The light, almost slender symmetry of his
      figure, promised more of that ready activity which he evinced at
      the Bridge of Sighs, than of that Herculean strength which he has
      been known to wield without an effort, upon occasions of more
      dangerous emergency. With the mouth and chin of a deity—singular,
      wild, full, liquid eyes, whose shadows varied from pure hazel to
      intense and brilliant jet—and a profusion of curling, black hair,
      from which a forehead of unusual breadth gleamed forth at
      intervals all light and ivory—his were features than which I have
      seen none more classically regular, except, perhaps, the marble
      ones of the Emperor Commodus. Yet his countenance was,
      nevertheless, one of those which all men have seen at some period
      of their lives, and have never afterwards seen again. It had no
      peculiar, it had no settled predominant expression to be fastened
      upon the memory; a countenance seen and instantly forgotten, but
      forgotten with a vague and never-ceasing desire of recalling it
      to mind. Not that the spirit of each rapid passion failed, at any
      time, to throw its own distinct image upon the mirror of that
      face—but that the mirror, mirror-like, retained no vestige of the
      passion, when the passion had departed. Upon leaving him on the night of our adventure, he solicited me,
      in what I thought an urgent manner, to call upon him _very_ early
      the next morning. Shortly after sunrise, I found myself
      accordingly at his Palazzo, one of those huge structures of
      gloomy, yet fantastic pomp, which tower above the waters of the
      Grand Canal in the vicinity of the Rialto. I was shown up a broad
      winding staircase of mosaics, into an apartment whose
      unparalleled splendor burst through the opening door with an
      actual glare, making me blind and dizzy with luxuriousness. I knew my acquaintance to be wealthy. Report had spoken of his
      possessions in terms which I had even ventured to call terms of
      ridiculous exaggeration. But as I gazed about me, I could not
      bring myself to believe that the wealth of any subject in Europe
      could have supplied the princely magnificence which burned and
      blazed around. Although, as I say, the sun had arisen, yet the room was still
      brilliantly lighted up. I judge from this circumstance, as well
      as from an air of exhaustion in the countenance of my friend,
      that he had not retired to bed during the whole of the preceding
      night. In the architecture and embellishments of the chamber, the
      evident design had been to dazzle and astound. Little attention
      had been paid to the _decora_ of what is technically called
      _keeping_, or to the proprieties of nationality. The eye wandered
      from object to object, and rested upon none—neither the
      _grotesques_ of the Greek painters, nor the sculptures of the
      best Italian days, nor the huge carvings of untutored Egypt. Rich
      draperies in every part of the room trembled to the vibration of
      low, melancholy music, whose origin was not to be discovered. The
      senses were oppressed by mingled and conflicting perfumes,
      reeking up from strange convolute censers, together with
      multitudinous flaring and flickering tongues of emerald and
      violet fire. The rays of the newly risen sun poured in upon the
      whole, through windows, formed each of a single pane of
      crimson-tinted glass. Glancing to and fro, in a thousand
      reflections, from curtains which rolled from their cornices like
      cataracts of molten silver, the beams of natural glory mingled at
      length fitfully with the artificial light, and lay weltering in
      subdued masses upon a carpet of rich, liquid-looking cloth of
      Chili gold. “Ha! ha! ha!—ha! ha! ha!”—laughed the proprietor, motioning me to
      a seat as I entered the room, and throwing himself back at
      full-length upon an ottoman. “I see,” said he, perceiving that I
      could not immediately reconcile myself to the _bienseance_ of so
      singular a welcome—“I see you are astonished at my apartment—at
      my statues—my pictures—my originality of conception in
      architecture and upholstery! absolutely drunk, eh, with my
      magnificence? But pardon me, my dear sir, (here his tone of voice
      dropped to the very spirit of cordiality,) pardon me for my
      uncharitable laughter. You appeared so _utterly_ astonished. Besides, some things are so completely ludicrous, that a man
      _must_ laugh or die. To die laughing, must be the most glorious
      of all glorious deaths! Sir Thomas More—a very fine man was Sir
      Thomas More—Sir Thomas More died laughing, you remember. Also in
      the _Absurdities_ of Ravisius Textor, there is a long list of
      characters who came to the same magnificent end. Do you know,
      however,” continued he musingly, “that at Sparta (which is now
      Palæochori,) at Sparta, I say, to the west of the citadel, among
      a chaos of scarcely visible ruins, is a kind of _socle_, upon
      which are still legible the letters ΛΑΞΜ. They are undoubtedly
      part of ΓΕΛΑΞΜΑ. Now, at Sparta were a thousand temples and
      shrines to a thousand different divinities. How exceedingly
      strange that the altar of Laughter should have survived all the
      others! But in the present instance,” he resumed, with a singular
      alteration of voice and manner, “I have no right to be merry at
      your expense. You might well have been amazed. Europe cannot
      produce anything so fine as this, my little regal cabinet. My
      other apartments are by no means of the same order—mere _ultras_
      of fashionable insipidity. This is better than fashion—is it not? Yet this has but to be seen to become the rage—that is, with
      those who could afford it at the cost of their entire patrimony. I have guarded, however, against any such profanation. With one
      exception, you are the only human being besides myself and my
      _valet_, who has been admitted within the mysteries of these
      imperial precincts, since they have been bedizened as you see!”

      I bowed in acknowledgment—for the overpowering sense of splendor
      and perfume, and music, together with the unexpected eccentricity
      of his address and manner, prevented me from expressing, in
      words, my appreciation of what I might have construed into a
      compliment. “Here,” he resumed, arising and leaning on my arm as he sauntered
      around the apartment, “here are paintings from the Greeks to
      Cimabue, and from Cimabue to the present hour. Many are chosen,
      as you see, with little deference to the opinions of Virtu. They
      are all, however, fitting tapestry for a chamber such as this.