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<\/a>As I entered, a mass was being sung a capella. I bought and lit seven slender tapers and took those moments to calm and focus my thoughts on something greater than myself. When I\u2019m traveling, I’ll open any church door in hopes of finding art, and while I\u2019m there, say my prayers. I lit candles for family, friends and myself. I need divine intervention to keep from being obnoxiously self-righteous when other tourists ignore the No Photographs or Video<\/em> signs.<\/p>\n There were half a dozen ladies cleaning and dusting, policing candles, keeping a sharp eye on tourists. Women so small I could have mistaken them for children. They\u00a0barely had to duck to walk under the swagged chains set up as barriers to separate the congregants from visitors.\u00a0One lady in a kerchief and apron vigorously\u00a0polished silver in the hall by the stairwell. Ceaseless communal effort, like devotionally inclined bees. The air smelled like honey and wax and layer upon layer of incense. Intensely sweet and spicy and musky.<\/p>\n The congregation stood on the other side of the chain, closer to the chanting and altar, but in no visible pattern or order. I couldn’t see any pews or chairs. During the service the priest prostrated himself many times, full length and face down on the floor. A tall, fashionable woman in jeans and boots did the same. \u00a0A young woman with a toddler passed\u00a0by me, ducked under\u00a0the barrier chain and walked\u00a0over to an icon of the virgin. She picked up\u00a0her little boy and held him as he carefully lit and placed a\u00a0candle in a\u00a0round brass candle stand. You could see he\u00a0was accustomed to having an active place in this spiritual community, one in which he was lifted, raised up, and he added to the light.<\/p>\n I left feeling better than when I arrived.<\/p>\n From there, it was an easy stroll to the Yusupov Palace. There was one line for the entry ticket, another for the coat check, a third for the audio guide, but then I was free to wander to my heart’s content. Though lady guardians firmly insisted I \u00a0visit rooms in order on my first pass, they had no problem with backtracking. I noticed this in Prague too, the insistence on seeing every comer, in order. At the Yusupov I was between a large Russian tour group and Indian gay couple and an American tour group, trooping from one gorgeous, sumptuous, ornate room to the next.**<\/p>\n I loved the library with its secret safe that protected \u00a0letters of Puskin not rubles.<\/p>\n The ballroom was empty except for a massive chandelier, but you could imagine the musicians tuning up, the swirl of skirts and dash of uniforms, the heat and chatter, the flicker and drip of dozens \u00a0of candles burning over it all. \u00a0Former residents were known for wealth and beauty.<\/p>\n I was particularly taken with the luster of pear wood furniture.<\/p>\n Blue bedroom to dream in.<\/p>\n Red room to entertain a small company of close friends. I didn’t forget to look up.<\/p>\n While I was looking up, I heard this coming from the theater (yes, they have a theater. it’s a palace<\/em>, yo.)<\/p>\n<\/a><\/a><\/a><\/a><\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/a><\/a>