bold treachery comes to light. He sees himself about to be pledged to make war upon the French,-he, the first ally of their republic; and what amazed him even more, he is to give his royal warrant to the Greek faith of a Swedish queen. Enraged at a monstrous stratagem, he tore himself from love and hope, sacrificing all for country, and the humbled empress was the victim of the plot. A funeral pageant usurped the splendor of the wedding feast. Rage, mortified pride, unspeakable disappointment reaped the whirlwind, and the sorrowing bridegroom had scarcely regained his home, before the heart of the mighty empress was still for ever.

Let us hasten to acquit Stedingk. No hand of his had meddled in these sad nuptials. Special ambassadors had been their master's stewards; and we read of Russian gold, of course, among the persuasive arts of this as of other periods. Stedingk had a far more difficult task. He was to allay the troubled waters. Success would have been later, had Catherine lived; but happily the new Emperor Paul was tractable. He loved Stedingk; his " preux chevalier," as he always styled him. Reconciliation was not long delayed, and the young Gustavus was comforted with a fairhaired German bride, the most lovely queen, we are told, that had yet adorned the Swedish throne.

A prominent event in the career of Stedingk during the reign of Paul, was his negotiation with Rostopchin of a famous treaty of armed neutrality. It was signed at St. Petersburg, on the 16th December, 1800, and although destined to be blown to atoms at Copenhagen by the guns of Nelson, its influence in the world's affairs will ultimately surpass the naval victory. The sublime justice which our own Franklin urged upon the nations, and which this famous treaty meant to engraft upon general law is admitted, at last, by its late arch

enemy.

The alliance of Sweden and Russia, closer at this period than ever before or since, may be illustrated by an anecdote of the Emperor Paul, which, at the same time, speaks volumes for Stedingk. A report reached St. Petersburg of rebellion in a neighboring Swedish province. The rumor was first spread upon a Thursday, the regular day of a weekly dinner-party at the Swedish embassy. The guests were seated, and

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une très bonne soupe," "mais quel excellent caviar," were already buzzing about the table, when the host received a pressing summons to the palace. Excusing himself to his guests he hurried away,and found the emperor impatiently waiting in his cabinet. "Well, well, well," he exclaimed, before Stedingk was fairly in the room, "here is a pretty business. I must not lose a moment to fly to the assistance of my friend, your good king. He shall have fifty thousand Russians. I name you their commander, and my son Constantine your aide-decamp. You shall march to-morrow. Sit there and write out a treaty; you and I will sign it." Stedingk knew his friend well. There was but one way to manage his impetuosity-it must run itself out. Paul dictated, and Stedingk (impransus) wrote. The emperor and the ambassadors signed the treaty within the hour. The Grand Duke Constantine was summoned, and readily accepted service under the Swedish general. The emperor looked happy, and when he settled quietly to repose after the excitement, Stedingk ventured to propose that the troops should wait for confirmation of the rumor. Paul unwillingly consented, and presently came news that the whole story of revolt was false. The troops were countermanded; and on the following Thursday the guests at the Swedish embassy did not dine without their host. The treaty, completed and signed, a singular diplomatic curiosity, was brought away by Stedingk, and preserved, a legacy to his family.

Another interesting document found among the Stedingk papers, was a detailed account of Napoleon's winning the partisanship of this unhappy Paul. His fantastic imagination was completely won away from Great Britain by the First consul gravely proposing a Russian and French conquest of India. A plan for the expedition was written out, and at the time of his death, Paul had absolutely ordered troops for the service. A scheme so wild and senseless might well shake the confidence of all about the emperor's person, and already, indeed, after a long series of folly and tyranny combined, his deposition had come to be regarded as a state necessity. His son, the Grand Duke Alexander, suffered himself to join the conspiracy, persuading himself of patriotism, and historians release him from the charge of parricide. Stedingk had long been

regarded by the imperial family in the light rather of an old family friend than a foreign ambassador; and accordingly, on the morning after the murder of Paul, we find his successor hastening to the Swedish embassy, throwing himself upon Stedingk's neck, and sobbing aloud

"I am the most wretched of mankind!" "You must be, indeed!" was the answer of the honest old soldier.

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"The Emperor Paul," says Monsieur Thiers, an intellectual and not a bad man, was, however, extreme in all his feelings, and like all such men, was capable of good and bad deeds, according to the impulse of the moment. If such a temper is unhappy in private life, what must it be among princes, and especially among those whose power is absolute. In these cases it results, at length, in insanity, often of a bloody dye. Everybody in St. Petersburg began to tremble. The emperor's greatest favorites of to-day thought of Siberia and exile to-morrow."

Sympathetic and chivalrous, Paul felt a lively sympathy for the victims of the French revolution, and cherished hatred against its abettors. Catherine endeavored to rouse Europe against France, but never equipped a Russian soldier in the quarrel. Paul sent Suwarrow and a hundred thousand men into Italy. He forbade every import into France; books, fashions, dresses, alike, and Russian nobles thought it an excess of antirevolutionary zeal. The wind changed, and the weathercock turned. Portraits of the republican Bonaparte covered the imperial walls: his health was the public toast, and war was declared against Great Britain. This time the Russian nobles were enraged. The loss of fashions, gloves, and the perfections of civilization, they had borne with patience; but how should they turn their hemp and tallow into money if at war with England? Domestic cruelties followed-a crowd of unfortunates were hurried to Siberia, and Paul, touched with their lamentations, called them back, but forgot to restore their confiscated homes. Worse lamentations filled the ears of the emperor, and in a rage he sent them back again to Siberia. No

man's life was safe. Ministers, the empress, the imperial children were threatened alike. Four empresses, since the great Peter, he remembered, had taken their husband's crowns, and poor Paul, fortifying himself with salique decrees, still locked his wife's door at night. His palace was a citadel, and his haughtiness, of which Stedingk witnessed a curious instance, overstepped all bounds.

The emperor was seen one day to whisper mysteriously to his grand chamberlain, M. De Narishkin, who was so well known to stand ill in the imperial graces, that the circumstance created no little surprise, and no little curiosity. The diplomatic corps stood on tiptoe, until M. de Narishkin put them at ease. "He told me I was durack" (fool), said he, "and not another word beside." Next day, the emperor, in conversation with Stedingk, began to abuse his "durack" chamberlain, and our Swede, true to his instincts, gallantly defended an absent friend. Unluckily, however, he styled him "grand seigneur." At this imprudent word the emperor changed countenance, and raising his voice, "Mr. Ambassador," said he, "know that in Russia there is no grand seigneur except him to whom I speak, and he is only such while I speak."*

The unhappy Paul was to be murdered. Many a Russian knew it; and Stedingk, probably, did not doubt it. A plot was hatched by the governor of the city, Count Pahlen, who, with consummate skill, carried out his purpose without delay. The young prince Alexander consented to depose his father, but he exacted from the conspirators the most solemn oath to spare his father's life. The second chief of the conspiracy was the celebrated Benningsen, a German officer, and commander-in-chief of the Russian army. Poor Paul began to read his doom. "Were you in St. Petersburg when my father was assassinated?" said he to the chief of the police. "I was, sire." "What were you then?" "A subaltern cavalry officer, serving with my regiment, your majesty." Very well," continued Paul, eyeing his minister suspiciously, "there is a plan, to-day, to play that tragedy over again." know it, sire: I am in the plot." "How! you are in the plot?" "I am,"