le him.

COUNT R. I am sick of town. I want a house in the country.

MARQ. DE POIV. I am sick of the country. I want a house in town.

BARON RAFF. Mes amis, I am extremely sorry for you. It is out of the
question.

PRINCE PETRO. But my son, Baron?

GEN. KOTEMK. But my nephew?

MARQ. DE POIV. But my house in town?

COUNT R. But my house in the country?

MARQ. DE POIV. But my wife's diamond bracelet?

BARON RAFF. Gentlemen, impossible! The old _regime_ in Russia is dead;
the funeral begins to-day.

COUNT R. Then I shall wait for the resurrection.

PRINCE PETRO. Yes, but, _en attendant_, what are we to do?

BARON RAFF. What have we always done in Russia when a Czar suggests
reforms?--nothing. You forget we are diplomatists. Men of thought should
have nothing to do with action. Reforms in Russia are very tragic, but
they always end in a farce.

COUNT R. I wish Prince Paul were here. [3]By the bye, I think this boy
is rather ungrateful to him. If that clever old Prince had not
proclaimed him Emperor at once without giving him time to think about
it, he would have given up his crown, I believe, to the first cobbler he
met in the street.

PRINCE PETRO. But do you think, Baron, that Prince Paul is really
going?[3]

BARON RAFF. He is exiled.

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,