In search of the miraculous

entire days and nights. One such night in particular remains in my memory, when we 'translated' a dervish song for 'The Struggle of the Magicians.' I saw G. the artist and G. the poet, whom he had so carefully hidden inside him, particularly the latter. This translation took the form of G. recalling the Persian verses, sometimes repeating them to himself in a quiet voice and then translating them for me into Russian. After a quarter of an hour, let us say, when I had completely disappeared beneath forms, symbols, and assimilations, he said: 'There, now make one line out of that.' I did not try to create any measure or to find a rhythm. This was quite impossible. G. continued and again after a quarter of an hour he said: 'That is another line.' We sat until the morning. This was in Koumbaradji Street a little below the former Russian consulate. At length the town began to wake. I had written, I think, five verses and had stopped at the last line of the fifth verse. No kind of effort could make my brain turn any more. G. laughed but he also was tired and could not go on. So the verse remained as it was, unfinished, because he never returned again to this song.

Two or three months passed by in this way. I helped G. all I could in organizing his Institute. But gradually the same difficulties arose before me as in Essentuki. So that, when the Institute was opened, I think in October, I was unable to join it. But in order not to hinder G. or to give rise to discord among those who came to my lectures, I put an end to my own lectures and ceased to visit Constantinople. A few of those who came to my lectures visited me in Prinkipo and there we continued the talks begun in Constantinople.

Two months later when G.'s work had already become consolidated I again started to give lectures at the 'Miyak' in Constantinople and I continued them for another six months. I visited G.'s Institute from time to time and sometimes he 'came to me in Prinkipo. The inner relationship between us remained very good. In the spring he proposed that I should give lectures in his Institute and I began to give lectures there once a week in which G. himself took part, supplementing my explanations.

At the beginning of summer G. closed his Institute and went over to Prinkipo. Somewhere about this time I told him in detail of a plan I had drawn up for a book to expound his St. Petersburg lectures and talks with commentaries of my own. He agreed to this plan and authorized me to write and publish it. Up till then I had submitted to the general rule, obligatory for everyone, which concerned G.'s work. According to this rule nobody under any circumstances had the right to write even for his own

use anything connected with him or his ideas, or any other participants in the work, or to keep letters, notes, and so on, still less to publish anything. During the first years G. insisted strongly upon the obligatory nature of this rule and it was supposed that everyone accepted in the work would give his word to write nothing (and it goes without saying to publish nothing) referring to G. without special permission, even in the event of his leaving the work and G.

This was one of the fundamental rules. Every new person who joined us heard about it and it was considered to be fundamental and obligatory. But afterwards G. accepted in his work people who paid no attention to this rule or who did not wish to consider it. This explains the subsequent appearance of descriptions of various moments in G.'s work.

I passed the summer of 1921 in Constantinople and in August left for London. Before my departure G. proposed that I should go with him to Germany where he once more intended to open his Institute and prepare his ballet. But in the first place I did not believe it was possible to organize work in Germany and secondly I did not believe that I could work with G.

Soon after my arrival in London I began to give lectures in continuation of the work at Constantinople and Ekaterinodar. I learned that G. had gone to Germany with his Tiflis company and with those of my Constantinople people who had joined him. He tried to organize work in Berlin and Dresden and intended to purchase the apartments of the former Institut Dalcroze in Helleran near Dresden. But nothing came out of it all and in connection with the proposed purchase some strange events took place which ended in legal proceedings. In February, 1922, G. came to London. I at once invited him, as a matter of course, to my lectures and introduced him to all who were coming to them. This time my attitude towards him was much more definite. I still expected a very great deal more from his work and I decided to do everything I could to help him to organize his Institute and the preparation of his ballet. But I did not believe it was possible for me to work with him. I saw again all the former obstacles which had begun to appear in Essentuki. This time they had appeared even before he arrived. The outward situation was that G. had done very much towards the accomplishment of his plans. The chief thing was that a certain cadre of people, about twenty, had been prepared, with whom it was possible to begin. The music for the ballet had almost all been prepared (with the co-operation of a well-known musician). The organization of the Institute had been worked out. But there was no money to put all this into practice. Soon after his arrival G. said that he thought of opening his Institute in England. Many of those who came to my lectures became interested in this idea and arranged a subscription among themselves to cover the material side of the business. A certain sum of money was immediately given to G. to prepare for the passage of the whole of his group to England. I continued my lectures, connecting them with what G. had said during his stay in London. But I had decided for myself that if the Institute opened in London I would go either to Paris or to America. The Institute was finally opened in London but for various reasons it failed. But my London friends and those who came to my lectures collected a considerable sum of money for him and with this G. bought the historic Chateau Prieure in Avon near Fontainebleau, with an enormous neglected park, and in the autumn of 1922 he opened his Institute there. A very motley company assembled there. There were a certain number of people who remembered St. Petersburg. There were pupils of G.'s from Tiflis. There were people who had come to my lectures in Constantinople and London. The latter were divided into several groups. In my opinion some had been in far too great a hurry to give up their ordinary occupations in England in order to follow G. I could have said nothing to them because they had already made their decision when they spoke to me about it. I feared that they would meet with disappointment because G.'s work seemed to me not sufficiently rightly organized and therefore to be unstable. But at the same time I could not be sure of my own opinions and did not want to interfere with them because if everything went right and my fears proved to be false then they would undoubtedly have gained by their decision.

Others had tried to work with me but for some reason or other they had parted from me and now thought that it would be easier for them to work with G. They were particularly attracted by the idea of finding what they called a short cut. To this, when they asked my advice, I of course advised them to go to Fontainebleau and work with G. And there were others who came to G. temporarily, for two weeks, for a month. These were people who attended my lectures and who did not want to decide themselves, but on hearing about other people's decisions had come to me and asked whether they ought to 'give up everything' and go to Fontainebleau and whether this was the only way to go on with the work. To this I said that they should wait until I was there.

I arrived at the Chateau Prieure for the first time at the end of October or the beginning of November, 1922. Very interesting and animated work was proceeding there. A pavilion had been built for dances and exercises, housekeeping had been organized, the house had been finished off, and so on. And the atmosphere on the whole was very right and left a strong impression. I remember one talk with Miss Katherine Mansfield who was then living there. This was not more than three weeks before her death. I had given her G.'s address myself. She had been to two or three of my lectures and had then come to me to say that she was going to Paris. A Russian doctor was curing tuberculosis by treating the spleen with X-rays. I could not of course tell her anything about it. She already seemed to me to be halfway to death. And I thought that she was fully aware of it.

But with all this, one was struck by the striving in her to make the best use even of these last days, to find the truth whose presence she clearly felt but which she was unable to touch. I did not think that I should see her again. But I could not refuse when she asked me for the address of my friends in Paris, for the address of people with whom she would be able to talk about the same things she had talked about with me. And so I had met her again at the Prieure. We sat in the evening in one of the salons and she spoke in a feeble voice which seemed to come from the void, but it was not unpleasant.

'I know that this is true and that there is no other truth. You know that I have long since looked upon all of us without exception as people who have suffered shipwreck and have been cast upon an uninhabited island, hut who do not yet know of it. But these people here know it. The others, there, in life, still think that a steamer will come for them tomorrow and that everything will go on in the old way. These already know that there will be no more of the old way. I am so glad that I can be here.'

Soon after my return to London I heard of her death. G. was very good to her, he did not insist upon her going although it was clear that she could not live. For this in the course of time he received the due amount of lies and slanders.