Eagle River review. [volume] (Eagle River, Wis.) 1890-1927, 1904-11-04
CHAPTER, XVI

n L
liberty to seek my old associate, Karl
Rosen. In a few minutes I am "Unter
den Linden" mounted on one of those
high wheeled Berlin droskies, conspicu-
GUS to the view Of the double stream of
individuals that pour in both directions,
not one of whom but turns curious eyes
on me- A Russian priest is undoubtedly
a rare sight in Berlin, and few even
know to what nationality | belong.
1.-The Sten-Strasse is one Of the many
streets that run into the great center
''Unter den Linden" We turn into 1T.
and presently halt before a large house
that has a balcony covered with creep
ers. There is an ornamental metal Ia
BILE, and chairs disposed amid a grove Of
leaf plants. One of the chairs is occu-
pied by a young man in whom, spite of
his clean shayen chin, trim Whiskers, and
general air of lofty responsibility, l at
once recognize the converted Philistlne,
erstwhile Of the University Of St. Pc
tersburg, Karl Rosen.
My droski stopping at the door, he
rises and leans over the ratings Of the
balcony to bestow on me a prolonged
and astonished stare. | wave my hand
excitedly, to which he makes no response,
only staring the harder so [ pay the
driver and ring Doctor Rosen's bell,
whose name on large brass plate is an
nounced below it.
When the street door flies open l
mount the fight Of stone steps three at
q time 4 neat maid servant holds open
the door,
Your master is at home; can | see
him." l inquired in German; for like
most Russians of the educated class |
am tolerably good linguist.
For some moments she regards me
with eyes as round as saucers before she
sufficiently RECEIVERS from her surprise
at sight of me, to reply To my question.
Yes, sir; step in, sir" She precedes
me across hall and pauses at the door
of a room, which must be that one with
the balcony, to ask:
what name, sir?"
/ hesitate for moment. Herr Lub-
anoff," [ reply at length.
She turns the handle and announces
me; then with a last, curious glance,
leaves me within the room.
A figure stands between me and the
light-a dapper little figure, the sight of
which awakens in me a host Of pleasant
recollections. l step quickly up to it,
grasp an unresponsive hand, shake it
heartily, forgetting for the moment how
disguised beyond the possibility Of rec
ognition l am, as l exclaim:
Don Karlos, old man! how goes it
with thee? Waken up, brother! Surely,
thou hast not forgotten thine old COM
rade, VlashaY
"Vlasha," he repeats stupidity.
"Vlasha?"
Gazing at me always, his grasp begins
to tighten, his features to work. "Vlasha
it cannot be Vlasha Lubanoff; he was
-hanged?' He says this obviously, in
a wavering, undecided manner. Doubt
less my familiar voice and other signs
speak to his heart.
WAS he? was he?"
l fling my clerical hat to the far end
of the room; my wig, my false beard fol-
low it; and, twitching up the skirts of
my silken HAITIAN, | cut a caper before
him.
''Vlasha! Is it possible?" he gasps,
and then the tender-hearted little fellow
bursts into tears, l am grave in all in
slant. My hands descend on his shape
~ shoulders, and we look each other in
the face. The tears are streaming down
his, and my vision grows dim at sight of
them, and him.
Half an hour later we are seated with
our feet under the same mahogany, with
coffee before us. l relate my adven-
lures. Now and then l hear his short,
quickened breathings or his low, agitated
laugh. The room is quite dark when
l arrive at the end of my story. A
long pause ensues. during which nothing
Is heard save the rumble of vehicles and
the subdued stir of life in the street be-
low.
"Vlasha," he begins, NOW that thou
hast made this great sacrifice for the
veal of Russia, what better is she for it!
Has it advanced the cause? What better
Is she for those hundreds of devoted
men, and even women, who have perish
ed on the scaffold for her redemption?
Is tyranny less rampant? In all these
years have we advanced a single step?
Seest thou not at least that thy methods
are wrong? There is no help, no eff
cacy i'll the extreme measures you adopt
yet l know that l only waste my
breath in pointing this out to thee. l
suppose. thou wilt hasten to league thy
self with the red-hot social democrats
here, and get into more mischief"
What if at last have become a con-
vert to Gay gcntler creed, Karlos?" 1
quietly observe.
NO such luck" he responds with a
touch of bitterness.
We'll well, l will not insist, but per-
haps time may show"
"Vlasha, dear old man! If I could
only believe that"
Believe nothing" 1 interrupt, until
thou hast proof. A man must have lived
his theories before he has earned the
right to talk of them. Therefore I am
mute. In this blatant world one gets
sick of this eternal talk, talk. Only one
thing l will observe that the mind of a
man is liable to undergo strange meta
morphoses in passing through the Valley
OF the Shadow, and if he energies to find
himself still on this side of the grave,
the chances are that he sees things In.
a different light. The mysterious jour