Book 2

When the cranes leave behind the country of the Thracians and the Thracian frosts, they gather at the Hebrus, and each, having swallowed a stone to serve both as food and as ballast against the onset of the winds, attempt their migration and their rush toward the Nile, out of longing for warmth and for the winter quarters there. When they are about to rise and hold on their forward way, the oldest crane goes round the whole flock three times, and then, falling, gives up its life. There the rest bury the dead one, and then make straight for Egypt, crossing the greatest seas on the spread of their wings, and they neither anchor anywhere nor rest. They come upon the Egyptians sowing, and finding in the fields, as one might say, an abundant table, they then share, uninvited, in the hospitality.

That living creatures should be born in the mountains, in the air, and in the sea is no great wonder; for material, nourishment, and nature are the cause of these. But that there should be winged offspring of fire, the creatures called the fire-born, and that they should live and flourish in it, and flit about here and there — this is astonishing. And the still greater wonder: whenever they swerve out of the fire that is their element and partake of cold air, then at once they are dead. And let others say what the cause is, why they are born in fire and perish in air.

The other birds, as the story goes, are covered by the male; but the swallows are not, but their union is the opposite. The reason nature knows. The more common account is that they shudder at Tereus and fear lest he should one day creep up secretly and then enact a new tragedy. But this too, it seems, was a gift to the swallow from nature, and as I judge the most precious one: if it happens to be blinded with pins, it sees again. Why then do we still sing of Tiresias, even though he was wisest not only here but also in Hades, as Homer says?

The creatures called day-flies are so named, taking their name from the measure of their life; for they are born in wine, and when the vessel is opened they fly out and see the light and die. So nature gave them entrance into life, but rescued them most swiftly from the evils within it, since they perceive neither any of their own misfortunes nor

become witnesses of those of others. A man, indeed, has sometimes in a long time healed the wound or sting of an asp, either by taking the knife, or enduring fire most patiently, or by setting against the evil the necessary drugs, that wretched man, lest it should creep further. The basilisk is a span in length; and indeed even the longest of serpents, on seeing it, not after any delay but at once, from the very assault of its breath, is withered. And if a man is holding a staff, and the basilisk bites that, the master of the staff is dead.

The love of music in dolphins and their amorous nature — the one the Corinthians sing of, and the Lesbians agree with them, the other the men of Ios: those tell of Arion of Methymna, while the others tell what happened in Ios concerning the beautiful boy and his swimming and the dolphin. And a man of Byzantium too, named Leonides, says that he himself saw, while sailing along the Aeolian coast, in the city called Poroselene, a tame dolphin that lived in their harbour and treated the people there as his own private hosts. And in addition to this, the same man says that an old woman and an old man living with her raised this fosterling, holding out to it baits, and very alluring ones. Moreover the son of these old folk was reared together with it, and the two of them tended both the dolphin and their own boy; and somehow, from their being reared together, the man and the creature came unawares into love of one another, and — this is the famous tale — a most august mutual love was honoured in the persons aforesaid. So the dolphin loved Poroselene as his fatherland, and cherished the harbour as his own home; and indeed he repaid to those who reared him the cost of his rearing. And this was his manner. Being full-grown, he needed least of all to be fed from the hand; but now, swimming out further and ranging about and looking for sea-catches, he had some as a dinner for himself and brought others back to his household; and they knew this, and indeed gladly awaited the tribute from him. And this was one source of income; here is another. The dolphin's name had been given by those who reared him, as to the boy; and the boy, confident in their rearing together, would call him by this name, standing on some jutting place, and at the same time as the call would coax him. And the dolphin, whether he was racing against some rowing-boat, or diving and gambolling among the other dolphins that wandered in shoals about the place, or hunting as his belly drove him, would come back most swiftly, like a ship driven on with much foam, and when he came near his favourite he would be his playmate and frolic with him, now swimming beside the boy, now, like one challenging him, the dolphin would then draw his favourite into a contest with himself. And the still greater wonder: he would sometimes give up even the first place and swim behind him, as though pleasantly beaten. These things, then, were proclaimed abroad, and to those sailing by it seemed a spectacle, along with the other good things the city had, and it was a source of income to the old folk and the lad.

In Libya Archelaus says that many mules, either wounded or worn out by thirst, are cast out dead. And often a very great tribe of serpents, flocking together, eat the flesh; but whenever they hear the hiss of a basilisk, those under their dens and the sand vanish most swiftly and hide, while it, coming up in great peace, dines, then hisses again and departs, and the mules and the dinner from them are thenceforth marked, as the saying goes, with stars.

Accounts of the Euboeans that come this way say that the fishermen there assign to the dolphins of those parts an equal share of the catch; and I hear that the fishing is of this kind. There must be a calm, and if this is so, they hang from the prow of their boats certain hollow braziers with fire blazing in them; and these are transparent, so as both to enclose the fire and not to hide the light. They call them lanterns. So the fish fear the glare and are dismayed by the brightness; and some, not knowing what the thing they see intends, draw near, wishing to learn the cause of what frightens them; then, struck with terror, they either rest in throngs by some rock, quivering with fear, or are thrust out onto the shore, and resemble men thunderstruck. And when they are in such a state it is then very easy to strike them even with a trident. So when the dolphins see the fishermen kindle the fire, they make themselves ready. And while the men gently row over, the dolphins frighten and push the fish on the outside and check them from escaping. So those fish, pressed on every side and in a way encircled both by the men's rowing and by the dolphins' swimming, understand that there is no escape for them, and they stay and are caught, a very great quantity. And the dolphins come up as though demanding the profit of the common toil owed them from the gathering, and the fishermen faithfully and fair-mindedly yield to their fellow-hunters the just portion, if they wish their allies to be present again, uninvited and without excuse. For the seamen there believe that if they transgress they will have as enemies those whom they had before as friends.

The deer conquers the serpent, by a certain wonderful gift of nature; and the hated enemy cannot escape its notice when it is in its hole, but applying its nostrils to the entrance of the lair

of the venomous creature, it breathes in most violently, and draws it as with a spell by its breath, and brings it out against its will, and as it peers out begins to eat it; and most of all it does this through the winter. A man, too, has shaved a deer's horn, then cast the shavings into the fire, and the smoke rising drives the serpents from everywhere, since they cannot bear even the smell. The horse is otherwise a proud creature; for its size and speed, the loftiness of its neck, the suppleness of its legs, and the striking of its hooves lift it into haughtiness and vanity; and especially a long-maned mare is most dainty and most luxurious. So she disdains to let asses mount her, but delights to be wedded to a horse, and counts herself worthy of the greatest. Knowing this, those who wish to get mules for themselves shear off the mare's mane carelessly and at random, and then bring the asses to her; and she submits to the now inglorious bridegroom, ashamed at first. And Sophocles seems to mention this experience.

About the wisdom of elephants I have spoken elsewhere, and indeed about their hunting too I have said a few things out of the many that others have told. But for the present I am minded to speak of their love of music, their docility, and their readiness for learning — things hard for even a man to attain, let alone for so great a beast and one hitherto so very savage to have in him. For the elephant has learned, and knows, dancing and the dance, to step in rhythm, to listen with pleasure to the pipe, and to understand the differences of sounds, whether to slow down when they yield or to quicken when they spur him on; and he does it exactly and does not err. So nature made him greatest in size, but learning has shown him most gentle and easily led. Now if I were going to write of their docility and aptitude for learning among the Indians, or in Ethiopia, or in Libya, perhaps I should seem to someone to be making up some tale and boasting, and then on the report of the beast to be slandering nature with falsehood — which a man who loves wisdom and is an ardent lover of truth ought least of all to do. But I have chosen to tell what I myself saw and what others have recorded as done before in Rome, running over a few things out of many, by this too no less demonstrating the peculiar character of the creature. The elephant, when tamed, is most gentle, and is led most easily to whatever one wishes. And honouring time, I will speak first of the oldest events. Germanicus Caesar was producing shows for the Romans; he would be the nephew of Tiberius. So there came to be in Rome several full-grown males and females, and from them home-born young were begotten. And when their limbs began to set firm, a man wise at dealing with such beasts trained them, handling them with a marvellous and astonishing instruction. He led them on at first quietly and gently to his teachings, applying certain baits and the sweetest and most varied foods to allure and draw them, so that whatever was savage in them might be cast out, and they might desert to the gentle and somehow human. And the lessons were: not to go mad on hearing the pipes, not to be disturbed when the clattering noise of drums beat, to be charmed by the syrinx, and to endure also discordant sounds, the tramp of feet stepping, and mingled song; and they were trained too not to fear a crowd of men. There were also these manly lessons: not to grow angry at the descent of a blow, nor, when compelled to bend and curve some of their limbs in dancing and choric fashion, to be then kindled to rage, and that too when they were well-endowed with strength and force. Now by nature this is already an advantage, and a most noble one, not to be disorderly or unruly toward human teachings; but when the dancing-master had shown them most skilful, and they had made exact the lessons of their training, they did not, they say, belie the labour of the teaching when need, with the occasion, called on them to display their lessons. For this chorus was twelve in number; and they came forward, distributed from this side of the theatre and from that, and entered with delicate steps, swaying their whole body luxuriously, and they were clothed in choristers' robes of flowered work. And at the mere signal of the chorus-leader's voice, they would go into a row, they say, if the master so bade; then again they would wheel round into a circle, when he signalled to go that way; and if they had to deploy, they did it; and indeed, scattering flowers, they adorned the floor, doing this with measure and sparingly, and they would even beat time somewhat with their feet, the same beasts keeping a choral and tuneful rhythm together. Now that Damon and Spintharus and Aristoxenus and Philoxenus and others understood music most excellently and were reckoned among the few in this wisdom is wonderful, but in no way incredible or unreasonable. The reason: man is a rational creature, capable of mind and reckoning; but that an inarticulate creature should understand both rhythm and melody, and keep a figure and not pervert the tune, and fulfil the demand of what it has been taught — these are gifts of nature, and at the same time an astonishing peculiarity in each case. And what followed these was enough even to drive the spectator mad. Low couches were set with mattresses on the sand of the theatre, and these received bolsters, and on them a richly worked covering, clear tokens of a most prosperous house of ancient wealth; and costly cups lay beside them, and mixing-bowls of gold and silver, and in them a great quantity of water, and tables of citron-wood and ivory, very stately, stood by, and on them were meats and loaves, enough to fill the bellies of the most omnivorous creatures. And when the preparations were full and abundant, the banqueters came forward, six males and an equal number of females; and the males had a manly robe, the females a womanly one, and they reclined in order, paired male and female. And at the signal they stretched out their trunks as hands, modestly, and ate most temperately; and not one of them seemed gluttonous, nor a glutton greedy beforehand, nor a snatcher of the larger portion, like the Persian in Xenophon's Golden. And when they had to drink, a mixing-bowl was set beside each, and drawing up the drink with their trunks they drank decorously, then sprinkled it about in play and not in insolence. Many other such things, wise and astonishing, of the peculiar nature of these creatures men have recorded. And I myself saw one writing letters on a tablet, in Roman characters, with its trunk, without swerving or wandering; only the hand of the teacher lay upon it, guiding it to the outline of the letters, until the creature had finished writing; and it looked fixedly downward. You would have said that the creature's eyes were educated and literate.

The hare too has peculiarities born in it. For it sleeps with its eyelids open, and betrays its years by showing certain hollows. And it carries in its womb some young half-formed, others it is in labour with, and others already born to it.

All the great whales, except the dog-fishes, need the guide, and are led by his eyes. It is a small and slender fish, with a long head; and its tail is narrow, as the experts in these matters say. Whether nature has assigned each whale this particular fish, or whether it comes to it willingly out of friendship, I do not know; but I rather believe that what is done is a compulsion of nature. For this fish never swims for itself, but goes before the whale's head, and is its guide and, so to speak, its rudder. It sees ahead for the whale all things, and perceives beforehand with the same eyes, and teaches it everything with the tip of its tail, touching it with this, and giving a signal, and it checks the whale from dangers, but leads it on toward what will feed it, and teaches it of the hunters' plot by some untraceable sign, and forewarns it of the places upon which so great a beast must not venture, lest it should ever be caught utterly on a reef and perish. So the foundation of life for the greatest is the smallest. And the creature, when fattened, seems no longer to see or to hear, but the mass of its flesh is a barrier both to its sight and to its hearing. And it is not seen bereft of the whale, but of necessity, when the cause of all the aforesaid things for it has perished first, that one too must perish.

The chameleon is by nature not to be seen or recognized in a single colour, but steals itself away, both confusing and turning aside the sight of those who look. For if you should meet it black in appearance, it changes its form to green, as though it had changed its dress; then again it appeared different, having put on

a grey hue, like another mask or another robe an actor puts on. Since, then, this is so, one might say that nature too is a sorceress, even though she does not boil or smear on drugs, like a Medea or a Circe. The pilot-fish one must know to delight in the open sea and the deep more than any of the fish we know by hearsay; and either it hates the land, or the land that fish. As ships cleave the midst of the passage, these pilot-fish, swimming up like lovers, escort them, and go round here and there, both dancing and leaping. Now the passengers cannot at all know how far off the land they are; but the sailors — yet even from them the truth is wont to be hidden. But the pilot-fish perceive it from afar, like a keen-scented dog that catches its quarry most swiftly, and no longer does so great a love of the ship hold them as to make them stay, but as though at a signal they gather in throngs and depart. And from this the masters of the ship know that they must look about for land, not judging by beacons but instructed by the creatures aforesaid.

If a redness ever rises and a paleness on bare skin stripped of hair, it is no wonder; but the tarand is a creature that changes itself with the very hairs, and produces a countless variety of colours, so as to astonish the sight. It is a Scythian, and in its back and size resembles a bull. And the Scythians, knowing its hide to be a good defence against the spear, stretch it over their own shields.

A fish of the open sea by lot, black in appearance, in length like a measured eel, taking its name from what it does, fastening on a running ship and that with a fair wind, and biting the tip of the stern, just as one most violently reins in a disobedient and rough horse by the mouth with a hard bit, checks it from its course and holds it fettered; and in vain are the sails filled out in the midst, and to no purpose do the winds blow, and grief holds the sailors. And the sailors understand, and recognize the ship's affliction. And from this it got its name; for those who have experience call it the ship-holder.

The art concerning the wounded and those needing a drug rises in Homer even to a third generation of teaching. For Patroclus, son of Menoetius, is taught medicine by Achilles, and Achilles, son of Peleus, by Chiron, son of Cronus. And among heroes and the children of gods the lessons were: to know the nature of roots, the use of various herbs, the mixing of drugs, and incantations against inflammation, to stanch blood, and all the rest those men knew; and indeed those of later time too have tracked out some things. But of these contrivances nature had no need; and the elephant proves it. So when many spears and arrows come into him, he eats the flower of the olive, or the oil itself, and then shakes out all that fell into him, and is whole again.

And this wonder too is peculiar to this creature. The bear does not know how to bear a formed cub, nor would anyone, seeing the offspring from her labour, agree that she brings forth a living thing; but she has given birth, and it is a shapeless lump of flesh, unmarked and unformed and without shape. Yet she loves and recognizes the young, and warms it under her thighs, and smooths it with her tongue, and shapes it into limbs, and indeed little by little forms it, and on seeing it you will say, This is a bear's cub.

Horns stand unbending and upright on all bulls, and for this reason, as a man is roused to his weapon, so the bull is roused to his horn. But Erythraean cattle move their horns like ears.

The Ethiopian land — a neighbour, and a very good and enviable one, is the bath of the gods, which Homer sings to us as Ocean — this land, then, is the mother of serpents greatest in size; for they reach even thirty fathoms, and they are not called by the name belonging to their kind, but men say they are slayers of elephants, and these serpents strive to the utmost length of old age. Here my Ethiopian accounts come to a halt. But Phrygian accounts say that serpents are born in Phrygia too, and that they reach ten fathoms, and that in midsummer daily, after the market-place is full, they creep out of their dens. And by the river called Rhyndacus they rested part of their coil on the ground, raising up all the rest of their body, and quietly and gently stretching up their throat and opening their mouth, then they draw the birds as with a spell by their breath. And the birds fall into their bellies, dragged by the inhalation from them, feathers and all. And this they do by themselves toward sunset; then the serpents, having hidden themselves, ambush the flocks as they come from pasture toward the folds, and take them, and having wrought much slaughter, have often destroyed the herdsmen too along with them, and have an abundant and ample dinner.

Mud is the begetting of the small fry; they do not breed through one another nor are descended one from another, but when the mud in the sea, and very slimy mud, has set and grown black, it is warmed by some unspeakable and life-giving nature and changes and turns into very many creatures. And the small fry are these, born like worms in the filth and foulness. And when the small fry have come to be, they are a most swimming thing, and do what they are by nature fit to do, then are led by some wonderful cause to safe places, where they shall have shelter and a barrier, by which life may be possible for them. The refuge would be either a rock standing up great and high, or what are called ovens; these would be hollowed rocks eaten away by the waves in time and become caverns. These nature has shown them as refuges, so that they may not be beaten by the surge and made to disappear; for they are weak and least able to resist its assaults. And they need no food; it is enough for them to lick one another. The catch of them is made with very fine threads, and with garments of loose warp sewn to these. And this would be a contrivance quite sufficient for their taking and capture, but least of all for the hunting of other fish.

The lizard, if you should strike and cut it through the middle with a rod, whether on purpose or by chance, neither of its parts has died, but separately and by itself each half-section goes forward and lives, dragged along on two feet, this one and that. Then when they come together — for the one part often comes together to the part that is wanting — being paired, the two have come together out of the division; and the lizard, made one again, has the scar to betray the trace of its experience, but running about and keeping its former life, it seems like one that has not undergone the things aforesaid.

The venom of reptiles is terrible, and that of the asp still more so. And against these one would not easily find counter-remedies and defences, even if one were most wise at charming away and removing pains. But there was, it seems, a certain secret venom in a man too, and it has been detected in the following way. If you take a viper, and very cautiously and firmly hold it by the neck, and force its mouth apart, and then spit into it,

the spittle slips down into its belly, and so great an evil arises for it that it rots the viper. Whence indeed the bite of a man is foul and dangerous to a man, no less than that of any beast. In the summer season, when harvest has come and the ears of corn are threshed on the floor, the ants gather in troops, going one by one and two by two, and even into a third row, leaving behind their own homes and accustomed dwellings; then they pick out from the wheat and the barley, and travel the same path. And some go off to the gathering of the aforesaid grain, while others carry the load, and they yield the road to one another very respectfully and sparingly, the unladen rather to the burden-bearers; and when they have come down to their own dwellings and filled the pits in their inmost recess, having bored through the middle of each seed, the part that falls out becomes for the time the ant's dinner, but the rest is barren. Now these noble stewards and guards contrive this, lest, when the rains flow round, the seeds, being whole, should take some sprouting and shoot up, and if this happened they should fall into want of food and famine through the winter, and their pains should miscarry. So ants too have had the good fortune to receive nature's gifts, even as others.

Never does the eagle need a spring nor crave a dust-bath, but it is superior to thirst, and does not wait for a remedy for weariness procured from outside, but despising both waters and rest, it cleaves the airy vault, and sees most keenly from the great and lofty air. And the serpent, that most unyielding of beasts, on merely hearing the whirr of the eagle's wings, at once dives down and gladly disappears. And this is its test of its true-born young: it sets them, while still moist and unfledged, facing the sun's beam; and if any blink, dazzled by the keenness of the ray, it is thrust out of the nest and rejected from this hearth; but if it looks back most unflinchingly, it is above suspicion and is enrolled among the true-born, since the heavenly fire is the unbribed and truly unbought registration of its lineage.

The great bird the ostrich is feathered with shaggy plumage, but has not the nature to be lifted up and raised into the deep air. But it runs most swiftly, and unfolds the wings on either side, and the wind, striking them, fills them out like sails.

The bustard is, I hear, the most horse-loving of birds. And the proof: it despises the other creatures grazing in meadows and pastures; but when it sees a horse, it most gladly flies up and draws near, like men who are lovers of horses.

A fly that has fallen into water, though it is the boldest of creatures, yet neither runs over it nor is it a swimmer, and for this reason it is drowned. But if you take out its corpse and sprinkle ash on it and set it in the sun, you will bring the fly back to life.

A cock, whether you buy it or receive it as a gift, if you wish to count it among your own flock and your accustomed birds, you must not let it go and release it carelessly and at random; otherwise it will at once depart as a runaway to its own kin and fellows, even if these are very far off. You must throw about it a guard and invisible bonds beyond the Homeric chains of Hephaestus. And what I mean is this. Setting in the middle the table on which you eat, and taking the bird, and leading it three times round the said scene, then let it go from there to wander free with your household birds; and it will not depart, as though it were fettered.

The salamander is not one of the offspring of fire, like the so-called fire-born, but it takes courage and goes to grips with the flame, and strives to overcome it as an adversary. And the proof: it haunts the workmen and craftsmen who work with fire. Now so long as the fire is at its height for them, and they have it as a helper to their craft and a partner in their skill, they take no thought at all about this creature; but when the fire is quenched and dies down, and the bellows blow in vain, then indeed they know well that the said creature is working against them. So having tracked the beast out and punished it, the fire is thenceforth kindled for them, and is obedient, and is not quenched, being fed by their habitual use.

The swan, which poets and many accounts free of metre have given as a servant to Apollo — how it stands in other respects with regard to music and song, I cannot say; but it has been believed by men of older time that, having sung what is called the swan-song, it then dies. And nature honours it more than even fine and good men, and reasonably; if indeed such men are both praised and lamented by others, while those swans, whichever you please of these, perform for themselves.

How great a crocodile is, both the full-grown and the one first hatched, and indeed how its tongue is, and whether it moves its jaw, and which one it brings against the other, many tell. And some have noted of this creature that it lays as many eggs as the days in which, after brooding, it hatches its young. And I myself have heard that when the crocodile dies, a scorpion is born from it, and they say it has a tail-sting filled with venom.

If these things are clear and not disputed, let the accounts of the Indians convince. What I shall now tell, the report from there carrying it across, is this. I myself heard from the son of Nicomachus that there is a bird with the same name as the plant cinnamon, and that the bird brings this plant of like name to the Indians, but that men know nothing at all of where or how it grows.

The Egyptians say that they learned clysters and purging of the belly from no human invention, but they sing that the ibis is their teacher of this cure. And how it taught those who first saw it, let another tell; that it knows the waxing and waning of the moon, this too I have heard. And that it takes away and adds to its own food according to the goddess's diminishing and increase, I will not deny having learned somewhere.

The most bitter sting, and bringing danger more than all, the stingray from the sea has. And the proof: if you should fix it into a flourishing tree running well up with growth, neither after delay nor later in time but at once the tree is withered; and if you should scratch any of the creatures, you have killed it.

The shrew-mouse, as far as it goes about its ordinary way, has life, and nature has made a truce with it, unless it should be caught by some other chance and perish; but whenever it falls into a chariot-rut, it is caught as by a fetter, and a very unseen one, and is dead. And for one bitten by a shrew-mouse there is this remedy: the sand raised by the running of the wheels, sprinkled on the bite, has saved at once.

These things too I have heard about the Egyptian ibis. The bird is sacred to the moon. So it hatches its eggs in as many days as the goddess waxes and wanes. And it never leaves Egypt. The reason: Egypt is the most southerly of all lands, and the moon is believed to be the most southerly of the wandering stars. Willingly, then, the ibis would not go abroad; but if anyone attacks it and by force takes it out, it avenges itself on the plotter, bringing his pains to nothing; for it kills itself by starvation, and shows the aforesaid man's eagerness profitless. It walks quietly and like a maiden, and one would not see it going faster than at a walk. And the black ones of these birds do not let the winged serpents pass from Arabia into Egypt, fighting in defence of the land they love; while the others meet and destroy those that come from Ethiopia at the inundation of the Nile. Else what would have hindered the Egyptians from perishing through the visitation of these serpents?

I hear also of a kind of eagle, and they have given it the name golden eagle, while others call the same one the starred; and it is not often seen. Aristotle says that it hunts fawns and hares and cranes and geese from the yard. It is believed to be the largest of eagles, and they say that it attacks even bulls by force, and they describe the deed thus. The bull grazes stooping downward; and the eagle, seating itself on the creature's neck, strikes with its beak with continuous and strong blows; and the bull, as though stung to frenzy, is kindled, and begins to flee as fast as its feet can carry it. And so long as the ground is easy to run over, the eagle is quiet and flies along watching; but when it sees the bull come near a precipice, wheeling its wings and stretching them over its eyes, it makes the bull, not seeing what is before its feet, fall down most violently. Then, falling upon it and tearing open its belly, it uses the prey easily, as long as it wishes. But it does not touch another's prey lying ready, but delights in its own toils, and least of all admits partnership with another. And when sated, it then breathes over the rest an evil and most foul-smelling breath, and leaves the remains uneatable to the others. Moreover, eagles dwell in nests set apart from one another, so as not to quarrel over prey and often, being grieved, to grieve one another.

There was, it seems, a kind of eagle affectionate even toward those who reared it, like the one of Pyrrhus. This one, they say, died upon its master, refusing food. And once too the pet eagle of a private man, when its master was being burned, threw itself into the pyre; though some say it was a woman's, not a man's, nursling. And the eagle was, it seems, a most jealous creature toward its young. So if it sees anyone approaching, it does not let him go off unpunished; for it strikes him with its wings and tears at him with its talons, and inflicts the penalty on him sparingly, for it does not use its beak.

Of sea-creatures the red mullet is the greediest, and beyond dispute the most unsparing in tasting everything that comes its way. And some of them are called scabby, drawing the name from the places which have for their bound scabby and porous ground, with thick seaweed among them, and somewhere mud or sand lying beneath. The red mullet would eat both a man's corpse and a fish's; and they delight rather in the defiled and foul-smelling.

Hawks too are quite able hunters, and no less than eagles, but they are the gentlest of birds by nature and the most man-loving, being in size not smaller than eagles. And I hear that in Thrace they are fellow-hunters with men in the marsh-fowling. And the manner is this: the men spread their nets and keep still, while the hawks, flying over, frighten the birds and drive them together into the encircling nets. So of those taken the Thracians set apart a portion for them too, and have them as faithful friends; but if they did not do this, they would deprive themselves of their allies. And the full-grown hawk fights both the fox and the eagle, and often fights the vulture. But a hawk would never eat a heart, doing this, I suppose, as something ritual and mystic. And a hawk, on seeing a dead man, the story goes, always casts earth upon the unburied — and this Solon does not bid it do — nor will it touch the body. And it remains untasting even of drink, if one man is channelling water into a furrow; for it believes it injures him in his toil by taking away water from his use; but if more than one are irrigating, seeing the abundance of the stream, as of some loving-cup, it takes a share from them and drinks with pleasure.

There is a tribe of hawks, and it is called the kestrel, and it needs no drink at all. And another kind of them is the mountain-hawk; and each is terribly fond of the female, and follows like men sick with love, nor is left behind. And if the female goes off somewhere unseen, he grieves exceedingly and cries out, and seems like one most amorously distressed. And hawks, when sick in their sight, go straight to the stone walls, and pull up the wild lettuce, and hold its juice, bitter and sharp as it is, over their own eyes, and receive it as it drips, and this brings them health. And they say that physicians too use this drug for the need of those ailing in their sight, and the cure is named after the birds; and men do not deny that they are pupils, listening to birds, but agree to it. And a hawk is said once to have convicted a temple-robber at Delphi, falling upon him and striking his head. And there are believed to be bastard hawks too, set in contrast with the tribes of eagles. And at the beginning of spring those in Egypt choose two out of all, and send them to scout out certain desert islands which lie off Libya. Then these return, and lead the flight for the others. And those that arrive provide a festival, by their coming, for the creatures in Libya; for they do no harm at all. And going to the islands which those first scouts judged more suitable for themselves than the others, there in great calm and quiet they lay and hatch, and hunt sparrows and pigeons, and rear their young in abundance; then, when these have set firm and become able to fly, they take them and lead them off to Egypt, as to their ancestral home, their haunts in the regions where they were reared.

The rainbow-wrasses are fish bred among rocks, and they have their mouth full of venom, and whatever fish they taste they make uneatable. And fishermen too, meeting with a half-eaten prawn, and judging the catch unsaleable, if they taste of it out of poverty, are convulsed in the belly and twisted. And they trouble those who dive and swim in the sea-fishing, falling on them in numbers and biting, just like flies on land; and one must shoo them off or be punished by being eaten; but to one shooing them off the work is ruined by the distraction.

The sea-hare, when eaten, has often brought death, and in any case pains the belly. It is born in mud, and is not seldom caught together with the small fry; in shape it would be like the naked snail.

The vulture is hostile to the corpse. So it falls on it and eats it as an enemy, and watches one about to die. And indeed vultures follow armies marching abroad, knowing very prophetically that they are going to war, and knowing too that every battle makes corpses. And they say a male vulture is never born, but all are females; and the creatures, knowing this and fearing a barrenness of offspring, do such things for the sake of progeny. They fly facing the south wind; and if there is no south wind, they gape toward the east wind, and the breath flowing in fills them, and they conceive for three years. And they say a vulture does not weave a nest. But the lammergeiers, being on the borderline between vultures and eagles, are both male and black in colour. And of these I hear that nests too are shown; but vultures, I have learned, do not lay eggs, but bring forth nestlings. And that from birth these are feathered, this too I have heard.

The kite is most unsparing in robbery. These, if they get the better of the bits of meat sold in the market, snatch them, falling upon them; but the meat from the sacrifice of Zeus they would not touch. And the mountain-falcon, falling upon birds, snatches away their eyes.

Egyptian ravens, those that live along the Nile, seem at first to be suppliants of the voyagers, asking to receive something; and having received it they keep quiet, but failing to get what they asked, they fly along, and settling on the yardarm of the ship eat through and cut the knots of the ropes. And Libyan ravens, when men, fearing thirst, have drawn water and filled vessels, and setting them on the roofs have left the water to be kept fresh by the air, then, as far as their beaks reach down by stooping, use the drink; but when it has fallen low, they bring pebbles in their mouth and claws and throw them into the jar; and these, by their weight, are thrust down and settle, while the water, pressed up, floats to the top. And the ravens drink very ingeniously, knowing by some unspeakable instinct that two bodies do not occupy one place.

Aristotle says that ravens know the difference between rich land and poor, and in the all-bearing and fruitful land they move in flocks and crowds, but in the barren and sterile by twos. And the young they have reared each makes an exile from its own nest; for which reason they seek their food, and do not feed those who gave them birth.

The goby, the weever, and the flying-fish, by pricking, release venom of fishes, yet not to death; but the stingray kills at once with its sting. And Leonides of Byzantium says that a man inexperienced in the nature and discernment of fish, snatching a stingray from a net — the unlucky man thought it was a flatfish — put it in his bosom to carry and walked on, as having found something good and a snatch profitable to himself for selling. But the stingray, hurt at being pressed, struck and pierced him with its sting, and poured out the entrails of the unlucky thief. And the robber lay dead beside the stingray, a clear proof of what in ignorance he had done.

The raven — you would not call it less bold in daring than the eagles. For it too goes to grips with the creatures, not the smallest, but the ass and the bull; for it seats itself on their necks and pecks them, and of many the raven has even pecked out the eyes. And it fights too a strong bird, the one called the merlin; and when it sees the merlin fighting a fox, it gives aid, for it has a certain friendship toward the fox. And the raven was, it seems, the most full-throated and many-voiced of birds; for having learned, it utters even a human voice. And its cry is one thing when it plays, another when it is in earnest; but if it gives forth the things from the gods, then it utters a sacred and prophetic cry. And ravens know that through the summer they are troubled with a flux of the belly, and for this reason keep themselves untasting of moist food.

Aristotle says that of animals some are viviparous, some lay eggs, and some bring forth worms; and that creatures bring forth living young — men and the rest that have hair, and the whale-like among the water-dwellers; and of these some have a blowhole but no gills, like the dolphin and the whale.

For the Mysians cattle bear burdens, and they are without horns. I mean that the herd is seen hornless no longer because of cold, but by the peculiar nature of these cattle; and the proof is at hand, for among the Scythians too cattle are not without the gift of horns. And I hear someone saying in a writing that there are Scythian bees too, which feel the cold not at all, and indeed that the Scythians, bringing it to the Mysians, sell honey not foreign to them but native, and combs of their own country. And if I say things contrary to Herodotus, let him not be angry with me; for the man who said these things declared that he was setting forth an inquiry, and not singing an untested hearsay to us.

Of sea-creatures I learn that the parrot-wrasse alone eats its food up again as it comes back, like the bleating beasts, which they also say chew the cud.

The dogfish gives birth through the mouth in the sea, and takes the young back in again, and brings them up by the same ways, alive and unharmed.

A mouse's liver, very astonishingly and strangely, as the moon waxes, grows for itself a certain extra lobe daily until the full moon; then again it diminishes by the same reckoning as the month wanes, until it has slipped down into a shapeless body. And I hear that in the Thebaid, when hail has fallen, mice are seen on the ground, of which one part is still mud, the other already flesh. And I myself, driving from Italian Naples to Dicaearchia, was rained on by frogs, and the part of them at the head was crawling, and two feet drew it on, while the rest was dragged along still unformed, and seemed to be compounded out of some moist matter.

The race of cattle was, it seems, useful for everything, both for partnership in farming and for the carriage of various loads. And the ox is good at filling the milk-pails, and adorns altars, and graces festivals, and provides a full feast. And even when dead the ox is a noble and praiseworthy thing. For bees grow out of its remains, a most industrious creature, and one that prepares among men the best and sweetest of fruits, honey.