A Conversation with Cronus (10-12)

Thus says Cronosolon,[*] priest and prophet of Cronus, and giver of laws for his festival.

What the poor must do I have written in another book and sent to them, and I am well assured that they will abide by the laws, or else they will at once be liable to the severe penalties appointed for disobedience.

But you who are rich, see that you do not transgress the law or hear these commands amiss. Whoever acts otherwise, let him know that it is not I, the lawgiver, whom he slights, but he does injury to Cronus himself, who has appointed me lawgiver of his festival, appearing before me in no dream, but conversing with me in bodily shape the other day when I was fully awake. He was not in fetters, nor was he shabby, as the painters show him, following the ravings of the poets. No, he had his sickle full-whetted; he was all radiance and strength, and his garb was that of a king. Such was his appearance when he was seen by me. What he said equally showed his divinity and may be told you by way of preface.

Seeing me morose and walking deep in thought, he knew at once, as became a god, the reason for my grief, namely that I was cross because of my poverty, having but a single cloak, not enough for the season; for it was cold with a strong north-wind, ice and snow, and I had little defence against these things; and then since the festival was almost at hand, I saw other people getting ready their sacrifices and feasts, and I had little that makes for festival-time. Well, he came up from behind, took me by the ear, and shook me (his usual way of accosting me), and said: “Why are you looking so downhearted, Cronosolon?” “Haven’t I every reason, master, when I see disgusting and filthy rogues unbelievably rich and alone leading a comfortable life, while I and many another educated man know poverty and despair as companions? But even you, master, won’t put a stop to these things and make a more equitable

arrangement.” “Generally speaking,” he said, “it’s not easy to change the lot that Clotho and the other Fates assign you, but as far as the needs of the festival go I shall set your poverty right. This is how I shall do it: go, Cronosolon, and write me laws on conduct during the festival, so that the rich may not keep private festival but share their good things with you.” “I do not know the laws,” I said. “I will instruct you,” said he, and he set to.

Then, when I had learnt them all, he said, “And tell them that if they are disobedient it’s not for nothing that I carry this sharp sickle here—I should be a fool to have castrated my own father, Uranus, and yet not make eunuchs of the rich who break my laws, making them servants of the Great Mother [*] and collectors for her, complete with flutes and cymbals.” That was his threat. So you had better not transgress his ordinances.