Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Thursday, 21 July 1881

Here we are in Kiev — the holy city, "the mother of all Russian cities," as Saint Vladimir established it, having had himself baptised and then baptising his people willingly or by force, by making them enter the Dnieper. One must have drowned some of them, I think — but those imbeciles were weeping for their idols, which were being drowned at the same time as the men were being baptised. People are still so ignorant of Russia, where such beauties and such riches remain unknown, that I shall perhaps be telling you something new by saying that the Dnieper is one of the beautiful rivers of the world and that its banks are adorably picturesque. Kiev is built in disorder — pell-mell, anyhow — there is the lower town and the upper town, with steep streets. It is not comfortable since the distances are enormous, but it is interesting. Nothing remains of the ancient city; besides, the civilisation of those times was content with meagre temples built without art or solidity, which is why we possess few or no monuments like yours, with your splendid masses of stone or granite. Were I given to exaggeration, I should say there are as many churches as houses.
The cathedrals and monasteries are in considerable number — indeed there are three, four in a row. All of it with a great, great many gilded domes, the walls and columns whitewashed or painted white with the cornices and roofs in green. Often too the entire façade is painted with scenes from the lives of the saints — images, but of a complete naïvety.
We go first to the Lavra — a monastery to which pilgrims come by the thousands each day, from every part of Russia.
The iconostasis — or partition separating the altar from the church — is covered with painted images overlaid with silver. The reliquaries and the doors entirely plated with silver must represent tidy sums, as do the coffins of the saints also covered in worked silver, and the candlesticks and the chandeliers and everything else, all in silver. They say these monks have sacks full of precious stones.
Besides, it is well known that they are as rich as the Rothschilds — Peter the Great or Nicholas borrowed ten million roubles from them and never repaid them. Serves them right. And your monks give to the poor; these never give anything to anyone. And one cannot imagine what the pilgrims bring in money — even if each pilgrim gave only a sou a day. And the masses that are said for people, and the candles — prodigious quantities are consumed. And the icons and blessed medals that are sold.
The great sight is the catacombs — subterranean passages very narrow and low, damp, dark naturally... Everyone goes in carrying a lighted candle. One is conducted by a monk who shows you rapidly the open coffins containing the bodies of the saints — the bodies incorrupt, desiccated, and that, they say, is the miracle. They were wearing down the bodies by kissing them, so all are now covered with shrouds of silk and gold, which one kisses instead.
There are some to the right and left — sometimes four in a niche — and then in a sort of walled-up chapel seven corpses lie side by side, swaddled in silk fabrics. A Saint John had himself buried alive, upright, leaving only his head and shoulders exposed. He died thus and was dressed like the others, and is venerated — [words blacked out: wretchedly and] — producing a particularly frightening effect.
In several coffins there are two at once. They are all stiff and upright, hands on chest... One only has a contorted leg, the knee raised... in short, atrocious. Very few are martyrs, since here the persecution was rather in favour of Christianity than against it...
My heart turned somewhat at seeing so many corpses in those open coffins... But what chills you are the little apertures one is shown [Crossed out: between two coffins] from time to time — there are about ten of them — these are the holes through which food was passed to those who had voluntarily immured themselves. Several lived thus for twenty or thirty years.
There are no more such cases, fortunately. These apertures are now glazed. I prayed to God almost the entire time — I was almost expecting a miracle...
[words blacked out: We go] through a long gallery, light, airy, bordered on one side by a beautiful garden and entirely filled on both sides with beggars, each more disfigured and hideous than the last... horrible!
Then we go to the church of the great martyr Saint Barbara, who had her head cut off... She lies under a silver canopy in a silver coffin, on a raised platform — a monk indicates the hands and feet to be kissed, and when you kiss the feet he presses upon your head a silver circlet which is, I believe, the martyr's crown. Maman prayed with unparalleled fervour; I am quite sure that Dina and Papa also prayed for me. But the miracle did not happen. You are laughing. Well — I was almost counting on it. I attach no importance to churches, to relics, to masses — no; but I was counting on the prayers, on my prayer. But I am still counting on it today — I am not heard; perhaps one day I shall be. I believe only in God — but is God the God who listens and attends to such things?...
God will not cure me suddenly, in a church — no, I have not merited anything of the sort — but He will take pity on me and inspire a doctor who will do me good... or else in time. Only I shall not cease to pray to Him.
Maman believes in blessed images, in relics... she has, in short, a pagan religion... like most pious people who are... not very refined... You can just see the exceptional woman — myself — who has a very pure faith...
Perhaps the miracle would have occurred if I believed in the power of images and relics... But there, truly, kneeling and praying — it would not come. I understand far better the idea of kneeling anywhere at all and praying to God quite simply. God is everywhere... but how is one to believe... It even seems to me that this fetishism diminishes God, does Him a disservice. And for many people — for the majority of pilgrims — God disappears altogether; there is only a piece of desiccated flesh that has the power to perform a miracle, or a wooden image that can be invoked and that hears you... Am I wrong? Are they right?
It is the most enlightened who must be in the right... At least my God — my own — must be the enemy of... all these masses that are said to be necessary to true faith...

Notes

"Comfortable" — in English in the original. Marie uses the English word. ↩
Lavra: the Kyiv-Pechersk Lavra (Monastery of the Caves), one of the holiest sites in Eastern Orthodox Christianity, founded in the 11th century. The catacombs contain the preserved bodies of monks and saints. ↩
Iconostasis: the gilded screen bearing icons that separates the nave from the sanctuary in an Orthodox church. The word is Greek/Russian. ↩
Saint Barbara: a 3rd-century Christian martyr; her relics are venerated at the Saint Barbara Church in Kyiv. Orthodox tradition holds that she was beheaded by her own father. ↩