Letter 3002: Though the exchange of letters belongs more to joy than to grief, and though a tongue stumbling under the confusion...

Ennodius of PaviaEugenetus|c. 494 AD|Ennodius of Pavia
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Ennodius to Eugenetus.

Though the exchange of letters belongs more to joy than to grief, and though a tongue stumbling under the confusion of fresh sorrow can hardly bring into the light either the secrets of the heart or the diligence of friendship — I will still consider whether less frequent correspondence inflicts a loss on affection. And yet, if no words at all are offered, the very silence reveals our inadequacy. God gave the tongue the office of bearing witness to our feelings.

But you may say, my lord: these are words ill suited to a man you know to be consumed by the most terrible sorrow — that a heart pressed by anguish cannot be roused to the language of love, and that grief hears nothing that could soothe it. Whatever crushes the spirit rejects what would delight the ear. Your brother, who was the greater half of your soul, has departed for the heavens and carried that half away to the grave. What can be demanded of a man whose other self now lies enclosed in a tomb? In the depths of affliction, the voice, enslaved by groaning, cannot speak. Amid a season of tears, an untimely narrative is being dictated.

I will answer: a grief equally bitter has entered my heart as well. I cannot be separated from the sorrow of a man whom shared inclinations have joined to me in happier times. Yet I will show that speech has often been the messenger of graver suffering in times of mourning, and that the remedies of silence have been betrayed by conversation.

I will say this: a man who denies his pages to his own lamentation consigns what he mourns to a single generation. The memory of a brother — and a learned one — does not deserve to have what we felt about him perish with our grieving. When the mouth rests idle in mourning, the heart grows stingy. But the recollection of a beloved person, when committed to writing, pierces the hearts of those who loved him with a sharp and violent sting. The written account of a funeral never lets death grow old.

It is in this spirit that I address Your Greatness, weeping even as I console — so that through the gift of mutual correspondence, under God's invocation, the promised affection between us may be nourished, and the person of eloquence, whose merits do not permit him to suffer oblivion, may through our conversation live again.

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

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