June 1936—Constant suffering. A painful period. Have at last found a flat in the Rue
Casimir-Périer, between the church and the trees.
A wonderful end to the month because of my recent meeting with Gurdjieff. He has
been living in Paris for some time and I decided to say to him: “Time is passing and I
am making no progress. I haven’t much longer to live. Will you let me read the new
parts of your manuscript?” He looked at me for a long time and at last he said: “You
still have time to live. Yes, come to lunch tomorrow and you shall read.”
He murmured something that I couldn’t understand. At length I grasped it: “Liver out
of order. All organs clogged.” Again he looked at me for a long time, and he then said:
“Yes, I will do it for you.”
I wanted to cry out my thanks, but I knew that I should keep calm, that he would
understand me. With difficulty I got out: “Thank you.”
I lunched with him and his family and a few pupils. After lunch he fetched this
manuscript and showed me a cupboard in a small room next to the dining room. He
would leave it there for me, and I could come and read whenever I liked.
So I go there nearly every day. I read with concentration, as though my life depends on
the difficult thought to be gleaned from those pages.
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