ed upon him from the heavens. A scene then revealed
itself around Cagliostro, the like of which his eyes had never before
beheld, or his imagination, in its wildest mood, conceived.

He was standing in a secluded grove in the island of Capreae. Fountains
sparkled under the branches; blossoms of the gaudiest colours flaunted
on the brambles, or enamelled the turf; laughter and music filled the
air with a confusion of sweet sounds; and among the intricacies of the
trees, bands of revellers flitted to and fro, clad in the antique
costumes of Rome. Under the shadow of a gigantic orange-bush, upon a
couch of luxurious softness and embroidered in gorgeous arabesques,
there reclined the figure of an old man. His countenance was hideous
with age and debauchery. Sin glimmered in the evil light of his
eyes--those enormous and bloodshot eyes with which (_praegrandibus
oculis_) the historian tells us he could see even in the night-time.[10]
Habitual intemperance had inflamed his complexion, and disfigured his
skin with disgusting eruptions; while his body, naturally robust in its
proportions, had become bloated with the indolence of confirmed
gluttony. A garment (the _toga virilis_) of virgin whiteness covered his
limbs; along the edge of the garment was the broad hem of Tyrian purple
indicative of the imperial dignity; and around the hoary brow of the
epicurean, was woven a chaplet of roses and aloe-leaves.

Cagliostro recoiled in abhorrence before a spectacle at once so austere
and lascivious. His spirit quailed at the sight of a visage in which
appeared to be concentrated the infamy of many centuries. His soul
revolted at the sinister and ferocious expression pervading every
lineament, and lurking in every wrinkle. As he gazed, however, a blithe
sound startled him from the umbrage of the boughs. Quick, lively,
jocund, to the clashing of her cymbals, there bounded forth an Italian
maiden in the garb of a Bacchante. Her feet agile as the roe's, her eyes
lustrous and defiant, her hair dishevelled, her bosom heaving, her arms
symmetrical as sculpture, but glowing with the roseate warmth of youth,
the virgin still rejoiced, as it were, in the tumult of the dance.
Grapes of a golden-green relieved by the ruddy-brown of their foliage,
clustered in a garland about her temples, and leaped in unison with her
movements. Around! with her raven tresses streaming abroad in
ringlets--around! with her sandals clinking on the gravel to the
capr