The Letters of H. P. Blavatsky to A. P. Sinnett

Letter No. 48

6, Ludwig StRASSE,
Sept. 2, 1885.

My dearest Mrs. Sinnett,
Mr. Sinnett & Co.

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 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.

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