Way, you scurvy cock, may Zeus himself annihilate you for being so envious and shrill-voiced! I was rolling in wealth and having a most delightful dream and enjoying wonderful happiness when you uplifted your voice in a piercing, full-throated crow and waked me up. Even at night you won't let me escape my poverty, which is much more of a nuisance than you are. And yet to judge from the fact that the silence is still profound and the cold has not yet stiffened me as it always does in the morning—which _ is the surest indicator that I have of the approach of day—it is not yet midnight, and this bird, who is as sleepless as if he were guarding the golden fleece, has started crowing directly after dark. He shall suffer for it, though! I'll pay you back, never fear, as soon as it is daylight, by whacking the life out of you with my stick ; but if I tried it now, you would bother me by hopping about in the dark.
Master Micyllus, I thought I should do you a
favour by cheating the night as much as I could, so
that you might make use of the morning hours and
fnish the greater part of your work early ; you see,
if you geta single sandal done before the sun rises,
Zeus, god of miracles, and Heracles, averter of harm! what the devil does this mean? The cock talked like a human being!
Then do you think it a miracle if I talk the same language as you men?
Why isn’t it a miracle? Gods, avert the evil omen from us!
It appears to me, Micyllus, that you are utterly uneducated and haven’t even read Homer’s poems, for in
them Xanthus, the horse of Achilles, saying good-bye
to neighing forever, stood still and talked in the
thick of the fray, reciting whole verses, not prose as
I did ; indeed he even made prophecies and foretold
the future; yet he was not considered to be doing
anything out of the way, and the one who heard him
did not invoke the averter of harm as you did just now,
thinking the thing ominous.
Why, this is not a dream, is it? A cock talking to me this way? Tell me, in the name of Hermes, my good friend, what other reason you have for your ability to speak. As to my keeping still and not telling anybody, why should you have any fear, for who would believe me if I told him anything asserting that I had heard it from a cock ?
Listen, then, to an account which will be quite incredible to you, I am very sure, Micyllus. I who now appear to you in the guise of a cock was a man not long ago.
I heard something to that effect about you cocks a
good while ago. They say that a young fellow
named Alectryon (Cock) became friends with Ares
ind drank with the god and caroused with him and
shared his amorous adventures ; at all events, whenever Ares went to visit Aphrodite on poaching bent,
he took Alectryon along too ; and as he was especially
uspicious of Helius, for fear that he would look
down on them and tell Hephaestus, he always used
to leave the young fellow outside at the door to
warn him when Helius rose. Then, they say,
Alectryon fell asleep one time and unintentionally
That is what they say, Micyllus, I grant you; but my own experience has been quite different, and it is only just lately that I changed into a cock.
How? That is what I want to know above all else.
Have you ever heard of a man named Pythagoras, the son of Mnesarchus, of Samos?
You mean the sophist, the quack, who made laws
against tasting meat and eating beans, banishing
from the table the food that I for my part like best
of all, and then trying to persuade people that before he became Pythagoras he was Euphorbus (Well-
I am that very Pythagoras, Micyllus, so stop abusing me, my good friend, especially as you do not know what sort of man I really was.
Now this is far more miraculous than the other
thing! A philosopher cock! Tell me, though, son
of Mnesarchus, how you became a cock instead of a
man and a Tanagriote instead of a Samian.
What are they?
One thing is that you are very noisy and loudvoiced, whereas he recommended silence for five
whole years, I believe. The other is actually quite
illegal ; I came home yesterday, as you know, with
nothing but beans to throw you, and you picked
them up without even hesitating. So it must be
either that you have told a lie and are someone else,
or, if you are Pythagoras, you have broken the law
and committed as great an impiety in eating beans as
if you had eaten your father’s head.
Why, Micyllus, you don’t know what the reason for these rules is, and what is good for particular modes of existence. Formerly I did not eat beans because I was a philosopher, but now I can eat them because they are fit food for a bird and are not forbidden to us. But listen if you like, and I'll tell you how from Pythagoras I became what I am, and what existences I formerly led, and what I profited by each change.
Do tell me, for I should be more than delighted to hear it. Indeed, if anyone were to let me choose whether I preferred to hear you tell a story like that or to have once more that blissful dream I had a little while ago, I don’t know which would be my choice; for in my estimation what you say is close akin to the most delightful of visions, and I hold you both in equal esteem, you and my priceless dream.
What, are you still brooding on that vision, whatever it was that came to you, and are you still cherishing idle delusions, hunting down in your memory a vain and (as they say in poetry) disembodied happiness ?
Why, I shall never forget that vision, cock, you
may be sure. The dream left so much honied sweetness in my eyes when it went away that I can
hardly open my lids, for it drags them down in sleep
again. In fact, what I saw gave me as pleasant a
titillation as a feather twiddled in one’s ear.
I am ready to tell; in fact, it will be delightful to think and talk about it. But when are you going to tell me about your transmigrations, Pythagoras?
When you stop dreaming, Micyllus, and rub the honey out of your eyes. At present, you speak first, so that I may find out whether it was through the gates of ivory or the gates of horn that the dream winged its way to you.
Not through either of them, Pythagoras.
Well, Homer mentions only those two.
Stop babbling of gold, most noble Midas. Really your dream was just like Midas’ prayer, and you appear to me to have slept yourself into whole goldmines.
I saw a lot of gold, Pythagoras, a lot; you can’t think how beautiful it was, and with what brilliancy it shone. What is it that Pindar says in praising it ? Remind me, if you know. It is where he says water is best and then extols gold (and well he may), right in the beginning of the most beautiful of all his odes.
Is this what you are after?
I know that very well; I went hungry all day until finally, late in the evening, you came back rather tight, bringing me those five beans, not a very bounteous repast for a cock who was once an athlete and made a fair showing at the Olympic games.
When I came home after dinner, I went to sleep
as soon as I had thrown you the beans, and then
“through the ambrosial night,” as Homer puts it,
First tell me what happened at Eucrates’, Micyllus, how the dinner was and all about the drinkingparty afterwards. For there is nothing to hinder you from dining all over again by making up adream so to speak, about that dinner and chewing the cud of your food in fancy.
I thought I should bore you by telling all that, but
since you want it, here goes. I never before dined
with a rich man in all my life, Pythagoras, but by
a stroke of luck I met Eucrates yesterday; after
giving him “Good-day, master,” as usual, I was for
going away again, so as not to shame him by joining
his company in my beggarly cloak. But: “Micyllus,”
said he, “I am giving a birthday party for my
daughter to-day, and have invited a great many of
my friends: but as one of them is ill, they say, and
can’t dine with us, you must take a bath and come in
his place, unless, to be sure, the man I invited says
When the time finally came, I scrubbed myself with all speed and went off very well dressed, as I had turned my cloak inside out so that the garment might’ show the cleaner side.
I met at the door a
number of people, and among them, carried on the
shoulders of four bearers, the man whose place I was
to have filled, who they said was ill; and in fact he
was clearly ina bad way. At any rate he groaned
and coughed and hawked in a hollow and Giencive
way, and was all pale and flabby, a man of about
sixty. He was said to be one of those philosophers
who talk rubbish to the boys, and in fact. he had
a regular goat’s beard, excessively long. And when
Archibius, the doctor, took him to task for coming in
that condition, “Duty,” he said, “must not be
shirked, especially by a philosopher, though a
thousand illnesses stand in his way; Eucrates
would think he had been slighted by me.” “No
indeed,” ‘said I, “He will commend you if you
choose to die at home rather than to hawk and spit
your life away at his party!” But the man’s pride
I was getting ready to go away, but he turned my way
and hesitated a good while, and then, as he saw that
I was very: downeast, said: “You come in too,
Micyllus, and dine with us. Tl make my son eat
with his mother in the women’s quarters so that you
may have room.” I went in, therefore, after coming
within an ace of licking my lips for nothing, like
the wolf
When it was time to go to the table, first of all
they picked Thesmopolis up and put him in place,
not without some difficulty, though there were five
stout lads, I think, to do it; and they stuffed
eushions all round about him so that he could
maintain his position and hold out for a long time.
Then, as nobody else could endure to lie near him,
they took me and put me in the place below him,
making us neighbours at table. Then, Pythagoras,
we began eating a dinner of many courses and great
variety, served on gold and silver plate in profusion,
It was not of the pleasantest, Micyllus, as your lot was cast with that silly old man.
Now listen to my dream. I thought that Eucrates
himself had somehow become childless and lay dying,
and that, after sending for me and making a will in
which I was heir to everything, he lingered a while
and then died. On entering into possession of the
property, I dipped up the gold and the silver in
great bowlfuls, for there was an ever-flowing, copious
stream of it; and all the rest, too—the ‘clothing
and tables and cups and waiters—all was mine, ot
course. Then I drove out behind a pair of white
horses, holding my head high, the admiration and
the envy of all beholders; many ran before me and
rode beside me, and still more followed after me, and
I with his clothing on and my fingers covered with
Are you such a lover of gold and of riches, Micyllus, and is owning quantities of gold the only thing in the world that you admire and consider blissful ?
I am not the only ‘one to do so, Pythagoras: you
yourself, when you were Euphorbus, sallied forth to
fight the Achaeans with your curls tricked out in
gold and silver, and even in war, where it would
have been better to wear iron, you thought fit to
face danger with your hair caught up with gold.
For instance, you know my neighbour, of the same trade, Simon, who dined with me not long ago when I boiled the soup for Cronus-day and put in two slices of sausage?
Yes, I know him; the snub-nosed, short fellow who filched the earthen bowl and went away with it under his arm after dinner, the only bowl we had— I myself saw him, Micyllus.
So it was he that stole it and then swore by so many gods that he did not? But why didn’t you cry out and tell on him then, cock, when you saw us being plundered ?
I crowed, and that was all that I could do at the time. But what about Simon? You seemed to be going to say something about him.
He had a cousin who was enormously rich, named
Drimylus. This fellow while he was alive never gave
Because in your ignorance, Micyllus, you have
gone just as far astray as most people in regard to
the rich. Take my word for it, they live a much
Yes, by Heaven, it is high time now for you to talk and tell me how you got transformed and what you know of each existence.
Listen ; but first let me tell you thus much, that I have never seen anyone leading a happier life than you.
Than I, cock? I wish you no better luck yourself! You force me to curse you, you know. But begin with Euphorbus and tell me how you were transformed to Pythagoras, and then the rest of it till you get to the cock : for it is likely that you have seen many sights and had many adventures in your multifarious existences.
How my soul originally left Apollo, flew down to earth and entered into a human body and what sin it was condemned to expiate in that way would make a long story; besides, it is impious either for me to tell or for you to hear such things. But when I became Euphorbus. . .
But I,—who was I formerly, wondrous creature ?
First tell me whether I too was ever transformed
like you.
Cock
Yes, certainly.
You were an Indian ant, one of the gold-digging
kind.
You can’t by any possibility find that out. But when I became Euphorbus—for I am going back to that subject—I fought at Troy and was killed by Menelaus, and some time afterwards I entered into Pythagoras. In the meanwhile I stood about and waited without a house till Mnesarchus should build me one.
Without food and drink, my friend ?
Yes, certainly ; for they turned out to be unnecessary, except for the body.
Well, then, tell me the story of Troy first. Was it all as Homer says ?
Why, where did he get his information, Micyllus?
When all that was going on, he was a camel in
But how about Achilles? Was he as Homer describes him, supreme in everything, or is this only a fable too ?
I did not come into contact with him at all,
Micyllus, and I can’t tell you as accurately about
the Greek side. How could I, being one of the
enemy? His comrade Patroclus, however, I killed
without difficulty, running him through with my
spear.
In brief, Micyllus, I was a sophist, for I must tell
the truth, I suppose. However, I was not uneducated or unacquainted with the noblest sciences. I
So I have heard, and I have also heard that you were thought to have come to life again after dying, and that you once showed them that your thigh was of gold. But, look here, tell me how it occurred to you to make a law against eating either meat or beans?
Do not press that question, Micyllus.
Why, cock ? Cock Because I am ashamed to tell you the truth of it.
But you oughtn’t to hesitate to tell a housemate and a friend—for I cannot call myself your master any longer.
It was nothing sensible or wise, but I perceived
that if I made laws that were ordinary and just
like those of the run of legislators I should not
induce men to wonder at me, whereas the more I departed from precedent, the more of a figure I should
cut, I thought, in their eyes. Therefore I preferred
to introduce innovations, keeping the reason for
them secret so that one man might guess one thing
Not so much at you as at the people of Croton and Metapontum and Tarentum and all the rest who followed you dumbly and worshipped the footprints that you left in walking.
But after you put off the part of Pythagoras what other did you assume ?
Aspasia, the courtesan from Miletus.
Whew, what a yarn! So Pythagoras became a woman on top of everything else, and there was once atime when you laid eggs, most distinguished of cocks; when you lived with Pericles in the capacity of Aspasia and had children by him and carded wool and spun yarn and made the most of your sex in courtesan style?
Yes, I did all that, and I am not the only one:
both Tiresias and Caeneus the son of Elatus preecded
me, so that all your jokes at my expense will be at
their expense too.
Hang you, cock, do you think everybody hails from Miletus or Samos? They say that while you were Pythagoras and young and handsome you often played Aspasia to the tyrant.
But what man or woman did you become after Aspasia ?
The Cynic Crates.
Twin brethren! what ups and downs! First a courtesan, then a philosopher !
Then a king, then a poor man, and soon a satrap ;
then a horse, a jackdaw, a frog, and a thousand things
besides ; it would take too long to enumerate them
all. But of late I have often been a cock, for I liked
that sort of life; and after belonging to many men,
Well then, Pythagoras—but tell me what you like best to be called, so that I may not muddle up our conversation by calling you different names.
It will make no difference whether you call me Euphorbus or Pythagoras, Aspasia or Crates; I am all of them. But you had better call me what you now see me to be, a cock, so as not to slight a bird that, although held in low esteem, has in itself so many souls.