11.25
I have often been singled out before now, Socrates, and condemned to suffer punishment or pay damages. By whom, Ischomachus? I asked; I am in the dark about that!’ By my wife, was his answer. And, pray, how do you plead? said I. Pretty well, when it is to my interest to speak the truth. But when lying is called for, Socrates, I can’t make the worse cause appear the better—oh no, not at all. Perhaps, Ischomachus, I commented, you can’t make the falsehood into the truth!
12.1
But perhaps I am keeping you, Ischomachus, I continued, and you want to get away now? Oh no, Socrates, he answered; I should not think of going before the market empties.
12.2
To be sure, I continued; you take the utmost care not to forfeit your right to be called a gentleman! For I daresay there are many things claiming your attention now; but, as you have made an appointment with those strangers, you are determined not to break it. But I assure you, Socrates, I am not neglecting the matters you refer to, either; for I keep bailiff’s on my farms.
12.3
And when you want a bailiff, Ischomachus, do you look out for a man qualified for such a post, and then try to buy him—when you want a builder, I feel sure you inquire for a qualified man and try to get him—or do you train your bailiff’s yourself?
12.4
Of course I try to train them myself, Socrates. For the man has to be capable of taking charge in my absence; so why need he know anything but what I know myself? For if I am fit to manage the farm, I presume I can teach another man what I know myself.
12.5
Then the first requirement will be that he should be loyal to you and yours, if he is to represent you in your absence. For if a steward is not loyal, what is the good of any knowledge he may possess? None, of course; but I may tell you, loyalty to me and to mine is the first lesson I try to teach.
12.6
And how, in heaven’s name, do you teach your man to be loyal to you and yours? By rewarding him, of course, whenever the gods bestow some good thing on us in abundance.
