Works of Lucian of Samosata, vol 2 | Page 3

Now if I could see that they
really found an escape from poverty in the lives they lead, I would not
be too nice on the point of absolute freedom. But when we find them
(to use the expression of a famous orator) 'faring like men that are sick,'
what conclusion is then left to us to draw? What but this, that here
again they have been misled, the very evil which they sold their liberty
to escape remaining as it was? Poverty unending is their lot. From the
bare pittance they receive nothing can be set apart. Suppose it paid, and
paid in full: the whole sum is swallowed up to the last farthing, before
their necessities are supplied. I would advise them to think upon better
expedients; not such as are merely the protectors and accomplices of
Poverty, but such as will make an end of her altogether. What say you,
Theognis? Might this be a case for,
Steep plunge from crags into the teeming deep?
For when a pauper, a needy hireling, persuades himself that by being
what he is he has escaped poverty, one cannot avoid the conclusion that
he labours under some mistake.
Others tell a different tale. For them, mere poverty would have had no
terrors, had they been able, like other men, to earn their bread by their
labours. But, stricken as they were by age or infirmity, they turned to
this as the easiest way of making a living. Now let us consider whether
they are right. This 'easy' way may be found to involve much labour
before it yields any return; more labour perhaps than any other. To find
money ready to one's hand, without toil or trouble on one's own part,
would indeed be a dream of happiness. But the facts are otherwise. The
toils and troubles of their situation are such as no words can adequately
describe. Health, as it turns out, is nowhere more essential than in this
vocation, in which a thousand daily labours combine to grind the victim
down, and reduce him to utter exhaustion. These I shall describe in due
course, when I come to speak of their other grievances. For the present
let it suffice to have shown that this excuse for the sale of one's liberty
is as untenable as the former.
And now for the true reason, which you will never hear from their lips.
Voluptuousness and a whole pack of desires are what induce them to

force their way into great houses. The dazzling spectacle of abundant
gold and silver, the joys of high feeding and luxurious living, the
immediate prospect of wallowing in riches, with no man to say them
nay,--these are the temptations that lure them on, and make slaves of
free men; not lack of the necessaries of life, as they pretend, but lust of
its superfluities, greed of its costly refinements. And their employers,
like finished coquettes, exercise their rigours upon these hapless slaves
of love, and keep them for ever dangling in amorous attendance; but for
fruition, no! never so much as a kiss may they snatch. To grant that
would be to give the lover his release, a conclusion against which they
are jealously on their guard. But upon hopes he is abundantly fed.
Despair might else cure his ardent passion, and the lover be lover no
more. So there are smiles for him, and promises; always something
shall be done, some favour shall be granted, a handsome provision shall
be made for him,--some day. Meanwhile, old age steals upon the pair;
the superannuated lover ceases from desire, and his mistress has
nothing left to give. Life has gone by, and all they have to show for it is
hope.
Well now, that a man for the sake of pleasure should put up with every
hardship is perhaps no great matter. Devoted to this one object, he can
think of nothing, but how to procure it. Let that pass. Though it seems
but a scurvy bargain, a bargain for a slave; to sell one's liberty for
pleasures far less pleasant than liberty itself. Still, as I say, let that pass,
provided the price is paid. But to endure unlimited pain, merely in the
hope that pleasure may come of it, this surely is carrying folly to the
height of absurdity. And men do it with their eyes open. The hardships,
they know, are certain, unmistakable, inevitable. As to the pleasure,
that vague, hypothetic pleasure, they have never had it in all these years,
and in all reasonable probability they never will. The comrades of
Odysseus forgot all else in the Lotus: but it was while they were tasting
its sweets. They esteemed lightly of Honour: but it was in the
immediate presence of Pleasure. In men