Theosophical Society,
NIGHTMARE
TALES
A
Compilation of Stories
By
H P Blavatsky
H P Blavatsky
Return to Nightmare Tales index
The Cave of the Echoes
A Strange
but True Story*
By
H P Blavatsky
* This story is given
from the narrative of an eye-witness, a Russian
gentleman, very pious,
and fully trustworthy. Moreover, the facts are copied
from the police records
of P---. The eye-witness in question attributes it, of
course, partly to divine
interference and partly to the Evil One. -- H. P. B.
In
one of the distant governments of the Russian empire, in a small town on the
borders
of
About
six versts from the little town of
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 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 neighbourhood, the indulgent uncle sent to
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 beloved 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
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 into 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
jewellery,
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 jewellery
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 the 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 Germanic 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
shrivelled
face of a man of sixty upon the shoulders of a child 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 behaviour 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 traveller, 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 behaviour 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 weakened
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! mur-der-ed!! murdered!!!"
"Where?
How? By whom?" asked the conjuror.
The
apparition pointed a finger at Nicolas and, without removing its gaze or
lowering
its arms, retreated backwards slowly towards the lake. At every step it
took,
the younger Izvertzoff, as if compelled by some irresistable 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 his 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 traveller 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.
Return to Nightmare Tales index
Theosophical Society,