ole of one
side opening by a marble colonnade upon a court or garden, in which the
eye rested gratefully upon cool fountains and statues of whitest marble,
half sheltered by orange-trees. Every art that luxury could invent to
give freshness and coolness to the languid and breezeless heat of the
day without (a day on which the breath of the sirocco was abroad) had
been called into existence. Artificial currents of air through invisible
tubes, silken blinds waving to and fro as if to cheat the senses into
the belief of an April wind, and miniature jets d'eau in each corner of
the apartment gave to the Italians the same sense of exhilaration and
comfort (if I may use the word) which the well-drawn curtains and the
blazing hearth afford to the children of colder climes.

The conversation was somewhat more lively and intellectual than is
common among the languid pleasure-hunters of the South; for the Prince,
himself accomplished, sought his acquaintance not only amongst the beaux
esprits of his own country, but amongst the gay foreigners who adorned
and relieved the monotony of the Neapolitan circles. There were present
two or three of the brilliant Frenchmen of the old regime, and their
peculiar turn of thought and wit was well calculated for the meridian of
a society that made the dolce far niente at once its philosophy and
its faith. The Prince, however, was more silent than usual, and when he
sought to rouse himself, his spirits were forced and exaggerated. To the
manners of his host, those of Zicci afforded a striking contrast. The
bearing of this singular person was at all times characterized by a
calm and polished ease which was attributed by the courtiers to the long
habit of society. He could scarcely be called gay, yet few persons more
tended to animate the general spirits of a convivial circle. He seemed,
by a kind of intuition, to elicit from each companion the qualities
in which he most excelled; and a certain tone of latent mockery that
characterized his remarks upon the topics on which the conversation
fell, seemed to men who took nothing in earnest to be the language both
of wit and wisdom. To the Frenchmen in particular there was something
startling in his intimate knowledge of the minutest events in their
own capital and country, and his profound penetration (evinced but in
epigrams and sarcasms) into the eminent characters who were then playing
a part upon the great stage of Continental intrigue. It was whi