Master Mikyllos, I thought I was going
to do you a kindness by being as beforehand with
the night as I could, so that you might get up
and finish most of your work. Certainly if you
O Zeus, god of prodigies, and Herakles, that keepest mischief from us, what is this fearful thing? The cock spoke like a human being!
Does a thing of this sort strike you, then, as a prodigy—that I should speak the same tongue as you?
I should think it is a prodigy. But do ye, O gods, avert misfortune from us!
You seem to me, Mikyllos, to be actually
illiterate. Have you not read Homer's poems,
in which Achilles's horse, too, Xanthos, bade a
long farewell to neighing, and stood in the midst
of the battle and conversed, reciting whole verses,
not prose as I do now? And he prophesied, too,
and foretold coming events, and was not considered to be doing anything out of the way; nor did
he who heard him call upon the Protector against
evil as you did, thinking the sound an omen to
be averted. Moreover, what would you have
done if the keel of the Argo had spoken to you,
or if the oak of Dodona had prophesied for you
But is not this a dream, too: a cock talking to me like this? Tell me, then, in the name of Hermes, my friend, what other reason there is for your gift of speech. You need not fear that I shall break silence and tell any one, for who would believe me if I told anything, giving out that I had heard it from a cock?
Listen, then. I am well aware that what I say will be most incredible to you, Mikyllos- I who now appear to you in the guise of a cock was not long ago a man.
I have heard something of the kind
about your race before: that a certain young
man named Cock became a friend of Ares, and
was a boon companion of the god, joined his revels, and shared his love affairs. So whenever
Ares went to see his mistress, Aphrodite, he took
Cock along, too, and, because he was suspicious
They tell that story, too; but my case was somewhat different, and it is quite lately that I turned into a cock, at your service.
In what way? I have the greatest desire to know.
Do you know by hearsay one Pythagoras, a Samian, the son of Mnesarchos ?
Do you mean the sophist, the impostor, who made laws against tasting meat or eating
Of course you know this, too, that before he was Pythagoras he was Euphorbos?
They say that fellow was a juggler and a conjurer.
I myself am none other than that Pythagoras; so stop your railing at me, my friend, particularly since you do not know what manner of man I was.
This is an even greater prodigy than the other, to find a cock a philosopher! However, tell me, son of Mnesarchos, how is it that you have appeared to me as a bird instead of a man, and a Tanagrian instead of a Samian. The thing is incredible. I can't readily believe it, for I think I have observed two traits in you already very unlike Pythagoras.
What are they?
For one thing, you are talkative and
noisy, while he, I believe, used to enjoin five whole
years of silence. And the other thing is also entirely contrary to his law, for yesterday, when I
had no food to scatter for you, I came and
brought some beans, as you know, and you did
not hesitate to pick them up.
So that either you
have lied and are somebody else, or else, if you
are Pythagoras, you have broken the law, and by
Nay, Mikyllos, you do not know the reason of these things, nor what is suitable to each life. Formerly I did not eat beans, because I was a philosopher; but now I am willing to eat them, for they are bird's food and not forbidden to us. But come, you shall hear if you like how, after being Pythagoras, I come to be as you see, and what sort of lives I lived before, and what good I got of each transformation.
Pray tell me; I should be enchanted to listen. If some one should ask me to choose whether I preferred to hear you tell about these things or see that heavenly dream again that I had a little while ago, I do not know which I should choose. You see how nearly akin I judge what you offer to the sweetest visions, and I hold you both in equal esteem, you and the blessed dream.
What are you still pondering on your dream, wondering who in the world it was that appeared to you? Still cherishing certain fond images and chasing in memory an empty and (as the poets would say) fleeting happiness?
I can tell you, Cock, that I will never
forget that vision. The dream as it went left so
much honey in my eyes that I can hardly lift my
lids, for it drags them down again to sleep. You
By Herakles, this is a marvellous love that you declare for a dream! They say dreams are winged and their flight is bounded by sleep, but this one has leaped beyond the mark and lingers in open eyes, seeming so honey-sweet and vivid. I should really like to hear what it was like, since you long for it so.
I am ready to tell you, for it is a pleasure to me to recall and describe something of it. But when will you, Pythagoras, tell me about your transformations?
When you, Mikyllos, stop dreaming and rub the honey from your eyelids. But tell me this first, whether your dream was sent through the gates of ivory or the gates of horn.
Through neither, Pythagoras.
But Homer tells of these two only.
Don't talk to me about that fool of a poet, who knew nothing about dreams. Perhaps poor dreams such as he used to see-not very clearly, either, for he was blind-came through such gates; but mine, the most beautiful, came through golden gates, and itself was golden and clothed all in gold, and brought heaps of gold with it.
Stop your tale of gold, you Midas!
I saw heaps of gold, Pythagorasheaps. You can't think how beautiful it was or how radiantly it shone! What is it Pindar says in praise of it? Remind me, if you know. He says water is best, and then goes on to speak of gold, placing a eulogy of it very properly at the very beginning of the book, in the most beautiful of all his odes.
This is probably what you want: "Best of all things is water, but gold-like a flaming fire by night it blazes out from all the haughty store of wealth."
The very thing, by Zeus! Pindar writes this praise of gold just as if he had seen my dream. If you wish to hear what it was like, listen, most sagacious Cock. You know I did not dine at home yesterday. Eukrates the millionaire fell in with me in the market-place and bade me come to his house after my bath in time for dinner.
I know it very well, for I went hungry all day until you came home late in the evening, rather drunk, and brought me those five beans— not a very ample meal for a cock who has been an athlete in his day and competed at Olympia, not without distinction.
Well, when I had come home from dinner I went to sleep as soon as I had given you the beans; and then, through the ambrosial night, as Homer says, a really heavenly dream appeared.
First, Mikyllos, tell me what happened at Eukrates's house, and what sort of a dinner you had, and all about the drinking-party after it. For there is nothing to prevent your dining again by fashioning a dream, as it were, of that dinner, and chewing in memory the cud of what you ate.
I thought I should bore you if I described that, too; but since you wish it, I will
certainly tell it. Never in all my life before, Pythagoras, had I dined with a rich man, when by
some good-fortune I chanced upon Eukrates yesterday. I addressed him as usual, with "Good-morning, sir," and said no more lest I should
mortify him by accompanying him in my shabby
clothes. But he said, “Mikyllos, I am celebrating my daughter's birthday to-day, and I have
asked a good many friends. Now I hear that
one of them is poorly and not able to dine with
me, so come yourself in his place after your bath,
unless, indeed, the man I invited sends word
finally that he will come. At present he is undecided."
When I heard this I made him a low bow and
went off praying to all the gods to send a fever of
some sort, or a pleurisy, or the gout, to that invalid whose successor and substitute I had been
asked to be. The interval before bathing seemed
ages long, because I was forever looking to see
At the door I found
a crowd, and among them, carried by four men in
a litter, the man in whose stead I was to have
dined, the one that was said to be ill, and indeed
he was evidently in a bad way, for he groaned a
little and had a slight cough, and cleared his
throat from far down and with difficulty. He was
of a uniform yellow and bloated, and nearly sixty
years old. He was said to be a philosopher of
the school that talks nonsense to boys. At all
events, he wore a goat-like beard of an absurd
length; and when Archibios, the doctor, blamed
him for having come in this condition, he said,
"Duty must be done, above all by a philosopher,
even though a thousand diseases stand in the
way; for Eukrates would think I held him lightly.”
"Not at all," said I. "On the contrary, he will
commend you if you prefer dying at home by
yourself to coughing up your soul at the dinner."
To preserve his dignity he pretended that he
had not heard the scoff. Presently Eukrates appeared from the bath, and when he saw Thesmopolis- for that was the philosopher's name
"Professor," said he, “it is kind of you to come
Accordingly I got ready to
take myself off, but Eukrates turned round and
after a good deal of hesitation said, when he saw
me looking very downcast, "Come along, too,
Mikyllos, and dine with us. I will tell my son to
have his supper with his mother in the nursery so
that there may be a place for you."
So I went in like a wolf who has almost lost
his
prey, ashamed that they should think I had
driven Eukrates's boy from the table. When it
was time to take our places on the couches, they
first lifted Thesmopolis and set him up. It was
no small job, by Zeus ! for five—I think it was five
-well-grown young men, and they stuffed cushions in all round him to keep him in position and
enable him to hold out a long time. Then, as
nobody could endure to sit near him, they took
me and deposited me beside him, so that we
were neighbors. Thereupon we dined, Pythagoras, and had a bountiful and varied dinner off
abundance of silver and gold. There were golden goblets, and the waiters were beautiful boys,
and between the courses there were singing-girls
and clowns, and on the whole the entertainment
Not much fun, Mikyllos, particularly as you were assigned to that silly old man.
But now hear my dream, too. I
thought that Eukrates was dying, being somehow
childless, and he sent for me and made a will by
which I was heir to everything he had, and shortly after died. I came into possession of the property, and drew gold and silver by the bucketful
from a perennial stream. As to other things,
clothing, and furniture, and plate, and servants,
all I had was just what you would expect. I drove
in a white chariot, lolling back, stared at and envied by all spectators. A quantity of servants
ran and rode before me, and more followed. I
wore his clothes and had as many as sixteen massive rings on my fingers, and I was ordering some
brilliant feast to be prepared for the entertainment of my friends. Then, after the manner of
What a lover you are of gold and wealth, Mikyllos. Do you admire this one thing of all others, and think it is happiness to have quantities of gold?
I am not alone in my opinion, Pythagoras. You yourself, when you were Euphorbos, decked your locks with gold and silver when
you went to fight the Achaians, actually in battle, where it was a better plan to carry iron than
gold; but even there you thought you must
wreathe your hair with gold before you fought.
And in my judgment that is why Homer said
your hair was like the Graces, because
"it was
tightly bound with gold and with silver." For it
is plain that it looked much more goodly and delightful when it was braided with the gold and
vied with it in splendor. Still it does not make
much difference, Goldlocks, whether you, who
Now, you know my neighbor and fellow-craftsman, Simon, who dined with me not long ago; that time in the holidays when I made a bean soup with two slices of sausage in it.
I know the little snub-nosed creature. He picked up the earthen cup, the only one we had, and carried it off under his arm. I saw him, Mikyllos.
Then was he that stole it, and afterwards called so many gods to witness his innocence ! But why did you not cry out and tell of him then, Cock, when you saw us being robbed?
I crowed, which was all I could do then.
But what has Simon done? I thought you had
something to say about him.
He had a cousin named Drimylos,
who was enormously rich. While he was living
he never gave Simon a cent. Why should he,
who never touched his money himself? But he
died the other day, and all his property has come
by law to Simon, and now he of the dirty rags,
he who used to lick his soup-plate, drives at his
ease, wearing purple and scarlet, owning slaves
and carriages and golden goblets and ivory tables,
with the crowd bowing before him, and not so
much as a glance for me any longer. At least,
I saw him passing close by me and said, "How
do you do, Simon ?" But he flew into a rage and
said, "Tell this beggar not to shorten my name.
I am not called Simon, but Simonides." And
what is more important, the women are in love
with him already, but he is coy with them and
fastidious. Some he approves and treats graciously, but others threaten to hang themselves
because of his neglect. You see what good things
gold can do, if it even transforms the ugly and
makes them charming, as that cestus did in the
poem. You know, too, what the poets say:
To see you, too, Mikyllos, sharing the vulgar error about rich people through your ignorance. Be assured that they live a much more wretched life than you do. I tell you as one who has been both poor and rich over and over again, and tried every sort of life. It will not be long before you yourself will have knowledge of each.
By Zeus! it is high time for you to take your turn and tell about your metamorphoses, and what you know about each life.
Listen, but first know this, that I have seen no living soul happier than you.
Than I? I wish you the same, for you move me to use bad language to you. But begin with Euphorbos, and tell me how you were changed into Pythagoras, and so on in order down to the cock. For you must have had a variety of sights and experiences in your manifold lives.
How my soul first took its flight from Apollo down to earth, and made its way into the body of a man in expiation of some crime would be over long to tell; and, moreover, it is not lawful for me to speak or you to hear such matters as these. Then I became Euphorbos.
Tell me this first, have I, too, ever been changed like you?
Certainly.
Who was I, then, if you can tell me,
for I long to know.
You? You were an Indian ant of the gold-digging variety.
Poor devil, why did I hesitate to provide myself with even a few grains when I came from that life to this? But tell me, too, what I am going to be next. Probably you know. If it should be anything good, I will get up forthwith and hang myself from the peg you are standing on.
There is no way by which you can learn that. But when I became Euphorbos-to go back to what I was saying-I fought at Ilion, fell by the hand of Menelaos, and shortly after passed into Pythagoras. In the mean time I hung about homeless until Mnesarchos wrought my home for me.
With nothing to eat, my good sir, or to drink?
Of course. It is only the body that needs such things.
Well, then, tell me first about affairs at Ilion. Were things as Homer says they were?
How did he know anything about it, seeing he was a Baktrian camel at the time? But I
will tell you this, that nothing was remarkable in
those days. Ajax was not so tall nor Helen herself so beautiful as they are thought to have been.
I saw some one with a white skin and a long
neck, as was natural in a swan's daughter, but
for the rest she was an old woman, almost Hekuba's
Dear me! Was Achilles, as he is said to be, best in every way, or is that, too, a myth?
I never encountered him in battle, and I could not give you so exact an account of the Achaians' affairs. How could I, seeing that I was an enemy? However, I killed his comrade, Patroklos, without much trouble, piercing him with my spear.
And then Menelaos killed you more easily still. But that will do on this subject. Now tell me about Pythagoras.
I was a complete sophist, Mikyllos, for it is right, I think, to tell the truth. However, I was not uneducated nor neglectful of the noblest studies, and I even journeyed to Egypt to receive instruction from the priests. I made my way into the temples and mastered the books of Oros and Isis. And then I sailed back to Italy and so wrought upon the Greeks there that they reckoned me a god.
I have heard of this, and that you
Don't ask such things, Mikyllos.
Why not?
Because I am ashamed to tell you the truth about them.
Now, there is no reason whatever for hesitating to tell a man who is your messmate and friend, for I would no longer call myself your master.
I had no sound or reasonable motive; but seeing that if my practices were ordinary and the same as most people's, I should fail to draw on men to wonder at me, but the more outlandish they were the more august I seemed to them, this was the reason why I chose to innovate, pretending that my grounds were too holy for discussion, so that each might have his conjecture, and all stand amazed as at the dark sayings of the oracles. There, even you are laughing at me in your turn.
Not so much at you as at the Krotoniates and Metapontines and Tarentines and the others who followed you speechless and kissed the footprints you left as you walked.
But when you had laid Pythagoras aside, what
Aspasia, the courtesan from Miletos.
Oh, what a tale! Pythagoras became even a woman among other people, and there was a time when you, most noble cock, were Aspasia, Perikles' mistress, and carded wool and wove the weft and sold your favors!
I am not the only man who has done all these things. Teiresias, too, before me, and Kaineus, Elatos' son, were in my case, so that any joke you make against me will also be made against them.
Tell me, which life did you find. pleasanter, when you were a man or when Perikles caressed you?
Beware of asking a question that was not agreeable even to Teiresias.
Even if you will not tell me, Euripides decided the matter adequately, saying that he would rather stand by his shield thrice than bear one child.
You will be a woman yourself, Mikyllos, over and over in the great lapse of time.
Be hanged to you for thinking every one a Milesian or a Samian.
But what shape of man or woman did you ap pear in after Aspasia ?
The cynic Krates.
Ye gods, that's a change - from a courtesan to a philosopher!
Then I was a king, then a poor man, and a little while after a satrap, then a horse, and a jackdaw, and a frog, and a thousand other things. It would take too long to enumerate them all. Finally I have been a cock many times, for I liked the life. I have served many others, kings and poor men and rich men, and now finally I live with you, laughing daily to hear you weep and wail over your poverty and admire the rich, in your ignorance of the evils belonging to them. Certainly, if you knew the cares they have, your first laugh would be at yourself for thinking a rich man over-happy.
Well then, Pythagoras, or whatever you would prefer to be called, so that I may not disturb your recital, calling you first one thing and then another-
It makes no difference whether you call me Euphorbus or Pythagoras or Aspasia or Krates, for I am all these. But you would do best to call this present form "Cock," not to be lacking in respect to the bird because it is held a humble creature, seeing that it embraces so many souls.