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•.graft -M 1&f '.•4 •7. ,1 -,«. WHEN •:$ :4 TheTracerofEaos Chronicles of Dt. Phlleas Immanuel. Soul Specialist Bg VICTOR ROUSSEAU NOUREDDIN BEY'S SACRIFICE I reflect upon my friend ship with Phileas Immanuel, the Greek physician, whose theory that reincarnation could &t once account for and solve many of the uiure baffling phases of nervous diseases would, but for his untimely death, have conquered the medical world—when I remember the man, his goodness, his unforgettable personal ity, iiis shrewd common sense which raised him even in the opinion of his enemies above the ranks of charlatans, I always think of the text: "He saved others himself he could not save." bo That the man who had solved many mysteries of personality should fall a victim to his own ignorance, In the face of hiB own warning, was in deed an irony. Tet, with the larger hope that he instilled into my heart and the hearts of all his friends, I cannot believe that hiB death was an unmixed evil, or that the cosmic dust will never again restore to some fu ture civilization the little gnome-like doctor, with his small body and huge bead and big heart, to bring light out of darkness and joy out of suffering. I have made mention in an earlier account o( Noureddin Bey, the schol arty Turkish ambassador to Great Britain. Scholar he was, trained at European universities, a freethinker and yet not so wholly touched by modern scepticism but that he was to be found among the Doctor's circle, patiently listening to Immanuel's ex positions upon the soul. Noureddin Bey had been a colonel in the Otto man army, he had distinguished him self in half a dozen campaigns before be was given his post at London he was a fine type of Turkish gentleman, and his wife was very popular in London society. ub It was Noureddin Bey. who told the story of what he called his spiritual awakening. He told it to us in the Doctor's house in London, and 1 will reproduce his own language in so far as I remember it. "You say, Doctor, that some can remember their past births," he said to Immanuel. "Well, I can." "You?" exclaimed the Doctor in surprise. "Why, Monsieur, only last year you were holding forth upon Herbert Spencer and the 'Unknowar ble,' as you were pleased to term the Almighty." "That is true," answered Noureddin Bey imperturbably. "And yet I have always remembered. But I always looked upon it as a phantasy, a trick of the brain. I have even written down the history of my last incarna tion as it was revealed to me in my dreams. Little by little, Bince my childhood, this earlier personality of mine has been placed before me, gen erally in sleep, but sometimes in. my waking hours. But it was only after I heard you talk upon rebirth that I came to realize that this was no imaginative play of a superactive brain, but my very own history. It came to me in a flash: this figure was I, not the hero of a partly writ ten romance. I had been dreaming now I awoke. "It is well," he went on bitterly, "that it is not given to the majority of men to remember, for my last life HE HUNG HI8 HEAD. "THERE WAS NOTHING TO EXPLAIN," HE AN8WERED. ^THE DOCUMENT8 WERE FOUND HIDDEN IN MY SHOE8." went out 'In the agonies of remorse." "Who were you, Monsieur?" asked the Doctor curiously, and we all lis tened with rapt attention. "My name I do not know," began Noureddin Bey. "But I was very much what I am now: a man of some birth and holding high rank in the Turkish nation in the early days of its history, when we were still a nomad people in Asia—long before the conquest of Constantinople. Per haps it was about the tenth century." "That might be," the Doctor an swered. "But unlesB your life was cut short or racked by a great sor row you would not have been reborn for nearly two thousand years." "My life was torn asunder by sor row," answered Noureddin Bey. "There was no woman in the case, though. We Turks did not, and do not, interpret life in the exaggerated terms of sentimentality which we con sider the chief weakness of you West ern peoples. But our friendships are, I think, all the stronger by reason of this. "My friend was an Occidental. He may have been Roman or Greek—a Prank, even, or perhaps some Cru sader. I have no remembrance of names or nations, except that I know my own. I met him when on an em bassy to the West from my sovereign, and, savage soldier that I was, I fell in love with the handsome boy whom I met at the king's court He was, I think, a priest, or destined for the priesthood. Opposites attract, they say, and so Intense was our friendship that when I was summoned back to Asia we vowed that we would meet again. We exchanged letters. After some years the tidings came that he was to lead a band of Christian mis sionaries into my country. They would preach the Gospel there and invite martyrdom. In vain I wrote begging him not to come. He had started be fore the letter reached him, and, en tering Asia Minor with bis band, bold ly preached Christ there. "We Moslems, too, accept Christ* as you know but he went further He cursed Mahomet as the Anti Christ The people fell upon him, stoned him and his band, and finally soldiers were sent to take them pris oners and bring them before the Sul tan. "The Sultan was in a bad humor the day they arrived. One by one they were led up to his throne, and, as each being Interrogated, steadfastly refused to accept Mahomet, his head was struck from his body. At last but one remained, the leader. And he, being asked, mildly said that Christ was his Lord and Mahomet anathema. The Sultan made the sign. The exe cutioner raised his blade. Then rushed in between, and, on my knees, begged the Sultan, by memory of my service, to spare the Christian's life, "The Sultan looked at me sternly. 'You, too, are a Christian dog?' he asked. And I weeping, denied it, but pleaded for my friend's life as the greatest gift that my lord could be stow on me. "The Sultan waved the executioner away and turned to me. 'Then,' he said, smiling bitterly, 'yours shall be the band that shall strike this dog's head from hiB either strike him or die with him.' "Then my friend, raising his calm eyes to mine, said: 'Strike, friend, and fear nothing. For I shall die in virtue and my own salvation is sure but if you die—who knows?' And I—I smote his head from his shoulders as he had bidden me." The recollection seemed to agitate the ambassador even now, for his voice shook with emotion in the tell lgn of it Then Immanuel said: "Perhaps somewhere on earth.he is living, now Monsieur." The other made a gesture of hope lessness. "How should I know him?" he asked. "Would fate bring Noueddin Bey smiled and shook himself, as though to shake away the weakness that had overcome him. "Perhaps," he answered, in a tone that indicated his desire to dismiss the subject. "And yet," continued Immanuel, "there !b ly hoped to meet the Doctor again for years to come. He, I knew, was un likely to revisit America, and Greece was the last country in the world that I thought I was likely to visit. How strange are the changes of circumstances! Less than eight months afterward the Balkan war broke out and I war asked to lend my services to the Red Cross expedi tion organized in America to serve with the Greek army. We sailed from New York for the Piraeus and fol lowed the victorious Hellenic armies northward toward Salonica. There I learned that Dr. Immanuel was In charge of the Greek Red Cross serv ice at a little town not twenty miles westward of my own station. The Greeks were holding a large force of Turks at bay, and the constant fight ing required the unremitting atten tion and care of the Red Cross medi cal arm. I took the opportunity to pay a visit to Immanuel's headquarters. I found the Red Cross station, but the Doctor was not there. He had ridden out the day before, I was told, alter a skirmish, to treat the wounded, both Greek and Turkish, who lay here and there upon the plain. A few orderlies and stretcher bearers with wagons had accompanied him. Upon the field was a small, badly organized Turkish Red Crescent band of half-trained doctors from the school at Constanti nople. His work done, Dr. Immanuel had volunteered to enter the Turkish camp with this organization in order to render aid to some wounded men there. He had not returned. This was likely to be my only chance of meeting my old friend and bo omw/Ai I resolved to enter the Turkish camp jilso. In war time a physician is Immune against injury even half civilized foes respect his profession. I anticipated no difficulty, for I wore the Red Cross bandage upon my arm, and actually I found none. The Turk ish outposts—surly, ill-favored fellows THE HOPE PIONEER body. Choose now, ub to gether?" "Perhaps," answered Immanuel. "Perhaps you will yet meet He may be born to you as a son, or come in some guise hard to pierce, yet possi ble, if you watch keenly." this danger—this terrible danger. If you do not take care your story may repeat itself. It is a way things have. You know the wheel that has once made a rut is apt to traverse it again after that it is still more likely to do so as the rut growB deeper Then it requires intelligence and foresight to avoid the rut. So there are ruts in the soul, Monsieur. Beware that you do not kill your dear est friend in this life, too, for next time it will be doubly hard." That ended the strange conversa tion. Half an hour later the ambas sador took his leave. On the next Friday Immanuel sailed for Calais, en route for Greece, and soon after I was called back to America. I hard- though they were—understood my po sition and took me to their command er. I waited perhapB two minutes at his headquarters then there strode out fingering my card, no less a per son than Noureddin Bey himself. Our meeting was not really strange, for upon the outbreak of the war he had been recalled by his government to take active service in the neld. But at the time it overwhelmed me with amazement, and I had a sudden sense of Impending tragedy, as though fate had brought us three together again to officiate at some dreadful drama. "MY GOD I" HE SAID IN A DAZED WAY, "ALL THIS HA8 HAPPENED BEFORE." General Noureddin Bey knew me at once and was hardly less surprised. But the first glance at his face con vinced me that my fears were well founded. "Doctor Immanuel?" I asked, and explained hastily the purpose of my mission. "He is not here," answered the General gloomily. "He is a prisoner." "But he is a doctor," I exclaimed. "He is accused of espionage," an swered the General. "A complete plan of our fortifications was found upon him yesterday." "It was some mistake. You know Immanuel you know that he 1b in capable of using his honored profes sion to play the spy!" I cried hotly. "That is what I have telegraphed to Constantinople," answered General Noureddin Bey gloomily. "But why have you telegraphed there?" I asked. "Why did you not release him?" "Because," replied the General slowly, "a court-martial has found him guilty and he has been sentenced to be shot at sundown, and only the Sultan can save him!" Then, seeing my expression of horror, he added: "My friend, I loved Immanuel better than any man 1 had known. But this is war and personal feelings may not count. Were I alone concerned I might release him, but the laws of war are strict, and I could not at tempt to do so without a mutiny breaking out I should myself be ac cused of treachery and suffer death. And," he ended sadly, "the Doctor has made no denial and no defense. How could he offer any when the pa pers were found inside his shoe?" "You searched him?" "Yes, after his suspicious actions had been made the subject of com ment In our camp. Brt come and see him," he continued, "and we will await the reply from ConstaAiinople in the prison." He took me familiarly by the arm and led me through the monastery in which he had his headquarters, along a paved interior court and into a gloomy building at the rear, formerly the monks' chapel. There, closely guarded, I found Immanuel seated at a table, writing. As I approached he sprang to his feet and grasped my hand warmly. "I felt quite certain that you would come," he cried. "I heard that you were on the way to Salonica. I am so glad to see you, my dear fellow, on the last day of my life." "Don't say that Doctor!" I cried wildly. "You—a spy! That is pre posterous. Did you not explain?" He hung his head. "There was nothing to explain," he answered. "The documents were found hidden in my. shoe." I looked keenly upon him, my heart swelling with pity and grief. He waB just the same little gnome-like figure of the old days of our friendship the beard was a little grayer, the eyes perhaps brightened by the anticipa tion of death, which, whether we fear or welcome it, means so much even to the bravest I turned away, choking. Then Noureddin Bey Bhoe. loBt all his dig nity and. calmness, "e ran forward and seized Immanuel by the hands. "You are no spy," he cried. "Tell me how that paper came 1& your & 'MY LIFE WAS TORN ASUNDER NOUREDDIN I can order a fresh court-mar- tlal if I have new evidence, no mat ter what the telegram decrees. The law of war permits that. You are no spy, Doctor. Explain! You who were mute during your trial'—would a spy remain mute in the face of death?" Immanuel stretched out one hand over the General in an attitude of benediction. "I can explain nothing," he an swered quietly. Then Noureddin Bey arose doggedly. "You are sealing your own doom," he said. "All depends now on the telegram. Once more, Doctor, by the memory of our friendship, explain. Do you remember those days in Lon don? Can you not think about the many more that we may have to gether when this devastating war is over? You would go to your death for some sufficient purpose, perhaps, but innocent. You have no right to strike this irremediable blow at me. Speak! Explain!" "There is nothing to explain," an swered the Doctor sadly. He rose and, signing bis name to the papers which he had bad before him, he placed them in my hands. Then he turned to the General. "My friend," he Bald, "there is a young soldier named Pentapoulos, a wounded prisoner in your hospital'. Will you grant me one last favor— that he be sent back to his own lines?" "It shall be done at once," answered Noureddin Bey, and gave a curt order to one of the impassive soldiers. Drawing out a card he scribbled on it in Arabic letters and handed it to the man. The soldier took it, saluted, and went out. Hardly bad he left the chapel before an orderly entered hur riedly with a paper, which he handed to the General. Noureddin Be/ glanced at it and bis face went white. Then, without a word, he gave it to Immanuel, who read it and returned it with a faint smile and shrug of the shoulders. "Inshallah!" muttered Noureddin Bey and turned aside. He bad con signed the prisoner to the mercy of God. The paper was the Doctor's death warrant from Constantinople. Immanuel placed one hand on my shoulder. "Stay with me till the end," he asked. I looked out. The sun was low in the sky. The end would come in a little less than an hour. We sat together in the chapel, talking. I am not free to repeat any thing that the Doctor told me. Presently a sergeant and a file of soldiers entered, and the Doctor, see ing them and understanding what their visit signified, rose with a smile and, placing himself at the ser geant's side, marched with them out of the building toward a high white wall at the opposite end of the court Noureddin Bey was waiting 11 was a task he would entrust to none other, but he had not been able to bring himself to enter the chapel again. The Doctor, who knew by instinct what was required of him, took his post with his back to the wall and the soldiers, six in nuiAb«r, ranged themselves in line, at the sergeant's command, a dozen paces away, with grounded rifles. Noureddin Bey read something hurriedly and Immanuel spoke in a few short words. The Gen eral nodded and raised hiB BY SORROW/1 BEY. haB hand. Im mediately a Greek priest came out of a small door nearby, in which he had evidently been waiting. He stood be side Immanuel and prayed with ele vated hands. The Doctor sank to his knees, crossed himself, and rose again. The priest departed. I did not clasp Immanuel's hand again he was beyond earthly friendship now. Noureddin touched me on the arm and I withdrew with him. The ser geant, looking at the General, spoke, and the rifles were raised and aimed. He spoke again. At that instant I saw the Doctor standing, a little, brave, almost ridiculous figure, with I I ANSWERED his back to the white wall then there came a rour, a jugged sheet of flame, and he sank down sidewise, pushing out his hands as though to save him self in the fall, and lay motionless upon the flagstones. The sergeant stepped up to him with his revolver, but there was no need to use it. Then I became conscious that Noureddin Bey was staring into my eyes with the expression of a soul racked in hell. "My God!" he said In a dazed way, "all this happened before!" Pentapoulos was a wounded soldier whom the Turks had picked up after a battle, I read in the letter which the Doctor had left for me. Immanuel, visiting him in the hospital, bad found him in deadly fear. His arms were broken and in his belt, which he could not reach, was the plan of the Turk ish works. Immanueli had taken it from the spy with the intention of destroying it but be had been detect ed in possession of it and had gone to his death to save the Greek boy. It was a fitting death and somehow just what I should have expected of the Doctor. For men of fine nature who should have been cast for heroic lives often find their meed in the manner in which they die. I could not have wished otherwise for him. But, as I have said, he left a larger hope behind him, and I, for one, be lieve that the cosmic dust will in some cycle of time to come restore to some new world the little, herolo figure that we knew, no longer gnome like, though cast for a larger destiny, and, I am sure, one equally ennobling. (Copyright by W. G. Chapman.) WHY OIL CALMS THE WATERS Fact That There Is Little Internal Friction Between Its Particles Supplies Explanation. Waves In mid-ocean are caused en tirely by the action of the wind. The adhesion between the rapily moving particles of air which compose the. wind and the surface particles of the water causes the water's surface to be dragged along with the air. Small ripples are immediately formed. These ripples soon overtake others near theiji. Tlie.v unite, and due to the fric tion between the water particles, each succeeding ripple piles up on the top of the previous ones, says Popular Science. Just as soon as oil is sprend upon the water, however, the size of the waves is reduced like magic. The reason for this Is interesting. Oil, un like water, has very little internal friction between Its particles. The ripples of oil formed by the wind, therefore, cannot pile upon each other to any considerable height. Hence, water waves cannot grow in an area of oil placed about a steamer. They begin to fall down instead. By the time these waves reach the boat they will have lost their formative ripples and the result is a perfectly calm sur face over the portion of the sea through which the boat is making its way. The Great Compliment The late Mrs. Billington was not the first of her name to win fame upon the stage. There was a Mrs. Billington in the latter part of the eighteenth cen tury, whose wonderful voice gained her one of the prettiest compliments ever paid a singer. When Sir Joshua Rey nolds was painting Mrs. Billington as St. Cecilia his studio was visited one day by Haydn. "It is a very fine por trait," said the great musician, "but you have made one strange mistake," "What is that?" asked Reynolds. "You have painted her listening to the angels," replied Haydn. "You ought to have represented the angels listening to her."