On Being a Busybody (3-4)

Yet there are some who cannot bear to face their own lives, regarding these as a most unlovely spectacle, or to reflect and revolve upon themselves, like a light, the power of reason, but their souls, being full of all manner of vices, shuddering and frightened at what is within, leap outwards and prowl about other people’s concerns and there batten and make fat their own malice. For as a domestic fowl will often, though its own food lies near at hand, slip into a corner and there scratch

Where one sole barley grain perhaps appears

In the dung-heap,[*]

in the same way busybodies, passing over topics and narratives which are in plain view and matters concerning which no one prevents their inquiring or is vexed if inquiry is made, pick out the hidden and obscure troubles of every household. And yet it was surely a clever answer that the Egyptian gave to the man who asked him what he was carrying wrapped up: That’s why it is wrapped up. And why, if you please, are you inquisitive about what is concealed? If it were not something bad, it would not be concealed. Yet it is not customary to walk into the house of someone else without at least first knocking on the door; but nowadays there are doormen and formerly there were knockers to be struck at the door and give warning, so that the stranger might not catch the mistress of the house or the unmarried daughter unawares, or a slave being punished or the maid-servants screaming. But it is for these very things that the busybody slips in. A sober and respectable household he would not willingly enter as a spectator even if he were invited to come; but the matters to conceal which keys and bolts and streetdoors are used-these are what he uncovers and communicates to outsiders. And yet the winds with which we are most vexed, as Ariston[*] says, are those which pull up our garments, but the busybody strips off not only the mantles and tunics of those near him, but also their very walls; he flings the doors wide open and makes his way, like a piercing wind, through the maiden of tender skin,[*] and creeps in, searching out with slanderous intent drunken revels and dances and all-night festivals.

And like Cleon in the comedy,[*]

His hands in Beggar-town, his mind on Thefton,[*]

so the mind of the busybody is at the same time in mansions of the rich, in hovels of the poor, in royal courts, and in bridal chambers of the newly-wed. He searches out everybody’s business, that of strangers and that of rulers, nor is this search of his without danger; but just as though a man should taste aconite[*] through curiosity about its properties, he would find that he had killed the taster before he had got his taste, so those who search out the vices of those more powerful than themselves destroy themselves before they acquire their knowledge. For instance those who scarcely glance[*] at these sunbeams which have been poured down so lavishly upon us all, but recklessly dare to gaze upon the orb itself and to rend its radiance apart, striving to force their way within, are blinded. This is the reason why Philippides,[*] the comic poet, made an excellent reply when King Lysimachus once said to him, Which one of my possessions may I share with you? Anything, Sire, said Philippides, except your secrets. For only the most pleasant and most decorous attributes of kings are displayed openly-their banquets and wealth and festivals and favours; but if there is anything secret, do not approach it, but let it be! The joy of a prosperous king is not concealed, nor is his laughter when he is amused, nor his outlay on entertainment and favours; but it is time for alarm when something is hidden, something dark, unsmiling, unapproachable, a storehouse of festering wrath, or the meditation of a punishment indicative of sullen anger, or jealousy of a wife, or some suspicion against a son, or distrust of a friend. Beware of this darkening and gathering cloud! That which is now hidden will be disclosed to you when the cloud bursts forth amid crashes of thunder and bolts of lightning!