Marco Monti, such was the consul’s name, was a man of parts and much experience; a pleasant companion and a great conversationalist, fond of telling amusing stories with a grave face—­in fact, most excellent company.

I was something of a ‘conteur’ myself, and we soon became friendly rivals in telling anecdotes.  In spite of his thirty additional years I was a tolerable match for him, and when we were in a room there was no question of gaining to kill the time.

We became fast friends, and I benefited a good deal by his offices during the two years I spent in Trieste, and I have always thought that he had a considerable share in obtaining my recall.  That was my great object in those days; I was a victim to nostalgia, or home sickness.

With the Swiss and the Sclavs it is really a fatal disease, which carries them off if they are not sent home immediately.  Germans are subject to this weakness also; whilst the French suffer very little, and Italians not much more from the complaint.

No rule, however, lacks its exception, and I was one.  I daresay I should have got over my nostalgia if I had treated it with contempt, and then I should not have wasted ten years of my life in the bosom of my cruel stepmother Venice.

I dined with M. Zaguri at the consul’s, and I was invited to dine with the governor, Count Auersperg, the next day.

The visit from a Venetian ‘avogador’ made me a person of great consideration.  I was no longer looked upon as an exile, but as one who had successfully escaped from illegal confinement.

The day after I accompanied M. Zaguri to Gorice, where he stayed three days to enjoy the hospitality of the nobility.  I was included in all their invitations, and I saw that a stranger could live very pleasantly at Gorice.

I met there a certain Count Cobenzl, who may be alive now—­a man of wisdom, generosity, and the vastest learning, and yet without any kind of pretention.  He gave a State dinner to M. Zaguri, and I had the pleasure of meeting there three or four most charming ladies.  I also met Count Tomes, a Spaniard whose father was in in the Austrian service.  He had married at sixty, and had five children all as ugly as himself.  His daughter was a charming girl in spite of her plainness; she evidently got her character from the mother’s side.  The eldest son, who was ugly and squinted, was a kind of pleasant madman, but he was also a liar, a profligate, a boaster, and totally devoid of discretion.  In spite of these defects he was much sought after in society as he told a good tale and made people laugh.  If he had been a student, he would have been a distinguished scholar, as his memory was prodigious.  He it was who vainly guaranteed the agreement I made with Valerio Valeri for printing my “History of Poland.”  I also met at Gorice a Count Coronini, who was known in learned circles as the author of some Latin treatises on diplomacy.  Nobody read his books, but everybody agreed that he was a very learned man.