“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.

There is an annual fete on this ground in July, which assembles all the elite of Russian society.  The spacious gardens are by night illuminated with almost inconceivable splendor.  The whole forest blazes with innumerable torches, and every leaf, twig and drop of spray twinkles with colored lights.  Here is that famous artificial tree which has so often been described.  It is so constructed with root, trunk and branch, leaf and bud as to deceive the most practiced eye.  Its shade, with an inviting seat placed beneath it, lures the loiterer, through these Eden groves, to approach and rest.  The moment he takes his seat he presses a spring which converts the tree into a shower bath, and from every twig jets of water in a cloud of spray, envelops the astonished stranger.

The Winter Palace at St. Petersburg is also a palace of unsurpassed splendor.  More than a thousand persons habitually dwell beneath the imperial roof.  No saloons more sumptuous in architecture and adornment are probably to be found in the world; neither are the exactions of court etiquette anywhere more punctiliously observed.  In entering this palace a massive gateway ushers one into a hall of magnificent dimensions, so embellished with shrubs and flowers, multiplied by mirrors, that the guest is deceived into the belief that he is sauntering through the walks of a spacious flower garden.  A flight of marble stairs conducts to an apartment of princely splendor, called the hall of the Marshals.  Passing through this hall, one enters a suite of rooms, apparently interminable, all of extraordinary grandeur and sumptuousness, which are merely antechambers to the grand audience saloon.

In this grand saloon the emperor holds his court.  Presentation day exhibits one of the most brilliant spectacles of earthly splendor and luxury.  When the hour of presentation arrives some massive folding doors are thrown open, revealing the imperial chapel thronged with those who are to take part in the ceremony.  First, there enters from the chapel a crowd of army officers, often a thousand in number, in their most brilliant uniform, the vanguard of the escort of the tzar.  They quietly pass through the vast apartment and disappear amidst the recesses of the palace.  Still the almost interminable throng, glittering in gala dresses, press on.  At length the grand master of ceremonies makes his appearance announcing the approach of the emperor and empress.