Prince Petro. Yes; but is he going?
Baron Raff. I am sure of it; at least he told me he had sent two telegrams already to Paris about his dinner.
Count R. Ah! that settles the matter.
Czar (coming forward). Prince Paul better send a third telegram and order (counting them) six extra places.
Baron Raff. The devil!
Czar. No, Baron, the Czar. Traitors! There would be no bad kings in the world if there were no bad ministers like you. It is men such as you who wreck mighty empires on the rock of their own greatness. Our mother, Russia, hath no need of such unnatural sons. You can make no atonement now; it is too late for that. The grave cannot give back your dead, nor the gibbet your martyrs, but I shall be more merciful to you. I give you your lives! That is the curse I would lay on you. But if there is a man of you found in Moscow by to-morrow night your heads will be off your shoulders.
Baron Raff. You remind us wonderfully, Sire, of your Imperial father.
Czar. I banish you all from Russia. Your estates are confiscated to the people. You may carry your titles with you. Reforms in Russia, Baron, always end in a farce. You will have a good opportunity, Prince Petrovitch, of practising self-denial, that excellent virtue! that excellent virtue! So, Baron, you think a Parliament in Russia would be merely a place for brawling. Well, I will see that the reports of each session are sent to you regularly.
Baron Raff. Sire, you are adding another horror to exile.
Czar. But you will have such time for literature now. You forget you are diplomatists. Men of thought should have nothing to do with action.