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The Letters of H. P. Blavatsky to A. P. Sinnett - 1925

By A. T. Barker

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Letter No. 72

{Wurzburg, Feb. 2-7}

Dear Mr. Sinnett,

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 And this why the MASTERS have never withdrawn Their confidence from me, if all others (saving a very few) have.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.