ired for the commission
of a crime almost unparalleled in history--the assassination of his
sovereign, who was his own father, a father of great indulgence, who
reared his son from the cradle with more than paternal tenderness,
who, with incredible pains, strove to educate him for government, and
to qualify him for the succession to so great an empire? How much more
imperatively does such a crime merit death.

"It is therefore with hearts full of affliction, and eyes streaming
with tears, that we, as subjects and servants, pronounce this sentence
against the son of our most precious sovereign lord, the tzar.
Nevertheless, it being his pleasure that we should act in this
capacity, we, by these presents, declare our real opinion, and
pronounce this sentence of condemnation with a pure conscience as we
hope to answer at the tribunal of Almighty God. We submit, however,
this sentence to the sovereign will and revisal of his imperial
majesty, our most merciful sovereign."

This sentence was signed by all the members of the court, one hundred
and eighty in number; and on the 6th of July it was read to the guilty
prince in the castle where he was kept confined. The miserable young
man, enfeebled in body and mind by debaucheries, was so overwhelmed
with terror, as his death warrant was read, that he was thrown into
convulsions. All the night long fit succeeded fit, as, delirious with
woe, he moaned upon his bed. In the morning a messenger was dispatched
to the tzar to inform him that his son was seriously sick; in an hour
another messenger was sent stating that he was very dangerously sick;
and soon a third messenger was dispatched with the intelligence that
Alexis could not survive the day, and was very anxious to see his
father. Peter, scarce less wretched than his miserable son, hastened
to his room. The dying young man, at the sight of his father, burst
into tears, confessed all his crimes, and begged his father's blessing
in this hour of death. Tears coursed down the cheeks of the stern
emperor, and he addressed his dying child in terms so pathetic, and so
fervently implored God's pardon for him, that the stoutest hearts were
moved and loud sobbings filled the room.

It was midday of the 7th of July, 1718. The prince was confined in a
large chamber of a stone castle, which was at the same time a palace
and a fortress. There lay upon the couch the dying Alexis, bloated by
the excesses of a life of utter pollution, yet pa