Moscow was really Russian, Prince Solentzeff-Zasiekin told
them, unlike Petersburg, which at a first glance might be Berlin or
Vienna, or anywhere else; but Moscow is like no other city in the
world.
"How extremely good you Russians must be," Tamara said. "The quantities
of churches you have, and everywhere the people seem so devout. Look at
them kissing that Ikon in the street! Such faith is beautiful to see."
"Our faith is our safeguard," her companion said. "When the people
become sufficiently educated to have doubts then, indeed, a sad day
will come."
"They have such grave patient faces, don't you think?" said Stephen
Strong. "It is not exactly a hopeless expression, it is more one of
resignation. Whenever I come here I feel of what use is strife, and
yet after a while they make one melancholy."
They were waiting by the house of the Romanoffs, for their guide to
open the door, and just then a batch of beggars passed, their wild hair
and terribly ragged sheepskins making them a queer gruesome sight. They
craved alms with the same patient smile with which they thanked when
money was given. Misery seemed to stalk about a good deal.
"How could a great family have lived in this tiny house?" Tamara asked.
"Really, people in olden times seem to have been able to double up
anywhere. Pray look at this bedroom and this ridiculous bed!"
"It will prepare you for what you are coming to at Milasl?v," Gritzko
said.
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