d ;I am only ing. I am ing for deat;

    quot;;

    quot;Coming,quot; said ty spaces er tiful and a music from Don Giovanni t  of stone. it rang tly als.

    quot;Mozart,quot; I t, and  beloved and t exalted picture t my inner life contained.

    At t, t beer, a dear and ice-cold laug of a o men, a , frozen ter, and t.  and, strolling quietly on,  in. Eagerly I follo, all my life long, of love and veneration. t  of ter noto be seen. Darkness filled the boundless space.

    quot;You see,quot; said Mozart, quot;it goes all rig to be sure, I s read on toes of t famous instrument.quot;

    quot;; I asked.

    quot;e are in t act of Don Giovanni. Leporello is on oo. t in it, certainly, ts very  you can —ter, e;

    quot;It is t great music ever ten,quot; said I y of a scer. quot;Certainly, t to come.  not forget tro? Ooo. But all t—beautiful as it may be— it, sometegration. A ude and power as Don Giovanni ;

    quot;Dont overstrain yourself,quot; laug, in frig;Youre a musician yourself, I perceive. ell, I rade and retired to take my ease. It is only for amusement t I look on at t;

    ing, and a moon, or some pale constellation, rose some and clouds floated tains and seasended  plain. On tleman of a , en t said:

    quot;Look, triving for redemption, but it ake ime.quot;

    I realized t tes and parts in o divine judgment were superfluous.

    quot;too trated, too mucerial ed,quot; Mozart said h a nod.

    And t t just as vast, and felt to