Sullivan republican. [volume] (Laporte, Pa.) 1883-1896, 1894-11-16
LAPORTE. PA. FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 16. 1894.

uschS poB yOus yUuH 1uou uuu pro
mature Judgment upon him. Besides,
he had before his departure an. idea
which should certainly seem affecting
to you. That pavilion, where he has
been SO happy and 80 unhappy, be-
longs to him. Well, he has closed it
forever. Basil wishes that no living
being should ever again penetrate
that abode of love and sorrow. You
can pass there now, and see the
house fall into ruin, and on the day
when they put notice upon it, on
that day you can say, Basil Lobanof
is dead"
I left the prince, and the next day,
reproaching myself for my injustice,
I went to see the deserted house. Tho
shutters were closed; the dead leaves
of the great plane tree, half-bare (it
was the end of autnmn), covered the
grass of the lawn. Weeds forced their
way through the gravelled walk. The
work of destruction had begun.
Months passed a year then anoth-
er; then the daily papers were full of
the great anxiety felt over the fate Of
Jackson and his companions, from
whom no news had come. You know
that even o-day the world is ignorant
of the fate of those brave explorers.
Living always in the same vicinity
and passing every day before the
abandoned pavilion, say it decay.
little by little. The rain of two win
ters had lashed constantly the plaster
of the facade and covered it with
damp mould. Then the slate roof was
damaged by wind and rain storms.
Dampness attacked everything. Liz
ards summed themselves on the wall
the balcony was loosened; the roof
bent. The appearance of the poor
house became lamentable. AS for
the garden, it had returned
quickly to its savage state. The
flowers were not cultivated the rose
bushes were untrimmed, and had only
leaves and branches; the geraniums
were dead. The grass had long since
disappeared under the dead hay, and
the high stalks of the weeds were dis
dained even by the butterflies. Moth
ing grew there but thistles and the
pale poppy. 1t was q gloomy spot
Years rolled on. It was now i'm
possible to hope for the return of the
Jackson party. Evidently those in
trepid pioneers had succumbed to
hunger and thirst in some horrible
desert or been massacred by the saw
ages, and Count Basil Lobanof was
dead with them, faithful to his Stol-
berg. The deserted house had fallen
absolutely into ruins. The great tree
which was near the house, and whose
foliage was no longer kept in check by
trimming, had thrust one of its i'm
mense branches through the window.
The shutters had fallen off, and the
tree had pushed its way into the in
terror of the disembowelled house.
There might be mushrooms within
and even grass growing on the floor
of the salon. Each time passed be-
fore the old ruin which had come to
to the last stages of decay, l thought,
abandoning myself to q romantic rev.
ery,-"It is better that it should be
SO. If they had heard of the counts
death, the heirs no doubt would have
caused steps to be taken at once for its
restoration. They would have broken
it open brutally, and let in the garish
light of day, to desecrate those hal.
lowed associations of love and sorrow.
Basil Lobanof has done we'll to disap
pear, and nature lovingly destroys
slowly this old love.nest, and keeps 1t
from proclamation.
The other day l saw the ruin again;
the branches of the great tree came
through the roof, and there were lit
tie trees growing in the rocks. Then
met Prince Khaloff, who had not
been in France for dozen years.
We walked and talked together, and I
told him all about the abandoned
house, its slow destruction, and the
thoughts it suggested. The prince
burst into laughter.
Decidedly, my dear fellow, you
will never be anything but poet.
Basil is marriedagain, the father of
three children, and holds the office of
First Secretary to the Russian Ambas-
sador at Rome"
"The Count Lobanof is not dead!"
I cried, stupefed.
"On my last visit to Rome he was
as well as you or l."
"He did not go with the Jackson
party? Oh, the perfidious MANI
cried, furious at my wasted sympathy.
81 should have suspected him. 1t
seems that he forgot his dead love at
once"
ooh no." replied the prince.
''Basil is not SO guilty as that. Wild
with grief after her death, he would,
for good or bad so with the
party, and he set out for Senegam-
bia. But on the sixth day of
their march he fell seriously ill and
was taken to st. Louis by caravan,
in the greatest agony. There he re-
covered-but it was not his fault. His
friends profited by his weakness and
lack of energy to carry him back to
Europe, and since then, after waiting
a long time, he has consoled himself. "
'sBut then the deserted house?
What does that comedy signify?"
asked I, In O bad humor.
"How severe you are, my dear u re-
piled the amiable Russian. SIT is not
a comedy, but it proves on the con-
trary, that the count is man of honor.
What did he promise? That as long
as he lived no one should go under the
roof which had sheltered his love. And
he has kept his word, though it has
cost him great deal. Besides, who
knows If he does not always mourn his