The same depression he so dreaded came over Pierre again. For three days after delivering his speech in the lodge he lay at home on the sofa, receiving no one and going nowhere.

At this time he received a letter from his wife, who implored him for a meeting, wrote of her sadness on his account and of her wish to devote her whole life to him.

At the end of the letter she informed him that in a few days she would arrive in Petersburg from abroad.

Hard upon the letter, one of the Masonic brothers less respected by Pierre than the others burst in upon his solitude and, leading the conversation round to Pierre's marital relations, expressed to him, by way of brotherly counsel, the thought that his severity toward his wife was unjust, and that Pierre was departing from the first rules of a Mason in not forgiving the penitent.

At this same time his mother-in-law, the wife of Prince Vasili, sent for him, imploring him to visit her if only for a few minutes to discuss a most important matter. Pierre saw that there was a conspiracy against him, that they wished to reunite him with his wife, and in the state he was in this was not even unpleasant to him. It was all the same to him: Pierre considered nothing in life a matter of great importance, and under the influence of the depression that now possessed him he valued neither his freedom nor his persistence in punishing his wife.

"No one is right, no one is to blame, so she too is not to blame," he thought. If Pierre did not at once express his consent to a reunion with his wife, it was only because in the state of depression he was in he had not the strength to undertake anything. Had his wife come to him, he would not now have driven her away. Was it not all the same, compared with what occupied Pierre, whether he lived with his wife or not?

Answering neither his wife nor his mother-in-law, Pierre one late evening prepared for the road and set off for Moscow to see Osip Alekseevich. This is what Pierre wrote in his diary: "Moscow, November 17.

I have only just returned from my benefactor's, and hasten to write down all that I experienced thereby. Osip Alekseevich lives poorly and has for three years been suffering from a painful disease of the bladder. No one has ever heard from him a groan or a word of complaint. From morning till late at night, except for the hours in which he eats the simplest food, he works at his science. He received me graciously and seated me on the bed on which he lay; I made him the sign of the Knights of the East and Jerusalem, he answered me with the same, and with a gentle smile asked me what I had learned and gained in the Prussian and Scottish lodges. I told him everything as best I could, conveying the principles I had proposed in our Petersburg lodge, and reported the ill reception given me and the breach that had occurred between me and the brothers. Osip Alekseevich, having been silent and pondered a good while, laid before me his view of all this, which instantly illuminated for me all the past and the whole future path lying before me. He surprised me by asking whether I remembered in what the threefold aim of the order consists: 1) in the keeping and knowledge of the mystery; 2) in the purification and reformation of oneself for its reception; and 3) in the reformation of the human race through the striving toward such purification. Which is the chief and first of these three aims? Of course one's own reformation and purification. Only toward this aim can we always strive, independently of all circumstances. But at the same time this very aim demands of us the most labor, and therefore, going astray through pride, we, neglecting this aim, take up either the mystery, which in our impurity we are unworthy to receive, or take up the reformation of the human race while we ourselves present an example of vileness and depravity. Illuminism is not a pure teaching precisely because it has been carried away by social activity and is filled with pride. On these grounds Osip Alekseevich condemned my speech and all my activity. I agreed with him in the depths of my soul. On the occasion of our talk about my family affairs, he said to me: 'The chief duty of a true Mason, as I told you, consists in perfecting himself. But often we think that, by removing from ourselves all the difficulties of our life, we shall the sooner attain this aim; on the contrary, my dear sir,' he said to me, 'only in the midst of worldly cares can we attain three chief aims: 1) self-knowledge, for man can know himself only through comparison; 2) perfection, which is attained only by struggle; and 3) the attainment of the chief virtue — love of death. Only the vicissitudes of life can show us its vanity and can foster our innate love of death, or of rebirth to a new life.' These words are the more remarkable in that Osip Alekseevich, despite his grievous physical sufferings, is never weary of life, but loves death, for which, despite all the purity and elevation of his inner man, he does not yet feel himself sufficiently prepared. Then my benefactor explained to me fully the meaning of the great square of the universe and pointed out that the threefold and the seventh numbers are the foundation of all things. He advised me not to withdraw from intercourse with the Petersburg brothers and, holding in the lodge only the offices of the second degree, to strive, drawing the brothers away from the enticements of pride, to turn them toward the true path of self-knowledge and perfection. Besides this, he advised me, for myself personally, above all to watch over myself, and to that end he gave me a notebook, the very one in which I am writing and shall henceforth enter all my actions."

"Petersburg, November 23.

I am living again 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 out, that she was innocent, that she was unhappy at my desertion, and much else. I knew that if I once let myself see her I should no longer have the strength to refuse her her wish. In my doubt I knew not whose help and counsel to resort to. Had my benefactor been here, he would have told me. I withdrew to my room, reread Osip Alekseevich's letters, recalled my conversations with him, and from it all concluded that I must not refuse one who asks, and must hold out a helping hand to everyone, the more so to a person so bound up with me, and must bear my cross. But if for virtue's sake I have forgiven her, then let my union with her have only a spiritual aim. So I decided, and so I wrote to Osip Alekseevich. I told my wife that I begged her to forget all the past, begged her to forgive me wherein I might have been at fault toward her, but that I had nothing to forgive her. It was a joy to me to say this to her. Let her not know how hard it was for me to see her again. I have settled in the upper rooms of the great house and feel a happy sense of renewal."