only hear but see—the exploits of the martyrs, the suffering. . . . They see the pageant of orthodoxy, its splendid victories.
The great difference between our immense wall-paintings and mere painting on canvas, the things that are exhibited in galleries and academies, is that the one is national whereas the other is only personal. Instead of nervous shrieking pictures, these minute creations which hang on academy walls, we have something eternal, everlasting, to which may bow their heads generation after generation, to which will pray one human family, another human family, another. . . .
This is an orthodox Russian's view of one of the characteristic features of his own church. To the Russian it means so much. But to one who has worshipped in both churches, and is speaking for those who for the most part pray in churches that have dumb walls, there is a great deal more to note and to follow up in the consideration of this most interesting new emblem in religion. Rozanof sets us on the highroad for a fundamental understanding of Russian orthodoxy, and what I call the Eastern point of view in Christianity.
This praying in a church whose walls are "the great cloud of witnesses" is a portentous matter.
First of all, a word as to the service in a Russian church—the holy scene that shows itself if you go into vespers or matins, to a funeral or a wedding or a baptism, or a service for the remembrance of the dead, or any of the numerous occasions of religious gathering. There are no pews, no chairs. There is always a crowd, a promiscuity of rich and
