"I shall tell everything as I think fit, everything I did, for the twenty years and more, that I laughed at the _qu'en dira-t-on_, and covered up all traces of what I was _really_ occupied in, i. e., the _sciences occultes_, for the sake of my family and relations who would at that time have cursed me. I will tell how from my eighteenth year I tried to get people to talk about me, and say about me that this man and that was my lover, and _hundreds_ of them. I will tell, too, a great deal of which no one ever dreamed, and _I will prove it_. Then I will inform the world how suddenly my eyes were opened to all the horror of my _moral suicide_; how I was sent to America to try my psychological capabilities; how I collected a society there, and began to expiate my faults, and attempted to make men better and to sacrifice myself for their regeneration. _I will name all_ the Theosophists who were brought into the right way, drunkards and rakes, who became almost saints, especially in India, and those who enlisted as Theosophists, and continued their former life, as though they were doing the work (and there are many of them) and _yet were the first_ to join the pack of hounds that were hunting me down, and to bite me.... "No! The devils will save me in this last great hour. You did not calculate on the cool determination of _despair_, which _was_ and has _passed over_.... And to this I have been brought by you. You have been the last straw which has broken the camel's back under its intolerably heavy burden. Now you are at liberty to conceal nothing. Repeat to all Paris what you have ever heard or know about me. I have already written a letter to Sinnett _forbidding him_ to publish my _memoirs_ at his own discretion. I myself will publish them with all the truth.... It will be a Saturnalia of the moral depravity of mankind, this _confession_ of mine, a worthy epilogue of my stormy life.... Let the psychist gentlemen, and whosoever will, set on foot a new inquiry. Mohini and all the rest, even _India_, are dead for me. I thirst for one thing only, that the world may know all the reality, all the _truth_, and learn the lesson. And then _death_, kindest of all. H. BLAVATSKY. "You may print this letter if you will, even in Russia. It is all the same now." This remarkable effusion may be the result of a fever-disordered brain, it may be, as she says, the "God's truth;" at any rate it bears the ear-marks of the Blavatsky style about it. The disciples of the High Priestess of Isis have bitterly denounced Solovyoff and the revelations contained in his book. They brand him as a coward for not having published his diatribe during the lifetime of the Madame, when she was able to defend herself. However that may be, Solovyoff's exposures tally very well with the mass of corroborative evidence adduced by Hodgson, Coues, Coleman, and a host of writers, who began their attacks during the earthly pilgrimage of the great Sibyl.