it fixed by the opening and closing
of the convent gates; but, naturally, it is rather expected of them that
they will attend more church services than the busy people of "the
world." The sight of these little houses always oppressed me with a
sense of my inferiority in the matter of devoutness. I could not imagine
myself living in one of them, until I came across a group of their
occupants engaged in discussing some racy gossip with the nuns on one of
the doorsteps. Gossip is not my besetting weakness, but I felt relieved.
Convents are not aristocratic institutions in Russia as they are in
Roman Catholic countries, and very few ladies by birth and education
enter them. Those who do are apt to rise to the post of abbess,
influential connections not being superfluous in any calling in Russia
any more than in other countries.

If I were a nun I should prefer activity. I think that contemplation,
except in small doses, is calculated to produce stupidity. Illustration:
I was passing along a street in Moscow when my eye fell upon an elderly
nun seated at the gate of a convent, with a little table whereon stood a
lighted taper. Beside the taper, on a threadbare piece of black velvet,
decorated with the customary cross in gold braid, lay a few copper coins
before a dark and ancient _ikona_. Evidently, the public was solicited
to contribute in the name of the saint there portrayed, though I could
not recollect that the day was devoted to a saint of sufficient
importance to warrant the intrusion of that table on the narrow
sidewalk. I halted and asked the nun what day it was, and who was the
saint depicted in the image. She said she did not know. This seemed
incredible, and I persisted in my inquiry. She called a policeman from
the middle of the street, where he was regulating traffic as usual, and
asked him about the _ikona_ and the day, with the air of a helpless
child. Church and State set to work guessing with great heartiness and
good-will, but so awkwardly that it was the easiest thing in the world
for me to refute each successive guess. When we tired of that, I gave
the nun a kopek for the entertainment she had unconsciously afforded,
and thanked the policeman, after which the policeman and I left the good
nun sitting stolidly at the receipt of custom.

Quite at the opposite pole was my experience one hot summer day in the
Cathedral of the Assumption, where the emperors have been crowned for
centuries; or, to speak more