What are your habits of life?

I touch no sort of animal food, but anything else except beans.

What is the reason of that? Perhaps you dislike beans?

Not at all, but they are sacred and of a marvellous nature. But, what is more important, it is the custom of the Athenians to vote for officers with beans.

All your remarks are lofty and priestlike. But take off your clothes and let me see you stripped. Good heavens, his thigh is golden! He seems to be a god, not a mortal. I will buy him, by all means. How much do you ask for him?

Two hundred dollars.

I will take him at the price.

Make a note of the buyer's name and country.

He is an Italian, I should think, from Croton or Tarentum, or somewhere in Magna Graecia. But he is not the sole purchaser; almost three hundred clubbed together with him.

What do you say to that dirty one from Pontos?

By all means.

Come here, you with the wallet slung from your shoulder, and the bare arms. Walk round the room. I offer a manly life, a noble and generous life, a free life! Who buys?

What do you say, salesman? You offer a free man for sale?

I do.

Then are you not afraid he will sue you for kidnapping, and bring you before the criminal court?

He does not mind being sold at all, for he believes he is free in all circumstances.

What use could one put such a dirty, ill-conditioned fellow to, unless you set him to digging or carrying water?

Those are not his only uses. If you make a hall-porter of him you will find you can rely on him better than on your dogs; in fact, he has even the name of a dog.

Where does he come from and what discipline does he profess?

Ask the man himself; that is the better way.

I am afraid of him, with his sullen, dark look, lest he should bark and spring at me, and bite me, too, by Zeus! See how he brandishes his club, and knits his brows, and scowls beneath them in that threatening, angry way!

Don't be afraid; he is tame.

In the first place, my friend, where are you from?

Everywhere.

What do you mean?

You see before you a citizen of the world.

And who is your model?

Herakles.

Then why don't you wear the lion-skin, too? You are like him as far as the club goes.

This is my lion-skin, my threadbare coat. Like him, I make war on pleasures; not under orders, but of my own will, deliberately choosing to purify life.

A noble choice! But just what are we to understand that you know? What art are you master of?

I am the liberator of mankind and the physician of their passions; but, above all, I wish to be the prophet of truth and free speech.

Come, prophet, if I buy you, what training will you put me through?

First, I will take you in hand and strip you of your luxury, locking you up with poverty and clothing you in a threadbare cloak. Next, I will drive you to travail and toil, with the ground for your bed, water for your drink, and for your food whatever comes along. As for your money, if you have any, you will carry it down to the sea and throw it in, if you will be guided by me, and you will have no care for wife or child or fatherland; everything of that sort will seem trumpery to you. You will leave your paternal house, and take up your dwelling in a tomb, or in a deserted tower, or even in a tub. Let your wallet be full of pease and bescribbled books, and in this plight you will declare yourself happier than the great king. If any one should flog you or stretch you on the rack you will feel no pain.

What do you mean by that feeling no pain when one is flogged? I have not got the covering of a turtle or a lobster on my shoulders!

You will admire that little saying of Euripides, with a word or two altered.

What one?

Your heart will suffer, but your tongue will feel no pain.

But the most necessary qualities are these: you must be reckless and daring, and abuse all alike, kings and subjects. By this means you will be noticed and thought manly. Let your speech be uncouth, your voice discordant and strongly resembling a dog's. Wear a strenuous face, and choose a gait in keeping with 5 it; and let all your ways be wild and boorish. But let shame and reason and moderation stand afar off, and strip your blushes from your cheeks altogether. Haunt the most frequented spots, and even in those let your desire be for unshared solitude; and attach yourself to neither friend nor stranger, for that would upset your empire. And at last, if you see fit, eat a raw polyp or a jelly-fish, and die. Such is the happiness we procure for you.