The hall was cooled by great fans fixed overhead and worked by invisible hands; in the centre rose a column whereon a beautiful boy, stripped, and gilded like a statue, stood pouring water from a silver urn. The scores of servants passing with silent feet were clad in Eastern silks. The seneschal in charge changed his gorgeous dress four times during the banquet. Rose water was brought for our hands. Many of the dishes were triumphs of art--statuary rather than confectionery. Perseus was shown saving Andromeda, and Ceres came in her chariot drawn by five tigers. There was a sturgeon five feet long upon one silver dish, and a stag served whole. The very bread was gilded. Yet with it all there was no burden in the magnificence. Messere Chigi had all his guests at their ease, and I soon found myself separated from Marianna, who sat opposite with Rocca, while my companion chanced to be the vivacious Contessa della Valle, with the learned Master “Censor” Priario close at hand. I forget all that we talked about during the innumerable courses, but I recall that when some luscious pheasants were served, the Contessa shrugged her shoulders. “After all,” smiled she, “it is not yet midnight and to-day was Friday.” “All things are permitted in Rome,” I replied lightly. “How is that, my wise Priario?” “Excellently said,” returned the censor, lifting a choice morsel. “Says not Scripture, ‘The Kings of the Earth take tribute of strangers, but the Children (ourselves, of course), are free.’” “Full pardon, then!” cried the Contessa, who had taken enough wine to be a little gay. She helped herself, and I was complimenting her upon some fine corals, when Cardinale di Porto, near by, asked if I had read Pomponazzi of Mantua’s new essay upon “The Immortality of the Soul.” “Yes, I have read it,” I assented; “but I cannot claim to judge it as an expert churchman.” “Yet you have an opinion?” “If I were a theologian, I should say the learned author has the incredulity of Lucretius and the infidelity of a Moslem.” “Too harsh, my dear Conte. It is a most excellent book. The author declares clearly he submits to the Church in all its teachings, even if the immortality of the soul is disproved by all human reasoning.” “Nevertheless,” I contended, “for much lesser heresies better men have walked to the stake.” “The stake! Don’t mention the horrid word, Eccellenza,” begged the lady nervously. “Nevertheless,” I rejoined, “the book is so dangerous and heretical that its sale is forbidden in Venice.” “Of course,” retorted Porto, “your Venetian is ultra-orthodox; praised be the immortals, His Holiness is more liberal!” “I fear he would not prove so liberal,” I ventured, “if instead of writing for a few philosophers, Pomponazzi had declared to the multitude that ‘since it is doubtful whether we have immortal souls, it is also doubtful whether we ought to pay tithes to Rome.’” “There is no parallel!” cried the lady.