To the Emperor Julian. (362 AD)
I paid my tribute to Aristophanes, and you have repaid me for my devotion to you — a devotion that is brilliant, passionate, and hidden from neither gods nor men. For now I very nearly take flight, lifted up by your letter, which brought me both hopes and praise for my work. Everything seems small to me now: the wealth of Midas, the beauty of Nireus, the speed of Crison, the strength of Polydamas, the sword of Peleus.
I think that even a share of nectar would not have delighted me more than this — that a king, the one Plato long sought and at last found, has praised my judgment and admired my work, and honors me still more by his promise to give and by wishing to consider with me what that gift should be.
So it seems that the man who watches for the rising of the heavenly Goat [Capella, a star associated with good fortune] could obtain anything — since for me, without even trying, the greatest things arrive; and if I need some good thing, the emperor stands ready to grant it, imitating the god in heaven.
Your letter will be appended to my speech, showing the sons of the Greeks that the arrow was not shot in vain. Aristophanes will take pride in what I wrote, and I in what you wrote — or rather, we shall both be the more distinguished by both the letter and the gifts to come.
You must hear about Aristophanes' fright — it will make you laugh. One of those who customarily visit you in the afternoon came to your doors and was turned away, told you were composing a speech. He reported this to us, and immediately we were seized with fear that you had chosen to wrestle with rhetoric and would throw the teacher to the ground, inflicting on Aristophanes the fate of Nilus [a rival rhetorician bested by Aristophanes of Corinth].
So we ran to the excellent Elpidius, and when he learned what we were afraid of, he burst out laughing. Only then did we breathe again — and shortly after, we received your splendid letter.
I paid my tribute to Aristophanes, and you have repaid me for my devotion to you — a devotion that is brilliant, passionate, and hidden from neither gods nor men. For now I very nearly take flight, lifted up by your letter, which brought me both hopes and praise for my work. Everything seems small to me now: the wealth of Midas, the beauty of Nireus, the speed of Crison, the strength of Polydamas, the sword of Peleus.
I think that even a share of nectar would not have delighted me more than this — that a king, the one Plato long sought and at last found, has praised my judgment and admired my work, and honors me still more by his promise to give and by wishing to consider with me what that gift should be.
So it seems that the man who watches for the rising of the heavenly Goat [Capella, a star associated with good fortune] could obtain anything — since for me, without even trying, the greatest things arrive; and if I need some good thing, the emperor stands ready to grant it, imitating the god in heaven.
Your letter will be appended to my speech, showing the sons of the Greeks that the arrow was not shot in vain. Aristophanes will take pride in what I wrote, and I in what you wrote — or rather, we shall both be the more distinguished by both the letter and the gifts to come.
You must hear about Aristophanes' fright — it will make you laugh. One of those who customarily visit you in the afternoon came to your doors and was turned away, told you were composing a speech. He reported this to us, and immediately we were seized with fear that you had chosen to wrestle with rhetoric and would throw the teacher to the ground, inflicting on Aristophanes the fate of Nilus [a rival rhetorician bested by Aristophanes of Corinth].
So we ran to the excellent Elpidius, and when he learned what we were afraid of, he burst out laughing. Only then did we breathe again — and shortly after, we received your splendid letter.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.