I am afraid that you are going to quibble, as usual.”

“It is only by dialectic,” I replied, “that we can arrive at the truth.  And the wine belongs, I suppose, to the wine-seller?”

“It would seem so, at least.”

“Then when the wine-seller gets the voter’s vote in exchange for his own wine, they simply give each other what each possesses; and such a transaction, as you have said, is advantageous to both parties, and honourable, and not base at all.”

“I said,” he replied, rather angrily, “that you were going to quibble.  Of course, the case is quite different.  A vote is a sacred thing; and it ought not to be exchanged for the satisfaction of mere bodily desires, such as the desire for drink.”

“Nor for any other material comfort?” I asked.

“Certainly not,” he replied.

“Nobly spoken, indeed!” I said.  “But I confess, all the same, that you rather surprise me; for only this morning I heard the herald proclaiming in your name that all the citizens would have Free Food if they voted for Philogeorgos.  And I remember how some years ago either Phaidrolithos or one of those around him used to promise at elections that everyone should have three acres of land and a cow, on condition that the city kept him and his party in power.  You do not mean to tell me that what Phaidrolithos or his friends did was base?”

“No, indeed,” he replied.  “But surely, Socrates,

even you must see that this is a different matter altogether.”

“How different?  You say that votes must not be exchanged for material comforts; yet Free Food is a material comfort; and so are three acres, because they produce food; and so, I presume, is a cow.  And these things were offered to the voter in exchange for his vote, just as the wine-seller now is offering draughts of wine.”

“No, Socrates, it is not the same thing at all.  When I talk of Free Food, and when men like Phaidrolithos talk of land and cows, we do not give these things immediately in exchange for votes.  We could not; they are not ours to give; we have not got them.”

“That is very true,” I said.  “For I remember when Phaidrolithos and his party were put in power many people used to come to those in authority and demand that they should now receive three acres of land each and a cow; and when they did not receive these things they were indignant, as having been deceived.  And I daresay that when you are in power men will come expecting to receive Free Food, and will not get it.  But, as far as I can understand your argument, it is honourable to promise in return for a vote that which you cannot give; but when

one promises that which he can give, as the wine-seller does, that is base, and that makes you sad.  Is it not so?  And the reason seems to be that when the wine-seller offers Free Drinks for a vote, then the vote is sold; but when you offer Free Food for a vote, then it is not the vote which is sold, but only the voter.”

“Socrates,” said Philogeorgos, “you are a philosopher; and no philosopher ever understood politics.  But I am busy, and have really no more time to waste upon you and your dialectics.”

“Farewell, then, Philogeorgos,” I said; “but please do not be angry with me for being so stupid.  And if I were you,” I continued, “I do not think I would be angry with the wine-seller either; for perhaps the draughts of wine will make the citizens drunk, especially when they need not be paid for; and when a citizen is drunk he will run the risk of voting for you rather than for Misogeorgos.  Do you not think so?”

But Philogeorgos was already out of hearing.

PHILELEUTHEROS; OR, CONCERNING THE PEOPLE’S WILL

“Is not this a dreadful thing, Socrates, that Balphurios has been lately doing about what he calls a Referendum?”

“What thing?” I said.  “I have heard indeed lately that he has said this—that if he and his friends should be elected to sit in the Ecclesia, he will not propose a law taxing Megarian imports without first consulting the citizens; and he has invited Askoïthios to do the same thing, and not to give autonomy to the Samians without first consulting the citizens.  Is that the dreadful thing?”

“So dreadful, Socrates, that even now I can scarcely believe it: for it aims at the destruction of the democracy.  But I can tell him that Askoïthios will certainly not do what he is invited to do.”

“Why will he not do it?” I asked.

“Because Askoïthios knows very well already that all the citizens are in favour of giving autonomy to the Samians.”

“Well, Phileleutheros,” I said, “in that case he will do no harm by having consulted them.  And does Balphurios also know what the citizens think about taxing Megarian imports?”

“Certainly: he knows that all men (except himself and his friends) abhor such a plan.”

“Then,” I said, “no harm will be done there either; for the citizens, being consulted, will say what they wish.”

“But, Socrates, it is always harmful that the citizens should be consulted.  And that is why Askoïthios will not consult them.”

“Why, Phileleutheros,” I said, “are you not a democrat?”

“Of course I am.”

“And in a democracy do not the people rule?”

“I suppose so.”

“By saying what they wish to have done, or otherwise?”

“By saying so, I suppose.”

“And if they are not allowed to say what they wish, they are not ruling, and it is not a democracy?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then Balphurios, who asks the people what they wish, is a democratic man; and Askoïthios,

who does not ask them, is not a democratic man; nor are you one, apparently, O Phileleutheros.”

“This is all nonsense, Socrates,” he said.  “Balphurios cannot be a democrat: for I am a democrat, and I do not agree with Balphurios.  And you have not the least conception of what is meant by democracy: which is, that certain persons are chosen by the majority of the citizens that they may sit in the Ecclesia and carry out the wishes of the people.”

“But for what reasons do you choose such persons?” I asked.

“They ought to be chosen, Socrates,” he replied, “because they possess the qualities proper to democratic men.”

“You mean,” I said, “that they must hate and speak evil of the rich; and that they must wish to diminish the number of our triremes; and that they must refuse to tax Megarian imports; and that they must be conscious of their own virtues and the vices of others.”

“I do not altogether praise your definition; but it will do.”

“But with all these qualities,” I said, “will your ecclesiasts always know what you wish when something unexpected happens about which it is necessary to decide?  For instance, if one of the chief speakers

proposes a law that all burglars should be honoured by dinners in the Prytaneum, will not your ecclesiasts come to us and say, ‘O Socrates and Phileleutheros, we possess all the qualities proper to democratic men: we are conscious of our own virtues, and we should like to diminish the number of your triremes: and for these qualities we have been elected; but as to this matter of giving burglars a dinner in the Prytaneum, about this we do