A TRAGEDY FROM LIFE. PART I....The Plot. On the banks of the Neva, not far from the Gulf of Cronstadt, an enormous rock raises itself aloft, on which is erected the equestrian statue of Peter the Great. About the commencement of April 1831, two young men were seated at the foot of the monument, contemplating with admiration the fine edifices which were visible from the spot-the quays of granite confining each side of the river-the academy of arts-and the beautiful winter palace, which was then a splendid building, though now it is only a heap of cinders and ashes. The young men were evidently of different nations, as might be perceived, not only from the dissimilarity of their features, but from their style of dress. One was an officer of the imperial guard of Russia, boasting an ancient ancestry, and tracing back his line to Wasili Momonagre. His name was Petrowitsch Keilnoff, and he was remarked among his associates for his love of poetry, and the insatiable ardor with which he frequented the gaming table. The other was a young French secretary of legation, named Eugene de Valny. He was also an admirer of literature, and loved better to repeat to his Russian friend a hymn of Lamartine, or a point of Victor Hugo, or in his turn to recite some of the brilliant compositions of Maskoff, or Alexander Puckni, than to pursue the frivolous chase of the empty pleasures which generally occupied the leisure time of his associates at the Ambassador's. Eugene had soon perceived, after commencing his diplomatic career, that he had much exaggerated the advantages he was to derive from it. He found that it consisted principally in learning some petty secrets of state, which were not of the slightest consequence, or in engaging in some puerile intrigues which might lead to fortune though not to glory. He therefore devoted himself to the improvement of his mind, and in moments of relaxation from time to time, composed dramatic pieces which he hoped to get represented on his return to France under a feigned name. Not but that the capital of Russia possessed rich and numerous theatres. The vaudeville, the opera, the drama, and even classical tragedy were there all represented; ard the names of Scribe, Rossini, and Alexander Dumas, were as well known at St. Petersburg as at Paris. But Eugene was of opinion that an author's works are the property of his country, and acting on that impression, he kept his works secretly for his native soil. His Russian friend also wooed the muses, and the Abeille du Nord frequently contained some of his effusions. He possessed a noble fortune, and could he altogether give up his passion for gaming, might live in the enjoyment of every luxury of life. He had promised his friend, on their first acquaintance, to refrain from visiting Nicolai's, the great gaming house of St. Petersburg, for a year, and he had most honorably kept his promise. The year terminated on the day referred to at the commencement of this story. The Russian had expressed his determination to play once more, and then he promised his friend that for ever he would abandon the hazard of the die. The young Frenchman tried all he could to induce him to alter his intention of again yielding to the baneful indulgence, but Petrowitsch remained firm in his resolution. Seeing that further remonstrance was useless, Eugene offered to relate to the Russian officer the plot of his last drama. concourse of circumstances, explained naturally enough for my purpose in the drama, the Emperor becomes desperately in love with his wife, and proposes to elevate him to the honors of first favorite. Whilst debating what can have caused the Emperor's kindness, he finds out, when too late, that his former position was a far preferable one. A boyard, he is informed has run away with his daughter, and the Emperor has insulted his wife. Then he curses his wealth. Stung to madness by his injuries, he engages in a conspiracy, which has for its object to place the boyard at his mercy, and to hurl the Czar from his throne But every thing is discovered at the moment of execution, and the Emperor, in his gracious clemency, is contented to snatch from the enobled peasant his titles and his treasures, and to send him back to the poverty from which he issued. Such is my plot. What do you think of the denouement?" "Why, if I must tell what I think, it appears to me to be not very dramatic, and very improbable. A man so suddenly elevated could not re-assume with resignation his former pomp and slavery. Besides a work of this description ought to have a second termination. The French stage has undoubtedly, of late years, been prodigal to excess of the poinard, the poisoncup, the secret stab, the church-yard, the executioner, and such sanguinary deeds, yet you appear to me to fall into the opposite evil. Leave your denouement to me, Eugene-I will undertake it. You shall have one in the morning, I promise you." "With great pleasure," said the young diplomatist. "Adieu, then," said Petrowitsch," tonight at Nicolai's-it is the last time I sacrifice at the altar of fortune." 'Well, if you will go, all I say is, good fortune be yours." PART II....The Denouement.. The next morning Eugene was indolently reclining in an arm chair near the stove, and calling back to memory some of the scenes in which he had borne a conspicuous part at Paris, and calculating how soon he might expect to see again his family and his friends, when a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder. He turned round and met the gaze of Petrowitsch. The Rus sian was as pale as death, and his features expressed at once something mournful and determined. "Good morning, Eugene," he said, in a hoarse and quick voice: "I have kept my promise, and have been thinking of your denouement. Listen," continued he, with an inexplica ble smile-"Yesterday I was rich, powerful, envied. I had 15,000 slaves, 150,000 rubles a year, a sumptuous residence here, a summer palace on the banks of Wolga, rich farms, entire villages as my property. Well, when I quitted you yes terday, I went to play, and since then I have lost all-my hotel, my palace, slaves, farms, villages-all-I possess nothing in the world at this moment but the dress I wear, and a dishonored name "Well?" said Eugene in astonishment. "Well!" said the young Russian, with a sombre gaiety: "do you suppose that if I fell thus from the highest pinnacle of grandeur to utter misery, I should possess suthcient weakness, or strength-whichever it may be-to resign myself to my evil fortune?" "You desired to prove to me that my fifth act is not in keep ing with the rest?" interrupted Eugene, with an involuntary anxiety. Petrowitsch fell back a step, drew from his pocket a pistol, cocked it and placed it against his right temple, before his friend could prevent him. "Neither in keeping, nor dramatic," said he coldly. "Not a step, my dear fellow, you will only precipitate matters and hasten my death. I lost all at Nicolai's last night, but you will gain something by my misfortue. I promised you a suitable denouement and I keep my word!" "It is laid," he remarked, "in your country, and I have tried to make it essentially Russian. The hero is a young Siberian miner, who supports his family with hard labor. He tenderly loves his wife, and occasional gleams of happiness lighten the gloom of their existence. For a few years they lived thus in a constant struggle with penury, when one day the peasant lights on a vein of silver, which renders him as rich as the richest of the boyards. The miner then rubs the The report of the pistol followed his words, and he fell dead earth from his hands, bids adieu to the desert and his cabin, on the floor. and takes his departure, with his family, for St. Petersburg." Eugene returned, sad and solitary, to his office at the Am"Your plot is romantic enough, at all events," said the Rus-bassador's. It is useless to add, that he never finished the sian. tragedy he had commenced. "Romantic it certainly is, but at least it is not without example. The wealth of the five brothers, Demidoff, had no other origin." The young officer nodded his head in acknowledgment of the correctness of the statement. "But what becomes of your hero in the capital of Peter I. and Catherine II?" Providence still smiles on him. He purchases his freedom, and at a large price he obtains titles of nobility. By a * CONSTANCY.-The constant man looks up to heaven in full hope, even when it is darkened; as flowers that open with the sun, close not, though he be hid by the clouds. DOMESTIC TURN.-Many women think they are domestic, if they stay at home to entertain company; while their husbands think they are as little domestic at home as abroad. |