From the military man I proceeded to the diplomatist, who proved to be much more frigid than the other. With many fine phrases he tried to convince me that it was not disloyal or dishonourable to wake up a young man of twenty-one at midnight in order to despoil him of his fortune in a couple of hours. ‘Is it worth while to make so much ado about the loss of a few _boumashkis-boumashkis?_‘--being the name of Russian paper money--he said. ‘We have only to look around us to find the same thing going on every day in another shape. You have merely to count the claimants to thrones they lost because the game went against them. Do you think people pay any heed to them? You may have noticed a gentleman who left when you came in. That’s the Marquis de Brignoli. He came to Vienna to claim the independence of Genoa. The ambassador of a republic which is at its last gasp, he has treated the Congress to a most energetic protest, which you may read if you like, for I have it here. In spite of his logic, M. de Metternich politely bowed him out, and Genoa is to be given to Piedmont, which has won it, and means to keep it. Venice disappears in spite of its ancient wisdom. Is it being swallowed up by the Adriatic? Not at all. It’s Austria that has won it, and means to keep it. Malta only claims from the Congress its rock and arms to defend itself against all comers: England, it is told, has won it, and means to keep it. Prussia gains Saxony; Sweden gains Norway; Russia gains Poland. Europe in Vienna sits round a table covered with a green cloth; she is gambling for states, and a cast of the diplomatic dice involves the loss or the gain of a hundred thousand, nay, of a million, of heads.[88] Why should not I win a few bits of paper when luck favours me?’ ‘But from your friend, Monsieur le Comte?’ ‘They are very scrupulous about relatives here, not to say about friends, when it comes to the appropriation of thrones, aren’t they. No, no, all this is so much nonsense. Figaro resolved the problem long ago: “What’s worth taking, is worth keeping.”’ What answer could I make to such maxims, except to treat them with contempt? I left him and went back to Z---- to inform him of the failure of my efforts. ‘I felt certain it would be so,’ he said. ‘The sting of a serpent is less cruel than the ingratitude of a friend. There is but one way with people like this, and I’ll employ it.’ He was quite himself now; he dressed and went out to call upon the grand-chamberlain, Narischkine, who was his superior in virtue of his Court charge. He intended to inform him of the disaster that had befallen him, and the means he meant to use for redress. He would not allow me to go with him; and I tried my horses by myself. I could have wished them, in their rapid course, to carry me right away from the painful impressions of the last few hours.