One’s ideas of the monasteries of the olden time were of sacred institutions where in an age of ignorance the holy fire of learning was kept alight; here, and apparently in similar places, were castles of indolence, refuges to which men might fly from the cares and duties of mankind, contented to be supplied with the barest necessaries of life at the public expense, adding thereto a few scanty comforts by the kindness of some passing stranger. Every monk received at the refectory one meal a day, consisting of vegetable soup, fish, bread, vegetables and kvass. If they ate anything else in the day it must be at their own expense. They were allowed twenty roubles (£3 at that time) a year out of which they must clothe themselves. Some had a little something of their own wherewith to eke out this pittance; others managed to pick up a trifle now and again as guides to visitors; others had nothing. There were in all three hundred and fifty brethren. The admission to the order was simple enough; any man was eligible if only he could show that he had a vocation. The monks had free egress and ingress, and might even obtain a week’s leave of absence from the Archimandrite. A curious, unproductive life. Such talents as there might be were hidden in napkins! Of course we visited all the churches and shrines; but what interested me most were the pilgrims. It was impossible not to be touched by the very real fervour of their piety. To see the tears streaming down the cheeks of great bearded men when they kissed the face of Saint Sergius, covered only by a cloth of red velvet and gold, made me feel ashamed of my stiff-necked apathy. The worshippers moved me, the worshipped did not. Had the French only known what was immediately under their hand in 1812, what prizes they might have carried off! The reliquaries and vestments, the bushels upon bushels of precious stones and pearls. The treasury of the monastery must represent a fabulous wealth in the offerings of Emperors and Empresses, Princes and Princesses, and rich folk of lesser degree. One jewel was, if not a miracle, as it is reputed to be, at any rate a world’s wonder. Picture to yourself an agate medallion mounted in huge diamonds, the staining of the agate representing the figure of a monk kneeling in worship before the crucifix. Even the eyes of the monk visible, two little white specks in the blackness of the stone. I held this wonder in my hand and examined it as closely as I could; but in vain did I try to discover any trace of possible fraud. I have seen and read of many freaks of nature; none of its kind, I think, so strange as this.