And he suddenly understood that the disgust which he had lately felt toward everybody, and especially to-day toward the Prince and Maria Vasilievna, and Missy, and Kornei, was disgust with himself.  And in this confession of his own baseness there was something painful, and at the same time joyous and calming.

In the course of his life Nekhludoff often experienced what he called a “cleansing of the soul.”  This happened when, after a long period of retardation, or, perhaps, entire cessation of his inner life, he suddenly became aware of it, and proceeded to cleanse his soul of all the accumulated filth that caused this standstill.

After such awakenings Nekhludoff always laid down some rules for himself which he intended to follow all the rest of his life; kept a diary and began a new life, which he hoped he should never change again—­“turning a new leaf,” he used to call it.  But the temptations of life entrapped him anew, after every awakening, and, without knowing it, he sank again, often to a lower depth than he was in before.

Thus he cleansed himself and revived several times.  His first cleansing happened when he visited his aunts.  That was the brightest and most enthusiastic awakening.  And it lasted a long time.  The next happened when he left the civil service, and, desiring to sacrifice his life, he entered, during the war, the military service.  Here he began to sink quickly.  The next awakening occurred when he retired from the military service, and, going abroad, gave himself up to painting.

From that day to this there was a long period of uncleanliness, the longest he had gone through yet, and, therefore, he had never sunk so deep, and never before was there such discord between the demands of his conscience and the life which he was leading.  So, when he saw the chasm which separated the two, he was horrified.

The discord was so great, the defilement so thorough, that at first he despaired of the possibility of a complete cleansing.  “Why, you have tried to improve before, and failed,” the tempter in his soul whispered.  “What is the good of trying again?  You are not the only one—­all are alike.  Such is life.”  But the free, spiritual being which alone is true, alone powerful, alone eternal, was already awake in Nekhludoff.  And he could not help believing it.  However great the difference between that which he was and that which he wished to be, for the awakened spiritual being everything was possible.

“I shall break this lie that binds me at any cost.  I will confess the truth to everybody, and will act the truth,” he said aloud, resolutely.  “I will tell Missy the truth—­that I am a profligate and cannot marry her; that I have trifled with her.  I will tell Maria Vasilevna (the wife of the marshal of nobility)—­but no, what is the good of telling her?  I will tell her husband that I am a scoundrel, that I have deceived him.  I will dispose of my inheritance in accordance with the demands of justice.  I will tell her, Katiousha, that I am a knave, that I have wronged her, and will do everything in my power to alleviate her condition.  Yes, I shall see her, and beg her forgiveness—­I will beg like a child.”