บทที่ บทที่ 114 · 第114章

Again Pierre was overtaken by the depression he so dreaded. For three

days after the delivery of his speech at the lodge he lay on a sofa at

home receiving no one and going nowhere.

It was just then that he received a letter from his wife, who implored

him to see her, telling him how grieved she was about him and how she

wished to devote her whole life to him.

At the end of the letter she informed him that in a few days she would

return to Petersburg from abroad.

Following this letter one of the Masonic Brothers whom Pierre respected

less than the others forced his way in to see him and, turning the

conversation upon Pierre’s matrimonial affairs, by way of fraternal

advice expressed the opinion that his severity to his wife was wrong

and that he was neglecting one of the first rules of Freemasonry by not

forgiving the penitent.

At the same time his mother-in-law, Prince Vasíli’s wife, sent to

him imploring him to come if only for a few minutes to discuss a most

important matter. Pierre saw that there was a conspiracy against him and

that they wanted to reunite him with his wife, and in the mood he then

was, this was not even unpleasant to him. Nothing mattered to him.

Nothing in life seemed to him of much importance, and under the

influence of the depression that possessed him he valued neither his

liberty nor his resolution to punish his wife.

“No one is right and no one is to blame; so she too is not to

blame,” he thought.

If he did not at once give his consent to a reunion with his wife, it

was only because in his state of depression he did not feel able to take

any step. Had his wife come to him, he would not have turned her away.

Compared to what preoccupied him, was it not a matter of indifference

whether he lived with his wife or not?

Without replying either to his wife or his mother-in-law, Pierre late

one night prepared for a journey and started for Moscow to see Joseph

Alexéevich. This is what he noted in his diary:

Moscow, 17th November

I have just returned from my benefactor, and hasten to write down what I

have experienced. Joseph Alexéevich is living poorly and has for three

years been suffering from a painful disease of the bladder. No one has

ever heard him utter a groan or a word of complaint. From morning till

late at night, except when he eats his very plain food, he is working

at science. He received me graciously and made me sit down on the bed

on which he lay. I made the sign of the Knights of the East and of

Jerusalem, and he responded in the same manner, asking me with a mild

smile what I had learned and gained in the Prussian and Scottish lodges.

I told him everything as best I could, and told him what I had proposed

to our Petersburg lodge, of the bad reception I had encountered, and of

my rupture with the Brothers. Joseph Alexéevich, having remained silent

and thoughtful for a good while, told me his view of the matter, which

at once lit up for me my whole past and the future path I should follow.

He surprised me by asking whether I remembered the threefold aim of

the order: (1) The preservation and study of the mystery. (2) The

purification and reformation of oneself for its reception, and (3) The

improvement of the human race by striving for such purification. Which

is the principal aim of these three? Certainly self-reformation and

self-purification. Only to this aim can we always strive independently

of circumstances. But at the same time just this aim demands the

greatest efforts of us; and so, led astray by pride, losing sight of

this aim, we occupy ourselves either with the mystery which in our

impurity we are unworthy to receive, or seek the reformation of

the human race while ourselves setting an example of baseness and

profligacy. Illuminism is not a pure doctrine, just because it is

attracted by social activity and puffed up by pride. On this ground

Joseph Alexéevich condemned my speech and my whole activity, and in the

depth of my soul I agreed with him. Talking of my family affairs he said

to me, “the chief duty of a true Mason, as I have told you, lies in

perfecting himself. We often think that by removing all the difficulties

of our life we shall more quickly reach our aim, but on the contrary,

my dear sir, it is only in the midst of worldly cares that we can attain

our three chief aims: (1) Self-knowledge—for man can only know himself

by comparison, (2) Self-perfecting, which can only be attained by

conflict, and (3) The attainment of the chief virtue—love of death.

Only the vicissitudes of life can show us its vanity and develop our

innate love of death or of rebirth to a new life.” These words are all

the more remarkable because, in spite of his great physical sufferings,

Joseph Alexéevich is never weary of life though he loves death, for

which—in spite of the purity and loftiness of his inner man—he does

not yet feel himself sufficiently prepared. My benefactor then explained

to me fully the meaning of the Great Square of creation and pointed out

to me that the numbers three and seven are the basis of everything. He

advised me not to avoid intercourse with the Petersburg Brothers, but

to take up only second-grade posts in the lodge, to try, while

diverting the Brothers from pride, to turn them toward the true path

self-knowledge and self-perfecting. Besides this he advised me for

myself personally above all to keep a watch over myself, and to that end

he gave me a notebook, the one I am now writing in and in which I will

in future note down all my actions.

Petersburg, 23rd November

I am again living with my wife. My mother-in-law came to me in tears and

said that Hélène was here and that she implored me to hear her; that

she was innocent and unhappy at my desertion, and much more. I knew

that if I once let myself see her I should not have strength to go on

refusing what she wanted. In my perplexity I did not know whose aid and

advice to seek. Had my benefactor been here he would have told me what

to do. I went to my room and reread Joseph Alexéevich’s letters and

recalled my conversations with him, and deduced from it all that I

ought not to refuse a supplicant, and ought to reach a helping hand to

everyone—especially to one so closely bound to me—and that I must

bear my cross. But if I forgive her for the sake of doing right, then

let union with her have only a spiritual aim. That is what I decided,

and what I wrote to Joseph Alexéevich. I told my wife that I begged her

to forget the past, to forgive me whatever wrong I may have done her,

and that I had nothing to forgive. It gave me joy to tell her this. She

need not know how hard it was for me to see her again. I have settled on

the upper floor of this big house and am experiencing a happy feeling of

regeneration.