been for the softened mood in which Kunin found
himself on entering the poverty-stricken church, he certainly would
have smiled at the sight of Father Yakov. The short priest was
wearing a crumpled and extremely long robe of some shabby yellow
material; the hem of the robe trailed on the ground.

The church was not full. Looking at the parishioners, Kunin was
struck at the first glance by one strange circumstance: he saw
nothing but old people and children. . . . Where were the men of
working age? Where was the youth and manhood? But after he had stood
there a little and looked more attentively at the aged-looking
faces, Kunin saw that he had mistaken young people for old. He did
not, however, attach any significance to this little optical illusion.

The church was as cold and grey inside as outside. There was not
one spot on the ikons nor on the dark brown walls which was not
begrimed and defaced by time. There were many windows, but the
general effect of colour was grey, and so it was twilight in the
church.

"Anyone pure in soul can pray here very well," thought Kunin. "Just
as in St. Peter's in Rome one is impressed by grandeur, here one
is touched by the lowliness and simplicity."

But his devout mood vanished like smoke as soon as Father Yakov
went up to the altar and began mass. Being still young and having
come straight from the seminary bench to the priesthood, Father
Yakov had not yet formed a set manner of celebrating the service.
As he read he seemed to be vacillating between a high tenor and a
thin bass; he bowed clumsily, walked quickly, and opened and shut
the gates abruptly. . . . The old sacristan, evidently deaf and
ailing, did not hear the prayers very distinctly, and this very
often led to slight misunderstandings. Before Father Yakov had time
to finish what he had to say, the sacristan began chanting his
response, or else long after Father Yakov had finished the old man
would be straining his ears, listening in the direction of the altar
and saying nothing till his skirt was pulled. The old man had a
sickly hollow voice and an asthmatic quavering lisp. . . . The
complete lack of dignity and decorum was emphasized by a very small
boy who seconded the sacristan and whose head was hardly visible
over the railing of the choir. The boy sang in a shrill falsetto
and seemed to be trying to avoid singing in tune. Kunin stayed a
little while, listened and went out for a smoke. He was disappointed,
and