BABBALANJA—No, your Highness; for though Lombardo abandoned all monitors from without; he retained one autocrat within—his crowned and sceptered instinct. And what, if he pulled down one gross world, and ransacked the etherial spheres, to build up something of his own—a composite:—what then? matter and mind, though matching not, are mates; and sundered oft, in his Koztanza they unite:—the airy waist, embraced by stalwart arms. MEDIA—Incoherent again! I thought we were to have no more of this! BABBALANJA—My lord Media, there are things infinite in the finite; and dualities in unities. Our eyes are pleased with the redness of the rose, but another sense lives upon its fragrance. Its redness you must approach, to view: its invisible fragrance pervades the field. So, with the Koztanza. Its mere beauty is restricted to its form: its expanding soul, past Mardi does embalm. Modak is Modako; but fogle-foggle is not fugle-fi. MEDIA (_to Abrazza_)—My lord, you start again; but ’tis only another phase of Azzageeddi; sometimes he’s quite mad. But all this you must needs overlook. ABRAZZA—I will, my dear prince; what one can not see through, one must needs look over, as you say. YOOMY—But trust me, your Highness, some of those strange things fall far too melodiously upon the ear, to be wholly deficient in meaning. ABRAZZA—Your gentle minstrel, _this_ must be, my lord. But Babbalanja, the Koztanza lacks cohesion; it is wild, unconnected, all episode. BABBALANJA—And so is Mardi itself:—nothing but episodes; valleys and hills; rivers, digressing from plains; vines, roving all over; boulders and diamonds; flowers and thistles; forests and thickets; and, here and there, fens and moors. And so, the world in the Koztanza. ABRAZZA—Ay, plenty of dead-desert chapters there; horrible sands to wade through. MEDIA—Now, Babbalanja, away with your tropes; and tell us of the work, directly it was done. What did Lombardo then? Did he show it to any one for an opinion? BABBALANJA—Yes, to Zenzori; who asked him where he picked up so much trash; to Hanto, who bade him not be cast down, it was pretty good; to Lucree, who desired to know how much he was going to get for it; to Roddi, who offered a suggestion. MEDIA—And what was that? BABBALANJA—That he had best make a faggot of the whole; and try again. ABRAZZA—Very encouraging. MEDIA—Any one else? BABBALANJA—To Pollo; who, conscious his opinion was sought, was thereby puffed up; and marking the faltering of Lombardo’s voice, when the manuscript was handed him, straightway concluded, that the man who stood thus trembling at the bar, must needs be inferior to the judge. But his verdict was mild. After sitting up all night over the work; and diligently taking notes:—“Lombardo, my friend! here, take your sheets. I have run through them loosely. You might have done better; but then you might have done worse. Take them, my friend; I have put in some good things for you:” MEDIA—And who was Pollo?