whom Domenico had occasionally
to portray for his customers--said about the ancient gods, answered with
much glibness but considerable contempt, for the Greek and Latin of
these saintly philosophers inspired the learned man with a feeling of
nausea. He got out of a chest several volumes covered with dust, and
began to quote the "Apology" of Justin Martyr, the "Legation" of
Athenagoras, the "Apology" of Tertullian and Lactantius, whose very name
caused him to writhe with philological loathing. And he told Domenico
that it was the opinion of these holy but ill-educated persons that
daemons assumed the name and attributes of Jupiter, of Venus, of Apollo
and Bacchus, lurking in temples, instituting festivals and sacrifices,
and were often allowed by Heaven to distract the faithful by a display
of miracles.

"Then they are devils?" asked Domenico, trying to follow.

A smile passed over the beautifully cut mouth, the noble, wrinkled
face--like that of the marble Seneca--of the old humanist.

"Talk of devils to the barefoot friar who preaches in the midst of the
market-place," he said, "not to Filarete. The whole world, air, fire,
earth, water, the entire universe is governed by daemons, and they
inspire our noblest thoughts. Hast never heard of the familiar daemon
of Socrates, whispering to him superhuman wisdom? Yes, indeed, Venus,
Apollo, AEsculapius, Jove, the stars and planets, the winds and tides are
daemons. But thou canst not understand such matters, my poor Domenico.
So get thee to Brother Baldassare of Palermo, and ask him questions."

But Filarete's expression was very different when, one day, Domenico
shyly inquired concerning the truth of that story of Parrhasius and
the Hercules of Lindos. Strange rumours were current in Rome of unholy
festivities in which Filarete and other learned men--some of those
whom Paul II. had thrown into prison--had once taken part. They had
not merely laid their tables and spread their couches according to
descriptions contained in ancient authors; but, crowned with roses,
laurel, myrtle, or parsley, had sung hymns to the heathen gods, and, it
was whispered, poured out libations and burned incense in their honour.
Their friends, indeed, had answered scornfully that these were but
amusements of learned men; not to be taken more seriously than the
invocations to the gods and muses in their poems, than the mythological
subjects which the Popes themselves selected to adorn their dwelli