“‘As I was saying,’ the Count resumed, ‘instead of being elated at what Western science has done, _we_ are ashamed of the tardy steps of “Progress”--Progress indeed! Where is it, save in wretchedness, poverty, crime, selfishness, and in the accrement of misery. Progress is more fancied than real. Civilization is a misnomer, utilitarianism a desecration of man’s soul, Philosophy an imposture, and learning altogether false!’ “I was pleased to see the Emperor join the conversation at this point, for two reasons: first, to hear what he had to say; and secondly, to observe whether the subjects on the floor could be kept under the Count’s influence while his mind was abstracted from them and centered on matters entirely different. “‘Do not be disturbed at what he says,’ said his majesty, ‘for these Mesmerists are all slightly mad.’ And he smiled, while the Count shrugged his shoulders, and exclaimed: “‘With a method, however!’ “Then turning his attention toward the company, by some inscrutable power he stopped the dance, restored the subjects to their normal state, and almost instantly thereafter exercised it upon Madame Dablin, who straightway, with closed eyes, approached a grand piano, swept its keys with matchless skill, as a prelude, and then launched forth into one of the strangest, most brilliant, yet wild and weird fantasias, that genius ever dreamed of. I cannot now stop to describe its effect upon the company, nor upon myself, for my whole being was absorbed at that moment in matters far more important to me than a mesmeric experiment, however interesting and successful it might be; for at best, its effect and memory would be transient and ephemeral, while, on the contrary, the things I might learn from the Italian might last so long as my conscious soul endured. I was not, therefore, disappointed when he resumed his talk. I cannot now repeat the _ipsissima verba_ of what he said, but the substance, in reply to questions by the Emperor and myself, was in effect this: