I have met many men of letters, artists and
statesmen, but never one who impressed me so much with the profundity
of his learning and thought as did Verestshagin, and I am not easily
impressed.
One night we were sitting on the Casino veranda overlooking the
wonderful Harbor of Port Arthur. It was one of those quiet, balmy,
semi-tropical nights for which this part of the world is famous, one
of those crystal, clear, soundless nights, and the silhouettes of
Russia's grim silent battle monsters riding at anchor were sharply
outlined on the moonlit waters of the bay. We were smoking our pipes,
having just finished a long chat about the history of these
regions--the old Manchu and Tartar dynasties, how far they had
influenced and still influence the history of the world, the
_Volker-Wanderung_--of the Huns, the Goths, and Vandals--a subject on
which Verestshagin disclosed a deep store of knowledge.
As the night was far advanced, I suggested that I had probably
trespassed long enough on his kindness and hospitality. He turned
around in his chair and placing his hand on my shoulder said in his
soft deep voice:
"No, Doctor Cannitz, you are doing me a service instead. I am
restless to-night. I have a curious presentiment that before long
these lovely hills will hear the roar of guns in earnest." Dreamily
speaking as if to himself he continued, "And Russia will lose .
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