To Demetrius. (356 AD)
You write such things to a second Tantalus — for I too thirst for your springs, and the springs are near, yet you will not let me drink, even though you yourself think fit to receive from mine. You would do well to share yours in return, for you would be sending to a friend who is willing to give what you wish to receive.
As for that man you say read my book at your prompting — if he did so with goodwill, there is nothing surprising in that, for he was only keeping to what he decided long ago. For he has long praised me rather than put me to the test, though he is a formidable speaker and an even better judge. And yet whenever he gets hold of something of mine, the noble critic instantly becomes a white voting-pebble [i.e., votes approval every time].
Where this disposition of his comes from, I shall tell you. Aristaenetus, a man from Bithynia, was his fellow student at Athens, and they formed a friendship equal to those celebrated friendships of yours. Whatever pleases one of them carries the vote of both, for the one follows the other, and the other follows this one.
Since, then, it occurred to Aristaenetus to think me not worthless, it was no longer possible for Acacius not to think me talented. So all his dramatic support of my work — the tone of voice, the gestures of the hand, and all the rest, which often make even poor work seem fine — was the product of his pact with Aristaenetus. Had there been no such obligation, you would certainly have seen him laughing.
Still, whether it is deserved or not, may he never stop praising me. As for you — you do well to put down that shameless fellow and teach him not to kick against the bridle. But in ranking the Megarians as equal to your own people, you are wrong: at least the Megarians did not invite the scapegoat to their city, whereas what goes on among your people — you know well enough.
You write such things to a second Tantalus — for I too thirst for your springs, and the springs are near, yet you will not let me drink, even though you yourself think fit to receive from mine. You would do well to share yours in return, for you would be sending to a friend who is willing to give what you wish to receive.
As for that man you say read my book at your prompting — if he did so with goodwill, there is nothing surprising in that, for he was only keeping to what he decided long ago. For he has long praised me rather than put me to the test, though he is a formidable speaker and an even better judge. And yet whenever he gets hold of something of mine, the noble critic instantly becomes a white voting-pebble [i.e., votes approval every time].
Where this disposition of his comes from, I shall tell you. Aristaenetus, a man from Bithynia, was his fellow student at Athens, and they formed a friendship equal to those celebrated friendships of yours. Whatever pleases one of them carries the vote of both, for the one follows the other, and the other follows this one.
Since, then, it occurred to Aristaenetus to think me not worthless, it was no longer possible for Acacius not to think me talented. So all his dramatic support of my work — the tone of voice, the gestures of the hand, and all the rest, which often make even poor work seem fine — was the product of his pact with Aristaenetus. Had there been no such obligation, you would certainly have seen him laughing.
Still, whether it is deserved or not, may he never stop praising me. As for you — you do well to put down that shameless fellow and teach him not to kick against the bridle. But in ranking the Megarians as equal to your own people, you are wrong: at least the Megarians did not invite the scapegoat to their city, whereas what goes on among your people — you know well enough.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.