Three Accounts of 'Precipitated' Portraits (from Old Diary Leaves)

Precipitated Portrait on Satin of M. A. Oxon

H. S. Olcott noted: "The photo engraving process not having as yet advanced to the point of photographing in colours, our cut but very poorly represents the original picture on satin."

H. S. Olcott described how this portrait of M. A. Oxon  (pen name of William Stainton Moses) was 'precipitated' (materialized) in the First Volume of Old Diary Leaves (1895).  Olcott considered the medium a lifelong friend and highly-educated Spiritualist.  Olcott wrote: " . . . the wonders of H. P. B. and Stainton Moseyn . . . were to me supremely important as psychical indications . . . His rooted idea was that his teachers . . . were all disincarnate human spirits . . . they taught him that a system of impartation of knowledge by teacher to pupil existed throughout the Cosmos, in ordinated stages of mental and spiritual development: like the classes in a school or college."

"Portrait of M. A. Oxon which the Satin 

Picture Resembles" from Old Diary Leaves

Olcott and Helena Petrovna Blavatsky were in New York together working, as usual, on her manuscript for Isis Unveiled (1877) "at opposite sides of our writing-table, and dropped into a discussion of the principles involved in the conscious projection of the Double" — a theory they were developing on the basis of some of the instances of phenomena that had occurred in her presence.

Through lack of early familiarity with those subjects, she was not good then at explaining scientific matters, and I found it difficult to grasp her meaning.  Her fiery temperament made her prone to abuse me for an idiot in such cases, and this time she did not spare her expressions of impatience at my alleged obtuseness.  Finally, she did the very best thing by offering to show me in a picture how Oxon's evolution was proceeding, and at once made good her promise.  Rising from the table, she went and opened a drawer from which she took a small roll of white satin—the remnant, I believe, of a piece she had had given her at Philadelphia—and laying it on the table before me, proceeded to cut off a piece of the size she wanted; after which she returned the roll to its place and sat down.  She laid the piece of satin, face down, before her, almost covered it with a sheet of clean blotting-paper, and rested her elbows on it while she rolled for herself and lighted a fresh cigarette.  Presently she asked me to fetch her a glass of water.  I said I would, but first put her some question which involved an answer and some delay.  Meanwhile I kept my eye upon an exposed edge of the satin, determined not to lose sight of it.  Soon noticing that I made no sign of moving, she asked me if I did not mean to fetch her the water.  I said: "Oh, certainly."  "Then what do you wait for?" she asked.  "I only wait to see what you are about to do with that satin," I replied.  She gave me one angry glance, as though seeing that I did not mean to trust her alone with the satin, and then brought down her clenched fist upon the blotting-paper, saying: "I shall have it now—this minute!"  Then, raising the paper and turning over the satin, she tossed it over to me.  Imagine, if you can, my surprise!  On the sheeny side I found a picture, in colours, of a most extraordinary character.  There was an excellent portrait, of the head only, of Stainton Moses as he looked at that age . . .

 

Olcott also provided an account of another precipitated portrait — that of an Indian yogi.

 

On my way home to "The Lamasery" one day, I stopped at the Lotos Club and got some  of the club note-paper and envelopes to use at home as occasion might require.  It was late when I reached the house, and H. P. B. was at the dinner table already, with Mr. Judge and Dr. Marquette as guests.

. . . Judge asked H. P. B. if she would not make somebody's portrait for us.  As we were moving towards the writing-room, she asked him whose portrait he wished made, and he chose that of this particular yogi, whom we knew by name as one held in great respect by the Masters.  She crossed to my table, took a sheet of my crested club-paper, tore it in halves, kept the half which had no imprint, and laid it down on her own blotting paper.  She then scraped perhaps a grain of the plumbago of a Faber lead pencil on it, and then rubbed the surface for a minute or so with a circular motion of the palm of her right hand; after which she handed us the result.  On the paper had come the desired portrait and, setting wholly aside the question of its phenomenal character, it is an artistic production of power and genius.

 
Olcott mentioned that HPB referred to the yogi as "Tiraválá."

 

 

Another anecdote in the First Volume of Old Diary Leaves concerns a portrait of an Adept ("Louis") sent to Olcott in 1876 for examination.  He described the countenance seen in the portrait: " . . . a pretty man with mutton-chop whiskers . . ."  Olcott was disturbed that the portrait did not "embody the acquired masculine majesty one finds in the countenance of a true Yogi or Mahatma . . ." 

 Original Portrait

   

During this period, a French lady guest residing at their Theosophical Society Headquarters was involved with experiments to obtain 'spiritualistic photographs.'  HPB regarded her activities as a folly yet informed her, "Now see here: I can make a 'spirit picture' whenever I like and—of anybody I like.  You don't believe it, eh?  Well, I shall prove it on the spot!"  Olcott recounted that HPB found a piece of card-board, cut it to the size of a cabinet photograph, and then asked the lady whose portrait she wanted.
 
She asked for a "picture of that beautiful M. Louis."  HPB "burst into a scornful laugh" because Olcott had returned through the post the "Louis" portrait three days previously, the predicament leading Olcott to comment wryly, " . . . the trap set by the French lady was but too evident."
 

"Ah!" said H. P. B., "you thought you could catch me, but now see!"  She laid the prepared card on the table before Mlle. Liebert and myself, rubbed the palm of her hand over it three or four times, turned it over, and lo!  on the under side we saw (as we then thought) a fac-simile of the Louis portrait.  In a cloudy background at both sides of the face were grinning elemental sprites, and above the head a shadowy hand with the index-finger pointing downward.

 Phenomenally Produced 'Duplicate' Portrait

   

The 'shadowy hand' doesn't seem to be discernible in the photograph of the precipitated portrait featured in Old Diary Leaves. 

In 1884 Olcott discovered the apparent original portrait to be among the "collection of mediumistic curios" belonging to William Stainton Moses.  Upon comparing this portait with the phenomenally produced 'duplicate' portrait, Olcott observed, ". . . we found so many differences as to show conclusively that the one was not a duplicate of the other.  To begin with the faces look in opposite directions . . ."  Olcott also noticed "material differences in horizontal and vertical measurements throughout, as well as in the curl of the hair and beard and the outlines of the dress: the 'Louis' signatures also vary in all details while preserving a general resemblance."  Old Diary Leaves includes an account from a letter describing how the original portrait was made.

The Adept's "mutton chop whiskers"—a fashionable look of the epoch—were once favored by Henry S. Olcott himself, as noticeable from the image selected for the book cover jacket of the 1974 printing of Old Diary Leaves.

Henry Steel Olcott