# Isis Very Much Unveiled/Chapter 3

CHAPTER III.
MYSTIFICATION UNDER MADAME BLAVATSKY.
“Now, dear, let us change the programme … He is willing to give 10,000 rupees … if only he saw a little ‘phenomenon’!”—Blavatsky-Coulomb Letters.
It is no part of my present object to enter at length into the history and character of the late Madame Blavatsky. But a comparison of the earlier phase of the Theosophical Society with that of to-day is so indispensable to the right appreciation of both, that a brief résumé (borrowed mainly from previous sketches of my own elsewhere) may be welcome at this point, even to readers already familiar with the subject.
The Theosophical Society was born in America of Russo-Yankee parentage. Helena Petrovna Blavatsky founded it at New York in 1874, with the aid first of Colonel Olcott, then a kind of journalist, who became, and still is, the president, and soon afterwards of William Q. Judge, then a lawyer’s clerk in Olcott’s brother's office, who became, and still is, the vice-president.
The previous career of the Foundress had been remarkable enough, if we accept hostile accounts of it—still more remarkable if we accept her own; but with this I am not concerned. From 1874 Madame Blavatsky’s history and that of the Theosophical Society are one.
In 1878 the society moved its headquarters to India, and in the congenial atmosphere of the mysterious East launched into marvels. Eked out by performances not unlike a drawing-room Maskelyne and ​Cook, Madame’s rehash of Neo-platonist and Kabbalistic mysticism with Buddhist terminology soon “caught on” with the impressionable natives. It had especial attraction for the educated and ardent young Babu, that typical product of British India whom Mr. Rudyard Kipling has so often drawn for us. But it also carried away, thanks to Madame’s intense personality—half repulsion, half charm—editors and officials of mark in the sceptical circles of Anglo-India. It made Mr. A. P. Sinnett (then editor of the Pioneer) turn evangelist in “The Occult World,” and Mr. A. O. Hume (then Government Secretary) follow suit with “Hints on Esoteric Philosophy.” And no wonder. Never was a new religion more industriously supplied with miracles—those coups de main célestes, as a witty Frenchman has defined them. Wherever Madame happened to be with a select circle of friends, disciples, or laymen worth impressing, but especially in and about the bungalow at Adyar, near Madras, the society’s headquarters, the invisible Mahatmas were never tired of exhibiting their astonishing psychic powers over ponderable matter. The two who were especially at Madame’s disposal went by the names (reverently breathed) of Mahatma Morya and Mahatma Koot Hoomi Lal Sing. In the region of White Magic they could do almost anything—any feat which an adroitly led-up conversation might happen to suggest. But the particular lines of business (if I may be allowed the phrase) of which they made a speciality were making objects appear and disappear: in Madame’s jargon, integrating and disintegrating them by a psychical command over astral vortices of atoms. Sitting in their studies 2,000 miles away in Tibet, they could, by a mere effort of will, project an astral epistle, or an astral body, or an astral cup and saucer, into the middle of an applauding circle at afternoon tea or picnic in Madras or Bombay. Showers of roses fluttered down from the ceiling. Invisible bells tinkled from none knew where. All kinds of tricks were played with Madame’s interminable cigarettes. Sketches and treatises were psychically “precipitated” on to blank paper, nay, sometimes the very stationery was created out of nothing to receive them. Such inferior sketches, ​too, and such twadding, such very twaddling, treatises! One disciple—Damodar K. Mavalankar, a youth passionately ambitious of fame—even advanced to the acquirement of some of these extraordinary powers in his own person. Merely to have seen the astral body of a Mahatma became in a manner a cheap accomplishment. Damodar boasted that he had once or twice projected his own—slipping spook-like through a brick wall.
Most of these marvels, as I have hinted, required the mise en scène of the Adyar bungalow. Here Madame and the Colonel, and a few favoured chelas, had apartments. “Our domestic imbeciles” and “our familiar muffs” the latter are termed in one of the letters attributed to Madame. Here, too, in the “Occult Room” adjoining Madame’s bed-chamber, hung the famous “Shrine,” a sort of cupboard containing a fancy portrait in oils of the condescending Koot. This became associated with as many marvels as the image of a mediæval saint. Suppose you are an intending Theosophist—a hesitating convert, especially a moneyed one, like Mr. Jacob Sassoon. You call at headquarters. You are shown round by Damodar, or by M. or Madame Coulomb, librarian and secretary. With natural curiosity you ask to gaze upon the Master’s features. You are told of his indulgent concessions to deserving neophytes seeking for a sign. When the cupboard has been shut again, you are asked if there is anything you particularly desire from the Master. You indicate, not unnaturally, a message. It is about even chances whether the said message—reading generally not unlike Mr. Martin Tupper in his more oracular vein—is discovered in the cupboard immediately on reopening the door, or descends from the ceiling on to the top of your head.
The fame of these things, set out in the driest possible detail in the pages of “The Occult World,” aroused a furore of curiosity in this country, where people were just beginning to take a new interest in questions of psychical research. It was about the time when family circles played the “willing game,” and sat in the dark trying to see purple flames coming out of a magnet. Quick to seize the psychological moment, Madame Blavatsky came to England and “starred” London in the season of 1884. In her train came ​Colonel Olcott and Mohini L. Chatterji. Mohini, a Brahmin graduate of the University of Calcutta, shone like Damodar with a lustre not all reflected. He, it was whispered, was a chela of some attainments. He was not to be touched. He held his hands politely behind him when being introduced. There was a splendour as of some astral oil about his dusky countenance and thick black locks; while his big, dark eyes were as piercing as those of Madame herself. Men gazed on Mohini with awe, and ladies with enthusiasm. In the background hovered the recording Sinnett.
In spite of the disappointing fact that the London air proved unfavourable to miracles, the tale of the Indian ones was greedily drunk in, and Theosophy became the fashionable fad. Society people took to calling themselves Esoteric Buddhists: some were enrolled as chelas at short notice. The Theosophists went the round of the London drawing-rooms, penetrated to provincial towns, were not unheard of at the Universities. Madame rolled cigarettes and swore and talked black magic in the rooms of well-known Cambridge dons, till the hair of undergraduate listeners stood on end. Those were the days when a set of enthusiastic pass-men lived “the higher life” on a course of Turkish baths and a date diet; while three unlucky youths at Trinity nearly poisoned themselves with hasheesh in an attempt to project their astral bodies, and were only recovered at midnight by a relentless tutor armed with the college authority and a stomach-pump.