During the whole of the Easter-week the churches stand constantly open, and even the golden doors of the sanctuary, which remain closed throughout the year, excepting at certain moments during divine service, now admit the gaze of all. The more pious, generally, hear a long mass every morning before they hasten to their amusements. The holidays are closed by a " final mass," at the end of which " the division of bread" takes place, a ceremony whose meaning I have not been able to find out. I believe it may be only a viaticum or souvenir of Easter, which the priest bestows upon the faithful. Large loaves are baked, the outer crust of which is coloured red, and stamped with the words, " Christohs vosskress ihs mortvui," in gold letters. These loaves are cut into small pieces ; the priests fill some baskets with them, carry them to the railing round the altar, and throw down the bits of bread among the people, who stretch out their hands with eagerness. The pieces are anxiously examined to see who has got the letters. Those who obtain the characters forming the first word of the inscription hold it for a particular piece of good fortune ; but the holders of the last word " mortvui" (death), on the other hand, are much grieved, and esteem it a very bad omen. This is natural enough. I must confess that I was glad when J caught some of the letters forming the " vosskress," and should have been inconsolable if " mortvui " had faUen to my share. These pieces of bread, like the palm branches, are laid up among other relics on the table or shelf where the image of a saint rests.
With this ceremony, as before said, the Easter holidays, properly speaking, end. Every thing, however, has a conclusion, then an end, and then a real and complete cessation. So there comes halting behind the Russian Easter yet another holiday which may be said finally to close the doors of these festivals. It is the Monday after Easter, called by the Russians " Pominatelnui ponyedelnik" (Recollection Monday). When I heard this name for the first time, I asked a Russian the meaning of it, to which he replied " Because people then remember their parents." This Monday is nearly our All Soul's day, and is no doubt brought in connexion with Easter, partly because it follows so immediately, and partly because the resurrection of Clirist has a natural connection with the hoped-for resurrection of those dear to us. To say the truth. Recollection Monday is a kind of monster of a holiday, for in the manner of its celebration reHgious gravity is so much revolted, and yet the feeling and fancy flattered by so much that is kindly, that we know not well whether we should condemn it for its indecorum, or cherish it for its childHke simplicity.
In the morning the people flock to the cemeteries, and after attending service in the chapels belonging to them, in memory of and honour to their departed friends, take a meal over their graves !
At a very early hour the neverwearied lioliday folks may be seen setting forth with bag and baggage on foot and in veliicles. The food is carried in the first jilace into the chapels, and laid upon the table in the middle. There is generally a large round loaf in the midst of a dish ; and nmiid about it the red-painted Easter eggs, salt, gingerbread, oranges, and lemons. In the midst of the loaf a lighted taper is always stuck, without which a Russian, no more than a Gheber, can observe a religious solemnity, the clear flickering flame being to him always a symbol of the spiritual.
A Flemish pencil might produce the strangest picture in the world by a faithful representation of this oddlyfurnished banquet, particularly as the taste of the purveyors varies considerably. Every one has his loaf of a different form from the rest ; one has added a dish of rice and plums, another a pot of honey, and a third some other dish, according to his means. On every loaf a little book is laid. In one I found written on one page, " This book belongs to Anna Timofeyeffna " (Anna Tim.otheus daughter), and on the next page, " This book is inscribed to the memory of my dear father, Fedor Paulovitsh, and my good mother, Elizabeth Petroffna." On a third page stood the names of Gregor Sergei and Maria. They call these books " Pominatelnui knigi," or Books of Remembrance.