TRIGGER WARNING: unhealthy relationship, suicidal ideation
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In his Heroides, the poet Ovid provides a fictitious letter in the woman's perspective in a series of famous disastrous relationships [e.g., Penelope to Odysseus, Ariadne to Theseus, etc.] In this letter, he imagines Sappho writing one last letter to her mythological lover Phaon.
This text includes inappropriate, manipulative, and abusive language, as well as many "red flags" for an abusive relationship. If you find yourself in a similar situation, please do not hesitate to reach out and seek help.
Ecquid, ut
adspecta est studiosae littera dextrae,
Protinus est oculis cognita nostra tuis?
an, nisi legisses
auctoris nomina Sapphus,
hoc breve nescires unde veniret opus?
Forsitan et quare
mea sint alterna requiras [5]
carmina, cum lyricis sim magis apta modis:
flendus amor meus
est; elegiae flebile carmen;
non facit ad lacrimas barbitos ulla meas.
Uror ut indomitis
ignem exercentibus Euris
fertilis accensis messibus ardet ager. [10]
arva Phaon
celebrat diversa Typhoidos Aetnae;
me calor Aetnaeo non minor igne tenet.
nec mihi,
dispositis quae iungam carmina nervis,
proveniunt; vacuae carmina mentis opus.
nec me Pyrrhiades
Methymniadesve puellae, [15]
nec me Lesbiadum cetera turba iuvant.
vilis Anactorie,
vilis mihi candida Cydro,
non oculis grata est Atthis ut ante meis
atque aliae
centum, quas non sine crimine amavi.
improbe, multarum quod fuit, unus habes! [20]
Est in te facies,
sunt apti lusibus anni,
o facies oculis insidiosa meis!
sume fidem et
pharetram—fies manifestus Apollo;
accedant capiti cornua—Bacchus eris.
et Phoebus Daphnen,
et Cnosida Bacchus amavit [25]
nec norat lyricos illa vel illa modos.
at mihi Pegasides
blandissima carmina dictant;
iam canitur toto nomen in orbe meum;
nec plus Alcaeus,
consors patriaeque lyraeque
laudis habet, quamvis grandius ille sonet. [30]
si mihi
difficilis formam natura negavit,
ingenio formae damna repende meae.
sum brevis. at
nomen, quod terras impleat omnes,
est mihi: mensuram nominis ipsa fero.
candida si non
sum, placuit Cepheia Perseo [35]
Andromede patriae fusca colore suae.
et variis albae
iunguntur saepe columbae
et niger a viridi turtur amatur ave.
si nisi quae
facie poterit te digna videri,
nulla futura tua est, nulla futura tua
est! [40]
At mea cum
legerem, sat iam formosa videbar:
unam iurabas usque decere loqui.
cantabam, memini
(meminerunt omnia amantes)
oscula cantanti tu mihi rapta dabas.
hoc quoque
laudabas, omni tibi parte placebam [45]
sed tunc praecipue, cum fit Amoris opus.
tunc te plus
solito lascivia nostra iuvabat
crebraque mobilitas aptaque verba ioco
et quod, ubi
amborum fuerat confusa voluptas,
plurimus in lasso corpore languor erat. [50]
Nunc tibi
Sicelides veniunt nova praeda puellae.
quid mihi cum Lesbo? Sicelis esse volo.
o vos erronem
tellure remittite vestra,
Nisiades matres Nisiadesque nurus!
nec vos decipiant
blandae mendacia linguae: [55]
quod vobis dicit, dixerat ante mihi.
tu quoque quae
montes celebras, Erycina, Sicanos
(nam tua sum) vati consule, diva, tuae!
an gravis
inceptum peragit fortuna tenorem
et manet in cursu semper acerba suo? [60]
sex mihi natales
ierant, cum lecta parentis
ante diem lacrimas ossa bibere meas.
arsit inops
frater meretricis captus amore
mixtaque cum turpi damna pudore tulit.
factus inops
agili peragit freta caerula remo, [65]
quasque male amisit, nunc male quaerit
opes.
me quoque, quod
monui bene multa fideliter, odit;
hoc mihi libertas, hoc pia lingua dedit.
et tamquam desit,
quae me sine fine fatiget,
accumulat curas filia parva meas.[70]
Ultima tu nostris
accedis causa querelis;
non agitur vento nostra carina suo.
ecce iacent collo
sparsi sine lege capilli
nec premit articulos lucida gemma meos.
veste tegor vili,
nullum est in crinibus aurum, [75]
non Arabum noster dona capillus habet.
cui colar infelix
aut cui placuisse laborem?
ille mei cultus unicus auctor abes.
molle meum
levibusque cor est violabile telis
et semper causa est, cur ego semper amem, [80]
sive ita nascenti
legem dixere Sorores
nec data sunt vitae fila severa meae,
sive abeunt
studia in mores artisque magistra
ingenium nobis molle Thalia facit.
quid mirum, si me
primae lanuginis aetas [85]
abstulit atque anni quos vir amare potest?
hunc ne pro
Cephalo raperes, Aurora, timebam!
(et faceres sed te prima rapina tenet!)
hunc si
conspiciat, quae conspicit omnia, Phoebe,
iussus erit somnos continuare Phaon. [90]
hunc Venus in
caelum curru vexisset eburneo,
sed videt et Marti posse placere suo.
o nec adhuc
iuvenis, nec iam puer, utilis aetas,
o decus atque aevi gloria magna tui,
huc ades inque
sinus, formose, relabere nostros: [95]
non ut ames oro, me sed amare sinas!
Scribimus et
lacrimis oculi rorantur obortis;
adspice quam sit in hoc multa litura loco.
si tam certus
eras hinc ire, modestius isses,
et modo dixisses "Lesbi puella,
vale!" [100]
non tecum
lacrimas, non oscula nostra tulisti;
denique non timui, quod dolitura fui.
nil de te mecum
est, nisi tantum iniuria. nec tu,
admoneat quod te, pignus amantis habes.
non mandata dedi.
neque enim mandata dedissem [105]
ulla, nisi ut nolles immemor esse mei.
per tibi qui
numquam longe discedit Amorem
perque novem iuro, numina nostra, deas,
cum mihi nescio
quis "fugiunt tua gaudia" dixit
nec me flere diu, nec potuisse loqui; [110]
et lacrimae
deerant oculis et verba palato,
adstrictum gelido frigore pectus erat.
postquam se dolor
invenit nec pectora plangi
nec puduit scissis exululare comis,
non aliter quam
si nati pia mater adempti [115]
portet ad exstructos corpus inane rogos.
gaudet et e
nostro crescit maerore Charaxus
frater et ante oculos itque reditque meos.
utque pudenda mei
videatur causa doloris,
"quid dolet haec? certe filia
vivit!" ait. [120]
non veniunt in
idem pudor atque amor; omne videbat
vulgus; eram lacero pectus aperta sinu.
Tu mihi cura,
Phaon; te somnia nostra reducunt—
somnia formoso candidiora die.
illic te invenio,
quamvis regionibus absis; [125]
sed non longa satis gaudia somnus habet.
saepe tuos nostra
cervice onerare lacertos,
saepe tuae videor supposuisse meos.
oscula cognosco,
quae tu committere lingua
aptaque consueras accipere, apta dare. [130]
blandior interdum
verisque simillima verba
eloquor et vigilant sensibus ora meis;—
ulteriora pudet
narrare, sed omnia fiunt—
et iuvat—et siccae non licet esse mihi.
At cum se Titan
ostendit et omnia secum,[135]
tam cito me somnos destituisse queror;
antra nemusque
peto, tamquam nemus antraque prosint:
conscia deliciis illa fuere meis.
illuc mentis
inops, ut quam furialis Enyo
attigit, in collo crine iacente feror. [140]
antra vident
oculi scabro pendentia tofo,
quae mihi Mygdonii marmoris instar erant:
invenio silvam,
quae saepe cubilia nobis
praebuit et multa texit opaca coma.
at non invenio
dominum silvaeque meumque. [145]
vile solum locus est—dos erat ille loci.
cognovi pressas
noti mihi caespitis herbas;
de nostro curvum pondere gramen erat.
incubui tetigique
locum qua parte fuisti;
grata prius lacrimas combibit herba meas.[150]
quin etiam rami
positis lugere videntur
frondibus et nullae dulce queruntur aves.
sola virum non
ulta pie maestissima mater
concinit Ismarium Daulias ales Ityn.
ales Ityn, Sappho
desertos cantat amores; [155]
hactenus, ut media cetera nocte, silent.
Est nitidus
vitroque magis perlucidus omni
fons sacer; hunc multi numen habere
putant.
quem supra ramos
expandit aquatica lotos,
una nemus, tenero caespite terra viret. [160]
hic ego cum
lassos posuissem flebilis artus,
constitit ante oculos Naias una meos;
constitit et
dixit: "quoniam non ignibus aequis
ureris, Ambracia est terra petenda tibi.
Phoebus ab
excelso, quantum patet, adspicit aequor: [165]
Actiacum populi Leucadiumque vocant.
hinc se Deucalion
Pyrrhae succensus amore
misit, et illaeso corpore pressit aquas.
nec mora, versus
amor fugit lentissima mersi
pectora; Deucalion igne levatus erat. [170]
hanc legem locus
ille tenet. pete protinus altam
Leucada nec saxo desiluisse time!"
Ut monuit, cum
voce abiit. ego frigida surgo
nec lacrimas oculi continuere mei.
ibimus, o nymphe,
monstrataque saxa petemus; [175]
sit procul insano victus amore timor.
quidquid erit,
melius quam nunc erit. aura, subito—
et mea non magnum corpora pondus habent.
tu quoque, mollis
Amor, pinnas suppone cadenti,
ne sim Leucadiae mortua crimen aquae. [180]
inde chelyn
Phoebo, communia munera, ponam,
et sub ea versus unus et alter erunt:
"grata lyram
posui tibi, Phoebe, poetria Sappho:
convenit illa mihi, convenit illa
tibi."
Cur tamen
Actiacas miseram me mittis ad oras,[185]
cum profugum possis ipse referre pedem?
tu mihi Leucadia
potes esse salubrior unda;
et forma et meritis tu mihi Phoebus eris.
an potes, o
scopulis undaque ferocior omni,
si moriar, titulum mortis habere meae? [190]
a quanto melius
tecum mea pectora iungi,
quam saxis poterant praecipitanda dari!
haec sunt illa,
Phaon, quae tu laudare solebas
visaque sunt totiens ingeniosa tibi.
nunc vellem
facunda forem! dolor artibus obstat [195]
ingeniumque meis substitit omne malis.
non mihi
respondent veteres in carmina vires;
plectra dolore tacent muta, dolore lyra
est.
Lesbides
aequoreae, nupturaque nuptaque proles,
Lesbides, Aeolia nomina dicta lyra, [200]
Lesbides, infamem
quae me fecistis amatae,
desinite ad citharas turba venire meas!
abstulit omne
Phaon, quod vobis ante placebat,
me miseram! dixi quam modo paene:
"meus."
efficite ut
redeat. vates quoque vestra redibit. [205]
ingenio vires ille dat, ille rapit.
Ecquid ago
precibus pectusve agreste movetur,
an riget et Zephyri verba caduca ferunt?
qui mea verba
ferunt, vellem tua vela referrent;
hoc te, si saperes, lente, decebat opus. [210]
sive redis,
puppique tuae votiva parantur
munera, quid laceras pectora nostra mora?
solve ratem!
Venus orta mari mare praestat amanti.
aura dabit cursum—tu modo solve ratem!
ipse gubernator
residens in puppe Cupido; [215]
ipse dabit tenera vela legetque manu.
sive iuvat longe
fugisse Pelasgida Sappho
(nec tamen invenies, cur ego digna fugi)
hoc saltem
miserae crudelis epistula dicat,
ut mihi Leucadiae fata petantur aquae. [220]
--Ovid, Heroides XV
From Sappho to Phaon
As soon as you see
this letter written by a passionate hand
will your eyes
recognize my handwriting?
Or would you not
even know who sent this to you
Unless you read the
name Sappho?
Perhaps you’re
wondering why I’m using a different meter
Since I’m used to
using lyric meters;
But my heart needs
to weep, and elegiac meter works best for sad stuff,
A lyre can’t sing away
my tears.
I burn the way a
fertile field blazes, its crops burning up
when the flames are
fanned by the relentless east wind.
My Phaon spends his
time in the fields of Aetna,
But heat holds me no
less than Aetna’s flames.
My songs have
abandoned me—no longer can I put notes and songs together;
My mind is empty of
song.
The ladies of
Pyrrha, the ladies of Methymnia,
The ladies of Lesbia
no longer delight me.
I think Anactoria is
gross;
pleasant Cydro is,
too;
Atthis no longer
pleases my eye the way she used to,
And the hundreds of
others, which I loved not without criticism.
Wicked man, you now
alone the love that I had shared with many women!
You still have your
good looks,
You still have years
left to live—
O face I can no
longer stand to look at!
Take up your lyre,
take up your quiver—you can be a new Apollo;
Add some horns to
your head—you will be Bacchus.
Yet Apollo loved
Daphne, and Bacchus loved the Cretan one,
And neither of their
sweethearts knew how to sing.
But the Muses guide
my sweet songs,
And my name is sung
across the globe;
Even Alcaeus, who
shares my homeland and my gift,
Has greater fame than
I do, despite the fact that he sings loftier themes.
If nature has made
me not-so-pretty,
My talent will
compensate for my lack of beauty.
I’m short. But my
name fills up the whole world,
And I am responsible
for my own fame.
And even if I’m not
super pale,
Andromeda’s dark
skin made Perseus’ heart skip a beat.
All sorts of birds
will often mate with one of another color;
A white dove will
mate with a dove of another color,
A black turtledove
will mate with a green one.
If you’ll only date
someone with a face as pretty as your own,
You’ll live alone!
You’ll live alone!
Yet when you read my
songs, I seem pretty enough;
You used to swear
that I alone was meant to sing.
I remember [for we
lovers remember everything]
when I used to sing,
you used to kiss me passionately
as I performed.
You praised this, too;
I pleased every part of you,
But especially when we
made love.
You were turned on
by my flirting,
Each movement, each
word, each joke,
And after we were
joined in love,
We collapsed into
each other’s arms.
But now Sicilian
ladies take up all your attention.
Why am I from
Lesbos? I wish I were Sicilian.
Send him back, send
him out of your lands, Nisian nymphs!
Don’t let his lying
tongue deceive you!
What he’s telling
you—he told me before.
Erycina, you who
spend your time wandering the Sicilian hills,
Listen to me, your
bard—I am Sicilian, too!
Should this disaster
in progress hold its course
And follow its
natural conclusion?
I was only six years
old when I drenched my parent’s ashes with my tears.
Next, a gold-digger
took advantage of my forlorn brother;
He ruined his
reputation with his affair.
He lost everything,
and traveled the sky-blue seas on a ship
Seeking the fortune
which he had bitterly lost.
I tried to warn him,
but he shunned my advice,
This is how he
treated my love for him.
On top of all this
stress that hounds me relentlessly
Add now a little
daughter to my list.
You are the straw
that broke the camel’s back,
The ship of my life
is not borne by its own winds.
Look—now my thinning
hair is a mess,
I have no rings upon
my fingers.
My clothes are
disgraceful,
I have no golden
hairpins in my hair,
My hair has no
Arabian perfume.
Wretched woman, who
cares if you look a mess?
The one person who
would care has gone away.
The fickle flames of
love always torch my heart,
There’s always a
reason why I should still be in love.
Whether the Fates
decreed so for me at birth,
Whether they gave me
a harsh fate
Or whether my mind
gave me these talents,
the Muses gave me
the talent to perform.
Why is it odd, if my
youth has fled,
the years when men
are attracted to a woman?
I was worried that
Aurora would have taken Phaon instead of Cephalus!
(She would have, if
she weren’t still in love with her Tithonus!)
If the Moon, which
sees all things, should catch sight of Phaon,
He would have been
put to sleep like Endymion.
Venus would have
snatched Phaon up into heaven with her ivory chariot,
But she noticed that
her Mars would also find him attractive.
That perfect time,
when you’re no longer a boy, but not yet an old man,
The perfect time to
be alive,
Pretty Phaon, come
here and rest your head in my lap!
You don’t have to
love me, but just let me love you still.
As I write this, my
eyes fill with tears;
Notice how
tear-stained this letter is.
If your mind were
set to leave,
You would have done
better
If you had just told
me goodbye.
You didn’t get any
of my tears, or a farewell kiss,
I didn’t even
anticipate
That I would be made
to feel this pain.
You left me with
nothing but hurt,
Nor do you respect
our relationship.
I didn’t give you
any demands, nor would I have given you any,
Except that you not
forget me.
And now, I swear to
the God of Love—one who is never far from you—
And I swear by the
nine Muses—my patron goddesses—
When I was told that
my joys had left me,
I couldn’t cry
I couldn’t speak.
I couldn’t find my
tears
I couldn’t find any
words
My heart was frozen
in ice.
But later when grief
found itself,
I’m not ashamed to
say that I beat my breast in pain
I tore my hair
I shouted in pain
The way a pious
mother does
As she carries her
dead child
To her funeral pyre.
My brother Charaxus
revels in my pain
And stands before me
and taunts me
That my grief is
shameful, and says,
“Why are you so sad?
Your daughter still lives!”
But love and reputation
do not come hand-in-hand
The public sees
everything; here I stand with a broken heart.
I care about you,
Phaon;
My nights are filled
with dreams of you,
Dreams better than
the best of days.
I seek you in my
dreams, even though you are far away,
But my dreams do not
satisfy my heart.
Often it feels like
you hold me in your arms,
Or I hold you in
mine.
I can feel your
kisses, which you used to give me,
Which I used to give
you.
I would flirt with
you
And my mouth would
anticipate your kisses.
I’m embarrassed to
continue, but I enjoyed everything that we did together.
But when the sun
rises
I wake up and curse
that I’m alone.
I spend my time in
caves and groves,
As if I can find
peace there,
Reminiscing in the
time we spent there.
I hurry there wildly,
my hair a mess, Fury-like.
I see caves with
hanging stalagtites—which resemble Phrygian marble.
I seek the forest
where we used to snuggle under the shade.
But I never find the
man I used to share them with.
This place now is
gross: Phaon was the reason it was good.
I find our imprint
in the grass where we once lay together
I lay down there,
and touched the place where you were,
I drenched the grass
with my tears.
Without you, the
trees hang their branches low in grief,
The birds no longer
sing.
Only the most
wretched mother, who piously took vengeance upon her husband [Tereus], laments
Itys.
This bird mourns
Itys;
Sappho mourns her
faithless lover.
Everything else in
the night remains silent.
There is a sacred spring
here, with glittering water, clear as glass;
Many think a
god/dess lives here.
A persimmon tree stretches
its branches to shade this place;
It creates a grove
where the earth blossoms with delicate blooms.
This is where I, worn
out from weeping, lay down my limbs;
A naiad stood beside
me, and spoke to me:
“Since you burn with
an unrequited flame,
You should head to Ambracia.
Phoebus looks over
those rocks to the ocean below;
People call the area
Leucadia or Actium.
This is where
Deucalion, despairing for love of Pyrrha, threw himself over the cliff
Yet swam back to
shore unharmed.
Immediately thereafter,
his love was transformed—
He was cured of his
love for Pyrrha; he lost his “flame” for her.
This is the magic of
the place. Go there, quickly!
Don’t be afraid to
leap from the Leucadian cliff!”
As soon as she
finished speaking, she left me.
In shock, I got up
and stopped weeping.
O Nymph, I will go
there, I will head to the aforementioned cliff;
I am no longer
afraid; my fear has been overpowered by my unhealthy love.
Whatever happens
will be better than how I feel now.
Help me, soft wind,
break my fall as I leap.
And you, sweet Love,
use your wings to slow my descent,
Lest Leucadia be
responsible for my death.
And in return I will
dedicate my lyre to Phoebus;
With the following
dedicatory inscription underneath it:
“The Grateful Poet
Sappho dedicates this lyre to you, Phoebus;
It benefitted me,
and it benefits you.”
But why, Phaon, do
you send me on this wild goose-chase to the Leucadian cliff,
When you can stop me
by returning?
*You* can keep me
from jumping from the Leucadian cliff;
*you* can be my Savior,
my Phoebus.
Or, if I die, *you*
can be more deadly than the cliff and the sea,
*you* can be the
cause of my death.
Or would you prefer
that my body be torn apart by the rocks below
Than lying beside
you in your arms?
This is the body
that you used to praise.
This is the body &
mind that so often seemed “meant for you”.
But now my
inspiration has died. My anguish is hindering
my talents
All of my bad
thoughts have besieged my mind.
My old strengths no longer benefit me in my
poetry;
My lyre strings have
grown silent, blocked by grief.
Sea-borne Lesbian
ladies,
Those about to marry
Those already
married,
Ladies of Lesbia,
Often praised by my
lyre,
Ladies of Lesbia, you
who made me infamous by my love for you,
Stop approaching me
for music!
Phaon has taken away
everything that you used to enjoy—
Alas! I almost said “my
Phaon.”
Ladies, bring him
back to me!
And I, your bard,
will return to you.
He is both my inspiration
& my writer’s block.
Can my prayers move
his low-born heart,
Or have the winds
dropped my words to him?
Oh, winds that bring
my words to him,
Fill his sails, too,
to bring him home;
If you’re smart, you’ll
do this, do this, please.
If you are in the
process of returning him, and
If sacrifices are
being prepared as we speak
In gratitude of a
safe return,
Then why are you
breaking my heart with your delay?
Set sail already! Venus, Ocean-born goddess,
protects seafaring lovers.
The breeze will send
you on your way—just set those sails!
Captain Cupid
himself guides the rudder,
He will steer the
course with his own hand.
But if you’d rather
flee from Sappho
[not that you’d find
a reason to abandon me]
At least tell me so
in a letter
So I can seek my
fate in Leucadian waters.
OVID
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MAP:
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Name: Publius
Ovidius Naso
Date: 43 BCE – 18 CE
Works:
Ars Amatoria
Metamorphoses*
Tristia, etc.
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REGION 1
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BIO:
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Timeline:
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Ovid was one
of the most famous love poets of Rome’s Golden Age. His most famous work, the
Metamorphoses, provides a history of the world through a series of
interwoven myths. Most of his poetry is erotic in nature; for this reason, he
fell into trouble during the conservative social reforms under the reign of
the emperor Augustus. In 8 CE he was banished to Bithynia, where he spent the
remainder of his life pining for his native homeland.
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GOLDEN AGE ROME
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