unexpectedly, participants in the ceremonies. From the south side the
procession moved around to the east, where a litany was again chanted.
The fine voices of the monks lost but little of their volume in the open
air; there was no wind, and the tapers burned and the incense diffused
itself, as in the church. A sacred picture, which two monks carried on a
sort of litter, was regarded with particular reverence by the pilgrims,
numbers of whom crept under the line of guards to snatch a moment's
devotion before it. At every pause in the proceedings there was a rush
from all sides, and the poor fellows who formed the lines held each
other's hands with all their strength. Yet, flushed, sweating, and
exhausted as they were, the responsibility of their position made them
perfectly proud and happy. They were the guardians of cross and shrine,
of the holy books, the monks, and the abbot himself.

From the east side we proceeded to the north, where the dead monks sleep
in their cemetery, high over the watery gorge. In one corner of this
inclosure, under a group of giant maples, is the grave of King Magnus of
Sweden, who is said to have perished by shipwreck on the island. Here,
in the deep shade, a solemn mass for the dead was chanted. Nothing could
have added to the impressiveness of the scene. The tapers burning under
the thick-leaved boughs, the light smoke curling up in the shade, the
grave voices of the monks, the bending heads of the beautiful-haired
crowd, and the dashes of white, pink, scarlet, blue, and gold in their
dresses, made a picture the solemnity of which was only heightened by
its pomp of color. I can do no more than give the features; the reader
must recombine them in his own mind.

The painter accompanied us to the place called Jelesniki, which, after a
walk of four miles through the forests, we found to be a deserted
village, with a chapel on a rocky headland. There was a fine bridge