So Plutus goes home with his new host, and Cario is forthwith sent to call together the friends and acquaintances of his master from the neighbouring farms to rejoice with them at the arrival of this blessed guest. These form the Chorus of the comedy. They enter with dance and song, and are welcomed heartily by Chremylus, with some apology for taking them away from their business,—but the occasion is exceptional. They protest against any apology being required. If they can bear the crush and wrangle of the law-courts, day after day, for their poor dole of threepence as jurymen, they are not going to let Plutus slip through their hands for a trifle. Following more leisurely in the rear of the common rush,—perhaps as a person of more importance,—comes in a neighbour, Blepsidemus, whose name and character is something equivalent to that of “Mr Facing-both-ways” in Bunyan’s allegory. He has heard that Chremylus has become suddenly rich, and is most of all surprised that in such an event he should think of sending for his old friends,—a very unusual proceeding, as he observes, in modern society. Chremylus, however, informs his friend that the report is true; at least, that he is in a fair way to become rich, but that there is, as yet, some little risk in the matter:—
If all go right, I’m a made man for ever;
But,—if we slip—we’re ruined past redemption.
Blepsidemus thinks he sees the state of the case. This sudden wealth, this fear of possible disaster,—the man has robbed a temple, or something of that kind, it is evident; and he tells him so. In vain does Chremylus protest his innocence. Blepsidemus will not believe him, and regards him with pious horror:—
Alack! that in this world there is no honesty,
But every man is a mere slave to pelf!
Chr. Heaven help the man!—has he gone mad on a sudden?
Bl. (looking at Chremylus, and half aside). What a sad change from his old honest ways!
Chr. You’ve lost your wits, sirrah, by all that’s good!
Bl. And his eyes quail—he dares not meet my look—
For damning guilt stands written in his face!
Chr. Ha! now I see! you take me for a thief,
And would go shares, then, would ye?
Bl. (eagerly). Shares? in what?
Chr. Stuff! don’t be a fool! ’tis quite another matter.
Bl. (in a whisper). Not a mere larceny then, but—robbery?
Chr. (getting angry). I say, no.
Bl. (confidentially). Hark ye, old friend—for a mere trifle, look you,
I’ll undertake, before this gets abroad,
To hush it up,—I’ll bribe the prosecutors.
Chremylus has great difficulty in making his conscientious friend understand the real position—that he has Wealth in person come to be his guest, and means to keep him, if possible. But the god is blind at present, and the first thing to be done is to get him restored to sight. “Blind! is he really?” says Blepsidemus; “then no wonder he never found his way to my house!” They agree that the best means to effect a cure is to make him pass the night in the temple of Æsculapius; and this they are proceeding to arrange, when they are interrupted by the appearance of a very ill-looking lady. It is Poverty, who comes to put a stop, if it may be, to a revolution which threatens to banish her altogether from Athens. Chremylus fails to recognise her, in spite of a long practical acquaintanceship. Blepsidemus at first thinks she must be one of the Furies out of the tragedy repertory, by her grim visage and squalid habit. But the moment he learns who his friend’s visitor really is, he takes to flight at once—as is the way of the world—scared at her very appearance. He is persuaded, however, to return and listen to what the goddess has to say. She proceeds to explain the great mistake that will be made for the true interest of the citizens, if she be really banished from the city. For she it is who is their real benefactor, as she assures them, and not Wealth. All the real blessings of mankind come from the hand of Poverty. This Chremylus will by no means admit. It is possible that Wealth may have done some harm heretofore by inadvertence; but if this blessed guest can once recover his sight, then will he for the future visit only the upright and the virtuous; and so will all men—as soon as virtue and honesty become the only introduction to Wealth—be very sure to practise them. Poverty continues to argue the point in the presence of the Chorus of rustic neighbours, who now come on the stage, and naturally take a very warm interest in the question. She contends that were it not for the stimulus which she continually applies, the work of the world would stand still. No man would learn or exercise any trade or calling. There would be neither smith, nor shipwright, nor tailor, nor shoemaker, nor wheelwright—nay, there would be none either to plough or sow, if all alike were rich. “Nonsense,” interposes Chremylus, “the slaves would do it.” But there would be no slaves, the goddess reminds him, if there were no Poverty. It is Wealth, on the other hand, that gives men the gout, makes them corpulent and thick-legged, wheezy and pursy; “while I,” says Poverty, “make them strong and wiry, with waists like wasps—ay, and with stings for their enemies.” “Look at your popular leaders” (for the satirist never spares the demagogues)—“so long as they continue poor, they are honest enough; but when once they have grown rich at the public expense, they betray the public interest.” Chremylus confesses that here, at least, she speaks no more than the truth. But if such are the advantages which Poverty brings, he has a very natural question to ask—
How comes it then that all men flee thy face?
Pov. Because I make men better.
But her pleading is in vain. “Away with your rhetoric,” says Chremylus; “our ears are deaf to all such arguments.” He uses almost the very words of Sir Hudibras—
“He who complies against his will,
Is of his own opinion still.”[54]
And an unanimous sentence of expulsion is passed against the unpopular deity, while Plutus is sent, under the escort of Cario, with bed and bedding, to take up his quarters for the night in the temple of Æsculapius, there to invoke the healing power which can restore his sight.
An interval of time unusually long for the Athenian drama is supposed to elapse between this and what we may call the second act of the comedy—the break in the action having been most probably marked by a chant from the Chorus, which has not, however, come down to us in the manuscripts. The scene reopens with the return of Cario from the temple on the morning following.