Cardiff Blavatsky Archive

Theosophical Society, Cardiff Lodge, 206 Newport Road, Cardiff CF24 – 1DL




H P Blavatsky


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and other miscellaneous letters transcribed, compiled,

with an introduction  


A. Trevor Barker


Section 2 Page 93 – 182



Mohini and the Writing of” Man” . . .  93

Subba Row lies about H. P. B . . . 95

The Crime of divulging Sacred Things  . . .  97

The Coulomb Letters . . .  99

The Karma of an Occultist . . .  l01

H. P. B.’s Martyrdom . . . 103

An Hour of Revelation . . . 105

On Books and Characters  . . . 107

False Reasoning and Bigotry of S.P.R  . . .  109

The Love of the Master  . . . 111

Solovioff resigns from S.P.R . . . 113

The Forger Coulomb . . .  115

Solovioff protests to S.P.R . . .  II7

“Guilty in One—Guilty in All” . . . 119

Dr. F. Hartmann . . .  121

Pure “ Vestals” . . .   123

M’s Corroboration. . .  123

In Defence of Mohini. . .  127

A Double Untruth about H. P. B. . .   129

Missionaries swear to ruin the T.S. . .   131

D. N’s Reluctance to meet H. P. B. . .   133

A List of Calumnies . . .  135

The Treachery of Hodgson . . .  137

The Truth about Hodgson and S.P.R . . .  139

The “Vase” Phenomenon. . .  141

The Metrovitch Incident. . .  143

The Private Part of H. P. B.’s Life . . .  145

H. P. B. never Mme. Metrovitch. . .  147

Myers of the S.P.R  . . .  149

H. P. B. travels with the Master . . .  151

Mentana . . .  153

H. P. B. never a Medium . . .  155

The Countess sees M . . .  157

D.N.nearlymad . . .  159

The Opinion of a Hindu . . .  161

Col. Olcott’s” Temple of Humanity” . . .  163

The Letter of Hurreesinjhee  . . .  165

D. N. a Fanatic  . . .  167

Instructions to Sinnett re D.N . . .   169

The Laws of Occultism . . .  171

D.N.a”Chela” . . .  173

The Reason for Soloviofi’s Defection. . .  175

Medical Evidence on H. P. B . . .   177                                                                           

H. P. B. like a Boar at Bay. . .  179



On board.


I write a few words first for the sake of the Cause generally and all of us in

particular. As I thought this day was one of revelation and retribution all over

and round: the great test as a Cause is at an end, now we have but to wait for

results. The first one is a letter from Mr. Finch and a confession from Mohini

that the “Apocalypsis” that had to supersede Esoteric Buddhism and crush it out, not only out of market but out of existence is—good for nothing. Mr. Finch says that this is a work which “can only lower the Masters.” The four chapters

written entirely by Mohini are of course good, but wherever the spring of

inspiration has let loose its waters, it is rough, unsystematic, reads like a

meaningless jibbering of a schoolboy—makes ugly patches in the work and will

certainly do no credit to the “two chelas” supposed to have written under the

direct inspiration of a student. Well—the probation is at an end it seems—at

least Act I. Master wants it to be issued before Christmas and we have to do it.

Only poor Mohini will have to rewrite the whole chapter and remodel all the

places where his collaborator gave original ideas. I wish you would see Mohini

and have a talk with him about this work. He will tell you HOW it was written

for he is now free to speak.


My Master whose voice I have just heard orders me to tell you that as Mohini is

likely to stop in London till January, you better profit by his presence to

complete your literary work that sleeps for want of materials but ought not.

Seriously you ought to have him as often as you can to explain and teach you

upon the subjects touched in your new book for now Master will give him orders to that effect. Hitherto he could not come to you, give or explain the least

thing—for reasons your intuition may explain to you. Now he can and will do so.

Dispose of me, for you I will consent now even to serve again as a postman. But

for you alone and will beg you to keep me the secret. I will write from either

Algiers or Malta and explain. Do answer me. Love to Mrs. Sinnett.


                                              Yours truly again,



H. P. B.




Copy of the letter to be sent through Olcott. I want you to correct it. I am

determined to sue the Coulombs for this.

          HODGSON ESQ.


I have always laboured under the impression that in English law so long as one

was not proven “guilty” legally, one was held innocent; and that a one sided

testimony—especially that of recognised enemies could be put aside even in a

Court of Justice. You seem to act on different principles. You are welcome to do so. In the matter of phenomena I have come to care very little whether I will be proclaimed in your Report to the P.R.S. a humbug and a fraud twenty times over, or not; though I doubt the propriety and good taste of your proclaiming me all this beforehand among your Madras acquaintances. However, even to this I am indifferent.

But you went further. At Mr. Garstin’s dinner the other night you spoke of me as a “Russian Spy.” You have supported this assertion against Mr. Hume’s laugh and denial, and that of Mr. and Mrs. C. O. so seriously and with such emphasis that it becomes a matter of the gravest importance for me to have it proved publicly whether I am a “Spy” or not. As I defy any mortal man to bring valid proof that I have ever written one line or received one from the Russian Govt. for the last 15 years during which period I became an American citizen, and that I am as loyal to the British Govt. that now gives me hospitality as you can be—I would have been perfectly justified in taking out summonses and have you arrested, for the vile and dangerous calumny but for three considerations:


(1) You are the friend of the Oakleys whom I love and respect and would avoid

dragging as unwilling witnesses;


(2) Only a fortnight ago I had an affectionate regard for yourself whom I

believed impartial and just;


(3) People might, and would say that it was a revenge for your having “found me

out” and shown “a consummate fraud” as you express it.

And pray do not think for a moment that any one has repeated to me your

conversations and accusations at Mr. Garstin’s. I know every word that was said at table by means that even your P.R.S. recognise and could not deny in me. I thank you also for your additional fling at an innocent and absent woman who has never done you any harm, in saying that you believed her a woman capable of every and any crime. You may believe


—•—   95   SUBBA  ROW  LIES  ABOUT  H. P. B.  —•—

me personally what you like, but you have no right to express your slanders


However it may be, I expect from you a written statement over your signature of

all you heard from the Coulombs about my being a spy that led you to form such a conclusion. I will also beg of you a description of the paper or papers she showed you, for this time I mean to sue her and put an end to such an infamy.

This is a serious affair Mr. Hodgson and it is yourself who have forced me into

this course of action.






                            H. P. B.



June 16th.


If we had two dozen like you two and a dozen like Sinnett—Masters would be with you and the Society long ago. I mean what I say and what more is—I know it.

Listen: try to disconnect the L.L. as much as you can from the H.Q. You may be at heart—one. Try to become two in the management. Karma is taking its course.

We cannot help it. But the innocent and the true should not suffer for the

guilty and the untrue. And oh, dear, how many traitors and Judases of all

colours and shades we have in the very heart of the Society. Ambition is a

terrible adviser! Show this to Mr. Sinnett. Let him be truly “keener” in his

work, not only in his interest for the Society. Let him not hesitate to

sacrifice if needed—friends, myself included. Olcott is becoming a wind-bag full

of vanity. But do not blame him. He has fallen under the influence of one who

has become to him what I used to be in the days of old. He is a terrible

sensitive notwithstanding his big beard. I pity and love him as of old. But he

is throwing the blame upon me alone—forgetting his exhibition of Buddha, his

flapdoodle cramming with phenomena the psychists and so on. Master will never spurn him, for no one in this world will work as devotedly and unselfishly as he has. But why should the L.L.—the head and brains of the T.S. suffer and risk disintegration for the wild beatings of its heart—the Adyar H. Quarters? Such as Subba Row—uncompromising initiated Brahmins, will never reveal—even that which they are permitted to. They hate too much Europeans for it. Has he not gravely given out to Mr. and Mrs. C.O. that I was henceforth “a shell deserted and abandoned by the Masters?” When I took him for it to task, he answered: “You have been guilty of the



most terrible of crimes. You have given out secrets of Occultism—the most sacred and the most hidden. Rather that you should be sacrificed than that which was never meant for European minds. People had too much faith in you. It was time to throw doubt into their minds. Otherwise they should have pumped out of you all that you know.” And he is now acting on that principle.

             Please let Mr. S. know this,

                                                    Yours for ever the same,


       H. P. BLAVATSKY.







               Sunday, 17 May.


You may show this, or simply tell Mr. Sinnett about the following. Gaboriau had

intensely begged me to offer him as a chela to Mahatma K. H. or my Master, and the former had accepted him on a trial. Thus he was a chela and no lie can be implied to me in saying to Mr. Sinnett that “Masters had chelas everywhere.” At the time, as many a time before and after that I had determined not to mix

myself any more in the transmission of letters from Mahatmas. Had MASTER

permitted me to carry out this resolution I would not, perhaps, be now here an

exile and dying far away from India! But He did not so permit, telling me

however I could send the Mahatma K. H.’s letters through some other chela if I

was so cowardly. D. K. was then trying an experiment on Mr. Sinnett to see

whether he could succeed in suggesting the idea into his head to go through

France and had said: “I want to see if I can bring the two together, (meaning S.

and G.) Gaboriau is extremely sensitive and mediumistic and I may succeed in

training him for something, though I am afraid he is a fool.”

This gave me the idea (1) that Mr. Sinnett might be induced by suggestion to

stop at Nantes, and (2) that anyhow I would ask him to forward the letter to

London and so find myself clear of at least one letter, and I sent it on through


The experiment failed. Mr. Sinnett is not very sensitive and went through some

other road. I have not tried to mislead him, neither then, nor at any time. I

simply kept silent, as I have in many other cases phenomenal and

semi-phenomenal, with regard to letters received by him. But he, measuring

occultism upon the standard of daily life and rules makes no difference between




deliberate lie and the desire or rather sad necessity of concealing things. When

he told me that he had received a letter from Nantes (this laughing) I felt very

much embarrassed, and understood that D. Khool had failed, which he had not told me. I simply said “Have you?” and the words he correctly stated to you, about chelas everywhere, unless I wrote them using them in a letter of which I am not certain. The proof that I had no desire to mislead him is found in the fact that I have never asked Gaboriau to make a secret of it. He was a “chela” and dropped only when preparing to sail for Adyar and prevented from going there as he had been found a perfect fool. If Mr. Sinnett will see guilt and dishonesty in every such circumstance, then, since I now tell him plainly that there are a hundred things I have had to conceal from him, he is at liberty to drop me and even my existence from his life altogether. I have never deceived him, never tried to mislead, never lied to him. I have tried my best to serve him and my present

misfortune and the quasi-ruin of the T.S. are due primarily to his independent

way of thinking, of thrusting occultism, and its mysteries into the teeth of a

prejudiced unprepared public by publishing his two books. Had phenomena and the Masters been sacredly preserved among and only for Theosophists, all this would not have happened. But it is my own fault as much as his. In my zeal and

devotion to the Cause I have permitted publicity and as Subba Row truly says

committed the crime of divulging things most sacred and holy that had never

been known to the profane before” and now comes my Karma. I had always seen in Mr. Sinnett the most devoted and useful member of our Society, I have told to him things I never said even to Olcott, but I could not divulge all even to him. Since Mahatma K. H. tells him that he has not dropped him and has the same regard for him as ever, what more does he want? They can, if They like, find other channels of communication with him besides myself. Let him drop me out of his life like a bad penny, and give me up like so many others have, now that I am dying from the effects of the Simla causes. I have done my best, I can serve him no longer, and I ask and pray but for one thing, to be left to die like a

mangy dog, quietly and alone in my corner. May the Masters bless and protect you all—and may my martyrdom and sufferings known perhaps to the Masters alone—do

some good to the Society and help it turning a new leaf. But if even those

sufferings will prove to have been sent and accepted in vain, then is the T.S.

doomed and it has indeed been started prematurely.


                     Yours to the last


                                                                     H. P. B.





                                                      TORRE DEL GRECO,


                                                               HOTEL DEL




                  June 21.


The sight of your familiar hand-writing was a welcome one, indeed, and the

contents of your letter still more so.

No, dear Mrs. Sinnett, I never thought that you could have ever believed that I

played the tricks I am now accused of; neither you or any one of those who have Masters in their heart, not on their brains. Nevertheless, here I am, and stand accused, without any means to prove the contrary—of the most dirty, villainous deceptions, ever practiced by a half starved medium.

What can I, and what shall I do? Useless to either write, to persuade, or try to

argue with people who are bound to believe me guilty, to change their opinion.

Let it be. The fuel in my heart is burnt to the last atom. Henceforth nothing is

to be found in it but cold ashes. I have so suffered that I can suffer no more—I

simply laugh at every new accusation.

“Notwithstanding the expertise” you say. Ah, they must be famous those experts, who found the Coulomb’s letters genuine. The whole world may bow before their decision and acuteness; but there is one person, at least, in this wide world, whom they can never convince that those stupid letters were written by me, and it is—H. P. Blavatsky. Were the God of Israel and Moses, Mahomet and all the prophets, with Jesus and the Virgin Mary to boot, come and tell me that I have written one line of the infamous instructions to Coulomb—I would say then to their faces—“fiddlestick—I have not.”

Now, look here, I want you to know these facts. To this day I have never been

allowed to see one single of those letters. Why could not Mr. Hodgson come and show me one of them at least. I suspect he has brought some of them to

London—otherwise how could the expertise have been made? Why has he never showed me one, at least, at Adyar. And now, strong in their impunity the enemy has come out with still more letters and still more wonderful. I leave it to you and all of you to judge. There’s a letter shown, it seems, which they have not yet dared to publish, but the contents of which are summarised by Patterson in the April No. of the “C.C.M.” I am charged in it, and orally, of having written in 1880 a letter to the Coulomb, then at Ceylon, in which what I say to her shows plainly that from 1852 till 1872 for twenty odd years I have been otherwise occupied than with occult studies. Now who will ever believe—though even


—•—   99   THE  COULOMB  LETTERS —•—

my fraud in phenomena were to be believed by the whole creation, that in 1880,

I, who was then at Bombay, bent upon proving the existence of Masters and with my plans of imposture—if I had any—well matured already, that I should have written such a letter to one whom I had hardly known 8 years before, who was no friend of mine, only a casual acquaintance with whom since I left Cairo in 1871 I had never had any correspondence, and whose very name I had forgotten! In that infamous letter I am made, nevertheless, to say that I had left my husband, loved and lived with a man (whose wife was my dearest friend and who died in 1870 -- a man who died too a year after his wife, and was buried by me at Alexandria) HAD three children by him and others! ! ! (sic) and etc. etc.,

winding the whole confession by asking her not to speak of me as she knew me,

and so on: sentences strung together, to show that I had never known the

Masters, never was in Tibet, was in fact an impostor.

It is only wasting time to argue upon all this. Those who believe the published

letters genuine, have no reason to disbelieve in that one, and if there are such

fools in this world—or people so cunning as to play the part of a fool—who can

believe me capable of writing such a suicidal confession, to such a woman, a

perfect stranger to me with the exception of a few weeks I had known her at

Cairo—well those people are welcome to do so. The Masters being involved in this also, and I, determined to RATHER DIE A THOUSAND DEATHS than pronounce Their names, or answer questions about Them in a Court of law—what can I do? Ah, Mrs. Sinnett, the plotters proved too cunning, too crafty for the T.S. and especially for myself. She—that female fiend—knew well, I would and could not defend myself in a Court because of the accusations, of myself and friends, and the whole of my life being so intimately connected with the Mahatmas. And to think that I should have been such a fool as to have imagined, at one time, that in India it was as in Russia—that I could refuse to answer questions that were matters too sacred for me to discuss about in public. I never knew that the judge could, if he chose, sentence me to prison for contempt of Court, unless I answered all the blackguardly questions about the Masters, the padris had prepared. Well and I kicked and clamoured to be allowed to go into Court to punish the villians and prove them liars. And now, I know better. I have learned, at my expense, that there is neither justice nor truth, nor charity for those who refuse to follow in the old tracks. I have learned the whole extent and magnitude of the conspiracy against the belief in the Mahatmas; it was a question of life or death to the Missions in India, and they thought that by killing me they would kill Theosophy. They



very nearly succeeded. At any rate they have succeeded in fooling Hume and the

S.P.R. Poor Myers! and still more poor Hodgson! How terribly they will be

laughed at some day. En attendant, they are busy crucifying me, it seems.

Psychic research indeed. “Hodgson’s” research, rather! But pray tell me. Is it

the legal thing in England, to accuse publicly even a street sweeper in his

absence?; without giving him the chance of saying one single word in his

defence?; without letting him know even of what he is precisely accused of, or

who it is who accuses him and is brought forward as chief evidence. For I do not know the first word of all this. Hodgson came to Adyar; was received as a

friend; examined and cross-examined all whom he wanted to; the “boys” -- (the

Hindus) at Adyar gave him all the information he needed. If he now finds

discrepancies and contradictions in their statements, it only shows that feeling

as they all did, that it was (in their sight) pure tomfoolery to doubt the

phenomena and the Masters, they had not prepared themselves for the scientific

cross-examination, may have forgotten many of the circumstances; in short, that

not feeling guilty and having never either been my confederates or my dupes,

they had not rehearsed among themselves what they had to say, and thus, may very well have created suspicions in a prejudiced mind. But the whole trouble with us is, that we have never looked at Mr. Hodgson at first, as a prejudiced judge. Quite the reverse. Well I was the first one to be punished for my confidence in his fairness. To think that while I was laid up on my death-bed, he came daily as a friend of the C. Oakleys, dined at the H.Q., abused and vilified, and betrayed me daily, in their presence—and that I never knew the truth till the

end! Ask him—has he ever confronted me with my accusers? Has he ever tried to learn anything from me, or given me a chance of defence and explanation? NEVER.

He acted from the first day as though I was proven guilty beyond the shadow of a doubt. He played traitor with me; and acted not like any honest enquirer would

have done, but as a Govt. prosecutor, an attorney general or whatever his legal

names. And now behold the results. It is disgusting, SICKENING to see how he

played into the hands of the padris and the padris in his. Oh for my prophetic

soul! I did foresee all this, in London.

Enough. It is all dead and gone. Consummatum est.

Here I am. Where I shall go next, I know no more than the man in the moon. The only friend I have in life and death is poor little exiled Bowajee D. Nath in

Europe; and poor dear Damodar—in Tibet. D. Nath keeps at the foot of my bed, awake for whole nights, mesmerising me, as prescribed by his Master. Why They should want to keep me still in life is some-


—•—   101   THE KARMA  OF AN  OCCULYIST —•—

thing too strange for me to comprehend; but Their ways are and always have

been—incomprehensible. What good am I now for the Cause? Besmeared with mud, spat upon, doubted and suspected by the whole creation except a few—would I not do more good to the T.S. by dying than by living? Their will be done not mine.


                      Yours in life and always,


                                                            H. P. B.








           July 23rd.


Do not tremble at the sight of this table-cloth. Lately my sight has become very

weak and my hand so unsteady that I fancy somehow I can write more easily on

large paper.

I hope you will forgive me for delaying my answer for more than a week; but I

had work to finish for the papers, and had to do it for vile cash and lucre, as

the burden of poor Mary Flynn and Babajee is now upon me also, and I have to

work for my living, or rather for ours. And I write so slow now! One hour pen in

hand, two hours in bed, my sight getting dim, heart faint (physically) and

fingers stiff. Ah, well, it’s my Karma; and I have nothing to say. No dear, I

have not—speaking of Karma—seen your husband’s new book, I see nothing

now-a-days, but I asked Bowajee to send for it to London.

I was rather astonished to hear you say my letter made such an impression on

yourself and your uncle, and I was agreeably surprised too; still it was real

surprise; for, though I do not remember a word I said in it, still I could not

have written to you anything more or less than what I had written dozens of

times to others, and said in so many words—a hundred. But what you say, only

made me sadder. Do not fight for me, my kind, dear Mrs. Sinnett, do not defend

me; you will lose your time and only be called a confederate, if not worse. You

would hurt yourself, perhaps the Cause, and do me no good. The mud has entered too deeply into the hapless individual known as H. P. B., the chemicals used for the dye of slander were, or rather are, too strong, and death herself, I am afraid, shall never wash away in the eyes of those who do not know me, the dirt that has been thrown at, and has stuck on the personality of the “dear old

lady.” Ah, yes; the “old lady” is a clean thing to look at now; an honour to her

friends, and an ornament to the Society, if anything. Alone the “Occult World”

has the key to the situation and the truth.



But the Occult World is at a discount now, even at the Headquarters. The poor

Colonel has it securely locked up for the present under a triple key, at the

very bottom of his poor, weak heart, and dares not for the time being, have it

on his tongue. A reaction, and an exaggeration with him, as usual. He has

stuffed the S.P.R. with what could not but appear to the majority cock and bull

stories, and had fights with me for asking him not to take them as arbiters, not

to have anything to do with the Dons; and now when their arbitration had such a

glorious end for us, he got frightened out of his wits and has become a Brahmin,

a regular Subba Row for secrecy. He forgets the “they who shall deny me before men, I shall deny them before my (Tibetan) father.” He does not deny the

Masters, of course, but he is mortally afraid to pronounce even their names,

except in strict privacy. Ah! If he had but half that reticence and discretion,

when he thrust the Lord Buddha on His wheels, before the intuitional gathering

at the Psychic Research Meeting! But it is too late. Consummatum est.

Well, really and indeed I would not have cared one brass pin for my personal

reputation, only that every bullet of mud shot at, and passing through me,

splatters the unfortunate T. S. with odoriferous ingredients.

You “cannot imagine how anyone knowing you (me) can believe you (me)


guilty”—guilty of the asinine actions charged upon me? Nor could I—six months ago, but now I can. When was truth accepted and remembered, or lies and slander fail to be accepted and treasured in people’s brains? The world is divided into the millions who do not know me, who have never seen or heard me, but who have heard of me; and what they did hear, even in the palmy days of Theosophy, when it was nearly becoming a fashion, could never prepossess them in my favour; and among those millions—a few hundreds—say thousands—who have seen me personally,

i.e. the very rough personality in her “black bag,” and of unrefined talk. Those

who do know me and have had a glimpse of the inner creature—are a few dozens.

But if you divide these into those who do believe, but are afraid of losing

caste; those who know but whose interest it is to appear uncertain; and again

those whom our phenomena kicked out of saddle—like the spiritualists—and broke the head of their own hobbies—what remains? A dozen or two of individuals who like yourself have the COURAGE of being honest with themselves and the still greater one of showing they do have it, under the nose and in the face of the idiots and the selfish of the age! Of course, you all who believe in, and respect the Masters cannot without losing every belief in Them, think me guilty.

Those who feel no discrepancy


—•— 103   H. P. B.’S  MARTYRDOM —•—

in the idea (Hume was one of such) of filthy lying and fraud even for the good

of the cause—being associated with work done for the Masters—are congenital

Jesuits. One capable of believing that such pure and holy hands can touch and

handle with no sense of squeamishness such a filthy instrument, as I am now

represented to be—are natural born fools, or capable themselves of working on

the principle that “the end justifies the means.” Therefore, while thanking you,

and appreciating fully the great kindness of your heart that dictated you such

words as—“were I convinced tomorrow that you had written those wretched letters I should love you still”—I answer—I hope you would not, and this for your own sake. Had I written even one of those idiotic and at bottom infamous

interpolations now made to appear in the said letters; had I been guilty once

only—of a deliberate, purposely concocted fraud, especially when those deceived were my best, my truest friends—no “love” for such one as I! At best—pity or eternal contempt. Pity, if proved that I was an irresponsible lunatic, a hallucinated medium made to trick by my “guides” whom I was representing as Mahatmas; contempt—if a conscious fraud—but then where would be the Masters? Ah! dear child of my old heart, I was, I really was guilty, of but one crime from the natural standpoint of human conception. Many are the things I have been obliged to conceal by holding my tongue; many—though fewer—those I have allowed to go uncorrected before the world’s criterion and the belief of my friends; but these were no phenomena of ours, but only the mistakes and hallucinations, the exaggerations of other people, quite sincere too. And if I did so it was only because I was ever afraid of injuring the Cause; and that had I “revised and corrected” those first editions, I might have been called to task to explain the remainder, which I could never do, without betraying things I was not permitted to divulge. Never, never, shall you, or even could you, realise with all your earnestness and sympathy for me, and your natural keen perceptions—all I had to suffer for the last ten years! What could people know of me? The exterior carcase fattened on the life-blood of the interior wretched prisoner, and people perceived only the first, never suspecting the existence of the latter. And that “first” was charged with ambition, love of cheap fame, mercenary objects; with fraud and deceit, cunning and unscrupulousness, lying and cheating—by the average outsider; with insincerity and untruthfulness, suspected even of passing off deliberately bogus phenomena—by my best, my dearest friends. Bound up, as I was, from head to foot by my pledge, an oath involving my future life—aye, even lives—what could I do since I was forbidden to explain all, but insist on the truth of the little



I was permitted to give out, and deny simply the unfair charges? But as I hope

redress in my future existence, when this terrible period of Karma wans away; as

I venerate the Masters, and worship MY MASTER—the sole creator of my inner Self which but for His calling it out, awakening it from its slumber, would have never come to conscious being—not in this life, at all events; as I value all

this—I swear I never was guilty of any dishonest action. I may have appeared

often heartless for allowing occasionally people to sacrifice themselves as I

did, while knowing they had none of my chances, in this life of theirs, to

progress very far; but then, it was for their good, not mine. Whether they

progressed or not, reward for the good intention was stored for them by their

Karma; while, in my case, the more I progressed in occult matters, the less I

had any chances of happiness in this life, for it became more and more my duty

to sacrifice myself for the good of others and to my own personal detriment.

Such is the law. Ah, if they only knew, some of my “friends,” who, if they do

not go publicly against me, still entertain very serious doubts as to my

honesty—if they only knew now what they are sure to learn some day—when I am dead and gone, with my memory soiled from head to foot—the real good I have done to them! I do not pretend to say, that I have done so for their own sake; for generally I was not even thinking of their personal selves. But since, they have happened to come within the circle where the poor old pelican’s blood was being shed, and had their share of its fruition, why should some of them prove so cruel, if not ungrateful!

My dearest Mrs. Sinnett—my heart is broken—physically and morally. For the first I do not care; Master shall take care it shall not burst, so long as I am

needed; in the second case there is no help. Master can, and shall not interfere

with Karma. My heart is broken not for what my true, open enemies have

done—them, I despise; but for the selfishness, the weak-heartedness in my

defence, the readiness shown to accept and even to force me to all manner of

sacrifices—when Masters are my witnesses, I was ready to shed the last drop of

life in me, give up every hope, for the last shred of—I shall not say

happiness—but rest and comfort in this life of torture, for the cause I serve

and [as] for every true Theosophist. The treachery—that atmosphere of soft and

sympathetic words, expressive of the utmost selfishness at the bottom of them,

whether due to weakness, or ambition—was something terrible. I shall not mention names. With some, with most of them, I shall remain on good terms to my dying day. Nor shall I allow them to suspect I read through them from the first. But I shall never—nor could I if I would, forget that for-


—•— 105   AN  HOUR  OF  REVELATION —•—

ever-memorable night during the crisis of my illness, when Master, before

exacting from me a certain promise, revealed to me things that He thought I

ought to know, before pledging my word to Him for the work He asked me (not

ordered as He had a right to) to do. On that night when Mrs. Oakley and Hartman and everyone except Bowajee (D. N.), expected me every minute to breathe my last—I learned all. I was shown who was right and who wrong (unwittingly) and who was entirely treacherous; and a general sketch of what I had to expect outlined before me. Ah, I tell you, I have learnt things on that night—things that stamped themselves for-ever on my Soul; black treachery, assumed friendship for selfish ends, belief in my guilt, and yet a determination to lie in my defence, since I was a convenient step to rise upon, and what not! Human nature I saw in all its hideousness in that short hour, when I felt one of Master’s hands upon my heart, forbidding it cease beating, and saw the other calling out sweet future before me. With all that, when He had shown me all, all, and asked

“Are you willing?”—I said “Yes,” and thus signed my wretched doom, for the sake of the few who were entitled to His thanks. Shall you believe me if I say, that among those few your two names stood prominent? You may disbelieve, or perhaps doubt—yet it was so. Death was so welcome at that hour, rest so needed, so desired; life like the one that stared me in the face, and that is realised

now—so miserable; yet how could I say No to Him who wanted me to live! But all this is perhaps incomprehensible to you, though I do hope it is not quite so. I

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . him, and I have already . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Wurzburg—about 4 or 5 hours from Munich. I do

not want to live in any of the large centres of Europe. But I must have a warm

and dry room, however cold outside, since I never leave my rooms, and here

healthy people catch cold and rheumatics unless they have palaces. I like

Wurzburg. It is near Heidleberg and Nurenberg, and all the centres one of the

Masters lived in, and it is He who advised my Master to send me there.

Fortunately I have received from Russia a few thousand francs, and some

benefactors “sent me Rs. 500 and 400 from India”. I feel rich and wealthy enough to live in a quiet German place, and my poor old aunt is coming to see me there.

I intend to take a nice set of rooms and happy will be the day I see you at my

samovar, if you intend really to come down (or up?) to see me. From Elberfeld it is not very far, less than a day’s journey, I believe. Then I shall live, at my

Master’s bidding and pleasure, or rather


I  The letter has been mutilated at this point, and half of two lines are




vegetate during day and live only during night, and write for the rest of my

(un)natural life. The Coulombs I hear, have left India and are coming to London,

where I suppose they, or rather she, will pay you a visit. They will leave no

stones unturned, so long as there remains one person in the world to believe in

me, and the missionaries have promised them Rs. 5000 yearly, if they go on

ceaselessly with their work of H. P. B. destruction. They are welcome to do and

say what they like.

My sincere love and regard to all. How is dear little Dennie?

Yours ever the same, I










                                                                    19th Aug.,



While at Luzern, a week ago, I was strongly impressed to write to you. Why

didn’t I? I do not know. Perhaps, because for months I had not heard from you,

and somehow I could not fit myself in again to letter-writing, which is now a

torture to me, for reasons there’s little need of explaining.

But hardly arrived to this little quiet town which I have chosen for my new

abode I received your letter of Aug. 1st. It touched me more than I can tell. My

dear Mr. Sinnett, if there ever was a man in this wide world that I have

misunderstood—because perhaps, I have never paid a strict attention but to one

side of him—it is you. I never doubted your great devotion to the Mahatma, your real interest for the cause, though with you the latter always rested

independent of, more than within, and blended with the T.S. But one could remain for ever faithful to both the movement and its chief motors, and yet shrink from any further contact, with one so dishonoured, so seemingly vile as I now stand.

But your personal kindness shows to me that, as usual, I was an ass on this

plane of existence, and that what the Mahatmas alone do is well done, and what

they know and say is alone just and truthful, as may be always found out in the

long run by him who knows to wait. However, I shall not waste time and try your patience by personal disquisitions. I mean to answer your letter, one question after the other.

You are right—I have not seen Karma to that day that you sent it to me, for

which—many thanks. I have read it without stopping from the first to the last

line. I was afraid it would I 

The portion with the signature has been cut out.—ED.


—•— 107   ON  BOOKS  AND  CHARACTERS —•—

resemble “Affinities”—in which bits of real palpitating flesh, torn out of as

living and real individuals are stuck into mannequins born out of the author’s

fancy and made to pass off as heroes “copied from nature.” I was pleased to find the contrary in your “Karma.” In “Affinities” the heroes are either caricatures, or ideals very grossly exaggerated in beauty and importance, as for inst. Colquhoun -- (Oscar Wild, I fancy). In Karma the original of Mrs. Lakesby is neither flattered nor her defects exaggerated. You have taken but the real existing features as though from life, passing all the very prominent defects in

charitable silence. But, is it only “charitable silence,” my dear Mr. Sinnett? I

am afraid you are still somewhat under the spell. Well, it is better that one

should stick to his friends even with all their defects, than alter opinion of

them and abandon or turn one’s back upon them, at the first change of scenery.

It is not for me to take you to task for constancy, when it is to that feature

in you, perhaps, that I owe now the kind letter received, when I know how

impossible it is for you to think me wholly blameless in the matter of fraud—let

alone my own natural defects and perhaps—vices.

Yes; I know how hard it was for you to talk of me in London and especially in

Paris. The Mahatma said always—“it is as it should be, and he cannot act

otherwise” and I have come to see that He was right, and I—wrong as usual. I

might speak to you of “Karma” till tomorrow—I like it so much; but I have other

things more important for us to speak of; yet I may add one word more.

D. N. has asked Mohini for Karma; but Mohini is now a great character—and has not perhaps time to attend to all he is asked to do. Anyhow I have it now, and thank you for it once more. You will do more good by fancy novels in which truth and such truths are found in apparent fiction, than by works as the Occult World in which every word is now regarded by all except theosophists—as hallucination and the cock and bull stories of confederates.

I am “the subject of constant thought and conversation” in your circles. I wish

I were not; for trust and friendship, or distrust and resentment—neither friends

nor foes will ever realise the whole truth. So what’s the use? Put your hand on

your heart, my dear Mr. Sinnett and tell me: has any of my enemies uttered since

May last (1884), one thing, or the smallest charge that had not been broached

previously by them whether in private talk or newspaper gossip and hints? The

only difference between Coulomb—Patterson—Hodgson charges now, and those previous to the Adyar scandal—is this: then the newspapers only hinted, now—they affirm. Then they were restricted (however feebly)



by fear of law and a sense of decency; now they have become fearless, and have

lost all and every manner of decency. Look at Prof. Sidgwick. He is evidently a

gentleman, and an honourable man by nature, fair minded as most Englishmen are.

And now tell me, can any outsider (the opinion of the “Fathers of S.P.R.” is of

course valueless) presume to say that his printed opinion of me is either fair,

legal, or honest? If instead of bogus phenomena, I were charged with picking the

pockets of my so called victims, or of “bogus” something else, the charging with which when unproved is punishable by law if not wholly demonstrated, would Prof. Sidgwick, you think, have a leg to stand upon in a court of justice? Assuredly not. There is not one phenomenon that can be proven wholly false from beginning to end—legally, were phenomena something accepted in law. Then what right has he to speak publicly (and have his opinion printed) of my deceptions, fraud, dishonesty and tricks? Shall you maintain that it is fair of him, or honest or even legal, to take advantage of his exceptional position, and the nature of the question involved, to slander me, or, if you prefer—I shall say to charge me thus and dishonour my name—on such wretched evidence as they have through Hodgson? The only right that the S.P.R. has—is to proclaim that all their investigations notwithstanding, they got no evidence to show that the phenomena were all genuine; that there is a strong presumption from the scientific and logical, if not legal stand-point, to suspect that there may have been exaggerations in the reports, suspicious circumstances attached to their

production, etc.—never deliberate fraud, deception and so on. Their July Report

sets them all—from Myers and Sidgwick down to their last admirer—as donkeys.

They show themselves absurdly, most ridiculously unfair in it. Can you blame

after this, Solovioff and other Russian theosophists for saying that the chief

motor of their wrath against me is—that I am a Russian? I know it is not so; but

they, the Russians like Solovioff and the Odessa theosophists, cannot be made to see the cause of such a glaring injustice in any other light. Between the two

horns of the dilemma they have no choice. Every fair minded man with brains in

his head, must say after reading the Report and comparing what is said on page

452 and page 453 -- that those who said and edited it, are either moved by a

blind, wild, personal hatred and prejudice; or that they are—DONKEYS.

Please read—and if you have, owing to some unaccountable reason, failed to

remark this before—judge now. On page 452 Prof. Sidgwick read the following

statement (See para. 5th) about their disclaiming “any intention of imputing

wilful deception to Col. Olcott.” Following this—there comes the question of


—•— 109   FALSE  REASONING  AND  BIGOTRY  OF  S. P. R. —•—

envelopes in which Mahatmas writing was found—which might have been previously opened by me or others. Letters from the Masters received at Adyar when I was in Europe “might” have been “in all cases” arranged by Damodar, etc. etc. The disappearance of the Vega packet “can be easily accounted for” by the fact of a venetiated door near Babula’s room—a door by the bye, which was hermetically covered and nailed over -- (walls and door) with my large carpet, if you remember, etc. etc. But we shall suppose, that the Vega packet was made “to evaporate” fraudulently at Bombay. How then shall Mr. Hodgson, Myers and Co. account for its immediate, instantaneous reappearance at Howrah Calcutta, in the presence of Mrs. and Col. Gordon -- (Captain and Mrs. Miller of Karma?) and of our Colonel, if the said Colonel is so obviously immaculate that the Dons of S.P.R. felt bound to offer him public excuses? One thing is obvious: either Colonel Gordon, or Mrs. Gordon or Col. Olcott was one of them at that time my confederate, or they, the gods of S.P.R. are making fools of themselves. Surely no sane man with sound reasoning, acquainted with the circumstances of the “Vega case,” or the broken plaster portrait case, or Hubbe Schleiden’s letter received in the German railway while I was in London and so many other cases—shall ever dare to write himself down such an ass as to say that while I am a full blown fraud and all my phenomena tricks, that the Colonel is to be charged simply with “credulity and inaccuracy in observation and inference”!!

How is this, as a sample of the value of the scientific researches of the great

S.P.R. which sits in Areopagus over the humble theosophists? Ah—gentlemen of the theosophical jury, you of London, and especially of Adyar, how easily you could have knocked up into an omelette your Cambridge dons had you felt yourselves as full of contempt for the learned society of “scientific” investigators as I did from the beginning, instead of looking up to it as to a 19th cent. oracle in psychic matters! Mohini must have lost his head not to have flattened the Psychists on the spot. These two pages alone contain the full condemnation of the S.P.R.; and they are sufficient in themselves to show them before any human jury as prejudiced, unfair judges, unfit for the position they have arrogated to themselves. They are worthy of their “caligraphic expert” Mr. Netherclift or whatever his scientific name. “Barkis is willing,” dear scientific friends, to assume that Isis Unveiled, and all the best articles in the Theosophist, as every letter from both Mahatmas—whether in English, French, Telugu, Sanskrit or Hindi, were written by Madame H. P. Blavatsky. She is willing to have it believed that for more than 20 years “without being so much even as a medium,” she has



bamboozled the most intellectual men of the century, in Russia, America, India,

and especially in England. Why genuine phenomena, when the author herself, of

the 1000 bogus manifestations on record before the world—is such a living,

incarnated phenomenon, as to do all that and much more? Why, it needed only a

Mad. Coulomb, and a dozen of unwashed bad-smelling Scotch and American padris, backed by such clever experts and investigators as the Cambridge Dons, to upset the whole machinery. Let Mr. Hodgson find me out one single case revealed to him by Mad. Coulomb, that had not been already planned and hinted at by Indian and American newspapers before, and then I shall bow my diminished head. The poor wretches have not even had the difficulty of inventing something new. The “brooch” incident at Simla has been discussed ad nauseam four years ago, by the Lahore and Bombay papers which became their prophets—unconsciously. She studied and kept the papers for years. She began building her plan of treachery in 1880, from the first day she landed at Bombay with her husband, both shoeless, penniless and starving. She offered to sell my secrets to the Rev. Bowen of the Bombay Guardian, in July 1880, and she sold them actually to the Rev. Patterson in May 1885. But those secrets were “open letters” for years. Why should I complain? Has not Master left it to my choice, to either follow the dictates of Lord Buddha, who enjoins us not to fail to feed even a starving serpent, scorning all fear lest it should turn round and bite the hand that feeds it—or to face Karma which is sure to punish him, who turns away from the sight of sin and misery, or fails to relieve the sinner and the sufferer. I knew her and tried my best not to hate her, and since I always failed in the latter, I tried to make it up by sheltering and feeding the vile snake. I have what I deserve, not for the sins I am charged with but for those which no one—save Master and myself know of. Am I greater, or in any way better, than were St. Germain, and Cagliostro, Giordono Bruno and Paracelsus, and so many many other martyrs whose names appear in the Encyclopedias of the 19th cent. over the meritorious titles of charlatans and impostors? It shall be the Karma of the blind and wicked judges—not mine. In Rome, Darbargiri Nath went to the prison of Cagliostro at the Fort Sant Angelo, and remained in the terrible hole for more than an hour.

What he did there, would give Mr. Hodgson the ground work for another scientific Report if he could only investigate the fact.

No; it is not “the Brothers’ policy of covering up such evidence . . . of their

existence”—but that of the MAHA CHOHAN, and it is Mahatma K. H.’s Karma. If you have never given a thought to what may be His suffering during the human intervals


—•— 111   THE  LOVE  OF  THE  MASTER —•—

of His Mahatmaship—then you have something yet to learn. “You were warned”—says His Chohan—and He answers—“I was.” Still He says He is glad He is yet no Mejnoor, no dried up plant, and that had He to suffer over and over again—He would still do the same for He knows that real good for humanity has come out from all this suffering, and that such books as “Esoteric Buddhism” and “Karma” would not have been written for years to come had He not communicated with you, and had not orders been given to me to do what I have done—stupidly sometimes as I may have carried them out. These are Mahatma K. H.’s own words. No; He is not “right away in Nirvana”—except during the hours of His Mahatmaship. His “devachan”—is far off yet, and people may hear of Him when they expect it the least. I never see or hear of Him, lately—D. N. does. But I know what I say, though I have no orders to tell it to anyone. Remember only that He suffers more, perhaps, than any one of us. And you do not know how right you are in saying that “Well as He loved, He will love me truly—Yea even better than I love Him”—for even you can never love Him as well as He loves you—that particle of Humanity which did its best to help on and benefit Humanity—“the great orphan”

He speaks of in one of His letters.

What you say of the respective situations in which are placed the European and

Indian Theo. Societies—is quite true. Olcott with all his grand qualities has

become—especially of late and under new influences of which I shall not talk—a

perfect bag of conceit and silliness. This he does unconsciously. He will be led

by no one except the Master he says—and Master refuses to lead him except on

very important business having nought to do with his personal or the

Society’s—Karma. Result—complete flapdoodle.—Il pose pour le martyr! The—poor man. So blinded is he, that honestly believing he is thereby saving the Society, the CAUSE—as he expresses it—he adopted of late the policy of propitiating the Moloch of public opinion by cautiously admitting that I might have supplemented at times bogus for real phenomena!; that I am suffering at times from mental aberration—and so on. He is stupid enough in his real and immaculate, though ever unwise honesty, to forget that by admitting even so much, and that which he knows for a certainty to be false—he thereby confesses himself the first and chief confederate in the alleged bogus phenomena. But it is too long to write about. When I see you—and I hope to goodness I will—I shall tell you many a strange thing. Only remember, that so early as at Elberfeld I told you already what Master had said to me. He is unfit to lead on the Society except nominally because the Society has outgrown him. Let him remain a nominal President—but let us



active Presidents—one in India, the other in Europe—the third in America, begin

working with that object. You alone ought to become the President in chief of

all the European Societies, and for life—who ever else may be the year President

of the L.L., or the Paris, or German Th. Societies. Such is the desire of my

Master—I know it. For myself—I am resolved to remain sub rosa. I can do far more by remaining in the shadow than by becoming prominent once more in the movement.

Let me hide in unknown places and write, write, write, and teach whoever wants

to learn. Since Master forced me to live, let me live and die now in relative

peace. It is evident He wants me still to work for the T.S. since He does not

allow me to make a contract with Katkoff—one that would put yearly 40,000 francs at least in my pocket—to write exclusively for his journal and paper. He would not permit me to sign such a contract last year in Paris when proposed, and does not sanction it now for—He says—my time “shall have to be occupied otherwise.”

Ah, the cruel, wicked injustice that has been done to me all round! Fancy, the

horrid calumny of the “C. C. M.” and Patterson whose statement that I sought to defraud Mr. Jacob Sasoon of Rs. 10,000, in that Poona business, has been allowed to go uncontradicted even by Khandalowalla and Ezekiel, who know as well as they are sure of their existences that this special charge, at any rate, is the most abominable, lying calumny; whatever the value of the Rama Singa’s phenomenon!

Why should my best friends allow me to be so vilified! Why should the Report of the Defence Committee have been suppressed and declared by Olcott in print to have been stopped? Is it not, as Patterson says—a direct confession that the

Committee had committed a mistake, found me after all guilty—and thus stopped the defence? Who of the public knows, that after having worked for, and given my life to the progress of the Society for over ten years, I have been forced to leave India—a beggar, literally a beggar depending on the bounty of the Theosophist -- (my own journal, founded and created with my own money!!) for my daily support. I—made out to be a mercenary impostor, a fraud for the sake of money when I never asked or received one pie for my phenomena, when thousands of my own money earned by my Russian articles have been given away, when for five years I have abandoned the price of Isis and the income of the Theosophist to support the Society. And now—I am generously allowed Rs. 200 monthly from that income to save me from starvation in Europe, and reproached for it by Olcott in nearly every letter. Such are facts, my dear Mr. Sinnett. Had not the poorest Society in India—or rather four members of that poorest Society in the N.W.P.—hearing I was cold and penniless,


—•  113   SOLOVIOFF  RESIGNS  FROM  S. P. R. —•—

and without any means landed at Naples, sent me each of them two months of their pay (in all Rs. 500) -- I could not have come here. None of the Hindu Societies are allowed to know my true position. Truth and facts are concealed from them, lest they should revolt, and show angry feelings for the Colonel. When they begin to clamour too loudly for me, they are told that it is I who refuse to come back!! It is only now that they begin suspecting the truth. Luckily Katkoff sent me 4,000 fs. he owed me, and now I am all right for a time, and I shall now send back the 500 rupees, for they are all four, poor men. Pardon me for saying all this and showing myself so selfish. But it is a direct answer to the vile calumny and it is but right that the theosophists in London should know of it, to enable them to put in a word of defence for me. Solovioff is so indignant

that he sent in his resignation to the S.P.R. He wrote a long letter to Myers

and now the latter answers him, supplicates and begs of him not to be so severe

on them, not to resign, and asks him whether he still maintains that what he saw

at Elberfeld was not a hallucination or a fraud; and finally begs of him to come

and meet him at Nancy—where he shall prove to him my guilt! Solovioff says that since he is placed by their Report as so many others, between choosing to

confess himself either a lunatic or a confederate—he considers it as a slap on

the face, a direct insult to him and answers Myers, demanding that his letter

should be published and resignation made known. He intends stopping here at

Wurzburg with me for a month or so, with his wife and child. There are others

too in Paris and Petersburg who intend to withdraw from membership of the S.P.R.

Yes; it is Olcott’s cramming of the Cambridge Psychists with his experiences;

and his wretched, cheeky appearance with his Buddha on the wheels, at that

meeting of the S.P.R.—that brought on us all the misery. Yet he denies it. He

actually maintains in India, and to my face, that it is I the only cause of it;

that it is my visit to Europe that caused it all! Well—be it so.

No; you are mistaken, if you think, that it is the Masters who want people to

believe me guilty. On the contrary; though unable to help me directly for they

dare not meddle with my Karma, they are too just not to desire to see me

defended by all those who feel honestly that I am innocent. Those who do, only

help their Karma, those who do not—put a stain on it. Believe me every such

defence is recorded by Them. What They want is, only to show that phenomena

without the comprehension of the philosophical and logical conditions that bring

them about—are fatal and will ever turn disastrous. But why should I tell you

all this, when your “Baron Friedrich” speaks, as though



he was repeating words pronounced by the Masters! You know—or ought to know what they really want, and even to comprehend the real nature of the Laws. It is but right and just that I, or any other single individual devoted to the cause, should gladly and willingly sacrifice himself, and allow himself in every case to be sacrificed for the good of the many. But this is in a general way, and has or rather can have no reference to details. It is right that I should be ready

to become the goat of atonement for the good and progress of the Theos. Society by withdrawing from the movement, in order not to irritate too much the wild Bull. But what good can I do the cause by permitting myself to be considered a mercenary, vile wretch, by allowing Patterson and Hodgson slanders to go uncontradicted? I do it positive harm. And that is what Olcott and many others do, by half-measures, by pretending to confess that I may be guilty and that it is quite possible, by even withholding from the Theosophist the addresses of sympathy and condemnation of my slanderers sent to me by the Paris and Odessa theosophists and also the German branch. What right have they to suppress those Addresses that were sent to Adyar to be published in our journal by Drummond and Mad. de Morsier, by General Kogen and Zorn, by Hubbe Schleiden and others? While my enemies tear me to pieces the Adyar people play at “hide and seek”—they pretend to be dead—Oh! the poor miserable cowards!! Mind—it is not the Hindus whatever you may have been told. I shall prove to you by dozens of letters that they are the first deceived. I tell you I suffer more from theosophical traitors than from the Coulomb, Patterson, or even the S.P.R. Had all the Societies held together as one man; had there been unity instead of personal ambitions and passions awakened, the whole world, Heaven and Hell themselves could not have prevailed against us. Sacrifice me I am willing, but do not ruin the Society—love it and the Cause. How is it possible that none of you should have pounced upon the glaring, evident unfairness, and I shall say stupid idiotic way, the Psychic investigations have been conducted. When or where have you heard of a defendant sentenced, without being given the chance of putting in a word? What right have they to accept the Coulomb letters as genuine, when I have never been allowed to even look at one? Hodgson had them in Madras. He came daily to dine and eat and drink at Adyar, he had them in his pocket. Has he ever shown to me one of them? It is fair that taking advantage of my dying condition, then of my being unable to quit my room, he should come daily to the C.O.’s, and while going up to see me several times, that he should never try to give me a chance. It is an untruth to say that Hodgson has


—•— 115   THE  FORGER  COULOMB —•—

not “fished in troubled waters” or “collected in secret” his evidence—for he has

done both. True, his “unfavourable view of the evidence was communicated to the leading theosophists”—i.e. Mr. and Mrs. Cooper Oakley, and a few others never to me. It is I myself who found it out at a time when no one dreamt yet at Adyar that he had turned against us. And had I not found it out (told by Master who showed me Hodgson at Bombay, and allowed me to read his thoughts while I was motionless and dying on my sick-bed) Hodgson’s proceedings would have remained “secret.” Ask Mrs. C. O. whether it was not so; and she, laughing at me, calling me a goose and so on when I told them suddenly that Mr. Hodgson had turned against us. Ask her, and even Hodgson himself knows it.

Of course without seeing the letters I cannot help you to any clue to the mystery. I know how it was done; but since I cannot prove it any more than I can

show how my handwriting appeared on my own visiting card at Eglinton’s seance at “Uncle Sam’s”—what’s the use in saying it? Was not that my identical handwriting on that card? And yet you know it was not done by me. Alexis Coulomb’s handwriting is naturally like mine. We know all how Damodar was once deceived by an order written in my handwriting to go upstairs and seek for me in my bedroom in Bombay when I was at Allahabad. It was a trick of M. Coulomb, who thought it good fun to deceive him, “a chela”—and had prepared a semblance of myself lying on my bed, and having startled Damodar—laughed at him for three days.

Unfortunately that bit of a note was not preserved. It was not intended for any

phenomenon but simply a “good farce” (une bonne farce) by Coulomb, who indulged in many. And if he could imitate so well my handwriting in a note why could he not copy (he had four years to study and do it) every scrap and note of mine to Mme. Coulomb on identical paper and make any interpolations he liked? The fact that she was preparing for Treachery ever since 1880 is a proof of it. That other fact that when Subba Row wrote to me to Paris to collect my recollections well, to remember and tell him whether I had ever written to her any

compromising letters for if so it was better to buy them of her at any price,

than to allow her to ruin my character and perhaps the T.S.—I answered him (May 1884) that I had never written her anything that I should fear to see published; that she lied, and could do what she pleased. All this is a good proof, I believe, to show that I had never written any such thing. Otherwise, and indeed

if I could have forgotten that hardly three months before I had given her

written instructions to deceive Mr. Jacob Sassoon at Poona—then would Olcott be justified in saying that I suffer from “mental aberrations” that I am an insane



lunatic! Subba Row has my letter written to him in answer to his from Paris.

This is “the authoritative statement” (for me, of course not for the Psychists)

that I have. I have seen Coulomb copying one of such scraps of mine, at his

table, in a scene shown to me by Master in the Astral light. Shall my statement

be believed, you think? Then what’s the use! The Coulombs and Patterson were

afraid to let me see these letters and handle them, for they believe and know

what Masters can do: they fear the powers of those, whom they pretend to have

been invented by me. Otherwise why should they have extracted from Hodgson the promise not to allow the few letters he got from them, into my hands? Ask him, ascertain why he has never shown them to me? Why he never told me even that he got them? This is a serious fact, more serious than it appears on the surface.I authorise you to do with the MS. (a kind of my phenomenal biography) entitled “Madame Blavatsky”—whatever you like. Mrs. Holloway made a row with me (ask Miss Arundale and Mohini) for asking you to look it over, correct and publish it. She chaffed me and called me a fool, saying that I voluntarily gave you up that which would bring me fame and money; that once you got it into your hands you would never give it me back, but use it and publish it in some new book of yours. Ah, she did say of you complimentary things on that day—a few days before her departure. I was disgusted but held my tongue. Please keep it and accept it as a present if you can ever use it. I shall never have anything to do with it—so I give it to you, for ever and to the end, to either use it or give it to Mrs. Sinnett to make paper curls of it.I do not think Olcott shall ever visit America—no fear of that, for he is too afraid of his horrid wife and her new husband. Your idea is very good. I hope I shall see you before you start.

Well I believe I have written a volume. Please excuse, but you know I cannot

condense my thoughts as you do.


1,000 salaams and good wishes to Mrs. Sinnett and all the friends.

Do not forget the old –


                              “Exile of Wurzburg,”


                                     Yours ever and for ever,


                                                                H. P. BLAVATSKY.












YOUR letter from Elberfeld requires more than a postal card and a short

telegram. Have you received both, or one, or none?


—•— 117   SOLOVIOFF  PROTESTS  TO  S. P. R. —•—

For, if not dugpas, then there seems to be fatality all round me, which

interferes with letters, knocks every one off his feet and plays generally the

deuce with those who have not yet quite turned away from me.

Last week I had written to you a letter of 24 or more pages. There was important

information in it. On Thursday, Aug. 20 I received a letter from Mrs. Sinnett,

written—Grand Hotel, Brussels, in which she tells me—it is before me—that if I

answer her immediately the letter will find her at Antwerp where you will stop

at Grand Hotel until Saturday. As my letter was ready I sent it off without

delay addressed A. P. Sinnett, Esq., Grand Hotel, Antwerp (Belgique). You ought to have received it on the following day. Where is it? No wonder you should feel surprised at my not answering you “a line or two,” when all my letters get lost!

Why, Solovioff went with Darbagiri N. to the post office when it was taken.

I do not see why my aunt should delay your coming. She sleeps during the day and talks with me all night. You shall play at the Sun and Moon with her as

everybody else and she may be useful to you in some things. The same with

Solovioff. He wrote a long letter to Myers and sent in his resignation to the

S.P.R. as every man who is given by them the choice of confessing himself either a hallucinated fool or a confederate should do. There are two more Russians who will resign, I hear, from that scientific body. Now Myers writes a long letter to Solovioff begging of him not to resign and asking him whether he still maintains that he saw Master at Elberfeld, Miss Glinka ditto and others idem.

Solovioff answers he does and insists upon his resignation and having his letter

of protest published. I tell you what Mr. Sinnett. You may say what you please

but your Cambridge Dons do not act as honest people should. When I see you I

shall explain much more and Solovioff has to tell you a good deal. I cannot go

over the 24 pages of my letter to you again. I hope you shall get it and then

you will know. Thanks for Karma; opinion of it expressed in the same letter.

Rugmer’s Hotel is near by, and very cheap and food good. The Solovioffs are

there. They will remain with me for a month longer. We see each other very

little though for we have both of us work to do.


                Much love to Mrs. Sinnett.


                                        Yours truly and forever,


                                                                           H. P.













                         Sept. 2, 1885.



No, my dear pessimist, I can assure you, that your visit shall not be “spoiled”

in any way, for I shall neither be “cross or busy,” nor shall I be ill, at any

rate, no worse than I generally am; not even “surrounded” by my court; for, to

be so surrounded, requires a court, and when a friend or two turns up, and that

I am forced to acknowledge that I have some friends left in this world, it is

all I can expect from Fate and Karma which have found such amateur hangmen and executioners to volunteer doing their dirty work as—Myers, Hodgson & Co. Rest assured then that nothing and no one is likely to spoil the “pleasure” you have been, as you kindly say, looking forward to, if any one in this world of maya can yet find any in the company of such an old ruin as I now am.

On the 29th, if it was Saturday last I was sitting with Solovioff over my

samovar, and he was asking me when I had heard last from Mrs. Gebhard or any one of the family. I told him I had heard from Mr. Gebhard in November last at Cairo, and we had a conversation not very pleasant for me in which I was assured that I had been given up by our dear Elberfeld friends, and I simply answered that if I was—that it was my own fault combined with Karma again. Yet, knowing what I do know (and you shall know it when I see you) I kept my own counsel, and said nothing; only I could not help feeling very sad, and remained silent, when suddenly I saw also very faint shadows, my remembrances carried me back to the “occult room” upstairs, and my sick room, and I was told by Master (I did not see Him, only heard His voice) that I was very ungrateful and a dzin-dzin. Whose shadows they were I could not say—for I recognised none it was so rapid, but there was a strong feeling in me of affection and regret about Mrs. G. and thought of Elberfeld. HE perhaps who spoke the words, either peeped in Himself astrally or sent one of His people. That’s all I know.Miss Arundale is going to resign and some other members too she says.Poor Hartmann. He is a bad lot, but he would give his life for the Masters and Occultism, though he would do far more progress with the dugpas than with our people. He is like the tortoise—one step forward and two back; with me now he seems


—•—  119  “GUILTY  IN  ONE—GUILTY  IN  ALL” —•—

very friendly. But I cannot trust him. Before going away he said about Mrs. C.

Oakley “pire qui pendre” to all of us—and now he writes to her a letter eight

pages long. No man is more quick at catching occult ideas, no one less apt to

comprehend them spiritually. What he says of Olcott and the Society is true

enough, but why should he be so spiteful in the opinions expressed! Speaking of

O.—I can only say—poor, poor Olcott; I can never cease loving him, one who was my devoted friend and defender for ten years, my chum, as he expresses it. But I can only pity one so dull, as not to comprehend instinctively, that if we were theosophical twins during our days of glory, in such a time of universal

persecution, of false charges and public accusations the “twins” have to fall

together as they have risen together, and that if I am called—at all events half

confessed a fraud by him, then must he be one also. Had I not known him still

watched by the Masters, and protected to a certain extent by MASTER, I would

have sworn he was possessed by Dugpas. Fancy him writing to Miss Arundale, Baron Hoffmann, and many others I could name that I was mad (in the real sense of the word) and had been mad many years; that I may have been guilty of bogus phenomena at times, in my moments of mental aberration and whatnot! -- Guilty in one, guilty in all. Ah poor, poor fool, who digs an abyss under the Theosophical Society with his own hands!

Well, au revoir. Give my love to all, who can accept it and to you two foremost.

Bowajee is supremely happy, Mohini and he wept for joy. There is peace and

quiet, and the Kingdom of Heaven in my long suffering heart since yesterday,

seeing round me my poor old aunt, Miss A., Mohini. Best wishes and love.


                                                        Ever yours,


                                                                  H. P. B.




De mieux en mieux! Enclose you Olcott’s letter with a copy of L. Fox’s I—whom may his “Karma” bury under its ruins! It is Hume’s inventions. “Sell” my

Theosophist? Why not sell myself and Society at once, if we have become such a saleable article. I immediately telegraphed—“I absolutely refuse to sell

Theosophist—to Adyar and spent forthwith the famous £3 16s., or nearly so. And now I mean to fight tooth and nail

I   See pages 324-5.—ED.



and I adjure you by Master’s name to help me with good articles from time to

time for my poor journal—the child of my heart. Hume being now in London is sure to intrigue and plot with some of the London Lodge—with Mrs. Kingsford with whom he’s in passionate correspondence being in love with, without having seen her; with our friend Mrs. C. O. who is under obligation to him for her passage money here; with this one, that one, and the other. I do think it would be more diplomatic in you and better policy to see him, if he can. But then he said he “despised you for your credulity”—at Adyar. Well the cloud is very black on that part of the horizon where he is—for he is unscrupulous, bargains very cheap for a lie when it suits his purposes and he is a good deal of a Jesuit—when needed. Our Karma—save us!

Got Mrs. Sinnett’s letter from the 12th saying I had not written to her. Why, I

sent an enormous letter to her and you, a joint one, after receiving stamps and

your books, and one for you. Now I am very anxious to know whether Mrs. Sinnett received that letter of mine in a large blue envelope about secret matters.

Please let me know by return of post. I would not have it lost for the world.

Poor Padshah! All his efforts, struggles, his sacred vows—all, all gone because

his fifth principle is so developed and drags him to Cambridge, while his sixth

is dormant, half blind and is unable to FEEL the Master. Poor Boy! why can’t

people separate wretched me from the Masters, why not despise, spurn me, spew me out from their mouth but remain true and loyal to TRUTH incarnate. I do feel sad for those who are good and yet fall off.

I have sent you francs 20 -- 10 Tedesco gave me—the other 10 for Five Years of Theosophy which please ask Mohini to buy and send me, as Hartman took away his bound (five vol.) of Theosophist and I am verily theosophiless now.

Well, to end, I had a pretty attack of palpitation of the heart which nearly

carried me away the other night—the karma of talking for a week with six or

seven people visiting me from morn to night. Hubbe Schleiden brought the doctor at midnight and by morphine and digitalis, hook and crook, the terrible

knockings of the heart which seemed to have gone mad were stopped. But I am

happy to say there is an enormous enlargement (or expansion?) of the heart which must, and shall carry me away.

In this sweet hope,


                                           Ever yours,


                                                       H. P. B.


—•— 121   DR.  F.  HARTMANN —•—




        LUD. ST. 6,






                         Oct. 9th.


First of all—thousand thanks to your tyrant for his four books—and 10 thousand thanks for the stamps. It will please old aunt. The bright side of life being disposed of, and Providence in your two stately shapes duly thanked, I have to return to the dark side of my life. In this direction “abundance of wealth”

becomes indeed embarrassing, for I know not with what to begin. However, you

have heard I suppose of the first slap in the face I have received at Adyar?

Without asking me, they have, it appears, disposed of my Theosophist and kicked my name off even from its title page. If so—and Nivaran’s news proves a fact, I have done with them indeed. Never shall one line from my pen appear in a journal, my own blood-property of which I am deprived in such an impudent

way—and as suicidal moreover, and more so, than the suppression of the Defence pamphlet. Now the public and enemy shall say—“Mme. B. is indeed kicked out of the Society—even the editorship and proprietorship of her paper was taken away from her. Her guilt is fully recognised at Adyar.” AMEN.

Ever since D. N.’s return home, a dark cloud has settled upon me, and it did not

clear off from the additional fact that for five or six days I could not have

one half an hour’s conversation with him. The arrival of Dr. H. was the signal

for the arrival of Profes. Selin, Hubbe Schleiden, my dear two Schmiechens, and

that for a whole week I had a fair in my rooms. It made me positively sick. I

had to give up to Hartmann my (own) room, and slept for six nights on the sofa

in my writing room. The magnetism of that man is sickening; his lying beastly;

his slander of Hubbe Schleiden, his intrigues unaccountable but on the ground

that he is either a maniac—utterly irresponsible for the most part, or allowed

to be possessed by his own dugpa Spirit. He is exceedingly friendly with me—and was trying all the time to put me up to every kind of mischief. He told me he

was in correspondence with the S.P.R.—people who had offered him membership (!!); and that though he refused it he was ready to accept, if I said so, for then he could protect me and defend before the public for he could say anything I told him. I answered I wanted no lies told, there were enough of those in S.P.R.—without his help—what I wanted was—TRUTH and justice. I wonder whether it is true that



he was offered membership—or is it only another fib? Try to know if possible.



I have ascertained most positively that D. N. has nothing personal against you.

He feels the greatest affection and respect for both of you and gratitude to Mr.

Sinnett. He had heard from some one in Paris whom he won’t name but whom I

suspect, that Mr. Sinnett had said while in Paris that all the Hindus at Hd.

Qtr. were liars; and that made him desperate, for he then thought that every

word he said to Mr. Sinnett would be regarded as a lie. Now I feel sure Mr.

Sinnett said nothing of the kind and if he has, he did not mean to include in

that category our friend D. N. He is fearfully sensitive, quite in an abnormal,

unhealthy way. He who was so frank, merry, good natured, has become gloomy,

secretive, so easily irritated for the smallest thing, that one is afraid to

talk to him, especially before other people. I have learned so much at least now

from him—that his return to his Master depends upon the restoration of the

T.S.’s previous status: unless the Society begins again to run smoothly, at

least in appearance, he has to remain exiled—as he says—for it appears that his

Master—Mahatma K. H. holds him, Damodar, and Subba Row responsible for the two thirds of Mr. Hodgson’s “mayas”—he says. It is they, who, irritated and insulted at his appearance at Adyar, regarding his (Hodgson’s) cross-examination and talk about the Masters—degrading to themselves and blasphemous with regard to Masters; instead of being frank with H. and telling him openly that there were many things they could not tell him—went on to work to augment his perplexity, allowed him to suggest things without contradicting them, and threw him out of the saddle altogether. You see, Hodgson counted without his host: he had no idea of the character of the true Hindu—especially of a chela—of his ferocious veneration for things sacred, of his reserve and exclusiveness in religious matters; and they (our Hindus) whom even I had never heard pronounce or mention one of the Masters by name—were goaded into fury in hearing Hodgson make so cheap of those names—speaking laughingly of “K. H.” and “M.”—etc. with the Oakleys. And it is unfortunate me who now pays for all!

There is another thing, and this is absolutely ghastly. D. N. showed me an order

from his Master, written in Telugu, to go with Miss A. and Mohini to Paris and

London and try to save the Society from another scandal ten times worse than the present one. He has saved the situation and all glory to him, poor boy! but he has made himself fearful enemies at Paris, oh, for the horror, the sickening

disgusting horror of the whole thing. Speak


—•— 123   PURE  “VESTALS” —•—

of the inner Circle, of the Oriental Group! The “Roman” group it ought to be

called, with all those Messalines in it! My dear, dear friend, I cannot trust to

paper names, it is too disgusting. But if you have ever murmured in the bottom

of your heart and the solitude of your own room, at the injustice done (I have—I

am sure!); at so many efforts remaining unnoticed and unhelped; at the sight of

so many devoted theosophists ready to sacrifice their lives as they said, for

the Cause and Masters—neglected, unnoticed by the latter—then do so no more!

If Sodom was justly punished, then so would the Oriental Group be—if Masters were men to punish instead of allowing things to go on naturally and break down under their own weight—and you and Mr. Sinnett would be the only Loth and his wife saved—I verily believe. So do not risk to be changed into a pillar of salt, as Mrs. Loth—do not ask me more than I can say—but watch and see for yourself. I have been already punished for my curiosity and for forcing poor little D. N. to tell me the truth—my heart has changed into a pillar of ice cold marble—with horror. I wish I had never heard what I have. But know one thing: the Anglo-French messaline who, inveigling Mohini into the Barbyan wood, suddenly, and seeing that her overtures in words were left without effect—slipped down her loose garment to the waist leaving her entirely nude before the boy—is not the worse one in the Oriental group. Of all those pure “Vestals” she is only the most frankly dissolute, but not either the most lustful or sinful. She had no sacred duty entrusted to her to fulfil. She must be a cocotte by nature and temperament—she is neither hypocritical, nor does she aim at public saintliness.

There are others in the group, and not one but four in number who burn with a

scandalous ferocious passion for Mohini—with that craving of old gourmands for unnatural food, for rotten Limburg cheese with worms in it to tickle their

satiated palates—or of the “Pall Mall” iniquitous old men for forbidden

fruit—ten year old virgins! Oh, the filthy beasts!! the sacrilegious,

hypocritical harlots!; do forgive me, dear, to use such words but I shall never

be able to do justice to my feelings. And let not Mr. Sinnett or yourself say

“nonsense” to this. I have all the proofs in hand: letters, notes, and even

confessions, AUTOGRAPH CONFESSIONS to little D. N.—imploring him—what do you think—to forgive them? Oh no; but to help them to satisfy their unholy lust, to influence Mohini to yield to them “once—only once!” Let us all bow before the purity of the poor Hindu boy. I tell you—no European would have withstood the pressure. So foolish he was, so little vain, that to the time D. N. came with his Master’s instructions to open his eyes and protect him, he had never understood what those females were driving at. In secret


          one of them is X----- Y-----; the two others I can never, shall not

name. The golden haired amanuensis of ----- went so far as to write in a trance

an “order” from some unknown great adept “Lorenzo,” ordering Mohini in cunningly couched expressions to make of “X . . . .” his alter ego, his own body to do with her body as he pleased—but that such a union was absolutely necessary for the development of both, the psychical having to be helped by the physiological and vice versa. Mohini did “as he pleased.” He tore the epistle like a fool, but luckily D. N. found the bits and has them. One of these days one or the other of the London Potiphars shall turn round in her fury and act like Mrs. Potiphar of the Pharaohs, shall father her own iniquities upon Mohini and—ruin the Society and his reputation. D. N. got from him all these epistles to keep; and added to what he got personally—it makes a nice collection. And to believe, with such a state of things, that Masters shall approach the Oriental group at even a 100 miles off!

But what shall you think of a woman who, realising the impossibility that Mohini

should ever accept her in such a light, knowing he is pure and is determined to

preserve his “chela-purity” and chastity, that in short she can never hope to

become the means of his down fall at first hand; who in order to facilitate for

herself the thing, and willing even, in her first ferocious passion for him, to

accept the rests of another—favorises and helps that other (B-----) to seduce

Mohini!! All this in the confession No. 2 (for there are two, from two

parties—and now say Master does not help!). This hapless woman suffers

fearfully. She, at least, as I fervently hope, gave up the idea altogether, and

feels a horror for herself. But repentance cannot obliterate the action. And oh

Lord—even “daggers” and “killing,” such like threats are brought into play! The

last epistle of B----- sent to Babajee D. N. is an apocalyptic vision on 8 pages

of foolscap—in which Masters name is blasphemously used and words put in His mouth—Babula would feel ashamed of. She sees herself in that vision killing

Mohini with a dagger bought “Passage Jouffroi.”—Now what shall we do!

“I guess” you understand now why poor D. N.’s “moral tone” was falling down, and his “sympathy” in high demand at London. The little fellow is a brick. He used no sweet manners, no equivocations, to tell the “fiery” ladies the four truths.

He showed them all his great scorn and contempt for them, frightened them with

his Masters indignation to death; called all the Tibetan thunders and lightning

upon their immoral heads, promised them for their next incarnation that they

would be buried alive up to the throat in the frozen earth and that the vultures

would peck

—•— 125   M.’S  CORROBORATION —•—

their eyes out and peck their heads to death for daring to seduce a chela.

“Never shall I forget,” writes one of them—“your just and holy anger—but,

oh—pity, pity me, poor weak woman! And ask your friend (Mohini) not to be so hard for me!”—Oh, Dyhan Chohans and devas of purity, veil your sad faces and save the hapless T. Society! Where are we going to, at this rate?

For mercy sake keep all this, you and Mr. Sinnett in the most inaccessible

recesses of your hearts. For the sake of the Cause, spat upon, trampled under

the feet—be silent but watch as keenly as you can do, lest something else should

turn up. One of those four Messalines would be sufficient to kill the Cause for

ever. And Adyar! See how those Theosophists love each other! Now Leadbeater is accused of having turned from a thoroughly good man into a bad Anglo-Indian, under the influence of Cooper Oakley! He is accused of saying bad things of me, and what not!

Good-bye. Dark is the horizon and not one light spot do I see in those thick

black clouds. Hubbe Schleiden is sorry he came too late; he wanted to see you

and explain the situation. Dr. H., intrigues fearfully, sets everyone against

him, laughs and shows him unfit to be a President; trying to be elected


President himself, etc. All as it should be.

Yours for ever and seriously in profound gloomy despair,

                                                                         H. P. BLAVATSKY.

Approximately true copy of one 8th of the whole truth.




                                                              Nov. 28/85


In days of my youth—when I had a reputation to lose as all other women have—a young lady, I mean an unmarried woman, was, for the slightest petit scandale d’amour—where she was the pursued victim, not the Messaline or Mrs. Potiphar, hooted out of respectable society and seen no more. No one would marry her, no respectable family receive her; no social gatherings would tolerate her, until the day of her marriage—if a fool could be found. Nowadays it appears different.

Unmarried spinsters pursue men into their bedrooms; strip themselves naked

before a man they have sworn to seduce—in full day light, in woods, and—because that man won’t have them, they swear revenge; and it is the amazed spectators who had no hand in those little passe temps copied from scenes in the lupanars of Rome and Pompeii—it is they who tremble before such revenge—not the acting and active modern Messalinas!



There are actions in our lives that to the day of death we are unable to account

for. Such was the impulse that prompted Mr. Sinnett to introduce his “Roman”

character in the trance-scene in Karma; the thought that had pursued him for

nearly 3 years in relation to something said in one of K. H.’s letters; and

finally that led him to get acquainted and dance with, and then initiate that

reincarnation of a Stabian Hetera, once called the “Tepidarium Damsel”—into the wretched and doomed Theos. Society.

And now—behold Karma!!

Ladies and Gentlemen of the L.L. We are right in the hornet’s nest and no

mistake about it. The enclosed letter from Mme. de Morsier—who knows perhaps once upon a time the step-mother who sold the Stabian beauty to the

Tepidarium—may explain much, and it also may explain nothing. It is in answer to mine written to her on a “half-shell” order. It appears that Mr. S. was anxious

not on account of the presence of such a “bijou” in the Theosophical family but

simply feared she might disgrace the O. L. still more -- (as though it was

possible!) by charging her with opening Mohini’s letter, one addressed to him at

any rate. Well I suppose by this time you have read a copy of the letter

forwarded by me to the Emilie de Morsier and sent to Mohini by D. N.? As soon as I had learnt that Mr. Sinnett was required to give his word of honour that I had not opened one of her (B-----‘s) letters—I, whose name is H. P. B. in this unwelcome incarnation wrote to ask the Emilie to tell the “Stabian”

reincarnation that I had read the letter—though I had never opened it. But all

this is immaterial since I might have opened it and still no harm done, for it

was one to Mohini between whom and me no secrets are possible as he may, or may not tell you. Having disburdened my heart, on the day following I wrote another letter. I asked her to keep it confidential. Told her what she had been doing; how she had fallen under the influence of Mad. B-----, the Avitchean powers (beautifully natural in her case) and propensities, and therefore what were the influences that surrounded her. Ended by telling her, that with her highly

nervous temperament, her sensitiveness, etc.—if she went on as she did, I was

commissioned to tell her (and that I was) that it might lead her to a dangerous

illness and perhaps—worse. The enclosed is her answer.

The work of Karma in every line. It bursts through!

The handwriting is so bad that those words that I could make out, I have tried

to make them more legible. Please note the sentences marked with blue.

Yes; she is right. This time if the scandal bursts it shall [be]


—•— 127  IN  DEFENCE  OF  MOHINI —•—

hundred times worse and more terrible than the Coulomb tricks. These touch but myself—one of mighty little consequence. The future “stranger” shall be born but to sweep off like a cyclone from the face of the earth the London Lodge, if not the Theos. Society in India. It shall carry it off in a tornado of ridicule not of indignation, against the shameless old spinster who is destined to become its mother—oh no!; the ridicule will be for Mohini and the blasphemous laugh for the MASTERS of such a chela. In India where they care for the former and pay little attention to the failings of the latter—the scandal shall do no harm—except perhaps to the extent of strengthening the contempt of the Hindus for European ladies. In London it shall be the end of the Lodge. In England it is those who dare to unveil vice and try to suppress [it] who, like Stead, are tried and imprisoned. The B---- shall become the heroine of the day and Mohini shall be hooted out.

For if, I say, she succeeded in convincing Mme. de Morsier of her

innocence and of Mohini’s infamy and lust—so much so that de Morsier is

preparing to play the Nemesis at the risk of death “pourvu que je fasse mon

devoir”—why shall she not succeed in persuading all the London people she knows of the same? A voice whispers in my ear “It is Mr. Sinnett, I believe, who

introduced B. to de Morsier and brought the two ardent creatures together?”

Karma, karma, my good friends!

Mohini is pure and innocent and that’s just the reason why he shall be made out

guilty. Take my advice and send for him, and have a good consultation. There

remains one thing for the boy to do, the measure is violent and requires moral

courage or—the full force of innocence: let Mohini go to Paris face the B-----

before Mme. de Morsier and force her to confess her vile lie and calumny of the

Potiphar she is.—I shall not sign—


DEAR “couple of God”—only do not speak even to Mohini of my two private letters to Mrs. S. It is useless and would only frighten him. All depends—the future success, I mean, of the L.L. on our strict silence in reference to this

unfortunate business—especially the latter named—or third party. For, whereas in the B----- and X----- Y----- cases, there’s pure animal lust in the last named,

it is simply the working, if I may say so, of the “Dweller on the Threshold”; it

was a trial, bitter terrible and the more ferocious, since it was the last

outburst in her life—the “last rose of summer.” Poor, poor, dear girl—but she

has withstood it bravely. I have written her a long letter as ordered to show to



her that I know all and knew much last year already in reference to some other

things only never opened my lips to any one in this world. Without precising

things I have made her understand the truth and assured her of my still greater

respect for her now—for no one can help being tempted who crosses the threshold.

There are more chances for her now than ever—as I explained. But I tremble lest

vanity and womanly pride should prove stronger in her than devotion to the

Society and Cause. She will not mind me knowing—but if she ever suspected that you know it she would throw overboard all—and turn perhaps a bitter enemy.

We cannot afford to lose her especially now it would be the Society’s death.

Tell me please have you a copy of the Defence Committee or shall I have to send you the only one I have with notes. But except notes for the first pages of the Coulomb pamphlet, I do not see what I can do? Why it’s lies from beginning to end.




                                                                       H P. B.







Yours just received. It is not of my personal vindication you have to think, but

of that of the cause, of our Holy Mahatmas, reduced by the moutons de Panurge of Mr. Myers into soap-bubbles and creations of my over-heated fancy. Had the

outside public one atom of sound, fair judgment in their brains—and this can be

only made to be by such theosophists as yourself—there are two or three points

that would kill them outright. One of these is—Hodgson said that he could not

forgive me, for sacrilegiously debasing some of the highest truths of human

nature to serve the political interests of Russia!!! The brass-clad donkey! Now

you know if there is one sane man in India who, with the exception of padris and

the Coulombs; could find one item of truth in this stupid accusation—I, who for

five years kept harping on the same phrase before every dissatisfied Hindu:

“Better put a millstone on your necks and drown yourselves all you Hindus, and

Mussulmans, before the crazy notion of a change for the better if ever the

Russians got hold of you—could ever enter your heads.” This sentence was written by me even so long ago as from New York to Hurrychund Chintamon to Bombay and his answer was seen by Hodgson, for Olcott found several of his replies to me and he could infer my statement by the answer made by Chintamon.


—•—   129    A  DOUBLE  UNTRUTH  ABOUT  H. P. B.  —•—

“If Russia is all you say then Heaven save and preserve us from such a

Government!” Hodgson saw it, I say, and therefore he lies when he still persists

in seeing in me a Russian spy or even a well-wisher of the Russian Govt. But

that is a personal matter, now, between himself and his conscience—if he has

any. Myers has done great harm in Paris last week, and he boasted of it in his

letter to Solovioff. “I have seen your friend Doctor Richet and some other

theosophists and made them to accept my views,” he says.

It is not to Leadbeter, dear Mr. Sinnett, that you ought to have written about

the suppression of everything in the Theosophist relating to me and my defence,

but to the Executive Council at Adyar. Why they act so, is because Col. Olcott

made them believe (under influence only not of a very occult character) all,

that the L. L. found me guilty, that all the European theosophists had given me

up and had turned away from me, that in a word I had become a pariah in your

eyes—while Europ. theosophists were told that it is the Hindu who had lost

confidence in me. Could the double untruth be cleared up, could you only write

to the Executive Council an official letter denying the statement, then would

you do the Cause a favour as well as to myself.

Yes; many are the things we shall have to talk over and foremost of all the

Mahatma’s desire that the Branches of the T.S. especially the L.L. and the

European, should be made all autonomous under one President. A sudden and

efficient stop must be made to “President’s Camps,” Poona, and “President’s

Camp, Lahore” and “Special orders” and all that sort of thing. Ah well, who

loves the Cause—has to sacrifice himself, and I am ever ready.

Au revoir.

Yours ever faulty,

                               H. P. BLAVATSKY.






I have just read Mohini’s arguments against answering anything of a serious

detailed kind to the S.P.R. I think he is right. Since no human power—can prove

to me that I wrote the Coulomb letter, and no amount of denying shall ever prove to them that I have not written them—all the rest became useless. The new trick of Hodgson about some diagrams being traced by Coulomb—is splendid! Of course some were, and by Wimbridge


—•—  130  THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

too, and Olcott who tried and failed. I have a number of diagrams with reference

to the evolution of the septenary globes and Cosmogony of Esoteric Buddhism,

made by Djual Khool and Sarma for me to explain to you, and Hume during the

first year of the Simla teaching; and several of them I had copied by a Parsee,

a good draughtsman of the School of Arts at Bombay, who could not do them

well—and then, I copied them from D. Kh.’s with Tibetan signs and names,

translating them and doing it the best I could—since I did not want to give the

originals out to a stranger and you could not have understood them—and gave them to Olcott to be copied and one of them—the one I sent to Hume I believe—was copied by Coulomb who is a very good draughtsman—too good unfortunately.

I remember how well he copied the few lines in English, a remark by D. K. on the cosmogony—in a way that I was astonished: it was a perfect copy of D. K.’s writing, grammatical mistakes, and all. Neither Olcott, nor I, nor Damodar, ever made a secret of such copies. Olcott nearly lost his head over rings and rounds and kept Coulomb days at trying, and so the wretch, if he has preserved such bits and scraps may well bamboozle the S.P.R. donkeys into making them believe it was he who evoluted the whole theory out of his French head. That’s splendid!

I wish I could get at my papers at Adyar to find some of D. K.’s originals, then

you would see that it is the same, only with Tibetan names. But I shall do

nothing of the kind to oblige the S.P.R. I shall not move one finger in the

matter any more. If on the lines of exact science, exact (?) experts, and the

asinine world’s judgment I am a FRAUD—let it stand. I begin to feel rather proud of such capacities, than otherwise. I ask you, as a friend not to satisfy the

S.P.R. in one single thing more, not to allow their profane hands to touch one

scrap of paper coming from Mahatma K. H. or my Master, NOTHING, NOTHING. Unless you do so, I shall never be able to give you anything more and I was preparing to resume the teachings under Master’s guidance. Poor, poor Padshah—he is lost!

There’s a trial for him! What next? Why if those are their proofs, then they are

worthy indeed of being noticed!

Finally the diagram sent to you by Mahatma K. H. cannot be an original copy by

C. from mine made after D. K.’s, though to Hume I know I sent one of such copies or I am greatly mistaken. Yours must be (and if I see it I can tell so to a

certainty) a precipitation done from the clean one brought by Olcott from

downstairs for I see the scene now before me. No one except me could make head or tail of some diagrams sent by D. K.; then Mah. K. H. said—“You copy it and translate the terms.” I did. Then I gave it to Olcott to give to the School of

Arts—after that


—•— 131  MISSIONARIES  SWEAR  TO  RUIN  THE  T. S.   —•—

I do not remember, all is hazy. But then either a day or two after I had two of

such diagrams made between Olcott and Coulomb, and he brought them to me

(Olcott) and then they were precipitated not in my room or Bombay but taken away and brought back in the evening.

I write all these particulars that you should not deny any such charge. Simply

say—you know how it was done, without lowering yourself to an explanation, to

give them the satisfaction of finding fault with your evidence and

contradictions between “15 and 40 seconds”. Only write to poor Padshah a kind

letter. Tell him he is ruining all his prospects—his young life for ever; by not

withstanding and having the best of his probationary trial. He has cut his hair

and now he is cutting the last blade of grass under his feet. I do feel such a

pity for the poor good boy. He is so honest—so earnest!

And now, dear Mr. Sinnett, my last decision. I shall have no more to do with

anything coming from the S.P.R. I shall stoop to no explanations except to you

and a few friends. I have with Masters’ help even—but a short time to live and

the work I have on hand is enormous. I have to save the Theosophist, to write

and finish the Secret Doctrine. What good shall I do the cause and any of you

who believe in me, by convincing at the cost of superhuman efforts a dozen or

two, and having the outsiders disbelieving in me as they ever have. The Coulombs and Missionaries have sworn to ruin the Society: they have failed to do so by ruining me—why should I to save my reputation with the few—help myself to ruin the Society by depriving it of the S.D. and its members of what I can teach them? And I will be doing so if I lose my time over the filthy lies, intrigues and ever and daily arising new complications. Those who believe in me, let them remain quiet, oppose a passive and negative resistance to the enemy and no more.

The others if we pay no attention to them shall soon tire out, for it takes two

to quarrel. Write in this spirit simply and tell them in your cultured quiet and

clear English to go to their grandfather—Old Nick. I told you I had become

callous—so do not mind me. If you believe, if a few dozen devoted students

believe in the Masters and that I am only their humble factotum—and ALL India

does—then what does it matter. If nothing can take out of their heads the

expert’s opinion that the letters are genuine—let them go. Master said last

night only—“By showing them that you are as firm as a rock; by showing contempt or even indifference to their opinions—proceeding with your work and duty harder than before—you shall kill and silence them more surely than anything you may say and do to disabuse their minds. The cycle is not over yet – the



Karma not expended—“. And I shall do so. I am forwarding you back the vile

pamphlet explaining but the first few pages, I shall no more keep it in the

house; it burns my hands, and sickens me and fills the house with the atmosphere of that female fiend. I SHALL HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH IT. Mohini was right,

I—wrong. He has intuitions I have not. Dear Mr. Sinnett you can turn the laugh

on them—do so. But do not touch occult things thinking you can explain them on a physical or even psychological plane—if it is of the Spiritualistic domain. LET THEM GO. As for Mr. Hodgson he may yet write one day with his own hand the following, now precipitated by me as far as I can put myself in rapport with him.

In India I was a fool—in the West I have become a donkey. Theosophy is alone

true—and S.P.R. is an old monkey. 1

Now this is a first attempt. But I swear had I dugpa proclivities I could forge

by precipitation a letter which declared by experts as his own hand writing

would lead him to the gallows. And I have spoilt it by passing the pencil over

it. I had some respect for them for their earnestness, truthfulness, and honesty

at first; I have now nothing but contempt for their asinine wickedness and


Goodbye, my only friend in England—the “only” for you have those qualities in

you that none else has. I shall yet prove grateful. 2

With kindest remembrances to you both from—D.N. 3




I protest and refuse most emphatically any such thing as subscription or purses

made up in my favour, and the reasons for it are several, which I am sure you

must appreciate.

(1) I do not want to sell for a consideration any occult work; S. D. least of


(2) I cannot engage or bind myself. Once I accept money for it, that work must

be done well and satisfy the subscribers (of the fund or pension I mean).

Suppose it does not? Then to all my crimes—dishonesty in money matters shall be added.

1  An imitation of Hodgson’s writing precipitated in blue pencil by H. P. B.—ED.

2  The whole of this letter is in H. P. B.’s—writing, but it is unsigned.—ED.

3  This note is in Babajee’s writing.—ED.

4 The remainder of this letter is missing.—ED.


—•— 133  D. N.’s  RELUCTANCE  TO  MEET  H.  P.  B.   —•—

(3) I cannot bind myself to a promise of working only on the S. D.—or working on it at all to its end. I may be sick, I may die—I may have the blues, and once I

am hired I should feel like a thief had I to give up my work for any of the

reasons above named.

Finally it is not the “British” only, who shall never be slaves. My father’s

daughter is against the Biblical institution and I—DECLINE with thanks.

Besides all this, if Hodgson’s new calumny, if his villainous lie is not shown

up and disproved publicly (I mean the “spy” business which is a melody from

quite a different opera) I shall never publish the S. D. What I said to you I

would do, I will do it—I shall leave Europe and India.



Yesterday I sent a letter to Mrs. Sinnett meant for you also—that will explain

many a thing. I beg to refute the new accusation—of my having been “the

unintentional cause of D. N.’s reluctance” to meet you. I had myself at one time

the idea that my remark, a casual one and which was never repeated—that if he

went on before you using his arms a la Napolitaine and like a wind mill, you

would feel very shocked—had something to do with his extraordinary reluctance, but I have dropped the idea since. The ease with which all those ladies and gentlemen (chelas included) in cases they are unwilling, or forbidden, or simply unable to explain—solve the difficulty by corking it with my much ill-used self, is simply delightful. Now in this case it can be proved in two lines. When I had passed the above remark—there was no Miss Arundale or Mohini on the horizon yet to carry Babajee away. My remark had so little impressed him, that had these two never come, he would have quietly stopped at Wurzburg and met you. But you had to be given some explanation, and the L.L. fellows had to be offered one—earlier as to his extraordinary reluctance—what easier than to stop the hole through which the truth leaked by using me as a plug. I say again—my remark was perhaps 5 per cent; another remark at Paris of which I knew through somebody else and he confessed, another 5 per cent—total 10 p.c. and the 90 parts of the mystery are still in his pocket; and if Mohini may suspect—Miss A. on the other hand has not the slightest conception of it. I show Dharbagiri my letter, let him decide and say whether it is so, or not.

Yes—I had so many visitors, had to talk so much, got so tired out and completely exhausted that the result was—a doctor needed


—•— 134    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

at 11 o’clock at night, yesterday. Such palpitations and cramps in the heart

that I thought they were the last! I am now ordered to hold my tongue, hence I

have more time to hold my pen—sans vil calembourg.

I shall try to make the annotations but it makes me sick to touch the woman’s


Love to all—Mrs. Sinnett representing the sum total with yourself and Dennie.

I manage to-day to send you 20 f. or £1. 10 francs of what I owe you from

Tedesco and the rest for things I want—or one thing rather—“Five years of

Theosophy,” something proposed by Mrs. L. C. H. for the benefit of the Society, made up by her and Mohini, published and copyrighted by herself; and now if “the Society” needs it it can either whistle, or do as I do—pay for it, i.e. pay for what was taken bodily from my own journal and is composed of a number of my own articles! Lovely. Please send me a copy of it. Mohini won’t—forgetting all I ask him to do.

Of course got the £3. 16. 0.—but also got unexpectedly £40 from Adyar for two months and another £20 for a third month. So that now we are square. I have no claim on them—except for the future—and about the matter of the Theosophist.

I do not care to have my name paraded—I rather it would be Subba Row’s if a name at all. But if I see on the cover Oakley’s name replacing mine—I shall kick, and hard—you may bet.

Hubbe Schleiden here; stopped for a week longer to Hartmann’s great disgust—and told him of it only when the other had to catch the train. He is a dear man;

good, spiritual, nice all round, morally and mentally. He sends his regards.






       H. P. B.


1st January, 1886.



Last evening as we were at tea Professor Selin made his appearance with the

famous and long expected report of S.P.R. under his arm. I read it, accepting

the whole as my Karmic New Year’s present—or perhaps as the coup de grace of 1885 -- the most delightful year of the short Theosophical Society’s life.

Well—I found positively nothing new as concerns my humble self. A good deal

concerning yourself and others. More than ever I have recognised the hand—that guides the whole thing;


—•— 135  A  LIST  OF  CALUMNIES   —•—

that hand which, having grasped the learned members of Cambridge tightly by

their noses leads them on—where? Were you Americans, Germans, Italians,

Russians—anything but what you are, reserved, haughty, Society fearing

Englishmen—would have surely led Mr. Hodgson, for one, the expert Detective and Agent of the Indian padris, right to the Bow Street Court of Law, and after that beyond—DAHIN. Now please do not imagine for one moment, that I am approaching anything like a question of any of you, or all of you defending me. Les beaux jours d’Aranjues sont passes. I am an old, squeezed-out lemon, physically and morally, good only for cleaning old Nick’s nails with, and perhaps to be made to write 12 or 13 hours a day the Secret Doctrine under dictation, to be fathered, when (if) published, with its authorship and ideas in which my literary style and gallicisms will be detected. That I am called in it “publicly and in print” forger about 25 times, trickster, fraud etc. and a Russian spy to boot—all this, c’est de l’histoire ancienne. But there are quite new features in it. Allow me to enumerate.

          Babula is quite the hero in this voluminous Report.

          (1) All my Master’s letters have been written by him—Babula, a boy who

does not know one single English letter.

          (2) I am accused of having worked for five years on the feelings of

the Hindus to incite them to, and develop in them intense hatred for you


          (3) Mr. Hume believes in Mahatma K. H.’s existence, (how kind!) only

he is an adept “of limited powers.”

          (4) After the lapse of five years our Joot-Sing found out from his

Mahomedan servants that the packet from Government House (in which was the

Mahatma’s letter) had been, thanks to the same precious Babula, tampered with by me.

          (5) Mrs. Sidgwick has succeeded in some work of Penelope on a stitched

letter—ergo I must have done the same with Smith’s letter (that flapdoodle,


          (6) Mohini, Bowajee, Bawani Row, Damodar, etc. etc., are all liars and


          (7) Pardon me—but it appears that you also are a semi-confederate if

not a whole one. What is it about 60 alterations you have made in Mah. K. H.’s

letters, after having said that you had not changed one word? Is he going to

incriminate you too? Well it seems so. There are dozens of phenomena that cannot be explained. Some of the most important have taken place in your house when I was not there. They were very awkward, and so long as your trustworthiness could not be impeached no great triumph could be achieved by Myers, Hodgson & Co. It was absolutely necessary that you should be shown untrustworthy. You


—•—  136    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

are in, and they got you. They never could, had you refused point blank to let

them have the Mahatma’s letters. Your Karma, dear friend.

Now will you take once in your life the advice of a fool. Do not say one word in

my defence, with regard to phenomena. Try to become a Frenchman . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . Kill them with ridicule and show them . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . ; have so richly illuminated  1. . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. .

truth “an accomplished forger,” “a Russian spy,” they make of me a criminal

before Anglo-Indian Govt. they ruin me to the end of my days—morally and

materially, and ruin the Society; they throw mud at you, at Olcott, at every one

who is not against me—and shall none of you lift a finger not in my defence—you can never wash away the dirt I am covered with before those who do not know me—but in your own defence, in protection of the whole body of gentlemen and ladies in it—if not of the Cause?  2





THE long threatened report by Hodgson—the agent sent in 1884 by the S.P.R. to India to investigate certain phenomena alleged by the Coulombs to have been

fraudulently produced by them at the instigation of the undersigned, who was

directly and indirectly connected with such occult occurrences—has come out.

The undersigned denies most solemnly the charges brought forward in the said

Report against her, in addition to which—an implied fraud throughout—she is

called in it more than once “forger” and a “Russian Spy.”

There is not in that voluminous report one single charge that could stand a

legal investigation and be shown correct. All in it is personal inference,

hypothesis and unwarranted assumptions and conclusions. Every sentence in it is arbitrary and libellous in the extreme, according to law—brutal and

calumniating, in the sight of every unprejudiced witness acquainted with the

facts that preceded the investigation and led to the Report. Only a few of the

phenomena, those with which the Coulombs were well acquainted—are given in it in a distorted way, so as to meet the theory of Deception. The two thirds of the phenomena

 1   There is a portion of the original missing at this point.—ED.

       2  The remainder of the letter is missing.—ED.


—•—  137    THE  TREACHERY  OF  HODGSON   —•—

brought forward by the Theosophists, the most important as the most unanswerable are silently skipped over. Only, and in case they should be some day placed before the public as a counter-proof—the witnesses to such are pelted with mud before hand, and an attempt is made to show them untrustworthy.

The said Hodgson had come to India as a friend; he was received as one, lived in the greatest intimacy with those he now accuses of confederacy and lying. None, during the time he lived at Adyar regarded by all as a perfectly honourable man, had the remotest conception that much that was said by him in private

conversations, every idle word that no one thought at the time of weighing,

would be later on made public, another sense given to it, and that his words

would be made use of against the Society. Every facility was given to him for

investigation—nothing concealed from him, as everyone felt and knew himself

quite innocent of the absurd charges made. All this is now taken advantage of,

and presented in an unfavourable light before the public.

CONSIDERING ALL THIS, and that the said Hodgson and whoever may have sanctioned his indelicate proceedings and urged, or helped him on, has—

(1) Given out in his Report nought but the evidence of malevolently disposed

witnesses—bitter enemies for years; gossips, and long standing falsehoods

invented by the Coulombs and his own personal inferences and made up theories; and that on the other hand he has unjustly suppressed every tittle of evidence in my favour and where he could not make away with such testimony he has invariably tried to represent my witnesses and defenders as either dupes or confederates.

(2) That besides the Coulomb letters, the full authorship of which I deny as I

did on the day of their appearance, not one of which, moreover, was I permitted

to see in the original; that besides these I say -- (a) a number of private

letters or passages therefrom, isolated, and therefore liable to any

construction—are published, such publication being actionable by law;

(3) That a slip from a MS page, confessedly stolen, by the woman Coulomb from my writing desk years ago; evidently the translation from some passage in a Russian Daily, a number of articles from which I have been translating for the Pioneer, asked to do so by Mr. Sinnett in 1881-2-3. That again, that isolated fragment (not my composition evidently, as the quotation mark at the end of it happily left—shows) is reproduced with the manifest intention of throwing a vile

suspicion upon me as being a “Russian Spy.”

(4) That the said Hodgson and his employers know the position I am in, (having

been repeatedly told the reasons why I could not


—•— 138    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

prosecute the Coulombs, reasons known as well to every theosophist and that I am not ashamed to confess); and that knowing this—i.e. that I am utterly helpless and defenceless in England and India as a hated Russian and as a hated

theosophist—they did not hesitate to take advantage of their position to

dishonour with the utmost impunity a woman by branding her as a spy and a


(5) Considering also, that if I am unable to prove the reality of the phenomena

produced in any Court of law, no more can Hodgson & Co. prove their unreality otherwise than on circumstantial evidence and their own pre-judged ideas; but that the charge of my ever being a Spy could, on the other hand, be easily shown groundless, false and libellous; they still support their malicious

allegations—just because they can do so with perfect impunity and that it suits

them at the present moment, when all England rises against and suspects

Russia—as nothing can ruin me more efficiently in public opinion; this special

charge, moreover, being the only one that could prove an anchor of salvation for

their Report, as a motive had to be given for a series of frauds and deception

covering ten years of incessant labour, poverty, struggles at the expense of

health and the last money we had. Considering all this, and much more, what is

the conclusion an honest man can arrive at, who, acquainted with the real facts

reads their Report? Assuredly the following: the accusations, all Mr. Hodgson’s

cleverness notwithstanding, could not stand unless a logical motive could be

found for such disgusting dishonourable course as the one I am charged with.


The true motive—publicly and openly professed gave the lie to all such accusations; it weakened thoroughly if it did not destroy utterly the filthy charges. Why not present those charges in a light the best calculated to have them accepted without one word of protest by the public in general? This could be perpetrated with impunity and it only ruins me for life alone. It only shuts the doors before me, back to my home where I thought of dying in peace knowing I had done my duty the best I could. What does it matter to the Honourable professors at Cambridge that an old Russian woman has now but one course opened to her: to die a disgraced beggar, far from all she loves and cares for in this life, so long as they can satisfy their spite and punish those who refused to recognise in Mr. Hodgson an infallible expert and in themselves as infallible leaders in things psychic and phenomenal. Well they have probably done all this: let them triumph in their iniquity.


This is an action that every honest man or woman must and will regard as simply


Thus, considering finally, that if the Report is an alleged expression of the

writer’s great integrity, of his mistaken, yet sincere


—•— 139    THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  HODGSON  AND  S. P. R.    —•—

and honest views (which I now deny), that it might have been published in toto

in order to set off his extraordinary acuteness and still lose nothing in

strength of deduction and inferences if the direct charge of forgery and spying

-- (the terms “forger” and “spy”) had been even laid aside; but that it was not

done for reasons above given, and the libellous and incriminating terms are

there published for the whole world to see and accept; considering all this I,

the undersigned, now call upon every truth and justice loving Englishman and

Englishwoman in the United Kingdom of Great Britain—whose righteous laws command to regard as innocent even a criminal before he is found by that law “guilty”—to show to me reasons why the said Hodgson and his employers should not be proclaimed publicly and in print by me as having been guilty of a mean, cowardly, base and a brutal action; one to stoop to which no gentleman, no honest man of even an average honourability would ever stoop to, in view of the existing circumstances.

In view of all the above I pray the London Lodge Theosophical Society to permit the undersigned, putting the present in a more grammatical and documentary form, to print and publish it and send it to every theosophist throughout the world; also to have the same published in the Theosophist.


So long as I have not broken altogether from the Theosophical Society and am

connected with it; so long as any of my actions can by reacting upon it hurt the

Cause or one of the Societies, I shall take no action that is not sanctioned by

all the Councils. But if this is refused to me and I have to go about to the end

of my life with the triple brand of Fraud, Forger and Spy upon me like a female

Cain, helpless and powerless to even prove that the latter accusation is an

infamous, uncalled for lie and a calumny, then it will remain for me but to take

another course from which there will be no more return possible.


                                                                H. P. BLAVATSKY.



9th January.

THE Countess has returned and among her news is one that shows on what hang the accusations of Hodgson. For instance the German Theosophists cannot understand or justify the phenomenon with the Japanese vases received by Olcott. “How can Mahatmas (exalted beings) condescend to present Olcott with vases bought previously at a shop and by placing there vases from a shop,” etc. etc. This is the hypothesis, the following—the facts.

Colonel Olcott had just returned home from some journey.


—•— 140    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

He was upstairs in my “occult” room also my writing room. We had been talking and he examined a new cupboard for books with a mirror door to it on a wall in front of my writing table, whereas the shrine was on the wall on the right side of the table. It had been just built in the wall and could have no traps or

holes in the wall at the back of it, for that wall gives on the passage from the

staircase. The cupboard had one plain board at its back. Who wanted the

phenomenon, what was said, I do not remember. But Olcott after examining some books in the cupboard received a letter from the Mahatma and was going away when I recognised that there was something else going on in the cupboard. So I said—“stop, let us see what it is.” Mme. Coulomb was in the room. Then he opened the cupboard door and found two vases there with flowers in them.


He made a great fuss over it. When I saw the vases I said, or thought at the time, they are very much like those that I had just bought for the drawing room. It is Mme. Coulomb who bought them in one of her journeys to town after furniture and provisions. But these vases were a great deal larger and mine stood where they were in the adjoining room on a corner table. It appeared to me at the time that Mme. Coulomb looked very embarrassed. Now I know why. She had brought me two vases, and now there are found marked in the entries of the book where they had been bought. My opinion is that she bought these additional two, with the intention of sending them as a present to one of her Bombay friends, as she traded with Mrs. Dudley, buying things at Madras and sending them to Mr. D. Dudley who sold them to sea captains and on the steamers and shared with Mme. C. the profits. These two (Olcott’s) vases were evidently in Mme. C.’s rooms in another house and were brought from their hiding place. Otherwise, why would she have kept back from me the knowledge that she had bought four and not two vases only for myself as I thought? Anyhow, this is what I have to say to the phenomenon of the vases: --

(1) It is not on the vases that it rested. Every apport whether performed

through the will of an adept, or mediumship and “Spirits” is supposed to have

pre-existed as an object. Such things as big vases that can be bought by the

dozen, that are known to stand in various shops—are not to be materialised.

Generally an object to be brought phenomenally is bought by the one who wants to perform it, or is chosen in the house of another person, and then made to pass either through closed doors, or a closed lid, or something of the sort.

Therefore, --

(2) The “phenomenon of the vases” rests on the fact of their being brought from

wherever they were into a closed cupboard,


—•— 141    THE  “VASE”  PHENOMENON   —•—

that Olcott had locked himself and before which he stood waiting for what would come next. If the wall at the back of the cupboard was solid—it was a

phenomenon. If there was some trap or hole in it, some contrivance which would make it possible to pass an object from behind it, then it was fraud, by

whomsoever perpetrated. The question then lies: was or was there not at that

time a false or a double back to the cupboard? I say there was not. It was later

I suppose that Monsieur Coulomb fabricated it for his special plans. It is

sufficiently proved in Dr. Hartmann’s pamphlet.

Now, it was not the Mahatmas who performed it. Colonel Olcott had enough

phenomena and daily during ten years and believed enough without phenomena that one should go to the trouble of buying vases and preparing tricks for him. It

was done by a chela and for a certain reason I need not explain. I told Hodgson

that I had two vases (which disappeared as well as Colonel Olcott’s) and all

that I say here. Let Mr. and Mrs. Sinnett be asked how a doll or a toy was

brought to their child at Simla. Had Mr. Hodgson gone to a certain toy-shop at

Simla he would have learned by the entry books that a doll of that description

had been bought by a young man on that same night and paid for it. And no doubt he would have placed the trick in his Report as an evidence against me. And Mr. Sinnett might have answered that the fact was known to him too on that same night, for I had explained to them then and there how it was done. No doubt phenomena-hunters would have preferred that the toy and vases should have disappeared from a shop or a private house without having been paid for, or that every nonsensical apport should be materialised like the Universe—ex-nihil?Even the Coulombs knew this well. They had lived enough with us and heard of phenomenal apports to understand that the phenomenon rested on the appearance of objects within closed doors and recesses, hence the very easy task to show to a scientific man—that it was a trick because the vases had been bought at a certain shop and were marked on the sale books! And the scientific Mr. Hodgson swallowed the new proof and published it. To close: An undergarment was shown to Hodgson (a chemise in plain words) with stains from metal on its right side. The dobi (washer) can testify and Babula and perhaps Miss Arundale, and I can show all my old chemises so stained and eaten by the rust to holes. In India where I wore no dresses with pockets, but light muslin wrappers, I used to stick my keys on the right side between my chemise and petticoat. Many a time Mme. Coulomb, who had charge of my linen told me I was ruining my clothes with that habit. But I went on and now she shows to Mr. Hodgson an “undergarment” with such stains and explains to him the stains


—•—  142    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

as having been caused by a metallic musical-box which rung when pressed with the elbow producing the “astral bells.” And Mr. Hodgson, the scientific expert,

swallows it and publishes it!!


                                                         H. P. BLAVATSKY.

P.S. I made Subba Row’s acquaintance on the day I first arrived to Madras, May, 1882.

Saw him for a week and then when we left Bombay for Madras to live, in

January, 1883 had exchanged with him a few letters till then. How could I write

Isis with his help, I in New York, he at Madras and perfect strangers to each

other? (Query)



I will try to do what I can to enliven the narrative in the Memoirs, because I

promised I would, and mean to keep to my promise, however disagreeable it may be for me personally. I will not disappoint you; I mean to ransack my brain in the pigeon-holes of the past and make it at least interesting in its Russian

character of occult reminiscences—since it is in no way interesting now, as the

Countess and Hartmann both tell me. Of course, as they now stand—those

unfortunate Memoirs do remind one of a Harlequin’s costume sown out of different patches. This is not your fault for you have done the best you could under the circumstances. Yet, on the whole as Illarion well expressed it, it does leave one the impression of a timid, scared beggar, determined to shove herself amid a fine Society of ladies and gentlemen and putting on the outside all her poor little finery, trying to conceal with it her inward nakedness. “Look at me

gents—I too, I have interesting things to brag of, and show to you. Only don’t

look under—pray.” This is the real impression it leaves. Something, broken,

unfinished, chaotic and not even romantic. LYING—brilliant lively fiction would

answer better than such bits and snaps from one’s long, miserable, eventful and

ever slandered life, as mine was.

Now you labour under the impression that only such Memoirs of “Mme. B.’s” life, could, at this juncture produce a reaction—one of thrilling interest, if not of

vindication and full justification. I make bold to say that nothing of the kind

can or will. One thing in the whole world could do it if I ever could consent to

it; and it is the truth and nothing but the truth—the WHOLE of it. This would,

indeed, make all Europe jump from its seat and produce a revolution. But you

see, I am an Occultist; a pucka not a sham one, in truth. I am one at heart,

whatever I may



seem else in the eyes of even the inner group, the “O. G.” I will not give back

in the same coin as I receive, however much mine may differ from theirs—as the

latter is false and mine is true. I look at all those people barking and

spitting venom around me now, as a disembodied spirit may at the dogs baying at his shadow. I have suffered out the whole material of suffering I had in my

earthly nature and there’s no more fuel. I will struggle and fight on so long as

I last; and then one fine day, the fatal puncture in the heart will make itself

felt and I will be a “lovely corpse” five or six minutes after that, if not

earlier. This is the programme. Until then—well, let things go.

Therefore, since there is a very serious proposition made in your last letter to

me, one that necessitates this long answer, I have to tell you my determination

for the last time and at the same time to give you reasons for it, as I have too

much esteem and affection for you to let you labour under the false impression

that “it is one more whim of the ‘O. L.’ “ It is not; and you have to be assured

of, and made to see it. Hence—this preliminary and my asking you to forgive the

necessity of the long epistle. I do not know English enough to be brief.

You say, “Thus, for example, we must bring in the whole of that Metrovitch

incident.” I say we must not. These Memoirs will not bring my vindication. This

I know as well as I knew that The Times would not notice my letter against

Hodgson’s Report. Not only will they fail to do so, “if they are made

sufficiently complete,” but if they appeared in six volumes and ten times as

interesting—they will never vindicate me; simply because “Metrovitch” is only

one of the many incidents that the enemy throws at my head. If I touch this

“incident” and vindicate myself fully, a Solovioff, or some other blackguard

will bring out the Meyendorf and “the three children incident.” And if I were to

publish his letters (in Olcott’s possession) addressed to his “darling Nathalie”

in which he speaks of her raven black hair “Longs comme un beau manteau de

roi,”—as de Musset expresses it of his Marquesa d’Arnedi’s hair—then I would be simply dealing a slap on the face of a dead martyr, and call forth the

convenient shadow of someone else from the long gallery of my supposed lovers.

Now why should I bring out Metrovitch? Suppose I said the whole truth about him?

What is it? Well, I knew the man in 1850, over whose apparently dead corpse I

stumbled over in Pera, at Constantinople, as I was returning home one night from Bougakdira to Missire’s hotel. He had received three good stabs in his back from one, or two, or more Maltese ruffians, and a Corsican, who were paid for it by the Jesuits. I had him picked up, after standing over his still breathing corpse


—•— 144    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

for about four hours, before my guide could get mouches to pick him up. The only Turkish policeman meanwhile who chanced to come up asking for a baksheesh and offering to roll the supposed corpse into a neighbouring ditch, then showing a decided attraction to my own rings and bolting only when he saw my revolver pointing at him. Remember, it was in 1850, and in Turkey. Then I had the man carried to a Greek hotel over the way, where he was recognised and taken sufficiently care of, to come back to life. On the next day he asked me to write to his wife and Sophie Cruvelli (the Duchess’s dear friend now Vicomtesse de Vigier at Nice and Paris, and at the time his mistress; No. 1 scandal). I wrote

to his wife and did not to the Cruvelli. The former arrived from Smyrna where

she was, and we became friends. I lost sight of them after that for several

years and met him again at Florence, where he was singing at the Pergola, with

his wife. He was a Carbonaro, a revolutionist of the worst kind, a fanatical

rebel, a Hungarian, from Metrovitz, the name of which town he took as a nom de

guerre. He was the natural son of the Duke of Lucea, as I believe, who brought

him up. He hated the priests, fought in all the rebellions, and escaped hanging

by the Austrians, only because—well, it’s something I need not be talking about.

Then I found him again in Tiflis in 1861, again with his wife, who died after I

had left in 1865 I believe; then my relatives knew him well and he was friends

with my cousins Witte. Then, when I took the poor child to Bologna to see if I

could save him I met him again in Italy and he did all he could for me, more

than a brother. Then the child died; and as it had no papers, nor documents and

I did not care to give my name in food to the kind gossips, it was he,

Metrovitch who undertook all the job, who buried the aristocratic Baron’s

child—under his, Metrovitch’s name saying “he did not care,” in a small town of

Southern Russia in 1867. After this, without notifying my relatives of my having

returned to Russia to bring back the unfortunate little boy whom I did not

succeed to bring back alive to the governess chosen for him by the Baron, I

simply wrote to the child’s father to notify him of this pleasant occurrence for

him and returned to Italy with the same passport. Then comes Venice, Florence,

Mentana. The Garibaldis (the sons) are alone to know the whole truth; and a few

more Garibaldians with them. What I did, you know partially; you do not know

all. My relatives do, my sister does not, and therefore and very luckily

Solovioff does not.

Now, shall I, in the illusive hope of justifying myself, begin by exhuming these

several corpses—the child’s mother, Metrovitch, his wife, the poor child

himself, and all the rest? NEVER. It would be as mean, and sacrilegious as it

would be useless. Let


—•— 145    THE PRIVATE  PART  OF  H. P. B.’s  LIFE   —•—

the dead sleep, I say. We have enough avenging shadows around us—Walter Gebhard,

the last. Touch them not, for you would only make them share the slaps in the

face and the insults I am receiving, but you would not succeed to screen me in

any way. I do not want to lie, and I am not permitted to tell the truth. What

shall we, what can we, do? The whole of my life except the weeks and months I

passed with the Masters, in Egypt or in Tibet, is so inextricably full of events

with whose secrets and real actuality the dead and the living are concerned, and

I made only responsible for their outward appearance, that to vindicate myself,

I would have to step on a hecatomb of the dead and cover with dirt the living. I

will not do so. For, firstly, it will do me no good except adding to other

epithets I am graced with, that of a slanderer of post mortem reputation, and

accused, perhaps, of chantage and blackmail; and secondly I am an Occultist, as

I told you. You speak of my “susceptibilities” with regard to my relatives, I

say it is occultism, not susceptibilities. I KNOW the effect it would have on

the dead, and want to forget the living. This is my last and final decision: I


And now, to another aspect of the thing.

I am repeatedly reminded of the fact, that, as a public character, a woman, who,

instead of pursuing her womanly duties, sleeping with her husband, breeding

children, wiping their noses, minding her kitchen and consoling herself with

matrimonial assistants on the sly and behind her husband’s back, I have chosen a path that has led me to notoriety and fame; and that therefore I had to expect

all that befell me. Very well, I admit it, and agree. But I say at the same time

to the world: “Ladies and gentlemen, I am in your hands and subject and

subordinate to the world’s jury, only since I founded the T.S. Between H. P.

Blavatsky from 1875 and H. P. B. from 1830 to that date, is a veil drawn and you are in no way concerned with what took place behind it, before I appeared as a public character. It was my PRIVATE LIFE holy and sacred, to all but the

slanderous and venomous mad-dogs who poke their noses under cover of the night into every family’s and every individual’s private lives. To those hyenas who will unearth every tomb by night to get at the corpses and devour them, I owe no explanations.

If I am prevented by circumstances from killing them, I have to suffer, but no one can expect me to stand on Trafalgar Square and to be taking into my confidence all the city roughs and cabmen that pass. And even these, have more my respect and confidence than your reading and literary public, your “drawing room” and Parliament ladies and gentlemen. I would rather trust an honest, half drunk cabman than I would the former. I have lived little in the world even in my own country,


—•— 146    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

but I know it—especially for the last decade—better than you know them perhaps, though you have been moving in the midst of that cultured and refined lot for the last 25 years of your life. Well, humbled down as I am, slandered, vilified and covered with mud, I say that it would be beneath my dignity to throw myself on their mercy and judgement. Had I even been all they accuse me of; had I had lovers and children by the bushels; who among all that lot is pure enough to throw at me openly and publicly the first stone? A Bibiche who was caught, is in company with hundreds of others who have not been so exposed, but—they are no better than she is. The higher spheres of Society, from Grand Duchesses and Princesses of blood down to their cameristes—are all honey combed with secret sensuality, licentiousness and prostitution. Out of ten women married and unmarried if you find one who is pure—I am ready to proclaim the present world comparatively holy, yet, with very few exceptions all the women are liars to themselves as to others. Men are all no better than animals and brutes in their lower natures. And it is they, such a lot, that I am going to ask to sit in judgement over me; to address them tacitly and virtually, by describing certain events in my life in the Memoirs to “please give me the benefit of the doubt.” “Dear ladies and gentlemen, you, who have never failed to sin behind a shut door, you, who are all tainted with the embraces of other women’s husbands and other men’s wives, you, not one of whom is exempt from the pleasure of keeping a skeleton or two in your family closets—please take my defence.” No Sir, I die rather than do it! As Hartmann truly remarked, it is far more important what I myself think of me, than what the world does. It is that which I know of myself that will be my judge hereafter, not what a reader who buys for a few shillings my life, “a made up one” as he will always think—believes of me. If I had daughters whose reputations I might damage by failing to justify my behaviour I would perhaps resort to such an indignity. As I have none and that three days after my death all the world save a few theosophists and friends will have forgotten my name—let all go, I say.

The moral of the above and conclusion: you are welcome to stun the public with

the recital of my life day after day ever since the T. S. was founded, and the

public is entitled to it. I dare say you could do hundred times more good by

laying it bare before the readers, than by initiating them into the life of a

Russian, one of thousands and with whom they are by no means concerned, (at any rate I am not concerned with them). Then you have fourteen or fifteen volumes of Scrap Books, to furnish you with material enough for 100 volumes—“The History of the Theos.


—•— 147    H. P. B.  NEVER  MME.  METROVITCH   —•—

Soc. and its Fellows, of Their Tribulations and Triumphs, their ups and Downs.”

This would be legitimate work every word of which could be verified and this not easily gainsaid by the enemy. The Memoirs have just arrived at that point (in

the proofs I have). Show systematically the unheard of persecutions,

conspiracies, even the mistakes made and that will be our justification. “We

hate and persecute only that which we fear.” You might make the movement

immortal if you would undertake to describe it. Leave Part I as it is, with many

additions I have made and will make. Do not hurry with the publication and leave

me time to see you personally at Ostende. Believe me it will be better. Write to

Olcott to ask him to copy for you some portions of Prince Emil Wittgenstein’s

letter to him about me; and from others who knew and met me at various times.

Hartmann seems to have plenty of material he has collected from letters received

by him and he seems willing to give them up. Anything from others, however

erroneous for which neither you or I will stand responsible. What I add is not

mine but from several letters I received from my aunt. I deliver myself into

your hands and ask you only to remember that the Memoirs are sure to throw out like a volcano some fresh mud and flames. Do not awake the sleeping

dogs more than necessary. That I never was Mme. Metrovitch or even Mme. Blavatsky is something, the proofs of which I will carry to my grave—and its no one’s business. If I had a husband to screen and protect me I might have been a

Messalina to my heart’s pleasure and no one would dare, save in under breath, to say a word against me. When I think that I stand open to prosecution for

defamation because I wrote in a private letter that a woman who wrote such a

letter to Mohini must be a Potiphar; and that every one in England seems to have

a legal right to accuse me openly and publicly of bigamy, trigamy and

prostitution without my being able to say one word in my defence in a Court of

Law—I am inclined to send for a dose of peppermint—I feel sick with disgust. The contempt and scorn I feel for your free country with its boasted justice and

equity, is unutterable and beyond words. I feel like asking the Russian Govt. to

permit me to return to die in some corner where I will be left quiet. The sense

of my duty to the Masters is the only thing that prevents me from doing it. He

who does not meddle with politics is safe in Russia and libel is severely

punished there. What is my future? What have I before me thanks to your

missionaries, to the English fiend called Coulomb, to the Bibiche tongues that

soil one as soon as they touch one, to the Hindus made Gods in Europe and kicked in their own country, to all the ding and clash around me? I cannot return to India, so long as


—•— 148    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

the Coulomb is at Bombay and the Padris around us, I would only ruin the

Society. No sooner will I have landed than some one of them will find some

pretext to bring me into Court and then—goodbye Society. Your Cambridge Dons have ruined me, thanks to the handles they got in the shape of Olcott’s idiotic braying, people’s cowardice and various other things. I am a thing of the

Past—and a sorry looking thing, dirtied beyond words. There is no help and no

salvation for me. Try to screen yourselves, and leave me to my present fate. And

thus—I WILL NOT WRITE ANYTHING about the “Metiovitch incident” nor any other incident of the sort, where politics and secrets of dead people are mixed up. This is my last and final determination. If you can make the Memoirs interesting in some other way, do so, and I will help you. Anything you like after 1875. My life was a public and an opened life since then, and except during my hours of sleep I was never alone. I defy the whole world to Prove any of the accusations brought against me during that time. As for phenomena—had I been the immaculate Virgin Mary to that day—it would have been the same thing. This is all our fault. Mine, Olcott’s, yours, Damodar’s, everyone, even the Masters who looked on and—permitted it. We cannot expect to be ever waving a scarlet rag before the bull and then complain of his goading us. And, as in this case it is the worst kind of a bull—your “John Bull.” Of course we came out of it second best.Pray excuse my frankness and the long letter.




          H. P. BLAVATSKY.



Last night received your letter to which I answered and sent, moreover, a

telegram to you giving you carte blanche for anything you may do. But now to

your questions I am compelled to say much. Even in this my vindication, and a

full one it could be, Myers & Co. have built a wall between me and this last

possibility at any rate as regards my aunt.

Last year from Elberfeld she sent the preface to these Memoirs signed with her

name to Myers. In it, she put a distinct condition that her full name should

never be published but only her initials. It was said in it as far as I

remember, “this (the name) is for Mr. Myers only who is expected as a gentleman never to use it,” or something like this. Now the “gentleman,” the first thing


—•— 149    MYERS  OF  THE  S. P. R.   —•—

he does is to permit Hodgson to connect my aunt’s full name in print with my

fraud and political motive. There is a full note in the Report I read it—where

it is said that Madame Fadeef being an aunt of mine and a Russian, no reliance

can be placed on what she says. K. H.’s letter to her was forged by me, the wise

detective says, etc. How it is I do not know. But my aunt seems to have learnt

it earlier than I did. Whether it is through Solovioff the infernal gossip, or

someone else, but last night I had a letter from her reproaching me mildly but

firmly and as I see in great agony, (I will tell you why). “I told you,” she

says, “at Elberfeld not to give my name and you answered that Myers was a

theosophist and a gentleman, a man of honour, and now I hear that I am also

mixed in the phenomena business—phenomena that were your curse during your

childhood and youth and which have now led you to public dishonour.” And she goes on saying that it was and is all from the devil, and asks me not to be

angry with her but that my Masters do seem to be uncanny, so uncanny that she as a Christian dare not even think of them! This is what Myers has done, and this, after talking with Miss Arundale and Mohini who remember what she wrote (perhaps it is still there on the MSS but she wrote in French on a slip of paper to Mr. Myers independently); this dishonourable action you ought to bring to light. You ought to expose him before every honourable man, and this action he will not be able to deny, and will stand as a blackguard before many. If you do not do this, then you shall have lost the best opportunity of showing the Cambridge clique in its true light.

Well, I will send her your letter. I added to it four pages of supplications,

and saying why it was so necessary now she should help me. I am sure that ready as she is to do anything for me, she will refuse permission to publish her name after it has been so disgraced by Hodgson, the more so as no one will believe her after this. Of this I feel sure. Remains my sister, she is in Petersburg.

She has four big daughters to marry. She may send you what she has written. “The truth about Mme. Blavatsky,” and add a few things. Though now, owing again to Solovioff’s gossip her daughters, my nieces—are furious against me for some remarks I have made as to their desinvolture—and my sister is her daughter’s humble tool and victim. My aunt adored and reverenced her only brother, my uncle who died lately, General Fadeyeff. Had she been married she would have given her name and not cared for it; but she told me that to see his name in print, his name in the mouth of sceptics laughing at and desecrating it as she thinks—is more [than] she could bear. That’s one. Let us wait for her reply.

Now your questions:

1. My childhood? Spoilt and petted on one side, punished


—•— 150    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

and hardened on the other. Sick and ever dying till seven or eight,

sleep-walker; possessed by the devil. Governesses two—Mme. Peigneux, a French woman and Miss Augusta Sophia Jeffries a Yorkshire spinster. Nurses—any number.

No Kurd nurse. One was half a Tartar. Father’s soldiers taking care of me.

Mother died when I was a baby. Born at Ekaterinoslow. Travelled with Father from place to place with his artillery regiment till eight or nine, taken

occasionally to visit grandparents. When 11 my grandmother took me to live with her altogether. Lived in Saratow when Grandfather was civil Governor, before that in Astrachan, where he had many thousands (some 80, or 100,000) Kalmuck Buddhists under him.

2. Visit to London? I was in London and France with Father in ‘44 not 1851. This latter year I was alone and lived in Cecil St. in furnished rooms at one time,

then at Mivart’s Hotel, but as I was with old Countess Bagration, and when she

went away remained with her Jezebel demoiselle de compagnie, no one knows my name there. Lived also in a big hotel somewhere between City and Strand or in the Strand, but as to names or numbers you might just as well ask me to tell you what was the number of the house you lived in during your last incarnation. In 1845 father brought me to London to take a few lessons of music. Took a few later also—from old Moscheles. Lived with him somewhere near Pimlico—but even to this I would not swear. Went to Bath with him, remained a whole week, heard nothing but bell-ringing in the churches all day. Wanted to go on horseback astride in my Cossack way; he would not let me and I made a row I remember and got sick with a fit of hysterics. He blessed his stars when we went home; travelled two or three months through France, Germany and Russia. In Russia our own carriage and horses making 25 miles a day. To tell you about America! Why goodness me I may as well try to tell you about a series of dreams I had in my childhood. Ask me to tell you now, under danger and peril of being immediately hung if I gave incorrect information—what I was doing and where I went from 1873 July when I arrived to America, to the moment we formed T.S., and I am sure to forget the half and tell you wrong the other half. What’s the use asking or expecting anything like that from a brain like mine! Everything is hazy, everything confused and mixed. I can hardly remember where I have been or where I have not been in India since 1880. I saw Master in my visions ever since my childhood. In the year of the first Nepaul Embassy (when?) saw and recognised him. Saw him twice. Once he came out of the crowd, then He ordered me to meet Him in Hyde Park. I cannot, I must not speak of this. I would not publish it for the


—•— 151    H. P. B.  TRAVELS  WITH  THE  MASTER   —•—

world. See the harm the Occult World has done to me with all your kind, good

intention. Had you not named my relatives, my inner life, my visit to Tibet, no

one would have believed me more of a fraud than they do now. So you see. Let us leave my poor aunts and my relatives names out of the book, I implore you.

Enough dirt accumulated on one of the family, do let us not drag holy names and names I respect into the book and thus sentence them beforehand to mangling.

3. Went to India in 1856 -- just because I was longing for Master. Travelled

from place to place, never said I was Russian, people taking me for what I

liked. Met Kulwein and his friend at Lahore somewhere. Were I to describe my

visit to India only in that year that would make a whole book, but how can I NOW say the truth. Suppose I were to tell that I was in man’s clothes (for I was

very thin then) which is solemn truth, what would people say? So I was in Egypt

with the old Countess who liked to see me dressed as a man student, “gentleman

student” she said. Now you understand my difficulties? That which would pass

with any other as eccentricity, oddity, would serve now only to incriminate me

in the eyes of the world. Went with Dutch vessel because there was no other, I

think. Master ordered [me] to go to Java for a certain business. There were two

whom I suspected always of being chelas there. I saw one of them in 1869 at the

Mahatma’s house, and recognised him, but he denied.

4. “The incident of the adoption of the child!” I better be hung than mention

it. Do you know if even withholding names what it would lead to? To a hurricane

of dirt thrown at me. When I told you that even my own father suspected me, and had it not been for the doctor’s certificate would have never forgiven me,

perhaps. After, he pitied and loved that poor cripple child. On reading this

book Home, the medium, would be the first one to gather the remnant of his

strength and denounce me, giving out names and things and what not. Well my dear Mr. Sinnett if you would ruin me (though it is hardly possible now) we shall

mention this “incident.” Do not mention any, this is my advice and prayer. I

have done too much toward proving and swearing it was mine—and have overdone the thing. The doctor’s certificate will go for nothing. People will say we bought or bribed the doctor that’s all.

5. Yes, returned to relations in Jan. 1860.

6. Yes, about ‘62 went with my sister to Tiflis, left it about ‘64 and went to

Servia, travelled about in Karpat all as I explain in my story about the Double.

The Hospodar was killed in the beginning of 1868 I think (see Encylopaedia),

when I was in Florence after Mentana and on my way to India with Master


—•— 152    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

from Constantinople. If you take as your ground to stand upon, my novel the

“Double murder” then you are wrong. I knew the Gospoja and Frosya and the

Princess Katinka and even the Gospoda Michel Obrenovitz far earlier. The

paragraph in some Temeswar paper was given to me n 1872 (I believe) when I went from Odessa to Bukharest to visit my friend Mme. Popesco, and what had happened in Vienna was told to me after my incident with Gospoja using Frosya for it. Why every detail is true—so far as I am concerned and the actors in it. But I told you at Simla yet that though the details were true, I had made up these details and true personages into a story for the Sun (N. Y.) under the nom de plume of “Hadji Mora.” Every day people write really fictitious stories, beginning with “In 1800 so and so I was there or at another place” and invent the whole. I simply wrote facts, about personages known to me personally, and only instead of Frosya Popesco (another Frosya) who told me what had happened after I had seen the evocation, I put the author in her place and now Sellin comes out and cross examines me; and I tell him that I know the story to be true, he asks me—were you there? I say no, for I was on my way to India, but it was told to me and I made a story out of it. And now Sellin comes out and says “if you invented the story about ‘Double murder’ then you may have invented the Mahatmas.” I never gave my series of sensational stories in the N. Y. Sun—for infallible and Gospel truths. I wrote stories, on facts that happened hither and thither, with living persons, only changing names (not in the “Double Murder” though where I was fool enough to put real personages); and this was put up for me and arranged by Illarion and he says, and said again only that day I quarrelled with Sellin—“As every word of the evocation of Frosya by Gospoja is true, so the scenes in Vienna and double murder are true, as Madame Popesco told you.” I thought you knew it? Why you knew from the first that Mentana was Oct. 1867. I was in Florence about Christmas, perhaps a month before, when the poor Michael Obrenovitch was killed. Then I went from Florence to Antemari and toward Belgrad where in the mountains I had to wait (as ordered by Master) -- to Constantinople passing through Serbia and the Karpat mountains waiting for a certain he sent after me; and it is there that I met the Gospoja with Frosya about a month or two after the murder, I believe. All is true, except that I read the account of the “double murder” four years later from Madame Popesco, and in the story for sensation sake I put it a few days later at Temesvar—that’s all. And now Olcott pitches into me because he says “Oxley exposed the whole story as untrue, he applied to some British ambassador at Vienna, etc.” Well I wish both Olcott and Oxley


—•— 153    MENTANA   —•—

joy. The story is true. Only I was not going to publish the name of Madame

Popesco who gave to me the last act and who had read it in some Vienna number immediately suppressed—and the name of Karageorgevitch’s relative whose attendants those two men were, to have a law suit on my back. That’s why I said I read it in a Temeswar coffee house, and even that was dangerous as I had named Karageorgevitch, whose son is now married to Zorka the Montenegrian Princess.

Was I writing my diary or confessions, to be honour-bound to give the facts as

they happened, years and names? Funny pretensions. It is like my Russian Letters from India, where while describing a fictitious journey or tour through India with Thornton’s Gazeteer as my guide, I yet give there true facts and true

personages only bringing in together within three or four months time, facts and

events scattered all throughout years as some of Master’s phenomena. Is it a

crime that? Because Scott thought so. Why, if having been in Calcutta and

Allahabad I have to write upon their antiquities—which I have seen myself—why

shouldn’t I resort to Asiatic Researches and even Thornton’s Gazeteer for

historical facts and details I could never remember myself. Is it considered a

literary theft to refer to Encyclopaedias and guide books? I do not copy or

plagiarise, I simply take them as my guides, safer than my memory. Please tell

me also in the case of that “Double Murder” story of mine, am I a criminal for

writing under “Hadji-Mora’s” name—a story, and then adding the only fictitious

particular—namely that I read the paper myself, instead of what was true that

Mad. Popesco gave it me to read in her diary into which she had copied that

event, which putting dates together I considered as having happened on that same night? What do you think? It must be the Elementaries of Obrenovitch and

Princess Katinka who bring me this trouble for using their names in such a story

at all. Karma again. But I digress from your questions.

Please do not speak of Mentana and do not speak of MASTER I implore you. I did come back from India in one of early steamers. But I first went to Greece and saw Illarion, in what place I cannot and must not say. Then to Pirree and from that port to Speggia in view of which we were blown up. Then I went to Egypt, first to Alexandria, where I had no money and won a few thousand francs on the No. 27 -- (don’t put this) and—then went to Cairo where I stopped from Oct. or Nov. 1871 to April 1872, only four or five months, and returned to Odessa in July as I went to Syria and Constantinople first and some other places. I had sent Mad. Sebin with the monkeys before hand, for Odessa is only four or five days from Alexandria.

Went March 1873 from Odessa to Paris—stopped with my


—•— 154    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

cousin Nicolas Hahn (son of my uncle Gustave Hahn, father’s brother and the

Countess Adlerberg his mother) at Rue de L’Universite 11, I believe; then in

July the same year went as ordered to New York. From that time let the public

know all. It’s all opened.

Oh—the Countess Kisseleff? Thanks. She is dead as a door nail for over 20 years I believe. Died at Rome with the Pope’s pardon and remittance of sins, for a pillow. Left millions and all her medium apparatuses, writing tables and tarots

to the Church of Rome.Well that’s all. Resumons.

It is simply impossible that the plain undisguised truth should be said about my

life. Impossible to even touch upon the child. There’s the Baron Meyendorffs and all Russian aristocracy that would rise against me if in the course of

contradictions (which are sure to follow) the Baron’s name should be mentioned.

I gave my word of honour and shall not break it—TO THE DEAD.

Then from 17 to 40 I took care during my travels to sweep away all traces of

myself wherever I went. When I was at Barri in Italy studying with a local

witch—I sent my letters to Paris to post them from there to my relatives. The

only letter they received from me from India was when I was leaving it, the

first time. Then from Madras in 1857; -- when I was in South America I wrote to

them through, and posted in London. I never allowed people to know where I was and what I was doing. Had I been a common p----- they would have preferred it to my studying occultism. It is only when I returned home that I told my aunt that the letter received from K. H. by her was no letter from a Spirit as she thought. When she got the proofs that they were living men she regarded them as devils or sold to Satan. Now you have seen her. She is the shyest, the kindest, the meekest individual. All her life her money and all is for others. Touch her religion and she becomes like a fury. I never speak with her about Masters.Now they want to make out I never was in India even before 1879. In a work published some time ago—my sister’s Memoirs, in which every word is a fact she says on pp. 41-42: (I translate verbatim from the book before me) -- “The following autumn I returned with two baby sons (in 1859 to Russia) from Caucasus . . . I went to Pskoff. That winter I became witness to many most marvellous facts of a spiritualistic nature; but I shall not mention these since they are all given in the Rebus in my articles ‘Truth about H. P. Blavatsky.’ In those

pages the author had forgotten to add, that though everyone considered the

manifestations taking place in my sister’s presence as caused by the


—•—  155    H. P. B.  NEVER  A  MEDIUM   —•—

Spirits and through her mediumistic power, she herself has constantly denied it.

My sister, H. P. Blavatsky, had passed most of her ten years of travelling (from

1850 to 1860) and absence from Russia in India, where, as it seems, spiritual

theories are in great contempt; and the mediumistic manifestations, so called by

us, are explained in that country as proceeding from a source, to drink from (or

feed at which) my sister regards as lowering her human dignity, hence does not

wish to recognise her powers as coming from such a source. 1 However it may be, and whatever the nature of that force which helps her to produce her

manifestations, only during her stay with me at the T---- (Tahontoff) these

phenomena took place constantly under the eyes of all, of those who believed and who disbelieved in them, leaving all and every one in the greatest amazement.”Now this short para. and foot-note prove two things; that I was in India at some time between 1850 and 1860; and that even so far back as in 1860 and 1864 -- I had always maintained that it was no spirit power that moved and helped me, but our Masters and their chelas. This is shown from the conversations quoted in her

“Truth” about me which you have, and what I now give is called “The Inexplicable and the Unexplained” from the personal and family Reminiscences by V. Jelihovsky. Now suppose I send you this little pamphlet, and that you should take it to Mme. Novikoff and kindly ask her to translate for you the marked paras. on pp. 41 and 42 with the foot-note. And having done so, that you should write to my sister in English a long letter (she speaks English better than I

do), explaining to her the awful disgusting Hodgson’s pamphlet telling her how

absolutely necessary it is that there should come out a defence. Mind you, you

have (if you do write) [to] tell her how completely Hodgson denies all powers in

me—and that he attributes as my motive for the vile ten-year long travesty and

deception to political motives, my being a Russian spy. If you do write to her

she can give you far more than my poor aunt who hates writing and feels sick at

the whole thing already. But my sister is very combative, and fearless. If you

tell her that Hodgson seeks to ruin my honour and reputation, etc. etc. she is

capable of finding for you a whole array of eye witnesses of the highest names

in Petersburg and 1  My sister, H. P. Blavatsky, as I see from letters received from her is very dissatisfied with me for not having explained in the “Truth about Mme. Blavatsky” the whole truth. She asserts now as then that quite another power influenced her then as it does now, namely the power acquired by the Hindu sages—the Raj-Yogis. She assures me that even the shadows, she used to see and saw during her whole life, were no ghosts or spirits of deceased persons but simply the astral bodies of her all-powerful Hindu friends.—V. JELIHOVSKY.


—•—  156    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

Pskoff, who will testify to the phenomena they have seen between 1860 and ‘62.

This would be something. Ask her what she knows or heard of my powers when I was in Imeretia and Mingrelia in the virgin forests of Abhasia and the Black Sea

Coast—whether people, independent princes and archbishops and nobility, did not flock from every where to ask me to heal and protect them, do this and the

other. Only you must show her plainly that you of the L. L. the English

Theosophists are and mean to remain true to me and defend me, but that she must help you by furnishing you with materials against the enemy. I can assure you she can. She is very vain and conceited and the opposite of me as Mohini can tell you. But she is very proud and if you only show her in what horrible

position I am and appeal to her family pride and honour she will do anything.

Otherwise, they (in Russia) are as bitter against you English as you are against


That’s all I can say. She was very angry with my aunt for giving out that letter

of Mahatama K. H. and was furious with me for telling that story about the

ancestor which she says is a family secret, “a skeleton in the family cupboard”

or how is it, the expression? So you are warned. Simply tell her, that I have

pointed out to you the passage from her latest pamphlet and that you would like

her to tell you all she knows about me. She won’t make many compliments to me, I can assure you—unless your letter finds her in one of her gushing fits. If you want the pamphlet I will send it to you and you send it back, unless Mme.

Novikoff (you could do it through Schmiechen or Mohini) could translate for you some of the wonderful occurrences in our family that I will mark. The Countess just returned from Munich. Goodbye. Answer,


                                                                 Yours ever,




                     My sincerest love to Mrs. Sinnett.




I send you the translation of these few pages from my sister’s pamphlet or

book—as described on the pages that follow. Whether they will be of any use or

not, they are still an addition to what you have. You will see there that (a) as

early as 1860 I maintained that the shadows (or astral bodies) that came daily

and constantly and walked about the house so unceremoniously as to be seen by

every one (my father, whoever knew him—at any rate—cannot be taken for a

credulous fool, and this is why I


—•—  157    THE COUNTESS  SEES  M.   —•—

translated that portion of her work that relates to him) -- were not sweet

“spirits” but astral forms; (b) that it was no mediumship; (c) that I could have

no confederates in my father’s house, where there was no one to help me, except my sister a bigot now with her St. Nicholas, her two babies, the governess of our younger sister, the latter, a child of ten years and myself. The rest—all serfs, trembling before my father who was very strict, and who certainly would not have consented to deceive and bamboozle their master. And there, no “Russian spy” theory, no motive can be found to explain facts at that time. There are hundreds of witnesses to these facts yet living—in Petersburg and Pskoff. I tell you, write to my sister and ask her to give some details as far as she remembers about my childhood.

Details about my marriage? Well now they say that I wanted to marry the old

whistlebreeches myself. Let it be. My father was 4,000 miles off. My grandmother was too ill. It was as I told you. I had engaged myself to spite the governess never thinking I could no longer disengage myself. Well—Karma followed my sin.

It is impossible to say the truth without incriminating people that I would not

accuse for the world now that they are dead and gone. Rest it all on my back.

There was a row already between my sister and aunt—the former accusing me of having slandered my dead relatives in the question of my marriage and that my aunt had signed their and her own condemnation. Let this alone. I know one

thing: I cannot write the Secret Doctrine with all ------- I  constant agony

about me. I know Hubbe, psychologised by Sel . . .I  is shaky. He is an

unfortunate little nervous, weak man. Sellin made him believe that it was Olcott

who cheated him with Mahatma’s letter in the railway carriage!! Unfortunate

Olcott. Where’s the line of demarcation between his being a credulous fool and a knave! I saw Damodar last night, and the Countess sees constantly Master.

Whenever I see him or listen to what He says—she asks, with her eyes staring at


Him “What does He say?” She is a terrible clairvoyante. She tells me (this in

strict confidence) that during her stay at the Gebhard’s last year and this one,

they had a number of phenomena and saw Master. But that they had kept it back

from yourself and the L.L. not to create gossip and in some cases envy. I did

not thank her for such discretion. There’s something wrong going on at the

Gebhards, I feel it. D. N. is terribly mad and quite likely, in order to screen

his Master and the Matham in Tibet, to deny things and leave the same impression on them as he did on Hodgson, mixing up the dates purposely and refusing to give him correct information. It is this perpetual balancing

I  The original is damaged here.—ED.


—•—  158    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

on a tight rope between the abyss of divuldging that which is not lawful, and

either telling what people call lies or being accused of having things to

conceal—that has ruined the whole situation, and given a handle to the enemy.

Ah, dear Mr. Sinnett, how well it would have been had we all never pronounced

Masters’ names except in rooms with closed doors and doing as the Brahmin chelas do. You will read Hartmann’s “Theosophical Fable” and our answer to it sent to you with a few more explanations.

I hope this heart will last until I finish the Secret Doctrine. Have you thought

well over the problem of sending my protest to the Times. Dangerous thing! Are

the papers talking of it? There’s the whole danger. What can be done?


           Yours, in blank idiotcy.



H. P. B.



I send you a funny thing. Read the 3rd, 4th, & 5th & 6th lines. This is

undeniably my handwriting. Kandhalavala copied it from my letter to him. When I

received and saw it I was positively startled. Let me write it “staunch fearless

friends whose devotion to Master and yourself has not wavered one hair’s

breath”—I wrote it without looking at it, so as not to be impeded by the desire

of copying it. Now I ask you, were such a letter a whole letter written in the

same handwriting as these two ½ lines wouldn’t [you] swear it was my

handwriting? Please put it carefully away and keep it. Why Kandhalavala should

have copied that sentence in my handwriting I do not know. Once he had written

three letters copied from my own and brought them to me and I swore to them

myself, not knowing what he meant. I wish you would write to him and ask him if he could send you a whole letter if you think that those two lines would not be

sufficient to submit to an expert. I am determined to collect about half a dozen

of forged and as many letters written by myself, and submit them to the same

experts. We will see whether they are not caught. For after all the only

damaging really damning proof against me for the world lies in those letters.

Judge will write a few letters in my handwriting and Judge Kandhalavala the

other. I tell them these lines are in my handwriting and I, the first, would

swear to them in any Court.

D. N. has gone mad. Another piece of news. Wrote two three crazy letters to the

Countess, finally wrote one in which he calls me a traitor to the Masters, says

“what Sellin is to Theosophy


—•— 159   D.  N.  NEARLY  MAD   —•—

that I am to Occultism,” that “H. P. B. is a dangerous woman,” he won’t trust

me, and that if I come to him to Elberfeld he “will run away.” Wants the

Countess, implores her to rush to Elberfeld by the next train—that the “Dweller

on the Threshold” has come—that he is mad, dying, and will commit suicide etc. etc. The Countess of course rushed to Elberfeld and here I am once more alone!

And she telegraphs to me “Arrived safely—Bowajee well!!!!! Now what’s this? The boy is a fanatic and driven to madness by what he calls the desecration of the Mahatmas. To save Their names he is ready to do anything—even to repudiating Them publicly I verily believe. Well, here we are and nothing to be done. Another calamity, Hartmann is writing my defence! He tells me he was ordered to defend me and now writes what I enclose. “You are perfectly innocent of any wilful imposture.” Is he going to make of me an irresponsible medium? That would be a last stroke to my reputation. What has he said to you? A third calamity. A letter from Buck, Cincinnati. Writes a few lines that I copy. “Can you tell me anything about the Society known as ‘H.B. of L.’ For the sake of the cause of the T.S. in this country send me anything you can on the subject. You can put it in two or three hasty lines, and I particularly desire to know whether Mrs. Kingsford is ‘officially or otherwise connected with it.’ P. Davidson is its outside figurehead. Is the Society he represents old or new? false or true? etc.”


Yours sincerely,


                    J. D. BUCK.


                              136, W. EIGHTH STREET,


                                                        CINCINNATI, O.,




Now what do I know! Do you? It is evident there’s some new treachery emanating from the fair Anna. For mercy sake get information and write him through Mohini if you do not wish to do so yourself. It is very important.

What next? Yes Times—I KNEW they would not publish my letter and really it is for the best. If they did or do, you will see what new vituperation it will

bring. Outside of the Psychists, Theosophists and Spiritualists, no one will

read the Report and the Times is universal. However, I have placed myself in

your hands entirely.

1. My own sister is three years younger than I am (Mdme. Jelihovsky).

2. Sister Lisa is by father’s second wife, he married in 1850 I believe a

Baroness von Lange. She died two years after. Lisa was born I believe in 1852 --

am not sure, but think I am right. My Mother died when my brother was born 6

months after in


—•— 160    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

1840 or 1839 -- and this I can’t tell. For mercy sake do not name her—what have the poor dead to do with all this vile thing called phenomena and H. P. B.!

3. Writing in French we Russians sign de before our names if noblemen of the

“Velvet Book”. In Russian—unless the name is German when they put von—the de is dropped. We were Mademoiselles de Hahn and von Hahn now—I would not put the de and never did to my Blavatsky name, though the old man was of a high noble family of the Ukraine—from the Hetmann Blavatko, becoming later Blavatsky in Russia and in Poland Count Blavatsky. What more? Father was a Captain of Horse Artillery when he married my mother. Left service after her death, a Colonel.

Was in the 6th Brigade and came out a Sous Capitaine already from the Corps des Pages Imperiaux. Uncle Ivan Aleksievitch von Hahn was Director of the Ports of Russia in St. Petersburg. Married first to the demoiselle d’honneur—Countess Kontouzoff, and then en secondes noces another old maid of honour (a very stale one) Mdle. Chatoff. Uncle Gustave married first Countess Adlerberg—then the daughter of General Bronevsky etc. etc. I need not be ashamed of my family, but am of being “Mdme. Blavatsky,” and if you can make me naturalised in Great Britain and become Mrs. Snookes or Tufmutton I will “kiss hands” as they say here. I do not joke. Otherwise I cannot return to India.I am hard on S. D. What will come out of it I do not know but facts, facts and facts are heaped in it all relating to Christian robbery and theft.             

                                                Yours alone and shivering,


                              H. P. B.

            Love to Mrs. Sinnett and yourself.


              See my writing on the                                             



              3, 4, and 5 lines. 2                                               


     29th December, 1885.


Yours of the 19th October reached me duly. We are all very glad indeed to hear

that you have found in Europe “what you vainly searched for in India”—“staunch, fearless friends—whose devotion to Master and yourself has not wavered one hair’s breath.” 3 It seems that we poor Indians in the eyes of yourself and the Masters, have lost all the little merit we ever possessed

1  The letter of Kandhalavala mentioned by H. P. B. in the previous letter—ED.

2 This sentence is in H. P. B.’s handwriting.—ED.

3   This is apparently a perfect replica of H. P. B.’s own writing.—ED.


—•— 161    THE OPINION  OF  A  HINDU   —•—

and yet I believe your friends in India are the better gold for all the fault

that you may find with them. It is one thing for those to profess implicit

belief in you who have not to face a dire scandal, and quite a different thing

to live in the midst of daily calumny and unflinchingly do our duty towards

those we love without making a fuss or writing about our inner convictions to a

prejudiced public, particularly when we cannot muster sufficient facts to give

the lie to a scandal which only the Mahatmas could refute.

You are scarcely aware what a difficult task we had when the alleged letters

appeared. Poor Sassoon wavering and ready to side with the public. Ezekiel’s

brother impatient to rush into print with a lot of matter collected haphazard

from the conversation they had with you and scarcely knowing whether he was

going to do you or Sassoon harm. Ezekiel scarcely remembering all the details

and I knowing nothing as to what actually happened during your two visits. In

spite of all that, I made the best of the situation and sent two letters signed

by Ezekiel to The Times of India which greatly restored the peace of mind of our fellows and sympathisers. It was the Poona Branch that did the most to restore confidence and at best a hundred members if not more have been kept perfectly steady by me. Last year at the convention they were just about to make a mess by rushing into the arms of the law. I had intuitively grasped the real danger that lay before us from the very first day of the publication of those blessed letters and in spite of all difficulties I came to Adyar and helped along with others to avoid a course which would have sealed the fate of the Society and overwhelmed us with eternal ruin and shame. Whatever the truth—it was not in a Court of Justice that you were to have it.

If you want to know the plain truth it is this, that belief in you has not been

altogether shaken but the . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .1




There’s the copy of Moorad Ali—who died raving mad, of Bishen-lal and other

vain, weak, and selfish characters—who end at the first temptation as raving

madmen or commit suicide. The three charges brought by Bowajee are infamous

lies. What I wrote to the Hindu or some Hindu was that Col. O. did not know

Master as well as I did; that he had never seen him as I have,

1  The remainder of the letter is missing.—ED.


—•— 162    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY  —•—

in body once and the rest of the time in astral or maya shape therefore—etc.

that’s all. This is now disfigured. Charge (2). Never have I nor poor Col. done

such an infamy. Bowajee says that what even Hodgson did not dare to say—namely that I had used Masters’ names for filthy money-matters. I shall write to

Hurrissingjee and ask him to send me a certificate to the effect.

On the contrary when he wanted to spend Rs. 10,000 on a shrine, and give some

thousands to the Society and that stupid Temple of Religions or something, I

told him in Master’s name not to do it; and I know Mahatma K. H. wrote to him

not to spend his money on such things; that if he wanted to do anything let him

bring his son to Adyar. He did not bring him—and the child died. Now this madman knows it all and yet disfigures facts, has dishonoured O. and me before the Gebhards far worse than Hodgson ever could. Well, it is all my fault again. I


ought to have said to you, at least, the truth that he had been repudiated and

sent away by the Master for something I cannot tell. But, as Master in His

extreme kindness told me to be kind to him, I was, and loved him as I love

Mohini. The boy turns to be a wild beast, an unprincipled liar, and if he comes

to London I will keep no longer silent screening a chela as I have—though a

fallen chela. 3rd charge. My heart felt it; what, is it the few lines that

Master wrote on a letter to you? I knew nothing of it and did not want to know

and this is brought against me as a new charge.

My dear Mr. Sinnett, the Society is as good as dead. It is he, who psychologised the Arundales and all in London, and it is he who, to get his revenge will turn them all back and ruin it. IT IS DEAD now in Europe and no mistake. I do not care for my reputation, I cared for the Cause and Masters. They remain with me, and Their Cause and Society he buried under a heap of dirt. Franz has found a fetish, and worships it. Well, LIAR FOR LIAR, if I am to be taken for one; impostor for impostor, he is the biggest of the two. But behold—the Occult laws—behold Karma and the result of desecrating the mysteries, of desecrating holy names. I have explained in my letter to the Gebhards and Countess the injustice of their suspicions—I have shown it—and can do no more. I am lost for ever for the Society, and the Society is dead in Europe: I have resigned every connection with the European Societies and say good-bye to you all.

                                               Leave me to my fate.




                                          H. P. B.


—•— 163    COL.  OLCOTTS  “TEMPLE  OF  HUMANITY”   —•—




When the first letters had gone to you the Countess who had told me that D. N.

boasted of having in his possession a document to prove our criminal forgery of

a letter of Mah. K. H. asking for money and promising to cure a son of

Hurrissingjee, 1 I sat thinking what could be his foundation for such a horrid

lie. Then the idea flashed upon me that about 3 months ago, when I received a

letter from Hurrissingjee (the copy of which I now enclose for you to keep

safely till need comes to use it  2 )-- D. N. who read all my letters was

furious. He then raved against Olcott and I was mad too. For it was his fault,

his eternal American flapdoodle and idiotic plans and schemes for Adyar. This is what took place: --

You have perhaps heard, that Hurrissingjee (Thakur of Baunagar’s cousin) took it into his head to build a shrine for the portraits of the two Masters and meant

to spend over it 10,000 rupees. He several times asked Master; He would not

answer. Then he asked Olcott, who bothered Mah. K. H. through Damodar, as I had refused point blank to put such questions to Masters. Then the Mahatma answered “Let him talk with the chelas about it I do not care” or something to that effect. Well Damodar and Chundra Coosho I think and others went to work to make a plan of the shrine. Even the dirty Coulomb, was called in for his

draughtsman’s capacities. We were in Europe then. But as soon as we were gone came the Coulomb row. When we returned, Hurrissingjee, to show that the exposure had no effect on him, wanted to sell a village and build the shrine quand meme.

The day after my return Mahatma told me to write to Hurrissingjee that He

expressly forbid spending such amount of money. That it was useless and foolish.

So I wrote. Then came the anniversary and Hurrissingjee sent a delegate for

himself as he was sick. When the superlatively idiotic idea of a Temple of

Humanity or Universal Brotherhood came into Olcott’s pumpkin, the delegate, when the others were subscribing, was asked by Olcott and he said (in full convention in the Pandala before hundreds of people, “I believe His Highness wants to subscribe Rs. 1,000 --“ I said to Olcott “too much—it’s a shame”—but he pitched into me for my trouble and as I was then sitting there in the light of a prisoner in dock—I shut up. Well; Olcott came

1 “Unfortunately he said to the Countess that he had left it at Wurzburg, and

asked her not to tell me as I would hunt for and destroy it!”

2   see Letter No. LXVa.—ED.


—•— 164    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

one day and said, “Do ask Master to permit me to have money (generally)

subscribed for the Temple.” So I sent his temple and himself to a hot place and

said I would not. Then he went to Damodar, and D.—asked I think, for two or

three days after I heard through Damodar that the prohibition to Hurrissingjee

of spending money on such flapdoodles had been removed and that Hurrissingjee had a letter to that effect. I remember as though it was to day Dj. Khool’s voice laughing and saying “He will catch it with his temple, the gallant

Colonel.” Next time D. K. I asked why was the prohibition removed when the very idea of the temple was stupid, and some people went against it. He said—“Well you ought to know that when there is a strong desire on both sides Masters never interfere. They cannot prevent people from hanging themselves.” I paid no great attention to these words then, I thought they referred to the foolishness of the “temple.” I understand them now.

Three or four months ago I received from Hurrissingjee the letter the copy of

which is enclosed. This is the great document and proof of our joint crime. Mr.

D. N. said on reading it that Col. Olcott alone desecrated Master’s name by

mixing them with money matters and I agreed with him. Now he comes out, and says that I must have precipitated that letter since the Master (he KNOWS it!!) could never condescend to mix his name with such a disgusting money-matter, “sons” and other things. Now I ask you what is there of so incriminating in the words of Master as quoted by Hurrissingjee? He had foolishly attributed the birth of his son to the Master’s “blessings.” He had bothered Master to permit him to subscribe at least for a bit of the “Temple” if not for a whole shrine and

received these words in answer. “If you so rejoice over the birth of a son—then

you may, if you choose subscribe, and then one day you may be able to bring to

us also your son.” What have I to do with this? -- Does Master guarantee his

life in them? Master ordered him to come to Adyar and bring his newly born son

there foreseeing that the malaria in Bhownuggar would kill the baby if he

remained. This was said beforehand. Hurrissingjee never brought his son, never

gave anything towards the temple (very luckily) -- and wrote me this desperate

and foolish letter. But now, when according to D. N.’s theory Hurrissingjee was

terribly mad with us for it—this same mad prince, was at the Anniversary and

subscribed 2,000 rupees toward expenses at Adyar, and see how reverentially he

writes to me. Well keep this “damaging” document if you please, in case of my

death, or to confound Mr. D. N. He has made a horrible cruel mischief but I pity

him. I had no answer yet from him to my threats to expose him. Very likely he




give me back “cheek” and impudence. I am prepared for all. I have indeed become a corpse inside and now come what may.




                                                                          H. P.


Please do not lose “letter” and keep it, I found it in a drawer where all my

letters are kept by D. N. and this copy was taken by him at my desire for I sent

the original to Olcott to blow his American brains with.






H. P. B.






31st July, ‘85.


We have to thank you very much for the Samovar which you were kind enough to bring for us from Europe. Our Respected President has already forwarded it to us and we have kept it as a table ornament thinking it too sacred for use.

Of course you must have heard through the Hdqrs., about the deaths of Mirzan

Moorad Ally and our brother Daji Raj, the Thakore Saheb of Wadhinan. We all are sorry for the latter, as he was too young to die and though perverse at times

was yet a Theosophist. Our revered Madame, you also know that through the

blessings of Those whom we revere and worship my wife got a son on the 27th of last November. We all rejoiced at the event but when Guru Deva K. H. wrote to me the following lines about him—“Since you rejoice so over the birth of a son of your hopes that is sent to you, you may on his behalf if you choose subscribe towards a temple of Universal Brotherhood,” x x and again “One day you may be able to bring to us also your son”—our joy was really boundless. We imagined he was in his former birth some great personage and looked upon him with great concern mingled no doubt with respect. We had no idea that his life was to be so short and would thereby my wife’s life be rendered more wretched than ever; as before the birth of our son she was at ease, happy and contented with her lot.

Would it that he was not sent to us. We who have not attained the heights of

Aparokshagnamam cannot in this Ashram understand the intricate webs woven by the laws of inexorable Karma.

Somehow or other our Branch seems very unlucky in its Presidents. The first died in insanity, the second by consumption, whilst I myself the third am now

suffering the loss of an only son.

We, who are staunchly devoted to Them, had no idea that


—•— 166    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

such a calamity was in our lot. We thought we all were under Their protection.

He was sure to die sooner or later. But we feel that we have not yet been fully

worthy of Their protection. Our Karma!

We intend building a villa at Headquarters and passing the remainder of our

lives in the service of the Theos. Society. Of course, we are not going to sell

our villages at present. In this we follow the advice of our Blessed Master K.

H. A word from you will be a great consolation to us both as it will afford

soothing balm to our wounds.

                                                          Hoping you are in an

excellent health,


         I remain, Revered Madame


                               Yours ever devotedly


     (Signed)              HURREESINGHJEE ROOPSINGHJEE


                                             (True Copy) BABAJEE







Secret and Private.


I have humbled and brought him down—send you his letter to read and keep for me.

He knows well that only through my efforts and prayers can he be forgiven by MY MASTER who will influence and ask Mahatma K. H. to forgive him what he has done four years ago and what he has done now. He is cured I believe. It cost me a terrible effort to health, my conscience and a new record on my Karma but I have SAVED THE SOCIETY. No matter, let me suffer torture and die a slow death—let only the T.S. be saved and Their names glorified later on, if not now. The little wretch would commit suicide if I were not to forgive him. He is really devoted to Masters and in terrible fear of Them now. And really I believe it was a remnant on him of his grandmother’s sorcery that comes occasionally upon him.

Poor fellow. I now pity him, it is so hard to be on probation. The temptations

are so terrible! But I beg of you to keep his secret—not to let him know that

you are aware he is not the one that came to you the first time. Not to say one

word if you would not raise the devil in him once more. Let us keep this letter

of his as a threat never to be used I hope against the poor boy. You understand

now why he so avoided you, was in such dread of meeting you. Please call Mohini and take his word of honour not to let Bowaji know that I sent you his letter. Let him read it, and ponder over. Too much adulation have spoiled both.


—•— 167    D.  N.  A  FANATIC   —•—

And my pitching into both as a contrast between me and the veneration of others

has made D. N. hate me. But now he repents, I think sincerely, let us drop it,

for even he may be very useful to the poor Society in its present troubles. But

for all of you theosophists, it must be a new proof that though the Masters

cannot interfere with regular Karma, They can and will interfere always at the

last and supreme danger, and it was the greatest of all—on account of the

personal influence of the boy as a supposed, personal, accepted, and regular

chela of the Masters. In this I am not to be blamed. I only carried out the

orders of silence and had he behaved discreetly he would be by this time a real

regular chela, though certainly not as much so as the real Dharb. Nath.


                                  Yours ever


                                                H. P. B.


                                           with a lighter heart.

I still adhere to my first idea that he must be prevented from coming to London.


Private and Confidential.


There’s news for you enclosed. Please keep it quiet and do not mention it even

to Mohini. Here is where danger lies, not in what Hodgson or Coulomb can say.

Here’s a fanatic for you of the blackest dye. You do not know yet those Southern Brahmins. D. N. is capable of what he threatens at any moment. he is capable of taking upon himself murder, accuse himself of lying and having helped to INVENT the Masters, of anything. He is an occult Nero quite capable of burning Rome and burying himself under its remains. He says the attempt of this century is a dead failure and accuses ME of desecrating the Masters, and all Europeans of the same. In one sense he is not wrong. Only he miscalculates, inasmuch such an outbreak of fanaticism that sacrifices himself, country, friends all to save his MASTER’S name—is just that which proves the existence of the Master he tries to obliterate from people’s minds.

Well, there it is. I have suspected it for months. The fiend of fanaticism has

possessed himself of the unfortunate boy and we are all hanging on a thread.

What a triumph for Hodgson if he carries out his threats! Told you all this many

a time. Said to you this even at Simla. And remember, things have come to that

point that THE MASTERS are looking on and will not stir a


—•— 168    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

finger to prevent the smallest thing. Karma is raging and everyone has to work

the best he can and knows how. But do not write to the Gebhards or any one I

told you. Do not for mercy sake, as otherwise you will only precipitate matters.

Leave the Countess and myself to act upon him soothingly.




                                             H. P. B.




Enclosed two letters—one famous and phenomenally brought by the Countess. To make it short. What Babaji’s little game is:

(1) To make away with all phenomena.

(2) To show that the philosophy given out by you through Mah. K. H. is false,

misunderstood, and that what he (Babaji) preaches now is the only true one.

(3) Having no other means to discredit the past he throws suspicions on all

phenomena. Declares that: --

(a) No letters or notes could have ever been written by Masters.

(b) That They can never appear as you will find now the Gebhards believing.

(c) That what the Countess saw was not Master but an Elemental evoked by my

powers—I—a sorceress.

(d) That Masters have not blamed him yet—therefore he is right etc. These are

his chief points. Now—

Last night as I was answering the Gebhards (see letter opened by the Countess

for you) and was at the end—the Countess sitting on the arm of the big arm chair and looking over. I had not come to the words about the phenomenon produced through D. N. Babaji at Torre del Greco before the Bergens and was thinking, trying to recollect the circumstances well, so that he could not get rid of the fact that hardly a few months since he was himself heart and soul in the

phenomena line. I was doubtful describing the scene, whether the Gebhards so

much under his influence would believe me. I felt depressed and miserable. When suddenly the Countess arose and went into the drawing room. A minute after she reenters and says, “Look here what I have found! Master’s voice told me go there (drawing room) open third drawer and you will find a letter beginning with ‘My dear Mohini’ written by Babaji.” It was a letter I had no idea of! A letter which will prove to the Gebhards that if he (D. N.) regarded the


—•— 169    INSTRUCTIONS  TO  SINNETT  RE  D. N.   —•—

Masters’ letters with such veneration then—then nothing had happened since that any one should regard Masters’ letters now as “Spook letters”—and that if I am to be considered a fraud then he must be my accomplice. How glad I was I can hardly tell you! I copied it for the Gebhards to send the original to you. Keep it, with care—it is the weightiest proof against D. N.’s changed feelings. He speaks in it even of Chunder Cushoo—of his receiving direct letters from Master etc. He says he was made many times by his Master (K. H.) to deliver letters to Olcott—never yet by my guru.—etc. Then came Master’s voice the words that will be copied for you by the Countess. He says: No—we do not approve (gave his real name and I replaced it by that of Babaji). Now, if you will follow a fool’s advice do the following. When you have read his letter (D. N.’s to Mohini, a friend to whom he was not likely to say lies, or deceive him, as proof of great weight) -- write to D. N. the following. Say that you know his little game—which is evident! to overthrow His Master’s philosophy and doctrines and to set up his Ethics in their place. (Ethics of which he knows still less!) That you know that he assumed the name of the real Dharb. Nath.—the latter only willing to go to Simla and he waiting at Darjeeling (his perfect picture!); that you know that he told you, and others  I  besides what he was ordered to say—a pack of lies, and is thus guilty of having acted under false pretences; that he acted again under false pretences at Bombay and everywhere else, and that unless he goes back to India immediately you shall use your influence as an Englishman to bring him before the law, which as he knows recognises no phenomena—frighten him.

He will not be able to prove that it was he in Darjeeling and another at Simla. He will be frightened. This one was a chela only three months old when he came to live with us. I cannot tell you all now, but will as soon as we either fall and die

as a Society or remain firm and unshaken. But what is needed is—the threat that

you knowing his (supposed) imposture at Simla, and his real one at Madras and

elsewhere are mistaken. Of course we can do nothing here without a scandal for

ourselves—but in India he would find himself terribly frightened—if he thinks

you will write about him to authorities in Madras and elsewhere. Frighten him,

and make the thing easy for him to change and become harmless by adding that you promise him if he recants his evil lies never to open your mouth about him not even to the Gebhards. But that if he attempts to come to London, or Munich or remain long in Europe that you will expose him. This letter of his to Mohini I

now send you that you may even show him and tell him what I advise you but do not tell I told you, because  I do not know whether he spoke with you at Madras?


—•— 170    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

he would repeat it to Babaji. Frighten, poor dear Mohini and make him see the

horror of Babaji’s charges. Well, do the best you can.




                                                                           H. P.




                   POST OFFICE TELEGRAPHS.

Handed in at WURZBURG.                                                          


                 Received Jan. 29.

SINNETT, 7, Ladbroke Gardens Kensington London

Chela repents swears devotion do not write to him keep silent till letters

explain. Upasika


Please keep this strictly private.


My telegram was fruitless then—so be it. You are on a false track and have

committed un faux pas. You misunderstood me. He has as much right to call

himself Dharbagiri Nath, as “Babaji.” There is—a true Dh. Nath, a chela, who is

with Master K. H. for the last 13 or 14 years; who was at Darjeeling, and he is

he of whom Mahatma K. H. wrote to you at Simla. For reasons I cannot explain he remained at Darjeeling. You heard him ONCE, you never saw him, but you saw his portrait his alter ego physically and his contrast diametrically opposite to him morally, intellectually and so on. Krishna Swami’s, or Babaji’s deception does not rest in his assuming the name, for it was the mystery name chosen by him when he became the Mahatma’s chela; but in his profiting of my lips being

sealed; of people’s erroneous conceptions about him that he, this present Babaji

was a HIGH chela whereas he was only a probationary one and now cast off (of

which he knows nothing yet, as I am told, and ordered to tell you privately and

confidentially, never to him, as he would either commit suicide, or RUIN THE

SOCIETY IN HIS REVENGE). Now do not ask me anything more, for if I had to be hung, publicly whipped, tortured I would not, never would dare tell you anything more. You speak of “deceptions,” mysteries, and concealments in which I ought “never to be involved.” Very easily said by one, who is not under the obligation of any pledge or vow. I wish you, with your European notions of truthfulness and “code of honour” and this and that would try for one fort-


—•— 171    THE  LAWS  OF  OCCULTISM   —•—

night. Now choose: -- either to proclaim the little you do know, and that I was

permitted to let you know for your own guidance—and thus throw one more shadow of opprobrium upon the blessed Masters—upon Mahatma K. H. who introduced to you and recommended His own chela—and will be regarded also as a deceiver, a liar, one who palmed off upon you a probationer of one year, making you believe he was a favourite chela of his having lived with him for ten years—or keep it secret, for people will never understand the whole truth, not even the Spiritualists.

Tell a Spiritualist—that a Spirit, a “dear departed one” got into some medium

who thus personated that “departed spirit” his very features assuming for the

time being the exact likeness of that Spirit—and every will believe and

support you. Tell them that one living D. N. came to you at Simla, and another

living D. N. the prototype of the first remained at Darjeeling and still remains

and lives now even to this day with the Masters—and people will call us all

liars, deceivers, and humbugs.

Yet all this would be nothing—in comparison with the new sacrilege—with a loud or even implied inference that a MAHATMA whoever he may be had acted deceitfully in the matter. It is that ignorance of Occult transactions that gave such a hold to Hodgson and Massey and others. It is my obligatory absolute silence that now forces me to live under the shower of people’s contempt. It is to be or not to be: we Occultists devoted to Masters have either to put up with Their laws and orders, or part company with Them and Occultism. I know one thing, that if it came to the worst and Master’s truthfulness and notions of honour were to be impeached—then I would go to a desperate expedient. I would proclaim publicly that I alone was a liar, a forger, all that Hodgson wants me to appear that I had indeed INVENTED the Masters and thus would by that “myth” of Master K. H. and M. screen the real K. H. and M. from opprobrium. What saved the situation in the Report was that the Masters are absolutely denied. Had Hodgson attempted to throw deception and the idea that They were helping, or encouraging or even countenancing a deception by Their silence—I would have already come forward and proclaimed myself before the whole world all that was said of me and disappeared for ever. This I swear “BY MASTER’S BLESSING OR CURSE”—I will give a 1000 lives for Their honour in the people’s minds. I will not see THEM desecrated.Now do as you please. I asked you by telegraph not to say or write anything to Bowaji. Now he has a hold on us not we on him by that accusation; for he is cunning enough to know that whatever you, and the Countess and I know to be the



—•— 172    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

          the world in general will not believe it, and that such theosophists

as the Gebhards for instance would only have to choose between his word and

mine. And he has so prejudiced them against Olcott and myself and the phenomena and even your Esoteric Buddhism doctrines, he has so psychologised them into the belief that I am psychologising the Countess and yourself—that it will be a terrible work to undo what he has done.

Mohini is sure to take his defence as a Hindu; and now that he is himself in

trouble may side with him (Bowaji) though I do not know for certain, it all

depends upon whether Mohini is guilty or not in the Leonard case. If he is—then

he is a ruffian and a hypocrite capable of anything. If he is not then he is a

martyr. You see I am kept entirely in the dark about him, Mohini. What do I know about him, his real inner life except what the Masters allow me, know and tell me? He may be the blackest villian and Masters have cast him off as a

probationer long ago—for what I know. But I do hope he is innocent for I have a great affection for him more than he knows. I am so lonely, so miserable in my

earthly human affections that having lost all those I love—through death and the

T.S. associations (my sister, for one, who writes me a thundering letter calling

me a renegade a “sacrilegious Julian the Apostate,” and a “Judas” to Christ) I

love the two boys. Well I feel Mohini is all right morally, but oh God if he

stops in London long he is lost.

Well, please a bit of business. I have absolute need of Mohini for S. D. and the

glossary of Sanskrit words and other things unless he comes, or copies, all such

words from MSS that I will send to you. I can never be ready by next autumn and this work is another kind of a “hairpin” than Isis. There are more secrets of

initiation given out in the Introductory Chapt. than in all Isis. And what comes

after is still more interesting. But I am utterly miserable about its mechanical

arrangement. I have written and rewritten about twenty times this blessed Chapt.

I have cut off and shifted the paras: and passages and sections and sub-sections

until I am sick of it. Fancy Masters giving out the secret of the “Divine

Hermaphrodite” even! and so on.

Please now keep Bowaji’s secret. I send you his letter of to-day—copies from

yours to him and his to you. Please compare carefully his original and this

copy, for I have reasons to believe that he has added something in the copy in

which I find plenty of his fibs. But never mind—he is right to call the charge

of the name D. N. being a false one “a fib—“ for it was never meant so. What I

said and repeat is that he is not the real D. N., the Chela who lived with his

Master for so many years. Yet he is a


—•— 173    D.  N.  A.  “CHELA “   —•—

Chela so long as Masters have not proclaimed publicly and through the

Theosophist that he has failed—and, he is D. N. this being as he truly says—his

“mystery name.”






                         H. P. B.

I have a letter from Russia, Moscow, offering me if I leave the Antichrist (!!)

T.S. one thousand roubles in gold (5,000 francs) monthly and a contract for

several years to write exclusively for two papers. I wish they may get it.




I told you not to say one word about D. N. I cannot say a little, without saying

all to the world if you make it public. And if I do, then the L.L. will indeed

be smashed if even Bowaji and I are smashed with it. Bowaji has a right

according to Hindu custom to assume any “Mystery” name he chooses—even though there may be another man of the same name. You alone know a little, or may suspect, having heard it mentioned and rumoured in India that there are two D. N.’s. But I cannot prove it, without bringing out all I was ORDERED to keep

silent upon. When (Oh Lord, when!) shall you realise that our laws and rules are

not your (European) laws and rules! Now please do as I tell you in this case if

you would not bring another and a worse scandal upon our heads.

I have received a letter from Miss Arundale who says that Bowaji is coming as

their “private guest” on Sunday—today—now, when you are reading this letter. The only way to save the situation is for you to send for Miss Arundale and give her the enclosed letter for her and read it with her, and then show her the letter

of the Countess to you, which she says she gave you permission to (have you not received her letter to this effect?). Let Miss Arundale, so devoted to the Cause and Masters know all you know under pledge of secrecy so far. Let her, if the little man is there already, tell him its all right and let him keep quiet, and

then watch him and see what he says and does. If he keeps quiet, and does no

harm why should we harm him? He is a chela, of whatever colour—and it is His

Master’s look out, not our business to reject and spurn him. For mercy and pity

sake do not drive me to a desperate act. I do not care any more for my

reputation. I only care to have Their holy names unsullied in the hearts of the

few Theosophists who know Them, believe in them, and honour Them, whatever my mistakes and faults and


—•—  174    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

the treacherous doings of other persons. But to keep them so unsullied, I shall

have to resort to a desperate act now that the boy will be driven also to

despair for an act that he has done, indeed, in a fit of madness. You are too

“matter of fact” my dear Mr. Sinnett, and this is your mistake in all

theosophical matters. Do consult with Miss A. and do remember that the things of our occult world are not to be measured by the standards of your world.

                 In haste,





P. B.



It is again my fault, my inaccuracy in expressing myself. I ought to have

written “He assumed the attitude of the real D. Nath. Besides what he was

ordered to say—a pack of lies (useless as an object); and if the whole truth

were told, he would be (found) guilty (by the uninitiated world and every

profane) of false pretences.” And so it would be. I do not make an immaculate

being of him by far, even from the standpoint of the Occult World I am talking

about, no more than I am immaculate. But I say that if he had the right to call

himself Dharb. Nath he had no right to abuse of this position by assuming an

attitude which only the real Dh. Nath would have the right to assume, and which

he never would, however. He knows and realises it fully—that’s why I have

subdued him. And it is just because he is also alive to the fact that “mixed up

with a European movement, tanglements of this sort are (not only apt, but sure)

to produce evil—that I could frighten him, and thus save the Esot: doctrine, our

teachings and the whole from a new scandal and on false charges (in the occult)

and quite correct ones in the worldly, deceptive light that represents

everything upside down. The Countess knows all -- (excepting one thing she must not know); and she says that were even the whole truth to be known I would never be blamed because I only did my duty to Masters; and that he took advantage of the position assigned to him temporarily—to harm me and the Cause, and several Theosophists, who see in him the real, instead of the reflection of Dh. N. the high chela. I too was made a reflection several times and during months; but I never abused of it, to try and palm off my personal schemes on those who mistook H. P. B. of Russia, for the high Initiate of xxx whose telephone she was at times. And this why the MASTERS have never withdrawn Their confidence from me, if all others (saving a very few) have. My position is simply infernal,



HORRID—because I, as a European born and having been brought up as much as any one else in the worldly notions of truth and honour—have to put up with the full appearances of fraud and deception with regard to my best friends—to those I love and honour most. But such is the result of serving the Occult and having to live in the profane and public world. Solovioff has turned round against me like a mad dog—for reasons as mysterious as they can be for me. He pretends that I did pronounce the words I hear for the first time “Ah le coquin, c’est la seconde fois qu’il nous joue ce tour la,” etc. when I know that I could have never pronounced them, that they would be an infernal lie, if I had, for Mohini, to my knowledge, has never been untrue to his chelaship since he joined the Society—as to what he did before I care little and it is none of my business. He may have raped and seduced 20 virgins from 10 to 80 years respectively,

including his own grandmother. There are no immaculates in our Society, and if

we took in only such that there would remain in it—void and nihil, instead of

living members. What I remember to have said to Solovioff—not on that day when I opened the letter but at some other time, is something I cannot repeat to poor Mohini. Speaking of the good the Society had done in the name of the Masters I told him what a profligate, sensualist and drunkard Mohini’s father was, and how he had now become a regular Yogi. Whether he misunderstood or disfigured this intentionally I do not know—but if the latter then coupling this with some dirty stories told of Mohini by Hodgson he must have mixed up all and brought it as an evidence against him to please Mme. de Morsier. I wish the Paris Society and a half of the German were smashed. And if it goes on—I will smash them myself, as ordered. Solovioff is mad with me for his unsuccess of what you know and what I told you. But I confide and trust in your honour not to repeat it, nor anything I tell you here. Mr. Sinnett—you are my last, real male friend in Europe. If you were to despise me—I would commit suicide I think. I have learnt to feel for you that which I thought I never would for an Englishman, or a Russian either. I forgive England—for your sake. And Masters honour you in Their hearts I KNOW.



  Yours ever,



                  H. P. B.



Your draft for Times is excellent. I was ready to copy and send it—when suddenly a horrible idea flashed through my mind. Now, however great the scandal—it does reach only those


—•— 176    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

interested in the phenomena. Suppose my letter is printed in The Times (why I

doubt it I cannot say, but I do). Called in it base and accused of ungentlemanly

behaviour, all the S.P.R. will pounce upon me and Replies with further slander

and calumnies will pour upon me in The Times. Everyone will have a word to say.

The Times are universally read—therefore the new slanders or maintaining of the

old ones will be given still further publicity. What shall I do then? The Times

will refuse printing lengthy replies to all and then I will be again worsted and

then indeed publicly dishonoured. Think of it and telegraph Yes or No; or only

in the case you do want me still to send it to The Times. My idea was to print

the Protest and circulate it widely among Theosophists and Spiritualists and

especially in India to make them feel how unfairly I have been dealt with.

Please consult about it and reply. My heart turns against The Times as something very dangerous for me. Who am I, poor unfortunate old Russian—helpless and defenceless, and see the power they are. It is only you who can fight them with impunity. I care not for the world’s opinion in general. But I care a good deal about the opinion of those who know me. This protest might be even more strongly written, if it goes only in the Theosophist and is circulated among those who read the Report. Do as you like. You know best and I put myself entirely into your hands,


                                                 Yours ever gratefully,


                                                                         H. P. BLAVATSKY.




I think your letter an excellent one, but I tremble at the thought of putting it

in The Times. In the first place it will circulate the existence of these

slanders and calumnies all over the world and then will come virulent and bitter

replies. Massey, Myers and all of them. However you are an Englishman and know the ways of the world well, so think it all calmly over in your own mind, weigh the results and then give your answer. Were only the spy business concerned it would be excellent. But think of the replies, how they will drag in forged letters etc., how they will call upon her to produce her innocence in a Court of Law—think it well over and then let us know. Madame leaves herself entirely in your hands.

Now about her Memoirs, three things should certainly be omitted in them, first

the adopted child as there are many who can bring unpleasant family secrets to

light on that point – again

I   This communication in the handwriting of Countess W. has been added to H. P. B.’s letter.—ED.


—•— 177    MEDICAL  EVIDENCE  ON  H. P. B.   —•—

Madame’s travelling about so much in men’s clothes. Is there not a law in

England to punish women who do such things. At any rate it would shock English prudery—lastly no mention of the Mahatmas, their names have been already sufficiently desecrated. Let us keep them sacred for the future. The doctor has given me to understand that Madame is still a virgin.


                                                           Yrs. truly,



    C. W.



I enclose the medical certificate of Prof. Oppenheimer who made a minute and

exact examination “since my illness finds itself complicated now by some

congenital crookedness of the uterus as he says—having it appears something to

do with child-bearing (the uterus in general not mine or its crookedness) and

which (though I had always had a dim conception that “uterus” was the same thing as “bladder”) -- which crookedness kills at once the missionaries and their

hopes of proving me the mother of three or more children. He had written a long

and complicated statement of the reason why I could never have not only

children, but anything in the shape of an extra since unless an operation is now

made—they can’t get at that blessed uterus to cure it. I thanked and declined.

Better die than have an operation made. But knowing this (certificate) shall

have probably to be read in my defence—I did not permit him to go into

physiological particulars and asked him simply to certify the fact that I never

had any child or children, nor could I have them.

            What next shall people say?

                                                    Yours dishonoured in my old



                    H. P. BLAVATSKY.

Franz Gebhard and Hubbe Schleiden translated the certificate for you. The Dr.

(Oppenheimer) says that Gynaecological “illness” means “woman’s functions” and shows intactness (as Mme. Noury of Stead’s trial has it) Hubbe Schleiden

explaining to me blushingly that “it is a delicate and scientific way of putting

it, and very clear.” Don’t show this to anyone—I write it to you as a trusted

friend—its real SHAME to speak of it—though I am decided that my friends and defenders should know it. Keep the certificate.


—•— 178    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—


Jan. 29, 1886.


Enclosed find the results of karma for defending an innocent though foolish man, and—for writing private and confidential letters to a woman of hysterical


Please tell me what I have to do? Countess says that I have either to go to

London and appear; or that Germany will give me up to England; or that I will be

made to pay £100 for default or perhaps be hung by the neck till I die passing

through a preliminary torture somewhere.

It thus appears that a person who denies that another person was maliciously

seduced—is liable or amenable to law in England. Writing private and

confidential when the person “libelled” is not even named—constitutes a LIBEL?

Is it so? Then all I can say is, that I would prefer living under Chinese and

even Russian laws. Please let me know at once what I am to do. You have my

statement addressed to your Council to investigate Mohini’s Don Juanic crime.

The blows of karma are coming so quick in succession so rapid and unexpected

that it reacted on my nerves—or our nerves rather—and that the Countess and I

are sitting looking at each other and feel convulsed with laughter.

No answer from Bowaji; gloomy—uninterrupted silence. Poor Gebhards, they seem entirely in his hands. The karma of the Countess who insisted to send him to Elberfeld.

Well—keep courage and go on. If we remain ten persons in the Society united

strongly—it cannot die and my Secret Doctrine is there. Only beware of Bowaji

who is a complete lunatic at present.

Yours, at the foot of a karmic Vesuvius covering me with uninterrupted eruptions of mud.


Please answer these questions

            (1) Can they force me to go to London.

            (2) Can they call me into a Court of Law for supposed libel? And if

so can they compel the German Govt. to give me up if I refuse—what is the fine? if there is one. Please consult a lawyer and I will pay, it’s only a trifle.


—•— 179    H. P. B.  LKE  A  BOAR  AT  BAY   —•—




As you are about the only man I now know of incapable of betraying the

sacredness of a private letter by sending it over to an enemy—even to save your

life—I write to tell you two things.

(1) Mohini sent such private letter of mine to Mme. de Morsier; the one I wrote

to him last week with the news that had just reached me that Solovioff had

stepped out as a witness against me in the Mohini business with L.—to show that I knew his supposed crime (for it is a crime if it has happened) all the time

and endeavoured to cover it, i.e. to play a vile part of hypocrisy, sham and

Pecksniffism. Mme. de M. showed it immediately to Solovioff. Result: a

thundering, threatening, sickening letter from Solovioff in which all the

thunder and lightning individual and collective as from Russia are gathered

together and thrown at me. I will write no more to Mohini—nor to any one either

since today.

(2) You better give up the “Madame Blavatsky” Memoirs. If they come out now—you will have all Russia, my relations and the public against you and me—you do not care—I do. Solovioff threatens me moreover that Mr. Blavatsky is not dead but is a “charming centenarian” who had found fit to conceal himself for years on his brother’s property—hence the false news of his death. Fancy the result if you publish the Memoirs and if he is indeed alive and I—no widow!! TABLEAU, and you will lose your reputation along with me. Please put the book by—at least its publication.

I have not decided yet what I will do. But do something I will. Please tell the

part concerning him to Mohini but withhold the rest. I confide this to your

honour. Did you ever picture to yourself an innocent, harmless boar who asked

only to be left to live quietly in his forest, who had never hurt a man, and

against whom a pack of hounds is let loose to get him out of that wood and tear

him to pieces? For some time, of course, as long as he can and that there is

hope for him to save his forest from desecration and himself as the guardian

thereof. But when to those barking, howling, ferocious hounds, animals, hitherto

friendly to the boar join themselves and pursue him for his life-blood then the

boar comes to a dead stop and faces his enemies, ex-friends and all. And woe to the latter. The boar is sure to be murdered, overwhelmed by the number but there will be hundreds of dogs disemboweled and killed in the last and supreme smash.

This is an allegory true to life. Make of it what you like.


—•— 180    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

I learn that Hodgson comes out as a witness of Mlle. L. against Mohini to the

effect that he (Mohini) had another such seduction and love business, in India.

Mr. S. has probably put my exclamation upon reading that first Mohini letter,

“Its the second time such a thing (of chela seduction) happens in the Society”

and putting the Hodgson evidence and gossip about Mohini—which he says is known to all in Paris and London—has made out of it “Le Coquin! c’est la seconde fois qu’il nous joue ce tour la. Il faut l’etouffer cette affaire!”—Clever. He threatens that if I bring his name into this dirty scandal, that all my devils

(meaning MASTERS) will not save me from utter ruin. He speaks of Baron

Meyendorff—of Blavatsky, and the reputation made for me by friends in Russia and elsewhere. The forest is surrounded and the boar is preparing to stop and face the enemy.



                  H. P. B.

Two words in PRIVATE. The Duchess is not such a friend of Mrs. K. and M. as you think. She has unbosomed herself to Olcott and me. She is their victim rather.

She has paid for publishing their P. Way given them her ideas, and they never so

much as thanked her or acknowledged it. They are ungrateful. Now she is our, not their friend. But she seems in awe of the divine Anna. One thing funny though. She tells me that though vegetarians they both drink wine at their meals—claret and liqueur fines—and James the butler adds even and told to the Duchess at dinner before us, that Mrs. K. “is very fond of champagne “!!! Now why does she then denounce you to K. H. as a wine bibber? Now I want to know whether Mrs. K. makes a secret of it, or does (drink wine) openly? It is very important I should know it. Olcott will tell you this. Goodbye—Love to dear Mrs. Sinnett. I wish I could see you but—impossible.



                   H. P. B.

P.S. With regard to Memoirs. May be what Solovioff tells me of old Blavatsky

whom you (I) have prematurely buried”—is a wicked fib of his, thinking the news would overwhelm me, and perhaps it is not. I never had an official notification of his death, only what I learned through my Aunt at New York and again here.

“His country seat ruined” he “himself had left years ago” and news had come “he was dead.” I never bothered my brains about the old man: he never was anything to me, not even a legitimate, though hated husband. Yet if it turned out to be truth -- (his father died when 108 and my own grandmother at nearly 112) and we talking all the while of him as though he were


—•— 181    BOWAJI’S  DECEPTION   —•—

in Devachan or Avitchi—it would bring no end of trouble. If you think that the

Memoirs would do good—then do so, only under your own responsibility and over your own name and giving only that which is printed in Russian. On either my Aunt or Sister do not rely. They will not hear of further “desecrations of the

family secrets” as they call them. My Aunt may, perhaps, send two or three

things. My sister is infatuated with Solovioff who set her against me and the

society and poor Mohini—and now she writes to me letters in Mad. de Maintenon’s style—bigoted and as cold and haughty as ice on Mont Blanc. She may go to grass.

My Aunt says that she gave away that portrait and has it no more. I leave thus

the publishing of the Memoirs with you, but I really think it is dangerous now.

Delay the publication for a few months. Do not give it up, but do delay, for I

feel there will come some insulting letters in the papers to add to them so and

so, some dirty scandal as to my supposed three children etc. and what can or

shall I do then? My position is a helpless one. There is not in the whole world

a woman situated more miserably than I am. I am absolutely helpless.

Our Occult friend, the author of the immortal Kiddle flapdoodle, and of the

premature note from Master who wrote with his inner self in the future (for Him

the present), and it came out five minutes too soon at Schmiechen’s—thinks you will appreciate better Bowaji’s position by an illustration of his. There’s a

bootmaker at Torre del Greco named Jesus with the name on his sign board. Now he says no one can call him an “impostor” for calling himself Jesus; but if he allowed people to believe that he was Jesus Christ, and acted in this wise then

he would be one unless he undeceived his public. Bowaji acts or acted as though he were the REAL chela, and this is where the deception begins. An ambassador representing his sovereign during the middle ages had every right and it was his duty to get married as a proxy for his King, and he had a right and it was his duty to shove his right leg into the bride’s bed in great ceremony and before a select court. But if that Ambassador went further and made a child to the Queen in his Master’s name—then he would find himself in a somewhat worse position than even our Mohini.

Sarma is a great friend of the Countess and says he is proud to call himself

one. He talks for any length of time with her alone, and then will come

sometimes and talk to us both; so that she and I hear him and see him at the

same time. I care little for him but the Countess seems very fond of him—so much the better for Mr. Sarma. I send you Olcott’s letter and his suggestions. He seems very cool about the bare possibility of “an Eurasian” as a memorial of

Mohini’s visit to London. It appears


—•— 182    THE LETTERS OF H. P. BLAVATSKY   —•—

I have just been honoured with an election as a C.S.y for life. Very kind of

them, at Adyar. Is Mrs. Sinnett angry with me that she has ceased suddenly

writing? Do tell. Is the “copy” in London or still at Elberfeld? Please let me

know and do “know, dare and keep silent.”






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