“Oh, I don’t blame them,” said the beggar; “it’s all part of life; we beggars are all manure, that’s what we are; they plaster us about the roots of Society and make the little red blossoms grow—and the white blossoms.”
“It’s all very dirty,” I remarked.
“One learns to understand dirt, to love it even. God made the dirt; see how the picture looks down, the eyes don’t blink.” He pointed to the Ikon.
“Dirt is part of the Russian harmony,” I suggested with a smile.
“Yes,” said the beggar, “perhaps one day it will all be different, and we shall have a vote and pay taxes and have jobs as well as wives and families. But, you know, ‘you must love us whilst we are dirty, for everyone will love us when we are clean.’”
A STREET SHRINE, MOSCOW
PASSION MONASTERY, MOSCOW