Then not one of the monks possesses any property of his own, even of a purely transitory kind, such as a bed or a suit of clothes.  They have all in common, and they have not that nicety or necessity of privacy which would compel an Englishman to claim the right to wear the same coat and trousers two days running.  But the monks are even less diffident of claiming their own separate mugs and plates at table, and are unoffended by miscellaneous eating and drinking from one another’s dishes.

Every one is the servant of all—­and without hypocrisy—­not only in act but in sentiment and prayer.  Wherever I went I found the tone ring true.

This fair exterior glory seems to spring from a strong inner life.  Religious life in the Holy Orthodox Church, with its many ordinances and its extraordinary proximity to everyday life, is not allowed to be monotonous and humdrum.  Each day at New Athos is beautiful in itself, and if a monk’s life were made into a book of such days one would not turn over two pages at once.

The day begins at midnight, when, to the occasional melancholy chime of the cathedral bell, the brothers move to the first service of the morning.  On my second night at Afon I wakened at the prayer-bell and joined the monks at their service.  In the sky was a faint glimmer of stars behind veiling clouds.  The monastery, resplendent with marble and silver by day, was now meek and white in the dark bosom of the mountain, and shining like a candle.  In the church which I entered there was but one dim light.  The clergy, the monks, the faces in the ikon frames all were shadows, and from a distance came hollow shadow music, gul-l-l, the murmur of the sea upon the shore.  It was the still night of the heart where the Dove yet broods over the waters and life is only just begun.  At that service a day began, a small life.

When the service was over and we returned to our rooms, morning had advanced a small step; the stars were paler, one just made out the contours of the shadowy crags above us.

Just a little sleep and then time to rise and wash and breakfast.  The monks in charge of the kitchen must be up some time before the rest of us.  At 8 A.M. the morning service commences, and every monk must attend.

Then each man goes to his work, some to the carpentry sheds, others to the unfinished buildings, to the brickworks, the basket works, the cattle yards, the orchards and gardens, the cornfields, the laundries, leather works, forges, etc., etc., etc.; the teachers to the schools where the little Caucasian children are taught; the abbot to his cell, where he receives the brothers in turn, hears any confession they may wish to make, and gives advice in any sorrow that may have come upon any of them.  The old abbot is greatly beloved, and the monks have children’s hearts.  Again in the evening the day is concluded in song and prayer.  Such is the monastery day.