by Marion Meade
This time there was no miraculous Mahatma letter at sea to pacify Olcott, but waiting for him at Lansdowne Road was Helena’s newest weapon, Annie Besant. By the time he arrived, Annie had temporarily vacated her house in St. John’s Wood and moved bag and baggage into 17 Lansdowne Road, but on the evening of his arrival, she was nowhere in sight. According to Henry, Helena greeted him warmly and as if nothing were amiss, kept him up talking, Lamasery-fashion, until 2 a.m. It was not until the following evening that he finally met Annie, who immediately impressed him as “a natural Theosophist,” even though he was a bit taken back by her appearance and thought her costume made her look like an “Annie Militant.” Finally, he liked her very much and as president of the Society had to admit that “she is the most important gain to us since Sinnett.” As they parted that evening, he took her hand and said solemnly, “I think you will find yourself happier than you have ever been in your life before, for I see you are a mystic and have been frozen into your brain by your environment. You come now into a family of thinkers who will know you as you are and love you dearly.”164
Helena watched with satisfaction as their friendship quickly ripened: the next day he accompanied Annie to pay a call on Charles Bradlaugh, whom he had known in New York and had nominated for membership in the Lotos Club, and on Sunday he attended one of her lectures at the Hall of Science; after that he saw her frequently at the house and attended her lectures whenever possible, sometimes sharing the platform with her. To keep Henry gainfully occupied, Helena set up a table beside her desk and put him to work writing letters and articles for Lucifer and also helping her prepare teaching papers for her Esoteric students. Olcott enjoyed this for a while, then balked at being tied to her desk and began to schedule appointments and lectures. “She called me a ‘mule’ and all sorts of pet names of the kind,”165 he recalled, but he held firm to his independence.
In time, both of them softened slightly. Seeing Henry again did have an effect on Helena because she began to confide in him her feelings about various members of the London group and solicited his advice about the best way to handle certain problems. Needless to say, the advice was not followed. By the time Henry left in December she must have mellowed considerably because she agreed to a slight amendment of the E.S. obedience clause: she did not even protest when he made doubly clear that the Esoteric Section had no official connection with the Society by changing its name to the “Eastern School of Theosophy,” nor did she object noticeably when he avoided giving her decision-making powers by appointing a special four-person Board of Control for Britain that could decide on his behalf. Of course Helena was chairman but he hoped to staunch her tendency toward autocracy by adding to the committee Annie, Herbert Burrows and William Kingsland, all of whom he respected. The formal order was drawn up on December 25, 1889, but, as Henry noted in his memoirs, it looked to Helena “a larger Xmas present than it really was,”166 because it forbade her making any decision alone. Privately he believed that his mission to London had been successful, since “H.P.B.’s angry feelings were subsiding, and ali danger of a disruption was swiftly passing away.”167 In reality, she was merely making a tactical withdrawal, the better to fight again another day, and within six months would once more push Olcott to the point of resignation.
Unknown to Henry, Helena was busy sinking the foundations of a kingdom that would survive both of them, by unobtrusively grooming her successor. For the remainder of that year and all through the next, Annie would break most of her ties with her own past life, resigning her membership in the Fabian and other Socialist societies, participating less actively in strikes and labor demonstrations and making fewer speeches to factory workers. In some aspects, this was both predictable and natural but in others, H.P.B. can be seen aiding an historical process by gradually handing over authority to her personal heir. In September she made Annie co-editor of Lucifer, and four months later, after the president of the Blavatsky Lodge, William Kingsland, had “resigned,” Annie was elected to the position.
By now, the personal intimacy between the two women had deepened until Annie felt unhappy being separated from her friend and teacher. Perhaps as a result of the weeks she spent with Helena during Olcott’s visit, she realized that the house had outgrown its adequacy as a headquarters, but still she wanted to be near H.P.B. When Annie proposed making her house at 19 Avenue Road into both the Society’s Headquarters and H.P.B.’s residence, Helena at first refused, perhaps for decorum’s sake, and then seeing the younger woman’s disappointment, submitted to the idea. To her surprise, this unilateral decision was greeted with indignation by the other members of the household. Bert, Arch, Mead, and the countess all protested that Madame had not only failed to consult them but now was “authoritatively and autocratically”m trying to force her decision upon them. Mrs. Besant’s generosity was all very well, and of course they had no objection to her intrusion per se, but what would happen if H.P.B. died, or if Annie suddenly decided to turn them out, or if, as somebody suggested, Annie died in a railway accident? The Society would be out in the cold; verbal agreement between Madame and Mrs. Besant was clearly unsuitable. The transfer must be done legally.
For ten days Helena could not bring herself to mention the contretemps to Annie, but finally she explained the situation in a letter. Her worries proved groundless for Annie understood at once, and before the end of 1889, she formally deeded her house to the Theosophists for the remainder of her eighteen-year mortgage. About this time she issued an appeal for a “Theosophical Building Fund” both to remodel her house and build a new structure that could be used as a meeting hall and as living quarters for the T.S. staff. Since one anonymous donor provided almost the entire cost of this work, the necessary renovations and construction got under way immediately and Annie was predicting the transfer could be made in June, 1890.
During the winter of 1889-1890, the explosion of energy Helena had experienced in the summer gradually evaporated, and, while she was probably allowing herself to relax a bit now that Annie could shoulder the burdens, she was clearly slowing down: instead of presiding over E.S. meetings herself, she let Annie run them. Hence, she was not present on December 20 when Willie Yeats proposed that the group undertake a few occult experiments. Suspecting that Madame would disapprove “on the ground of danger by opening up means of black magic,”169 he was pleased when Annie promised to refer his idea to H.P.B. and more than a little shocked when Madame actually gave them a go-ahead and appointed Yeats to head a paranormal research committee.
Whether H.P.B. kept track of Yeats’ work is doubtful since most of it was conducted at the Duke Street office, which she never visited. One moonlit night the researchers burned a flower and then tried to reincarnate it with an air pump, but the ashes refused to cooperate. In another experiment, they suspended a needle by a silk thread under a glass case, then tried to move it by psychokinesis; next they brought in a medium named Monsey to mesmerize Yeats. None of these experiments could be termed successful; in fact, as time went on they grew increasingly silly, and nine months later Madame would put an end to Yeats’ career as a psychic researcher. His final appearance at the Blavatsky Lodge was a lecture on “Theosophy and Modern Culture”; shortly afterward Mead called him into his office and said that his presence and conduct were causing disturbances; quite honestly, one female member had complained about him. Feeling that the poet was not in full agreement with the Society’s methods or philosophy, Mead asked Yeats to resign. Yeats complied regretfully, but not unhappily, because he had recently been initiated into the Order of the Golden Dawn, another secret society in communication with unknown supermen.
While Yeats was trying to raise the ghosts of flowers, another young man found himself attracted to the Theosophical Society through his admiration for Annie Besant. Mohandas K. Gandhi was a twenty-one-year-old Indian law student, nondescript, and frail, with a tiny mustache and bow tie. During his year’s stay in London, he had made a number of acquaintances at vegetarian restauran
ts, among them Bert and Arch Keightley who were reading the Bhagavad-Gita in Sir Edwin Arnold’s popular translation called The Song Celestial, and they invited him to join them. Ashamed that he had never read the Gita either in Sanskrit or Gujarati, Gandhi went through it and Arnold’s Light of Asia with their help. The Keightleys invited him to a meeting of the Blavatsky Lodge and introduced him to Madame Blavatsky and Annie Besant, whose recent conversion he had followed in the papers with great interest. The shy Gandhi felt out of place, and when the Keightleys asked him if he would care to join the Society, he declined politely by saying,
“With my meagre knowledge of my own religion I do not want to belong to any religious body.”170 He did, however, follow their suggestion that he read Madame’s recently published Key to Theosophy, which “stimulated in me the desire to read books on Hinduism and disabused me of the notion fostered by the missionaries that Hinduism was rife with superstition.”171
Though Gandhi would later deride both Theosophy and its unseen Mahatmas as humbugs, he would nevertheless credit the Society as the means by which he began to discover his own heritage. With Annie Besant, who some twenty-five years later would become a brilliant advocate of Indian freedom and President of the Indian National Congress, Gandhi may have had political differences, but his veneration would never diminish.
On Gandhi’s sole visit to Lansdowne Road, Helena took no more notice of him than she did of hundreds of others who entered her rooms and were led up to her chair for a brief introduction, nor did she intuit nor infer from her Mahatmas the fact that she had encountered, for a few minutes, a genuine mahatma, or at least one who would be regarded so not only by his own countrymen but the world. Such were the ironies of Madame Blavatsky’s life.
As the year 1890 opened, H.P.B. began to suffer attacks of extreme fatigue. Seated in her armchair behind her desk, rolling the ubiquitous cigarettes and occasionally handing one to Mead, she would be busy writing when her head would start to nod. Sometimes there would be palpitations of the heart and a ringing in her ears that made her feel almost deaf, and spasms of weakness so intense that she had difficulty lifting her head. When Dr. Mennell diagnosed exhaustion and nervous prostration due to overwork, and ordered a complete rest, Helena responded with annoyance and said she had too much work to do. Mennell did not bother to argue but merely alerted the rest of the household, who promptly determined that Madame must be parted from her papers and books, if necessary by force. One way to limit her activities, perhaps the only way, was to remove her from London. Word traveled quickly around the city and even to the United States that Madame was extremely ill; in no time contributions came pouring in so that she could take a vacation. “America especially,” she remarked in some amazement, “is so generous that, upon my word, I feel ashamed.”172
In early February she was taken to Brighton so that she might, in her phrase, “inhale the oceanic evaporations of the Gulf Stream.” Shifts of two or three of her students would come to stay with her, but keeping her quiet was no easy matter. “I am forbidden to write or read or even to think,” she wrote Vera, “but must spend whole days in the open air...”173 In her opinion, Brighton was a frightfully expensive place and, initially, she worried about the money she was spending; after a while, however, she decided to enjoy herself for the weather was splendid. “The sun is simply Italian, the air is rich; the sea is like a looking-glass, and during whole days I am pushed to and fro on the esplanade in an invalid chair. It is lovely.”174
After several weeks, she began to rally and felt well enough to write Vera. This slight exertion immediately brought a concerned protest from one of her caretakers who poked his nose in the door and asked her to please stop. She had to let her family know she was still alive, she retorted, and went on writing.
III
Twilight
The sea air seemed to have done Helena good, and she returned to London thinking that she might resume her old schedule. This proved far too optimistic an expectation, for tiring easily, she had to voluntarily curtail her twelve-hour workday, insisting she intended to resume it once she had regained her health. By April Dr. Mennell had to call another halt to work and put Helena to bed with orders to do absolutely nothing; this caused her real torture because, in spite of her failing physical strength, her mind remained as active as ever, if not more so. In her idleness she fretted about matters that under ordinary circumstances would not have held her attention for more than a few minutes: Ida Candler was already planning another summer junket and writing to ask where Madame felt inclined to spend the season this year; there was also an invitation from Theosophists in Sweden suggesting that she visit their country, and one of them offered to put at her disposal a villa and yacht. These invitations merely distressed her as she did not feel up to traveling and was obliged to compose polite refusals. What she really wanted was a visit from Vera, and wrote to tell her so.
But mostly she occupied herself with second-hand reports on the progress taking place at 19 Avenue Road. Of course the most exciting feature of the new headquarters would be the lecture hall that was now half completed, but H.P.B.’s main concern seems to have been her personal quarters. Annie had decided Madame must have two connecting rooms on the ground floor just off the main hall. One of these, formerly Annie’s study, would make a perfect office and there was also a small adjoining room that could be Madame’s bedroom. These rooms required little alteration but, to accommodate Madame, a short passageway was to be built from the bedroom to a spacious addition designed specifically for the Esoteric Section; even more secret was a windowless octagonal room about eight feet in diameter, which she called her Occult Room. Few people saw this room, and those who did were reluctant to say much about it; apparently, it had a dark blue glass roof and concave mirrors that were supposed to concentrate light and occult influences on those seated in the room. It also had a special ventilating system that never worked properly. Finally, there was to be a small observation window in Helena’s bedroom through which she could look into the Occult Room.
Although she knew exactly what she wanted and had given detailed instructions for the builders, Helena suspected the job was being botched: the ventilators to be installed near the ceiling had been entirely omitted, which would cause her to suffocate after ten minutes; she feared that fifty additional mistakes had also been made. In a black mood she urged Annie to remove the workmen from the Occult Room and give them something else to do. “Put the keys in your pocket and give it to no one, please. When I am on the spot I can direct myself... Please darling, do so.” Feeling “most profoundly miserable” she told Annie that she could not begin to explain the reasons for her depression. Growing somber, she cautioned her to remember that “I believe but in one person in England and this is YOU.”175 Nevertheless, she constantly changed her mind about the placement of her desk and clothespress, fussing over doors opening into or out from her room, fretting that her bed might be in the direct line of some stray draft. All of this vexation could have been avoided if only she might visit Avenue Road and show people what she wanted. As it was, she was reduced to making apologetic suggestions and drawing floor plans to be passed along to Annie.
By the beginning of July, when the new headquarters was finally ready for occupancy, it had been transformed into the office complex of the British and European Sections of the Society, as well as a communal residence of Madame’s most trusted workers and students. Two blocks from Regent’s Park, 19 Avenue Road was a large square house covered with stucco and painted the same coffee color as many London homes; the grounds contained flower beds, lawns and several tall trees, all enclosed within a high brick wall. The ground floor was set aside for Helena’s apartments, offices and for the dining room that had been refurbished as a reception room; upstairs were bedrooms, one of which Annie reserved as her own bedroom-study.
In what had once been a large garden stood the new meeting hall. It had not turned out exactly as H.P.B. had envisioned; she had wanted an Oriental-styl
e building made of brick “to keep out the cold,”176 with wood-lined interior, and what she got was a rather ugly, hundred-foot-long shell made of corrugated iron and sheathed inside with unpainted wood. The sloping ceiling, designed by Theosophist R. A. Machel had been painted with intricate blue designs symbolizing the six great religions of the world and the twelve signs of the zodiac. At the south end of the hall was a low platform for speakers, behind which flashed a large mirror bearing the six-pointed Theosophical star and other occult emblems. On the second floor were sixteen bedrooms for the staff, eight large and eight small. If it was not so beautiful as H.P.B. had hoped, at least the new hall was functional.
As the time approached to vacate the old house, Madame began to feel increasingly morose, and this mood rubbed off on those around her. Speaking for herself, Countess Wachtmeister remembered the move as “a sore upset,” and the amount of papers and books Madame had accumulated over the past three years as “quite appalling.”177 Beyond that, both she and H.P.B. sadly realized that the new place was Annie’s house rather than Madame’s, and they were profoundly conscious that a happy phase of their lives was drawing to a close. On the day before the transfer, a lovely warm afternoon, Constance insisted on taking Helena for an outing in Hyde Park. Throughout the carriage ride, H.P.B. grew more and more upset and when she returned to the house seemed to be in a highly excitable state. Alice Cleather, who was sitting in the drawing room with Isabel Cooper-Oakley, sensed that what first appeared to be anger was actually “a passion of grief.”178 Helena paced the room with tears sliding down her cheeks, muttering in a sing-song voice, “Not a Soul among them—not onel” which Alice interpreted as compassion and pity for the thousands of park-goers who had been born too soon in human form.