The taller, however, walked as unsteadily as did the
small one, and his red nose and blinking eyes suggested a state
of inebriation.
Demo frowned.
"Well, what would you have of me. Get on with it!"
"Sire, this picture, this picture so well crafted, is claimed
by Bacchus. By Bacchus, who can not draw a straight line, nor
walk one. He claims to have painted it, with all its intricacies
and beauty. He lies. I, and I alone, painted this picture. I
would take it with me to my island of Lemnos."
"Poppycock! Preposterous! This limping lout knows that Zeus is
absent. He wishes to take advantage of your innocence. He is a
worker in metal, merely an artisan. His soul is burned by the
smithy's fire. Art! He knows nothing of art! This picture is of
my own design, and it contains my very soul. An artist, you
know, puts himself into his every product. Look! Here is beauty,
wonder, brilliance - would a smithy even aspire to such
qualities as reflected here!"
"Ho, yon wimpy wine sop would not know one end of the brush
from the other. More like he would paint the picture in wines of
many colors, not with the pigments you see on this my parchment.
The picture, limned on parchment stretched on a wooden frame,
depicted a forest scene. Near at hand the trunks of large trees,
and seen between them, in the distance, an open meadow. There
danced woodnymphs.
Demo examined the picture carefully, then turned it face away
from the purported owners.
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