We are told in the myth that the eagle,[2] when he would test which of his brood are genuine, carries them still unfledged into the upper air and exposes them to the rays of the sun, to the end that he may become, by the testimony of the god, the sire of a true nursling and disown any spurious offspring. Even so I submit my speeches[3] to you as though to Hermes the god of eloquence; and, if they can bear the test of being heard by you, it rests with you to decide concerning them whether they are fit to take flight to other men also. But if they are not, then fling them away as though disowned by the Muses, or plunge them in a river as bastards. Certainly the Rhine does not mislead the Celts,[4] for it sinks deep in its eddies their bastard infants, like a fitting avenger of an adulterous bed; but all those that it recognises to be of pure descent it supports on the surface of the water and gives them back to the arms of the trembling mother, thus rewarding her with the safety of her child as incorruptible evidence that her marriage is pure and without reproach. Footnotes

1. Letters 59-73 cannot be dated, even approximately, from their contents. Cumont and Geffcken reject, without good grounds, Schwarz defends, the authenticity of this sophistic letter, which was probably written from Gaul.
2. A rhetorical commonplace; cf. To Iamblichus, p. 259, note; Lucian, The Fisherman 46.
3. The allusion to Julian's writings is too vague to be used to date this letter.
4. A commonplace of rhetoric; cf. Julian, Vol. 1, Oration 2. 81d; Claudian, In Rufinum 2. 112, et quos nascentes explorat gurgite Rhenus; Galen 6. 51 Kuhn, says that the ordeal was to strengthen their bodies as well as to test their legitimacy; cf. Voltaire, Essai sur les moeurs 146.

We are told that Daedalus dared to do violence to nature by his art, and moulded wings of wax for Icarus. But for my part, though I applaud him for his art, I cannot admire his judgement. For he is the only man who ever had the courage to entrust the safety of his son to soluble wax. But if it were granted me, in the words of the famous lyric poet of Teos,[2] to change my nature to a bird's, I should certainly not “fly to Olympus for Love,” — no, not even to lodge a complaint against him — but I should fly to the very foothills of your mountains to embrace “thee, my darling,” as Sappho[3] says. But since nature has confined me in the prison of a human body[4] and refuses to lighten and raise me aloft, I approach you with such wings as I possess, the wings of words, and I write to you, and am with you in such fashion as I can. Surely for this reason and this only Homer calls words “winged,” that they are able to go to and fro in every direction, darting where they will, like the swiftest of birds. But do you for your part write to me too, my friend! For you possess an equal if not a larger share of the plumage of words, with which you are able to travel to your friends and from wherever you may be, just as though you were present, to cheer them. Footnotes

1. A philosopher named Eugenius was the father of the sophist and philosopher Themistius, an older contemporary of Julian, but this letter with its familiar tone cannot have been addressed to a man of advanced age. Schwarz, Cumont and Geffcken reject it on the ground of its sophistic mannerisms, but see Introduction.
2. Anacreon frag. 22, Bergk Ἀναπέτομαι δὴ πρὸς Ὄλυμπον πτερύγεσσι κούφαῖς διὰ τὸν Ἔρωτ᾽.
3. Frag. 126, Bergk.
4. A Platonic commonplace; cf. Julian, Oration 6. 198b; 7. 206b.

It is an occasion to rejoice the more when one has the chance to address friends through an intimate friend. For then it is not only by what you write that you unite the image of your own soul with your readers. And this is what I myself am doing. For when I despatched the custodian of my children,[2] Antiochus, to you, I could not bear to leave you without a word of greeting. So that if you want to have news of me, you can have from him information of a more intimate sort. And if you care at all for your admirers, as I believe you do care, you will prove it by never missing an opportunity while you are able to write. Footnotes

1. This letter is rejected by Schwarz, Cumont and Geffcken; Schwarz on the slender evidence of style classes it with the apocryphal letters to Iamblichus; Cumont also places it in that series, and thinks that this Sopater is the friend of the elder Iamblichus executed by Constantine.
2. No forger would have referred to children of Julian's body; but the phrase may refer to his writings. Libanius, Epitaphius, says of Julian's letters παῖδας τούτους ἀθανάτους καταλέλοιπεν. See also To Iamblichus, Letter 78.

Nay, when did you ever leave me, so that I need to write, or when do I not behold you with the eyes of the soul as though you were here with me? For not only do I seem to be with you continually and to converse with you, but I pay attention to my duties now just as zealously as when you were here to guide me. But if you do wish me to write to you, just as though you were not here, then take care that you do not yourself create the impression of not being with me all the more by your very wish that I should write. However, if you do really find pleasure in it I am willing to obey you in this also. At any rate, by your request, you will, as the proverb says, lead a galloping horse into the plain. Come then, see that you return like for like, and in answer to my counter-summons do not grow weary of the unbroken series of letters exchanged between us. And yet I have no wish to hinder the zeal that you display on behalf of the public welfare, nevertheless, in proportion as I keep you free for the pursuit of noble studies, I shall be thought, far from injuring it, to benefit the whole body of Hellenes at once, that is to say, if I leave you like a young and well-bred dog without interference, free to give all your time to tracking down, with a mind wholly free from all else, the art of writing discourses; but if you possess such swiftness that you need neither neglect your friends nor slacken in those other pursuits, come, take both courses and run at full speed! Footnotes

1. Libanius often mentions a certain Eucleides, a native of Constantinople, to whom this letter may be addressed; the reference to public affairs may imply that Julian was already Emperor, but it cannot be dated with certainty. Schwarz rejects the letter on stylistic grounds, and Cumont for the same reason attributed it to the sophist Julian of Caesarea, for whom see Introduction under Iamblichus; but, though it is conventional and sophistic, there is nothing in it that the Emperor Julian might not have written.

Pindar[2] thinks that the Muses are “silvery,” and it is as though he likened the clearness and splendour of their art to the substance that shines most brilliantly. And the wise Homer[3] calls silver “shining,” and gives to water the epithet “silvery” because it gleams with the very brightness of the reflected image of the sun, as though under its direct rays. And Sappho[4] the fair says that the moon is “silvery,” and that because of this it dims the radiance of the other stars. Similarly one might imagine silver to be more appropriate to the gods than gold; but that to man, at any rate, silver is more precious than gold and more familiar to them because it is not, like gold, hidden under the earth and does not avoid their eyes, but is both beautiful to the eye and more serviceable in daily life, — this, I say, is not my own theory[5] but was held by men of old. If, therefore, in return for the gold coin sent by you I give you a piece of silver of equal value, think not that the favour is less and do not imagine that, as with Glaucus,[6] the exchange is to your disadvantage; for perhaps not even Diomede would have exchanged silver armour for golden, seeing that the former is far more serviceable than the latter, and like lead well fitted to turn the points of spears.[7] All this I am saying in jest, and I take the cue[8] for my freedom of speech to you from what you write yourself. But if you really wish to send me gifts more precious than gold, write, and keep on writing regularly. For even a short letter from you I hold to be more precious than any other blessing that one could name. Footnotes

1. See Introduction, under Hecebolius.
2. Frag. 212, Bergk.; cf. Pythian 9. 65, Isthmian 2. 13.
3. These epithets for silver and water are not in our Homer.
4. Frag. 3, Bergk.; cf, Julian, Oration 3. 109c, note, Wright.
5. For this Julianic commonplace cf. Oration 6. 197b, note.
6. A sophistic commonplace; cf. Vol. 2, Letter to Themistius 260a, note. He exchanged bronze armour for golden; Iliad 6. 236.
7. Iliad 11. 237 ἀργύρῳ ἀντομένη, μόλιβος ὥς, ἐτράπετ᾽ αἰχμή.
8. Literally “keynote”; cf. To Iamblichus Letter 74.

Not only do I write to you but I demand to receive payment in kind. And if I treat you ill by writing continually, then I beg you to ill-treat me in return and make me suffer in the same way. Footnotes

1. A merely sophistic letter of compliment such as this is a conventional “type” of the sort recommended in the contemporary handbooks on epistolary style. Gesner thinks it was addressed to the Lucian who wrote the dialogue Philopatris, preserved with the works of his illustrious namesake, but there is no evidence of this.

Even a short letter gives more pleasure when the writer's affection can be measured by the greatness of his soul rather than by the meagre proportions of what he writes. So that if I now address you briefly, do not even so conclude that the accompanying affection is equally slight, but since you know the full extent of my love for you, forgive the brevity of my letter and do not hesitate to answer me in one equally short. For whatever you send me, however trifling, keeps alive in my mind a remembrance of all that is good. Footnotes

1. We know from Libanius, Letter 758 Foerster, To Julian, that towards the end of 362 Elpidius was at Antioch and in Julian's confidence. This letter is purely formal and may have been written then, or earlier. There are several letters extant from Libanius to Elpidius. Cumont ascribed this letter to Julian of Caesarea.

Well, let us grant that Echo is a goddess, as you say she is, and a chatterbox, and, if you like, the wife of Pan[2] also; for I shall not object. And even though nature would fain inform me that Echo is only the sound of the voice answering back when the air is struck, and bent back upon that which is opposite the ear that hears it, nevertheless, since I put my faith in the account given by men both ancient and modern,[3] and in your own account no less, I am abashed into admitting that Echo is a goddess.[4] What, in any case, would that matter to me, if only, in my expressions of friendship towards you, I excel Echo in a considerable degree? For she does not reply to all the sounds that she hears, but rather to the last syllables uttered by the voice, like a grudging sweetheart who returns her lover's kisses with the merest touch of her lips. I, on the other hand, in my correspondence with you, lead off sweetly, and then again, in reply to your challenge, I return you like for like as though I threw back a ball. Therefore you cannot be too quick in recognising that your letters put you in default, and that it is yourself, since you receive more and give back very little, whom you consign to the similitude of the figure, and not me, since I am eager to score off you in both ways.[5] However, whether you give in just the same degree as you receive, or not, whatever I am permitted to receive from you is a boon, and is credited as sufficient to balance the whole.[6] Footnotes

1. Otherwise unknown. The title Catholicus (cf. our “General”) was used of officials in charge of the collection of tribute, especially in Africa; it is equivalent to procurator fisci. George was probably a sophist. This and the following letter are rejected by Schwarz, Cumont and Geffcken, because of their sophistic mannerisms.
2. Moschus, Idyl 6.
3. For this conventional phrase, often used by Julian, cf. To Hecebolius, Letter 63, and To Sarapion, Letter 80.
4. George had evidently used the figure of Echo, and accused Julian of imitating her.
5. i.e. both in sending and receiving letters.
6. Perhaps the last two sentences are a playful allusion to George's profession as a financier.

“Thou hast come, Telemachus!”[2] as the verse says, but in your letters I have already seen you and the image of your noble soul, and have received the impression thereof as of an imposing device on a small seal. For it is possible for much to be revealed in little. Nay even Pheidias the wise artist not only became famous for his statue at Olympia or at Athens, but he knew also how to confine a work of great art within the limits of a small piece of sculpture; for instance, they say that his grasshopper and bee, and, if you please, his fly also, were of this sort; for every one of these, though naturally composed of bronze, through his artistic skill became a living thing. In those works, however, the very smallness of the living models perhaps contributed the appearance of reality to his skilful art; and do you, please, look at his Alexander[3] hunting on horseback, for its whole measurement is no larger than a fingernail.[4] Yet the marvellous skill of the workmanship is so lavished on every detail that Alexander at one and the same time strikes his quarry and intimidates the spectator, scaring him by his whole bearing, while the horse, reared on the very tips of his hoofs, is about to take a step and leave the pedestal, and by creating the illusion of vigorous action is endowed with movement by the artist's skill. This is exactly the effect that you have on me, my excellent friend. For after having been crowned often, already, as victor over the whole course, so to speak, in the lists of Hermes, the God of Eloquence, you now display the highest pitch of excellence in a few written words. And in very truth you imitate Homer's Odysseus,[5] who, by merely saying who he was, was able to dazzle the Phaeacians. But if even from me you require some of what you call “friendly smoke,”[6] I shall not begrudge it. Surely the mouse who saved the lion in the fable[7] is proof enough that something useful may come even from one's inferiors. Footnotes

1. Geffcken and Cumont reject this letter.
2. Odyssey 16. 23.
3. The ascription to Pheidias the sculptor of works in the 'microtechnique' described here, is sometimes due to the confusion, in the Roman period, of the fifth century Pheidias with a gem-cutter of the same name who lived in the third century B.C. In the Jahrbuch d.k.d. Arch. Institute, 1889, p. 210, Furtwangler, who does not quote this letter, reproduces a gem from the British Museum collection signed by this later Pheidias; it is an Alexander on foot. The anachronism here makes the letter suspect.
4. See Vol. 1, Oration 3, 112a for a reference to this kind of carving.
5. Odyssey 9. 19.
6. George had perhaps in his letter referred to the longing of Odysseus to see even the smoke of his native land, and had compared his friend's letters to that smoke.
7. Babrius, Fable 107; Aesop, Fable 256.

I am almost in tears — and yet the very utterance of your name ought to have been an auspicious sound, — for I recall to mind our noble and wholly admirable father.[2] If you make it your aim to imitate him, not only will you yourself be happy but also you will give to human life, as he did, an example of which it will be proud. But if you are indolent you will grieve me, and you will blame yourself when blaming will not avail. Footnotes

1. Otherwise unknown.
2. If the MS. reading is retained, Julian must be referring to someone who had taught them both. This was a regular usage and the teacher of one's own teacher could be referred to as “grandfather.”

I could not read without tears the letter which you wrote after your wife's death, in which you told me of your surpassing grief. For not only does the event in itself call for sorrow, when a young and virtuous wife, the joy of her husband's heart,[2] and moreover the mother of precious children, is prematurely snatched away like a torch that has been kindled and shines brightly, and in a little while its flame dies down, but over and above this, the fact that it is you to whom this sorrow has come seems to me to make it still more grievous. For least of all men did our good Himerius deserve to experience any affliction, excellent orator that he is, and of all my friends the best beloved. Moreover, if it were any other man to whom I had to write about this, I should certainly have had to use more words in dealing with it; for instance, I should have said that such an event is the common lot, that we must needs submit, that nothing is gained by excessive grief, and I should have uttered all the other commonplaces considered appropriate for the alleviation of suffering, that is if I were exhorting one who did not know them. But since I think it unbecoming to offer to a man who well knows how to instruct others the sort of argument by which one must school those who are too ignorant for self-control, see now, I will forbear all such phrases; but I will relate to you a fable, or it may be a true story, of a certain wise man, which perhaps is not new to you, though it is probably unfamiliar to most people; and if you will use this and this alone, as though it were a drug to relieve pain, you will find release from your sorrow, as surely as from that cup which the Spartan woman[3] is believed to have offered to Telemachus when his need was as great as your own. Now the story is that when Darius was in great grief for the death of a beautiful wife, Democritus[4] of Abdera could not by any argument succeed in consoling him; and so he promised him that he would bring back the departed to life, if Darius were willing to undertake to supply him with everything necessary for the purpose. Darius bade him spare no expense but take whatever he needed and make good his promise. After waiting a little, Democritus said that he was provided with everything else for carrying out his task, but still needed one thing only, which he himself did not know how to obtain; Darius, however, as King of all Asia, would perhaps find it without difficulty. And when the King asked him what it might be, this great thing which it was possible for only a king to know of, they say that Democritus in reply declared that if he would inscribe on his wife's tomb the names of three persons who had never mourned for anyone, she would straightway come to life again, since she could not disobey the authority of this mystic rite. Then Darius was in a dilemma, and could not find any man who had not had to bear some great sorrow, whereupon Democritus burst out laughing,[5] as was his wont, and said: “Why, then, O most absurd of men, do you mourn without ceasing, as though you were the only man who had ever been involved in so great a grief, you who cannot discover a single person of all who have ever lived who was without his share of personal sorrow?” But though it was necessary to say these things to Darius, a barbarian and a man of no education, the slave both of pleasure and of grief, you, on the other hand, are a Greek, and honour true learning, and you must find your remedy from within; for surely it would be a disgrace to the reasoning faculty if it had not the same potency as time. Footnotes

1. Of Hertlein's “Amerius” we know nothing. See Introduction, under Himerius.
2. An echo of Iliad 9. 336 ἄλοχον θυμαρέα.
3. Helen, Odyssey 4. 220, a rhetorical commonplace; cf. Vol. 2, Oration 8. 240b, p. 167, note.
4. The Atomistic philosopher, cf. Diels, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker 2. 16. 41. This is a traditional anecdote, told of Herodes Atticus and Demonax by Lucian, Demonax 25, and only here of Darius and Democritus.
5. Democritus was known as “the laughing Philosopher” cf. Oration 6. 186c, Vol. 2, p. 20, Wright.

Your son Diogenes, whom I saw after you went away, told me that you had been much irritated with him for some reason that would naturally make a father feel vexed with his child, and he implored me to act as mediator in a reconciliation between him and yourself. Now, if he has committed some error of a mild and not intolerable kind, do you yield to nature, recognise that you are a father, and again turn your thoughts to your child. But if his offence is too serious to admit of immediate forgiveness, it is right for you yourself rather than for me to decide whether you ought to bear even that with a generous spirit and overcome your son's purpose by wiser thoughts, or to entrust the offender's probation to a longer period of discipline. Footnotes

1. Diogenes is otherwise unknown. Schwarz places this letter between January and June 362, when Julian was at Constantinople. The tone seems to imply that he was already Emperor, but the note is purely conventional, a “type” of the letter of intervention.

Even a short letter from you is enough to provide me with grounds for feeling greatly pleased. Accordingly, since I was exceedingly pleased with what you wrote to me, I in turn send you a letter of the same length, because in my judgement the friendly greetings of comrades ought to be rewarded not by length of letter so much as by magnitude of goodwill. Footnotes

1. A Gregorius Dux was pretorian prefect in 336, according to Codex Theodosianus 3. 1. 2, but this purely formal letter of the type that survived in epistolary handbooks and is probably addressed to a younger man.

In all respects my bodily health is fairly good, and indeed my state of mind is no less satisfactory. I fancy there can be no better prelude than this to a letter sent from one friend to another. And to what is this the prelude? To a request, of course! And what is the request? It is for letters in return, and in their sentiments may they harmonise with my own letters and bring me similar news from you, and equally auspicious. Footnotes

1. This may be the obscure Athenian philosopher, a contemporary of Julian; cf. Marinus, Proclus 12.

I have given orders that there shall be ships at Cenchreae.[2] The number of these you will learn from the governor of the Hellenes,[3] but as to how you are to discharge your commission you may now hear from me. It must be without bribery and without delay. I will myself, with the help of the gods, see that you do not repent of having done your duty as I have indicated. Footnotes

1. Nothing is known of Maximinus or the circumstances; if the letter is genuine, as is probable, it may refer to Julian's preparations for his march against Constantius in 361.
2. A coast town S.W. of the Isthmus of Corinth.
3. i.e. the proconsul of Achaia who resided at Corinth.