Sarmoung Brotherhood, Captain Pogossian, Pre sand Egypt

[James Wyly]

https://plus.google.com/100763311564167919300/posts/2kML7Try8Jx

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4d44nO0B_U

Sarmoung Brotherhood

Captain Pogossian

Pre-sand Egypt

What America represents: 

true freedom for the individual; 

freedom of expression of the individual. 

Freedom of speech is one of those
inalienable rights of the individual 

in America incorporated into the
first ten amendments which 

constitute what are called the 

Bill of Rights. 

> James, consciousness is
> about the last thing I
> would attribute to America
> collectively. You are a
> nation of Christian
> fundamentalists for
> God's sake.
>
> I like Americans OK.
> Jazz, rock, cute lingo....its
> just those white ones
> who are the problem.
> Joking of course, musn't
> forget Lenny Bruce. I meant
> its just those white non-Jewish
> ones who are the problem.
>
> And I'm still joking.
> As imperial powers go
> the USA is by no means
> the worst. But give the
> sentimental jingoism a
> rest please.
>
> J.

Not necessary to say that
you are joking when you
are not. The method
allows for this,
it is a peculiarity
of your personality,
how you manifest
in ordinary life.

America is the destiny of humanity in 

terms of conscious evolution. The 

Constitutional form of government 

first created in America will eventually 

and completely replace the United Nations 

on an international scale. It is the destiny 

of the conscious evolution of humanity 

that America will lead the world forward 

in terms of conscious evolution and the 

inevitable dissolution of the U.N. will 

be received as an evolutionary step.

There is a struggle taking place between 

justice, compassion, benevolence, etc. and 

greed for money, sex and power, etc. (as 

aims in themselves at the ill expense of 

others). Yes, this is true on both sides. 

This is why there exist in the world 

extremely powerful enemies of 

America because America represents 

everything that is both weak and
strong, just and vile, all sticks that 

exist are in America and this 

includes the two ends of each 

and every stick. 

There is something that must be 

made very clear while passing between
two rivers toward the proper 

understanding of what is the balanced
functioning of the centers and that is 

the end result we seek are higher 

coatings. In order for this to happen, 

we must sacrifice what "we know" 

and how we use what we know for 

lording ourselves over others for 

all kinds of nefarious purposes. 

Sacrifice all of that for real 

knowing, real knowledge, 

which is knowledge of

Being.

Are you so afraid for others to 

see that you do not know, and are 

therefore rendered impotent and unable 

to voluntarize anything? Are you more
deathly afraid that other people will 

perceive you to not be in the Work, or 

as a living point in the fourth way, 

and are therefore insane?? .  .  . 

 .  .  . more than you are afraid 

for the sake of  your own inner 

life? 

Where is the sense

of self-preservation? 

You might as well join the ranks of 

some extremist group of one kind or 

another and blow yourself up and take 

a few others with you for some 

religious or spiritual insane cause 

or crusade and it is your behavior 

that will determine this fate. 

None of this are my political opinions 

or beliefs, or even nonpolitical, that is 

to say, philosophical, theoretical, or any 

other way you wish to categorize it. It is 

simply and objectively true based on the 

simple understanding that the greatest of 

all personal aims in connection with the 

fourth way is freedom and liberation.

A substance is
produced from
struggle, what
is called
"being-Impulsakri"
in chapter 17 of the
Tales. The quality
of this substance
is determined by
the quality of
efforts to:

"Always guard against such
perceptions as may soil the
purity of your brains."
ch 17

Such perceptions as may
exist in the form of
delusions about what
is telepathy and
psychic ability,
and what is
hanbledzoin.

Gurdjieff made a serious
vow to himself as described
in LIFE IS REAL not to use
his telepathic and hypnotic
abilities for life of itself
interests with the exception
of harmless experiments in
terms of the Inner Life so
as to discover the truth
about such abilities and
what they are really for,
other than for abuse and
manipulation, sex-
offensiveness, etc.

> Hi James.
>
> I had to reply to your post.
>
> I have spirit guides
> and recently they gave
> me something that
> spiritually challenges
> people as INDIVIDUALS.
> "mega healer"

LAW OF CAUSE AND EFFECT

"In view of the fact
that certain events in
my life, beginning with
this third nearly fatal
wound and up to the present
time, have among themselves,
as I have recently noticed,
a very strange, and at the
same time very definite,
connection in terms of
ONE PHYSICAL LAW, I will
therefore describe some
of these events with as
much detail as possible."
--Gurdjieff
--p. 9 and 10 of LIR

"The second Babylonian
teaching, which had many
followers and, passing
through the generations
also reached your contemporary
favorites, was based on one of
the atheistic theories of that
period.

"In this teaching of
the terrestrial hasnamussian
candidates of that time, it
was stated over and over
again that there is no
'God' in the world, much
less any 'soul' in man,
and that therefore all
the arguments and discussions
about the 'soul' are nothing
but the delirium of sick
visionaries.

"It was further maintained
that there exists in the
world only ONE PARTICULAR
LAW OF MECHANICS, according
to which everything that
exists passes from one
form into another, that
is to say, the results
arising from any preceding
causes are progressively
transformed and become
the causes of
subsequent
results.

"And therefore man
also is a result of
some preceding cause
and in his turn must
serve as the cause of
some kind of result.

"Moreover, it was said
that all 'SUPERNATURAL'
phenomena—-even those
actually perceptible
to most people—-are
also nothing but
results ensuing
from this PARTICULAR
LAW OF MECHANICS.

"The full comprehension
of THIS LAW depends on
the progressive, impartial,
and all-round knowledge
of its manifold details,
which can be revealed to
a pure Reason in proportion
to its development."

--Gurdjieff
--ch 24

Gurdjieff is saying here
that the full comprehension
of the above mentioned law
is in terms of the law of
octaves and a gradation of
reason according to the
Sacred Scale of Reason:

"And so, my boy, in
the beginning, as I
have already told you,
after these cosmic arisings
had perfected their Reason
to the necessary gradation
of the 'Sacred Scale of
Reason,' they were taken
onto the Sun Absolute,
there to fulfill the roles
predestined for them by
our Creator Endlessness."
--Gurdjieff
--ch 39 Purgatory

"At any rate, my dear boy,
it must be admitted that
certain customs which
have reached your
contemporary favorites
from remote antiquity
are exceedingly good
for the ordinary
existence of the
beings there.

"These customs are good
because they were invented
and introduced into the process
of ordinary existence by terrestrial
three-brained beings who had brought
the perfecting of their Reason up to
a very high degree—-A DEGREE THAT
UNFORTUNATELY NONE OF YOUR
CONTEMPORARY FAVORITES ANY
LONGER ATTAINS."
--ch 42, America

"I must say here, as
I mentioned in the previous
chapter, that having become
extremely interested in
supernatural phenomena,
I had plunged into books
and also applied to men of
science for explanations of
these phenomena. But failing
to find answers that satisfied
me either in books or from the
people I turned to, I began to
seek them in religion. I visited
various monasteries and went to
see men about whose piety I had
heard, READ THE HOLY SCRIPTURES
and the Lives of the Saints,
and was even for three months
an acolyte of the famous Father
Yevlampios in the monastery of
Sanaine; and I also made
pilgrimages to most of
the holy places of the
many different faiths
in Transcaucasia."
--2nd series, pogossian

The purpose of Beelzebub's
Tales as written in the first
few pages of the Third 

Series:

"To destroy, mercilessly,
without any compromises
whatsoever, in the
mentation and
feelings of the
reader, the beliefs
and views, by centuries
rooted in him, about
everything existing
in the world."

"At the same time it
will be quite honest—-honest,
of course, in the objective
sense, since I expect
without the least doubt,
as do all those who know
me well, that owing to my
writings there will entirely
disappear in the majority of
readers—-immediately and not
gradually, as sooner or later
must occur to everyone—-all
the "treasures" they have
acquired, either by
inheritance or by
their own labor,
in the form of
"quieting notions"
that evoke only
romantic images
of their present
lives or naive
dreams about
the future."
--Gurdjieff
--ch 1, arousal

Gurdjieff mentioned in
Views that there is body,
essence and personality.
A man can have a body
that begins its life
in favorable conditions,
on healthy soil and,
as a result, is brave,
but because essence
does not always and
in everything develop
parallel with the
development of the
body, a man may be
very strong and healthy,
yet as timid as a rabbit.

In the midst
of conditions
and circumstances
of life of itself
there isn't any
life-reason, or
worldly reason,
for the development
of essence, it
atrophies, and
so what is a
normal impulse
for being-shame
completely
disappears.
The fourth
way internet
method is a way
NOT TO COMPENSATE
FOR HAVING A TIMID
ESSENCE, BUT TO DIRECT
ATTENTION TO IT WHICH
LIFE OF ITSELF CANNOT
DO.

"'Our worthy Father Telvant
has at last succeeded in
learning the truth about
the Sarmoung Brotherhood.
Their ernos actually did
exist near the town of
Siranoush, and fifty
years ago, soon after
the migration of peoples,
they also migrated and
settled in the valley
of Izrumin, three days
journey from Nivssi . . .'

"What struck us most was
the word Sarmoung, which
we had come across several
times in the book called
Merkhavat. This word is
the name of a famous
esoteric school which,
according to tradition,
was founded in Babylon
as far back as 2500 B.C.,
and which was known to have
existed somewhere in Mesopotamia
up to the sixth or seventh century
AD.; but about its further existence
one could not obtain anywhere the
least information.

"This school was said
to have possessed great
knowledge, containing the
key to many secret mysteries."
--2nd series, pogossian

It is the Great Evil
called "LETTER OF THE
LAW" which originally
arose out of ancient

Babylon.

" . . . 'it suddenly
occurred to me that we
could make use of this
opportunity for our
purpose, that is,
for trying to
find traces of
the Sarmoung
Brotherhood."
--meetings
--pogossian

"Letter of the law" of
itself is simply a way
out of having to make
any kind of effort
whatever to
understand
the mechanical
behavior of people
and the real world
laws which govern
this behavior from
behind the illusion
of ordinary life,
but, instead,
explains away
all of this
according to
that now worn
out science of
"psychiatry"
which paints
people in general
and "en masse" with
a broad brush fitting
them into broad categories
in which those of us who
struggle intelligently
for true individuality
foreordained from Above
do not fit, and, in
fact, is not possible
to fit, for to do so
means death. 

"After three rounds of the
miraculous douziko—-that
worthy offspring of the
beneficent mastikhe of
the ancient Greeks—-we
began to talk more and
more noisily and freely,
of course thanks to the
ability we had all inherited
of making ourselves understood
by 'ancient Greek mimicry' and
'ancient Roman gesticulation',
as well as with the help of
words taken from all the
seaport languages on earth.
When they learned that we
wished to get somehow or
other to Alexandria, then
the beneficent effect of
that worthy offspring of
the invention of the
ancient Greeks did not
fail to make itself
manifest in a most
striking manner."
--2nd series
--pogossian

It is upon the science
of "psychiatry" that all 

police profiling systems
are based and how
these systems are
applied by so-called
"criminal psychologists"
for the purpose not of
justice in terms of
the true meaning of
justice and redemption
of the human heart, but
for the usual aims of
ambition, career,
money, stomach,
sex, sport and
power. 

It is necessary to shine a 

light on unrestrained as
well as "unaccountable"
psychopathy
manifesting
here in our
government agencies
in America and it is 

appearing more and 

more that so-called
Government Health Care 

has made the situation
more dire since

Obama became 

"president" in

name only who
is yet another 
filled with the usual
ambition and what

Gurdjieff called

"intellectualism,"
minded folk, many of
whom believe in that
idiocy about Global
Warming and such "religious
beliefs" are based on a
"cooked up" false science
in the manner and style
of the original Greek
fishermen storytellers,
a reflection of their
own idiocy equal in
degree as well as
"inner complexity"
of that madness
in the form of
mass hysteria
about UFO sightings,
all of it quite absurd,
quite insane.

" . . . I answered that
I wished at any cost to
get to the valley which
was once named Izrumin
and that it was all the
same to me how I got there,
WHETHER ON THE DEVIL'S BACK
OR EVEN ARM-IN-ARM WITH THE
PRIEST VLAKOV."
--2nd series
--pogossian

We are speaking of
of real work in terms
of the inner life in
the midst of conditions
and circumstances of
life of itself.

The whole point is that
there is too much emphasis
on the arbitrary "letter of
the law" so much so that if
government officers that are 

now in uniform and perform 

this so-called "service"
of theirs would limit
themselves to what is
actually necessary in
terms of the real world,
this alone would result in
the firing of 98% of those
officers presently employed
for not being able to meet
with the higher standard,
the higher threshhold
of decency and good
common sense.

"The greatest difficulty
was that after crossing
this frontier river and
going over Mount Egri Dagh,
we could no longer pass for
Aisors, as we had until the
encounter with the dogs,
because we now found
ourselves in places
populated by genuine
Aisors. To travel as
Armenians, in regions
where at that time they
were being persecuted by
all the other races, was
quite out of the question.
It was also dangerous to go
as Turks or Persians. It would
have been preferable to pass
ourselves off as Russians or
Jews, but neither Pogossian's
appearance nor mine would
permit this.

"At that time great care had
to be taken if one wished to
conceal one's real nationality,
BECAUSE TO BE FOUND OUT IN ANY
DISGUISE WOULD HAVE BEEN VERY
DANGEROUS. The natives were
not then over-particular in
their choice of means for
getting rid of undesirable
foreigners [OR, LIKE IN THIS
COUNTY, FOR GETTING RID OF
ANYONE UNDESIRABLE AND, IT
SEEMS, FOR ANY REASON]. For
instance, it was rumoured
from authentic sources that
several Englishmen had
recently been flayed
alive by Aisors, for
having attempted to
make copies of certain
inscriptions."
--2nd series
--pogossian

The result of all of this has
been the militarization of
local law enforcement. It
is by way of this "military
mind set" that the "drug war"
as well as the "sex-offendor"
war has moved to American
streets as the "front,"
American citizens as
the "enemy" and law
enforcement officers
as the warriors, and
the only foundation
for such force is
in terms of "letter
of the law" which
is now in its
final death
agony, final
violent stage
of resistance,

what has been

recently called

"bolshevism"

and, according

to Gurdjieff, as

has happened

forty times 

throughout

the history

of humanity,

in times and 

places such

as ancient 

Egypt.

"Pogossian and I had come to
the definite conclusion that
there really was 'a certain
something' which people
formerly knew, but that
now this knowledge was
quite forgotten. We had
lost all hope of finding
any guiding clue to this
knowledge in contemporary
exact science, in
contemporary books
or from people in
general, and so we
directed all our
attention to
ancient
literature.
Having chanced
to come across
a whole collection
of ancient Armenian
books, Pogossian and
I became intensely
interested in them
and decided to go
to Alexandropol
to look for a
quiet place
where we
could give
ourselves up
entirely to
study."
--2nd series
--pogossian

How to know this?

To someone who asked
why we were born and
why we DIE, Gurdjieff
replied:

You wish to know?

To really know you
must suffer.

Can you suffer?

You cannot suffer.

You cannot suffer for
one franc and to know
a little you must suffer
for one million francs . . . .

(Prieure, August 12, 1924)

SECOND SERIES:

SARKIS POGOSSIAN,
or as he is now called,
Mr. X, is at the present
time the owner of several
ocean steamers, one of which,
cruising among his favourite
places, between the Sunda and
Solomon Islands, he commands
himself.

By race an Armenian, he
was born in Turkey, but
spent his childhood in
Transcaucasia, in the
town of Kars.

I met Pogossian and
became friends with
him when he was still
a young man, finishing
his studies at the
Theological Seminary
of Echmiadzin and
preparing for the
priesthood.

Before I met him I had
already heard about him
through his parents, who
lived in Kars not far
from our house and
often came to see
my father. I knew
that they had an only
son who had formerly
studied at the
'Temagan Dprotz'
or Theological
Seminary of Erivan,
and was now at the
Theological Seminary
of Echmiadzin.

Pogossian's parents were
natives of Turkey, from
the town of Erzerum and
had moved to Kars soon
after it was taken by
the Russians. His father
was by profession a poiadji
and his mother an embroideress
in gold, specializing in breast-
pieces and belts for djuppays.
Living very simply themselves,
they spent all they had to
give their son a good
education.

[[ A POTADJI is a dyer.
A person of this profession
can always be recognized by
his arms, which are blue to
the elbows from the dye that
can never be washed off. A
DJUPPAY is the special
costume of the Armenian
women of Erzerum.]]

Sarkis Pogossian rarely came
to see his parents and I never
had an opportunity to see him
in Kars. My first meeting with
him took place the first time
I was in Echmiazdin. Before
going there I returned to
Kars for a short time to
see my father, and the
parents of Pogossian,
learning that I would
soon be leaving for
Echmiadzin, asked
me to take their
son a small
parcel of
linen.

I was going to Echmiadzin
for the purpose—-as always—-
of seeking an answer to the
question of supernatural
phenomena, in which my
interest not only had
not diminished but had
grown even stronger.

I must say here, as
I mentioned in the previous
chapter, that having become
extremely interested in
supernatural phenomena,
I had plunged into books
and also applied to men of
science for explanations of
these phenomena. But failing
to find answers that satisfied
me either in books or from the
people I turned to, I began to
seek them in religion. I visited
various monasteries and went to
see men about whose piety I had
heard, READ THE HOLY SCRIPTURES
and the Lives of the Saints,
and was even for three months
an acolyte of the famous Father
Yevlampios in the monastery of
Sanaine; and I also made
pilgrimages to most of
the holy places of the
many different faiths
in Transcaucasia.

During this period
I happened again to
witness a whole series
of phenomena which were
unquestionably real, but
which I could in no way
explain. This left me
more bewildered than
ever.

For example, once when
I went with a company of
pilgrims from Alexandropol
for a religious festival to
a place on Mount Djadjur,
known among the Armenians
by the name of Amena-Pretz,
I witnessed the following
incident:

A sick man, a paralytic,
from the small village of
Paldevan was being taken
there on a cart, and on
the road we fell into
conversation with the
relatives who were
accompanying the
invalid and talked
with them as we
went along.

This paralytic, who
was barely thirty years
old, had been ill for the
past six years, but before
that he had been in perfect
health and had even done
military service. He had
fallen ill after his
return home from service,
just before his wedding,
and had lost all use of
the left side of his body.
In spite of various
treatments by doctors
AND HEALERS, nothing
helped. He had even
been specially taken
for treatment to Mineralne
Vodi in the Caucasus, and
now his relatives were
bringing him here, to
Amena-Pretz, hoping
against hope that
the saint would
help him and
alleviate his
sufferings.

On the way to this
holy place we made a
special stop, as all
pilgrims usually do,
at the village of Diskiant
to pray at the miraculous
icon of Our Saviour, which
was in the house of a
certain Armenian family.
As the invalid also wished
to pray, he was taken into
the house, I myself helping
to carry the poor man in.

Soon afterwards we
came to the foot of
Mount Djadjur, on the
slopes of which the little
church with the miraculous
tomb of the saint is
situated. We halted
at the place where
the pilgrims usually
leave their carts, wagons
and vans, at the end of the
carriage road. From there the
further ascent of a quarter of
a mile must be made on foot,
and many walk barefoot,
according to the custom
there, while others even
do this distance on their
knees or in some other
special way.

When the paralytic was
lifted from the cart to
be carried to the top, he
suddenly resisted, wishing
to try to crawl up by himself
as best he could. He was put
on the ground and he started
dragging himself along on his
healthy side. He did this with
such difficulty that it was
pitiable to watch him; but
he still refused all help.
Resting often on the way,
he finally, after three
hours, reached the top,
crawled to the tomb of
the saint, which was in
the centre of the church,
and having kissed the
tombstone, immediately
lost consciousness.

His relatives, with the
help of the priests and
myself, tried to revive
him. We poured water into
his mouth and bathed his
head. And it was just as
he came to himself that
a miracle occurred. His
paralysis was gone.

At first the man was
stupefied; but when he
realized that he could
move all his limbs, he
sprang up and almost
began to dance; then,
all of a sudden
recollecting
himself, with
a loud cry he
flung himself
prone and
began to
pray.

All the people there,
with the priest at their
head, immediately fell on
their knees and began to
pray also. Then the priest
stood up, and amidst the
kneeling worshippers,
held a service of
thanksgiving to
the saint.

Another incident, which puzzled
me no less, took place in Kars.
That year there was terrible
heat and drought in the whole
province of Kars; almost all
the crops had been scorched;
a famine threatened, and the
people were becoming agitated.

That same summer there arrived
in Russia from the patriarchate
of Antioch an archimandrite with
a miraculous icon—-I do not
remember whether of St.
Nicholas the Miracle-
worker or of the Virgin—-
to collect money for the
relief of the Greeks who
suffered in the Cretan War.
He travelled with this icon
chiefly to places in Russia
with a Greek population,
and he also came to Kars.

[ARCHIMANDRITE: the head
of a monastery or a group
of monasteries.]

I do not know whether
politics or religion was
at the bottom of it all,
but the Russian authorities
in Kars, as elsewhere, took
part in organizing an
impressive welcome and
in according him all
kinds of honours.

When the archimandrite
arrived in any town,
the icon was carried
from church to church,
and the clergy, coming
to meet it with banners,
welcomed it with great
solemnity.

The day after the
archimandrite arrived
in Kars, the rumour spread
that a special service for
rain would be held before
this icon, by all the clergy,
at a place outside the town.
And indeed, just after twelve
o'clock on that same day,
processions set out from
all the churches, with
banners and icons, to
join in the ceremony
at the appointed
place.

In this ceremony there
took part the clergy of
the old Greek church, of
the recently rebuilt Greek
cathedral, the military
cathedral, the church of
the Kuban regiment, and
also of the Armenian
church.

It was a day of particularly
intense heat. In the presence
of almost the entire population,
the clergy, with the archimandrite
at their head, held a solemn service,
after which the whole procession
marched back towards the town.

And then something
occurred to which
the explanations of
contemporary people
are absolutely
inapplicable.
Suddenly the sky
became covered with
clouds, and before the
people had time to reach
the town there was such a
downpour that everyone was
drenched to the skin.

In explanation of this
phenomenon, as of others
similar to it, one might
of course use the stereotyped
word 'coincidence', which is
such a favourite word among
our so-called "thinking"
people; but it cannot
be denied that this
coincidence was
almost too
remarkable.

The third incident
occurred in Alexandropol,
when my family had returned
there for a short period and
we were living again in our
old house. Next door to us
was my aunt's house. One
of the lodgings in her
house had been let to a
Tartar who worked for the
local district government
either as a clerk or a
secretary. He lived
with his old mother
and his little sister
and had recently married
a handsome girl, a Tartar
from the neighbouring
village of Karadagh.

Everything went well at first.
Forty days after her marriage
the young wife, according to
the Tartar custom, went to
visit her parents. But
there, either she caught
cold or something else
happened to her, for
when she returned she
did not feel well, had
to go to bed, and
gradually became
very ill.

They gave her the best
of care, but in spite of
being treated by several
doctors, among whom, I
remember, were the town
doctor, Resnik, and the
former army doctor Keeltchevsky,
the condition of the sick woman
went from bad to worse. An
acquaintance of mine, a
doctor's assistant, went
every morning, by order of
Dr. Resnik, to give her an
injection. This doctor's
assistant, whose name I
do not remember—-I only
remember that he was
unbelievably tall—-
often dropped in
to see us when I
was at home.

One morning he came
in while my mother and
I were drinking tea. We
invited him to join us at
the table and in the course
of the conversation I asked
him, among other things, how
our neighbour was getting on.

'She is very sick,'
he replied. 'It is
a case of galloping
consumption and
doubtless it
will soon be
"all over"
with her.'

While he was still sitting
there, an old woman, the
mother-in-law of the sick
woman, came in and asked
my mother's permission to
gather some rose-hips in
our little garden. In tears
she told us how Mariam Ana—-
as the Tartars call the Virgin—-
had appeared that night to the
sick woman in a dream and bade
her gather rosehips, boil them
in milk, and drink; and in
order to calm her the old
woman wished to do this.
Hearing this, the doctor's
assistant could not help
laughing.

My mother of course gave
her permission and even
went to help her. When
I had seen the assistant
off I also went to help.

What was my astonishment
when, the next morning on
my way to the market, I
met the invalid with the
old woman coming out of
the Armenian church of
Sev-Jiam, where there
is a miraculous icon
of the Virgin; and a
week later I saw her
washing the windows of
her house. Dr. Resnik,
by the way, explained
that her recovery,
which seemed a
miracle, was a
matter of chance.

These indubitable facts,
which I had seen with my
own eyes, as well as many
others I had heard about
during my searchings—-
all of them pointing to
the presence of something
supernatural—-could not in
any way be reconciled with
what common sense told me
or with what was clearly
proved by my already
extensive knowledge
of the exact sciences,
which excluded the
very idea of
supernatural
phenomena.

This contradiction in my
consciousness gave me no
peace, and was all the more
irreconcilable because the
facts and proofs on both
sides were equally
convincing. I
continued my
searchings,
however, in
the hope that
sometime, somewhere,
I would at last find
the real answer to
the questions
constantly
tormenting
me.

And it was this aim
which took me, among
other places, to
Echmiadzin, the
centre of one of
the great religions,
where I hoped to find
at least some slight
clue leading to the
solution of these
inescapable questions.

Echmiadzin, or, as it
is also called, Vagarshapat,
is for the Armenians what Mecca
is for the Moslems and Jerusalem
for the Christians. Here is the
residence of the Catholicos of
all Armenians, and here also
is the centre of Armenian
culture. Every year in the
autumn big religious festivals
are held, to which come many
pilgrims not only from all
parts of Armenia but from
all over the world. A week
before the beginning of such
a festival all the surrounding
roads are filled with pilgrims,
some travelling on foot, others
in carts and wagons and still
others on horses and asses.

I traveled on foot, in
company with other pilgrims
from Alexandropol, having put
my belongings in the wagon of
the Molokan sect.

On reaching Echmiadzin I went
directly, as was the custom, to
worship at all the holy places.
I then went into the town to
look for a lodging, but it was
impossible to find one, since
all the inns (hotels did not
exist then) were full and more
than full; and so I decided to
do as many others did—-simply
establish myself outside the
town under a cart or wagon.
But as it was still early,
I decided first of all to
do my errand, that is,
find Pogossian and
give him the parcel.

He lived not far from the
main inn in the house of a
distant relative, the
Archimandrite Surenian.
I found him at home. He
was about the same age as
I, dark, of medium height,
and had a small moustache.
His eyes were very sad, but
at times they burned with an
inner fire. The right eye was
slightly crossed. At that time
he seemed to be very frail and
shy.

He began asking me about his
parents, and having learned
in the course of the
conversation that I
had not succeeded in
finding lodgings, he
ran off and, returning
almost immediately,
proposed that I
should share
his room.

I of course accepted,
and went at once and
brought back all my
paraphernalia from
the wagon. And I had
just finished arranging
a bed for myself with
Pogossian's help, when
we were called to take
supper with Father
Surenian, who
greeted me affably
and asked me about
Pogossian's family
and about things in
general in Alexandropol.

After supper I went with
Pogossian to see the town
and the sacred relics. It
must be said that during
the festival there is a
great deal of movement
all night in the streets
of Echmiadzin, and all
the cafés and askhani
are open.

That whole evening and
all the days following
were spent with Pogossian.
He took me everywhere, as
he knew all the ins and outs
of the town. We went to places
where ordinary pilgrims do not
have access and even to the
Kanzaran, where the
treasures of
Echmiadzin are
kept and where
one is very
rarely
admitted.

During our talks we
discovered that the
questions which were
agitating me also
interested him; both
of us had much material
to share on these questions,
and little by little our talks
became more intimate and
heart-to-heart, and a
strong tie was
gradually formed
between us.

Pogossian was nearing the
end of his studies at the
Theological Seminary and in
two years was to be ordained
a priest, but his inner state
did not correspond to this at
all. Religious as he was, he
was none the less extremely
critical of his environment
and strongly averse to
living among priests
whose mode of life
seemed to him to
run entirely counter
to his own ideals.

When we had become friends,
he told me a great deal
about the hidden side
of the life of the
clergy there; and
the thought that on
becoming a priest he
would have to live in
this environment made
him suffer inwardly
and feel deeply
distressed.

After the holidays I
stayed on in Echmiadzin
for three more weeks, living
with Pogossian at the house
of the Archimandrite Surenian;
and thus I had the opportunity
more than once of talking about
the subjects which agitated me
with the archimandrite himself,
and also with other monks to
whom he introduced me.

But during my stay in
Echmiadzin I did not find
what I was looking for and,
having spent enough time to
realize that I could not find
it there, I went away with a
feeling of deep inner
disillusionment.

Pogossian and I parted great
friends. We promised to write
to each other and to share our
observations on the questions
which interested us both.

One fine day, two years
later, Pogossian arrived
in Tiflis and came to
stay with me.

He had graduated from the
seminary and had been in Kars
for a short time with his parents.
Now he had only to marry in order
to obtain a parish. His family had
even found a bride for him, but he
was in a state of complete
indecision and did not know
what to do. He would spend
days on end reading all
kinds of books that I
had, and in the evenings,
on my return home from work
as a stoker at the Tiflis
railway station we would
go together to the
Moushtaid and,
walking along
the deserted
paths, we would
talk and talk.

Once, while walking in the
Moushtaid, I jokingly proposed
that he should come to work with
me at the railway station, and I
was greatly astonished when the
next day he insisted that I
should help him get a place
there. I did not try to
dissuade him, but sent him
with a note to my good friend
the engineer Yaroslev, who at
once gave him a letter of
introduction to the
station-master, who
took him on as
assistant
locksmith.

So it continued until
October. We were still
engrossed in abstract
questions and Pogossian
had no thought of
returning home.

Once at the house of
Yaroslev I made the
acquaintance of another
engineer, Vasiliev, who
had just arrived in the
Caucasus to survey the
route of the proposed
railway between Tiflis
and Kars. After we had
met several times, he
proposed one day that
I should go with him
on the survey as overseer
and interpreter. The salary
offered was very tempting—-
almost four times as much
as I was earning. I was
already tired of my job,
which was beginning to
interfere with my main
work, and as it also
became clear that I
should have much free
time, I accepted. I
proposed to Pogossian
that he should go with
me in some capacity or
other, but he refused,
as he had become
interested in his
work as a locksmith
and wished to continue
what he had begun.

I traveled with this
engineer for three months
in the narrow valleys between
Tiflis and Karaklis and managed
to earn a great deal, having
besides my official salary
several unofficial sources
of income of a rather
questionable character.

Knowing beforehand which
villages and little towns
the railway was to go past,
I would send someone to the
power-possessors of these
villages and towns, offering
to 'arrange' for the railway
to be laid through these
places. In most cases my
offer was accepted and I
would receive for my
trouble a private
remuneration, at
times in the form
of a rather large
amount of money.

When I returned to Tiflis
I had collected, including
what remained from my previous
earnings, quite a substantial
sum, so I did not look for
work again but devoted
myself entirely to the
study of the phenomena
which interested me.

Pogossian had meanwhile
become a locksmith and
also found time to read
a great many books. He had
recently become especially
interested in ancient Armenian
literature, of which he procured
a large quantity from the same
booksellers as I.

A CERTAIN SOMETHING

By this time Pogossian and
I had come to the definite
conclusion that there really
was 'a certain something' which
people formerly knew, but that
now this knowledge was quite
forgotten. We had lost all
hope of finding any guiding
clue to this knowledge in
contemporary exact science,
in contemporary books or
from people in general,
and so we directed all
our attention to ancient
literature. Having chanced
to come across a whole collections
of ancient Armenian books, Pogossian
and I became intensely interested in
them and decided to go to Alexandropol
to look for a quiet place where we
could give ourselves up entirely
to study.

Arriving in Alexandropol,
we chose as such a place
the isolated ruins of the
ancient Armenian capital,
Ani, which is thirty miles
from Alexandropol, and
having built a hut among
the ruins we settled there,
getting our food from the
neighbouring villages and
from shepherds.

Ani became the capital
of the Bagratid kings of
Armenia in the year 962.
It was taken by the Byzantine
Emperor in 1046, and at that
time was already called the
'City of a Thousand Churches'.
Later it was conquered by the
Seljuk Turks; between 1125 and
1209 it was taken five times
by the Georgians; in 1239 it
was taken by the Mongols,
and in 1313 it was
completely destroyed
by earthquake.

Among the ruins there are,
by the way, the remains of
the Patriarchs' Church,
finished in the year
1010, the remains of
two churches also of
the eleventh century,
and of a church which
was completed about 
1215.

At this point in my writings
I cannot pass by in silence
a fact which, in my opinion,
may be of interest to certain
readers, namely, that these
historical data which I have
just cited concerning the
ancient Armenian capital
Ani are the first, and I
hope the last, that I
have taken from
information
officially
recognized
on earth; that
is to say, it is
the first instance
since the beginning
of my writing activities
in which I have had recourse
to an encyclopedia.

About the city Ani there
still exists one very
interesting legend,
explaining why, after
being called the City
of a Thousand Churches
for a long time, it came
to be called the City of
a Thousand and One 
Churches.

This legend is as follows:

Once the wife of a certain
shepherd complained to her
husband about the shocking
misbehaviour in the churches.
She said that there was no
place for quiet prayer and,
wherever one went, the
churches were as crowded
and noisy as beehives. And
the shepherd, heeding her
just indignation, began
building a church
especially for
his wife.

In former times the word
'shepherd' did not have
the same meaning as it
has now. Formerly a
shepherd himself was
the owner of the flocks
he grazed; and shepherds
were considered among the
richest people of the
country; some of them
even possessed several
flocks and herds.

When he had finished
building the church,
this shepherd called
it the 'Church of the
Shepherd's Pious Wife',
and from then on the
city of Ani was called
the City of a Thousand
and One Churches. Other
historical data assert
that, even before the
shepherd built this
church, there were
many more than a
thousand churches
in the city, but it
is said that during
recent excavations a
stone was found
confirming the
legend of the
shepherd and
his pious wife.

Living among the ruins
of this city and spending
our days reading and studying,
we sometimes, for a rest, made
excavations in the hope of
finding something, as there
are many underground
passages in the
ruins of Ani.

Once, Pogossian and I,
while digging in one of
these underground passages,
noticed a place where the
consistency of the ground
had changed, and on digging
further we discovered a new
passage, which turned out to
be a narrow one, blocked at
the end with fallen stones.
We cleared the stones away
and before us appeared a
small room with arches
crumbling with age.
Everything indicated
that it had been a
monastic cell. There
was nothing left in
this cell but broken
pottery and pieces of
rotten wood, doubtless
the remains of furniture;
but in a kind of niche in
the corner lay a pile of
parchments.

Some of the parchments were
turning to dust, others were
more or less preserved. With
the utmost care we took them
to our hut, and tried to
decipher them. They were
written in a language which
appeared to be Armenian but
was unknown to us. I knew
Armenian well, to say
nothing of Pogossian;
nevertheless we could
not understand any of
this writing, as it
was a very ancient
Armenian, very
different from
that of today.

This discovery interested
us so much that we left
everything else and
returned that same
day to Alexandropol,
where we spent many
days and nights trying
to decipher at least a
few words. Finally, after
a great deal of difficulty
and much questioning of
experts, it became clear
that these parchments were
simply letters written by
one monk to another monk—-
a certain Father Arem.

We were especially interested
in one letter in which the
writer referred to
information he had
received concerning
certain mysteries. This
parchment, however, was
one of those which had
been most damaged by time,
and there were a number of
words that we could only
guess at; but we
nevertheless
succeeded in
reconstructing
the letter.

What interested us most
was not the beginning but
the end of this letter. It
began with a long greeting,
and went on about the
ordinary small happenings
in the life of a certain
monastery where, as could
be inferred, this Father
Arem had formerly lived.

SARMOUNG
BROTHERHOOD

Towards the end one
passage particularly
attracted our
attention. It
said:

'Our worthy Father Telvant
has at last succeeded in
learning the truth about
the Sarmoung Brotherhood.
Their ernos actually did
exist near the town of
Siranoush, and fifty
years ago, soon after
the migration of peoples,
they also migrated and
settled in the valley
of Izrumin, three days
journey from Nivssi . . .'
Then the letter went
on about other matters.

[An ernos was a
kind of corporation.]

SARMOUNG

What struck us most was
the word Sarmoung, which
we had come across several
times in the book called
Merkhavat. This word is
the name of a famous
esoteric school which,
according to tradition,
was founded in Babylon
as far back as 2500 B.C.,
and which was known to have
existed somewhere in Mesopotamia
up to the sixth or seventh century
AD.; but about its further existence
one could not obtain anywhere the
least information.

This school was said
to have possessed great
knowledge, containing the
key to many secret mysteries.

Many times had Pogossian
and I talked of this school
and dreamed of finding out
something authentic about
it, and now suddenly we
found it mentioned in
this parchment!

We were greatly excited.

But apart from its name
being mentioned, we discovered
nothing else from this letter.
We knew no more than before
when and how this school
arose, where it had
existed or whether
it might even
still exist.

After several days of
laborious research, we
were able to establish
only the following:

About the sixth or seventh
century the descendants of
the Assyrians, the Aisors,
were driven by the Byzantines
out of Mesopotamia into Persia,
and probably it was in this
period that these letters
were written.

And when we were able to
verify that the present
city of Mosul, the former
capital of the country of
Nievi, had once been called
Nivssi, the city mentioned in
the parchment, and that at the
present time the population round
about this city consisted chiefly
of Aisors, we concluded that in
all probability the letter
referred precisely to
these Aisors.

If such a school had really
existed and had moved somewhere
during that period, then it could
only have been an Aisorian school,
and if it should still exist,
then it must be among the
Aisors and, taking into
consideration the
indicated three days'
journey from Mosul,
it must now be situated
somewhere between Urmia
and Kurdistan, and it
should not be too
difficult to find
out where it was. We
therefore decided to
go there and try at any
cost to find out where the
school was situated and 
then enter it.

The Aisors, who, as I have
said, are descended from the
Assyrians, are now scattered
all over the earth. There are
many of them in Transcaucasia,
north-western Persia and
eastern Turkey, and one
finds groups of them
throughout the whole
of Asia Minor. It is
estimated that in all
there are about three
million of them. Most
of them are Nestorians,
that is, they do not
acknowledge the divinity
of Christ. The minority
consists of Jacobites,
Maronites, Catholics,
Gregorians and others;
among them are also
Yezidis, or devil-
worshippers, though
not in great number.

Missionaries of various
religions have recently
manifested great zeal in
converting the Aisors to
their different faiths,
and one must give the
Aisors their due in that
they have no less zealously
'converted themselves',
outwardly changing their
faith and even deriving
from these conversions
so much material benefit
that this has become
proverbial. In spite
of all the differences
of faith, almost the
entire race is under
the authority of the
patriarchate of the
East Indies.

The Aisors live mostly in
little villages ruled by
priests; several villages,
or a certain district,
constitute a clan which
is ruled over by a prince
or, as they call him, a
melik. All the meliks
are subordinate to the
patriarch, whose office
is hereditary, passing
from uncle to nephew,
and is said to derive
originally from Simon,
the Brother of the Lord.

It must be said that the
Aisors suffered very much
in the last war [The First
World War], having been a
pawn in the hands of Russia
and England, with the result
that half of them perished
from the vengeance of the
Kurds and the Persians;
and if the rest survived,
it was only thanks to the
American consul, Dr. Y, and
his wife. THE AISORS,
PARTICULARLY THOSE IN
AMERICA--AND THERE ARE
MANY OF THEM THERE-—ought,
in my opinion, if Dr. Y is
still living, to organize
and permanently maintain
at his door an Aisorian
guard of honour, and,
if he is dead, without
fail to erect a monument
to him at his birthplace.

Just in that year when we
decided to set out on our
expedition there was a
great nationalist movement
among the Armenians, and on
everyone's lips were the
names of the heroes who
had fought for freedom,
especially the name of
young Andronik, who
later became a
national hero.

Everywhere, among the
Turkish and Persian Armenians,
as among the Russian Armenians,
various parties and committees
were being formed; attempts at
unity were made even while
sordid quarrels kept
breaking out among the
different factions; in
short, a violent political
explosion was taking place,
such as recurs from time to
time in Armenia, with the
usual train of consequences.

Early one morning in Alexandropol,
I was on my way, as usual, to the
river Arpa Chai to bathe. Half-way,
at the place called Karakuli,
Pogossian overtook me, quite
out of breath, and told me
that the day before in
conversation with the
priest Z he had
learned that the
Armenian Committee
wished to choose
several volunteers
from the members of
the party to send to
Moush on a special
mission.

'When I got home,'
Pogossian continued,
'it suddenly occurred
to me that we could make
use of this opportunity
for our purpose, that
is, for trying to find
traces of the Sarmoung
Brotherhood; so I got
up at sunrise and came
to talk it over with
you, but as I missed
you I ran to catch
up with you.'

I interrupted him and
said that in the first
place we were not members
of the party, and in the
second place . . .

He did not let me finish
but announced that he had
already thought everything
out and knew how it could
be arranged, and all he
now needed to know was
whether I would agree
to such a plan.

I answered that I wished
at any cost to get to the
valley which was once named
Izrumin and that it was all
the same to me how I got there,
whether on the devil's back or
even arm-in-arm with the priest
Vlakov. (Pogossian knew that
this Vlakov was the man I
most disliked and whose
presence exasperated me
a mile away.)

'If you say you can
arrange it,' I continued,
'then do whatever you please
and as circumstances demand,
and I agree beforehand to
everything, if only as a
result we get to the
place I have set as
my goal.'

I do not know what Pogossian
did or with whom or how he talked,
but the result of his efforts was
that several days later, provided
with a considerable sum of Russian,
Turkish and Persian money and a
great many letters of introduction
to people living in the different
places along our proposed route,
we set out from Alexandropol in
the direction of Kaghyshman.

In two weeks we arrived at
the banks of the river Arax,
which is the natural frontier
between Russia and Turkey, and
crossed it with the aid of some
Kurds who had been sent to meet
us. It seemed to us that we had
now surmounted the greatest
difficulties, and we hoped
that from there on
everything would go
smoothly and
successfully.

We travelled mostly on foot,
staying either with shepherds
or with people recommended to
us in the villages already
passed through, or with
those persons to whom we
had letters from
Alexandropol.

It must be confessed that
although we had undertaken
certain obligations and
attempted, as far as
possible, to carry
them out, we never
lost sight of our
real purpose for the
journey, the itinerary
of which did not always
coincide with the places
of our commissions; on such
occasions we did not hesitate
to leave them unfulfilled' and,
truth to tell, did not experience
on this account any great 

remorse of conscience.

When we had passed the
Russian frontier, we decided
to go over Mount Egri Dagh, even
though it was the most difficult
way, because it gave us a better
chance of avoiding the numerous
bands of Kurds and the Turkish
detachments who were pursuing
the Armenians. Having crossed
over the pass, we turned south
towards Van, leaving on our
right the region of the
sources of the great
rivers Tigris and
Euphrates.

During our journey, we had
thousands of adventures which
I will not describe, but there
is one that I cannot pass by in
silence. Although it happened so
many years ago, I still cannot
recall this incident without
laughing, and without at the
same time re-experiencing the
sensation I had then—-of
instinctive fear combined
with a presentiment of
imminent catastrophe.

Many times after this
incident I found myself
in very critical situations.
For example, more than once
I was surrounded by scores
of dangerous enemies; I have
had to cross the path of a
Turkestan tiger; and several
times I was taken literally
at the point of a gun; but
never did I have such a
feeling as I experienced
on this occasion, however
comical it may seem now,
after the event.

Pogossian and I were
calmly walking along.
He was humming some
march and swinging his
stick. Suddenly, as if
from nowhere, a dog appeared,
then another, and another, and
still another—-in all about
fifteen sheep-dogs, who
began barking at us.
Pogossian imprudently
flung a stone at them
and they immediately
sprang at us.

They were Kurd
sheep-dogs, very
vicious, and in
another moment
they would have
torn us to pieces
if I had not
instinctively
pulled Pogossian
down and made
him sit beside
me on the road.
Just because we
sat down the dogs
stopped barking
and springing at
us; surrounding
us, they also
sat down.

Some time passed before
we came to ourselves; and
when we were able to take
stock of the situation we
burst out laughing. As long
as we remained sitting the
dogs also sat, peaceably
and still, and when we
threw them bread from
our knapsacks, they ate
it with great pleasure,
some of them even wagging
their tails in gratitude.
But when, reassured by their
friendliness, we tried to stand
up, then, 'Oh no, you don't!'—-
for they instantly jumped up and,
baring their teeth, made ready to
spring at us; so we were compelled
to sit down once more. When we again
tried to get up, the dogs showed
themselves so viciously hostile
that we did not risk trying a
third time.

In this situation we remained
sitting for about three hours.
I do not know how much longer
we would have had to sit there
if a young Kurd girl had not
chanced to appear in the
distance with an ass,
gathering keesiak in
the fields.

Making various signs to her,
we finally managed to attract
her attention, and when she
came closer and saw what the
trouble was, she went off to
fetch the shepherds to whom
the dogs belonged, who were
not far away behind a hill.
The shepherds came and called
off the dogs, but only when they
were at some distance did we risk
standing up; and all the time they
were moving away the rascals 

kept an eye on us.

As it turned out, we had
been most naive in assuming
that after crossing the river
Arax we would have left the
greatest difficulties and
troubles behind us; as a
matter of fact, it was
only there that they
began.

The greatest difficulty
was that after crossing
this frontier river and
going over Mount Egri Dagh,
we could no longer pass for
Aisors, as we had until the
encounter with the dogs,
because we now found
ourselves in places
populated by genuine
Aisors. To travel as
Armenians, in regions
where at that time they
were being persecuted by
all the other races, was
quite out of the question.
It was also dangerous to go
as Turks or Persians. It would
have been preferable to pass
ourselves off as Russians or
Jews, but neither Pogossian's
appearance nor mine would
permit this.

At that time great care had
to be taken if one wished to
conceal one's real nationality,
because to be found out in any
disguise would have been very
dangerous. The natives were
not then over-particular in
their choice of means for
getting rid of undesirable
foreigners. For instance,
it was rumoured from
authentic sources that
several Englishmen had
recently been flayed
alive by Aisors, for
having attempted to
make copies of certain
inscriptions.

After long deliberation,
we decided to disguise
ourselves as Caucasian
Tartars. Somehow or
other we made the
appropriate changes
in our dress, and
continued on our
journey.

Exactly two months after
crossing the river Arax,
we finally came to the town
of Z, beyond which we had to
go through a certain pass in
the direction of Syria. In
this pass, before reaching
the famous waterfall of K,
we were to turn off towards
Kurdistan and it was
somewhere along this
road that we expected
to find the place which
was the chief objective
of our journey.

In our further
peregrinations,
since we had by
this time sufficiently
adapted ourselves to
surrounding conditions,
everything went along
fairly smoothly—-until
one unexpected accident
changed all our
intentions and
plans.

One day we were sitting
by the roadside eating our
bread and the tarekh we had
brought with us. Suddenly
Pogossian jumped up with
a shout and I saw darting
away from under him a big
yellow phalanga. I at once
understood the cause of his
cry and, springing up,
killed the phalanga and
rushed to Pogossian. He
had been bitten in the leg.
I knew that the bite of this
insect—-a kind of tarantula—-
is often fatal, and so I
instantly tore away the
clothes to suck the wound.
But seeing he had been
bitten in the fleshy
part of the leg and
knowing that sucking
the wound would be
dangerous if there
were the slightest
scratch in one's
mouth, I took the
lesser risk for both
of us, seized my knife,
and quickly cut away a
piece of my comrade's
calf—-but in my haste
I cut away too much.

[Tarekh is a strongly
salted fish, quite
popular in those
regions and caught
only in Lake Van.]

Obviating in this way
all danger of fatal
poisoning, I felt
less anxious and
immediately began
washing the wound
and bandaging it as
best I could. As the
wound was large and
Pogossian had lost
much blood and all
kinds of complications
were to be feared, it was
not possible for the time
being to think of continuing
the journey we had mapped out.
We had to decide at once what
was to be done.

Having talked it over together,
we decided to spend the night
there on the spot, and in the
morning to find some means of
reaching the town of N, thirty
miles away, where we had a
letter to deliver to a
certain Armenian priest—-
a commission we had not
carried out as this town
was not on the route we
had planned before the
accident.

The next day, with the
help of an old Kurd who
happened to be passing and
who turned out to be quite
friendly, I hired in a
little village near by
a kind of cart harnessed
to two oxen, which was
used for carting manure,
and putting Pogossian in
it, set out in the
direction of N.

It took us almost
forty-eight hours
to cover this short
distance, stopping
every four hours to
feed the oxen. We
finally arrived,
at N and went
straight to the
Armenian priest,
to whom we had a
letter of introduction
as well as the letter
to be delivered. He
received us most
amiably, and when
he learned what had
happened to Pogossian,
he immediately offered
him a room in his house,
which of course we most
gratefully accepted.

While still on the road
Pogossian's temperature
had risen and, although
it went down on the third
day, the wound had festered
and had to be treated with
great care. That is how we
came to accept the
hospitality of this
priest for almost a
whole month.

Living so long under the
same roof with this priest
and frequently talking with
him about anything and everything,
very close relations were gradually
established between us. Once, in the
course of conversation, he told me,
by the way, about a certain object
he possessed and the story
connected with it.

It was an ancient parchment
with some kind of map on it.
It had been in his family a
long time, and had been
passed down to him by
inheritance from his
great-grandfather.

'The year before last,'
said the priest, 'a man
who was quite unknown to
me came and asked me to
show him the map. How he
could have known that I
had it I have no idea.
It all seemed to me
suspicious, and not
knowing who he was,
I did not at first
wish to show it to
him and even denied
that I had it; but
when he persisted in
asking me about it, I
thought, "Why should I
not let him see it?"
and I did show it
to him.

'He had hardly looked
at the parchment when
he asked me whether I
would sell it to him
and immediately offered
me two hundred Turkish
pounds for it. Although
the sum was large, I did
not wish to sell it, not
being in need of the
money and not wishing
to part with
something I
was accustomed
to having and
which I
cherished
as a remembrance.

'This stranger, it
appeared, was staying
with our bey. The next
day the bey's servant
came to me, on behalf
of their newly-arrived
guest, with an offer
to buy the parchment
for five hundred
pounds.

'I must say that
from the moment the
stranger had left my
house many things had
seemed to me suspicious:
first of all, this man
had apparently come a
long way specially for
this parchment; then,
the incomprehensible
means by which he had
learned that it was
in my possession;
and finally, the
intense interest
he showed while
looking at it.

'All this taken
together proved
to me that this
thing must be
very valuable.
So when he offered
such a sum as five
hundred pounds,
although inwardly
tempted by the
offer, I feared
to let the thing
go too cheaply
and, deciding
to be cautious,
again refused.

'In the evening the
stranger came to see
me again, this time
accompanied by the bey
himself. When he renewed
his offer to pay me five
hundred pounds for the
parchment, I flatly
refused to sell at
all. But as he had
come with our bey,
I invited them both
in as my guests. They
came in and we drank
coffee and talked
about one thing
and another.

'In the course of
conversation it
transpired that
my visitor was a
Russian prince. He
told me, among other
things, that he was
interested in antiques
and, as this parchment
fitted so well into his
collection, he, being a
connoisseur, wished to
buy it and had offered
a sum far above the
value of the article.
But he considered it
would be foolish to
pay more and regretted
that I refused to sell
it.

'The bey, who had been
listening attentively to
our conversation, became
interested in the parchment
and expressed a wish to see
it. When I brought the
parchment and they were
both looking at it, the
bey was obviously
astonished that
such a thing was
worth so much.

'During the conversation
the prince suddenly asked
me how much I would take
to let him make a copy of
my parchment. I hesitated,
not knowing what to answer,
as, speaking frankly, I was
afraid that I had lost a
good customer. He then
offered me two hundred
pounds to let him make
a copy, and this time
I felt ashamed to
bargain as, in my
opinion, he was
giving me this
sum for nothing.

'Just think, for permission
merely to make a copy of the
parchment I was receiving as
much as two hundred pounds!
Without thinking longer about
it, I agreed to the prince's
offer, telling myself that,
after all, the parchment
would remain with me and
I would always be able
to sell it if I wished.

'The next morning the
prince returned. We
spread the parchment
out on the table, and
the prince added water
to some powdered alabaster
he had brought with him;
after covering the
parchment with oil
he spread the
alabaster over
it. Several minutes
later he removed the
alabaster, wrapped it
up in a piece of old
djedjin I gave him,
paid me two hundred
pounds, and went away.
Thus did God send me
two hundred pounds
for nothing, and I
have the parchment
to this day.'

The priest's story interested
me greatly, but I gave no sign
of it and simply asked him, as
though out of curiosity, to
show me what it was for
which he had been offered
such a large sum of money.
The priest went to a chest
and took out a roll of
parchment. When he
unrolled it I could
not at first make out
what it was, but when
I looked at it more
closely . . . My God!
What I experienced at
that moment! I shall
never forget it.

I was seized with
violent trembling,
which was all the
more violent because
I was inwardly trying
to restrain myself and
not show my excitement.
What I saw—-was it not
precisely what I had
spent long months of
sleepless nights
thinking about!

PRE-SAND EGYPT

It was a map of what
is called 'pre-sand Egypt'.

With great effort, I
continued trying to
look as though I were
not particularly interested
in this thing and spoke of
something else.

The priest rolled up the
parchment and put it back
in the chest. I was no
Russian prince to pay
two hundred pounds for
making a copy, yet this
map was perhaps no less
necessary to me than to
him. I therefore decided,
then and there, that at
any cost I must have a
copy, and at once began
to think how it could
be obtained.

By this time Pogossian was
feeling so much better that
we used to take him out on
the terrace, where he would
sit for long hours in the sun.
I arranged that he would let me
know when the priest went out on
his business and the next day, on
hearing from him that the priest
had left the house, I went
stealthily into his room
to fit a key to his
heirloom chest. The
first time I was not
able to note all the
details of the key,
and it was not until
the third attempt,
after numerous
filings, that
I succeeded
in making
one fit.

One evening, two days
before our departure,
while the priest was
absent, I got into his
room again and took the
parchment from the chest.
I took it to our room and
throughout the night
Pogossian and I
traced all the
details of the
map, after having
covered it with oiled
paper. The next day I
put the parchment back
in its place.

From the moment I had this
treasure—-so full of mystery
and promise—-securely and
unnoticeably sewn in the
lining of my clothes, it
was as if all my other
interests and intentions
evaporated. An eagerness
which was not to be
restrained arose in
me to reach at any
cost and without delay
the places where, with
the aid of this treasure,
I could at last appease
that desire for knowledge
which during the past two
or three years had given
me no rest, gnawing me
within like a worm.

After this perhaps Justifiable,
but nevertheless—-whatever way
one regards it—-culpable treatment
of the hospitality of the Armenian
priest, I talked things over with
my still half-sick comrade
Pogossian. I persuaded him
not to spare his lean
financial resources but
to buy two good local saddle-
horses, of the kind we had
noticed during our stay
there and whose peculiar,
quick, ambling trot we
had admired, so that we
could set off as soon as
possible in the direction
of Syria.

The gait of the horses
bred in that locality is
indeed so smooth that one
can ride on them almost at
the speed of the flight of
a large bird, holding in
one's hand a glassful
of water without
spilling a
single
drop.

I will not describe here all
the ups and downs of our journey,
nor the unforeseen circumstances
which forced us frequently to
change our route. I will only
say that exactly four months
after we took leave of that
hospitable and kindly
Armenian priest, we
reached the town of
Smyrna, where, on the
evening of our arrival,
we had an adventure which
happened to be a turning-
point in the subsequent
destiny of Pogossian.

That evening we went to
a small Greek restaurant
for a little diversion
after the period of
difficulty and strain
we had just been through.
We were leisurely drinking
the famous douziko and helping
ourselves to this and that, as
is the local custom, from the
numerous small saucers piled
with all kinds of hors-d'oeuvres,
from dried mackerel to salted
chick peas.

Besides ourselves, there were
several groups of people in the
restaurant, most of them sailors
from the foreign ships anchored
in the harbour. They were rather
rowdy and it was evident that
they had already visited more
than one tavern and had got
themselves, as is said,
'pretty well soaked'.

Between the sailors of
different nationalities
sitting at separate tables,
squabbles arose from time
to time, which were at
first confined to an
interchange of noisy
epithets in a peculiar
jargon, mostly a
mixture of Greek,
Italian and Turkish—-
and then suddenly,
without warning, an
explosion occurred.

I do not know how the
gunpowder was ignited,
but all at once a rather
large group of sailors
sprang up in a body and,
with threatening gestures
and shouts, threw themselves
upon some other sailors sitting
not far from us. The latter also
sprang up and in the twinkling of
an eye a free fight was in full
swing.

Pogossian and I, also somewhat
excited by the fumes of the
douziko, rushed to help the
smaller group of sailors. We
had no idea what it was all
about—-or even who was
getting the best and
who the worst of it.

When the other people in the
restaurant and the military
patrol, which happened to be
passing, had separated us,
scarcely a single one of
those in the fight had
come out unscathed: one
had a broken nose, another
was spitting blood, and so
on, while I stood in the middle
of them decorated with an enormous
black left eye, and Pogossian,
cursing all the time in
Armenian, groaned and
gasped, complaining of
an unbearable pain
under the fifth rib.

When, as the sailors would
have said, the storm abated,
Pogossian and I, finding that
we had had enough for one
evening and had been
sufficiently diverted
by these good people—-
and not even by request—-
dragged ourselves home
to sleep.

It cannot be said that we
were very talkative on the
way home; my eye kept
shutting involuntarily
and Pogossian was
groaning and
cursing himself
for not minding
his own business.

The next morning at breakfast,
reviewing our physical condition
and our rather idiotic behaviour
of the previous evening, we
decided not to postpone the
trip to Egypt we had planned,
as we calculated that the long
voyage on the boat and the pure
sea air would cure our wounds of
battle completely by the time we
arrived there. So we went at once
to the port to find out if there
were a ship to suit our pockets
which would soon be going to
Alexandria.

We discovered that there was
a Greek sailing-vessel in the
harbour about to leave for
Alexandria, and we hurried
off to the office of the
steamship company to which
this ship belonged to get
the necessary information.
Just at the door of this
office a sailor ran up to
us and, jabbering something
or other in broken Turkish,
began warmly and excitedly
shaking hands with both of
us.

At first we did not understand
anything, but it soon became
clear that he was an English
sailor, one of the group in
whose defense we had fought
the previous evening.
Gesturing to us to
wait, he hurried off
and a few minutes later
returned accompanied by
three comrades, one of
whom, as we afterwards
learned, was an officer.
All of them thanked us
warmly for what we had
done the day before and
insisted that we go to
a Greek restaurant near
by to have a glass of
douziko with them.

After three rounds of the
miraculous douziko—-that
worthy offspring of the
beneficent mastikhe of
the ancient Greeks—-we
began to talk more and
more noisily and freely,
of course thanks to the
ability we had all inherited
of making ourselves understood
by 'ancient Greek mimicry' and
'ancient Roman gesticulation',
as well as with the help of
words taken from all the
seaport languages on earth.
When they learned that we
wished to get somehow or
other to Alexandria, then
the beneficent effect of
that worthy offspring of
the invention of the
ancient Greeks did not
fail to make itself
manifest in a most
striking manner.

The sailors, as though they
had forgotten our existence,
began talking among themselves,
and whether they were
quarreling or joking
we could not tell.
Suddenly two of them,
finishing their drinks
in one gulp, went off in
a great hurry, while the
two who were left vied
with each other, in a
tone of benevolent
concern, to assure
and reassure us of
something or other.

At last we began to guess
what it was all about and,
as it afterwards turned out,
our guess was almost correct:
those two comrades of theirs
who had suddenly left had gone
to put in a word for us in the
proper quarter, so that we might
go on their ship, which was sailing
the next day for Piraeus, from there
to Sicily, and from Sicily to Alexandria,
where it would stop for about two 

weeks before sailing to Bombay.

The sailors took a long time
to come back, and while waiting
for them we did justice to the
magnificent offspring of mastikhe,
to the accompaniment of strong 

words from all languages.

In spite of this pleasant way
of passing the time waiting for
favourable news, Pogossian,
evidently remembering his
fifth rib, suddenly lost
patience and started to
insist that we should not
wait any longer but should
return home at once; moreover,
he assured me with great
earnestness that my other
eye was also beginning to
look black.

Considering that Pogossian
had not entirely recovered
from the phalanga bite, I
could not refuse and,
without going into
any explanations
with our chance
companions in
the consumption
of douziko, I
obediently got
up and went off
after him.

Astonished by the unexpected
and silent departure of their
defenders of the day before,
the sailors got up too and
came along after us. We had
rather a long way to go. Each
of us entertained himself in
his own way; one sang, another
gesticulated, as if to prove
something to somebody, another
was whistling some military march....

As soon as we arrived Pogossian
lay down at once, without even
undressing, and I, giving up
my bed to the elder sailor,
simply stretched out on the
floor, making a sign to the
other to do the same.

Waking up in the night
with a terrible headache
and recalling in snatches
everything that had happened
the day before, I remembered,
among other things, the sailors
who had come home with us; but
when I looked round the room I
discovered that they had gone.

I went back to sleep and it
was already late when I was
awakened by the clatter of
dishes made by Pogossian
preparing tea and by his
singing, as he did every
morning, the special
Armenian morning prayer,
Lusatsav lusn pareen yes
avadam zair ghentaneen.
Neither Pogossian nor I
wanted tea that morning;
we wanted something very
sour. We drank only some
cold water and, without
exchanging a single word,
went back to bed.

We were both very depressed
and felt wretched in every
way. In addition, I had a
sensation in my mouth as
though at least a dozen
cossacks, with their
horses and harness,
had spent the night
there.

While we were still lying
in this condition, each of
us thinking his own thoughts
in silence, the door was suddenly
pushed open and three English
sailors burst into the room.
Only one of them had been
with us the day before;
the other two we saw for
the first time. Interrupting
each other constantly, they
tried to tell us something.
By asking questions and
racking our brains, we
finally understood that
they wanted us to get up,
dress quickly and go with
them to their ship, as they
had received permission from
the authorities to take us
with them as extra ship's
hands.

While we were dressing, the
sailors continued talking among
themselves gaily, as was clear
from their faces; then suddenly,
much to our astonishment, all of
them jumped up together and began
packing our belongings. By the
time we had finished dressing,
called the ustabash of the
caravanserai and paid our
bill, our things were
already neatly packed
and the sailors,
dividing them
among themselves,
made signs to us
to follow them.

We all went out into the
street and walked towards
the harbour. When we got
there, we saw a small boat
at the wharf with two sailors
in it who were evidently waiting
for us. We stepped into the boat
and after being rowed along for
half an hour, with the English
sailors singing all the time,
we came alongside a fairly
large warship.

It was obvious that we were
expected on board, for no
sooner did we reach the
deck than some sailors
standing at the gangway
quickly took our things
and led us to a small
cabin, which had been
assigned to us and made
ready beforehand in the
hold near the galley.

When we had somehow settled
ourselves in this stuffy but,
as it seemed to us, very cosy
corner of the warship, we went
out on the upper deck,
accompanied by one of
the sailors for whom we
had fought in the restaurant.
We sat down on some coils of
rope and soon we were
surrounded by almost
all the crew—-both
ordinary sailors
and junior
officers.

All of them, irrespective of
their rank, seemed to have a
marked feeling of friendliness
towards us. Every one of them
felt obliged to shake hands
with us and, taking our
ignorance of English into
account, tried, with the aid
of gestures and what words they
knew in various languages, to say
something obviously pleasant.

During this very original
conversation in many languages,
one of the sailors, who spoke
tolerable Greek, suggested that
during the voyage each one
present should set himself
the task of learning every
day at least twenty words—-
we in English, they in
Turkish.

This proposal was approved
by all with noisy applause,
and two sailors, from among
our friends of the day
before, at once began
choosing and writing
down those English
words which they
thought we ought
to learn first,
and Pogossian
and I made a
list of Turkish
words for them.

When the launch with
the senior officers
came alongside and
the hour of sailing
drew near, all the
crew went off to
carry out their
duties, and
Pogossian and
I at once set
to work to
memorize the
first twenty
English words,
which were
written
phonetically
in Greek
characters.

We were so absorbed in
learning these twenty words
and in trying to pronounce
correctly the unaccustomed
sounds, so foreign to our
ear, that we did not
notice that evening
had come and the ship
was under way. We broke
off our occupation only
when a sailor came towards
us, swaying to the measured
rolling of the ship, and,
explaining with a very
expressive gesture that
it was time to eat, took
us to our cabin near the
galley.

During the meal we discussed
matters between ourselves and,
after consulting the sailor who
spoke tolerable Greek, we decided
to ask permission—-which was
granted that very evening—-
for me to begin the next
morning cleaning the
metal-work on the
ship and for
Pogossian to
work in some
capacity or
other in the
engine-room.

I will not dwell
on the events during
the remainder of our
voyage on that warship.

On arriving at Alexandria
I warmly took leave of the
hospitable sailors, and left
the ship with the burning
determination to reach
Cairo as soon as possible.
But Pogossian, who had
become friends with
several of the sailors
during the voyage and was
enthusiastic about his work
in the engine-room, wished
to stay on the ship and go
further. We agreed to keep
in touch with each other.

As I later learned, Pogossian,
after we had parted, continued
to work in the engine-room of
this English warship, acquired
a passion for mechanics, and
became very close friends
with several of the
sailors and younger
officers.

From Alexandria he went with
this ship to Bombay, and then,
after calling at various
Australian ports, finally
landed in England. There,
in the city of Liverpool,
persuaded by these new
English friends of his
and through their
influence, he
entered a
technical
institute
of marine
engineering
where, along
with intensive
technical studies,
he perfected himself
in the English language.
At the end of two years
he became a qualified
mechanical engineer.

In concluding this chapter
devoted to the first comrade
and friend of my youth, Pogossian,
I wish to mention a certain highly
original feature of his general
psyche which was apparent from
his earliest years and was very
characteristic of his
individuality.

Pogossian was always
occupied; he was always
working at something.

He never sat, as is said,
with folded arms, and one
never saw him lying down,
like his comrades, reading
diverting books which give
nothing real. If he had no
definite work to do, he
would either swing his
arms in rhythm, mark
time with his feet
or make all kinds
of manipulations
with his fingers.

I once asked him why
he was such a fool as
not to rest, since no
one would pay him
anything for these
useless exercises.

'Yes, indeed,' he replied,
'for the present no one will
pay me for these foolish antics
of mine—-as you and all those
pickled in the same barrel of
brine think they are—-but in
the future either you yourself
or your children will pay me
for them. Joking apart, I do
this because I like work, but
I like it not with my nature,
which is just as lazy as that
of other people and never
wishes to do anything
useful. I like work
with my common 
sense.

'Please bear in mind,'
he added, 'that when I
use the word "I", you
must understand it not
as the whole of me, but
only as my mind. I love
work and have set myself
the task of being able,
through persistence, to
accustom my whole nature
to love it and not my
reason alone.

'Further, I am really convinced
that in the world no conscious
work is ever wasted. Sooner or
later someone must pay for it.
Consequently, if I now work in
this way, I achieve two of my
aims. First, I shall perhaps
teach my nature not to be lazy,
and secondly, I will provide
for my old age. As you know,
I cannot expect that when my
parents die they will leave
me an ample inheritance to
suffice for the time when
I will no longer have the
strength to earn a living.
I also work because the
only real satisfaction
in life is to work not
from compulsion but
consciously; that is
what distinguishes man
from a Karabakh ass, which
also works day and night.'

This reasoning of his has
been fully justified by facts.
Although he spent his whole youth—-
the time most valuable to a man for
securing his old age—-in, as it were,
useless wanderings and never
concerned himself with making
money for his later life, and
although he did not go into a
serious business until the
year 1908, he is now one
of the richest men on
earth. As for his
honesty in earning
his wealth, that
cannot be
questioned.

He was right when he said
that no conscious labour is
ever wasted. He did indeed
work consciously and
conscientiously, day
and night, like an ox,
all his life, in all
circumstances and
under all
conditions.

May God grant him now,
at last, his well-earned 

rest.

Gurdjieff