MEDIA—­But pray, Babbalanja, tell us how he made acquaintance with some of those rare worthies, he introduces us to, in his Koztanza.

BABBALANJA—­He first met them in his reveries; they were walking about in him, sour and moody:  and for a long time, were shy of his advances; but still importuned, they at last grew ashamed of their reserve; stepped forward; and gave him their hands.  After that, they were frank and friendly.  Lombardo set places for them at his board; when he died, he left them something in his will.

MEDIA—­What! those imaginary beings?

ABRAZZA—­Wondrous witty! infernal fine!

MEDIA—­But, Babbalanja; after all, the Koztanza found no favor in the eyes of some Mardians.

ABRAZZA—­Ay:  the arch-critics Verbi and Batho denounced it.

BABBALANJA—­Yes:  on good authority, Verbi is said to have detected a superfluous comma; and Batho declared that, with the materials he could have constructed a far better world than Lombardo’s.  But, didst ever hear of his laying his axis?

ABRAZZA—­But the unities; Babbalanja, the unities! they are wholly wanting in the Koztanza.

BABBALANJA—­Your Highness; upon that point, Lombardo was frank.  Saith he, in his autobiography:  “For some time, I endeavored to keep in the good graces of those nymphs; but I found them so captious, and exacting; they threw me into such a violent passion with their fault-findings; that, at last, I renounced them.”

ABRAZZA—­Very rash!

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.