'A man always wishes to begin with something big. But this is impossible; there can be no choice, we must begin with the things of today.'
I quote one talk as being a very characteristic example of G.'s methods. We were walking in the park. There were five of us besides G. One of us asked him what his views on astrology were, whether there was anything of value in the more or less known theories of astrology.
'Yes,' said G., 'it depends upon how they are understood. They can be of value and they can be without value. Astrology deals with only one part of man,
There had been talks in our groups about types before and it seemed to us that the science of types was the most difficult thing in the study of man because G. gave us very little material and required of us our own observations of ourselves and others.
We continued to walk and G. continued to speak trying to explain what there was in man that could depend upon planetary influences and what could not.
As we left the park G. stopped talking and was going a few steps ahead of us. We five walked behind him talking together. In going round a tree G. dropped the stick— ebony with a Caucasian silver handle —he was carrying and one of us bent down, picked it up, and gave it to him. G. walked on for a few steps, then turned to us and said:
'That was astrology. Do you understand? You all saw me drop the stick. Why did one of you pick it up? Let each of you speak for himself.'
One said he had not seen G. drop the stick as he was looking another way. The second said he had noticed that G. had not dropped the stick accidentally as happens when a stick gets caught in something, but that he had intentionally loosened his hand and let the stick fall. This had excited his curiosity and he had waited to see what would happen next. The third said he saw G. drop the stick, but was very absorbed in thinking of astrology, particularly trying to remember what G. said once before, and did not pay sufficient attention to the stick. The fourth saw the stick fall and thought of picking it up, but at that moment the other picked up the stick and gave it to G. The fifth said he saw the stick fall and then he saw himself picking it up and giving it to G.
G. smiled as he listened to us.
'This is astrology,' he said. 'In the same situation one man sees and does one thing, another—another thing, a third—a third thing, and so on. And each one acted according to his type. Observe people and yourselves in this way and then perhaps we will afterwards talk of a different astrology.'
The time passed by very quickly. The short Essentuki summer was drawing to a close. We had begun to think of the winter and to make a variety of plans.
And suddenly everything changed. For a reason that seemed to me to be accidental and which was the result of friction between certain members of our small group G. announced that he was dispersing the whole group and stopping all work. At first we simply did not believe him, thinking he was putting us to a test. And when he said he was going to the Black Sea coast with Z. alone, all excepting a few of us who had to return to Moscow or Petersburg announced that they would follow him wherever he went. G. consented to this but he said that we must look after ourselves and that there would be no work no matter how much we counted on it.
All this surprised me very much. I considered the moment most inappropriate for 'acting,' and if what G. said was serious, then why had the whole business been started? During this period nothing new had appeared in us. And if G. had started work with us such as we were, then why was he stopping it now? This altered nothing for me materially. I had decided to pass the winter in the Caucasus in any case. But it
changed a good many things for some of the other members of our group who were still slightly uncertain and made the difficulty for them insuperable. And I have to confess that my confidence in G. began to waver from this moment. What the matter was and what particularly provoked me is difficult for me to define even now. But the fact is that from this moment there began to take place in me a separation between G. himself and his ideas. Until then I had not separated them.
At the end of August I at first followed G. to Tuapse and from there went to Petersburg with the intention of bringing back some things;
unfortunately I had to leave behind all my books. I thought at the time that it would be risking very much to take them to the Caucasus. But in Petersburg, of course, everything was lost.
I WAS kept in St. Petersburg longer than I had thought to be and I only left there on the 15th of October, a week before the bolshevik revolution. It was quite impossible to stay there any longer. Something disgusting and clammy was drawing near. A sickly tension and the expectation of something inevitable could be felt in everything. Rumors were creeping about, each one more absurd and stupid than the other. Nobody understood anything. Nobody could imagine what was coming later on. The 'temporary government,' having vanquished Kornilov, conducted the most correct negotiations with the bolsheviks who openly showed they did not care a hang for the 'socialist ministers' and tried only to gain time. The Germans for some reason did not march upon St. Petersburg although the front was open. People now thought of them as saviors both from the 'temporary government' and from the bolsheviks. I did not share the hopes based upon the Germans because, in my opinion, what was taking place in Russia had to a considerable extent got out of hand.
In Tuapse there was still comparative calm. Some kind of soviet was sitting in the country house of the Shah of Persia but plunderings had not yet begun. G. settled down at a fair distance from Tuapse to the south a little over fifteen miles from Sochi. He hired a country house there overlooking the sea, bought a pair of horses, and lived with a small company of people. Altogether about ten persons were gathered there.
I went there too. It was a wonderful place, full of roses, with a view of the sea on one side and a chain of mountains already covered with snow on the other. I was very sorry for those of our people who had stayed in Moscow and St. Petersburg.
But even on the day following my arrival I noticed that there was something wrong. There was not a trace of the Essentuki atmosphere. I was particularly astonished at Z.'s position. When I had left for St. Petersburg in the beginning of September Z. was full of enthusiasm; he continually urged me not to stay in St. Petersburg since it might become so difficult to get through.
'Do you never intend to be in St. Petersburg any more?' I asked him then.
'One who flees to the mountains does not turn back,' Z. replied.
And now, on the day following my arrival in Uch Dere, I heard that Z. intended to return to St. Petersburg.
'What can he be going back there for? He has left his employment, what is he going to do there?'
'I do not know,' said Dr. S., who had told me about it. 'G. is not pleased with him and says that he had better go.'
It was difficult for me to get Z. himself into a talk. He obviously did not desire to explain but he said that he really intended to leave.
Gradually, by questioning others, I found out that a strange thing had happened. A very absurd quarrel between G. and some Letts, our neighbors, had occurred. Z. was present at it. G. had not liked something Z. had said or something, and from that day he had completely changed towards him, stopped speaking to him, and, in general, put him into such a position that Z. was obliged to announce his decision to leave.
I considered this to be pure idiocy. To go to St. Petersburg at this time seemed to me the height of absurdity. There was a real famine there, unruly crowds, robbery, and nothing else. At that time of course one could not yet have imagined that we should never see St. Petersburg again. I counted upon going there in the spring. I thought that by the spring there would be something definite. But now, in the winter, this was quite unreasonable. I could have understood it if Z. was interested in politics and was studying the events of the period, but as this was not the case I saw no motives for it whatever. I began to persuade Z. to wait, to decide nothing at once, to talk to G., and to try somehow to clarify the position. Z. promised me not to be in a hurry. But I saw that he was indeed in a very strange position. G. completely ignored him and this produced on Z. a most depressing impression. Two weeks passed in this way. My arguments had worked on Z. and he said that he would stay if G. agreed to let him. He went to speak to G., but came back very soon with a disturbed face.
'Well, what did he say to you?'
'Nothing in particular; he said that once I had decided to go I had better go.'
Z. went. I could not understand it. I would not have let a dog go to St. Petersburg at that time.
