They walk upon earth like spies of God and judges of men, and watch sharply for any violation of the church laws. They bustle and flock together, accusing and complaining. "Faith is being extinguished in the hearts of people; woe unto us!" One man especially amused me with his zeal. We walked together from Perejaslavlja to Rostoff, and the whole way he kept crying out to me, "Where are the holy laws of Feodor Studite?" He was well fed, healthy, with a black beard and rosy cheeks; had money, and at night mixed with the women in the inns. "When I saw how the laws were violated and the people depraved," he said to me, "all the peace of my soul went from me. I gave _my_ business, which was a brick factory, to my sons to manage, and here I am, wandering about for four years, watching everything, and horror fills my soul. Rats have crawled into the Holy Sacristy, and have gnawed with their sharp teeth the holy laws, and the people are angry with the church, and have fallen away from her breast into vile heresies and sects. And what does the church militant do against this? It increases its wealth and lets its enemies grow. The church should live in poverty, like poor Lazarus, so that the people might see what true holiness poverty is, as Christ preached it. The people on seeing this would stop complaining and desiring the wealth of others. What other task has the church but to hold back the people with strong reins?" Those sticklers for the law cannot hide their thoughts when they see its weakness, and they shamelessly disclose their secret selves. On the Holy Hill a certain merchant, who was a noted traveler and who described his pilgrimages in holy places in clerical papers, was preaching to the crowd humility, patience and kindness. He spoke warmly, even to tears. He entreated and he threatened, and the crowd listened, silent and with bowed heads. I interrupted his speech and asked him "if open lawlessness should be suffered also." "Suffer it, my friend," he cried; "undoubtedly suffer it. Christ himself suffered for us and for our salvation." "How then," I answered, "about the martyrs and the fathers of the church? For instance, take St. John Chrysostom, who was bold and accused even kings." He became enraged, flared up at me and stamped his feet. "What are you chattering there, you blunderer? Whom did they accuse? Heathens!" "Was Eudoxia a heathen, or Ivan the Terrible?" "That is not the point," he cried, waving his arms like a volunteer at a Are. "Do not speak about kings, but about the people--the people, that's the important thing. They are all sophisticated, and have no fear. They are serpents which the church ought to crush; that is her duty." Although he spoke simply, I did not understand at this time what all this anxiety about the people was, and though his words caused me fear, I still did not understand them, for I was spiritually blind and did not see the people.