The Irish standard., 1900-02-17
RUssIA's SACRED SHRINE.
The Notwithstanding Picture of the
"Mother of God" in the
Kremlin,

It is seven o'clock in the afternoon in
Moscow, June IA, Russian time (June
26 everywhere else), but Russia's sun
is more than two hours high and will
peep over the horizon tomorrow morn
ing before three o'clock. We are stand
ing in the broadcast street of the city
near the incompatible Kremlin and OPP
posite gigantic gateway, under which
nestles little chapel of colored mar
bles with blue pyramidal roof flecked
with golden stars. Every passer-by
faces the chapel, uncovers himself and
solemnly makes the sign of the cross
several times. Even the passengers on
the crowded double-decked horse cars
go through this strange ceremony.
Here comes a gang of dusty laborers.
Every one of them stops, and, bowling
low toward the chapel, crosses himself
again and again. There are some long
haired, long gowned priests of the Rus
sian church,very intelligent, cookbook
ing men, too, with clear complexions
and kindly eyes, kneeling on the marble
steps, with their faces pressed hard
against the hard pavement. Every cab
driver in his padded robe, which makes
him fill the front seat entirely, finds
time to remove his squatty hat and
touches his forehead, chest and right
and left shoulders. Just over there a
splendid carriage with prancing black
stations is hating, and a wealthy lady
with a maid steps out to kneel before
the sacred shrine. Here close to us are
merchants, coming from their pretty
shops in the matchless glass arcade
near by. They, too, without exception,
pay homage and make the sacred sign,
and the poor peasants from afar, with
black bread and onions in cloth, with
| coarse clothing and straw shoes and
stout walking stick which has helped
them over a hundred versts-they, of
course, are filled with rapture, and pros
trate themselves flat upon the pave
ment, kissing everything in reach in
passionate alteration.
"What is the meaning of all this? ?" we
ask, and as we search eagerly, but in
vain, in the throng for some one who
looks as though he could speak a word
of some other language than Russian,
our eyes rest on royal carriage which
we had overlooked. 1t was drawn by
! beautiful black horses, with liveried,
bareheaded attendants, who are tax
ing from the carriage blackened pic
ture of the Blessed Virgin. This, then,
must be the woodworking Mother
of God," the most sacred picture in all
Russia, before which the car pros
trates himself before entering the
Kremlin. We open our German Bae-
deker and read that the picture is $50
years old, was brought from Mount
Athos and is covered with pearls and
precious stones. 1t is taken in royal
carriage every day to the homes of the
sick, where it works miracles and re-
ceives great sums of money. It has a
cash in one cheek, made long ago by a
Tartar sword; but millions would now
gladly give their lives to save the idol
from such indignity.
We enter the chapel when the picture
has been set in place again and buy a
tiny candle, which we place alongside a
hundred others, filing the room with a
sitting odor. This, however, is real per-
fume compared to the orthodox AZ dis
tinct smells of Moscow. We will not
kneel, and we cannot stand with score
kneeling behind US endeavoring to see
the sacred ikon, so we back out into the
air, feeling the scorn reflected from a
half hundred faces.-Zion's Herald.