“And why, maestro?” asked Heissenheimer.
“I hoped to have heard Rossini’s magnificent Otello; and was compelled to take instead that confounded Don Giovanni.”
“Ricco,” said the old merchant, “you are certainly skilled in the black art, and have wrought magic upon me; else I know not what prevents me from throwing this empty champagne flask at your head! Butler—some more wine! and have done, chapel-master, with your nonsense about Rossini, for whom I know you care as little as I! and tell us truly, were you not enraptured with the glorious masterpiece of to-night?”
“O Germans—where are your ears? Caro Heissenheimer, I will tell you the truth; but shall I criticise as an Italian or a German?”
“What do you mean by the distinction?” asked Louis.
“What a question! Young man, can you be so ignorant? As Italian, I complain that this opera gives me no rest; that I must be kept on the stretch from beginning to end; that I forget the singers in the orchestra; that I feel more fear and horror than delight; in short, I complain that the devil, instead of Don Giovanni, has not taken the composer, who forces me to labor, where I expected only pleasure. But I can also complain as a German. Do you think I know not what you wish? Per Bacco! the misfortune is, you only half wish! An opera should be a whole; connected from beginning to end; each impression on the mind should be a stone added to the dramatic structure, strengthened by the music. Is it not so?”
“I should think a reasonable person would desire nothing less,” answered Louis.
“Well then—have you that in Don Giovanni?”
“You will drive me crazy!” cried Heissenheimer impatiently.
“Nay—rather you me—senseless Germans!” returned Ricco. “You can devise a theory that leaves nothing to be wished. But place a work of art before you, you have no eyes nor ears—much less a judgment. You fit on your theory; do they agree in a few points—well; the work is a masterpiece, though it may differ in all essentials from your own principles; thenceforth you believe blindly, and each adopts the other’s opinion. Do they not agree—you have not independence enough to yield to an impression of nature, and judge thereby that the thing is worthless. If a German is dying with rapture, he is to blame if not enraptured according to rule! Corpo di Bacco! I have more gall in me than wine! Fill my glass!”