{Wurzburg, Jan. 4+, 1886}
Thursday.
My dearest Mr. Sinnett,
May they bless and reward you, I can only feel as deeply as it is in my nature to feel that you are the best friend I have left in this world and that you may dispose of me to the hour of my death.
Do whatever you like. Publish the Memoirs, write what you think best and proper; I subscribe to it before-hand and hereby give you carte blanche and full authority to act and do in my name whatever you will. I am sure you will defend the Cause and myself better than I ever can. I can only say the truth on psychological, occult grounds, misunderstood, laughed at by all. I am powerless to defend myself. I told you and you would not believe it that people would believe the "spy" invention. The feeling against Russia is too strong now and Hodgson has cleverly arranged his cards. Now Hubbe Schleiden arrived here last night in terror saying there was real danger for me here in Germany. That the law was not here as in England, where the Solicitor General had nothing to do with a person suspected until a complaint was lodged. But that here, as soon as a paper would say that I was publicly proclaimed a "forger," however much Hartmann may deny it himself — that I could be arrested. That's jolly. Well — my conscience is clean and that's all I can say. He and the Countess want me to go to England. Why, where shall I go? I dare not pronounce my name in England now!
I have been looking over all my old papers, bundles untouched since Bombay and others that I have not opened, old packets of letters and papers since London. In the latter I find two or three note papers. Some I suppose remained there since Allahabad, the others since I placed them there in Miss Arundale's house. I send them to you, to look at, burn or keep. I might have burned them myself. But I wanted to show to you how easy it would be, in case of my sudden death, (which may happen any day) to call me a thief, to show these two notes marked "Surrey House" belonging to Cyril Flower, Myer's friend, and say I stole them from his house (where I dined once) for future phenomena or something of the sort. Now these two sheets of note paper wrapped his photograph that he sent me when I was leaving London. The photo is at Adyar and these two clear pages got mixed I suppose with the bundles and heaps of my ever untidy papers. Keep them and show to the friends — this is the best proof how easy it is to accuse a person and sentence her on merely circumstantial evidence. Fancy only my dying suddenly — my papers put in order and examined and these two sheets found! What better proof. I shuddered when I found them. I make my will and will have it translated in German and legalised. I want you to take care of my papers and of a box on which I will write your name. It contains all the Mahatma papers and many letters I have received from Mahatma K.H., Orders from Master, blowing up and so on. I hope they will fall in no one's hands but yours. Publish, write, tell me what to do and I will do so. I am a paralysed body — dead heart and body I have lost the faculty of suffering even.
Yours to the last
H. P. Blavatsky.
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