“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.