed, my sprinkling would help you nothing, as I have used ordinary, not holy water on you!

[pieces of Doctor of Medicine diploma of Jacek Łopacki issued by the University of Padua in 1711]

[portrait of Hiacynt (Jacek) Łopacki in the premises of the Archbrotherhood of Mercy, less than 100 m (90 yd) from his grave]

[tideswept]

trickrtreat! 🍬 (star wars!)

From this ask game |

🎃ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛ ɪs…!🍬

🕯️Horror Obikin AU! 🕸

Obi-Wan is a priest assigned to a new parish. When he arrives, he notices to his surprise that the caretaker is a beautiful young man who avoids the townspeople like the plague.

Obi-Wan makes it his business to try to befriend Anakin. After all, they're the only ones around when services aren't being held. And Anakin seems so lonely despite his moody and sarcastic reactions.

Eventually, Obi-Wan grows concerned when he notices Anakin is looking ill. He already wears more layers and covers up more skin than even Obi-Wan, but now he's even more skittish. His skin is pale, and there's a strange odor of sickness to him.

After what should be normal bickering turns into an actual fight after a funeral is held, Obi-Wan is more alarmed than ever, and decides to watch over the caretaker's cottage from a distance. If anything should happen to Anakin, who would know?

What he sees stuns him. Anakin creeps out of his home and returns to the fresh grave to dig it up. In the moonlight, Obi-Wan watches as Anakin devours the corpse, bones and all, and then hides the evidence. Obi-Wan prays for guidance, but by the next day he has no answers. And the thing is... Anakin is back to normal. Like a feral cat in the process of being tamed, he mumbles an apology, and Obi-Wan knows he should tell someone, this isn't right, Anakin is sick somehow, disturbed.

But he stays silent. And over the following months, he notices that every so often Anakin's health worsens--coinciding between how long it is between new graves added to the cemetery. Anakin, he deduces, somehow needs to eat corpses to survive.

And he's not wrong, but as he discovers the night that someone tries to steal from the church, it isn't only the dead that Anakin will feed on.

(long story short: Anakin is a demonic undead. If he goes too long without eating, his skin, his limbs, all of it rots away. He's much older than he looks, and he used to eat living people--which is much better "food" for him--and he's the reason behind local serial killer/monster in the wood legends all around the country. When he can find somewhere quiet to settle down for a few years, he's fine with living off corpses as long as they're not too old.

Obi-Wan has to ultimately decide whether he loves a monster enough to be complicit, or turn Anakin over to the church.)

[gorbalsvampire]

𝖃𝕴𝕴𝕴 𝕿𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝕱𝖊𝖚𝖉𝖆𝖑 𝕭𝖔𝖍𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖆

𝔄𝔠𝔱 ℑℑℑ, 𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔢 𝔦𝔳

Our story reaches its first peak, with Theodericus awakening to overhear hushed words between Libussa and... is that Prince Brandl? Surely not. Most unlike him to be concerned with a lowly mortal. Putting his new Heightened Senses to the test, Theodericus overhears an an overture being made - or perhaps a reassurance given.

In haste, the young Ventrue hies him to the Inn of the Four Stags, there to meet with Marsillius and put the Brujah to the question. Surely Ecatarina or Cosmas know where the Prophet of Kupala might be found, and what his designs on the Basilica might be. Theodericus was very hung up on the idea that a church might be deconsecrated, and wanted to be damned sure that wasn't the plan. Cosmas reassured him that, as a former deacon who'd arranged a deconsecration for his first parish, there was a little more to it than Theodericus might think, and also that the Church does not casually discard a whole-ass Basilica.

Marsillius was intrigued and asked about said parish: it was, said Cosmas, the parish of St. Stephen's in what is now the Jewish ghetto, in the old cemetery that's now the new cemetery. Theodericus and Marsillius blinked: there was no church in the Josefov cemetery. Cosmas assured them that yes, there was. And this was a sign, the first sign, that something was up.

It was decided that they needed a Malkavian to catch a Malkavian. They needed Octavio's childe. Off to the convent to collect Alzbeta. A very hungry Alzbeta, who had once again been trying to induce Premonition...

But before we get into that, let's talk about Mariam. Mariam who had seen fit to venture into the cemetery alone, having picked up a trail from that circuit of BREAD CRIMINALS who constitute her modest Herd. Ruth told her there was a reason they made their drops by the stream that flows under the cemetery: there was a customer who wanted a lot of bread and, according to Simon who'd followed him into the cemetery one night, was living in the old Christian church...

Yes. Of course there was an old Christian church. Hadn't there always been?

Mariam decided there was no time to waste. She rang the lich gate bell, left a scrawled message in the wood of the gate, and ran like hell up through the trees and the gravestones and the winding hummocky paths to a dark, drab, modest chapel - a stolid, decaying cruciform of a building, a roost of owls screened from the world's vulgar gaze by overgrown and tangled yews.

With the Silence of Death woven about her, Mariam pushed open the door; deep, dark, that even her Eyes of the Beast could barely penetrate. Pews... pulpit of stone... the faint lightness of leaded windows...

She stepped inside, and plunged into an Escherian nightmare of stairs, arches, walkways, pillars; wooden doors that had the vague shape of pews about them. Tapping ahead of her with her staff, and cursing her importune folly, she tried to find her way forward, but the Mental Maze of the prophet was taking its toll on her will.

His voice drifted through the deeps, telling her what he had seen - red star, thin blood, world would be as Gehenna, if the Fiends are strong this can be prevented. Mariam was having none of it, gritting her teeth and accusing him of the murder of the rabbi Zachary - almost forgetting the name as her willpower was sapped still further. The penalty for death, she told Octavio, was death -

And the world shifted about her, and she was clinging to a pillar in the dark as all the pathways turned turtle and twisted. In that moment, by some strange outward compulsion, her Convictions were no longer as they were - to hell with being greater than the beast. Eric's lesson was to indulge it. To live with harmony. To exist in accordance with its needs.

Alzbeta, meanwhile, was troubled. Her vision of Octavio had come again - this time, a prophet in a pulpit before a congregation that could not see him for what he was - and she came to understand that this was not quite how it happened. Nothing was quite how it had happened. Her memories were not as they should be.

Still convinced that Octavio was not a villain of his own volition, as it were, she asked God or the Cobweb or both: how do we stop him without killing him?

And the answer was: Theodericus. He had not expected four Cainites. The others he had plans for, but not the Ventrue knight. There was a lovely conversation between the three who remained at large, a refrain of "with all the love in my heart" passing between them, as it was impressed on each by each that this was urgent. Kupala's Night was tomorrow night. If he wasn't stopped now... he might never be.

They went at once to the Josefov's gates, to the lychway, where they were met by Othelio - Mariam's broodmate, who had answered the ringing of the bell and was most perturbed. So perturbed, in fact, that he led them into the warren beneath the cemetery - showing them a passage that led up into the apse of St. Stephen's as was, if you but broke through one flagstone.

Alzbeta was the first to climb, her Beast howling - Hunger 4, at this point - and Six accepted a devil's bargain to gamble Alzbeta's Humanity on not letting a hunger frenzy drag her further down. Climbing into the dark, Alzbeta had to dare the Mental Maze, and even Rousing - Hunger 5! - could not save her. She climbed and climbed and climbed while Octavio asked her: is this how it ends?

It was the first time any of us at the table had heard Alzbeta genuinely angry. Genuinely shouting at her sire, full throated, that what he was doing was not God's work nor Humanity's, that she had to stop him to save him...

Marsillius was next, and as he braved the Maze he broke the charm and saw the interior of St. Stephen's for what it truly was. There was Mariam, frozen in the doorway, clutching at the jamb as if her unlife depended on it. There was Alzbeta, scrabbling like one of her spiders, trying to climb the wall as if to touch the windows above. And there, in the pulpit, white-knuckled and red-eyed, a figure that looked like him. Older. Haggard. Wretched. Mad. And clearly on the verge of frenzy himself, because ol' Relleytrots here cannot use Mental Maze with any SPC and not fail all three Rouse checks to get it going. Thank goodness for Octavio's deep, deep Willpower pool.

What to do? Marsillius could see what was afoot, but he was no warrior born - just a little monk! He ran out into the church proper, determined at least to attract Octavio's attention, and stopped short: there they were, row upon row of them. A congregation, half-starved, half-bled, and all blind: not a one in possession of their eyes. The stench of humanity at its lowest, in thrall to Humanity now forsaken.

Theodericus clambered into the chapel. To his eyes, Octavio stood at the head of this congregation; Marsillius in the pulpit, mad with fear. Mask of Isolation. You've gotta love it. Theodericus did what he had to do and gave chase to the "prophet" and Marsillius did what he had to do and ran like hell. Straight into Mariam. Desperately gabbling that they were all going mad, that it was him, that her eyes were not to be trusted, that whatever she was seeing was not real.

Mariam came out of the maze. For this moment only, her soul was torn, one quarter of her heart given over to the Via Bestiae, and so she called upon the Beast Within and the beasts of the air. Down swooped a flight of owls, shrieking and shrilling, hooting and hollering, and that was the moment Octavio finally snapped and entered a frenzy.

Flailing and cursing to the sane, but to Alzbeta in her visionary state? Crucified. Crucified with his arms outstretched, crying to Heaven, and she was so hungry...

Was it truly him? Was it one of her friends? Some poor dupe like Marsillius who just looked the part?

The Beast cares not, and she drank. She drank deep and deep, and she drank until the body in her arms went rigid -

And there was Theodericus, with the Prophet's heart impaled on his Mithraen sword.

Enter Josef Zvi, as the coterie found what comfort they could. Arrangements were made. The wretches in the Prophet's care would be taken to such hospitals and surgeons as their circumstances allowed. Many would not survive; none would truly have lives worth living; but they would not simply be killed outright. Neither, said Josef, would Octavio. Moved by Alzbeta's pleas, he agreed to advocate for one adversary with another; to approach the Prince of Prague and plead for Octavio to be spared the Final Death or further suffering.

Tomorrow night would be Kupala's Night. Prince Brandl would hold court. Libussa would be present, and at his behest she would before the assembled Cainites drink of him, and be free of her ancient mistress. Orsi and Katya would be present, and as a cousin Ventrue Orsi would be shown mercy for his violation of multiple Traditions in Embracing her. Katya would become a ward of Prince Brandl's court, her education the responsibility of Ardan the Warlock; Orsi would be banished thus from Prague, with five nights to get him hence. And Octavio would be given into the care of Garinol the Cappadocian, whose arts were best suited - in the absence of any Salubri - to trawling the Malkavian's sleeping madness in search of answers. Provided Octavio was not wakened from torpor - provided he remained staked - he would not be killed.

One more piece of business. Theodericus von Ingolstadt. His services were needed. If the Prophet had been at work in the east, in Carpathia, then further devilment may be afoot. Prince Brandl - as prince, as nymphus of the cult, as cousin Ventrue - asked Theodericus to ride for Buda-Pesth, to the court of Nova Arpad, and deliver warning to her of what's afoot. Perhaps, when work schedules permit again, Theodericus will return - but for now, Real Life Writes The Plot.

And here, for now, our story ends.

I'll see you in October.