Madame Blavatsky: The Woman Behind the Myth (47 page)

Psychoanalytical and parapsychological literature is rich in references to individuals with Blavatsky’s supposedly distinctive characteristics; these are women who write letters in handwritings not their own, who people their hallucinations with exotic men, invent languages, give birth to cosmic philosophies, and compose charming accounts of life after death. Occasionally one encounters a man; take, for instance, William James’ case history of Sidney Dean, journalist, author and Congressman from Connecticut (1855-1859) whose automatic writing came through in hieroglyphics and obsolete languages. “It is an intelligent ego who writes,” Dean told James. “It is not myself, of that I am conscious at every step of the process.”
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The most common explanation offered for such behavior is multiple or disintegrated personality. In the simplest cases, the secondary personalities manifest themselves through hypnotic phenomena such as automatic writing. In more developed cases, such as that of “Helene Smith” and other trance mediums, the secondary personality fails to take on a completely independent existence, exhibiting itself only under special conditions,
i.e.,
the trance. In fully developed cases of multiple personality, the various identities truly alternate with each other and are capable of leading an independent existence.

As Carl Jung pointed out, “mediums are as a rule slightly abnormal mentally,”
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frequently exhibiting hysterical symptoms. In Madame Blavatsky’s case, it seems fairly clear that she possessed an hysteric personality and throughout her life suffered periodic experiences of dissociation along with definite personality alterations. Presumably she experienced subliminal reveries while awake in which a “brother” guided her hand over the paper in handwritings wholly different from her own. Although most mediums’ handwritings change while in trance, it is necessary to stress that more than half of the Mahatmic writings are pure Helena Petrovna. They are a vivacious potpourri of gossip, homey advice, backbiting, and desperate struggles to cover her past deceptions and ward off troubles she saw brewing. There is, in fact, nothing in any of her writings that could not have been derived from normal sources of information or her own extremely fertile intellect and imagination.

If Helena had been the ordinary impostor that many labeled her, she might have busily gone her dishonest way without particular psychic strain; if she had been an ordinary trance medium working cooperatively with her “control” and doing a bit of automatic writing when the mood struck her, she might have led a reasonably stress-free life. It was Madame Blavatsky’s peculiar misfortune to have fallen somewhere between those two positions. With the birth of Master Koot Hoomi, she created for herself an acute psychological dilemma in which she was forced to establish two separate compartments in her mind: one for her normal self; one for Upasika, messenger of the Brotherhood. When danger threatened, Upasika would step in and prevent her from admitting that she wrote the Mahatma letters.

This self-induced schizophrenia and her titanic effort to control it would considerably shorten her life.

Sinnett went home to Allahabad on July 8, leaving H.P.B. with nothing to do but eat during the sweaty, rainy Bombay summer. For want of something better, she asked Emma to construct a life-size doll that would resemble a Mahatma and produce a magical effect by moonlight. Cutting out a paper pattern of the face, she observed and criticized while Emma sewed and stuffed, but, unfortunately, the Mahatma turned out looking drab and elderly and had to be spruced up with paint. By the time they had made a jacket, the dummy appeared fairly human, and on the evening of July 13 made its debut before three Hindu Theosophists who were visiting the “Crow’s Nest.” They immediately composed a testimonial for a London Spiritualist paper to which Emma and Alexis attached their signatures affirming they too had seen the Mahatma. In time, H.P.B. would become curiously attached to “Christofolo,” as she called the doll. Later, during one of her absences from Bombay, Emma would burn it in a fit of disgust. “Oh my poor Christofolo!” Helena lamented after Emma wrote her the news. “He is dead then and you have killed him? Oh my dear friend if you only knew how much I would like to see him revive!”
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Emma, penitent, constructed another.

Several days after Christofolo made his first appearance, Helena received an invitation to spend August and September at Rothney Castle in Simla. With Patience in England and Olcott in Ceylon, Allan Hume had invited her and Sinnett to establish a Simla branch of the Theosophical Society. Off in a flash, Helena collected Sinnett in Allahabad and together they made the nerve-wracking journey up the
tonga
road from Kalka to Simla. During the course of which ride Helena upbraided the driver in such picturesque terms that Sinnett thought it a pity “to have had their comicality wasted upon an audience of one.”
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The first days passed pleasantly enough. The luxury of Rothney Castle and the bracing air on Mount Jakko rejuvenated her spiritually and physically. During the mornings, Hume and Sinnett were involved in business; in the afternoons they played lawn tennis, after which there was brandy and soda on the veranda. In the quiet time before dinner, Sinnett would play waltzes on the piano. Avoiding the inebriated Moggy Hume whenever possible, Helena had plenty of privacy to catch up on her correspondence. Writing to Captain Adelberth de Bourbon who proposed forming a Theosophical Society in Holland, she apologetically refused his request for her portrait “for two reasons: (1) I haven’t got it. (2) The portrait may give you a nightmare.”
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She also wrote an encouraging letter to William Judge, whom she felt guilty for having neglected; to Mary Hollis Billing she insisted that “Ski” was not a disembodied spirit but an initiate of the Brotherhood, indeed a personal friend of Master Morya’s. “Why for pity’s sake do you not tell people the truth about our Brother
Ski...
?”
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Apparently even Mary balked at making such a cockeyed announcement.

H.P.B.’s main activity continued to be keeping the Astral Post Office humming while Babula delivered mail. Once, while dressing for dinner, Sinnett found a letter in his coat pocket and upon arising one morning found another under his pillow. Pleased with herself, Helena kept the household entertained with anecdotes about the Mahatmas and the tinkling of her astral bell. On August 12, she celebrated her fiftieth birthday.

Almost imperceptibly, the blissful atmosphere began to turn acidic, owing to their host. Hume’s sharp sense of humor frequently took the form of hostile attacks on people, and some of his jokes discomfited Helena. Particularly grating was his facetious remark that she was an impostor but he loved her just the same. Not only did he doubt the brooch phenomenon of the previous summer, he confided, but he positively knew it had been a fraud; he supposed that she was one of those people who believed the means justify the end. Crushed, H.P.B. listened while he spilled out his benevolent disdain for her deceptions and reassured her he would always remain her friend. She had felt certain of Hume but now, despite her best efforts, he seemed to be slipping from her grasp. Obviously something extraordinary was called for. She wrote excitedly to Emma and Alexis in a rash of underlining and exclamation points.

My Dear Friends,

In the name of heaven, do not think that I have forgotten you. I have not even time to breathe—that is all!! We are in the
greatest crisis
and /
must not LOSE MY HEAD.

I cannot and dare not write anything to you. But you must understand that it is
absolutely necessary
that something should happen in Bombay while I am here. The King and Dam, must see one of the Brothers and receive a visit from him, and, if possible, the first must receive a letter which I shall send... The letter must fall on his head... We must strike while the iron is hot. Act
independently
of me, but in the habits and customs of the Brothers. If something could happen in Bombay that would make all the world talk it would be grand. But what! The Brothers are inexorable. Oh dear M. Coulomb, save the situation and do what they ask you.

Imagine! Mr. Hume wants to see Koothoomi
in his astral form
at a distance, so that if he (K.H.) complies he may be able to say to the world that
he knows
he exists, and
to write it
in all the papers; for at present he can only say one thing, viz—that
he believes
firmly and positively, but not that
he knows it
because he has seen them
with his own eyes,
as Damodar, Padshah, &c, have. Now then, there is a problem!

Understand then that I am going mad and take pity on a poor widow. If something unheard of should take place in Bombay, there is nothing that Mr. Hume would not do for Koothoomi on his demand. But K.H. cannot come here, for the occult laws do not permit him to do so. Good-by. Write to me.
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Evidently Emma did not follow instructions, because Hume’s scoffings continued.

Attempting to hide her hurt, Helena spent evenings in the billiard room listening to Hume and Sinnett gossip indiscreetly about various Theosophists. Their primary target was Henry Olcott, whose blunders and banalities amused them, and whose adoption of sandals and Indian-style robes they found an endlessly rich topic for discussion. When finally they turned to business matters, it was to inform her that they wanted their own branch of the Society at Simla. It was to be an exclusive club that would admit no natives and owe no allegiance to the parent Society or to President Olcott. Suddenly, Helena was overwhelmed by everything she saw as despicable about the British. She reviled their haughty chauvinism, their prejudice, and their revolting drinking habits. The brandy fumes at Rothney Castle sickened her, as they did K.H., who railed against them in a letter. When she strolled through Hume’s museum of stuffed birds, it no longer recalled long buried memories of her grandmother’s home, for Hume had, she decided, “a bird-killing and a faith-killing temperament.”
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In the end, with K.H.’s help, she was able to arrange the vetoing of their exclusive club and even managed to cut down on the frivolous gossip, but nobody stopped drinking. Hume had the audacity to write Master Koot Hoomi that it was a mistake to share metaphysical instruction with the superstitious Hindus because “not one in ten thousand native minds is as well prepared to realize and assimilate transcendental truths as mine.” Needless to say, if the Mahatmas wanted blind followers, they should cater to the Hindus or “stick to your Olcotts,” but if they “want men of a HIGHER class, whose brains are to work effectually in your cause,”
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then people like himself should be cultivated.

Helena as K.H. was able to reply with beautiful control: “In your letter you show plainly that you are the beginning, the middle and the end of the law to yourself. Then why trouble yourself to write to me at all?”
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Helena as Helena bottled up her feelings and struggled to remain calm in her daily dealings with Hume, but inwardly she felt sick. “Oh dear, how unhappy I am,” she confided to Emma. “On every side unpleasantness and horror.”
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Confronting the fact that Hume was a liar and a “skunk,”
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she was still unwilling to give up on him. He and Sinnett had agreed to write a series of articles for the
Theosophist,
and he alone was preparing a book; they bombarded H.P.B. daily with questions that forced her to clarify some of her theories. Still, Hume especially delighted in picking apart everything she said. Finally, unknown to H.P.B., the two men decided to bypass her completely and drafted a letter to K.H. urging he dispense with Madame’s services and deal with them directly.

As usual, the problem was to get the letter posted without H.P.B.’s knowledge, and of course there was no way. It was inconceivable to Sinnett that the Old Lady would read communications addressed to the Master, although Hume suspected she did, but in the end they had no alternative. Helena was playing the piano in the drawing room when Sinnett brought in the letter and asked her to forward it. Cramming it into her pocket without a glance she went on playing. A few minutes later, the door to the library crashed open and an enraged H.P.B. confronted Sinnett: “What is it? What have you been doing or saying to K.H.?”
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Drowning out his demands to know if she had opened the letter, she screamed that he had ruined everything: he would never hear from the Masters again; she and Olcott would move to Ceylon, where people trusted and appreciated them.

Sinnett, shaken more by Helena’s hysterics than her threats, listened in dazed horror. Managing to maintain his English calm until she had stormed off to her room, he stood trembling. From that time on, he and Hume seemed to recoil from her. Hume did not ask her to leave, but barely looked in her direction and stopped speaking. He did not need to; he had made his feelings perfectly clear to her.

Afterward, Helena was depressed, not merely by the mens’ treachery but by her unfortunate outburst, which she regretted but regarded as justifiable. For weeks Hume had been provoking her with his insults; did he believe that she had no feelings to wound? Bruised but sobered, she set about trying to pick up the pieces; K.H. had to explain to Hume and Sinnett that the behavior and temper “which so revolt you” was no fault of Helena’s. Having obtained special permission from his superiors, K.H. was now at liberty to reveal that “this state of hers is intimately connected with her occult training in Tibet, and due to her being sent out alone into the world to gradually prepare the way for others.” Although they would doubtless not understand, he would make an attempt to explain: any initiate trained in Tibet had to leave behind a piece of him or herself, one of the seven principles in the complete human being, to form a transmitting link and to assure that no secrets would be divulged. Therefore, even though Helena might seem “highly eccentric” and a “psychological cripple,” their “contemptuous smiles” were nevertheless “positively sinful” and “CRUELTY still.”
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Hume, scoffing, wanted to know which one of her principles she had left.