Chanting Priests

The chaiit of the prieets' voices was the most striking thing that I enoountered iu m travels in Russia a year Rgo. Never in auy place have I heard tntusio at all like it. More like the cry of sonie gieat animal or the moaning of a musical wind it seemed thau hunian tones. Deep, stroug, roaring, yet soft and rnelodious, it haunted me as no music had ever done. This intoning, which fornis so important a part of the Greok chureh in Russia, is perforiaed by men who are choseu espeoially for the tremendov.s depth of their voioes, to be used in intonïng alone, not siiif;iug. Trained and cultivated into still greater strength aud depth, there is in the whole wide world no human sound like it. Tiiero are only certain parts of the service that are thus intoned, such as "Hallelniah, " "Lord have mercy, " "Lord, we pray thee," "Grant this, O God," but above all, "Save long, O God, the Hfe of the czar!" Over and over ag:iin are these words moaned, sighed and roared, like a varying wind, through the arches and galleries of the splendid rhurches of the most spleudid country of tho world. There is a priest in the Church of St. Saveur in Moscow who was pardoned and brought back f rom Siberia solely because of the extraordinary depth of the tones of bis voice. These great baying, buil -like voices bring to their owners, it is said, a very good incoroe. The last part of the service is always the loudest, and the last words, in a tremeiidous final roar, are always the petition to save long f rom rleath the czar. Unlike the Latiu service 3f the Roman Catholic church. f.hn inon people oí' Russia can understand mnch of the service of theil cl:irch, as a part of it is in modern Rnssiau and the rest in old Slavonic. Thns that cry which rings through the churches to eave the lit'o of the czar is understood and feit by the huinblest subject in Russia. Although this intoning can be heard everywhere in the churches throughout Russia, the best example of it is perhaps in the fainous Alexander Nevsky monastery in St. Petersburg. At 4 o'clock every afternoon the priests' chant can be heard there, and no traveler should miss this extraordiuary spectacle. In the winter, when the higher classes are in towu, there are long liues of elegant couveyauces at the door, that have brought the fashionable Russian devotees to hear the monks chaut. But at all times of the year it is a resort not only for Russians, but for the strangers trom the hotels. The monastery is at the end of the fashionable Nevsky Prospekt, the Fifth avenue of St. Petersburg. In the green inclosure there are many buildings connected with the monastery, but it was to the chapel where the mouks chaut the evening service that we first directed onr steps one afternoon late in June. Far back in the dimness, in a chancel beliiud two altars, was a collection of large, brawny meu. Their long black robes, high black velvet caps and long flowing veils, all of black, niagnified their height and their imposing appearance. Their beards were long, and heavy locks of hair hnng like thick manes on their shoulders. They were already chanting, when we entered, in those peculiar orgaulike tones whioh I fouud the inost impressive thiug in Bussia. How that strange volume of sound moaned and rose and feil throughout the structure! How it waiied iu our ears, like a migbty wind, and always, wbetber loud orsoft, iu the saddest, sweetest inolody! Tiiere were half recitative solos, chanted tírst by one voice and taken up by the others. "Lord have meroy!" "Lord grant it!" they waiied and moaned until it seemed as if the sound would never again ieave my ears. After a time it ceased, and then the procession of towering black robed monks came out into the body of the chapel, leaving but little room for us as we crowded ourselves against the Wall. Placiug themselves with their backs toward us and their faces toward the altar in a secnicirole, they began again their chaut, in a different and much louder refraiu, "God save long the life of the eruperor!" Never shall I forget that semicircle of black monumental figures nor the waves of sound that still vibrated on the air after their voices had ceased. We tnrued away and walked across the green courtyard, where many rich Russians are buried. All Rustióos esteem it a sacred privilege to be buried in the soil surrounding a niouastery, and among those who lie here is the novelist Turgeneff. We traversed merous cioisters, with now and then the tall, black veiled monks passing us, uutil we reached the chape! of Alexan-, der Nevsky, the czar nionk who lies buried here - buried in such a tomb as no other man ever had, for it is of solid silver, weighing 3,250 pounds. Not only the sarcopbagus but the altar near which it stands and alsothe rails which surround it are of solid silver. A likeness of the great czar, who was also a monk, lies on top nnder a sheet of solid gold. Diamonds and rubies gleam in the scouces that hang here and there, and the key of Adrianople, franied in jewels, hangs near the silver tomb. Strange niiDgling of austerity wi th splendor is this wonderful chapell In this same nionastery aro the famons coffers of jewels and gold and gems untold that were brought from Persia on camels' backs during the reign of Alexander Nevsky. -