Ostende,
26.{August 1886}
My dear Mr. Sinnett,
(1) I begin by the tail of your letter. The title fits like a glove: just that which was wanted — No responsibility falling on me, but the whole burden on relatives, friends and editors — may you be happy and prosperous all. I wash my hands.
(2) The "curse" is the latest development. No need of pretending that which you knew before the incident of the "curse." The word memoir was always hateful to me. I told you so, and several letters from friends (your friends also) went dead against it — the last Arthur and Mohini! Still I would have put up with it, but the aunt's letter settled all and was the straw that broke etc. Now requiescat in pace.
(3) I thought I had written a polite and correct letter to Redway. I showed it before I wrote it (or copied it). I had put "Dear Sir" and was told that he would feel surprised since he did not know me personally at such a familiarity, so I changed to "Sir" simply. I regard him as a gentleman and everyone from Olcott down to Bergen (and yourself recently) spoke to me of him as one who was a gentleman. So, what did I write to him that should make you feel as if I had any intention of treating him as a "tailor," or a "shoemaker"!!? I am not Olcott, and would not be more impolite with a tailor than with a Lord or a Royal Prince. Not in my nature. If it is not one of your "refined society" fancies and Redway has misunderstood the spirit of my letter, then I beg of you seriously to make his mind easy. Offer him my sincere excuses and plead my ignorance of your flap-doodle English conventionalities. Tell him I am perfectly innocent of English Society polish — and glad I am, being an unvarnished Russian savage all over. Meanwhile yours affect. and sincerely (as a Russian who calls a sow a sow, and not as an Englishman who will say beaming three yards of horizontal smiles "Oh, how'd you do? So delighted to see you!" — thinking all the time — "I wish the devil would take you")
H. P. Blavatsky.
P.S. Some day you will learn to know the difference between my rude unpolished truth, and the refined lies and hypocrisy of several of your pretended best friends. But you are too young now. Mad. Gebhard cried for help, and I answered. She is now here with me, the dear good creature; and so changed as though she had been ill for a month and on her death bed. Bad doings in Platzhoffstrasse. But I will protect her and try to cure her, if I had to give up the ghost myself. Keep this to yourselves.
Yours again,
H.P.B.
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