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

Letter No. 88


Mr dear Mr. Sinnett,

Yours with enclosures received. Well, what can I say to Mr. Sergeant's prognostication except — he is right. If he knows it astrologically and intuitionally, I know it by the aura whenever I think of India, Egypt and other countries. All the damned goblins of the middle spheres; all the storm-devas, the Hurricane, Water, Fire and Air spooks, are making themselves ready in proportion and apace with the preparations of the terrene inhabitants. But what's the use in telling you what I see, and feel, and hear, and know? You are a Conservative, a deep-water Tory, and my countrymen are ninnies, flapdoodles and jackasses. They have neither the feeling of dignity, nor of the great wrong done. Fancy your Lady Isabella Stuart (or Stewart) Salisbury's daughter, received like a queen at Moscow, dining with the Gen. Governor, Prince Dolgorouki (the old night-cap!) and flirting with Imperial guards, and Katkoff writing that she was received the better and the more honoured, to show the difference between the Russian unpolished bears and her polished "pa" — who treated Russia publicly to a "fraudulent swindler" and bankrupt. Well dear, it's a fact, and no use concealing it to my sorrow and woe: Russia is black with suppressed hatred and swelling like — well, I wont say a bull-frog at a Bull — but like a volcano ready to burst; and I will be a Dutchman if you do not catch it sooner or later. And who pays for it, meanwhile? Why, H. P. B., the "O. L." the natural consort of the no less reviled and slandered "O. G." — for here I am, suspected even of having had a hand in the "million francs" railway robbery, and unable to go home. Oh, how bitterly I do hate you both, England and Russia! How I wish you would bite each other's noses and tails, like the Kilkenny cats, and let honest people go about quietly, and die at home! Well you won't be flirting long with Lady Isabella's "Pa" — he is rolling down and you will have brought down on your back your old renegade of Gladstone, once more. Can't help it. I am alone, nearly half crazy with solitude. (I keep young Fawcett at a great arm's length and see him only five minutes in the evening, keeping my door locked all the time. Just to train him out of the idea that because he is an Englishman and I a Russian, that I will be on the four paws before him) — and I have read more newspapers for the last few months than I have in all my life. I believe I will go for politics now that I am near my sun-set; and just take a little occult revenge on your people who have, and are crucifying me daily. I WILL; I do not joke. I will take care of you though; because every bit of harm you have done to me was never meant, and that you have been almost without a break the best of friends, for me. But then I never try to think of you as an Englishman, but as — well, what you were two thousand years ago. You were a nice chap; only too fast after the impure sex.

Have you read in the last (February) Theosophist the Bhagavat Gita Lecture by Subba Row? Read, if you have not — page 301, from top to bottom. I have just answered an article that will appear simultaneously — unless Cooper Oakley, Subba Row's ame damnee, smuggles it out. But then Judge won't, and I am sure you will rejoice in your Conservative heart as you have never rejoiced at anything so theosophical. Fawcett says it is the most crushing answer; an article which combines studied politeness with "friendly admiration" — and that I have made him eat his own words. He is sure to get a dyspepsia and an indigestion.

You ask my advice in the L.L. business. Now that you have put the question to me you may like to hear, perhaps, what Master remarked several times about the L.L. I cannot repeat to you his words but you may find the spirit of it in the text of Revelation III, 15 and 16. You may judge, and I may leave you to draw your own inferences. So anything to give a fresh impetus is better than inertia. If you remain for a while longer in your present state of lethargy your L.L. will be before another year is over — covered with moss and slime and you will choke in your own products (moral I mean). What's the use asking? You must know Master cannot be satisfied. You CANNOT be "sat upon" nor smashed because the Don Juan is gone and St. Theresa is now in constant religious ecstasies, for I would know very soon all the ins and outs of this horrid conspiracy through some theosophists — because they have no secrets from me, and then I would upset all these French plans. I want the Society to go on with its work, to progress and not to be disturbed with any political complications. I am ready to become an infamous informer of your English Govt. whidh I hate, for their sake, for the sake of my Society and of my beloved Hindus; — yes beloved, though two of them M. and B. are ruining and undermining daily my honour, name, and fame with their lies. But it is not on account of these two failures that I will cease loving my Master's people. Ah, if Master would only show me the way! If He would only say what I have to do to save India from a new blood-shed, from hundreds and perhaps, thousand innocent victims being hung for the crime of the few. For I feel, that however great the harm that will be done, it will end in the English having the best; Master says that the hour for the retirement of you English has not struck nor will it — till next century and that "late enough to see even Dennie an old, old man" as K. H. said some time ago. Therefore, it means only a temporary disturbance, loss of property, people hung — who are innocent, and other people glorified, who are the promoters. I know it. And to think that here I am, with the doors of India closed before my nose! That your Govt. here and in India, is so stupidly short sighted as not to see, that not only I am not, nor ever was a Russian spy — but that the very prosperity, progress and welfare of the T.S. depends on everything in India being quiet for years to come.

Now what's the use writing to you this letter, if you will not believe? I write it because I asked for permission to do so, and was given it, with a significant shrug of the shoulders which I interpreted as meaning — "It will do neither good, nor harm — he won't believe you." But two months ago Masters told me it was serious. Now Russia knows nothing of it, thanks to heaven. So my correspondents inform me at least. But if she did — I swear, I would stick for the Hindus against Russia even. I love my countrymen and country dearly — but I love India and Master still more, and my contempt for the stupidity of Russian Govt. and diplomacy knows no bounds. So here's the situation true, and as clear as crystal.

Ah, my poor Mr. Sinnett, you are a patriot, no doubt, but you are still more a conservative, if you understand what I mean. It must be so, if you do not see that such eternal public slaps on the faces of Russia — "the swindling bankrupt" and the "lying beggar" as your Salisbury called Russia publicly; and such other compliments in your paper to the address of France, can only generate a terrible storm and a general European shower upon you some day. I can assure you, my dear Mr. Sinnett, that if Russia is hated because dreaded — England is hated on general principles. But this has nothing to do with me, and you are welcome to bite each other's tails and noses off, in Europe, if you only do not bring India into trouble.

Now there are two paths before you. One is — burn this letter and think no more of it; the other — to make use of it only in such case if you are sure this will not get into the papers and that my name will be unknown to all except to one having authority and who can warn Lord Dufferin to take care, one, in short, who may take measures against the thing contemplated. But I beg of you, I trust in you as a gentleman, a man of honour and a friend, not to compromise me uselessly. Not because I am afraid of being assassinated by some Frenchman — as I am warned by one of our theosophists — for by so doing the murderer could only oblige me — but because I would indeed be regarded as an infamous mouchard, an informing spy, and this shame is worse than death.

Now, what do you advise me to do? I want your answer, and will do nothing till you answer. Shall I advise Mr. —— to warn Olcott or not? I am afraid poor Olcott will be in a dreadful funk if he learns it — anyhow — do write and answer.

Have you seen the Report for the last anniversary in Jan. Theosophist. There seems a fatality that the Society cannot be chartered. But it went off splendidly. Love to Mrs. Sinnett.

Yours ever truly and sincerely,
H. P. Blavatsky.

Theosophical University Press Online Edition