The Cave of the Echoes
by H. P. Blavatsky
A Strange but True Story*
* 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 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
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 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 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 Asia, from Kamschatka; 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 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
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
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
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.