THE LIFE OF AN EMPEROR.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1897, 23 March 1880, Page 3

THE LIFE OF AN EMPEROR.

[Prom the “San Francisco News Letter.”] The Czar of Bussia leads an uneasy life, as the following excerpt from his diary given by the “ Golos,” and translated by a reporter of this paper, will show: —“ November 6bh, 1879.—G0t up at 7 a.m., and ordered my bath. Found there were four gallons of vitriol in it, and did not take it. Being unable to wash, went to breakfast somewhat grimy. The Nihilists had placed two torpedoes on the stairs, but I did not step on them. The coffee smelt eo strongly of prussic acid that I was afraid to drink it, and the fish was so bitter that I only ate one mouthful of it. Found a scorpion in my left slipper, but luckily shook it out before putting it on. Somebody had placed a centipede in the pocket where I keep my blow-my-nose, but it crawled out before I had occasion to use my handkerchief. Just before stepping into the carriage to go for my morning drive, it was blown into the air, killing the coachman and the horse instantly. The scoundrels were just two minutes too soon, reckoning on my punctuality. I did not drive. Took a light lunch off hermetically sealed American canned goods. They can’t fool me there. Found a poisoned dagger in my favourite chair, with the point sticking out. Did not sit down on it. Went to lie down ; examined the bed, as usual, and found a cobra di capella under the pillow. Had dinner at 6 p.m., and made Baron Laischounowonski taste every dish. He died before the soup was cleared away. Couldn’t get anyone else to do any more tasting, so went upstairs and consumed some Baltimore oysters and some London stout that I have had locked up for five years. Went to the theatre, and was shot at three times in the first act. Had the entire audience hanged. Went home to bed, and slept all night on the roof of the Palace. Have ordered a cast-iron suit of armour and a mask. Wish I was in Boston, selling peanuts. Would go if I thought I could get there without being killed. Don’t feel as if I was Peter the Great, by any manner of means. How nice it must be to be a drygoods clerk. Servant just found three men in the chimney. Don’t think I’ll write any more just now.” Such are only a few of the penalties of greatness, which, however, serve to illustrate the beauty of the old proverb, “ How much more nicer is pork and beans and love than a roast turkey stuffed with arsenic and carved with hate.”