The Cave of the Echoes

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A Strange But True Story

by H.P. Blavatsky

 

This story is taken from a little-known volume by Madame Blavatsky

called Nightmare Tales, completed during the last few months of her

life. The co-founder of the Theosophical Society known chiefly for

her monumental works of occultism, Isis Unveiled and The Secret

Doctrine, she threw these stories off " in her lighter moments "

for " amusement and relaxation, " according to the foreword by Annie

Besant. If this chilling tale was considered " light " by Mrs. Besant,

she must have known well the weightier thought with which H.P.B. was

burdened in her final days.

----

--

 

IN ONE OF THE DISTANT governments of the Russian empire, in a small

town on the borders of Siberia, a mysterious tragedy occurred more

than thirty years ago. About six versts from the little town of P---,

famous for the wild beauty of its scenery, and for the wealth of its

inhabitants - generally proprietors of mines and of iron foundries -

stood an aristocratic mansion. Its household consisted of the master,

a rich old bachelor and his brother, who was a widower and the father

of two sons and three daughters. It was known that the proprietor,

Mr. Izvertzoff, had adopted his brother's children, and, having

formed an especial attachment for his eldest nephew, Nicolas, he had

made him the sole heir of his numerous estates.

 

Time rolled on. The uncle was getting old, the nephew was coming of

age. Days and years had passed in monotonous serenity, when, on the

hitherto clear horizon of the quiet family, appeared a cloud. On an

unlucky day one of the nieces took it into her head to study the

zither. The instrument being of purely Teutonic origin, and no

teacher of it residing in the neighborhood, the indulgent uncle sent

to St. Petersburg for both. After diligent search only one Professor

could be found willing to trust himself in such close proximity to

Siberia. It was an old German artist, who, sharing his affections

equally between his instrument and a pretty blonde daughter, would

part with neither. And thus it came to pass that, one fine morning,

the old Professor arrived at the mansion, with his music box under

one arm and his fair Munchen leaning on the other.

 

From that day the little cloud began growing rapidly; for every

vibration of the melodious instrument found a responsive echo in the

old bachelor's heart. Music awakens love, they say, and the work

begun by the zither was completed by Munchen's blue eyes. At the

expiration of six months the niece had become an expert zither

player, and the uncle was desperately in love.

 

One morning, gathering his adopted family around him, he embraced

them all very tenderly, promised to remember them in his will, and

wound up by declaring his unalterable resolution to marry the blue-

eyed Munchen. After this he fell upon their necks, and wept in silent

rapture. The family, understanding that they were cheated out of the

inheritance, also wept; but it was for another cause. Having thus

wept, they consoled themselves and tried to rejoice, for the old

gentleman was sincerely loved by all. Not all of them rejoiced,

though. Nicolas, who had himself been smitten to the heart by the

pretty German, and who found himself defrauded at once of his belle

and of his uncle's money, neither rejoiced nor consoled himself, but

disappeared for a whole day.

 

Meanwhile, Mr. Izvertzoff had given orders to prepare his traveling

carriage on the following day, and it was whispered that he was going

to the chief town of the district, at some distance from his home,

with the intention of altering his will. Though very wealthy, he had

no superintendent on his estate, but kept his books himself. The same

evening after supper, he was heard in his room, angrily scolding his

servant, who had been in his service for over thirty years. This man,

Ivan, was a native of northern Asia, from Kamchatka; he had been

brought up by the family in the Christian religion, and was thought

to be very much attached to his master. A few days later, when the

first tragic circumstance I am about to relate had brought all the

police force to the spot, it was remembered that on that night Ivan

was drunk; that his master, who had a horror of this vice, had

paternally thrashed him, and turned him out of his room, and that

Ivan had been seen reeling out of the door, and had been heard to

mutter threats.

 

On the vast domain of Mr. Izvertzoff there was a curious cavern,

which excited the curiosity of all who visited it. It exists to this

day, and is well known to every inhabitant of P---. A pine forest,

commencing a few feet from the garden gate, climbs in steep terraces

up a long range of rocky hills, which it covers with a broad belt of

impenetrable vegetation. The grotto leading into the cavern, which is

known as the " Cave of the Echoes, " is situated about half a mile from

the site of the mansion, from which it appears as a small excavation

in the hillside, almost hidden by luxuriant plants, but not so

completely as to prevent any person entering it from being readily

seen from the terrace in front of the house. Entering the grotto, the

explorer finds at the rear a narrow cleft; having passed through

which he emerges into a lofty cavern, feebly lighted through fissures

in the vaulted roof, fifty feet from the ground. The cavern itself is

immense, and would easily hold between two and three thousand people.

A part of it, in the days of Mr. Izvertzoff, was paved with

flagstones, and was often used in the summer as a ball-room by picnic

parties. Of an irregular oval, it gradually narrows into a broad

corridor, which runs for several miles underground, opening here and

there into other chambers, as large and lofty as the ball-room, but,

unlike this, impassable otherwise than in a boat, as they are always

full of water. These natural basins have the reputation of being

unfathomable.

 

On the margin of the first of these is a small platform, with several

mossy rustic seats arranged on it, and it is from this spot that the

phenomenal echoes, which give the cavern its name, are heard in all

their weirdness. A word pronounced in a whisper, or even a sigh, is

caught up by endless mocking voices, and instead of diminishing in

volume, as honest echoes do, the sound grows louder and louder at

every successive repetition, until at last it bursts forth like the

repercussion of a pistol shot, and recedes in a plaintive wail down

the corridor.

 

On the day in question, Mr. Izvertzoff had mentioned his intention of

having a dancing party in this cave on his wedding day, which he had

fixed for an early date. On the following morning, while preparing

for his drive, he was seen by his family entering the grotto,

accompanied only by his Siberian servant. Half-an-hour later, Ivan

returned to the mansion for a snuff-box, which his master had

forgotten in his room, and went back with it to the cave. An hour

later the whole house was startled by his loud cries. Pale and

dripping with water, Ivan rushed in like a madman, and declared that

Mr. Izvertzoff was nowhere to be found in the cave. Thinking he had

fallen in to the lake, he had dived into the first basin in search of

him and was nearly drowned himself.

 

The day passed in vain attempts to find the body. The police filled

the house, and louder than the rest in his despair was Nicolas, the

nephew, who had returned home only to meet the sad tidings.

 

A dark suspicion fell upon Ivan, the Siberian. He had been struck by

his master the night before, and had been heard to swear revenge. He

had accompanied him alone to the cave, and when his room was

searched, a box full of rich family jewelry, known to have been

carefully kept in Mr. Izvertzoff's apartment, was found under Ivan's

bedding. Vainly did the serf call God to witness that the box had

been given to him in charge by his master himself, just before they

proceeded to the cave; that it was the latter's purpose to have the

jewelry reset, as he intended it for a wedding present to his bride;

and that he, Ivan would willingly give his own life to recall that of

his master, if he knew him to be dead. No heed was paid to him,

however, and he was arrested and thrown into prison upon a charge of

murder. There he was left, for under Russian law a criminal cannot -

at any rate, he could not in those days - be sentenced for a crime,

however conclusive the circumstantial evidence, unless he confessed

his guilt.

 

After a week had passed in useless search, the family arrayed

themselves in deep mourning; and, as the will as originally drawn

remained without a codicil, the whole of the property passed into the

hands of the nephew. The old teacher and his daughter bore this

sudden reverse of fortune with true German phlegm, and prepared to

depart. Taking again his zither under one arm, the old man was about

to lead away his Munchen by the other, when the nephew stopped him by

offering himself as the fair damsel's husband in the place of his

departed uncle. The change was found to be an agreeable one, and,

without much ado, the young people were married.

 

TEN YEARS ROLLED AWAY, and we meet the happy family once more at the

beginning of 1859. The fair Munchen had grown fat and vulgar. From

the day of the old man's disappearance, Nicolas had become morose and

retired in his habits, and many wondered at the change in him, for

now he was never seen to smile. It seemed as if his only aim in life

were to find out his uncle's murderer, or rather to bring Ivan to

confess his guilt. But the man still persisted that he was innocent.

 

An only son had been born to the young couple, and a strange child it

was. Small, delicate, and ever ailing, his frail life seemed to hang

by a thread. When his features were in repose, his resemblance to his

uncle was so striking that the members of the family often shrank

from him in terror. It was the pale shriveled face of a man of sixty

upon the shoulders of a child of nine years old. He was never seen

either to laugh or to play, but, perched in his high chair, would

gravely sit there, folding his arms in a way peculiar to the late Mr.

Izvertzoff; and thus he would remain for hours, drowsy and

motionless. His nurses were often seen furtively crossing themselves

at night, upon approaching him, and not one of them would consent to

sleep alone with him in the nursery. His father's behavior towards

him was still more strange. He seemed to love him passionately, and

at the same time to hate him bitterly. He seldom embraced or caressed

the child, but, with livid cheek and staring eye, he would pass long

hours watching him, as the child sat quietly in his corner, in his

goblin-like, old-fashioned way.

 

The child had never left the estate, and few outside the family knew

of his existence.

 

About the middle of July, a tall Hungarian traveler, preceded by a

great reputation for eccentricity, wealth and mysterious powers,

arrived at the town of P--- from the North, where, it was said, he

had resided for many years. He settled in the little town, in company

with a Shaman or South Siberian magician, on whom he was said to make

mesmeric experiments. He gave dinners and parties, and invariably

exhibited his Shaman, of whom he felt very proud, for the amusement

of his guests. One day the notables of P--- made an unexpected

invasion of the domains of Nicolas Izvertzoff, and requested the loan

of his cave for an evening entertainment. Nicolas consented with

great reluctance, and only after still greater hesitancy was he

prevailed upon to join the party.

 

The first cavern and the platform beside the bottomless lake

glittered with lights. Hundreds of flickering candles and torches,

stuck in the clefts of the rocks, illuminated the place and drove the

shadows from the mossy nooks and corners, where they had crouched

undisturbed for many years. The stalactites on the walls sparkled

brightly, and the sleeping echoes were suddenly awakened by a joyous

confusion of laughter and conversation. The Shaman, who was never

lost sight of by his friend and patron, sat in a corner, entranced as

usual. Crouched on a projecting rock, about midway between the

entrance and the water, with his lemon-yellow, wrinkled face, flat

nose, and thin beard, he looked more like an ugly stone idol than a

human being. Many of the company pressed around him and received

correct answers to their questions, the Hungarian cheerfully

submitting his mesmerized " subject " to cross-examination.

 

Suddenly one of the party, a lady, remarked that it was in that very

cave that old Mr. Izvertzoff had so unaccountably disappeared ten

years before. The foreigner appeared interested, and desired to learn

more of the circumstances, so Nicolas was sought amid the crowd and

led before the eager group. He was the host and he found it

impossible to refuse the demanded narrative. He repeated the sad tale

in a trembling voice, with a pallid cheek, and tears were seen

glittering in his feverish eyes. The company were greatly affected,

and encomiums upon the behavior of the loving nephew in honouring the

memory of his uncle and benefactor were freely circulating in

whispers, when suddenly the voice of Nicolas became choked, his eyes

started from their sockets, and, with a suppressed groan, he

staggered back. Every eye in the crowd followed with curiosity his

haggard look, as it fell and remained riveted upon a wizened little

face, that peeped from behind the back of the Hungarian.

 

" Where do you come from? Who brought you here, child? " gasped out

Nicolas, as pale as death.

 

" I was in bed, papa; this man came to me, and brought me here in his

arms, " answered the boy simply, pointing to the Shaman, beside whom

he stood upon the rock, and who, with his eyes closed, kept swaying

himself to and fro like a living pendulum.

 

" That is very strange, " remarked one of the guests, " for the man has

never moved from his place. "

 

" Good God! What an extraordinary resemblance! " muttered an old

resident of the town, a friend of the lost man.

 

" You lie child! " fiercely exclaimed the father. " Go to bed; this is

no place for you. "

 

" Come, come, " interposed the Hungarian, with a strange expression on

his face, and encircling with his arm the slender childish

figure; " the little fellow has seen the double of my Shaman, which

roams sometimes far away from his body, and has mistaken the phantom

for the man himself. Let him remain with us for a while. "

 

At these strange words the guests stared at each other in mute

surprise, while some piously made the sign of the cross, spitting

aside, presumably at the devil and all his works.

 

" By-the-bye, " continued the Hungarian with a peculiar firmness of

accent, and addressing the company rather than any one in

particular; " why should we not try, with the help of my Shaman, to

unravel the mystery hanging over the tragedy? Is the suspected party

still lying in prison? What? He has not confessed up to now? This is

surely very strange. But now we will learn the truth in a few

minutes! Let all keep silent! "

 

He then approached the Tehuktchene, and immediately began his

performance without so much as asking the consent of the master of

the place. The latter stood rooted to the spot, as if petrified with

horror, and unable to articulate a word. The suggestion met with

general approbation, save from him; and the police inspector, Col. S--

-, especially approved of the idea.

 

" Ladies and gentlemen, " said the mesmerizer in soft tones, " allow me

for this once to proceed otherwise than in my general fashion. I will

employ the method of native magic. It is more appropriate to this

wild place, and far more effective as you will find, than our

European method of mesmerization. "

 

Without waiting for an answer, he drew from a bag that never left his

person, first a small drum, and then two little phials - one full of

fluid, the other empty. With the contents of the former he sprinkled

the Shaman, who fell to trembling and nodding more violently than

ever. The air was filled with the perfume of spicy odours, and the

atmosphere itself seemed to become clearer. Then, to the horror of

those present, he approached the Tibetan, and taking a miniature

stiletto from his pocket, he plunged the sharp steel into the man's

forearm, and drew blood from it, which he caught in the empty phial.

When it was half filled, he pressed the orifice of the wound with his

thumb, and stopped the flow of blood as easily as if he had corked a

bottle, after which he sprinkled the blood over the little boy's

head. He then suspended the drum from his neck, and, with two ivory

drum-sticks, which were covered with magic signs and letters, he

began beating a sort of reveille, to drum up the spirits, as he said.

 

The bystanders, half-shocked and half-terrified by these

extraordinary proceedings, eagerly crowded round him, and for a few

moments a dead silence reigned throughout the lofty cavern. Nicolas,

with his face livid and corpse-like, stood speechless as before. The

mesmerizer had placed himself between the Shaman and the platform,

when he began slowly drumming. The first notes were muffled, and

vibrated so softly in the air that they awakened no echo, but the

Shaman quickened his pendulum-like motion and the child became

restless. The drummer then began a slow chant, low, impressive and

solemn.

 

As the unknown words issued from his lips, the flames of the candles

and torches wavered and flickered, until they began dancing in rhythm

with the chant. A cold wind came wheezing from the dark corridors

beyond the water, leaving a plaintive echo in its trail. Then a sort

of nebulous vapour, seeming to ooze from the rocky ground and walls,

gathered about the Shaman and the boy. Around the latter the aura was

silvery and transparent, but the cloud which enveloped the former was

red and sinister. Approaching nearer to the platform the magician

beat a louder roll upon the drum, and this time the echo caught it up

with terrific effect! It reverberated near and far in incessant

peals; one wail followed another, louder and louder, until the

thundering roar seemed the chorus of a thousand demon voices rising

from the fathomless depths of the lake. The water itself, whose

surface, illuminated by many lights, had previously been smooth as a

sheet of glass, became suddenly agitated, as if a powerful gust of

wind had swept over its unruffled face.

 

Another chant, and a roll of the drum, and the mountain trembled to

its foundation with the cannon-like peals which rolled through the

dark and distant corridors. The Shaman's body rose two yards in the

air, and nodding and swaying, sat, self-suspended like an apparition.

But the transformation which now occurred in the boy chilled

everyone, as they speechlessly watched the scene. The silvery cloud

about the boy now seemed to lift him, too, into the air; but, unlike

the Shaman, his feet never left the ground. The child began to grow,

as though the work of years was miraculously accomplished in a few

seconds. He became tall and large, and his senile features grew older

with the ageing of his body. A few more seconds, and the youthful

form had entirely disappeared. It was totally absorbed in another

individuality, and, to the horror of those present who had been

familiar with his appearance, this individuality was that of old Mr.

Izvertzoff, and on his temple was a large gaping wound, from which

trickled great drops of blood.

 

This phantom moved towards Nicolas, till it stood directly in front

of him, while he, with his hair standing erect, with the look of a

madman gazed at his own son, transformed into his uncle. The

sepulchral silence was broken by the Hungarian, who, addressing the

child phantom, asked him, in solemn voice:

 

" In the name of the great Master, of Him who has all power, answer

the truth, and nothing but the truth. Restless spirit, hast thou been

lost by accident, or foully murdered? "

 

The spectre's lips moved, but it was the echo which answered for them

in lugubrious shouts: " Murdered! Murdered!! Mur-der-ed!!! "

 

" Where? How? By whom? " asked the conjuror.

 

The apparition pointed a finger at Nicolas and, without removing its

gaze or lowering its arm, retreated backwards slowly towards the

lake. At every step it took, the younger Izvertzoff, as if compelled

by some irresistible fascination, advanced a step towards it, until

the phantom reached the lake, and the next moment was seen gliding on

its surface. It was a fearful, ghostly scene!

 

When he had come within two steps of the brink of the watery abyss, a

violent convulsion ran through the frame of the guilty man. Flinging

himself upon his knees, he clung to one of the rustic seats with a

desperate clutch, and staring wildly, uttered a long piercing cry of

agony. The phantom now remained motionless on the water, and bending

its extended finger, slowly beckoned him to come. Crouched in abject

terror, the wretched man shrieked until the cavern rang again and

again: " I did not... No, I did not murder you! "

 

Then came a splash, and now it was the boy who was in the dark water,

struggling for his life, in the middle of the lake, with the same

motionless stern apparition brooding over him.

 

" Papa! Papa! Save me... I am drowning! " cried a piteous little voice

amid the uproar of the mocking echoes.

 

" My boy! " shrieked Nicolas, in the accents of a maniac, springing to

his feet. " My boy! Save him! Oh, save him!... Yes, I confess.. I am

the murderer... It is I who killed him! "

 

Another splash, and the phantom disappeared. With a cry of horror the

company rushed towards the platform; but their feet were suddenly

rooted to the ground, as they saw amid the swirling eddies a whitish

shapeless mass holding the murderer and the boy in tight embrace, and

slowly sinking into the bottomless lake...

 

On the morning after these occurrences, when, after a sleepless

night, some of the party visited the residence of the Hungarian

gentleman, they found it closed and deserted. He and the Shaman had

disappeared. Many are among the old inhabitants of P--- who remember

him; the Police Inspector, Col. S---, dying a few years ago in the

full assurance that the noble traveler was the devil. To add to the

general consternation the Izvertzoff mansion took fire on that same

night and was completely destroyed. The Archbishop performed the

ceremony of exorcism, but the locality is considered accursed to this

day. The Government investigated the facts, and - ordered silence.

 

Now this is some kind of scary to moi....

........bob