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By Root 3915 0

only a moment. Pierre looked at the serious faces of the people around him, remembered all he had already gone through, and realized that he could not stop halfway. He was horrified at his doubt, and, trying to recall his former tender feeling, he prostrated at the gates of the temple. And indeed a tender feeling still stronger than before came over him. After he had lain there for some time, they told him to get up and put on a white leather apron such as the others were wearing, handed him a trowel and three pairs of gloves, and then the grand master addressed him. He told him to try not to stain in any way the whiteness of this apron, which represented strength and blamelessness; then, of the unexplained trowel, he told him to work with it to purify his heart of vice and tolerantly smooth over the heart of his neighbor. Then, of the first pair of men’s gloves, he said that Pierre could not know their meaning, but had to keep them; of the second pair of men’s gloves, he said that he was to wear them at meetings; and, finally, of the third pair, which were women’s gloves, he said:

“My gentle brother, these women’s gloves are destined for you as well. Give them to the woman whom you honor most of all. By this gift you will give assurance of the blamelessness of your heart to the one whom you elect as your worthy lady Mason.” After a pause, he added: “But preserve these gloves, gentle brother, that they not adorn unclean hands.” Just as the grand master pronounced these last words, it seemed to Pierre that the chairman became embarrassed. Pierre became still more embarrassed, blushed to the point of tears, as children do, started looking around uneasily, and an awkward silence ensued.

This silence was broken by one of the brothers, who, leading Pierre to the rug, began reading to him from a notebook the explanation of all the images depicted on it: the sun, the moon, a hammer, a plumb line, a trowel, a rough stone and a squared stone, a pillar, three windows, and so on. Then Pierre was assigned his place, shown the signs of the lodge, told the password, and finally allowed to sit down. The grand master began to read the rules. The rules were very long, and Pierre, from joy, excitement, and abashedness, was unable to understand what was being read to him. He heard well only the last words of the rules, which stayed in his memory:

“In our temples we know no other distinctions,” the grand master read, “than those between virtue and vice. Beware of making any distinction that may violate equality. Fly to aid your brother, whoever he may be, instruct him who errs, raise up the fallen, and never nurse any malice or enmity against your brother. Be gentle and affable. Arouse the fire of virtue in all hearts. Share your happiness with your neighbor, and let envy never cloud this pure delight.

“Forgive your enemy, take no revenge upon him, unless it be by doing him good. Having thus fulfilled the higher law, you will recover the traces of the ancient majesty you have lost,” he concluded and, standing up, he embraced Pierre and kissed him.

Pierre looked around with tears of joy in his eyes, not knowing how to reply to the congratulations and renewals of acquaintance that surrounded him. He did not recognize any acquaintances; in all these people he saw only brothers, and he burned with impatience to start working with them.

The grand master rapped with his hammer, everyone sat down in their places, and one brother read a sermon about the necessity of humility.

The grand master suggested that they fulfill the last duty, and the important dignitary, who bore the title of alms collector, started making the round of the brothers. Pierre wanted to write down all the money he had on the list of alms, but was afraid of showing pride and wrote down the same amount as the others did.

The meeting was over, and on his return home it seemed to Pierre that he had come back from some distant journey, where he had spent dozens of years, had changed completely, and had detached himself from the former order and habits of his life.

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