Letter 7016: **From:** Ennodius, deacon in Pavia
**From:** Ennodius, deacon in Pavia
**To:** Agnellus
**Date:** ~505 AD
**Context:** A playful yet pointed letter of complaint — Ennodius has heard of Agnellus's good fortune through rumor alone, and demands to know why a man of such eloquence has sent him not a single word.
---
The joyful exuberance of speech has a habit of scattering the signs of good fortune everywhere it goes. Whatever blessing falls upon the eloquent is carried swiftly through the crowds on the familiar voice of joy — word for word, mouth to mouth. It is easier to smother with one's tongue the flames already kindled on a funeral pyre than to keep silence in the midst of longed-for news. It is the law of human nature, the very command of Nature herself, that the gladness of the mind pours outward through the resources of writing. Good things leak, after all — even when they are sealed away in the innermost chambers.
And yet in Your Greatness, just as your venerable age ripens with the twin gifts of modesty and wisdom, so too you have reined in your joy with the bridle of restraint. But I ask you: should discipline really run so far that it does damage to grace? Should that quality which counts among the ornaments of good character actually diminish what your friends deserve? You hold, after all, the minted currency of Latin eloquence — and yet even so, you cannot find the words to justify the fact that you have given nothing to me, who have been waiting.
Is it truly fitting that the highest blessings should be reported to those who love you by rumor alone — and that one who has already taken hold of such joys should leave a friend to tremble in anxious uncertainty about what congratulations are even owed?
It is this necessity that has driven me to send this boy to you — not to fetch letters back, but to *demand* them. You know what confidence looks like in those who love without calculation, and especially in those whose hope you have kept alive, confirmed by the pledge of your favor.
My lord, I offer you my fullest greeting and beg this of you: send me letters — frequent ones, and not cramped into miserly brevity. Mark well the audacity of my spirit: I am asking for long pages from a man from whom I have not yet received so much as a single line.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.
Related Letters
Believe me when I say that I am a stranger in my own land with you absent.
Anastasius II, bishop of Rome, to Lawrence, bishop of Lignido, greetings.
You left for distant parts and forgot all about friendship.
Beyond your customary and well-proven affection, you are kind enough to show us generosity as well — taking from...
The duty I am charged with grows harder in harsh conditions.