ands a table bearing a large bowl of consecrated water. On hot
summer days the thirsty wayfarer takes a sip, using the ancient Russian
_kovsh_, or short-handled ladle, which lies beside it, crosses himself,
and drops a small offering on the dish piled with copper coins near by,
making change for himself if he has not the exact sum which he wishes to
give.
Inside, many _ikoni_ decorate the walls. The pale flames of their
shrine-lamps are supplemented by masses of candles in the huge standing
candlesticks of silver. A black-robed monk from the monastery is
engaged, almost without cessation, in intoning prayers of various sorts,
before one or another of the images. The little chapel is thronged;
there is barely room for respectfully flourished crosses, such as the
peasant loves, often only for the more circumscribed sign current among
the upper classes, and none at all for the favorite "ground reverences."
The approach to the door is lined with two files of monks and nuns:
monks in high _klobuki_, like rimless chimney-pot hats, draped with
black woolen veils, which are always becoming; _tchernitzi_, or lay
sisters, from distant convents, in similar headgear, in caps flat or
pointed like the small end of a watermelon, and with ears protected by
black woolen shawls ungracefully pinned. Serviceable man's boots do more
than peep out from beneath the short, rusty-black skirts. Each monk and
nun holds a small pad of threadbare black velvet, whereon a cross of
tarnished gold braid, and a stray copper or two, by way of bait, explain
the eleemosynary significance of the bearers' "broad" crosses, dizzy
"reverences to the girdle," and muttered entreaty, of which we catch
only: "_Khristi Radi_"--For Christ's sake.
People of all classes turn in here for a moment of prayer, to "place a
candle" to some saint, for the health, in body or soul, of friend or
relative: the workman, his tools on his back in a coarse linen kit; the
bearded _muzhik_ from the country, clad in his sheepskin _tulup_, wool
inward, the soiled yellow leather outside set off by a gay sash; ladies,
officers, civilians,--the stream never ceases.
The only striking feature about the next building of importance, the
_Gradskaya Duma_, or City Hall, is the lofty tower, upon whose balcony,
high in air, guards pace incessantly, on the watch for fires. By day
they telegraph the locality of disaster to the fire department by means
of black balls and white boards, in fixed co
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