Why ever did you let the sovereignty go, Cronus?

I will tell you. In brief it was because I was old and gouty owing to my years. That is why people suppose that I had been put into chains. I hadn’t the strength to deal with all the injustice of the present generation, but I had to run up and down with my thunderbolt at the ready, setting fire to perjurers, temple-robbers, or men of violence; the whole business was very strenuous and needed a young man’s energy. So I abdicated, thank goodness, in favour of Zeus. Besides, I thought it a good idea to divide the kingdom between my sons, and for myself to spend most of my time in quiet enjoyment of the good things of life, not engaged with people making vows or annoyed by those who make contradictory requests, neither thundering nor lightening nor having to throw hail occasionally. No, I live this pleasant life of an old man, drinking stiff nectar and chatting with Iapetus and my other cronies, and Zeus is king with all the worry. Nevertheless I thought it best to filch these few days on the terms I mentioned, and I take over the sovereignty again to remind mankind what life was like under me, when everything grew for them without sowing and without ploughing—not ears of wheat, but loaves ready-baked and meats ready-cooked. Wine flowed like a river, and there were springs of honey and milk; for everyone was good, pure gold. This is the reason for my short-lived dominion, and why everywhere there is clapping and singing and playing games, and everyone, slave and free man, is held as good as his neighbour. There was no slavery, you see, in my time.

Well, Cronus, I had assumed from the story that this humanity you showed to slaves and those in chains was to do honour to men whose sufferings had been like your own, since you yourself had been a slave and you were remembering your chains.

Oh, stop that silly talk.

You are right. I will stop. But answer me another question. Was it customary for men to gamble in your time?

But tell me this as well: why, when you are such a soft-living god and old at that, have you chosen the most unpleasant time of the year, when the snow covers everything, the North wind is strong, everything is frozen, trees are withered and bare and leafless, fields are ugly and without bloom, and men are bent like old, old men, most of them hard by the stove? The season is not good for the old or for lovers of easy living.

You are asking me a lot of questions, my man, when I ought to be already drinking. In fact you’ve robbed me of quite a bit of my festival with all these completely unnecessary speculations. So let them be for now and let us enjoy ourselves, clap hands, and live on freedom’s terms at this festival-time. Then let’s dice in the old way for nuts, vote for our kings and obey them. So I will prove the truth of the proverb which says that for old men there comes a second childhood.

Well, Cronus, never may anyone who doesn’t approve of what you say be able to get a drink when he is thirsty! Then let us drink! Your first answer was quite enough. I think I shall write down this conversation of ours in a book, both what I asked and what you so kindly answered, and I’ll give it to my friends to read, at any rate those who deserve to hear what you have said.