On last Sunday night a farewell reception was given to the friends and the members of the
Theosophical Society, by the famous heathen of Eighth avenue, Madame H. P. Blavatsky, who,
together with Col. H. S. Olcott and another Theosophist, sailed yesterday for Liverpool,
en route for Bombay. The spacious rooms of the Lamasery were denuded of furniture, even
the carpets having been torn up and sold, and the guests sat on two or three chairs hardly
worth selling, and upon boxes and trunks corded and marked for transportation. The usual
refreshments were provided in the usual plenty. Tea was served in rotation, only three
teacups being left from the sale, but every guest had either a pipe or a cigarette. The
long series of "Sunday nights at home" was ending, and there was an unusual
number of unusually subdued Theosophists present.
There was much talk of the probable future of the
Theosophical Society, which, now that it is in coalition with the Arya Samaj of Aryawari,
is expected to become a powerful factor in the development of the mental and religious
freedom of the world. But, as was natural, there was far more talk of personal memories
and anticipations. Madame Blavatsky carried fully her share of the conversation. Her
memories of the years she has passed in America were far from cheerful. "I hate the
civilization you boast of," she said, emphatically. But her anticipations were rose
colored. "I shall go to Bombay, and be with my dear heathen," she said,
"who are free from the yokes of Christianity at least. I shall only stop for a day or
two in England to visit our branch society, and then on to India. When I get there, the
first thing I shall do will be to go tiger shooting. I shall go into the jungles with one
friend, and no guides, and we will not come back till we get each of us a tiger
skin."
"But it is not for that I go to India,"
she continued. "It is to work for the Arya Samaj. I promise you you will hear of it
before long."
Presently a man came in with a phonograph which had
been procured for the purpose of carrying greetings to India, without the possibility of
any mistake in their delivery. A tall sculptor was dislodged from a barrel on which he
sat, and the phonograph was put in position, after which the greetings were shouted into
the paper funnel, and a song in pigeon Hindustanee was sung into it by a jolly English
artist. Charles, a huge theosophical cat, was then induced to purr at the machine, and the
various records were carefully put away.
Long after midnight the talk was kept up, and from
the writings of the Church in the second century to the latest English attack on the Arya
Samaj, religious themes were discussed. On Monday and Tuesday the packing was finished,
and on Tuesday night the little party gathered in the Canada’s saloon. Charles, in
the mean time, had been sent to a good Theosophist’s house, but had disappeared from
the basket in transitu, and has not been seen since. "I don’t know where he
is," said the Hierophant, "but I presume we will find him in Bombay when we get
there."
Yesterday morning a few of the most intimate friends
of the travellers went to the steamer to bid them farewell. The Hierophant wrote dozens of
last despatches on the cabin table, sending messenger after messenger away on various
errands, and giving all sorts of instructions as to the future management of the society
to the newly chosen officers. Madame Blavatsky held high court in her stateroom, when the
inevitable cigarettes were consumed in great numbers, and when a few of her most faithful
disciples were telling her of their grief at her departure.
"I am glad to go, but I am sorry to leave the
few good friends I have found here," she said, and one by one they bade her what was
probably their last farewell on earth.