e delights in a wordy
prolixity which is unendurable to the hearer, if not to the reader;
works of his which one must admit to possess plenty of talent and
interest, are tedious beyond expression when he reads them aloud."
"There is a curious question there, connected with reading aloud; I
mean as to things _adapted_ for reading aloud," said Cyprian; "it seems
as if not only the most vivid life were essential to them, but that
they should be restricted to a certain definite length."
"The reason, I think," said Theodore, "is that the reader must not
declaim; experience tells us that _that_ is unendurable; he ought
merely to slightly indicate the various feelings that arise in the
course of the action, preserving a quiet tone; and this tone, after a
time, produces an irresistibly narcotic effect."
"What I think," said Ottmar, "is, that a story or poem, to be adapted
for reading aloud, ought to approach very closely to the dramatic, or
be dramatic altogether; but then again, why is it that most comedies
and tragedies are unsatisfactory when read aloud?--that is, become
boring and wearisome?"
"Just because they are quite _un_dramatic, said Lothair; "or because
too much has been left for the effect of the action of the actors on
the stage; or because the poem is so weak and feeble in itself that it
does not call up before the listener's mind any picture in clear,
distinct colours, and with living figures, except with the help of the
actors and the stage. However, we are losing sight of Leander, as to
whom I maintain, notwithstanding what Ottmar says to the contrary, that
he well deserves to be admitted to our circle."
"Well and good," said Ottmar, "but please to remember what your own
experience has been of him already; how he once dogged and pursued you
wherever you went, with a fat--fat dramatic poem; how you always
managed to give him the slip, till he asked you and me to a splendid
dinner, with grand cuisine and first-rate wines, so that we might
swallow the poem, thus washed down, like a dose of medicine; how I
endured two acts of it like a man, and was screwing up my courage for a
third, when you lost patience, and got up, declaring that you were
suddenly taken very unwell, and left poor Leander in the lurch, wines,
dinner, and all. Recollect how he came to your house once when you had
several people with you; how he now and then rustled papers in his
pockets, looking from one to the other with sly, crafty gl
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