Henry Steel Olcott was
the first president of the Theosophical Society and when Blavatsky died he wrote the following article in
tribute to her.
"H.P.B.’S"
DEPARTURE
There are certain bereavements which
one would prefer to bear in silence, since words are too poor to do them
justice. Under such an one the members of the Theosophical Society, and I,
especially, are now suffering. Our loss is too great for adequate expression.
Ordinary friends and acquaintances may be replaced, even in time forgotten, but
there is no one to replace Helena Petrovna, nor can she ever be forgotten.
Others have certain of her gifts, none has them all. This generation has not
seen her like, the next probably will not. Take her all in all, with her merits
and demerits, her bright and her dark moods, her virtues and her foibles, she
towers above her contemporaries as one of the most picturesque and striking
personages in modern history.
Her life, as I have known it these
past seventeen years, as friend, colleague and collaborator, has been a
tragedy, the tragedy of a martyr-philanthropist. Burning with zeal for the
spiritual welfare and intellectual enfranchisement of humanity, moved by no
selfish inspiration, giving herself freely and without price to her altruistic
work, she has been hounded to her death-day, by the slanderer, the bigot and
the Pharisee.
These wretches are even unwilling
that she should sleep in peace, and are now defiling her burial urn in the vain
hope of besmirching her memory —as the Roman Catholics have those of Cagliostro
and St. Germain, her predecessors— by their mendacious biographies. Their
scheme will fail, because she has left behind her a multitude of witnesses
ready to do justice to her character and show the purity of her motives. None
more so than myself, for, since our first meeting in 1874, we have been
intimate friends, imbued with a common purpose and, in fraternal sympathy,
working on parallel lines towards a common goal. In temperament and abilities
as dissimilar as any two persons could well be, and often disagreeing radically
in details, we have yet been of one mind and heart as regards the work in hand
and in our reverent allegiance to our Teachers and Masters, its planners and over
lookers. We both knew them personally, she a hundred times more intimately than
I, and this made the rupture of our relationship as unthinkable a question as
the dissolution of the tie of uterine brotherhood.
She was to me a sister in a peculiar
sense, as though there had been no period of beginning to our alliance, but
rather a psychical consanguinity which dated from anterior earth-lives. She was
pre-eminently a double-selfed personality, one of them very antipathetic to me
and some others. Her almost constant ill-health and the want of touch between
herself and modern society made her irritable, unquiet and often —I thought—
unjust.
But she was never commonplace. I
loved her for the other, the higher self, which was also the most mysterious.
One seeing us together would have said I had her fullest confidence, yet the
fact is that, despite seventeen years of intimacy in daily work, she was an
enigma to me to the end. Often I would think I knew her perfectly, and
presently discover that there were deeper depths in her self-hood I had not
sounded.
I never could find out who she was,
not as Helena Petrovna, daughter of the Hahns and Dolgoroukis, whose lineage
was easy to trace, but as "H.P.B.," the mysterious individuality
which wrote, and worked wonders. Her family had no idea whence she drew her
exhaustless stream of curious erudition. I wrote and asked her respected aunt
the question, soon after the writing of Isis
Unveiled was begun, but she could afford no clue. Madame Fadeyef replied: "When
I last saw her" —some five years previously— "she did not know, even
in her dreams, the learned things you tell me she is now discussing".
I helped H.P.B. on that first of her
wonderful works, Isis Unveiled, and
saw written or edited every page of the MSS. and every galley of the proof
sheets. The production of that book, with its numberless quotations and its
strange erudition, was quite miracle enough to satisfy me, once and for all,
that she possessed psychical gifts of the highest order.
But there was far more proof than
even that. Often and often, when we two were working alone at our desks far
into the night, she would illustrate her descriptions of occult powers in man
and nature by impromptu experimental phenomena. Now that I look back to it, I
can see that these phenomena were seemingly chosen with the specific design of
educating me in psychical science, as the laboratory experiments of Tyndall,
Faraday or Crookes are planned so as to lead the pupil seriatim through the curriculum of physics or chemistry.
There were no Coulombs then above
the mud, no third parties to befool, none waiting for jewelry presents, or Yoga
powers, or special tips about the short cut to Nirvana: she merely wanted my
literary help on her book; and, to make me comprehend the occult laws involved
in the moment's discussion, she experimentally proved the scientific ground she
stood upon. More things were thus shown me that have never been written about,
than all the wondrous works the public has read about her having done in the
presence of other witnesses.
Is it strange, then, that all the
humbugging tales and reports by interested critics, about her trickery and
charlatanry, failed to shake my knowledge of her real psychical powers?
And what wonder that I, who have
been favored beyond all others in the Theosophical Society with these valid
proofs; who was shown by her the realities of transcendental chemistry and
physics, and the marvelous dynamic potencies of the human mind, will, and soul;
who was led by her into the delightful path of truth which I have ever since
joyfully trodden; and who was made personally to see, know, and talk with the
Eastern Teachers — what wonder that I have loved her as a friend, prized her as
a teacher, and evermore keep her memory sacred?
Living, I might quarrel with her,
but dead, I must only bewail her irreparable loss, and redouble my exertions to
push on our joint work.
This seems the proper moment to
answer many questions as to what I think about the Patterson-Coulomb-Hodgson
cabal against my dear friend. The hostile papers are rechauffing ad nauseam
those funeral baked meats. Wherever I lectured in Australia there were
muck-rakes to stir up the feculent compost. I say, then, that I do not consider
the charges proven.
More than that nobody can go, unless
he should have the gift of reading the innermost consciousness of the accusers
and accused. On the very day when the charges against her were first published
in the Times she —then in London—
wrote that paper an indignant denial.
I have seen no proof since then to
support the contrary. The alleged letters to Mme. Coulomb were never shown her
or me; the Coulombs stand self-impeached as to honesty of character; Mr.
Hodgson's report evinces his dense ignorance at the time of psychical and
mediumistic laws and the indispensable rules of spiritualistic research, even
of the commonest rules of legal evidence; the elaborate Nethercliff analysis of
the Koot Hoomi and H.P.B. letters is a farce to the experienced psychologist,
and moreover was completely nullified by the contradictory analysis made by the
equally noted sworn expert of the Imperial High Court of Berlin; and H.P.B.'s
life and labors distinctly give the lie to the injurious suppositions put forth
against her.
Finally, we have the convincing fact
of her having exhibited weird psychical powers since her childhood, and
especially while in New York, after the autumn of 1874, in the presence of many
unimpeachable witnesses. I do not hesitate a moment, under the above
circumstances, in accepting her simple denial in place of the most elaborate
guessing and sophistical special pleading of her detractors. I may have been hypnotized,
as alleged, but, if so, I do not know it.
Much has been made out of the fact that
she did not go into Court to vindicate her character against the palpable
libels of the Missionary and allied parties. For this she is not to blame:
quite the contrary. But for my vehement protests she would have dragged the
adversaries into the Madras Courts as soon as she got back from London, via
Cairo, in 1884. A friend had offered her Rs. 10,000 to cover the expenses. It
was then barely a fortnight before the time for the Annual Convention of our
Society —December 27th, 1884— and I insisted upon her waiting until a Special
Judicial Committee of the Convention should advise her as to her proper course.
We were —I told her— the property of the Society, and bound to sink our private
preferences and selves for the public good. She was stubborn to that degree,
that I had to threaten to quit my official position before she would listen to
reason.
The Convention met, and the case was
referred to a Committee composed of Hindu Judges and other legal gentlemen of
high official and private standing. They unanimously reported against H.P.B.'s
going to laws for one reason, because there was but the shadow of a chance of
getting justice from a prejudiced Anglo-Indian jury, in any case involving
questions of Eastern religious science (Yoga), or the existence of (to
process-servers) inaccessible Mahatmas; and, for another, because neither a
favorable nor unfavorable verdict would be likely to change the opinions of
those respectively who knew, and did not know the truth about psychical powers
(Siddhis), and her possession of them; while, finally, the most sacred feelings
of Hindus and Buddhists were sure to be outraged by the ribald banter of
counsel when cross-examining the witnesses as to matters of personal knowledge
or belief.
The Convention adopted unanimously
the views of the Committee, and H.P.B. was forced to yield to the majority and
nerve herself up to bear the consequences. The outrageous Salem Riot case,
which was then fresh in the public memory, gave great weight to the Committee's
decision in the present instance. Though restrained, H.P.B. was not convinced,
and but for the constant opposition of her best friends, would have gone into
Court at several later stages of the controversy, when the grossest personal
insults were used as bait to entice her into the trap set by her enemies, whose
bitterest spite has ever been against her personally. She chafed like a caged
lioness, and thus aggravated her physical ailments, viz., a form of Bright’s disease, an affection of the heart, and a
tendency towards apoplexy. The climate enfeebled her, and the worry was killing
her so fast that her medical adviser at last gave me the following certificate:
"I hereby certify that Madame Blavatsky
is quite unfit for the constant excitement and worry to which she is exposed in
Madras. The condition of her heart renders perfect quiet and a suitable climate
essential. I, therefore, recommend that she should at once proceed to Europe
and remain in a temperate climate, in some quiet spot.
(Signed) Mary Scharlieb, M.B. and B. Sc.,
London. 31.3.85 "
Dr. Scharlieb privately warned me
that H.P.B. was liable to drop down dead at any moment in one of her paroxysms
of excitement. I lost no time after that —you may believe— in sending her away
to Italy in the most unobtrusive way possible. Dr. Scharlieb's husband
superintended her embarkation, providing the stretcher upon. which she was
carried, and arranging with the captain of the French steamer for hoisting her
aboard from the small boat, in an invalid chair hung in slings.
This was the pretended flight from
Madras to escape being cited as a witness in a case then pending — for which
calumny the Rev. Mr. Patterson, of the Scottish Mission, made himself
responsible in print. Since that day our dear friend never saw India again in
the body. From then until the day of her death she was under constant medical
care, most of the time extremely ill and suffering.
Twice or thrice I urged her to come
out for at least one cold-weather season; she was willing, but her physician,
Dr. Mennell, positively refused consent, alleging that she would most probably
die at sea. In January and February, 1885, she had been at death's door, and
twice within a month I had been summoned back from Rangoon to receive her last
wishes.
On the 21st March, 1885, she
addressed the General Council, insisting upon their granting her permission to
retire from office, saying:
"My present illness is pronounced mortal
by my medical attendants, and I am not promised even one certain year of life I
leave with you, one and all, and to every one of my friends and sympathizers,
my loving farewell. Should this be my last word, I would implore you all, as
you have regard for the welfare of mankind and your own karma, to he true to
the Society and not to permit it to be overthrown by the enemy.
Fraternally and ever yours, in life and
death.
(Signed) H.P. Blavatsky."
And yet, despite her horrible
physical state, she worked on at her desk twelve hours a day, year in and year
out. The monuments of her literary industry between 1885 and 1891 are The Secret Doctrine, The Key to Theosophy, The Voice of the Silence, Gems from the East, the several volumes
of her new magazine Lucifer, her
contributions in Russian and French to continental magazines, a great bulk of
unpublished MSS. for Vol. III of The Secret Doctrine, and her Esoteric
Section, or private school of instruction in occult philosophy and science,
which, at her death, numbered between one and. two thousand pledged and
enthusiastic pupils.
Is this charlatanism, this tireless
labor of brain and soul to collate and spread knowledge for the profit of
others?
If so, let us pray for the evolution
of many charlatans.
Does any unprejudiced person believe
that one who could show such self-sacrifice and display such encyclopedic
learning, would stoop to the petty and profitless trickery outlined in the
insinuations and charges of her accusers?
For pity's sake, let the dead
lioness lie in peace, and seek a more ignoble carcase upon which to vomit.
It is amazing, the shallow falsehoods
that have been —nay, are at this very hour of writing being— circulated against
her. Among them, perhaps the wickedest are charges of immorality*, because the
fact is —as a surgical certificate of an eminent German specialist proves— that
she was physically incapable of indulging in such conduct, and of being a
mother. This disposes of a number of vile stories to her prejudice.
[* Damnable calumnies which have
been most widely circulated by conservative (!) papers.]
But nobody who had passed one day in
her company could entertain the least suspicion of her feeling like other women
in these matters — if there were ever a sexless being, it was she. Nor did she
ever, in the years of our acquaintance, drink a glass of any kind of liquor.
She smoked incessantly, no doubt, after her national Russian fashion, and she
used strong language, and was eccentric to a degree, in most things of a
conventional nature; but she was neither thief, harlot, drunkard,
gambling-house keeper, nor any one of the other dozen criminal things she has
been recklessly charged with being, by a set of scurvy writers not worthy of
cleaning her shoes.
Her day of vindication is not yet
come, nor am 1, long her most close friend, the fittest one to do her impartial
justice. Yet it will come, and then the hand which pens the verdict of
posterity will undoubtedly write her honored name, not down among the poor
charlatans who stake all upon the chance of profitless renown, but high up,
beside that of Abou Ben Adhem, who loved his fellow men.
Upon receiving at Sydney by cable
—and otherwise— the news of her sudden death, I cancelled my New Zealand and
Tasmanian tours and took passage by the next steamer for Europe — on board
which I am writing this with a heavy heart and stumbling pen. I have arranged
by cable for a special meeting of the General Council at London, at which the
future plans of the Society will be determined. While it will be impossible for
us to replace H.P.B. by anyone this side the Himalayas, yet the work will go
on as to its general lines without a moment's break.
I have anticipated her death too
many years to be discomfited and disheartened by it, now that the bolt has
fallen. We had each our department of work — hers the mystical, mine the
practical. In her line, she infinitely excelled me and every other of her colleagues.
I have no claim at all to the title of metaphysician, nor to anything save a
block of very humble knowledge. Even though not another page of mystical
teaching should be given, there is quite enough to afford this generation key
after key to unlock the closed portals of the hoary temple of truth. The
thirsters after novelty may be downcast, but the real mystic will lack nothing
which is essential.
Postscriptum, — Colombo, June 10th.
Upon arrival, I get the full particulars of our direful catastrophe. H.P.B.
breathed her last at 2:25 P.M. on Friday, the 8th May; sitting in her big
arm-chair, her head supported by her dear friend Miss Laura Cooper, her hands
held by Messrs. Wright and Old, members of her staff. Her devoted and unselfish
physician. Dr. Z. Mennell, had left her but about an hour before, convinced
that she would recover. There had been a sudden reaction, and, after an
ineffectual struggle for breath, she passed out into the shadow-world — the
vestibule of the world of light and perfect knowledge. Her remains were, at her
request, cremated at Woking, near London, in presence of a considerable number
of her and the Society's friends. The ashes were recovered after a brief delay
of two hours, and are to be preserved in a silver urn.
The London press teemed with
articles, mostly of an unkind and personal character, yet all agreeing in the
acknowledgment of her personal greatness. The Birmingham Gazette of May 12th puts the case thus sententiously:
"Mme. Blavatsky was either a woman of
most transcendent power with a mission almost divine, or she was the most
shameless charlatan of the age."
We, her intimates, do not hesitate
to place her in the first category.
"If she were an impostor," says this paper, "and deliberately an impostor, no words can express the abhorrence
with which her impiety and mendacity must be regarded. If she were not an
impostor, but 'a messenger from the Masters', the world, as it awakens to the
truth, will ever regret that it refused to receive her, and that to the last it
ridiculed her doctrines, and suspected her motives. In Mme. Blavatsky's life
there is no black spot to be detected by the microscope of the critic. She did
good deeds. She preached purity and self-denial. She taught that virtue was
excellent for virtue's sake. Her philanthropy was well-known, and her beneficent
labors for the East End slaves have been acknowledged and appreciated. So far
as personal example could testify, she was a woman worthy of admiration. But
the moment her religion was considered, and more specially the means taken to
prove its righteousness and its divine inspiration, confidence was
shaken."
This
is the crux: let posterity judge between her and her detractors.
"No doubt" —continues the same
paper— "these people are in sincere belief. We are loth to call Mme.
Blavatsky a schemer, a fraud, and an impious romancer. We prefer to think that
she labored under hallucinations and that in a desire to do great good she was
led to trickery, subterfuge, and deceit. It is not wonderful that she obtained
a following; it is only deplorable.
. . .
There is only one redeeming feature in the
Theosophic movement. It aimed at making man regard his life as precious, and as
worthy of purification; and it endeavored to lead the human race to regard
themselves as one community, united in the great effort to learn their
relationship to each other and to their Maker."
We need not quarrel about
theological terms, since our critic concedes that we follow aims so noble as
those above defined. Only a truculent bigot would deny us this justice.
Our private advices from London
relate that letters and telegrams of condolence came pouring in. My experience
in Australia and here at Colombo, has been the same. I gratefully thank all
friends for their kindness. Our Buddhist schools in Ceylon were closed for two
days as a mark of respect, and after my lecture on “Australia”, at Colombo, on
the evening of the 12th June, I took promises of subscriptions to the amount of
Rs. 500 towards a “Blavatsky Scholarship Fund”, the interest upon which is to
be devoted to the support of two Buddhist girls attending our schools. Some
thought of putting up memorial tablets, but I considered this the better plan.
It is what I myself should prefer, and I am sure she would also. What are grand
tablets or statues to this tired pilgrim who has gone out from our sight into
the presence of the Knowers?
Let her memorial be the golden
precepts she has translated from the Mystic Volume. Let the mourning disciple
weep — not for her death, but for what she had to suffer in life, in body and
soul, unjustly or justly, as her Prarabdha
Karma may have worked it out. She knew the bitterness and gloom of physical
life well enough, often saying to me that her true existence only began when
nightly she had put her body to sleep and went out of it to the Masters. I can
believe that, from often sitting and watching her from across the table, when
she was away from the body, and then when she returned from her soul-flight and
resumed occupancy, as one might call it. When she was away the body was like a
darkened house, when she was there it was as though the windows were brilliant
with lights within. One who has not seen this change, cannot understand why the
mystic calls his physical body, a “shadow”.
H.P.B’s enthusiasm was a quenchless
flame at which all our Theosophists lit their torches, an example which stirred
the sluggish blood like the sound of a war trumpet.
Finished is thy present work, Lanoo.
We shall meet again. Pass on to thy reward.
(This
article was first published in The Theosophist magazine, July 1891, p.573-580; later in Lucifer magazine, August 1891, p.445-452; and later in the book HPB: in memory of Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, 1891, p.83-90)
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