Christianity is a great live religion still absorbing all that is true in other religions. It is _the word_. It is part of our language, and by means of it we express what is deepest in ourselves. There has not been in history such a powerful medium of self-expression. Words are our means of inter-communication, of understanding one another and telling one another what is in the heart, that is—of communion with one another. That communion is deep and tender, and the knowledge of it, like the knowledge of God, passeth understanding; all that we know is that love kindles from it. I make this affirmation as one whose special medium is the written and the spoken word. STEPHEN GRAHAM. MOSCOW, _September 1915_. CONTENTS I. THE RUSSIAN IDEA— 1. TO RUSSIA 1 2. MODERN RUSSIA AND HOLY RUSSIA 12 3. PEREPLOTCHIKOF AGAIN 29 4. AT THE THEATRE 37 5. THE MOVEMENTS OF THE PEOPLES 48 6. LET US GO INTO THE TAVERN 58 7. IN THE CHURCH 73 8. IN THE MARKET-PLACE 86 9. THE RUSSIAN IDEA 90 10. THE LABYRINTH 105 II. MARTHA AND MARY— 1. THE _PODVIG_ 111 2. THE HERMITAGE OF FATHER SERAPHIM 121 3. TOLSTOY’S FLIGHT FROM HOME 130 4. BACK TO MOSCOW 136 5. THE RELIGION OF SUFFERING 143 6. THE TWO HERMITS 155 7. AT THE CONVENT OF MARTHA AND MARY 161 8. THE WAY OF MARTHA 168 9. MARTHA’S TRUE WAY 178 10. MAKING WEST EAST 182 11. THE ECCLESIASTICAL CHURCH AND THE LIVING CHURCH 190 12. WITNESS UNTO THE TRUTH 200 13. THE FESTIVAL OF THE DEAD 206 III. THE DESERT AND THE WORLD— 1. A CHAIN OF HAPPENINGS 217 2. THE HERMITS 221 3. IN THE DESERT 235 4. THE WORLD 246 5. ST. SOPHIA 256 6. FROM EGYPT TO RUSSIA 263 APPENDICES— 1. WAR AND CHRISTIANITY 273 2. THE CHOICE OF EAST AND WEST 280 _Frontispiece_—MARTHA AND MARY. I THE RUSSIAN IDEA I TO RUSSIA KIEF, _January 1914_. All night long from Paris to Cologne the train speeds like a bird, joyously screaming. I am in the carriage next the engine, and as I lie full length in the darkened empty carriage I look out on snow-patched fields and hills, now partly obscured by wild volumes of vapour, now fierily illumined by the glow of the furnace, the black sky raining showers of red sparks on to the vague night landscape, the engine racing forward past signal-boxes and stations, clattering along the changing points of the rails of junctions, knowing apparently that all signals are _for_, never anticipating any hindrance, skirling and leaping in the exuberance of accomplishment.