The Monitor. [volume] (Woodstown, N.J.) 1884-1892, 1889-01-11
ExlLEs, BEGGING SONG.
A Touching Incident of Life on the Great
Siberian Road.

A Touching Incident of Life on the Great
Siberian Road.
/ shall never forget the emotions
reused in me by this song when 1
heard it for tile first time. We were
sitting, one cold, raw, autumnal day,
in u dirty post station on the great
Siberian road, waiting for horses.
Suddenly my attention was attracted
bya peculiar, low-pitched, quavering
sound which came to us from a dis
lance, and which, although made APP
parently by human voices, did not
resemble any thing that had ever
before heard. 1t was not singing, nor
chanting, nor w~ailing for the dead, but
a strange blending OF all three. 1t
suggested vaguely the confused and
commingled sobs, means and entreat-
les of human beings who were being
subjected to torture, but whose suffer-
ings were not acute enough to seek
expression in shrieks or high-pitched
cries. As the sound came nearer We
went out into the street in front OF
the station-heuse and saw approach
ing a chained party ofabout q hundred
bare-headed convicts, who, surrounded
by a Gordon of soldiers, were marching
slowly through the settlement singing
the ~.'exiles' begging song" No at
tempt was made by the singers topitch
their voices in harmony or TO pro-
nounce the words in unison; there
were nc pauses or rests at the ends OF
the lines: and | could not make out
any distinctly marked rhythm. The
singers seemed to be constantly break
ing in upon one another with slightly
modulated variations of the same
slow, melancholy air, and the effect
produced was that of a rude fugue or
of Il funeral chant, so arranged as to
be sung like q round or catch BY a
hundred male voices, each Independent
of the others in time and melody, but
all following a certain scheme of vocal
i~zation, and taking up by turns the
same dreary, wailing theme. The
words were as follows:
Have pity on US. Q our fathers.
Don't forget the unwilling travellers,
Don't forget the long-imprssoned.
Feed us, o our fathers-help US.
Feed and help the poor and needy!
Have compassion, o our fathers,
Have compassion, 0 our mothers!
For the sake OF Christ, have mercy
On the prisoners-the shut-up onesI
Behind walls of stone and gratings,
Behind oaken doors and padlocks,
Behind bars and locks OF iron.
We are held in close confinement.
We have parted from cur fathers,
From our mothers,
We from all our kin have parted,
We are prisoners;
Pity us, O., our fathers.
If you can imagine these words. half
sung. half chanted, slowly, in broken
time and on a low key, by a hundred
voices. to an accompaniment made by
the iingling and clashing Of chains,
you will have a faint idea Of the
'.Miloserdnaya.a or exiles' begging
song. Rude, artless and inharmon-
ious as the appeal for pity was, / had
never in my life heard any thing SO
mournful and depressing. 1t seemed
to be the half-articulate expression of
all the grief, the misery, and the de-
spair that had been felt by generations
of human beings in the etapes, the for
warding prisons and the mines.
As the party marched slowly along
the muddy street between the lines of
gray log houses, children and peasant
women appeared at the doors with
their hands full of bread, meat, eggs,
or other articles of food, which they
put into the caps or bags of the three
or four shaven-headed convicts who
acted as alms-collectors. The jung
ling of chains and the wailing voices
of the exiles grew gradually fainter
and fainter as the party passed up the
street, and when the sounds finally
died away in the distance and we
turned to re-enter the post station, |
felt a strange ems Of detection. Is if
the day had suddenly grown colder,
darker, and more dreary, and the
cares and sorrows of life more burden
some and oppressive. George KEENAN,.
IN Century.