You know my neighbour and fellow craftsman, Simon, who supped with me not long since? ”T'was at the Saturnalia, the day I made that pease-pudding, with the two slices of sausage in it?
I know: the little snub-nosed fellow, who went off with our pudding-basin under his arm,—the only one we had; I saw him with these eyes.
So it was he who stole that basin! and he swore by all his Gods that he knew nothing of it! But you should have called out, and told me how we were being plundered.
I did crow; it was all I could do just then, But what were you going to say about Simon?
He had a cousin, Drimylus, who was tremendously rich.
During his lifetime, Drimylus never gave him a penny; and no wonder, for he never laid a finger on his money himself. But the other day he died, and Simon has come in for everything. No more dirty rags for him now, no more trencherlicking: he drives abroad clothed in purple and scarlet; slaves and horses are his, golden cups and ivory-footed tables, and men prostrate themselves before him. As for me, he will not so much as look at me: it was only the other day that I met him, and said, ‘Good day, Simon’: he flew into a rage: ‘Tell that beggar,’ he said, ‘not to cut down my name; it is Simonides, not Simon.’ And that is not all,—the women are in love with him too, and Simon is coy and cold: some he receives graciously, but the neglected ones declare they will hang themselves. See what gold can do! It is like Aphrodite’s girdle, transforming the unsightly and making them lovely to behold. What say the poets?
Ah, Micyllus, I see that you are no wiser than your neighbours; you have the usual mistaken notions about the tich, whose life, I assure you, is far more miserable than your own. I ought to know: I have tried everything, and been poor man and rich man times out of number. You will find out all about it before long.
Ah, to be sure, it is your turn now. Tell me how you came to be changed into a cock, and what each of your lives was like.
Very well; and I may remark, by way of preface, that of all the lives I have ever known none was happier than yours.
Than mine? Exasperating fowl! All I say is, may you have one like it! Now then: begin from Euphorbus, and tell me how you came to be Pythagoras, and so on, down to the cock. I'll warrant you have not been through all those different lives without seeing some strange sights, and having your adventures.
How my spirit first proceeded from Apollo, and took flight to earth, and entered into a human form, and what was the nature of the crime thus expiated,—all this would take too long to tell; nor is it fitting either for me to speak of such matters or for you to hear of them. I pass to the time when I became Euphorbus,—
Wait a minute: have I ever been changed in this way?
You have.
Then who was I, do you know? I am curious about that.
Why, you were an Indian ant, of the gold-digging’ species.
What could induce me, misguided insect that I was, to leave that life without’so much as a grain of gold-dust to supply my needs in this one? And what am I going to be next? I suppose you can tell me. If it is anything good, I’ll hang myself this moment from the very perch on which you stand.
That I can on no account divulge. Toresume. When I was Euphorbus, I fought at Troy, and was slain by Menelaus. Some time then elapsed before I entered into the body of: Pythagoras, During this interval, I remained without a habitation, waiting till Mnesarchus had prepared one for me.
What, without meat or drink?
Oh yes; these are mere bodily requirements.
Well, first I will have about the Trojan war. Did it all happen as Homer describes?
Homer! What should he know of the matter? He was a camel in Bactria all the time, I may tell you that things were not on such a tremendous scale in those days as is commonly supposed; Ajax was not so very tall, nor Helen so very beautiful. I saw her; she had a fair complexion, to be sure, and her neck was long enough to suggest her swan parentage
Well, and Achilles: was he so much better than other people, or is that all stuff and nonsense?
Ah, I never came across Achilles; I am not very strong on the Greeks; I was on the other side, of course. ‘There is one thing, though: I made pretty short work of his friend Patroclus—ran him clean through with my spear.
After which Menelaus settled you with still greater facility. Well, that will do for ew And when you were Pythagoras?
When I was Pythagoras, I was—not to deceive you— a sophist; that is the long and short of it. At the same time, I was not uncultured, not unversed in polite learning. I travelled in Egypt, cultivated the acquaintance of the priests, and learnt wisdom from their mouths; I penetrated into their temples and mastered the sacred books of Orus and Isis; finally, I took ship to Italy, where I made such an impression on the Greeks that they reckoned me among the Gods.
I have heard all about that; and also how you were supposed to have risen from the dead, and how you had a golden
Ah, don’t ask me that, Micyllus.
But why not?
I am ashamed to answer you.
Come, out with it! I am your friend and fellow lodger; we will drop the ‘master’ now.
There was neither common sense nor philosophy in that law. The fact is, I saw that if I did just the same as other people, I should draw very few admirers; my prestige, I considered, would be in proportion to my originality. Hence these innovations, the motive of which I wrapped up in mystery; each man was left to make his own conjecture, that all might be equally impressed by my oracular obscurity. There now! you are laughing at me; it is your turn this time.
I am laughing much more at the folk of Cortona and Metapontum and Tarentum, and the rest of those mute disciples who worshipped the ground you trod on.