At the close of this bloody day, one of the leading conspirators, a general of high position in the army was led a captive into the presence of Nicholas. The heroic republican met, without quailing, the proud eye of his sovereign.
"Your father," said Nicholas sternly, "was a faithful servant, but he has left behind him a degenerate son. For such an enterprise as yours large resources were requisite. On what did you rely?"
"
Sire," replied the prisoner, "matters of this kind can not be spoken of before witnesses."
Nicholas led the conspirator into a private apartment, and for a long time conversed with him alone. Here the tzar had opened before him, in the clearest manner, the intolerable burdens of the people, the oppression of the nobles, the impotency of the laws, the venality of the judges, the corruption which pervaded all departments of the government, legislative, executive and judiciary. The noble conspirator, whose mind was illumined with those views of human rights which, from the French Revolution, were radiating throughout Europe, revealed all the corruptions of the State in the earnest and honest language of a man who was making a dying declaration. Nicholas listened to truths such as seldom reach the ears of a monarch; and these truths probably produced a powerful impression upon him in his subsequent career.
Many of the conspirators, in accordance with the barbaric code of Russia, were punished with awful severity. Some were whipped to death. Some were mutilated and exiled to Siberia, and many perished on the scaffold. Fifteen officers of high rank were placed together beneath the gibbet, with ropes around their necks. As the drop fell, the rope of one broke, and he fell to the ground. Bruised and half stunned he rose upon his knees, and looking sadly around exclaimed,
"Truly nothing ever succeeds with me, not even death."
Another rope was procured, and this unhappy man, whose words indicated an entire life of disappointment and woe, was launched into the world of spirits.
We have before spoken of the palace of Peterhoff, a few miles from St. Petersburg, on the southern shores of the bay of Cronstadt. It is now the St. Cloud of Russia, the favorite rural retreat of the Russian tzars. This palace, which has been the slow growth of ages, consists of a pile of buildings of every conceivable order of architecture. It is furnished with all the appliances of luxury which Europe or Asia can
produce. The pleasure grounds, in their artistic embellishments, are perhaps unsurpassed by any others in the world. Fountains, groves, lawns, lakes, cascades and statues, bewilder and delight the spectator.