The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1889-01-17
The ExiIes' Begging Song.

George Kennau in the Century writes
of life on the great Siberian road, and
describes the following incident: 81
shall never forget the emotions reused
i'll me by this song when heard it for
the first time. We were sitting, one
cold, raw, autumnal day, in dirty
post station on the great Siberian
road, waiting for horses. Suddenly
/ my attention was attracted by pc
culiar. lOw-pitched, quavering sound
which came to US from distance, and
which, although made apparently by
human voices, did not resemble any
thing that / had ever before neard.
1t was-not singing, nor chanting, nor
wailing for the dead, but strange
blending of all three. 1t suggested
vaguely the confused and commingled
sobs, means, and entreaties of human
beings who were being subjected to
torture, but whose sufferings 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-house
and saw approaching chained party of
about hundred bare-headed eonvicts.
who. surrounded by Gordon of sol
diers, were marching slowly through
the settlement, singing the exiles' beg
ging song. No attempt was made by
the singers to pitch their voices in
harmoy, or to pronounce the words in
unison, there were no pauses or rests
at the ends of the lines; and l could
not make out any distinctly marked
rhythm. The singers seemed to be
constantly breaking in upon one an
other with slightly modulated varia-
tions of the same slow, melancholy
air, and the effect produced was that
of rude fugue, or of a funeral chant.
so arranged as to be sung like a round
or catch by a hundred male voices.
each independent of the others in time
aud melody, but all following a cer-
tain scheme of vocalizatiun, and taking
up by turns the same drcary, wailing
theme. The words were us follows:
Have pity on us, o our fathers!
Don't f"rget the unwilling travellers,
Don't forget the long-imprisOned.
Feed us, o our fathers-hclp usI
Feed aud help the poor and needyl
Have compassion, O our luthcrsl
Have compassion, . our mothcrsl
For the sake of Christ, have mercy
On the prisoncrs-the shut-up onesl
hind walls of stone ana gratings,
Behind oaken doors and padlOcks,
Behind bars and locks of iron,
We a q held in clo>c confinement.
We have parted from our fathers,
FIR III our mOthcrs;
We from all our kin have parted,
We nrc prisoners:
Pity us, our futhersl
"If you can imagine these words,
half sung, half chanted, slowly, in
broken time and on a low key, by u
hundred voices, to an accompaniment
made by the jingling and clashing of
chains, you will have faint idea of
the .Miloserdnaya,' or exiles' begging
song. Rude, artless, and inharmoni-
Gus as the appeal for pity was. had
never in my life heard anything so
mournful and depressing. 1t seemed
to be the half-articulate expression of
all the grief, the misery, and the
despair that had been felt by genera
tions of human beings in the etapes,
the forwarding prisons, and mines.
"As the party marched slowly along
the muddy street between the lines Of
gray log houses, children and peasant
women appeared ut 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 jingling
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 reenter the post station, /
felt a strange sense of detection, us il
the day had suddenly grown colder,
darker, and more dreary, and the cares
and sorrows of life more burdensome
and oppressive.