{ouk estin ostis est' anyr eleutheos}.
I came to taste that eloquent heathen, dear to me e'en as to thee, thou paynim monk; and I must talk divinity, or something next door to it. But the youth hath a good and a winning face, and writeth Greek like an angel. Well then, my children, to comprehend the ways of the Church, we should still rise a little above the earth, since the Church is between heaven and earth, and interprets betwixt them.
“The question is then, not how vulgar men feel, but how the common Creator of man and beast doth feel, towards the lower animals. This, if we are too proud to search for it in the lessons of the Church, the next best thing is to go to the most ancient history of men and animals.”
Colonna. “Herodotus.”
“Nay, nay; in this matter Herodotus is but a mushroom. Finely were we sped for ancient history, if we depended on your Greeks, who did but write on the last leaf of that great book, Antiquity.”
The friar groaned. Here was a Pope uttering heresy against his demigods.
“'Tis the Vulgate I speak of. A history that handles matters three thousand years before him pedants call 'the Father of History.'”
Colonna. “Oh! the Vulgate? I cry your holiness mercy. How you frightened me. I quite forgot the Vulgate.”
“Forgot it? art sure thou ever readst it, Francesco mio?”
“Not quite, your holiness. 'Tis a pleasure I have long promised myself, the first vacant moment. Hitherto these grand old heathen have left me small time for recreation.”