Rensselaer Union, Volume 9, Number 33, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 May 1877 — The Last Melody of Paul Pestal, the Russian Conspirator. [ARTICLE]

The Last Melody of Paul Pestal, the Russian Conspirator.

The Emperor Alexander was dead. His eldest brother, the Grand Duke Constantine, was his natural successor to the throne of Russia; bat, by a deed till then kept secret, Constantine, in Alexander’s lifetime, had renounced the crown in favor of his younger brother, Nicholas. The accession of the latter, therefore, exeited general surprise; an unsettled feeling manifested itself among the people and the army. The time appeared favorable for the breaking out of a conspiracy which had been forming for years. An insurrection took place at St. Petersburg on Chriatmay Day, 1825; but the movement of the conspirators was too hasty, and their attempt, not well seconded by the troops, failed through the energy ot the Czar. A hundred and thirty-six leaders of the insurrection were Seized, tried and condemned, and almost all of them were sentenced to perpetual labor or to exile in Siberia. The five principal chiefs were condemned to be broken on the wheel, but diff not undergo that horrible punishment, the gibbet being substituted by a ukase of the Emperor. Among these five chiefs the first and most remarkable was Paul Pestal, Colonel of the infantry regiment of Wiatka. The long and arduous task to whiieh he had d .voted himseli had not wholly engrossed the mind of this brave and persevering conspirator. Alive to the charms of the arts, he cultivated them with success, and, in particular, was an excellent musician. The young and beautiful Catherine W had conceived a devoted attachment to Pestal. Gifted with an exquisite voice, she loved to sing his melodies. The passion with which she inspired him was as fervent as her own, and if ever the deep conspirator could forget his gloomy reveries, it was when seated by Catherine’s side, and dreaming of love and happiness. On the eve of the day when the insurrection was to break out, Pestal, more preoccupied than usual, scarcely answered Catherine, aud at times seemed not to hear her. “What ails, you to-day, Paul?” she said, taking his hand. “ You do not look at me—you do not speak to me. I never saw you so cold, so absent, when you were with me.”

Paul looked at her sadly. “ What would you do. Cathexiae, were you never to see me again?” “ I should dial” cned Catherine, with enthusiasm ; and then added, in a voice of terror—“ Bat why this question, Paul? Can you toink of forsaking me?” Pestal wan silent. " But it cannot be,” said Catherine. " You have sworn to love me till death.” " Yes! While this heart beats it is yours, Catherine, but,” he added. em< bracing her with melancholy tenderness, “ promise me, if I die, tb&t yon will live for the sake of your old father, and that, even when dead, I shall never cease to occupy your thoughts.” “ I promise to live as long as my grief will allow. But of us two, Paul, it is not I who shall have this cruel trial to under go.” • “ There are presentiments that do not deceive,” said Pestal, declining his head on his breast; "an inward voice warns me that I must abandon my two happiest visions—the bliss of living in the enjoyment of yonr love, Catherine, and the glory of assuring the welfare of my countiymen.” "What do you mean?” cried the young girl, whose fear and agitation increased every minute; “what mean these mysterious words, these gloomy predictions? Paul, you are concealing a secret.’* “ Yes, Catherine.” “ A secret from me, who never had one from you 1” " You have had all mine—but this one does not belong to me." “ And, if I may judge from yonr looks, yonr words, your thoughts of death and parting, it must be something vCry terrible!” “Terrible indeed!” " After a moment’s silence, Pestal continned: “Hear me, Catherine, when I shall give yon, this evening, my farewell klm ft may, perhape, be toe lent you will receive from me. Bat whatever may be my

lot, whenever you are told ‘Paul indeed, Come, oml you shall find a remembrance of foe. Tor, I swear to youJMSast thought shall bo of you.” > •’’M Festal’* present!men^-did m deceive him i He saw Catherfoh Bo attire. The day afteyhe cyeoution qt his sentence a young girl, drowned in tears, obtained from the keeper of the pitaou the favor of being admitted to Pestai’scell. After a king search she discovered some fines of music penciled on the wai’. Above them wer* only the two Words, "For her!” Underneath was Paul’sttame. lunatic asylum, a poor maniac, whose madness consisted in singing, every-day and at the same boor, the same little melody. The madwoman was Catherine—the hour, that at which she was admitted to her lover’s dungeon—and the Mr" .was the last melody of Pestal.— Bngluhihan'e Domestic Magazine. ■