
Ovid castrated & called misogynist for defying goddess Cybele
Ovid, the great teacher of love in medieval Europe, today still offers men profound lessons in seducing women for mutual love satisfaction. Those lessons start with appreciating women-in-the-flesh and not worshiping women as divine. Yet foregoing women worship means defying the great goddess Cybele, who has always ruled men’s fate. Ovid was castrated and called a misogynist for that daring impiety. Men today risk being denounced by dour, dogmatic sex-moralists and being attacked by apologists for rape-culture culture. Yet as Attis and Vivek Wadhwa learned to their regret, self-castration is a mistake.

With Hannibal threatening to overrun the Roman Empire, the Roman general Scipio Africanus planned a desperate attack on Hannibal in Africa. The Delphic Oracle instructed the Romans to welcome and worship Cybele, the great mother goddess of the earth, also known as Gaia. So they did, and Hannibal was defeated. Worship of the great goddess Cybele, which early in history arose from childish promptings of men’s hearts, thus became fully institutionalized in public life. Roman men began to turn away from sex with women. They increasingly avoided marriage.
Ovid, in contrast, wanted to love all women — blondes, black-haired ones, young women, old women, tall women, short women. He wanted them all. He later recalled:
O how dear to me and how desirable was
the female sex, without which I believed it was impossible
for any man to live.{ O quam carus erat mihi quamque optabilis ille
femineus sexus, sine quo nec vivere posse
credebum quemcumque virum … }
He understood the importance of men’s self-confidence for seduction, so he convinced himself that the only chaste woman is one who hasn’t yet been propositioned. He loved many women. Women, even if they pretended to resist initially, came to love him.
At a bar one night, after drinking enough to be seeing double, Ovid was brought home by a lovely young woman. She embraced him tightly in her dark bedroom. Like a blind man who cares nothing for the light of day, Ovid perceived by touch that she had become a hideous old hyena-cougar. He had been taken in a bed trick, without affirmative consent, with a blood-alcohol level that now defines rape, if he were she. He was a rape survivor. But no one believed his story. That’s because the great goddess Cybele decreed that only women have eyes that can see double, and only women can be raped.
Ovid objected not to the woman’s age, but to the deception. He knew that old women are more skilled in bed because they have had more men. Old women typically know a thousand different positions for love-making, practiced to perfection. They will fake sexual satisfaction without stimulation to prevent any suspicion that they can’t feel it. Old women are promising fields for amorous pursuits. All that Ovid knew and taught.
As an old man, worn out with his long, busy love life, Ovid met again the lovely young woman, now an old woman. She again showed amorous interest in him, but regarded them as too old for an affair. Ovid seduced her into his bed:
I feel her laughing and my whole body rushes into her mouth. What more can I say? Naked, I am received with much gentleness. My whole body delights in the smell of old love. What she was like, it is a pleasure to recall; and she demonstrates, in her reduced state, how fine she was in her prime. Never was a woman of such an age, especially after so many births, better than she. None was cleaner or better smelling. I am silent about what remains; it is enough to have said that we came together in bed, that in peace I was received, and in peace departed.
{ Sentio ridentem, ruo totus in oscula. Quid plus?
Nudus suscipioer cum mansuetudine multa,
totus in antiqui delector amoris odore.
Quod fuerat, meminisse iuvat, quantique fuisset
integra, fracta docet. Numquam matrona totennis
praecipue post tot partus fuit aptior illa
nullaque munda magis fuit aut melioris odoris.
Quod superest, taceo; satis est dixisse, quod unum
venimus in lectum, quod uterque sategit utrique.
Qui cum pace receptus eram, cum pace recessi. }
Ovid wished for the old woman the fullness of life in a mixture of fortunes. That’s what he had, too. Delight in old love comes from the pleasure of recalling a woman when she was young and in her prime. Memory of passion makes in old age peaceful loving.
As an old man, Ovid turned to a new life of scholarly pursuits. He explained:
I used to praise only the man to whom nature had given potency, so that as many times as he could wish, he would be able to have sex with his girlfriend. But now, I praise half-men. … from now on I no longer wish to live as I was formerly accustomed, nor do I intend to submit my neck any longer to the yoke of all-consuming love.
{ Solum laudabam, cui vim natura dedisset,
ut, quotiens vellet, cognoscere posset amicam.
At nunc semiviros laudo …
… propter quas amodo nolo
vivere sicut eram solitus nec subdere collum
plus intendo iugo nervos carpentis amoris. }
Ovid called a “half-man {semivir}” a man who is physically unable to have sex with a woman. So, for example, a man castrated as a result of social hostility to men’s sexuality would be a semivir. But not only a semivir turns away from women. Because of gender inequality, pursuing love is much more burdensome for men than for women. Some men for that reason turn away from pursuing women. Ovid himself as an old man turned from the burden of seducing women to study of mathematics, music, astronomy, cosmology, and theology.
The great goddess Cybele convicted and punished Ovid for dishonoring old women. Cybele convicted him for insinuating that young women are more sexually attractive than old women. She also convicted him for studying books rather than servicing women sexually. Cybele ordered the Roman Emperor to relegate Ovid to the city of Tomis on the far eastern edge of the Roman Empire. That’s well known. The rest of Ovid’s punishment was revealed only in the late fourteenth-century French work of Jehan Le Fèvre:
For the true story is
that he had both his balls cut off.
With pieces of flax and soft eggs
they were bandaged and healed.
Then he lived for many years
and was sent into exile
and transported overseas.{ Car on reconte en verité
Qu’on lui coupa ambdeux les couilles;
Aux estoupes et aux oeufs douilles
Furent restraintes et sanées;
Puis vesqui par pluseurs années
Et en exil fu envoyés
Et oultre la mer convoyés. }
That work observed of Ovid: “a capon never loved a hen {oncque chapon n’ama geline}.” But roosters love hens. Ovid was a great rooster before he was made a capon. The great goddess Cybele had Ovid castrated merely because she envied Ovid’s women and was bitter that she never had him.
Cybele preferred boyish men. She enrolled in her service the handsome Phrygian boy Attis. His job was to protect her temple, service her without raising his masculine-patriarchal head, and remain a boy forever. Soon Attis, however, fell in love with a lovely young nymph who had neither title nor temple, but who raised Attis’s head. They made carnal joy with each other.
The great goddess Cybele, widely regarded as frigid, burned in anger at Attis’s love affair with the lovely nymph. She killed that girl. Cybele’s abuse internalized within Attis became self-hate. He blamed himself, not Cybele, for the girl’s death:
He tore at his body too with a sharp stone,
and dragged his long hair in the filthy dust,
ahouting: “I deserved this! I pay the due penalty
in blood! Ah! Let the parts that harmed me, perish!
Let them perish!” cutting away the burden of his groin,
and suddenly was bereft of marks of manhood.{ ille etiam saxo corpus laniavit acuto,
longaque in immundo pulvere tracta coma est,
voxque fuit “merui: meritas do sanguine poenas.
ah pereant partes quae nocuere mihi!
ah pereant,” dicebat adhuc; onus inguinis aufert,
nullaque sunt subito signa relicta viri. }
In the purifying light of the sun, he looked out on the sea waves pulsating against the soft, sandy shore. He came to regret his self-castration. With tearful eyes he bemoaned his lost masculinity:
Like a slave fleeing his master, so am I among
snows, and the frozen lairs of wild creatures
…
Sorrow on sorrow, again and again now complaint in the heart.
What form have I not been, what have I not performed?
…
I the flower of the athletes, the glory of the wrestling ring:
my doorway frequented, my threshold warm,
my house was garlanded with wreaths of flowers,
at the dawn separation from my bed.
Now am I brought here priest and slave of divine Cybele?
I, to be Maenad: a part of myself: a sterile man?
…
Now I grieve for what I did, now I repent.{ dominos ut erifugae
famuli solent, ad Idae tetuli nemora pedem,
ut apud nivem et ferarum gelida stabula forem
…
miser a miser, querendumst etiam atque etiam, anime.
quod enim genus figurast, ego non quod obierim?
…
ego gymnasi fui flos, ego eram decus olei:
mihi ianuae frequentes, mihi limina tepida,
mihi floridis corollis redimita domus erat,
linquendum ubi esset orto mihi sole cubiculum.
ego nunc deum ministra et Cybeles famula ferar?
ego Maenas, ego mei pars, ego vir sterilis ero?
…
iam iam dolet quod egi, iam iamque paenitet. }
The time was too late, and the great goddess Cybele, too strong. Cybele unleashed her evil beasts upon Attis and forced him back into her temple.
Vivek Wadhwa probably knew nothing of Ovid, but he liked women. As an expert on entrepreneurship and public policy, he worked devotedly to promote women in technology. As a professor, he even invited women to come to his office and speak with him in person. His service to the great goddess didn’t propitiate; it ignited her anger. He was forced to cut off his male part, which was speaking for women.
Jehan Le Fèvre, forefather in spirit to Vivek Wadhwa, also spoke for women. He declared that Ovid, along with Homer, told false stories “especially when they spoke of women and attacked them {principaument quant it parlerent / des femmes et qu’il les blasmerent}.” Le Fèvre declared of Ovid:
We can believe and say
that being hateful and brim-full of wrath,
Ovid blamed women after his castration
and never loved them subsequently.
…
Ovid was out of control
when his speech attacked women;
he defamed his own self
by his anger and wickedness.
May the shame of it be on him!{ Si puet on presumer et dire
Que, haïneus et tout plain d’ire,
Femmes après ce fait blasma
N’oncques depuis ne les ama
…
Ovides fu mal enfrenés
Quant sa bouche femmes blasmoit;
It meïsmes se diffamoit
Par courroux et par felonie;
Sur soy en soit la vilenie }
Professor R. Howard Bloch, a leading post-modern proponent of misandristic medieval scholarship, came to be denounced by other professors for his voice “gradually becoming indistinguishable” from medieval writers labeled as misogynists. Over recent decades, voluminous scholarship has revealed that “misogyny is a question not only of reading but of who speaks.” If a man speaks anything other than pure praise of the divine goddess, he is called a misogynist.
That’s how Ovid came to be castrated and called a misogynist. In today’s liberal democracies, Ovid, the great teacher of love in medieval Europe, is no longer welcomed to teach.
* * * * *
Read more:
- Boccaccio’s Teodoro sets men free and returns them home happily
- Pamphilus: teaching men abasement, labor, and violence
- violence on college campus through Apuleius’s Metamorphoses
Notes:
The text above draws upon various works of Ovid, particularly his Amores, Ars Amatoria (Art of Love), and Remedia Amoris (Cures for Love). It also draws upon the Pseudo-Ovidian Latin work De vetula (The Old Woman), alternately titled De mutatione vitae (The Change of Lives). It was composed between 1222 and 1268. The report of Ovid’s castration apparently originated in Jehan Le Fèvre’s Le Livre de Leesce (The Book of Gladness), written from 1380-1387. Sometime before 1376, Le Fèvre translated De vetula into French as La Vieille.
De vetula was a medieval best-seller. It has survived in whole or in part in nearly 60 manuscript copies. Bellhouse (2000) p. 126. Hexter, Pfuntner & Haynes (2020), pp. 134-296, provides a Latin text and English translation. Earlier Latin critical editions are Klopsch (1967) and Robathan (1968). The Latin text of De vetula is similar in each, but the meta-texts offer different scholarly aids. Colker (1970). De vetula has been attributed to Richard de Fournival, but Klopsch (1967), p.99, considers that attribution unlikely. Le Fèvre’s translation of De vetula (La Vieille) is available in Cocheris (1861) (online) and in Huchet (2010).
De vetula probably influenced the thirteenth-century anonymous troubadour song “The other day I thought I had a lover {L’altrier cuidèi aver druda}.” In that song, a man fell in love with a beautiful woman. As was common medieval literary practice, he sent an old woman as a go-between to attempt to arrange a tryst with the beautiful woman. However, the old woman came to him at night, pretending to be the young woman. He embraced her, and then realized had been taken in a bed trick. Furious, he denounced and disparaged the old woman in physically explicit terms.
Le Livre de Leesce is available in a critical edition with English translation in Burke (2013). In addition to translating De vetula, Le Fèvre also translated about 1380 the Latin work Les Lamentations de Matheolus. That work, written about 1290, is a major, under-appreciated work of men’s sexed protests. Le Livre de Leesce presents itself as a response to Les Lamentations de Matheolus. Van Hamel (1892) presents both the Latin original of Les Lamentations de Matheolus and Le Fèvre’s (relatively free) French translation.
Medieval authors imagined a variety of reasons for Caesar Augustus exiling Ovid. A twelfth-century introduction to Ovid’s Tristia explained:
It is asked why Ovid was sent into exile. Three causes are given in response. First, because he slept with Caesar’s wife Livia. Second, because as a member of the emperor’s household, crossing the portico he saw Augustus having sex with his boyfriend. Augustus, fearing that Ovid might betray him, sent him into exile. Third, because he had written the Art of Love in which he instructed young men to deceive married women and have affairs with them. It is said that Ovid, having so offended the Romans, was sent into exile.
{ quaeritur autem cur missus sit in exilium, unde tres dicuntur sententiae: prima quod concubuit cum uxore Cesaris Livia nomine, secunda quod sicut familiaris transiens eius porticum vidit eum cum amasio suo coeuntem, unde timens Cesar ne ab eo proderetur misit eum in exilium, tercia quia librum fecerat de Arte Amatoria, in quo iuvenes docuerat matronas decipiendo sibi allicere, et ideo offensis Romanis dicitur missus in exilium. }
Accessus to Tristia in MS. Codex Latinus Monacensis 19475, Latin text and English translation (modified slightly) from Hexter (2006) p. 213. Medieval authors also speculated tha Ovid saw the Emperor’s wife Livia naked in the bath, or that Ovid celebrated his love for Livia under the code name Corinna in his Amores. Id. p. 214. For general discussion of the development of biographical accounts of Ovid over time, see Ghisalberti (1946), Trapp (1973), and Godman (1995), adapted in Godman (2000) Ch. 8.
The quotations in the main text above are:
- “O how dear to me ….” De vetula I.1-3, Latin text from Hexter, Pfuntner & Haynes (2020), which provides the Latin text for all subsequent quotes from De vetula. English trans. Ziolkowski (2005) p. 106.
- “I feel her laughing….” De vetula II.666-75, trans. adapted from Miller (2008) pp. 77-8, and Godman (2000) p. 331.
- “I used to praise only the man ….” De vetula II.6-9, III.1-3, trans. adapted from Miller (2008) p. 28, Ziolkowski (2005) p. 106. De vetula II.200-201 declares: “Learn how such a great change came to me, you for whom it is loathsome to bear the yoke of love {Venerit unde mihi subito mutatio tanta, / discite vos, quos ferre iugum fastidit amoris}!” English trans. Miller (2008) p. 34. The Latin here for yoke is iugum / iugo. John of Salisbury in Policraticus, Bk. 8, Ch. 11, refers to a woman who seeks a divorce because her husband “is a half-man and unfitted for the marital state because he can’t be stimulated to have sex {semivir est et unutilis matrimonio qui non est promptus ad coitum}.” Latin text from Webb (1909) vol. 2, p. 299. John wrote Policraticus about 1159.
- “For the true story is … ” Jehan Le Fèvre, Le Livre de Leesce ll. 2710-6, from French trans. Burke (2013) p. 97. The use of the word couilles (testicles) was a matter of lengthy discussion in the Romance of the Rose. Lady Reason argued for plain-speaking about covered body parts. See ll. 6898-7198.
- “a capon never loved a hen.” Le Livre de Leesce l. 2708. Trans. id.
- “He tore at his body too …” Ovid, Fasti 4 (April) 237-242, Latin text from the Latin Library, English trans. by A.S. Kline, adapted slightly.
- “like a slave fleeing his master” Catullus, Poem 63, “Of Berecynthia and Attis,” vv. 51-3, 61-2, 64-9, 73, Latin text from Rudy Negenborn, English by A. S. Kline, adapted slightly.
- “we can believe and say….” Le Livre de Leesce ll. 2719-22, 2778-82, trans. Burke (2013) p. 97.
- Bloch “gradually becoming indistinguishable”: Pratt (1994) p. 57, n. 2.
- “misogyny is a question not only of reading but of who speaks”: Pratt (1994), p. 66. That phrase isn’t quoted in id, but is preceded by the statement “To quote Howard Bloch again (for who can resist invoking masculine written authority?)” The actual Bloch quote appears to be: “In attempting to identify misogyny one is to some degree always dealing with a problem of voice, the questions of who speaks and of localizing such speech.” The literature policing and judging misogyny has failed to localize even its own navel.
[image] Introduction of the Cult of Cybele into Rome. Painting. Andrea Mantegna, 1505-1506. Thanks to National Gallery (London) and Wikimedia Commons. Daisy Dunn offers a good discussion of the painting.
References:
Bellhouse, D.R. 2000. “De Vetula: a Medieval Manuscript Containing Probability Calculations.” International Statistical Review. 68 (2): 123-136.
Bloch, R. Howard. 1987. “Medieval Misogyny.” Representations. 20 (1): 1-24.
Burke, Linda, ed. and trans. 2013. Jehan Le Fèvre. The book of gladness / le livre de Leesce: a 14th century defense of women, in English and French. Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Company, Inc.
Cocheris, Hippolyte, trans. 1861. La vieille, ou Les dernières amours d’Ovide: poème français du XIVe siècle. A. Aubry (Paris).
Colker, Marvin L. 1970. “Book Review: The Pseudo-Ovidian De Vetula.” Speculum. 45 (2): 322-326.
Godman, Peter. 1995. “Ovid’s Sex-Life: Classical forgery and medieval poetry.” Poetica. 27 (1/2): 101-112.
Godman, Peter. 2000. The silent masters: Latin literature and its censors in the High Middle Ages. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press.
Ghisalberti, Fausto. 1946. “Mediaeval Biographies of Ovid.” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes. 9: 10-59.
Hexter, Ralph J. 2007. “Ovid and the Medieval Exilic Imaginary.” Ch. 11 (pp. 209-236) in Gaertner, Jan Felix, ed. Writing exile: the discourse of displacement in Greco-Roman antiquity and beyond. Leiden: Brill.
Hexter, Ralph J., Laura Pfuntner, and Justin Haynes, ed. and trans. 2020. Appendix Ovidiana: Latin poems ascribed to Ovid in the Middle Ages. Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library, 62. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Huchet, Marie-Madeleine. 2010. De la Vieille de Jean Le Fèvre: traduction versifiée du De Vetula attribué à Richard de Fournival: étude et édition. Doctoral thesis, directed by Geneviève Hasenohr. École pratique des hautes études (Paris). Section des sciences historiques et philologiques.
Klopsch, Paul. 1967. Pseudo-Ovidius De vetula. Leiden: E.J. Brill.
Miller, Sarah Alison. 2008. Virgins, mothers, monsters late-medieval readings of the female body out of bounds. UNC Electronic Theses and Dissertations Collection. Chapel Hill, N.C.: University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.
Pratt, Karen. 1994. “Analogy or Logic; Authority or Experience? Rhetorical Strategies For and Against Women.” Pp. 57-66 in Donald Maddox and Sara Sturm-Maddox, eds. Literary Aspects of Courtly Culture. Cambridge:D.S. Brewer.
Robathan, Dorothy M. 1968. The Pseudo-Ovidian De vetula. Amsterdam: A.M. Hakkert.
Trapp, J. B. 1973. “Ovid’s Tomb: The Growth of a Legend from Eusebius to Laurence Sterne, Chateaubriand and George Richmond.” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes. 36: 35-76.
Van Hamel, Anton Gerard, ed. 1892. Mathéolus, Jean Le Fèvre. Les lamentations de Mathéolus et le livre de leesce de Jehan Le Fèvre, de Ressons: poèmes français du XIVe siècle. Paris: Bouillon.
Webb, Clement Charles Julian. 1909. John of Salisbury. Ioannis Saresberiensis episcopi Carnotensis Policratici sive De nvgis cvrialivm et vestigiis philosophorvm libri VIII. Oxonnii: e typographeo Clarendoniano.
Ziolkowski, Theodore. 2005. Ovid and the moderns. Ithaca: Cornell University Press.
matriarchy in 11th-century Germany: the case of Ruodlieb

A great king counseled the noble knight Ruodlieb to marry only upon his mother’s advice. Ruodlieb’s mother advised:
We should desire, if you do, that we now call
our relatives and loyal friends together, that
with their advice and with their loyal help you can
find a woman to be your wife.{ Vellem, si velles, quo nostros congenerales
Et nobis fidos nunc conveniamus amicos,
Quorum consilio quorumque iuvamine fido
Possis in uxorem reperire tibi mulierem. }[1]
Ruodlieb didn’t rebuff, resent, or ignore his mother’s urgings to marry. He responded “very calmly {placidissime}.” He also acted promptly and obediently:
Tomorrow we will tell our friends and relatives
To gather here with us as quickly as they can.
If you think we should follow the advice that they
Give me, I will not fail to carry out your wish.{ Cras demandemus consanguineis et amicis,
Ut nos conveniant quam velocissime possint.
Quod mihi consilium dant, si censes id agendum,
Non praetermittam, quod vultis quin ego solvam. }
At that gathering to help Ruodlieb find a wife, Ruodlieb spoke “just as his mother had advised {genitrix sua ceu sibi suasi}.” Ruodlieb pursued marriage to please his mother. He was a leader among men, but a follower of his mother.
Ruodlieb entrusted his household to his mother for ten years. Because lords in his home realm weren’t favoring him, Ruodlieb decided to seek service elsewhere. Ruodlieb’s mother lived with him. Before leaving, he entrusted all his affairs to her. These actions occurred very early in the story.[2] The reader doesn’t know that Ruodlieb has no wife, no siblings, and his father is dead. Delaying narration of these details highlights the dominance of Ruodlieb’s mother in his life.
Ruodlieb could have entrusted his affairs to someone other than his mother. Other persons loved Ruodlieb and had long-term relationships with him. Ruodlieb left home with a squire who had served him from childhood. The house servants wept and groaned when Ruodlieb left. They joyously strained to catch first sight of him when they heard news of his return. Ruodlieb consulted loyal friends and relatives about seeking a wife. He could have entrusted his affairs to one of them. Instead, Ruodlieb burdened his aged mother with his affairs.
Ruodlieb’s emotional relationship with his mother mattered more to him than his position in broad networks of men. While in service to a foreign king, Ruodlieb received a message from his “dear mother {dilecta mater}.” The message had two parts. The first part was from Ruodlieb’s home lords. It explained Ruodlieb’s current standing among men, the need for his skills, the fall of his enemies, and possibilities for remuneration. The second part of the message was his mother’s emotional appeal to him:
My darling son, remember your unhappy mother
whom, as you know, when you departed you deserted
both unconsoled and widowed by a double cause:
once by your father, the second time by you, my son.
As long as you were with me, you eased all my woes;
when you departed, though, you multiplied my sighs.{ Mi fili care, miserae matris memorare,
Quam, sicut nosti, discedens deseruisti
Inconsolatam, bina causa viduatam,
In genitore tuo semel, in te, nate, secundo.
Dum mecum fueras, mala cuncta mihi relevabas,
Cum discessisti, gemitus mihi multiplicasti. }
That’s a claim for sympathy with a thrust of shaming. Ruodlieb’s mother’s suffering was his fault. His mother claimed the moral high ground:
However, I decided I could bear it somehow,
provided you could live your wretched life safe from
so many enemies who were so strong and fearsome.
Because they all have now been maimed or killed,
dear son, return, and bring your mother’s grieving to an end.{ Sed tamen utcumque decernebam tolerare,
Secure miseram dum posses ducere vitam
Prae tot tam validis tibi tam diris inimicis.
Qui quia sunt cuncti mutilati sive perempti,
Fili kare, redi, luctus finem dato matri. }
But in the end his mother made clear it wasn’t just about her:
By your arrival gladden all your relatives,
not only them but all your countrymen as well.{ Adventuque tuo consanguineos hylarato,
Non solumque tuos, sed et omnes compatriotas! }
Ruodlieb didn’t react to his lords’ message. He cried “for his lonely mother {pro sola matre}.” He grieved for her intensely. Showing the message to the king, Ruodlieb described it as deeply disturbing. He evidently wasn’t referring to his lords’ praising him and welcoming him to return. The king understood Ruodlieb’s focus, but described it much differently: “the message from your mother is extremely pleasing {Atque tuae matris nimis est legatio suavis}.”[3] The king released Ruodlieb to go home to his mother. That Ruodlieb was also going home to his lords hardly mattered.
The emotional intensity of Ruodlieb’s relationship with his mother is evident in his interaction with his mother’s goddaughter. She, a widow, looked to Ruodlieb for romance. He felt no passion for her. But he passionately sought information about his mother (her godmother):
Now, mistress, how long since you saw your godmother?
Please tell me, is she well? And does she live in peace?
Please tell me, when did she become your godmother?
Has she borne me a brother whom you raised from that
baptismal fount, or did she raise your daughter from
the fount?{ Nunc, hera, commatrem quam proxime videris, ipsam,
Dic mihi, si valeat, si tranquille sua res stet,
Quandoque commater fieret tua, si mihi frater
Ex illa sit, quem de fonte levaveris, inque,
Anne tuam natam de fonte levaverit illa. }
The goddaughter in response pushed the emotional level higher:
Ah me, what have you said? Do you think she has wed,
For whom her life has lost its sweetness without you?
For she has lost her vision from her tears for you.{ Ah, quid dixisti, quod eam nupsisse putasti,
Cui fuerat sine te non ipsum vivere dulce;
Nam flendo visum post te iam perdidit ipsum. }[4]
Ruodlieb in response wept. This scene, like similar scenes in the late-eighteenth-century English literature of sensibility, encourages personal characterization and identification. Almost everyone knows what it feels like to love one’s mother.
Ruodlieb’s relationship with his mother is also characterized in more stereotypically medieval ways. Consider table arrangements at the banquet celebrating Ruodlieb’s return home:
The knight Ruodlieb went to the table and sat down …
He did not wish to sit up at the head, however;
but like a guest sat humbly on his mother’s right,
and gladly he gave her complete authority.
Respectfully he took that which she gave to him.
She cut the bread and passed it out to all the group,
and passed to everyone a dish of special foods;
she sent around a bowl of wine, and sometimes mead.{ Sic pedat ad mensam, comes insed …
Non tamen in solio voluit residere supremo,
Sed subiective matri dextrim, velut hospes
Atque libens totum sibi permisit dominatum;
Haec quod ei dederat, reverenter suscipiebat.
Incidens panem turbam partitur in omnem,
Transmisit cuivis discum specialibus escis,
Cum vino pateram mittens, aliquando medonem. }[5]
After the banquet, Ruodlieb went “with his beloved mother {cum dilecta sibi matre}” to a private room to show her the treasures he had acquired during his time away from home. Excited with showing his mother his wealth, he broke open both loaves that the king had given him. Breaking the second loaf violated the king’s instructions.[6] Ruodlieb’s child-like excitement with his mother obliviated the instructions he had received from the king.
Compared to the wisdom the king gave Ruodlieb, Ruodlieb’s mother’s counsel would have been more suspect to medieval listeners. His mother portrayed the ravages of old age for a woman. Among its evocative descriptions, her portrait described effects of aging on a woman’s hair:
The golden-colored hair that once hung to her buttocks,
bound up in separate braids and covering her back,
sticks up grotesquely, terrible to see, as if
her head had just been drawn, ass first, through shrubbery.{ Et, prius usque nates qui, crines auricolores
Pendent discretim dorsum velando pilatim,
Extant horribiles terrentes inspicientes,
Per saepem caput ut anuatim sit sibi tractum. }[7]
Ruodlieb’s mother then declared that “age overcomes an agile man as it does woman {Sic agilem iuvenem senium domat ut mulierem}.” Her portrait of an old man ends with his plea for death:
Death, you who are alone the end of human woes,
why do you come for me so late? Why do you not
release me from my prison?{ tum dicens saepissime secum:
“Mors, humanorum finis tu sola malorum,
Cur mihi sera venis? cur non me carcere solvis?” }[8]
These paired portraits are highly literary and highly exaggerated. They seem to occur in the context of urging Ruodlieb to marry. Presumably his mother wanted him to marry a young woman before he got too old. But Ruodlieb earlier saw the loving marriage of a young man and an old woman. Compared to his mother’s words, the king’s wisdom was less rhetorical. Its validity was also realized in the course of the narrative. Moreover, the king provided wisdom as a chosen gift. “Ruodlieb’s mother did not cease giving him her frequent warnings {Non cessat mater Ruotlieb minitare frequenter}.”[9] Frequent warnings tend to have the value of nagging.
A change in the depiction of Ruodlieb’s mother seems to have occurred from the middle of the penultimate surviving fragment. Ruodlieb’s mother then became a paragon of virtue:
The mother of that Ruodlieb, as best she could,
helped Christ’s unfortunates: the widows, orphans, pilgrims,
and thus she merited that Ruodlieb be greatly blessed.
For Christ revealed to her how he would glorify her son.{ Sed Ruodlieb mater, quodcumque potest, operatur
In Christi miseros, viduas, orbos, peregrinos.
Inde merebatur, quod Ruodlieb valde beatur.
Namque revelat ei, velit hunc quam glorificare. }[10]
Ruodlieb’s mother was herself a widow and earlier lamented her misfortune in her son’s absence. That has no narrative relevance here.
The revelation to Ruodlieb’s mother indicated that Ruodlieb would become a king, marry, and receive greater honors. Information from a captured dwarf apparently confirmed that revelation. Ruodlieb’s mother remained humble and didn’t credit herself for her son’s forthcoming good fortune. The last words of Ruodlieb’s mother in the surviving text are pieties about giving thanks to God.[11] Earlier concern and wonder about Ruodlieb’s relationship with his mother are eliminated in the end.
Matriarchy is both subtle and beyond challenge.
* * * * *
Read more:
- Ruodlieb questioned romance of sexual symmetry
- Liber Manualis: mother wanted perfect son & provided handbook
- how Thecla was saved from her evil mother and terrifying death
Notes:
[1] Ruodlieb XVI.11-14, from Latin text and Englisht trans. Kratz (1984) p. 187 (modified slightly). A Latin text of Ruodlieb is online. All subsequent quotes are similarly sourced. The subsequent three quotes are from XVI.19, 20-23, 41, id. pp. 187, 189.
The greater king’s counsel to defer to mother is at V.487, p. 125. Despite his subservience to his mother, Ruodlieb wasn’t a homebody. He won a major military victory in foreign service as commander-in-chief of the great king’s army.
[2] By line 16 of the story. Id. p. 75.
[3] All the quotes in the above paragraph are from Ruodlieb V.224-90, pp. 113, 115.
[4] Ruodlieb XII.1-9, p. 169 (previous two quotes).
[5] Ruodlieb XIII.10-17, id. p. 173.
[6] Ruodlieb XIII.35-60 (breaking open both loaves in private with his mother). Gold and jewels were hidden in what appeared to be loaves of bread. The king instructed Ruodlieb:
Do not break open these two loaves, my dearest man,
until you reach your mother, whom you love so dearly.
Then in her sight alone break the smaller loaf.
When sitting at your wedding with your bride, break the next.{ Hos geminos panes numquam, karissime, frangas,
Primitus ad matrem venias quam tam tibi karam,
Cuius in aspectu solius frange minorem;
Cum sedeas nuptum cum sponsa, frange secundum. }
Ruodlieb V.549-52, p. 127.
[7] Ruodlieb XV.18-21, p. 183. On the importance of a woman’s hair, see my post on Paul and Thecla, especially note [5] and Galbi (1996) preprint p. 22.
[8] Ruodlieb XV.58-60, p. 185. Release from prison has been a common, broad rhetorical figure throughout literary history.
[9] Ruodlieb XV.65-6, p. 185. The king’s wisdom given as a gift to Ruodlieb is at V.451-526, pp. 123-7.
[10] Ruodlieb XVII.85-7. Zeydel perceived that the text changed from XVII.83:
From here on, the style of the work changes. There is occasional end-rhyme (e.g. ll. 85-87; 90-91), verbs of saying are omitted, and the scansion of the name Ruodlieb fluctuates (e.g. ll. 87 and 91). The handwriting, however, does not change. Perhaps there was some lapse of time after l. 82.
Zeydel (1959) p. 153. The literary treatment of Ruodlieb’s mother also changes sharply from that point.
[11] In Ruodlieb XVII.119-28, Ruodlieb’s mother states:
Remember, son, how often in his goodness God
has helped you and has rescued you from death itself,
and that He often helped you when you were in exile,
and let you come back to your homeland safe and wealthy.
I know that now you will obtain still greater honors,
but I fear very much to say the Lord has thus
rewarded us for ever doing anything
which has pleased Him — my son, beware of saying this!
What could we do, who have nothing but what He gives?
But whether you fare well or badly, give Him thanks!{ Nate, recordare, quam saepe sua bonitate
Te deus adiuvit et ab ipsa morte redemit,
Et quod in exilio multum tibi subveniendo
Sospes vel locuples patriam dat quod repetebas.
Nunc scio, maiores nacturus eris quod honores,
Et timeo valde; dominum sic retribuisse
Nobis ambobus, umquam siquid faceremus,
Quod placuisset ei, caveas quod dicere, fili;
Nam quid possemus, qui nil, nisi quod dat, habemus?
Seu bene seu male contingat tibi, da sibi grates. }
Ruodlieb’s mother earlier was a much more subtle, complex character.
[image] Shota Rustaveli presents his poem to Queen Tamar of Georgia. Painting. Mihály Zichy, 1880s, Tbilisi, Georgai. Thanks to Air sign and Wikimedia Commons.
References:
Galbi, Douglas. 1996. “Through Eyes in the Storm: Aspects of the Personal History of Women Workers in the Industrial Revolution.” Social History 21(2): 142-59.
Kratz, Dennis M., trans. 1984. Waltharius, and Ruodlieb. New York: Garland Pub.
Zeydel, Edwin Hermann. 1959. Ruodlieb: the earliest courtly novel (after 1050); introduction, text, translation, commentary and textual notes. Chapel Hill: Univ. of North Carolina Press.
Psycho and Aphrodite through Apuleius’s Metamorphoses
Held, so he thought, on the charge of telling tales insulting the honor of women, the young soldier was thrust into a dark cave under the guard of an old man. He wasn’t even held in a proper cage like they get in Gitmo, no, they handcuffed him to the understrut of an old metal desk pulled out of branch command in the office refurbishing. The old man was the usual drunk ex-military, retired but not tired enough not to want to chew leather, swap war stories with the boys, and pocket some cheap pay for being a hired guard. The young soldier, only a few years out of West Point, hadn’t yet had military respect starved out of him. He addressed the old man with “Sir.”
Sir, I request to be informed of the details of the charges against me. Please, please, I need JAG representation, a lawyer, a law lover who will get things right and proper. My father was a general, and nothing made him prouder than when I entered West Point. His heart would break if he knew.
After a brutal battle with the Taliban, my best buddy had his legs blown off, and we struggled back to barracks and fell into bed. In the dark of night, I sweated with flashbacks of a mortar attack and the rockets red glare and bombs bursting in air, but our flag was still there, when all of a sudden the lights in the barracks snapped on. The intruders flashed Internal Affairs badges and yanked me out of my bed and marched me away. I don’t know why I’m here, sir, I just don’t know.
The young soldier began to sob and bang his head against the top drawer of the metal desk. That caused the other drawers to rattle and metallic sounds to echo off the walls of the cave. I knew how brave those soldiers are, and deep inside my animal hide, I felt sorry for him. The old man told him to man up, chin up, and get a grip on himself. Then the old man unsteadily stood up, and with his backside to the soldier and peering with half-opened eyes at no one, saluted. He then turned to the soldier.
You’re now in the toughest battle, the battle within. Back in Desert Storm, I was deep in the desert on patrol with Jack, Jim, and Johnny, the hardest-hitting Marines that ever came out of a bottle. A hellish sandstorm blew up, the sky vanished, and we were lost within the sandy earth. I lay down to die with my gun in my hands, and I was entombed in sand. But soon, suddenly, came a monsoon. I rose, born again in that rain. You too can rise again. The victor in battle is the loser. If you’re being tried for treason, you’re a loyal soldier. Let me tell you a lovely, true story I heard from my friends. And so he began.
Back in the days before women in combat meant pencil-pushing pussy jobs, there was a feared and ferocious Taliban fighter known as Aphrodite. She was beautiful and deadly. Central command sent special ops after her, man after man. But no matter how big the gun, and no matter how tightly he bound himself to it, she would shake him until he was numb, and then behead him.

Mercury grew up working in the family grocery store in rural Tennessee. To earn more money he also carried the job of the local postman. One fateful day there came in the mail a sensational issue of National Geographic. He knew in his loins right away that he would lose it. On the cover was a stunningly beautiful Afghan girl with big green eyes that drew you in like a whirlpool. Just on the cusp of manhood, he spent many hours at night in the woods spending himself with the Afghan cover girl. He never delivered the issue. He desperately wanted to find her, or at least a wild, exotic girl like her.
He marched himself to the Marine Corps recruiting office and signed away his life. Neither big nor strong, he got through boot camp by wits and twists and turns. Within the Marine Corps, he joined the Signal Service and rose through the ranks as the sort of soldier who would deliver a message to Garcia. Because of his skills as a translator and unimpressive musculature, some of the Marines nicknamed him Hermaphroditus. But Mercury was better known as Psycho for his undercover communication missions which in command review were analyzed as psychotic.
Direct Ops, jealous that Signal Service was getting more missions and more resources because of Psycho, arranged to have him sent on a mission that, by straight-book tactical plans, he had no chance of return. His mission order was concise and direct: PSYCHO SEIZE APHRODITE STOP. Aphrodite, the ferocious Taliban fighter who beheaded Adonis and whom Ares had never succeeded in reaching! Psycho, throw down your guns and leap from a cliff with the hope that the wind will bear up your head! Then you would have a better chance to live!
A National Geographic mission wound its way slowly into mountainous Taliban territory. Its goal, under the funding document that the publisher approved, was to find again the Afghan cover girl and write a sensational story. No one suspected that the head of the National Geographic mission, a man full of fake journalistic credits, was actually Psycho.
The National Geographic delegation went from village to village, showing everyone the National Geographic Afghan cover girl issue. Most of the villagers looked sullenly mystified and turned a cold shoulder. One, however, an older man with a gleam in his eye, said that he knew that girl. Psycho, with the yearning of his youth swelling up with the force of memory and imagination, asked to be taken to her. An arduous, three-hour climb through rugged, desolate terrain brought them to her isolated village.
Three heavily armed Taliban men menacingly approached. Psycho showed them the National Geographic Afghan cover girl issue, that photo so touching and emotive, acclaimed and celebrated across America. One Taliban pointed his Kalashnikov at Psycho’s head, another grabbed Psycho’s arms and pinned them behind his back, while a third pushed Psycho’s local guide away and told him to leave immediately. Then a Taliban took off his shoe and began striking Psycho in the face with its sole, back and forth, the dung of Afghan rural life digging into Psycho’s cheeks. Then they emptied his pockets, stripped him to his red-blossom boxer shorts, and brought him inside a hut.

The Afghan cover girl, now a middle-aged woman, was there. After again striking him in the face with a shoe’s sole, the men demanded, “Tell us why you are here.” Psycho, who had been silent while being crushed, declared solemnly, “So be it, I will, God willing.” Then he told his whole story, without deceit: his youth working the grocery store and delivering mail, his infatuation with the Afghan cover girl from that issue of National Geographic, his military service, and his mission. They told him, “Make peace with God and prepare to die.” He was about to be shot in the head and returned to the dust when the Afghan woman intervened. “Tie him on top of that bed,” she said, “arms and legs strapped to the corners, and then cover him with a blanket and leave him alone.”
Now it is the depths of the night, and a mild and merciful sound reaches his ears. Then, so alone and so unguarded, but tied down so exposed, Psycho is afraid for his masculinity. In fear and trembling, he lies quaking, and more than for any evil, he is in mortal terror of the unknown. And then the unknown woman is there: she had climbed into the bed, she had make Psycho her husband, and before the sun had risen she had hastily gone away. Psycho found that one of his hands had gotten free and was resting on his thigh. By the side of his bed had appeared tea, cooked lamb, a hookah, and flat bread, freshly made, it seemed. He ate a sumptuous meal for a starving man, and the hookah filled his mind with smoke. And over time, all this long time, these actions are repeated, in just this way. To be sure, this is how nature engineers such things: what was new and unanticipated had bestowed joy upon him through accustomed habit and repetition; and the sound of that indeterminate voice was a consolation in his isolation.
With the smoke from the hookah filling his mind, it drifted. If I were back in America, and there were a university in rural Tennessee, and if it had a class in classical Latin literature, and any students took it, the professor would teach that I’ve been raped, repeatedly, and through that trauma had traumatically bonded to my captors, and come to accept and like being raped. It would be like that news story of how a brutish man kept a girl, everywoman, as a sex slave for decades until she was finally rescued and educated. I chuckled and thought of National Geographic.
My one hand was free — was it free just so that I could drink tea and bring food and the hookah tube to my mouth? I sensed that the muscles of my hand and arm were moving during the night. Could it be possible, what if, what if I held her tight and wouldn’t let go, how could she fade from firm flesh to nothingness? If I held tight and didn’t let go, would that be the death of me?
He resolved to die to know if the Afghan cover girl was pressing against him in the night. In the depths of the night, the cover lifts slightly, and she slips in between his legs. He hooks his arm around her back and holds her tight. Before she had been bouncing upright, now she was tight against him and his hand was only moving slightly when it slid lower on her back. He buried his face in her black hair and in pleasure waited for the morning light.
“I am Aphrodite,” she moaned to him. The earth stopped moving for him, all the blood drained from his extremities, and it was as if he were sucked down in a whirlpool to a watery death. His pale skin turning cold blue, he pushed her face up to his. “You are the Afghan cover girl,” he whispered in a trembling voice. “I am Aphrodite,” she said again with a faint smile. She was the Afghan cover girl, she was Aphrodite — a double mission impossible, an explosion of fear and passion! Take me now, he said, slit my throat and cut off my head, I have seized life far beyond my dreams.
God is all-powerful and all-knowing, and nothing happens but what God wills. God willed that Psycho remember his mission orders: PSYCHO SEIZE APHRODITE STOP. God willed that a week earlier Aphrodite’s husband had been killed by an IED misplaced in the sheep’s meadow. No one could better guide the Taliban to avoid American forces than a former Signal Service leader. Psycho converted to Islam, pledged his allegiance to the Taliban, and married Aphrodite. They had a beautiful boy whom they named Hermaphroditus. Psycho, by expertly guiding the Taliban away from American forces, saved many lives. Soldiers here argue about whether he’s a hero, a traitor, or just a soldier who strictly followed his orders. But no one has any doubt that Psycho has a good life, especially since we heard that Aphrodite arranged for him to have three other beautiful, loving Afghan wives.
And that was the story that the old man told, in his drunkenness and delirium, to the captive and captivated soldier. And I — standing off to one side, not too far away — I was in anguish, believe you me, because I had neither steno books nor stylus to record such a beguiling fiction.
The Prosecutor-Advocate arrived with two assistants, all in crisply pressed uniforms with badges neatly ordered in colorful rows flaring on their breasts. The young soldier tilted back his head so that his handcuffed right hand could reach it in salute, but by pulling on the understrut he caused the center drawer of the desk above him to cha-chink open like a cash register. The officers ignored the metallic rattling and addressed him.
Soldier, you are charged with three counts of failing to offer to carry the pack of a woman soldier on full retreat from fearful and ferocious Taliban fire. According to the enacted Rules of Engagement for all active-fire acts in this theater, you are to ask the woman soldier if she wants you to carry her pack, asking politely, respectfully, and without any hint of inferiority. If she says no, you are to ask her again. If she says no, then you are to ask her a third time. If she says no again, then you are free to run as fast as you can with only your pack on your back. Did you receive the Bible-thick book of Rules of Engagement in the pre-mission briefing meeting? The young soldier nodded his head vigorously, but carefully, so as not to bang his head on the metal desk drawer above. Then he sputtered, “But sir, my buddy had his legs blown off in a brutal Taliban blast.” The officer glared at him, and said only, “Do you understand your rights?” The soldier started sobbing. The officer and his assistants remained stiff and solemn.
Outraged, I ambled over and nuzzled one assistant’s fingers, held curved inwards at the bottom of his straight arm. I licked his fingers and acted as if I were just an ass hoping for a carrot. The assistant, born and bred on a farm in Arkansas, unconsciously started stroking my ears. Playing the empty-headed ass, I positioned my rear next to the officer’s legs and let loose with a strong stream of piss, drenching his pants from the knees down and dulling the spit-shine of his black shoes. He turned to his assistant and said, “Lieutenant, get that ass out of here.” I was cruelly yanked by the halter to a far corner of the cave, all the while tingling with pleasure for my good deed. The officer announced, in a voice struggling to maintain command, that they would return in an hour. Then they retreated.
The old man, the retired ex-military hired guard, took a long drink from his bottle. Then he pulled out his pistol, stuck the barrel in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.
* * * * *
Read more:
- rape & poisoning on campus through Apuleius’s Metamorphoses
- Selective Service in ignored history of controlling men’s bodies
- rape of men about as prevalent as rape of women
Notes:
The story above is fictional and a parody. It’s meant as literary, social, and media commentary. War, suicides of soldiers, and the privacy of the Afghan woman famous for being on the cover of the National Geographic are serious matters. In my view, they haven’t been taken seriously enough in the past.
Fragmentary data on veterans’ suicides indicates that, as a best estimate, on average 22 veterans commit suicide per day in the U.S. Among those veterans committing suicide, more than 97% are men. U.S. Department of Veteran Affairs, Suicide Data Report, 2012, pp. 18, 22. Men’s deaths from suicides, like men’s deaths from interpersonal violence, attract relatively little public concern.
The story above is adapted from Apuleius’s Metamorphoses, 4.23-6.30. That section centers on what has come to be known at the Tale of Cupid and Psyche. The story above incorporates close adaptations of sections of Metamorphoses 5.4 and 6.25, from the outstanding English translation of Relihan (2007), also available in Relihan (2009). The later providers useful literary and philosophical context for Cupid and Psyche. Relihan’s A Reader’s Commentary on Cupid and Psyche is freely available online. My adaptation has benefited from Relihan and others’ commentary on Metamorphoses 5.4.
The Afghan girl appeared on the cover of the June, 1985, issue of National Geographic. The title of the article was “A Life Revealed: Along Afghanistan’s War-torn Frontier.” The National Geographic Society searched out and found the Afghan girl in 2002. That generated in the April, 2002, issue of National Geographic an article entitled “A Life Revealed,” with subtitle text, “Her eyes have captivated the world since she appeared on our cover in 1985. Now we can tell her story.” Wikipedia states:
a number of women who came forward and identified themselves erroneously as the famous Afghan Girl. In addition, after being shown the 1984 photo, a handful of young men erroneously identified Gula as their wife.
“Afghan Girl Revealed” National Geographic interactive video and the “Afghan Girl Revealed” National Geographic slide show provide information consistent with Wikipedia’s statement and more details about the development of the story.
In 2002, the National Geographic Society established the Afghan Girls Fund. NG1. According to the National Geographic Society:
The Afghan Girls Fund (AGF) has worked to realize the wish of Sharbat Gula—whose arresting childhood photograph graced the cover of National Geographic magazine and captured the hearts of its readers—to improve the prospects of Afghan girls and women through education.
NG2. By September, 2002, the Afghan Girls Fund has raised about half a million dollars. NG3. By December 5, 2003, the fund had raised about $832,000. NG3. In 2008, the National Geographic expanded its effort to boys:
Beginning May 20, 2008, the National Geographic Society will undertake an important change: a new fund to expand the Society’s grant-making efforts to serve all children in Afghanistan—both girls and boys. The new Afghan Children’s Fund (ACF) replaces the current Afghan Girls Fund, a successful and purposeful grant-making program that raised more than $1,000,000 since its inception in 2002.
NG4. Despite considerable deterioration in conditions in Afghanistan from September, 2002, to 2008, the rate of fundraising dropped sharply after September, 2002. That’s a common pattern for the media blockbuster effect. The amount of money raised for Afghan girls and boys after 2008 was probably relatively small. Development agencies have prioritized girls and women relative to boys and men. That’s consistent with the value of attractive, vulnerable-looking women for fundraising.
The images in the article above are used under the fair use provisions of U.S. copyright law. Wikipedia documents fair-use justifications for its use of the National Geographic Afghan girl cover and the Afghan girl photograph. Those justifications are applicable here, with the purpose of an encyclopedic entry replaced by parody of the sensational value of the National Geographic story.
References:
Relihan, Joel C. 2007. Apuleius. The golden ass, or, A book of changes. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing.
Relihan, Joel C. 2009. Apuleius. The tale of Cupid and Psyche. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing.
NG1: National Geographic Society. “The Afghan Girls Fund Educates Young Women and Girls of Afghanistan Stewardship Update – August 2004.” Web page, saved in Internet Archive.
NG2: National Geographic Society. George Stuteville for National Geographic News, September 9, 2002. “Afghan Girls to Benefit From NG-Sponsored Education Fund.” Web page, saved in Internet Archive.
NG3: National Geographic Society. Jennifer Vernon for National Geographic News, December 5, 2003. “Afghan Girls Fund Update: Over $831,000 Raised.” Web page, saved in Internet Archive.
NG4: National Geographic Society. “Afghan Children’s Fund to Help Educate All Young Children of Afghanistan.” Web page, saved in Internet Archive.
Wednesday's flowers
