(Laura Holloway was an
American theosophist and in this article she recalls the first encounters she had with Blavatsky.)
MADAME BLAVATSKY, A PEN
PICTURE
By an American newspaper writer.
As soon as the arrival of Madame
Blavatsky in England was announced, I felt my opportunity had come for seeing
this widely celebrated woman who was credited with possessing occult powers,
and who was said to be in direct communication with not only the
"Adepts," but with "Maha-Chohan," the Head of the Himalayan
Initiates, the greatest of living souls.
Armed with a letter of introduction
given me by an American friend, I sought her out only to learn that she had
gone to Paris and, it was in Paris, that I subsequently met her. I found her
smoking cigarettes, and, months later, when I took leave of her in· London
before starting for New York, she was again smoking. During that time, whenever
I saw her she was smoking. And, as I had never seen a woman smoke before, her habit
made a deep impression upon me. I may add that it impressed me painfully at
first, but I grew tolerant of it later, believing it to be a manifestation of
diseased nerves, as was subsequently proved.
In Paris, Madame Blavatsky lived
in an apartment in Rue Notre Dames des Champs, and here each evening was gathered
together a strangely assorted company. The first time I called I approached her
through a crowd of French and German gentlemen, accompanied by a friend. She
gave me her hand and after saying she was glad I had come, asked me to be seated
beside her. For a short time we chatted on various ordinary topics, then she
inquired of people she had known in New York, and, finally as guests pressed
about her, she told one of her party to watch over me until she was at liberty
again.
I stood near her for a time
listening to her conversation with others, and she impressed me as clever and vivacious,
occasionally charming, but of a very changeable nature, and not quite at peace
with herself. In many respects she seemed unique, and thinking I was alone and
unnoticed in the crowd, I satisfied myself regarding her characteristics in a leisurely
way, noting her voice, her tricks of speech, her motions, and her manner of
greeting people. The crowd increased and after a time I came to the conclusion
that I would make my departure. As I turned to go towards the door she greatly
surprised me by calling out: "Now that you have summed me up to your
satisfaction, will you please talk with your countryman, Mr. ____, until I can see
you.
I laughingly turned away with
this gentleman-who had steeped to my side, so soon as he had heard the remark
she made, and as I did so I said: "Queer woman that; how did she know what
I was thinking of?"
"She is the most remarkable
woman this age has produced," he answered in earnest tones, and then he
added: "This may not be the verdict of the world, but those who know her
subscribe to it."
"Is that true?" I answered,
"! have heard it declared that she is not a very satisfactory expounder of
the philosophy she teaches."
He quickly replied: "But who
is there who can judge her; who is there who has tried to do what she has already
accomplished?"
I could not combat this and suggested
that he tell me more of her life, and her present line of work. This he did,
talking most entertainingly for some time.
Through all the evening Madame
Blavatsky smoked cigarettes. Luckily she used a very mild Egyptian tobacco, and
the odor of her continuous cigarette was not offensive. Had it been so, her
anti-tobacco friends would have suffered martyrdom. Her beautiful hands were
stained with the weed, and ashes were on her dress and scattered over the carpet
about her. I saw her many times, but never without her tobacco and cigarette
paper and matches.
Strangers meeting her for the
first time, felt as I had done, and were shocked with this habit of hers — but her
daily companions were glad to have her smoke. She was always entertaining when
smoking. and was certain to be irritable when deprived of her precious
cigarette. Smoking with her was a habit that had become second nature; she
could not live without tobacco.
To know her at all was to know
her through clouds of tobacco smoke; to listen to her wonderful flow of conversation
was to hear it in the intervals of silence when she was dreamily, and gently
puffing her cigarette. To nothing else was she half so devoted as to her
cigarette and she was a fascinating smoker. So keen was her enjoyment of this
occupation that others were entertained in watching her indulgence in it and
her easy, restful manner of smoking soothed even those who were opposed to tobacco.
Her temperament was one that required a narcotic; her nature was so tempestuous
that without it no ordinary person could have endured her excitability for a
day.
She was a volcano in petticoats;
a woman, but masculine in her mental attributes. Yet she was the reverse of
"mannishness." She was something different from all the men and women
I had ever seen up to that time or have since seen. There was no assumption of
any kind about her, she made no effort to be anybody's conception of herself,
and she acted her part with as little regard for her own interests as for the
feelings of others. Whatever she was not expected to say in conversation that
she said, brusquely, bluntly, and without thought of consequences. She had the
least regard for the conventionalities, of any person I ever met, and at the
same time she seemed the most sensitive of women when any doubt of her proper
performance of her own duty was manifested.
For the self-love and vanity of
men and women she seemed to have a scornful disregard, and her rudeness and impatience
when forced to witness a display of either, were terrifying. She would exclaim
against the conceit and bigotry of people, in language forcible beyond any
necessity, but she was never aware, apparently, of her roughness of speech.
Strangers were shocked at her lack of self-control, but those who knew her best
seemed to be least concerned over her moods.
In her conduct she was always the
same; indifferent to externals; absorbed in her work, and imperative in her assertions
regarding its value to the world.
Her invariable costume was a
loose, flowing, black, one-piece garment, called an "Abayah." The Egyptian
women wear this kind of dress and it is one vastly becoming and comfortable for
stout people. Every one knows that Madame Blavatsky was a very large woman, but
she never gave one that impression of mere fleshiness which is common to stout women
who wear fashionable tight fitting clothing. She was about medium height and
had very small hands and feet.
Her "abayah" was cut
from a double fold of very wide cloth and had no other tailoring than was
required to fold the six-yard piece and directly in the center of the fold to cut
out a circular piece, and to cut a further opening down the center of the
cloth. The neck and front thus formed was bound with silk and usually a lace ruffling
was inserted. There were no other sleeves than those outlined by the arms when extended
full length, and fastened in loose folds with safety pins.
These were sometimes replaced by a
seam which was removed when the dress required to be cleaned or laundried. With
her beautifully shaped hands and arms there was no need of tight-fitting
sleeves and the simplicity and Grecian outlines of her dress were always
admired. The "abayah" was exactly suited to her size, slow motions,
and sedentary habits; few western women would appear to advantage in it.
At the time that Madame Blavatsky
was in Paris, in the spring of 1884, she had just come from troubles at Adyar; troubles
relating to the charges of fraud and trickery made against her by Madame Coulomb.
And she was constantly in mental turmoil over the real or fancied grievances
inflicted upon her by this woman and her husband.
She would suddenly appeal to almost
perfect strangers to know their opinion of "the situation." And she would
listen to anything of a denunciatory character said regarding these people whom
she believed to have been paid to try to catch her in some fraud-and yet, when
she had opportunity to send messages back to India by a member of the
Theosophical Society, she said to him: "My dear, go and see Madame Coulomb,
she is not the evil one in this matter and let her know how I feel about
her."
And the very next moment she was
rasped into a fury of temper by a remark that Madame Coulomb believed the masters
to be fakes. She could not brook doubt on this subject, nor endure those who
questioned the existence of the "Brotherhood of Adepts." Her devotion
to her "Master" was unswerving and paramount. To question the nature or
the office of the Mahatmas was to give her such provocation to wrath as to unfit
her for immediate self command.
Her ebullitions of temper over
the most trivial things were painful, but fortunately they were fleeting; I
have seen her appal people by her violent emotions one minute, and in the next
show the extreme of indifference. The group of intimates about her paid little
attention to her mental cyclones, well knowing that to do so, was to waste time
uselessly. She impressed me always as a singular contradiction; it was idle to try
to classify her; she could not be measured by class distinction, or be weighed
in any conventional social balance.
I recall one occasion when I sat
with her during a tempest of angry talk over some disagreeable news she had
received from India. Her anger depressed me and I sat mute and miserable, wishing
in my heart that as I could not soothe her, I might escape from her presence.
Suddenly she turned and looked at me as a mother might look at a demure child,
and said in the most winning manner: "My dear, will you have a
cigarette?"
And while I was laughing as a relief
to my feelings, she smilingly made herself a cigarette and then smoked as contentedly
as though life was but an unvarying song to her.
Looking at her one day it occurred
to me she must be perhaps fifty years of age; I learned from others that she
was between fifty and sixty, but I heard her laughingly tell a woman caller
that she was over eighty. Her face was not one lined with care wrinkles, her
hair showed no grey, and her eyes were wonderful in their strength and
clearness. Her mouth, to me, appeared to be the least handsome feature of her
face, but so changeable was the whole face in expression that it sometimes
appeared to better advantage than at others.
Her head was exquisitely shaped,
and she dressed her hair in simple Grecian style, thus adding to its classical
out- lines. The hair was a chestnut brown in color and exceedingly curly. Her hands
were flawless in shape and very white, a fact always noted by visitors, for her
complexion was not fair, and her skin was coarse in texture and often muddy
looking, giving the impression of some internal disorder, and she had not the
least color in her cheeks.
Her linguistic accomplishments
were remarkable even in a Russian. It was a joy to hear her speak French-and the
young ·Parisians who crowded her ;parlor on Sunday afternoons and evenings were
often heard to remark her accent. I liked to be present at these Sunday afternoon
gatherings, for she talked well, and gave much instruction to the young men who
were members o{ the Paris branch of the Theosophical Society.
One incident that occurred at one
of these receptions was very interesting. A daring young convert asked her to do
some phenomena so that the strangers present might be informed regarding her
powers. She was furious in a moment and rebuked him in such a loud voice that
every one present turned toward her in silence.
Then, as gently as a child could
confess repentance, she meekly said: "If the Masters wish it, I will be permitted."
And just here it is but right I should insert this fact: I never heard her take
credit to herself for any of the wonderful things she certainly did; she
invariably prefaced every performance with some tribute to the Mahatmas, and
often deplored the morbid craving of people for an exhibition of such powers as
she possessed, saying it would do them no good whatever.
Her sister, Madame Vera Petrovna
Jelihovsky, and her aunt, the Countess Nadejda Andreevna Fodeeff, were visiting
her at the time, and the former, I think, was in the room when this incident
occurred.
Madame Blavatsky rose from her
seat on the sofa and with some difficulty —as it seemed— walked across the drawing
room and stood in front of a large mirror. She placed both hands upon it, lightly
— standing with her back to the company. The young Frenchmen were nearest to
her. Suddenly, after a brief interval of silence, a loud crash, followed by
what sounded like the falling of broken glass, was heard.
I thought the mirror had been
broken by her sudden weight against it, but she was not near it, and her hands
had rested but lightly upon its surface. There was a general exclamation of
surprise and wonder, and the curious ones examined the glass critically. As
Madame Blavatsky turned away looking bored and weary, some one suggested that
she put her hands on a pane of glass in the large window in the f root part of
the room. She did so and this time we waited longer than before for results. But
finally there came a loud crashing sound, as if some one had struck a mass of
glass with a hammer. The glass was unharmed.
The excitement of the Frenchmen
knew no bounds; they enthusiastically clapped their hands and beamed upon the "High
Priestess," as one of them called her. Their outspoken delight and
enthusiasm pleased her; or, rather she seemed aroused to an unusual degree of
interest in her guests, and for an hour or more talked so brilliantly that
every one was amazed. It was an hour of enchantment to some of her listeners
and I doubt if any one of that company ever knew another equal to it, either in
her presence, or out of it. I could not sleep that night for thinking of her
and of the events of the evening.
The next time I met her she was
in one of her towering rages, and was anathematizing the missionaries whom she denounced
as bigots and frauds, and the worst representatives of humanity in the East.
Some of them represented the Church of England in India, and she knew them to be
absolutely ignorant of the spirit of the master they claimed to serve.
She denounced Protestants
generally, and said the Catholics, because they were more sincere and less irreligious
than Protestants, were gaining an influence in the world far greater than the
latter understood, or would ever appreciate. The Catholic priests, she said, did
work among the poor and try to help the friendless. The Protestant missionaries
spent their time splitting questions of doctrine over the corpse of Protestantism.
For her part, she said, she cared nothing for either sect; her religion, she
defined, as love for humanity and her object in life to establish a Universal
Brotherhood.
Then she talked of the
Theosophical Society, through which she hoped to be able to accomplish much.
Theosophy, she said, was a subject that should interest the best minds of the
age; in time, she knew, it would claim the attention of spiritual people the
world over. She also said the Society had been founded by herself, Col. Olcott
and William Q. Judge, for an unselfish purpose, not on their own initiative, but
under guidance and direction of those who had been her teachers in esoteric
knowledge.
She
had resolved many years before to devote herself to the work she was then
engaged in; she desired no other occupation than to serve the Masters; she had
been their pupil; had received exceptional favors from them; had lived in total
seclusion at their command for nine years in Tibet and had come out into the
world again at their bidding. She had no expectations of escaping the fate of
those who had lived in the world, and with the world, particularly because her
career had been an uncommon one.
Her
life had been a long one and a strange one; strange to her looking back upon it;
as upon a half broken dream. Her visit to Europe, she said, was to see if the
Western mind was prepared to learn the Eastern teachings; if so, she could and
would open avenues not before accessible to them; but her best efforts she
thought would be met with derision and scorn. This was the fate of all devoted
workers in every line of spiritual work in all ages.
I
soon noted that Madame Blavatsky, whatever else she was, earnestly believed
that she had a mission, and I further satisfied myself of the possession by her
of a tremendously strong will. She knew how to use it, and when not to exhibit it,
and she was either the most communicative or the most silent person I have ever
met.
(The
Word, February 1912, p.262-269)
