Corinthian women, you know that I have to suffer an insufferable thing, a thing that has worn my soul
away. I’m no longer alive!
I refuse all of life’s charms and I seek death. Yes, death, Corinthians, because my husband, who was
my whole world, had become the most evil of all men.
Of all the living things, of all those things that have a soul and a sense, we, yes we, the women, are the
most pathetic!
Imagine!
We need to spend a fortune to buy us a man who… what will he do? He will become the master of our
bodies! And, it’s obvious, that this dangerous thing we do, becomes even more dangerous when we
don’t find the right husband. Is he a good husband? Or is he a bad one? By the time you find that out
it’s already too late.
And then, for a woman to leave her husband is neither proper nor possible. To live in a place where
new laws and customs apply one needs to be a prophet, since even your own folk don’t tell you how
you should behave towards your husband.
And if all these things work out well and our husband lives with us without thinking the marriage yoke
to be too heavy, well that would indeed be a great life. If not, though, only Death opens his arms for us.
Only Death awaits us.
Whereas the husband, however, if he finds the house to be too great a burden for him, he leaves the
place, he finds a friend or someone of similar age and immediately his heart shrugs off that weight.
We, on the other hand, we, women, can only let our eyes fall upon one person and one person only, our
husband.
Then people also say that while we live quietly and without any danger at home, the men go off to
war. Wrong! One birth alone is worse than three times in the battlefield behind a shield.
In any case, Corinthians, things between you and me, are different. You are here, in your own country
and in your own home, enjoying your life and your friends, whereas I am here alone and without a
country. My husband deceives me and treats me like a prize he has just ripped out of some barbarous
country; I have no mother, no brother, no relative at all to whom I can turn for support at this dreadful
hour of mine.