take no manner of delight
in them."

While dinner was getting ready, Pococurante ordered a concert.
Candide praised the music to the skies. "This noise," said the
noble Venetian, "may amuse one for a little time; but if it was to
last above half an hour, it would grow tiresome to everybody,
though perhaps no one would care to own it. Music is become the art
of executing what is difficult; now, whatever is difficult cannot
be long pleasing.

"I believe I might take more pleasure in an opera, if they had not
made such a monster of that species of dramatic entertainment as
perfectly shocks me; and I am amazed how people can bear to see
wretched tragedies set to music, where the scenes are contrived for
no other purpose than to lug in, as it were by the ears, three or
four ridiculous songs, to give a favorite actress an opportunity of
exhibiting her pipe. Let who will or can die away in raptures at
the trills of a eunuch quavering the majestic part of Caesar or
Cato, and strutting in a foolish manner upon the stage. For my
part, I have long ago renounced these paltry entertainments, which
constitute the glory of modern Italy, and are so dearly purchased
by crowned heads." Candide opposed these sentiments, but he did it
in a discreet manner. As for Martin, he was entirely of the old
senator's opinion.

Dinner being served up, they sat down to table, and after a very
hearty repast, returned to the library. Candide, observing Homer
richly bound, commended the noble Venetian's taste. "This," said
he, "is a book that was once the delight of the great Pangloss, the
best philosopher in Germany."--"Homer is no favorite of mine,"
answered Pococurante very coolly. "I was made to believe once that
I took a pleasure in reading him; but his continual repetitions of
battles must have all such a resemblance with each other; his gods
that are forever in a hurry and bustle, without ever doing any
thing; his Helen, that is the cause of the war, and yet hardly acts
in the whole performance; his Troy, that holds out so long without
being taken; in short, all these things together make the poem very
insipid to me. I have asked some learned men whether they are not
in reality as much tired as myself with reading this poet. Those
who spoke ingenuously assured me