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