Meetings With Remarkable Men

by G. I. Gurdjieff

  I first of all spoke with the Greek hawker, of course intentionally arousing his feelings of patriotism; then, having composed in my mind a plan of action, I went with him to the Italian and asked for work. To my good fortune it turned out that just previously a boy who had been working for him had been discharged for stealing tools, and the Italian needed someone to pour the water for him during the stirring of the plaster. As I was willing to work for any pay, I was immediately taken on.

  According to my plan, I pretended from the very first day to be a blockhead. I worked very hard, almost as much as three men, but in other respects behaved stupidly. For this the Italian very soon even took a liking to me and no longer hid his secrets from this young fellow, who was so foolish and harmless, as carefully as he did from others.

  In two weeks I already knew how many of the things were made. My employer would call me to hold the glue, to stir the mixture, and so on, and I thus penetrated to his holy of holies and soon learned all the little but, in this work, very important secrets. And in this sort of work they are indeed very important; for example, when the plaster is dissolved, one must know how many drops of lemon juice should be added so that the plaster will not have bubbles and the articles will come out smooth; otherwise the fine extremities of the statuettes, such as the nose, ear, and so on, may have ugly hollows. It is also important to know the right proportions of glue, gelatine and glycerine for making the moulds; a little more or a little less of anything, and everything goes wrong. Knowing only the procedures without these secrets would not enable one to obtain good results.

  In a word, a month and a half later there appeared on the market similar wares of my making. To the forms which the Italian had, I added several comic heads which were filled with small shot and served as penholders; I also put up for sale special money-boxes which sold in great numbers and were christened by me ‘The Invalid in Bed’. I do not think there was a single house in Tiflis at that time that did not have one of my money-boxes.

  Later I had several workmen working for me and six Georgian girls as apprentices. Yelov, with great delight, helped me in everything, and even stopped trading in books on week-days. At the same time, Yelov and I continued our own work: the reading of books and the study of philosophical questions.

  After several months, when I had amassed a fair sum of money and was growing weary of my workshop, I sold it, while it was in full swing, to two Jews for a good price. As I had to vacate my rooms, which were connected to the workshop, I moved to Molokans Street near the railway station, and Yelov, with his books, moved over there also.

  Yelov was short, thick-set and dark, with eyes always burning like two live coals. He was very hairy, with shaggy eyebrows and a beard growing nearly from the nose itself and almost covering his cheeks, the ruddiness of which nevertheless always shone through.

  He was born in Turkey in the region of Van, either in the town of Bitlis itself or its environs, and from there his family, four or five years before we met, had moved to Russia. When they arrived in Tiflis, he was sent to the first gymnasium, as it was called, but soon, in spite of the fact that the customs there were very simple and unceremonious, Yelov, for some prank or mischief, made himself unbearable even for this institution and was expelled by order of the teachers’ council. A short time afterwards his father turned him out and from then on he began to live as the spirit moved him. In short, as he himself expressed it, he was the black sheep of his family. His mother, however, unknown to his father, often sent him money.

  Yelov cherished very tender feelings for his mother, which manifested themselves even in little things; for instance, he always had a photograph of his mother hanging over his bed and never went out without kissing this photograph, and when he returned, he would always call from the doorway, ‘Good day, Mother’, or ‘Good evening, Mother’. It now seems to me that I grew to like him all the more for this feature. His father he also loved, but in his own way, and he considered him a petty, vain and wilful man.

  His father was a contractor and was considered very rich. Among the Aisors, moreover, he was very important, apparently because he was a descendant, though only through the female line, of the family of the Marshimoun, to which formerly the Aisor kings belonged, and from which, ever since the end of the kingdom, the patriarchs have come.

  Abram also had a brother, who was then studying in America, in Philadelphia, I believe; but his brother he did not like at all, holding the firm opinion that he was a double-faced egoist and an animal without a heart.

  Yelov had many peculiarities; among others, he had the habit of always hitching up his trousers, and later it cost us, his comrades, many and persistent labours to break him of this habit.

  Pogossian often poked fun at him for it, saying: ‘Hah!—and you wanted to be an officer! At the very first meeting with a general, off you’d go, you poor fool, to the guard-house, for instead of saluting you’d hitch up your trousers ...’ and so on. (Pogossian expressed himself still less delicately.)

  Pogossian and Yelov were forever teasing each other, and even when talking amicably, Yelov would never call Pogossian anything else but ‘salted Armenian’ and Pogossian would call Yelov ‘khachagokh’.

  The Armenians in general are called salted Armenians and the Aisors khachagokhs. Khachagokh means literally ‘stealer of crosses’. It seems that this nickname originated as follows:

  The Aisors are known to be cunning rogues. In Transcaucasia there even exists the following definition of them: ‘Boil together seven Russians, you get one Jew; boil seven Jews, you get one Armenian; but only by boiling seven Armenians can you get one Aisor.’

  Among the Aisors, scattered everywhere, were many priests, the majority of whom, moreover, were self-ordained—which was then easily done. Living in the environs of Mount Ararat, which marked the boundary of three countries, Russia, Turkey and Persia, and having an almost free right of passage across all the frontiers, they gave themselves out in Russia as Turkish Aisors, in Persia as Russian Aisors and so on.

  They not only performed the church ceremonies, but traded with great success among the religious and ignorant people in all kinds of so-called holy relics. In the depths of Russia, for instance, giving themselves out as Greek priests, in whom the Russians had great faith, they did a good business by selling things purporting to have been brought from Jerusalem, from Holy Athos, and from other holy places.

  Among these relics were fragments of the true cross on which Christ was crucified, hair of the Virgin Mary, finger-nails of St. Nicholas of Myra, the tooth of Judas, which brings good luck, a piece of the horseshoe of the horse of St. George, and even the rib or skull of some great saint.

  These things were bought with great reverence by naive Christians, especially those of the Russian merchant class, and many were the relics of Aisor priest-manufacture in the houses and innumerable churches of Holy Russia. Because of this, the Armenians, well knowing this brotherhood, nicknamed them and still now call them stealers of crosses.

  As for the Armenians, on the other hand, they are called salted because they have the custom of salting a child at his birth.

  I must add, by the way, that in my opinion this custom is not without its use. My special observations have shown me that the new-born children of other races suffer from a skin rash in the places where one usually applies some kind of powder to prevent inflammation, but with rare exceptions Armenian children, born in the same regions, do not suffer from this rash, although they have all the other children’s diseases. This fact I ascribe to the custom of salting.

  Yelov was unlike his compatriots in his complete lack of one characteristic that is very typical of the Aisors: although he was very hot-tempered he never bore a grudge. His anger passed quickly, and if he happened to offend anyone, as soon as his temper cooled he tried his best to smooth over whatever he had said.

  He was scrupulously considerate about the religion of others. Once, in the course of a conversation about the intensive propaganda whic
h was being carried on among the Aisors by missionaries of almost all European countries in order to convert them to their respective faiths, he said:

  ‘It is not a question of to whom a man prays, but a question of his faith. Faith is conscience, the foundation of which is laid in childhood. If a man changes his religion, he loses his conscience, and conscience is the most valuable thing in a man. I respect his conscience, and since his conscience is sustained by his faith and his faith by his religion, therefore I respect his religion; and for me it would be a great sin if I should begin to judge his religion or to disillusion him about it, and thus destroy his conscience which can only be acquired in childhood.’

  When he expressed himself in this way, Pogossian would ask him: ‘And why did you wish to be an officer?’ Then the cheeks of Abram would flame and he would vehemently cry: ‘Go to the devil, you salted phalanga!’

  Yelov was unusually devoted to his friends. He was ready, as is said, to give his soul for anyone to whom he became attached. When Yelov and Pogossian became friends they were so attached to one another as may God grant all brothers to be. But the external manifestation of the friendship of these two was quite particular and difficult to explain.

  The more they loved each other, the ruder they were to each other. But under this rudeness was hidden such a tender love that anyone who saw it could not fail to be touched to the depths of his heart. Several times I, who knew what was beneath some rudeness or other, was so moved that I could not hold back the tears which involuntarily came to my eyes.

  For instance, a scene such as the following would occur. Yelov would happen to be a guest in some house where he was offered candy. According to convention he would be obliged to eat it so as not to offend the person who offered it. However, even though very fond of candy, he would not eat it for anything in the world but would hide it in his pocket to take to Pogossian. And then he would not give it to him simply, but with every kind of mockery and a volley of insults.

  He usually did so as follows: during conversation at dinner, he would, as if unexpectedly, find the candy in his pocket and would offer it to Pogossian saying: ‘How the devil did this garbage happen to be in my pocket? Here, gobble up this muck; you’re an expert in swallowing everything that’s no good to anyone else.’ Pogossian would take it, also scolding: ‘Such a delicacy is not for a snout like yours. You can only gorge yourself on acorns like your brothers, the pigs.’ And while Pogossian was eating the candy, Yelov with a disdainful expression would say: ‘Look how he is gobbling the sweet stuff how he relishes it like a Karabakh ass munching thistles! Now, after this, he’ll be running after me like a little dog merely because I gave him this loathsome rubbish.’ And the talk would continue in this fashion.

  Besides being a phenomenon in the knowledge of books and authors, Yelov later on became a phenomenon in the knowledge of languages. I, who then spoke eighteen languages, felt a green-horn in comparison with him. Before I knew a single word of any European language, he already spoke almost all of them so perfectly that it was hard to tell that the language he was speaking was not his own. For example, the following incident occurred:

  Skridlov, the professor of archaeology (about whom we will speak later), had to take a certain Afghan holy relic across the river Amu Darya, but to do this was impossible since a close watch was kept on all persons crossing the Russian border in either direction, both by the Afghan guards and by the British soldiers who, for some reason or other, were there at that time in great numbers.

  Having obtained somewhere the old uniform of a British officer, Yelov put it on, went over to the post where the British troops were stationed and passed himself off as a British officer from India who had come there to hunt Turkestan tigers. He was able to distract their attention so well with his English stories that we had time, without hurrying and without being observed by the British troops, to take what we wanted from one bank to the other.

  Yelov, in addition to everything else he did, continued to study intensively. He did not, as he had intended, enter the Cadet School, but went to Moscow, where he brilliantly passed the examination for the Lazarev Institute and several years later received a degree in philology, at the Kazan University, if I remember rightly.

  Just as Pogossian had a peculiar notion about physical work, so Yelov had a very original view about mental work. He once said:

  ‘It’s all the same. Our thoughts work day and night. Instead of allowing them to think about caps of invisibility or the riches of Aladdin, rather let them be occupied with something useful. In giving direction to thought, of course a certain amount of energy is spent, but no more is needed for this purpose in a whole day than for the digestion of one meal. I therefore decided to study languages—not only to prevent my thoughts from idling but also not to allow them to hinder my other functions with their idiotic dreams and childish phantasies. Besides, the knowledge of languages can in itself sometimes be useful.’

  This friend of my youth is still alive and well and is now comfortably settled in one of the cities of North America.

  During the war he was in Russia and lived most of the time in Moscow. He was caught by the Russian Revolution in Siberia, where he had gone to inspect one of his numerous book and stationery stores. During the revolution he endured many hardships and all his riches were swept from the face of the earth.

  Only three years ago, his nephew, Dr. Yelov, came from America and persuaded him to emigrate there.

  VII

  PRINCE YURI LUBOVEDSKY

  REMARKABLE AND OUT OF THE USUAL RUN of men was the Russian Prince Yuri Lubovedsky. He was much older than I and for almost forty years was my elder comrade and closest friend.

  The remote, indirect cause which led to our meeting on life’s path, and to the close bonds of many years’ friendship, was the event by which his family life had been suddenly and tragically cut short. In his youth, when the prince was an officer of the guards, he had fallen violently in love with a beautiful young girl similar in character to himself, and had married her. They lived in Moscow, in the prince’s house on the Sadovaïa Boulevard.

  The princess died in giving birth to her first child and the prince, seeking an outlet for his grief, first became interested in spiritualism, hoping to enter into communication with the soul of his dead beloved wife; and then, without realizing it himself, he became more and more drawn to the study of occult sciences and to the search for the meaning of life. He so buried himself in these studies that he entirely changed his former mode of living. He received no one, went nowhere and, withdrawing to his library, applied himself uninterruptedly to the questions relating to occultism which preoccupied him.

  One day when he was particularly absorbed in these studies, his seclusion was broken by the visit of an unknown old man. To the astonishment of all his household, the prince immediately received the old man and, shutting himself up with him in the library, conversed with him a long time.

  Very soon after this visit the prince left Moscow, and spent almost all the rest of his life in Africa, India, Afghanistan and Persia. He rarely returned to Russia and then only by necessity and for a short time.

  The prince was a very rich man, but he spent all his wealth on ‘searches’ and on organizing special expeditions to the places where he thought he might find an answer to his questions. He lived for a long time in certain monasteries and met many persons with interests similar to his own.

  When I first met him, he was already middle-aged, while I was still a young man. From then on until his death we always kept in touch with each other.

  Our first meeting took place in Egypt, at the pyramids, not long after my journey with Pogossian. I had just returned from Jerusalem, where I had earned my living by showing tourists, chiefly Russians, the sights of the city and giving them the customary explanations; in a word, I had been a professional guide.

  Soon after my return to Egypt I decided to take up the same profession. I knew Arabic and Greek well, and also Italian, whic
h was indispensable then for speaking to Europeans. In a few days I had learned everything that a guide needed to know and began, along with the slick young Arabs, to confuse naive tourists.

  Since I was already well versed in this kind of work, and my pockets were not overflowing at that time either, I became a guide in order to earn the money I needed to carry out what I had planned.

  One day I was taken as a guide by a certain Russian, who afterwards proved to be a professor of archaeology, named Skridlov. As we were walking from the Sphinx towards the Pyramid of Cheops, my employer was hailed by a gentleman with slightly greying hair, who called him a ‘grave-digger’ and, obviously delighted at the meeting, inquired about his health. They talked Russian together but to me my employer spoke broken Italian, not knowing that I spoke Russian.

  They sat down at the foot of the pyramid and I sat down not far away, so that I could distinctly hear all they were saying, and began to eat my chourek.

  The gentleman who had met us, and who turned out to be a prince, asked the professor among other things:

  ‘Are you really still disturbing the remains of people who died long ago, and collecting the utterly worthless rubbish supposedly once used in their stupid lives?’

  ‘What would you?’ answered the professor. ‘This is at least something real and tangible, and not as ephemeral as that to which you have devoted your life, a life which you as a man of health and wealth could have used to the full. You are looking for truth invented once upon a time by some crazy idler; but if what I do contributes nothing to the satisfaction of curiosity, at least, if one wishes, it contributes to the pocket.’

  They talked in this way for a long time, and then my employer wished to go on to other pyramids and took leave of the prince, after arranging another meeting in ancient Thebes.

  It must be said that I was spending all my free time walking among these places like one possessed, hoping to find, with the help of my map of pre-sand Egypt, an explanation of the Sphinx and of certain other monuments of antiquity.