m of
love, sight and hearing disappear and we're fairly beside ourselves
with restless longing, infinite melody, and voluptuous exhaustion. This
is the secret of the success this great man has obtained--emotion
increased to the utter exhaustion of all strength and constantly
subduing the poor, coarse senses--appetite continually excited without
being satisfied in the usual way--a sort of pathetic cancan, a musical
hasheesh intoxication. And even in the choice of the text, the moral
qualities of the characters, what consummate art is shown in the
avoidance of everything palpable, simple, and true to nature;
everything of which the ordinary human mind can form some distinct
conception! Take Don Giovanni--there you know exactly where you are.
From the peasant to the nobleman, from the light minded peasant girl to
the noble lady--the characters are perfectly natural, people with flesh
and bones, and red blood in their veins. I know them as well as if I'd
lived in the same house with them. The characters of Wagner's music, on
the contrary--why you might see the same opera ten times and be no whit
wiser about these swan knights, gods, and flying Dutchmen, than at the
first representation. I call this boundless characterization, and it
supplements the boundless melody. And to enjoy such an endless
master-piece, and in the meantime to brood over an endless passion, the
one as hopeless and alluring as the other--"

The conversation, which also threatened to become "boundless," was here
interrupted by the master of the house, who rose, bowed to his guests,
and with a courteous wave of the hand invited them to follow him into
the little drawing room adjoining the dining hall. Here there were
several card tables, a magnificent silver bowl containing punch,
several open boxes of cigars, and other paraphernalia for smoking.
While the count, with the Polish colonel and French chevalier, were
preparing to begin a game of hazard, in which no one else seemed
disposed to join, the fat landed proprietor became absorbed in a
conversation on agriculture with the steward, now and then asking the
silent secretary for his opinion, which the latter always gave with the
same grave bend of the head, often refilling his glass from the silver
bowl. The inseparable brothers Thaddaeus and Matthaeus had stationed
themselves behind the card players and gravely watched the alternations
of luck. Count Gaston had returned to the dining hall and seated
him