Letter 38
**From:** Ennodius, bishop of Pavia
**To:** Firmina, a Roman noblewoman of senatorial rank
**Date:** ~510–515 AD
**Context:** Written at a moment of unexpected joy — Ennodius receives Firmina's letter just as he departs on a journey through the Cottian Alps, and answers it with characteristic rhetorical brilliance, including a magnificent *adynaton* (an "impossible comparison") pledging his eternal loyalty.
---
Whenever a longed-for thing arrives without warning, it gains its very worth from the swiftness of its coming. For so that the gift of heavenly favor may appear still greater, God makes sudden what He bestows — lest the long vigil of those who wait diminish the graciousness of the Giver in their eyes. Who, after all, having received at a stroke the answer to his heart's desire, does not cherish what has been granted with all the more ardor?
In just this way, thirsting for it, I received the letter of Your Greatness at the very moment of my departure. I was grieved, I confess, and deeply troubled — for there was no one at hand to carry my dutiful greetings to you, and I was about to set out without learning the glad tidings of your health. Yet behold: a generous fortune has granted both gifts at once. I have received together those hoped-for tokens of your wellbeing, which I now gladly report; and at one and the same moment I write to tell you that I am returning from the Cottian Alps [the mountain passes of the western Alps, on the road between Italy and Gaul] and that I am about to set out on the road to Ravenna [the seat of the Ostrogothic court]. Pray that, as I am tossed about by the manifold discomforts of these labors, the gift of heavenly blessing may pour patience into my soul.
As for what concerns the faithful keeping of the reverence I owe to Your Eminence — your own splendor is sufficient exhortation. I would sooner believe that rivers could be turned back to flow in the opposite direction, and that fish, abandoning the nourishment of their streams, might seek the empty air, than that any failing of mine could restore me to forgetfulness of benefits so great. [This is a classical *adynaton*, a figure of rhetorical impossibility drawn from Virgil's *Eclogues* — the world turned upside down — here pressed into service as a vow of undying gratitude.]
For the rest: farewell, my lady, and pray without ceasing to our Redeemer on behalf of the one you have taken under your care.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.