The change of air was beneficial to the empress, who reached Taganrog after a journey of three weeks; and the emperor remained with her, paying her great attention, and constantly accompanying her in her rides and drives. The season happened to be mild, and Alexander proposed to visit the Crimea, at the suggestion of Count Woronzoff, governor of the province. This excursion, with all its agreeabilities, was evidently a trying one to a frame already shaken, and a mind harassed by its own feelings. He rode a considerable part of the journey, visited Sebastopol, inspected fortifications in all quarters, received officers, dined with governors, visited places where endemics made their haunt; ate the delicious, but dangerous fruits of the country, received Muftis and Tartar princes; in short did every thing that he ought not to have done, and finally found himself ill. He remarked to Sir James Wylie, that his stomach was disordered, and that he had had but little sleep for several nights. The physician recommended immediate medicine, but Alexander was obstinate. “I have no confidence,” said he, “in potions; my life is in the hands of Heaven; nothing can stand against its will.” But the illness continued, and the emperor began to grow lethargic, and slept much in his carriage. With a rashness which seems to be the prevalent misfortune of sovereigns, he still persisted in defying disease, and suffered himself to be driven every where, visiting all the remarkable points of the Crimea, yet growing day by day more incapable of feeling an interest in any thing. He was at length shivering under intermittent fever, and he hurried back to the empress. On being asked by Prince Volkonski, whom he had left as the manager of his household, what was the state of his health,—“Well enough,” was the answer, “except that I have got a touch of the fever of the Crimea.” The prince entreated him to take care of his health, and not to treat it as he “would have done when he was twenty years old.” On the next day his illness had assumed a determined character, and was declared to be dangerous, and a typhus. Unfortunately, at this period, an officer of rank arrived with details of one of those conspiracies which had been notoriously on foot for some time. His tidings ought to have been concealed: but sovereigns must hear every thing, and the tidings were communicated to the emperor. He was indignant and agitated. The empress exhibited the most unwearied kindness; but all efforts were now hopeless. On the 1st of December he sank and died.