I had lived all my life out of town. When, in 1881, I went to livein Moscow, the poverty of the town greatly surprised me. I amfamiliar with poverty in the country; but city poverty was new andincomprehensible to me. In Moscow it was impossible to pass alongthe street without encountering beggars, and especially beggars whoare unlike those in the country. These beggars do not go about withtheir pouches in the name of Christ, as country beggars areaccustomed to do, but these beggars are without the pouch and thename of Christ. The Moscow beggars carry no pouches, and do not askfor alms. Generally, when they meet or pass you, they merely try tocatch your eye; and, according to your look, they beg or refrain fromit. I know one such beggar who belongs to the gentry. The old manwalks slowly along, bending forward every time he sets his foot down.When he meets you, he rests on one foot and makes you a kind ofsalute. If you stop, he pulls off his hat with its cockade, and bowsand begs: if you do not halt, he pretends that that is merely hisway of walking, and he passes on, bending forward in like manner onthe other foot. He is a real Moscow beggar, a cultivated man. Atfirst I did not know why the Moscow beggars do not ask alms directly;afterwards I came to understand why they do not beg, but still I didnot understand their position.