Works of Lucian of Samosata, vol 2 | Page 8

outcry: 'By
heaven and earth, 'tis monstrous! I appeal to the laws!' And now, at an
age at which a born slave may begin to look towards Freedom, now for
a few pence do you sell yourself, your virtue and wisdom, in one parcel?
And could Plato's noble words, could all that Chrysippus and Aristotle

have said, of the blessings of freedom and the curse of slavery, raise no
compunction in you? Do you count it no shame to be pitted against
toadies and vulgar parasites? no shame to sit at the noisy banquets of a
promiscuous, and for the most part a disreputable company, a Greek
among Romans, wearing the foreign garb of philosophy, and
stammering their tongue with a foreign accent? How fulsome are your
flatteries on these occasions! how indecent your tipplings! And next
morning the bell rings, and up you must get, losing the best of your
sleep, to trudge up and down with yesterday's mud still on your shoes.
Were lupines and wild herbs so scarce with you? had the springs ceased
to give their wonted supply, that you were brought to such a pass? No,
the cause of your captivity is too clear. Not water, not lupines were the
object of your desire, but dainty viands and fragrant wines; and your
sin has found you out: you are hooked like a pike by your greedy jaws.
We have not far to look for the reward of gluttony. Like a monkey with
a collar about its neck, you are kept to make amusement for the
company; fancying yourself supremely happy, because you are
unstinted in the matter of dried figs. As to freedom and generosity, they
are fled, with the memories of Greece, and have left no trace behind
them. And would that that were all, the disgrace of falling from
freedom to servitude! Would that your employments were not those of
a very menial! Consider: are your duties any lighter than those of a
Dromo or a Tibius? As to the studies in which your employer professed
an interest when he engaged you, they are nothing to him. Shall an ass
affect the lyre? Remove from these men's minds the gold and the silver,
with the cares that these involve, and what remains? Pride, luxury,
sensuality, insolence, wantonness, ignorance. Consuming must be their
desire, doubt it not, for the wisdom of Homer, the eloquence of
Demosthenes, the sublimity of Plato!
No, your employer has no need of your services in this direction. On
the other hand, you have a long beard and a venerable countenance; the
Grecian cloak hangs admirably upon your shoulders, and you are
known to be a professor of rhetoric, or literature, or philosophy; it will
not be amiss, he thinks, to have such pursuits represented in the
numerous retinue that marches before him. It will give him an air of
Grecian culture, of liberal curiosity in fact. Friend, friend! your
stock-in- trade would seem to be not words of wisdom, but a cloak and

a beard. If you would do your duty, therefore, be always well in
evidence; begin your unfailing attendance from the early hours of the
morning, and never quit his side. Now and again he places a hand upon
your shoulder, and mutters some nonsense for the benefit of the
passers-by, who are to understand that though he walk abroad the
Muses are not forgotten, that in all his comings and goings he can find
elegant employment for his mind. Breathless and perspiring, you trot, a
pitiable spectacle, at the litter's side; or if he walks--you know what
Rome is--, up hill and down dale after him you tramp. While he is
paying a call on a friend, you are left outside, where, for lack of a seat,
you are fain to take out your book and read standing.
Night finds you hungry and thirsty. You snatch an apology for a bath;
and it is midnight or near it before you get to dinner. You are no longer
an honoured guest; no longer do you engage the attention of the
company. You have retired to make room for some newer capture.
Thrust into the most obscure corner, you sit watching the progress of
dinner, gnawing in canine sort any bones that come down to you and
regaling yourself with hungry zest on such tough mallow-leaves--the
wrappers of daintier fare-- as may escape the vigilance of those who sit
above you. No slight is wanting. You have not so much as an egg to
call your own; for there is no reason why you should expect to be
treated in the same way as a stranger; that would be absurd. The birds
that fall to your lot are not like other birds. Your neighbour gets some
plump, luscious affair; you,