{H.P.B., Olcott, Mohini. Padshah, S. Krishnamachari (aka Bowajee or Babaji), and Babula (H.P.B.'s servant), sailed February 20, 1883, reaching Marseilles March 13. On the 15th, H.P.B. and Olcott went to Nice to stay with the Countess of Caithness. Mohini and Padshah went on to Paris.}
Nice,
March 17.{1883}
My dear Friends,
I have received the kind invitation of yourselves, of Mrs. and Miss Arundale, of Mrs. Going and several others. I am deeply touched by this proof of the desire to see my unworthy self, but see no use to kick against fate and try to make the realisable out of the unrealisable. I am sick, and I feel worse than I felt when leaving Bombay. At sea I had felt better, and on land I feel worse. I was laid up for the whole day on my first landing at Marseilles, and am laid up now. At the former place it was I suppose the vile emanation of a European civilised first class hotel with its pigs, beef and old cats mixed with frogs; and here — well, here it is due to the kind hand of providence. Anyhow I am falling to pieces; crumbling away like an old sea biscuit and the most I will be able to do, will be to pick up and join together my voluminous fragments and gluing them together carry the ruin to Paris. What's the use asking me to go to London? What shall I, what can I do amidst your eternal fogs and the emanations of the highest civilisation? I left Madras a mon corps defendant. I did not want to go — would return this minute, if I could. Had not "father" ordered it, I would not have stirred from my rooms and old surroundings. I feel ill, miserable, cross, unhappy. My poor uncle, General Fadeyef, is just dead and I suppose I have to go in mourning. Then I expect my sister to come and see me somewhere after 20 years of separation and perhaps the old folks — my two aunts. I would not have come to Nice but for Madame A. Hammerle, our dear Theosophist from Odessa. Lady Caithness is the embodiment of kindness. She does everything in creation to humour me, and I came for two days instead of the six weeks she wanted me to stop with her. But I had reckoned without my host — the Mistral of Provence and the cold winds of Nice. And now I am laid up. Mohini and Bowajee (the two soit disant "Secretaries") are gone to Paris yesterday — and Olcott and I came here feeling we had no right to disregard the kind invitation, expressed in 36 telegrams and letters. She is a dear good friend, she will be a real friend shortly — yet even for all that I feel I have no right to stop here beyond a few days, and as soon as I am better we mean (Olcott and I) to join the "Secretaries" in Paris, only to begin fidgetting as soon as I am there and wishing myself sooner in Jericho than horrid Paris. What kind of company am I to civilised beings like yourselves? It is very, very kind of Mrs. and Miss Arundale to invite me, I am unworthy of such a warm expression of kindness and sympathy. I would become obnoxious to them in 7 minutes and a quarter, were I to accept it and land my disagreeable bulky self in England. Distance lends its charm, and in my case my presence would surely ruin every vestige of it. The "London Lodge" is in its sharpest crisis. Olcott with his instructions from his Mahatma (father), and Mohini with his orders from Mahatma K.H. are the best calculated persons to set things right. I would do the reverse. I could not (especially in my present state of nervousness) stand by and listen calmly to the astounding news (from Gough!!) that Sankara Charya was a theist and Subba Row knows not what he is talking about, without kicking myself to death; or that other still more astounding declaration that Masters are evidently "Swabhavikas"! Oh sweet Jesus, and shall I begin contending against the Goughs and Hodgsons who have disfigured Buddhism and Adwaitism even in their exoteric sense, and risk bursting a blood vessel in London upon hearing these arguments reiterated? Not I. I have the greatest respect for Mr. Massey's enormous powers of "clear and unimpeachable logic" but can only wonder that such a keen metaphysician hangs his faith — after rejecting the authority of even Subba Row — upon the flapdoodle dicta of the unutterably ignorant translation and dead-letter interpretations of the Gough and Co. Vade retro Satanas. Let me die in peace — if I have to die, or return to my Lares and Penates in Adyar, if I am ever doomed to see them again. You shall have Olcott and Mohini — buss. Please do not be angry with me. Really and indeed I do not feel like going to England. I love you all at a distance, I might hate some of you of the L.L. were I to go there. Don't you understand why? Can't you realise with all you know of me and of the truth, (the latter is ignored only by those who will not see it) that it would be an inexpressible suffering for me to see how the Masters and their philosophy are both misunderstood. How shall I stand there, and see Their teachings tested and rectified by the sublime absurdities of a Hodgson who acquaints his readers so coolly with a creature he calls "God, that is, of an absolutely immaterial being." A "being" and one absolutely IMMATERIAL!! (see p. 22 of C.C.M's new pamphlet The Metaph. Basis of E. Buddhism) Ye gods and "immaterial" nothings! I rather plunge for ever into eternal Nirvritti myself.
However, this will do. You must understand my position, otherwise I cannot say more.
Please call in a small meeting at your place of all those who have kindly remembered me by welcoming my arrival in Europe. It is really very kind of them and I will never forget the truly sympathetic feelings expressed in their letter. And tell Mrs. and Miss Arundale, Mrs. Going, Mme. Isabel Steiger, Mrs. Golindo, Mrs. E. C. Knowles, Messrs. Finch and Ed. Wade, how deeply I thank them for their invitation and welcome. Also how deeply sorry I am that I am unable, for the present, at any rate, to avail myself of all this and thus realise their desire to see me. But do also tell them all, that indeed it is rather a gain than a loss to them not to come into closer proximity with my unattractive self than they now are. Every one is not blessed with my "beloved sister's" (Patience Sinnett) disposition to overlook my many vices and shortcomings. Therefore, tell to my other would be "beloved brethren and sistern" that it is in sheer love for them and out of regard for their civilized feelings, that I refuse to show myself by "day light" little as there may be of the latter article in London.
And now — goodbye. Behave yourselves like true theosophists — children
of Light and Pragna, and accept the sincere blessings and good wishes of your
fast departing, hapless friend and brother
H. P. Blavatsky.
Love to Morsel. Mea culpa. Your friend and Master sent you through me (at least I had it second hand from Djual Khool) a lock to replace the one Dennie had, (what ails the said lock, did he lose or damage it?) but I do not know where I have put it. It's somewhere in my trunk. I will find and send it to you.
H.P.B.
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