My Savitri work with the Mother

10 September 1959

On the morning of 10th September 1959, I telephoned Doris and informed her that I had enjoyed my stay at Durham. She was very pleased and invited me to lunch. She added that we would visit the National Gallery. I accepted her proposal with thanks. Doris said about the National Gallery:

The present building was begun in 1832, and completed six years later. It was actually the home of both the Royal Academy and the National Collection until 1869. Two eminent collectors, Sir George Beaumont and W. Holwell Carre, presented their exclusive collections to the nation.

It was interesting to know how it coincided with the sale of the collection of a city broker Julius Angerstain. Lord Liverpool's Government purchased in April 1824 thirty-eight paintings worth £56,0001/- to start with. This was the beginning of the National Gallery.

We entered the hall. I had a very strong feeling of warmth—something living—as if some spirit hovered like a guardian angel. I was spellbound to see the works of Leonardo da Vinci—especially "The Virgin of the Rocks" and "The Virgin and Child with St. Anne and John the Baptist." His self-portrait expressed his extraordinary personality and profoundness. Doris told me:

There are approximately nine hundred pictures by Leonardo da Vinci in the world—out of them some six hundred are in the possession of the Queen of England including a huge collection of his drawings.

When I visited the National Gallery it contained about two thousand pictures, of which only a portion were exhibited. I watched an artist copy a painting of a woman in one of the halls. He imitated it amazingly well.

The paintings of Velazquez—"The Toilet of Venus (Rokeby Venus)" and "The Immaculate Conception"—were charming. Then there was an attractive painting by Botticelli—"Venus and Mars". Matteo di Giovanni expressed in painting "The Assumption of the Virgin", which was ethereal. I viewed minutely the various portraits of great, noble ladies, who had placid faces—so content with their pearls, diamonds, laces and satin gowns.

My eyes could not escape the enchanting pictures by Rembrandt, Carlo Crivelli, Paul Cezanne, William Hogarth, Titian, Correggio, Anthony Van Dyck, Edouard Manet, Raphael, Watteau, Turner, Reynolds, Auguste Renoir and so forth. I was totally enthralled by the grandeur of the Great Masters; I ran out of all adjectives and accurate exclamations of praise and surprise.

Michelangelo's half-finished painting "Madonna and Child with St. John and Angels" was very expressive. But I was bored by the repeating themes: Virgin and Child, Madonna and Child, Crucifixion of Christ. Perhaps during that era the mental vision and imagination were set to a certain level of consciousness.

It was fascinating to see the portrait of Doge Leonardo Lorendan done by Giovanni Bellini. The artist brought out the Doge's true characteristic force of determination such as his native city Venice had great need of at the time; all Europe was plotting and conspiring against Venice in the years of his reign (1501-1521). His son was in love with his cousin Cluet, daughter of the Doge's power-hungry brother who turned against the Doge and grabbed the throne. The Doge's brother was terribly annoyed and furious when he learnt of his daughter's affair. Cluet stood her ground—refused to desert her cousin. So he imprisoned Cluet and her cousin. Finally he got them thrown out of a high window into the river. Thus he ended their lives.

The Mother had once said that Cluet had been one of her incarnations. Further she explained in one of her talks all about her birth as Cluet. When she was in Venice and visited the Doge's palace and the prison she at once recognised the scrawl made by her on the walls of the jail.

She had so many births—so many experiences which are beyond our comprehension.

I rang up and apprised Mrs. Margaret Fletcher of my return from Durham. She was glad and asked me to tea. I went to her apartment which was very cosy and compact. I called her Aunt Margaret. Her husband Peter was there. He was a psychiatrist in his sixties. Aunt gave a word-picture of me to him. We instantly became friends. She had prepared an assortment of sandwiches, cakes, scones and almond biscuits—followed by the inevitable English tea which I simply relished. She and Uncle Peter asked me a hundred and one questions about my excursion to Durham.

It was an advantage to hear perfect cultured King's English when they talked to each other and to me. Whenever I informed Aunt that I had received a letter from the Mother, she would say: "Have you? How lovely!" Her way of speaking impressed me very much. She asked me to watch out for the words starting with "O" and "Sh". She gave me a cute card on which she had inscribed: "I wash my sash in the Irish Sea." This was for me to practise so as to improve my pronunciation.