De mercede

Lucian of Samosata

Lucian, Vol. 3. Harmon, A. M., editor. London: William Heinemann, Ltd.; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1921.

You have won, then, lucky man, and have gained the Olympic crown—nay, you have taken Babylon or stormed the citadel of Sardis ; you shall have the horn of Plenty and fill your pails with pigeon’s milk. It is indeed fitting that in return for all your labours you should have the very greatest of blessings, in order that your crown may not be mere leaves ; that your salary should be set at a considerable figure and paid you when you need it, without ado; that in other ways you should be honoured beyond ordinary folk; that you should get respite from your former exertions and muddiness and running about and loss of sleep, and that in accordance with your prayer you should “sleep with your legs stretched out,”[*](A proverbial expression for ‘“taking it easy.” ) doing only what you were engaged for at the outset and what you are paid for. That ought to be the way of it, Timocles, and there would be no great harm in stooping and bearing the yoke if it were light and comfortable and, best of all, gilded' But the case is very different—yes, totally different. There are thousands of things insupportable to a free man that take place even after one has entered the household. Consider for yourself, as you hear a list of them, whether anyone could put up with them who is even to the slightest degree cultured.

I shall begin, if you like, with the first dinner which will be

v.3.p.437
given you, no doubt, as a formal prelude to your future intimacy.

Very soon, then, someone calls, bringing an invitation to the dinner, a servant not unfamiliar with the world, whom you must first propitiate by slipping at least five drachmas into his hand casually so as not to appear awkward. He puts on airs and murmurs: “Tut, tut ! I take money from you?” ane : “Heracles! I hope it may never come to that !"; but in the end he is prevailed upon and goes away with a broad grin at your expense. Providing yourself with clean clothing and dressing yourself as neatly as you can, you pay your visit to the bath and go, afraid of getting there before the rest, for that would be gauche, just as to come last would be ill-mannered. So you wait until the middle moment of the right time, and then go in. He receives you with much distinction, and someone takes you in charge and gives you a place at table a little above the rich man, with perhaps two of his old friends.