Part One: In Search of Ancient Knowledge. Gurdjieff's diary
Part two: Gurdjieff and Stalin
Part Three: Gurdjieff and Badmaev
March 16, 1901
“All in the same cab, Gleb Bokiy took me to the Karelian Isthmus, to Kuokkala, and a two-storey villa, located almost on the very shore of the Gulf of Finland, among tall pines, boulders, emerged as huge gray spots from the blanket of virgin snow, turned out to be a secret dacha. A tall, gray-haired woman with an aristocratic, haughty, as it seemed to me, face came out at the knock; wrapping herself in a sleeveless mink cape, she carefully looked at me and Gleb and said, slightly pursing her narrow lips:
- Hello, gentlemen!
- Good morning, Anna Karlovna! - Bokiy's voice was full of respect. - Here I have brought you a new tenant - Arseny Nikolaevich Bolotov, a geography student, now on academic leave, an intellectual, perhaps, is closed, the main addiction is books. Will live with you for a month, maybe a month and a half. "An imperceptible gesture extinguished my bewildered look." I have no doubt: you will like each other. Gleb paused, obviously expecting the hostess's reaction, but Anna Karlovna was silent. - In a word, - Gleb Bokiy hurried, - I ask you to love and favor!
- Come in! - just said "madam" (so all the time spent at the "dacha", I silently called Anna Karlovna Miller, the widow of retired general G. I. Miller. "Madame" was very suitable for her). - All rooms are free, choose any …
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- Perhaps the fireplace, - said Bokiy. - It hurts too cozy there.
- You are welcome! I will order Dasha to bring la linen. In half an hour I ask you to go to the living room for breakfast.
“Some miracles,” I even thought a little depressedly. among them and further on, on the white icy surface, are the same dark, even black boulders, and the dense black water immensity of the bay stretching towards the gray misty horizon. I stood at the window, unable to take my eyes off the harsh landscape, the sea, perfectly flat trunks of pine trees.
- Do you like this cell? - Gleb Bokiy asked jealously behind my back.
I turned to the "cell": a small fireplace, against the blank wall opposite it - a wide sofa, at the second window - a writing table with a table lamp, a chair in front of it on a rotating leg (like a piano chair), two armchairs in the corners; on the floor there was a carpet with a bright intricate pattern, in which, if desired, one could discern Kabbalistic signs. In another corner, on an elegant shelf with curved legs, there was a plaster bust of Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin, an excellent copy of some famous sculpture, the author of which I did not know.
- I like it very much, - I said. - And what, such fireplaces in all rooms?
- Well, you are interested in trifles! - Gleb chuckled. - No. The rest of the rooms have Dutch ovens. Only here is it an English invention. Therefore, the "fireplace". This is the office of the deceased owner. Are there any other questions?
- There is. Why two months? What am I going to do here?
- Relax. Gain strength. And that's what, Arseny Nikolaevich, - an accent was placed on my new name and patronymic. - Get used, dear comrade, to this nickname, only respond to it. Under him you will work in the "Badmaev case." - Gleb, in some thought, walked around the room. - But you should not puzzle about the future. Your time will come. We are working on what lies ahead …
- Who are we ? I interrupted.
- We! - Bokiy said harshly. - And you don't have to participate in all this Petersburg bustle. It is not worthwhile to flicker in public. He appeared once, introduced himself to his comrades - that's enough. The area is full of police bloodhounds and provocateurs. Now rest, walk around the neighborhood. You can, for example, visit the Repins. - Bokiy suddenly stopped himself: - However, no, you shouldn't! Wouldn't recommend! But keep in mind: we are a kind of student society, a circle, we study archeology, Russian history. For our meetings and individual lessons, we rent this dacha from the general's widow Miller. This is how she perceives us. Anna Karlovna is a completely acceptable person: she is not curious, does not climb into the soul, her favorite pastime is silence. Everything is thinking about something. Maybe a deceased husband. It happens so! - Extreme bewilderment sounded in Gleb's voice.- You support this passion for reticence in her. It is known: silence is golden.
There was a gentle knock on the door.
- Come in, Dasha! - Gleb said affably.
A girl of about eighteen appeared in the room with a stack of clean linen in her hands, in a white apron, dark-haired, strong; about such people in Russia they say: blood with milk. She was the personification of youth, freshness, healthy life.
Not quite skillfully making a knixen, Dasha said:
- Good morning, gentlemen! Anna Karlovna is calling you to eat tea.
- Thank you, Dasha, let's go! And you, if possible, light up the fireplace. Arseny Nikolaevich is a southern, Caucasian man. It freezes in the Finnish winds, it needs to be warmed up.
- Yes!
I met the maid's quick, playful gaze; there was not even a drop of embarrassment in him, rather an appeal.
Having put the linen on the sofa, Dasha silently left.
“Except for Dasha,” said Bokiy, “Anna Karlovna has Danil's service, a huge man who looks like a bear. He is both a watchman and a janitor, in a word, on the farm for all men's affairs. The type is rather gloomy, but what is great - deaf from birth. So you won't have contact with him. In a word, proceed from the fact that it exists, and it seems that it does not exist. And now let's go into the living room, Anna Karlovna is a punctual woman in German, she doesn't like being late.
When we were descending a steep spiral staircase, Gleb, walking behind, whispered to me, as it were, by the way:
- Pay attention to Dasha. Reliable.
Maybe the last word I imagined? I quickly turned around, the face of Gleb Bokiy was impassive, detached, indifferent and, as it were, confirmed: "Yes, I imagined it."
In the living room with four large windows, cluttered with antique furniture that had darkened with time, there was a long table under a white, heavily starched tablecloth; it was already served for three persons, the hostess was sitting at the head of it in a chair with a high back, Gleb and I were located on the right and left. A samovar in the shape of an acorn was steaming in front of Anna Karlovna; it seemed to me that it was made of silver. Dasha served the dishes and, already in the middle of the meal, placing a plate in front of me, quickly, fleetingly touched my shoulder with her strong chest, clearly deliberately. A wave of dark, mind-fogging desire instantly and hotly swept through my body.
The breakfast was plentiful, delicious, and passed in complete silence. Only once, when I looked at a large portrait in a heavy inlaid frame for quite a long time - it depicted an old, gray-haired general in a ceremonial uniform, with luxurious gold shoulder straps (the artist painted them especially carefully: the sun's rays fell on the shoulder straps), in front of everyone orders and regalia; the elder had a thoroughbred, strong, strong-willed face, - following my gaze, Anna Karlovna said:
“My late husband, retired general Heinrich Ivanovich Miller.” And, as if someone had objected to her, she added sternly: “He was a worthy man. Father Tsar Alexander Nikolaevich handed him "St. George" himself. So, gentlemen!
Gleb and I were silent, busy with strong tea with charlotte.
Saying goodbye to me, the little party leader said:
- I … and, perhaps, other comrades … we will visit you. And you, I emphasize again, rest, gain strength - you have a lot to do.
After seeing Gleb to the carriage, I went up to my room. Birch logs were burning hot in the fireplace, the bed on the couch was spread out. I undressed, lay down on the sofa under the covers (I slept disgustingly in the safe house - in that St. Petersburg sofa that was provided to me, innumerable herds of fat, insolent bugs lived) - and instantly fell asleep sweetly and soundly.
I lived in Kuokkala, at Madame Miller's dacha, for almost two months, until May 12, 1901 - this day I will never forget.
The time spent on the shores of the Gulf of Finland in the company of Madame, Dasha and the dumb Danila was blissful and lazy, I learned the Russian sweetness of doing nothing. My main occupation at that time was really books. In the house of Anna Karlovna there was a small, but one of a kind library, collected by her late husband. She occupied a cozy oval room with windows on three sides of the world - east, west and south, and the north wall was a solid bookcase up to the ceiling, and to get to the upper shelves, you had to climb a special ladder, at the very top of which there was something like a chair: took out the book you are interested in, sat down, leaning his back on the cool book covers, and read to yourself as much as you like. Enjoyment!
The library was unique in this sense: it was a collection of all kinds of essays on all branches of military affairs, moreover, in various genres: scientific research, special descriptions of all types of Russian troops, starting from the time of Ivan the Terrible; history of artillery, infantry, naval and so on; military memoirs and memoirs of both Russian and foreign military leaders (the latter are mainly in German); the multivolume history of the "War with Napoleon"; Obviously, everything that was published in Russia about Peter the Great - the commander and his wars … Until now, books of this kind came to me by chance, and now the opportunity presented itself to replenish my education in this area of human knowledge.
The first month of my forced seclusion, I literally disappeared in a cozy library with comfortable upholstered furniture and a desk table. I completely forgot why I am here, for what purpose - I think this is a trait of my nature: to completely go into reading, into the world of the subject that you are studying, and the whole everyday life around you seems to cease to exist. And what I plunged into … Wars, strategic development of battles, various types of weapons that are being improved every year, calculations of battle strategists and creators of deadly weapons with the sole purpose of: how to defeat the enemy, how to destroy as much of his "manpower" as possible … Really is the eternal destiny of mankind: to solve controversial issues with war and the blood of armies? And maybe for the first time in my life I was tormented by such questions, to which, perhaps, humanity has no answers. Or there is one and for all times: it was so, it is, it will be …
I noticed that Madame was imbued with respect for me, observing my irrepressible passion for the library of my late husband. Sometimes she quietly entered the oval room, said:
- Excuse me, Mr. Bolotov, won't I disturb you?
- Have mercy, Anna Karlovna! When I am immersed in reading, for me everything is absent!
“And fine,” Madame pursed her lips in a sarcastic smile. “I will be absent too.” “I understood that I had overcame stupidity, tactlessness, but it was too late: the word, as you know, is not a sparrow …” “Not for long. They brought in "Women's Journal", and I got used to reading here, in the armchair … He was very fond of Genrikh Ivanovich.
- Forgive me, Anna Karlovna …
Madame did not answer, already immersed in reading. However, at lunch or dinner, she, with a gracious but sparing smile, asked:
- And what did you study in our library today?
I answered, and for some time - not for long - we talked about the book that was the subject of my study that day.
“It’s in vain that you, Arseny Nikolayevich, chose geography,” said Madame. “You are clearly born for feats of arms. You should study at the Academy of the General Staff. - Anna Karlovna sighed. - There Genrikh Ivanovich headed the department.
Gleb Bokiy was right: the owner of the "secret dacha" and I were imbued with sympathy for each other. By the way, the little party leader (I don’t know why, but I liked to call Gleb Bokii so silently) came two or three times; trivial, meaningless questions, conversations about nothing. I understood that he needed to make sure: I was there, I had not escaped. He was in a hurry, looking at his watch, I was eager for my solitude in the oval room, to my books. We were both weary of dating.
The last time Bokiy appeared at the beginning of May. On the Karelian Isthmus, a timid northern spring came into force: the snow had almost melted and lay in white-gray spongy spots on the northern side of trees and boulders. Ephemeral flowers bloomed with delicate colors (their age is almost instantaneous), the buds on the trees are about to burst, the seagulls were crying excitedly and joyfully. Bokiy and I walked along the footpath that twisted between the pine trees, repeating the zigzags of the Primorskoe highway, along which the carriage I already knew was slowly rolling after us - I went out to see my guardian off. Stopping, looking tensely into my eyes, Gleb said:
- Soon.
I didn’t ask: “Soon what?”, Although I saw that he was waiting for this question. The little party leader waved his hand imperiously to the driver, who immediately drove up.
- Wait! - Gleb Bokiy said irritably and, without looking at me, drove off.
The smooth, soft, harmonious world that has arisen in me lately has collapsed. "Soon …" Of course, I knew what. Having approached the very edge of the water - a barely noticeable transparent and lazy wave ran over the white sand - I wandered towards St. Petersburg, trying to calm myself: “So this is great! It's great that my imprisonment will soon end. Ahead is what I have been ordered to do for the sake of a happy future of humanity …"
But there was no calmness, and there was no desire for this sweet conclusion to end. Sweet! Because there was also Dasha in it. She herself took the initiative. On the third or fourth evening of my living in the "secret dacha" after dinner (Anna Karlovna suffered from a lack of appetite and usually was the first to leave the dining room) we stayed at the table. Rather, I was finishing something, and Dasha silently collected the dishes. When the door was closed behind Madame, after waiting a while, the maid came up behind me, bent down and whispered hotly, tickling her ear with her lips:
- Arseny Nikolaevich, do you lock your door at night?
“No,” I answered immediately in a whisper, and my mouth was instantly dry.
- Then … at twelve o'clock … How are you? Consonants?
- Yes Yes! - I jumped up from the chair, turned abruptly, intending right there … I don't know what …
Dasha, slipping out of my hands, laughed softly and disappeared from the living room.
She came at the beginning of the first - barefoot so that no steps could be heard: her room was on the first floor. Dasha was wearing a dress that immediately fell off her, and I saw her naked, beautiful and somehow frightening, I still could not understand why. She slowly approached me on tiptoe, and a strange, kind of convulsive smile wandered on her face. Now I can define it: that smile embodied uncontrollable lust, passion, desire and lust.
- Arseny Nikolaevich, are you awake? - In her stifled whisper, only one thing was heard: hurry!
- Not…
And Dasha literally pounced on me. Her caresses were rude and inept, but I was exhausted from voluptuousness …
When it was all over - for the first time - my night guest turned on her back, lay there for several minutes, freezing, breathing rapidly, and it seemed to me that I could hear the beats of her heart. Or maybe it was my heart thundering. Finally Dasha said very seriously:
- Thank you, Arseny Nikolaevich.
I was moved and, turning on my side, wanted to kiss her, also in gratitude, but she rather rudely stopped me with a strong peasant hand:
- Wait! I'll rest a little longer.
After resting, she pounced on me with the same fury. Then, after the "rest", again and again … And I was already waiting, hurrying: "Yes, soon! Haven't you rested yet?"
Dasha began to come to me almost every night. I waited for her, languished, exhausted - this very young woman completely subjugated me to her frantic and, I repeat, inept body, and this ineptitude was something that made me go crazy. And one more thing amazed and shocked me in her: the complete absence of bashfulness, timidity. But in no case was there depravity in Dasha, on the contrary - there was naturalness and some kind of childish simplicity: she did everything silently, with concentration, only at the moments of approaching orgasm her eyes rolled frighteningly under her forehead, she could bite her lip to the blood or, shaking in sweet convulsions, whisper: "Mommy!.." And I always heard the same:
- Thank you, Arseny Nikolaevich.
In the end, this idiotic phrase began to annoy me, but I did not say anything to Dasha, I was ready to endure anything, if only she was with me, if only she would come again the next night. And more … Dasha had a special delicate scent, unique and exciting, it evoked emotion and delight. For a long time I could not define it, give it a name. Finally I realized: Dasha smelled of fresh milk during our proximity.
I must say that she was extremely cunning, careful, prudent in what was happening between us. Nowhere and never remained traces of "night love" - Dasha in this sense has developed a whole technology. And - I felt it - Madame had absolutely no suspicion. Daria Milova (once at evening tea, I don't remember in what connection, Anna Karlovna told me her last name) - my "she-wolf", as I sometimes called her, treasured her work as a maid and cook for General Miller, whom she showed every respect. And you had to see what Dasha was withdrawn and inaccessible, shyly frightened, when the three of us were in the living room: madam, me and she, the servant. If she had to turn to me, Dasha lowered her gaze, was shy, embarrassment flushed on her cheeks, and I saw that Anna Karlovna,an obvious puritan in her views and beliefs, this behavior of her maid approves. If only she knew what was going on at night in the former office of her late husband, in the fireplace room!.. But one day something happened that shocked me to the depths of my soul and that forced me to admit to myself: I do not know and do not understand Daria Milov …
It turns out that Anna Karlovna Miller had her own departure: a strong working gelding Crow, black as coal, Danila's pride, who regularly performed all horse work on the farm, once every two months turned into an outgoing trotter: cleaned, with a trimmed mane and tied in a tight knot tail, he, through the efforts of his silent master, put on an elegant harness with bells, harnessed to a rather elegant, albeit old, tarantass with a covered top and rubber tread. And so the carriage moved to the porch. A solemn Danila was sitting on the irradiation room, wearing a festive cloth coat that was plowed with mothballs and wearing a short sheepskin coat wide open; Anna Karlovna appeared on the porch in a decent, old-fashioned cut sable fur coat - a solemn day was approaching: the dignitary general was leaving for St. Petersburg to make visits.
In mid-April 1901, the day of the visits turned out to be cloudy, chilly, a strong evil wind was blowing from the Gulf of Finland, but the weather could not change anything: visits of friends in the northern Russian capital were agreed in advance, and Anna Karlovna Miller was a punctual and pedantic woman - after morning tea a carriage was brought up to the porch. I went out to escort the mistress of the house to the porch; Dasha also appeared, withdrawn and timid.
"Perhaps I will be late," said Madame. "Dinner will be without me, Daria!" Ask Arseny Nikolaevich what he wants. Get it ready.
- Yes! - The unchanged xnixen was made.
The raven took from the spot at a sweeping trot - stagnated; soon the chime of the bells on his harness faded into complete silence. And I heard; as Dasha, who was standing next to me, whispered, rather to herself:
- She's gone, old witch!
I was struck by the hatred and disdain that filled her voice. However, my "she-wolf" could be absolutely sure that I would not convey these words to the mistress.
- Do you not love Anna Karlovna? I asked.
- I love walnuts. - She grabbed my hand, tenaciously, hot, imperiously. - And I love, Arseny Nikolaevich, to ride on you! Come on!
And she carried me into the house, quickly, breathlessly, dragged me to the second floor, but not to the fireplace room, but to the "lady's chambers" - we found ourselves in Anna Karlovna's bedroom. And Dasha was already at the door hastily began to undress. Already naked, furious, she rushed to a large wooden bed under a canopy of light white silk, began to throw the blanket and pillows on the floor, pulled off the sheet and on the mattress in one precise motion laid a large terry towel (I did not notice how it appeared in her hands; probably everything was prepared in advance). Then Dasha several times, with obvious pleasure, walked with her bare feet on the crumpled blanket, sheet, pillows. And suddenly - maybe for a short moment, like a flash of night lightning, it seemed to me that it was not Dasha, but that, my first woman in the Tibetan village of Talim - the same plastic predatory movements, the bend of the waist,the same dark, passionate, invitingly sparkling eyes, and the hair in the same wave fell on the forehead … But no, it was just a second obsession.
Dasha fell on her back in bed, prudently finding herself in the middle of a terry towel, shamelessly spread her legs and ordered:
- Rather, Arseny Nikolaevich!..- She gasped with lust.- Why … you?..
On the bed, Madame Dasha gave herself to me, as always, suckingly rude, and her (village, perhaps) ineptitude only increased voluptuousness. Then, after an hour or maybe two, the "she-wolf", having rested, jerked out of bed:
- Let's go to the kitchen. I'm dying of hunger. And you?
- I also.
- Then - quickly! - And again the order, or, more precisely, the command, sounded in her voice. - No need to dress! Here, wrap yourself in a sheet. Like these … how are they?.. Greeks.
“How does she know? - I thought. - About the Greeks in white togas …"
In the kitchen, we ate cold pork with black bread, grabbing everything with our hands - I, wrapped in a sheet, Dasha, naked, shameless. I looked at her and could not help myself: a dark, painful desire woke up in me.
- And drink some kvass! “The Night Wolf” handed me a wooden ladle with kvass.
God, how delicious he was! She herself had already "washed down" - a pale brown trickle flowed from the corner of her mouth.
- And now … - Dasha was already dragging me to the door, - let's go into the living room. I'll show you a teanter!
-What?
- Well … Where the artists perform, the clowns are different, the mamzels dance.
- Theater, or what?
- Yes, tejanter. Let's go!
I was brought into the living room and seated in a chair.
- Sit there, you guys! I am shas!
And she rushed off, flashing a pink young body. My head was buzzing, I wanted kvass again, but I didn't have the strength to go back to the kitchen. It seems to be unclear why, but I was expecting something terrible. And the premonition came true …
And indeed … Dasha returned with a pile of dresses of various styles and sizes, sweaters, blouses and items of women's underwear. All this was thrown into a corner, and from above I saw women's trousers in frills, with neat darning at the waist. Surely all this was taken out of the closets or chests with toilets of Anna Karlovna Miller, and then, remembering that nightmare day, I first of all saw these old trousers with darning. And the "teanter" began …
My "night wolf" put on first one dress, then another and, grimacing, laughing, performed wild, frantic dances in front of me, saying:
- The lady at the ball is dancing myanzurka! The lady in the market chooses chickens! Their Excellency went to church, to atone for sins. - This phrase was accompanied not so much by a dance as by an evil parody of an old woman who came to the temple of God and with difficulty kneeling down. And then you have to go up … - Oh, oh, oh! - Dasha groaned in some ridiculous long outfit, her legs were tangled in it, she was falling. Our grave sins! Hope we gobble up sturgeons!
And, I must say, in this disgusting improvisation, Anna Karlovna's intonations sounded, albeit distorted by anger and mockery. Madame Miller's maid must have had extraordinary artistic talent.
“ And this is our lady in front of her general. ” Making the most obscene movements, standing imitating sexual intercourse, Dasha began to throw off a whole heap of clothes (and when did she have time to put all this on herself?), Gradually exposing herself - right now she will have her sideburn to drag into bed. Oh! Fathers! It does not work!.. Do not stand at the sideburns! Right now, right now we have it!..
And Dasha, remaining only in black stockings and white garters, sang in front of me something like a cancan, singing to herself in a screeching hysterical voice:
Tra-ta-ta-ta! Tra-ta-ta!
The cat sat under the cat!..
And I, looking at her, did not understand anything, already all burned out from only one feeling - incinerating desire. The "night wolf", performing her wild dances and improvisations, must have been watching me: the cancan was interrupted, as if an invisible satanic orchestra had been stopped. Dasha, freezing for a moment, rushed to me, with a strong rough jerk pulled off the sheet in which I hid my sinful body; my young mistress grabbed me by the hand, again with a rough jerk lifted me from the chair, I found myself in her fiery embrace, for a split second felt the smell of fresh milk that exuded her body, and we collapsed on the heap of Anna Karlovna Miller's upper toilets and underwear.
Then I often thought (and I still think so): probably it was about such "cooks" that the leader of the world proletariat Ulyanov-Lenin spoke, claiming that they could run the state. And I would not be at all surprised if they told me that under the Bolsheviks Daria Milova got into power and made a good political career, or even with others like her, “ruled” the state."
George Ivanovich Gurdjieff was almost not mistaken. Daria Vasilievna Milova (1883-1954) made an impressive career: from 1907 in the Bolshevik Party; from 1918 until her death - an employee of the Cheka-OGPU-NKVD-KGB: during the revolution she was the organizer of the structure of the ChOH (special purpose units); correspondence studies at the Faculty of Law of Moscow University; during the Great Patriotic War - at the fronts in the management of the NKVD-KGB "Smersh" (Death to spies!) as a prosecutor; one of the prosecutors at several "trials" in the Leningrad case (1949-1950); 1951 - 1953 - "the oldest and honored worker of the organs" - the head of the special purpose women's camp in Kolyma No. 041-approx. B. After the 20th Congress of the CPSU and the exposure of the "Stalin personality cult" in May 1953, she was arrested for "abuse of power,cruel (in one document - "atrocious") treatment of prisoners and plundering of socialist (camp) property ", tried by" her own ", sentenced to death, shot in February 1954 - by the same firing squad, which, breathing vodka fumes, this an obese, still strong, rosy-cheeked old woman in the old fashioned way with voluptuousness shouted: "Against the enemies of the people and counter!..".
Part Five: Gurdjieff and the Imperial Geographical Society
The diary was studied by a member of the Russian Geographical Society (RGO) of the city of Armavir Sergey Frolov