Letter 9

UnknownOlybrius|c. 499 AD|ennodius pavia
education books

Ennodius to Olybrius.

While you speak of honeycombs and compose the honey of a liquid element with the nectar of eloquence through waxen chambers, you have poured into my lips the exotic flavor of a rich feast, making mention of the contest of Hercules and the fateful falls of Antaeus. So indeed do those trained in the gymnasiums of letters illuminate the wrestling-ground; so do limbs of speech, oiled by the practices of study, submit to the artistry of the mouth. But I confess I would have preferred not to be stung by the mention of that fight. The old tale relates that Antaeus, so long as he was not thrown down, lost his mother's help once he ceased to fall — that by the stratagem of his cunning foe he was overcome by standing, and yielded his life in his adversary's arms. A thing worthy of memory, to be sure, but unworthy of friendship's purpose.

We, I recall, have entered upon a contest of our bond — but one in which we vie to conquer through the offices of mutual affection, so that in the midst of such struggles we may both desire to be vanquished and to vanquish. We must live, not die, through the shared secrets of our hearts, united by the aid of Mother Church, who nourishes us both, to speak truly, with the fostering milk of faith. Let the fictions of old wives' poets cease; let fabulous antiquity be rejected; let an innocent standing never be mingled with another's ruin. For us, if it please you, in adapting the examples of the ancients to a new use, it is more fitting to recall the devotion of Pylades and Orestes, of Nisus and Euryalus, of Pollux and Castor — provided no taint of secret misdeeds diminishes their honor — whose mutual harmony of souls so bound them together that death alongside their friends was sought by two of them, while another purchased a friend's life at the price of his own death. These are things worthy of memory, whenever amid the fresh ties of concord a noble graft is joined to sturdy rootstock on the moist — if I may say so — page of our souls. Those minds promise the fruits of concord which understand what toil is needed in their cultivation. I rejoice, then, that we are now joined by an indissoluble fellowship of character, and from the threshold of affection we weigh the growth of our love by the balance of examination.

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

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