‘I am not joking, I am telling you the unvarnished truth. The poor deceased was a slave to etiquette, and having partaken too freely of some delicious fish, he felt thoroughly uncomfortable in consequence. He was invited to make a fourth at a rubber of whist with the Grand-Duke of Baden, a Princesse de C----, and his Majesty of Bavaria; and in spite of his bodily and moral agony, he dared not refuse. But the ordeal proved too much, and when concealment of the situation was no longer possible he rushed away, went home, and shot himself. Everybody regrets his death, because he was a general favorite.’[82] ‘Your great diplomatist, this time in thorough agreement with the majority of the plenipotentiaries, made another king yesterday,’ said an opposite neighbour, addressing me directly. ‘Is it Prince Eugène?’ I exclaimed spontaneously. ‘Not exactly; it’s the cheese called “Brie.”’ ‘You are trying to mystify me.’ ‘I should not presume to do so on so slight an acquaintance, but I can assure you that it is a fact. M. de Talleyrand gave a dinner party, and at the dessert, all the political questions were pretty well exhausted. When the cheese was on the table, the conversation drifted in the direction of that dainty. Lord Castlereagh was loud in praise of Stilton; Aldini was equally loud in praise of the Strachino of Milan; Zeltner naturally gave battle for his native Gruyère, and Baron de Falck, the Dutch minister, could not say enough for the product of Limburg, of which Peter the Great was so fond as to dole himself a certain quantity measured with his compasses, lest he should take too much. Talleyrand’s guests were as undecided as they are on the question of the throne of Naples, which, according to some, will be taken from Murat, while, according to others, he’ll be allowed to keep it. At that moment a servant entered the room to inform the ambassador of the arrival of a courier from France. “What has he brought?” asked Talleyrand. “Despatches from the Court, your excellency, and Brie cheeses.” “Send the despatches to the chancellerie, and bring in the cheeses at once.” ‘The cheese was brought in. “Gentlemen,” said M. de Talleyrand, “I abstained just now from breaking a lance in favour of a product of the French soil, but I leave you to judge for yourselves.” The cheese is handed round, tasted, and the question of its superiority is put to the vote, with the result I have told you: Brie is proclaimed to be the king of cheeses.’ The clever little story was the last, and the company dispersed. Griffiths and I were due at the Baron Arnstein’s, who gave a fête in his magnificent mansion on the Melgrub.