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XXIV
THE TURKISH BATH
consisted of three rooms, and a small
furnace room in which Mr. Gurdjieff's brother, Drnitri,
stoked the fires. The first room, into which one entered, was
for dressing and undressing; the second room was a large,
circular room, equipped with a shower and several water
faucets, benches along all the walls, and a massage table in
the centre of the room; the third room was the steam-room, with
wooden benches on several levels.
In the first room there were two long rows of benches along
one side of the room and opposite them a large, higher bench
where Mr. Gurdjieff always sat, facing and looking down on
the other men. Because of the number of men at the Prieure
the first summer I was there, Mr. Gurdjieff had told Tom and
myself to climb up on his bench behind him, where we would
sit, peering over his shoulders at the assembled company. Any
"important" guests always sat directly in front of him. Now,
even though the baths were no longer crowded since there
were not as many students at the Prieure since the reorgani-
zation of the school, Tom and I still occupied our places
behind Mr. Gurdjieff; this had become a part of the ritual
connected with the Saturday bathing.
Once we had all undressed, it was customary to spend about
half an hour, most of the men smoking and talking, while
Gurdjieff urged them to tell him stories; the stories, as at the
swimming pool, were generally ribald or off-colour, at his
insistence. Inevitably, before we proceeded to the steam-room,
he would tell any newcomers a long, involved story about his
exalted position as head of the Prieure, and founder of the
Institute, and the story always included references to Tom and
myself as his "Cherubim" and "Seraphim".
Conventionally, because of my preconceptions about death,
and since Mme. Ostrovsky had died only about thirty-six hours
previously, I expected the ritual of the bath that particular
Saturday night to be a mournful and lugubrious one. I could
not have been more mistaken. When I arrived at the bath
that evening, somewhat later than most of the others, I found
everyone still wearing their underwear and Mr. Gurdjieff and
the Archbishop were involved in a lengthy argument about the
problem of undressing. The Archbishop insisted that he could
not take a Turkish bath with no covering of any kind, and
refused to participate in the bath if the other men were to be
completely naked. The argument must have gone on for about
fifteen minutes after I arrived, and Gurdjieff seemed to be
enjoying it immensely. He made numerous references to the
Scriptures, and generally poked fun at the Archbishop's "false
modesty". The Archbishop remained adamant, and someone
was despatched back to the main house to find something we
could all wear. Apparently, the problem had come up before,
since the messenger returned with a large number of muslin
breech-cloths which had been unearthed somewhere. We were
all instructed to wear them, and to undress as modestly as
possible. When we finally went into the steam-room, feeling
uncomfortable and embarrassed in our unaccustomed attire,
Gurdjieff, as if he now had the Archbishop at his mercy,
gradually removed his breech-cloth, and one by one the
rest of us did the same. The Archbishop made no further
comments, but stubbornly kept his breech-cloth around his
waist.
When we left the steam-room and went into the middle room
to wash, Mr. Gurdjieff again directed a long harangue at the
Archbishop. He said that not only was this partial clothing
a form of false modesty but that it was psychologically and
physically harmful; that ancient civilizations were aware that
the most important cleansing rituals had to do with the so-
called "private parts" of the body, which could not be properly
cleaned if any garment was worn over them, and that, in fact,
many religious ceremonies in former civilizations had stressed
such cleanliness as a part of their religious and sacred rites.
The result was a compromise: the Archbishop did not object
to his arguments and agreed that we could do as we wished,
but that he would not, and he did not, remove his
covering.
After the bath, the argument continued in the first room,
the dressing-room, during the "cooling-off" period which also
lasted for about half an hour; Gurdjieff was determined about
not venturing into the night air after a steam bath. A cold
shower was essential, but cold air was forbidden. In the course
of the discussion in the dressing-room, Mr. Gurdjieff brought
up the question of funerals and said that one important
measure of respect even for the dead was to attend their
obsequies fully cleansed, in mind and body. His tone, which had
been ribald in the beginning, serious in the washing room,
had become conciliatory and persuasive and he reiterated that
he had in no way intended to show disrespect to the Arch-
bishop.
Whatever the differences between them, they apparently
respected one another; at dinner, which was almost a banquet,
the Archbishop turned out to be a convivial and well-mannered
hard drinker, which pleased Mr. Gurdjieff, and they seemed
to enjoy one another's company.
***
After dinner, although it was very late by that time,
Mr. Gurdjieff had everyone assemble in the main salon and
told us a long story about funeral customs in various civiliza-
tions. He said that since Mme. Ostrovsky wished it, she would
have a proper funeral, as decreed by her Church, but he added
that other customs which had existed in great civilizations in
the distant past, civilizations that were literally unknown to
modern man, were pertinent and important. He described one
such funeral rite where it was the prevailing custom for all
of the relatives and friends of the deceased to gather together
for three days after the death of an individual. During this
period they thought of, and told the assembled company,
everything that had been considered an evil or harmful act --
in short, a sin -- that had been committed by the deceased
during his or her lifetime; the purpose of this being to create
opposition which would force the soul to fight its way out of
the body of the deceased and make its way to another
world.
During the funeral the following day, Mr. Gurdjieff remained
silent and withdrawn from the rest of us, as if only his body
were actually present among the mourners. He only intervened
at one point in the ceremonies, at the moment when the body
was to be removed from the study-house and placed on the
hearse. At that moment, with the pall-bearers assembled, a
woman who had been very close to his wife threw herself on
the coffin, hysterically, literally wailing and sobbing with grief.
Gurdjieff went over to her and removed her from the coffin,
speaking to her quietly, and the funeral proceeded. We
followed the coffin to the cemetery, on foot, and each one of us
threw a small handful of earth on the coffin when it had been
lowered into the open pit near the grave of his mother. After
the services, Mr. Gurdjieff and all the rest of us paid our silent
respects at the graves of his mother and of Katherine Mansfield,
who was also buried there.
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