Letter 2007: **From:** Ennodius, deacon and man of letters, Pavia

Ennodius of PaviaFirminus|c. 498 AD|Ennodius of Pavia
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**From:** Ennodius, deacon and man of letters, Pavia
**To:** Firminus, rhetorician and man of exceptional eloquence
**Date:** ~498 AD
**Context:** A tour de force of Ennodian self-deprecation — Ennodius lavishly apologizes for his literary inadequacy while writing to a more accomplished friend, demonstrating, in the very act of apologizing, the elaborate rhetorical skill he claims to lack; the letter pivots on Cicero's dictum that speaking without necessity is folly, only to conclude that silence between friends is worse than ingratitude.

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Though love may demand what perfection cannot deliver, and affection may succeed in this at least — that through the sheer audacity of speech, all hope of the silence that might have adorned me is utterly destroyed — still, I know that speaking without necessity is, as Tully [Cicero] himself observed, an altogether inept condition. Yet amid the paths of narration and the roads that must be opened with the scythe of learning, affection holds sovereign sway, ignorant of its own weakness, indifferent to any reckoning of its powers. Love, once fixed deep within the inner chambers of the heart, rules there like an emperor — confident that one who is anxious for the welfare of a dear friend far away is not won over by the weight or grandeur of words, and unwilling to believe that offense can ever be born from goodwill. It judges this sufficient for joy: that a letter should carry the longed-for news of your wellbeing.

But you — you whom the scales of expertise have weighed in the balance of eloquence itself, you who command abundance of tongue, disciplined speech, true Latin grace, expression that is perfectly rounded and finished on every side — you naturally seek in others what you yourselves practice; you seek what you love. I, by contrast, have been kept far from the gymnasia of the schools, and with the merest drops of a parched and withered intellect I presume to challenge the full rivers of ocean — as though a lamp were preparing to do battle against the rays of the sun. The poverty of my learning announces itself from a great distance, and unless the warmth of devotion be allowed to excuse such garrulousness, it is at the expense of my own dignity that I have dared to love a man so far above me.

The vein of eloquence, after all, is drawn from the source of one's lineage, and a noble offspring is ordinarily kindled by the ardor native to its stock. I fall short of my own ancestry: the fullness of learning has not touched me with the gifts it bestowed on you; I am, in that world, a stranger. I can praise you, nothing more — imitation lies beyond my reach. And yet, though mature eloquence has not yet come to flower in me, and though I am abandoned by the very capacity I would need to discharge the weight of gratitude I owe you, I nonetheless commit my frail little skiff to the calm sea — because silent congratulation differs only barely from ingratitude.

How is it, I ask you, that the good news of your prosperity, which I have learned through the report of the bearer of this letter, should count among the blessings of heaven itself? And although I was in duty bound to fulfil the obligations of regular correspondence, it was the negligence of couriers that intervened — letters sent to me by you were either held back or lost entirely. I have nonetheless drawn my modesty out from the safe post where it had been content to linger, and launched it upon uncertain waters; I commit myself entire to be read by your discerning taste.

Farewell, my lord. Honor one who loves you with the frequent gift of letters — for in such pursuits, neither laziness nor mere diligence nor mere eloquence will do.

Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.

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