There was much to be seen in the Lavra—the refectory of the monks,
their carefully-tended garden, and above all the grand old battlements,
twenty-one feet broad, from which we could look down on the surrounding
country and see the advancing hordes of Poles, hear the war cries
of assailants and besieged, listen to the din of battle and to the
triumphant hymns of the cowled warriors giving glory to God for the
victory.
But we had more ground to cover, so after a visit to a neighbouring
_traktir_, where brother Vaccian made himself exceedingly comfortable,
we drove off with him to a most curious hermitage, or perhaps I should
rather say monastery, about four versts off—religion in its most
repellent shape. The church and cells are underground, so we bought
tapers to light us down the dark, slimy steps. How can men inhabit such
dens? How can men think that in so doing they are pleasing the God who
has given them the pure air and the canopy of heaven. To me it seemed
a sacrilege. I went into one of the empty cells and measured it—nine
feet by six; only in the centre was the vaulted roof high enough for
me to stand with my hat on. All the furniture a stove, a pallet and an
ikona; the only ornament a black cross painted on the roof. The water was
literally streaming down the walls.
In such a den as this fanatics will live for years without the light
of day and without air; their only communication with the outer world
is by means of the serving brother who brings their food and cleans
(save the mark!) their cells. Their days are passed in contemplation,
and in reading the lives of the saints by the dim light of a taper. The
liturgies of the Church they only hear through a tiny window, like the
lepers’ squints in our own country, which during Mass is thrown open to
the church that the cells surround. I asked if these holy men received
visitors, as I should have liked to have had some talk with them, but
I was told that they only received the Emperor, the Empress and the
Metropolitan. If they must have company, apparently it has to be of the
very best.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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