Don Juan. [Hastily ramming the paper into his pocket.] A dull and shocking article. I must take it away, for the mischief would be in it if it fell into Carmen's hands.
Lázaro. You are quite right. [Beginning to walk again.]
Don Juan. I hadn't finished it. I must finish it later. [Takes up 'Nana.'] Stupendous! Monumental enough to make one die of laughing. Lord! why do we read but for amusement's sake? Then give us diverting books. [Laughing.]
Lázaro. Is it a witty book?
Don Juan. [In altered voice.] Perhaps. But this light literature soon wearies. [Seeing Lázaro approach, he hides 'Nana' in another pocket.] Have you anything substantial to read—really substantial?
Lázaro. [Looking through his books.] Do you like Kant?
Don Juan. Kant? Do you say Kant? The very thing. He was always my favourite author. When I was young I fell asleep every night over Kant. [Aside.] Who the deuce is he?
Lázaro. If you like I will [Looking for a passage.]
Don Juan. No, my son. Any part will do, if it can be read in divisions. Let me see. Don't trouble about me. Write, my son, write. [Lázaro begins to write, and Don Juan reads.] 'Beneath the aspect of relation, third moment of taste, the beautiful appears to us the final form of an object, without semblance to finality.' The Devil! [Holding book away and contemplating it in terror.] The devil! 'Or as a finality without end.' There are people who understand this! 'Since it is called the final form to the causality of any conception with relation to the object.' Let me see [holding book still further off]; 'final form to the causality.' 'Pon my word, I'm perspiring. [Wipes his forehead.] 'Conscience is this finalityxxvi
