Don Juan, or The Extraordinary Happening That Befell a Certain Traveling Enthusiast

A piercing ring and a loud cry—“The performance is beginning!”—startled my sweet slumber, and I awoke. The double basses drone over one another; a beat of the kettledrum—and the trumpets roar; the oboe holds a ringing A—the violins have entered—and I rub my eyes. Could that restless Satan really have carried me off, since I was somewhat tipsy?.. No! I am lying in a hotel room, which I reached last evening after being shaken half to death.