Would that it could have lasted.
"Sire," Janus bowed. "There are two who would have your counsel."
Demo nodded. "Oh, very well. Send them in. Oh, and bring me my nectar."
The two who entered were unknown to him. One, the smaller, limped. 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.