PRIEST

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.

CRONUS

Oh, stop that silly talk.

PRIEST

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

CRONUS

Certainly. But not for talents and thousands of drachmas as you do. No, nuts were the highest stake. Then there was no heart-break if a man was beaten, or floods of tears because he alone had lost the price of a meal.

PRIEST

How wise they were! What could their stakes be when they were pure gold themselves? But while you were talking I thought of something: suppose one of your men of beaten gold had been brought into our world for everyone to see, what a bad time the poor wretch would have had at people’s hands! They would have certainly rushed at him and torn him limb from limb, as the Maenads tore Pentheus, the Thracians Orpheus, and the dogs Actaeon, vying with each other to carry off the biggest piece. Not even at festival-time are they free from greed for gain. Indeed most of them have made your festival a source of revenue. Some of them go off and rob their friends at the banquet; others revile you when they ought not and smash the dice, which are certainly not responsible for what they do of their own free will.

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.

CRONUS

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.

PRIEST

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.

Cronosolon

Thus says Cronosolon,Named after Solon, lawgiver of Athens. 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.