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| untitled =
| untitled =
| source title = London Spiritualist
| source title = London Spiritualist
| source details = No. 285, February 8, 1878, p. 69
| source details = No. 285, February 8, 1878, p. 70
| publication date = 1878-02-08
| publication date = 1878-02-08
| original date = 1878-02-04
| original date = 1878-02-04
| item =4
| item =4
| type = article
| type = article
| status = wanted
| status = proofread
| continues = 201
| continues = 201
| author =O`Sullivan J.L.
| author =O`Sullivan J.L.
| subtitle =
| subtitle =
| untitled =
| untitled =
| source title =
| source title = London Spiritualist
| source details =
| source details = No. 285, February 8, 1878, pp. 70-1
| publication date =
| publication date = 1878-02-08
| original date = 1878-01-27
| original date = 1878-01-27
| notes =
| notes =
}}
}}
...
{{Style S-Small capitals|Sir}},—We have again had fine photographs of “Angela” and “Alexandrine.” At the outset we requested that “Angela” should show her hand in the picture, which had not been done in the recent ones. The result was a fine success, with not only the hand (holding the rose mentioned in my last), but a beautifully modelled arm bare to the elbow.
{{Style S-HPB SB. Continues on |4-201}}
We were told to bring next day some new flower, and not to mention beforehand what kind of flower it should be. Two natural roses were accordingly brought, the one much more full blown than the other. The result was that both flowers appear in the photographic picture, the one in her hair, the other in her hand; the ''pose ''of the arm, and the length of it exposed, being varied from the preceding photograph.
Three days ago the Countess de Bullet came to our ''seance ''(who had not attended for a longtime). “John King” had said that when she should come he meant to give her a “surprise.” The surprise proved to consist in this: he came forth with his light, and placed in her hand two beautiful fresh roses. He then requested her to spread out her lap, and there was poured into it a considerable quantity of the most delicate and delicious ''bon-bons ''and cakes that the unrivalled confectionery of Paris can furnish. He said that this was his “new-year’s offering” to her. Five of us partook of them with high relish, and a quantity remained over for her to carry home in a handkerchief. We had some talk over this matter, in which I expressed the idea that he had taken them probably from Sirandin’s, in the Rue de la Paix (the great shop of Paris), and the flowers from some florists or hothouse. When he came to write afterwards, as he usually does, through Firman’s hand, he said; “I do not thank John O’Sullivan for making me out a robber. I did not procure the things in the way he suggests.” I said aloud that I had not meant that he had taken them dishonestly, and that I supposed he had fairly compensated for what he took, either in money or in some other way. The next day, when he was again there to talk and be talked to, I asked him about his “spiritual bakery,” and how he had produced those delicious things which we had all found to be so thoroughly real. “''I reproduced them from the essences of the things,” ''was his reply. Now this was a very curious and suggestive statement to me who had witnessed some remarkable fact-phenomena at Madame Blavatsky’s (that great and wonderful woman, whom all the world can now judge of from her book, which I have not yet seen) last February. She had been toying with an oriental chaplet, in a lacquer cup or bowl, the aromatic wooden beads of which, strung together, were of about the size of a large marble, and copiously carved all round. A gentleman present took the chaplet in his hands, admired the beads, and asked if she would not give him one of them: “Oh, I hardly like to break it,” she observed. But she took it presently, and resumed her playing with it in the lacquer bowl. My eyes were fixed upon them, under the full blaze of a large lamp just above her table. It soon became manifest that they were growing in number under her fingers as she handled them, till the bowl became nearly full. She presently lifted out of it the chaplet, leaving a considerable number of loose beads, from which she said he might take what he wanted. I have ever since regretted that I had not the presence of mind, or the venturesomeness, to ask for some for myself. I am sure she would have given them freely, for she is all kindness, as well as, apparently, a woman of all knowledge. My presumption about the beads thus created under our eyes was that they were ''“apports,” ''brought in by spirits, in compliance with her wish or will. I believe (though not quite certain) that her idea, and Olcott’s, is that these phenomena are produced in some way by a great brother ''“adept''” in Thibet—the same one from whose old spinnet I was made to hear in the air overhead (as, I have before mentioned, and as many of her friends had done before) the faint, but clear tinkling music which I was told came, borne on a current of “astral fluid,” from Thibet; to which home of her heart Madame Blavatsky said she was going back (never again to leave it), after she should have completed her mission-task and business, which was chiefly that of publishing her book.
Another case of the fabrication of material objects out of, apparently, nothing. Coming in late one afternoon to her little parlour, where she usually spent seventeen hours out of the twenty-four at her writing table, I found Colonel Olcott with her, occupied in correcting her earlier proof-sheets. I had by this time become somewhat intimate with her and Olcott, to both of whom I shall always retain a strong attachment as well as profound respect. He told me how there had taken place that afternoon one of those “''little incidents''” (as he calls them) which were of constant occurrence there. There had been a group of visitors, and an animated discussion on the comparative civilisation of the ancient Orient and the modern West. The subject came up of the tissues fabricated in the one and the other. Madame Blavatsky is an enthusiast on the Orient side of this dispute. She suddenly put her hand to her neck and drew forth from her ample bosom (from beneath the old dressing-gown, which is the only garb in which I have seen her), a handkerchief of silk crape, with a striped border, very like what is called “carton crape,” and asked whether occidental looms produced anything superior to that. They assured me (and I have ample warrant for believing them) that it had not been there before that moment. It was in smooth fresh folds, and the conversation had arisen accidentally. I admired it, recognised in time the peculiar sickly-sweet and pungent odour which attends all those “''apports''” from far Cathay (including the beads above mentioned), and observed the peculiar signature on one edge of the handkerchief, which I had seen on various objects, and which I was told was the name (in pre-sanskrit characters) of a great brother “adept” in Thibet—to whom, by the way, she says she is very far inferior. When we were afterwards summoned to their very simple repast (to which had been added a hospitable bottle of wine for me, though they never touch it), she remarked that she felt chilly, and asked Olcott for something to put round her neck—“Give me that handkerchief.” He gave it to her, out of the sheet of {{Style S-HPB SB. Continues on |4-201}}
<gallery widths=300px heights=300px>
<gallery widths=300px heights=300px>
london_spiritualist_n.285_1878-02-08.pdf|page=12|London Spiritualist, No. 285, February 8, 1878, p. 69
london_spiritualist_n.285_1878-02-08.pdf|page=12|London Spiritualist, No. 285, February 8, 1878, p. 70
</gallery>
</gallery>