“Welcome the festal hour!
Pour the red wine into cups of gold!
Health to the men who are strong and bold!
Welcome the festal hour!
Waken the echoes with riotous mirth—
Cease to remember the sorrows of earth
In the joys of the festal hour!
Wine is the monarch of laughter and light,
Death himself shall be merry to-night!
Hail to the festal hour!”
An enthusiastic clapping of hands rewarded this effort on the part of the unseen vocalists, and the music having ceased, conversation became general.
“By heaven!” exclaimed Ferrari, “if this Olympian carouse is meant as a welcome to me, amico, all I can say is that I do not deserve it. Why, it is more fit for the welcome of one king to his neighbor sovereign!”
“Ebbene!” I said. “Are there any better kings than honest men? Let us hope we are thus far worthy of each other’s esteem.”
He flashed a bright look of gratitude upon me and was silent, listening to the choice and complimentary phrases uttered by the Duke di Marina concerning the exquisite taste displayed in the arrangement of the table.
“You have no doubt traveled much in the East, conte,” said this nobleman. “Your banquet reminds me of an Oriental romance I once read, called ‘Vathek.’”
“Exactly,” exclaimed Guido. “I think Oliva must be Vathek himself.”
“Scarcely!” I said, smiling coldly. “I lay no claim to supernatural experiences. The realities of life are sufficiently wonderful for me.”
Antonio Biscardi the painter, a refined, gentle-featured man, looked toward us and said modestly:
“I think you are right, conte. The beauties of nature and of humanity are so varied and profound that were it not for the inextinguishable longing after immortality which has been placed in every one of us, I think we should be perfectly satisfied with this world as it is.”