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XVII
ALTHOUGH THERE
WERE many people at the Prieure who
were considered important for one reason or another, such as
Madame de Hartmann, his secretary, and her husband, the
pianist and composer, M. de Hartmann, who arranged and
played the various pieces of music which Gurdjieff composed
on his small "harmonium", the most impressive permanent
resident was his wife, who was always known to us as Madame
Ostrovsky.
She was a very tall, big-boned, handsome woman, and she
seemed to be ever-present, moving almost silently along the
corridors of the buildings, supervising the operation of the
kitchens, the laundry-rooms and the general housekeeping
work. I never knew exactly how much, or what, authority she
had. On the few occasions when she actually said anything to
us, which were rare, there was no question in our minds but
that her word was law. I remember being particularly fasci-
nated by the way she moved; she walked without any percep-
tible movement of her head and without the slightest jerkiness
in her movements; she was never hurried, but at the same time
she worked at incredible speed; every movement she made in
whatever she was doing was absolutely essential to that par-
ticular activity. During the first summer at the Prieure she
usually prepared Gurdjieff's meals and took them to his room,
and it was when she was in the kitchen that we had an oppor-
tunity to observe her at work. She rarely spoke, in fact, she
did not seem to use words as a means of communication unless
it was absolutely essential, and when she did speak, she never
raised her voice. She seemed surrounded by an aura of gentle
firmness; everyone regarded her with a certain awe, and she
inspired a very real feeling of devotion, although it was hardly
ever expressed outwardly, among all the children.
Although most of us had no contact with her in the usual
sense-for example, I doubt that she ever even addressed me
personally-when we learned that she was seriously ill, it was
a matter of concern to all of us. We missed the feeling of
unspoken authority that she had always carried with her, and
the lack of her presence gave us a feeling of definite, if indefin
able, loss.
Her illness, in addition, made a great change in Gurdjieff's
routine. Once she was confined to her room-which faced his
room and was of equal size, but at the opposite end of the main
building-Gurdjieff began to spend several hours with her
each day. He would go to her room for a short visit each
morning, supervise the persons who were delegated to taking
care of her-his two eldest nieces and, on occasion, others-
and would then return after lunch, usually to spend the entire
afternoon with her.
During this period, our contact with Gurdjieff was rare,
except for the evenings in the salon. He was preoccupied and
withdrawn and left almost all of the details of the running of
the Prieure to others. We occasionally saw him when we were
on kitchen duty as he would come to the kitchens to supervise,
personally, the preparation of her food. She was on a diet
which included a large amount of blood, pressed in a small
hand press from meat which had been especially selected and
purchased for her.
At the beginning of her illness, she did make occasional
appearances on the terrace, to sit in the sun, but as the summer
went on she finally took to her room permanently. Gurdjieff
informed us, one evening, that she was incurably ill with some
form of cancer and that the doctors -- some two months
before -- had given her only two weeks to live. He said that
although it might take all his strength, he was determined to
keep her alive for as long as possible. He said that she was
"living through him" and that it took almost all of his daily
energy, but that he hoped to keep her alive for another year,
or at least for six months.
As I was still in charge of his rooms, I necessarily had a
certain amount of contact with him. He would often send for
coffee during the night, which was now the only time he gave
to his writing -- often staying up until four or five in the morning,
having worked from about ten o'clock the night before.
In addition to the chickens, the donkey, the horse, a number
of sheep, and for a time one cow, there were a number of cats
and dogs around the Prieure. One of the dogs, a rather ugly
black and white mongrel, had always tended to follow Gurd-
jieff around, but not to such an extent that he could have been
called Gurdjieff's dog. At this period, with Gurdjieff rarely
absent from the Prieure -- he had cut his trips to Paris to an
absolute minimum -- this dog, named Philos by Gurdjieff.
became his constant companion. He not only followed him
everywhere, but also slept in Gurdjieff's room unless Gurdjieff
put him out personally, which he usually did, telling me that
he did not like anyone or anything sleeping in the same room
with him. Upon being put out of the room, Philos would curl
up directly in front of the door, and then go to sleep against it.
He was a reasonably fierce watchdog and became very pro-
tective of Gurdjieff. He was, however, extremely tolerant of
me as I was -- obviously with Gurdjieff's permission -- constantly
coming and going to and from Gurdjieff's room. When I would
enter it late at night with my tray of coffee, he would glare up
at me, yawn and permit me to step over him and enter the
room.
One night, it was very late and the entire Prieure was silent
and dark with the exception of Gurdjieff's room, Gurdjieff
set aside his work when I came in and told me to sit on the bed
beside him. He talked at some length about his work, how hard
his writing was, how exhausting his daily work with Madame
Ostrovsky, and then, as usual, asked me about myself. I recapi.
tulated the various things that I was doing, and he commented
that since I had a great deal to do with animals -- I took care
of the chickens, the horse, the donkey, and recently had been
feeding Philos, too -- he would like to know what I thought of
them. I said that I thought of them all as my friends and told
him, to his amusement, that I even had names for all the
chickens.
He said that the chickens were not important
-- very stupid
creatures -- but that he hoped that I would take good care of
the other animals. The donkey did not matter too much, but
he was concerned with the horse and the dogs. "Horse and dog,
and sometimes also true of cow," he said, "are special animals
Can do many things with such animals. In America, in
Western world, people make fools of dogs -- make learn tricks,
other stupid things. But these animals truly special -- no longer
just animals." He then asked me if I had ever heard of reincar-
nation and I said that I had. He said that there were people,
some Buddhists for example, who had many theories about
reincarnation, some "even believe animal can become man or
sometimes that man in next reincarnation can become animal."
He laughed when ht. said this, and then added: "Man do
many strange things with religion when learn a little -- make
up new things for religion, sometimes things that have little
truth, but usually come from original thing that was true.
In case of dogs, they not all wrong," he said. "Animals have
only two centres -- man is three-centred being, with body,
heart, and mind, all different. Animal cannot acquire third
brain and become man; but just because of this, because of
this impossibility to acquire third brain, is necessary always
treat animals with kindness. You know this word, 'kindness'?"
I said that I did, and he said: "Never forget this word. Very
good word and not exist in many languages. Not in French,
for instance. French say 'gentil' but this not mean same thing.
Not kind, kind come from kin, like family, like same thing.
Kindness mean to treat like self."
"Reason for necessity treat dog and horse with kindness,"
he went on, "is because unlike all other animal, and even
though he know cannot become man, cannot acquire third
brain like man, in his heart all dog and horse who associate
with man wish become man. You look at dog or horse and you
always see, in eyes, this sadness because know not possible for
them, but even so, they wish. This very sad thing to wish for
impossible. They wish this because of man. Man corrupts such
animals, man almost try to make dog and horse human. You
have heard people say 'my dog almost like human' -- they not
know they speak near-truth when say this, because is almost
truth, but still impossible. Dog and horse seem like human
because have this wish. So, Freets," -- as he always pronounced
my name -- "you remember this important thing. Take good
care of animals; always be kind."
He then spoke about Madame Ostrovsky. He said that his
work with her was extremely tiring and very difficult "because
I try to do thing with her which almost not possible. If she
alone, already she be long time dead. I keep alive, make stay
alive, with my strength; very difficult thing. But also very
important -- this most important moment in life for her. She
live many lives, is very old soul; she now have possibility
ascend to other world. But sickness come and make more
difficult, make impossible for her do this thing alone. If can
keep alive few months more will not have to come back and
live this life again. You now part of Prieure family -- my
family -- you can help by making strong wish for her, not for
long life, but for proper death at right time. Wish can help,
is like prayer when for other. When for self, prayer and wish
no good; only work good for self. But when wish with heart
for other, can help."
When he had finished, he looked at me for a long time,
patted my head in that affectionate animal way, and sent me
to bed.
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