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XXII
As THAT SUMMER
came to an end, many of the visiting Ameri-
cans prepared to leave the Prieure, probably never to see it
again. They had been allowed to stay on even though the
school had been reorganized, but it was not expected that
thcy would be back the following year. It had again been
decided, to my great relief, that we would not return to
America that year, and I looked forward to the winter because
Mr. Gurdjieff also was not planning to go away. Except for
his occasional absences when it had been necessary for him
to go to Paris on business, he had been in Fontainebleau con-
stantly. His wife's condition, as he had predicted, was steadily
worse all the time and we began to expect her imminent death.
In the several months that she had been confined to her
room, I had only seen her once, when I had been sent to her
room on some errand or other for Mr. Gurdjieff. The change in
her had shocked and appalled me. She was incredibly thin,
and although she did look at me with the semblance of a smile,
even that small effort had seemed to exhaust her.
As the gardening and most of the outdoor projects came to
an end for the winter, we began to make our usual prepara-
tions: drying fruit and vegetables, preparing meat for storage
in large barrels in the cellars, cutting and splitting wood for
all the stoves and fireplaces. Some of the floors of the school
were closed off for the winter and some of the students even
doubled up, sharing rooms to save on fuel. With the diminished
number of students, most of our work was indoors as it had
been the winter before; most of the available manpower was
needed for general housekeeping and in the kitchens, stables,
and the concierge.
The one event that loomed enticingly ahead of us, as the
fall came to an end, was Christmas. It would be the first
Christmas I had spent at the Prieure when Mr. Gurdjieff
was also there, and we had heard many stories about the
elaborate Christmas ceremonies -- there were always two
celebrations, one for the "English" calendar and one for the
"Russian" calendar which came two weeks later -- and there
would also be two New Years to celebrate as well as Gurdjieff's
birthday which was, appropriately, on the first day of January
by one or the other of these two calendars.
As the time approached, we began to make elaborate
preparations. Various traditional holiday candies were made,
cakes were baked and stored, and all the children were allowed
to help in the preparation of what were called "guest presents",
usually gaily coloured paper sacks of candies to be hung on the
Christmas tree. The tree itself was huge. We cut it in the forest
on the grounds of the Prieure and it was set up in the main
salon, so tall that it touched the very high ceiling. A day or so
before Christmas, everyone helped with the trimming of the
tree, which consisted mostly of hanging presents on the tree
and also decorating it with hundreds of candles. A special,
long pole was cut, to stand by the tree, to be used to put out
any of the candles that threatened to set the tree on fire.
It was late on Christmas eve afternoon by the time that all
the preparations had been made, and there was to be a feast
that evening, after which everyone would join together in the
salon for the distribution of presents, sometime that night.
It was beginning to get dark when Mr. Gurdjieff sent for me.
He talked to me about Christmas, asked me about previous
Christmases in America and how I felt about that holiday,
and when I had given him the expected answers, told me that,
unfortunately, it was always necessary for some people to work
on holidays in order that the others should be able to enjoy
themselves. He mentioned the people who would be working
in the kitchens, waiting on tables, cleaning up, and so forth,
and then he said that someone would also, of course, have to
be on duty at the concierge that evening. He was expecting
a long distance telephone call and there would have to be
someone there to answer it. He had chosen me because he knew
that I could be trusted; also, I spoke English, French, and
enough Russian to be able to deal with any telephone call
that might come.
I was thunderstruck and could hardly believe what I was
hearing. I could not remember ever having looked forward to
any single celebration as I had looked forward to that one.
He saw the disappointment in my face, of course, but said
simply that while I would not be able to participate in the
general festivities that night, I could look forward to Christmas
that much longer, as I would get my presents on the following
day. There was obviously no way in which I felt I could get out
of this assigned duty, and I left him with a heavy heart. I had
my supper early, in the kitchen, and then reported to relieve
whoever had been assigned to the concierge that particular
day. Normally, no one was on duty in the concierge at night.
A Russian family lived on the upper floor of the building and
answered the telephone or unlocked the gate on the few
occasions when it might be necessary.
It had snowed the day before, and the front courtyard,
between the concierge house and the main building, was
covered with snow, glistening white, and lighted by the brilliant
lamps in the long corridor and the main salon, both of which
faced the courtyard. It was dark when I reported for duty, and
I sat glumly, filled with self-pity, inside the small concierge
house, staring at the lights of the big house. There was no
activity there now, the rest of the students, at this time, would
be about to go in to dinner.
It seemed an interminable time before I began to see people
filing into the big salon. Someone began to light the candles
on the tree, and I was unable to contain myself. I left the door
to the concierge open, and approached as close to the main
house as I could and still be reasonably certain that I would
be able to hear the telephone if it should ring. It was very
cold -- also I was uncertain about just how far away I would be
able to hear the telephone bell -- and from time to time, as the
tree was being lighted, I would run back to the concierge
to warm myself and to stare angrily at the telephone. I was
praying for it to ring, so that I would be able to join the others.
All it did was to stare back at me, stern and silent.
When tile distribution of the presents began, starting with
the smallest children, I was unable to control myself, and,
forgetting all my responsibilities, I went right up to the win-
dows of the main salon. I had not been there more than a
minute when Gurdjieff's eye caught me and he stood up and
strode across the salon. I left the window and, as if he had
sent for me, went directly to the entrance of the chateau
instead of back to the concierge. He arrived at the door at
almost the same time as I did, and we stood, momentarily,
looking at each other through the glass door. Then he opened
it with a sudden, harsh movement. "Why not at concierge ?
Why you here?" he demanded angrily.
I made some half-tearful protest about having to be on duty
when everyone else was celebrating Christmas, but he cut me
short. "I tell you do this thing for me, and you not do. Impos-
sible hear telephone from here, maybe ring now and you stand
here and not hear. Go back." He had not raised his voice,
but there was no question that he was very angry with me.
I went back to the concierge, hurt and overflowing with self-
pity, determined that I would not leave my post again, no
matter what might happen.
It must have been close to midnight when the family who
lived on the upper floor returned and I was allowed to leave
for the night. I went back to my room, hating Gurdjieff,
hating the Prieure, and by this time almost feeling proud of my
"sacrifice" for him. I vowed that I would never mention that
evening to him or to anyone else; also, that Christmas would
never mean anything to me again. I expected, however, that
something would be done for me the following day, that
Gurdjieff would explain it to me, or in some way "make it
up to me". I still fancied myself as a sort of "favourite" because
of my work in his rooms -- my special position.
The following day, to my further chagrin, I was assigned to
work in the kitchen, since they would need extra help; I would
have enough time off to clean his rooms, and would be able
to deliver coffee to him at any time he might want it. I saw
him several times, briefly, during the day, but always with
other people, and no reference was made to the previous
evening. At sorme point during the afternoon, someone, who
said they had been delegated by Gurdjieff, gave me some
Christmas presents, small things plus a copy of Jules Verne's
Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea; and that was the end
of Christmas, except for the interminable waiting on table that
night at the Christmas dinner for all the students and various
guests. Since I was, this time, not alone as a waiter, I was unable
to feel that I had, once again, been singled out or "punished" as
I felt I had been the night before.
While Gurdjieff never at any time made any reference to
that evening, it did mark a change in my relationship with
him. He no longer spoke to me as if I were a child, and my
private "lessons" came to an end; nothing was said about this
by Gurdjieff, and I felt too intimidated to bring up the question
of the lessons. Even though there had been no telephone call
of any kind on Christmas eve, I had a lurking suspicion that
there might well have been one during one of the periods when
I had strayed away from the concierge house, and it preyed on
my conscience. Even if there had not been a telephone call at
all, I knew that I had "failed" in the duty that had been
assigned to me, and I could not forget it for a long time.
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