"The quality of that which we call mad, foolish, and absurd," cried the stranger, "is boundlessness; it is that which it is, precisely because it does not admit of being confined within bounds, for by its limit every thing rational becomes what it is--the Beautiful, the Noble, the Free, Art and Enthusiasm. But because in these there is a mixture of something unearthly and inexpressible, the fools suppose, it is unlimited, and in their assumed mysticism outrage nature and imagination. Do you see this mad Höllenbreughel here on this pillar? It is precisely because his eye had not a look left for truth and taste; because he had entirely renounced nature, and extravagance and madness supplied the place of inspiration and judgment with him; for this very reason do I like him the best of all the host of grotesque painters, for he shut the door without ceremony, and left the understanding on the outside. Look at Julio Romano's Hall of the Titans at Milan, his strange scenes with beasts and centaurs, and all the monsters of fable, his bacchanals, his bold mixture of the Human, the Beautiful, the Brutal, and the Wanton; dive deep into these studies, and you will then learn what a real poet can and may make of these strange and indistinct moods of our soul, and how it is in his power, even in this dream-woven net, to catch beauty." "In this way," said Dietrich, "we shall soon have despatched every subject, if we adopt a single square and rule, and dazzled by passion, transfer all the divinity of genius to a single name, and from a partial knowledge of one man, reject all that he has not performed, or could not perform; who, after all, was but a single mortal, whose eye pierced not all depths, and from whom, at all events, death took away the palette, had even his powers been such that a universe of forms might have issued from his hand. A limit there must be; who doubts that? But the grave wisdom which one often sees priding itself on the observance of its rule, always reminds me of that singular property of the cock, who, whatever swashing and martial airs he may give himself, if he is laid on his side, and a chalk line is drawn from his beak along the ground, remains motionless as if in a fit of devotion, believing himself chained by God knows what natural necessity, philosophical rule, or indispensable limit of art." "You grow presuming, my young antiquarian," said the stranger, in a somewhat high tone. "Good breeding will indeed soon have to be reckoned among the lost arts." "To make up for it, however," rejoined Dietrich, "good care is taken that arrogance do not fail, and that conceit flourish in full vigour." He made a hasty bow to the master of the house and left the company. "I do not know how I come to be treated in this way," said the stranger. "An evil destiny seems to reign over this saloon, that I always meet giants here who want to trample me in the dust."