Beyond

“Our Common Language,” an adaptation of Ovid’s Tristia 3.9

Kathryn H. Stutz translates from the Latin. Original by Ovid.

“Our Common Language,” an adaptation of Ovid’s Tristia 3.9

Translated from the Latin by Kathryn H. Stutz

So, even here, there are familiar shores—who would believe it?

Here, where we believed the exile-navigators to be.

Here, at the northernmost part of that continent of which

the American Republic forms so vast a portion.

But this place, which for three hundred years now has baffled

the energies of the man of science, takes its name

from the widow of that Sir John Franklin, who quit the precincts

of the known world and plunged into the unknown.

The intense anxieties of a wife may have led her to press

too earnestly into the channels by which the ships

may have attempted to force a passage to the westward. 

She wrote to us Americans of “the necessity of watching 

for the arrival of intelligence & instructions from England.” 

When Dr. Kane and his party set sail from New York,

the lone British lady once more took up her pen, urging us

to join heart and hand in the generous enterprise,

to divert our minds from the melancholy truth, since 

the darkness to be dispelled only thickens with time.

She wrote, “I am not without hope that you will deem it not

unworthy of a great and kindred nation to take up

the cause of humanity which I plead,” and turned that hope

against us—we unrepentant prodigal sons of England.  

Aware now of the truth, “Their triumph,” she wrote, “if indeed
it may be so called, was purchased by such sufferings

as have left them lifeless & unburied on the shore,” dealing thus

the death-blow to her husband’s final fate. 

Any survivors, whether clinging still to their ships, or dispersed

in various directions, have been given up for dead. 

The most northern portion of our globe is no longer a terra incognita,

because now it is marked by the bleached bones of the others

(the crews of the Erebus & Terror) that float on these tides,

a monument of her blighted efforts—since, wherever

our common language is spoken or understood, this place and

Lady Franklin are recorded in indissoluble association.

Tristia 3.9

By Ovid

Hic quoque sunt igitur Graiae—quis crederet?—urbes

inter inhumanae nomina barbariae.

Huc quoque Mileto missi venere coloni,

inque Getis Graias constituere domos.

Sed vetus huic nomen, positaque antiquius urbe,

constat ab Absyrti caede fuisse loco.

Nam rate, quae cura pugnacis facta Minervae,

per non temptatas prima cucurrit aquas,

impia desertum fugiens Medea parentem

dicitur his remos applicuisse vadis.

Quem procul ut vidit tumulo speculator ab alto.

‘hospes,’ ait, ‘nosco, Colchide, vela, venit.’

Dum trepidant Minyae, dum solvitur aggere funis,

dum sequitur celeres ancora tracta manus,

conscia percussit meritorum pectora Colchis

ausa atque ausura multa nefanda manu,

et, quamquam superest ingens audacia menti,

pallor in attonitae virginis ore fuit.

Ergo uni prospexit venientia vela ‘tenemur,’

Et ‘pater est aliqua fraude morandus’ ait.

Dum quid agat quaerit, dum versat in omnia vultus,

ad fratrem casu lumina flexa tulit.

Cuius ut ornata est praesentia, ‘vicimus’ inquit:

‘hic mihi morte sua causa salutis erit.’

Protinus ignari nec quicquam tale timentis,

innocuum rigido perforat ense latus,

atque ita divellit divulsaque membra per agros

dissipat in multis invenienda locis, 

neu pater ignoret, scopulo proponit in alto

pallentesque manus sanguineumque caput,

ut genitor luctuque novo tardetur et, artus

dum legit extinctos, triste moretur iter.

Inde Tomis dictus locus hic, quia fertur in illo

membra soror fratris consecuisse sui.


“Our Common Language” with sources indicated

Passages from letters unpublished until the modern era are bolded and in purple.

Passages from letters published by the United States Senate are hyperlinked in red.

Passages from letters published in British sources are hyperlinked in blue.

So, even here, there are familiar shores (Franklin 1854, 127; Elce 2009, 101)—who would believe it?

            Here, where we believed the exile-navigators to be. (Franklin 1854, 135; Elce, 2009, 109)

Here, at the northernmost part of that continent of which

            the American Republic forms so vast a portion. (Franklin 1849a, 2; Elce 2009, 68)

But this place, which for three hundred years now has baffled

            the energies of the man of science, takes its name (Franklin 1849a, 2; Elce 2009, 68)

from the widow of that Sir John Franklin, (Franklin 1856, 3; Elce 2009, 139) who quit the precincts

            of the known world to plunge into the unknown. (Franklin 1854, 137; Elce 2009, 111)

The intense anxieties of a wife may have led her to press

            too earnestly (Franklin 1849, 4; Elce 2009, 71) into the channels by which the ships

may have attempted to force a passage to the westward. (Franklin 1849, 3; Elce 2009, 70)

            She wrote to us Americans of “the necessity of watching

for the arrival of intelligence & instructions from England.” (Franklin 1849, 3; Elce 2009, 70)

            When Dr. Kane and his party set sail from New York, (Franklin 1857, 35; Elce 2009, 149)

the lone British lady once more took up her pen, urging us

            to join heart and hand in the generous enterprise, (Franklin 1849, 12; Elce 2009, 81)

to divert our minds from the melancholy truth, (Franklin 1854, 139; Elce 2009, 113) since

            the darkness to be dispelled only thickens with time. (Franklin 1857, 35; Elce 2009, 150)

She wrote, “I am not without hope that you will deem it not

            unworthy of a great and kindred nation to take up (Franklin 1849, 3; Elce 2009, 70)

the cause of humanity which I plead,” (Franklin 1849, 3; Elce 2009, 71) and turned that hope

            against us—we unrepentant prodigal sons of England. 

Aware now of the truth, “Their triumph,” she wrote: “if indeed

            it may be so called, was purchased by such sufferings

as have left them lifeless & unburied on the shore, (Elce 2009, 122) dealing thus

            the death-blow to her husband’s final fate.

Any survivors, whether clinging still to their ships, or dispersed

            in various directions, (Franklin 1849, 11; Elce 2009, 80) have been given up for dead.

The most northern portion of our globe is no longer a terra incognita (Franklin 1854, 138; Elce 2009, 112)

            because now it is marked by the bleached bones of the others

(the crews of the Erebus & Terror) that (Elce 2009, 120) float on these tides, (Elce 2009, 121)

            a monument of her blighted efforts, (Franklin 1854, 133; Elce 2009, 107)—since wherever

our common language is spoken or understood, (Franklin 1849, 11; Elce 2009, 79) this place and

            Lady Franklin are recorded in indissoluble association. (Franklin 1854, 132; Elce 2009, 106)

Translator’s Note

Ovid’s Tristia 3.9 takes, as its protagonist, the sorceress Medea, who killed and dismembered her brother Absyrtus so that she and her lover Jason could run away together aboard Jason’s famous ship, the Argo. According to Ovid, Medea’s fratricide provided the name for the city of Tomis, from the Greek verb temnô (“to cut”) (Tr. 3.9.5-6). Through his retelling of this Greek myth, Ovid both reinforced the power of the empire that had sent him to the icy edges of the Roman world and questioned the violence enacted by Rome against its own citizens (Oliensis 1997, 189-190; Eccleston 2024, 81-83). Through his recentering of Rome, however, Ovid erased the indigenous placenames of the native Getae in favor of memorializing a formidable woman.

In his 1854 magnum opus Walden, Henry David Thoreau wrote, “Is Franklin the only man who is lost, that his wife should be so earnest to find him?” (1854, 343). Although Thoreau was referring to the displacement or dislocation of the soul, this “Franklin” whom he invoked was “lost” in a very literal sense: Sir John Franklin, an officer in the Royal Navy, had disappeared into the Arctic with two ships full of men in 1845. Sir John’s wife Jane had turned her formidable rhetoric to the task of enlisting a global fleet to find her husband. Brits, Americans, and one ill-fated Frenchman answered the call. But to Lady Franklin’s dismay, the searchers found only scattered bones that preserved evidence of cannibalism. Nevertheless, Lady Franklin’s perseverance made her a household name for American writers like Thoreau and Emily Dickinson (Morris 1997, 105). In her poem “When the Astronomer stops seeking,” for example, Dickinson includes “the lone British Lady” (Jane Franklin) in a list of three figures emblematic of faithfulness (Miller 2016, 444; J851, FR957):

 

When the Astronomer stops seeking

For his Pleiad’s Face —

When the lone British Lady

Forsakes the Arctic Race

 

When to his Covenant Needle
The Sailor doubting turns —
It will be amply early
To ask what treason means.

 

The two men whom Dickinson places before and after Lady Franklin—the Astronomer, and the Sailor with his “Covenant” or compass needle—can also be read as polar figures: during the nineteenth century, astronomy and terrestrial magnetism were two major branches of science advanced through polar exploration (Burn 2009 and Waring 2014; Gillin 2024, 133-166). Like these scientists who continually observed the natural world, Dickinson’s “Lady” is perpetually seeking her lost husband. When Dickinson refers to “treason” in the final line of her poem, however, she gestures toward the darker side of hope. Lady Franklin’s unwavering belief in her husband’s survival led to the deaths of numerous men who searched for him, and her quest to map the Northwest Passage contributed to the ongoing oppression  of the Inuit who lived there.

The fundamental harms of colonial polar exploration, both British and American, led Thoreau to summarize his own thoughts on polar exploration in very pessimistic terms, using a couplet by the Roman poet Claudian (20.21-22; Platnauer 1992, 196):

 

Erret, et extremos alter scrutetur Iberos.

Plus habet hic vitae, plus habet ille viae.

 

Let another man wander, and let him examine the extreme Iberians.

Our man has more of life—the other man has more of the journey.

 

Thoreau’s own translation is less literal: 

 

Let them wander and scrutinize the outlandish Australians.

I have more of God, they more of the road.

 

By replacing Iberians (Spaniards) with “Australians,” Thoreau relies on “the figurative idea of Australians being situated at the end of the world to reinforce his sense of opposing planetary spaces being brought into a theoretical continuum” (Giles 2016, 149). Beyond merely using the topos of Australia as a far-away place, Thoreau’s choice of Australia alluded also to Sir John and Lady Franklin, since Sir John had served as the colonial Lieutenant-Governor of Tasmania in the 1830s and 1840s (Russell 1997, Dietrich 2009). During that time, Lady Franklin completed a voyage of her own, traveling on horseback across the breadth of Australia (Russell 2002, 1-23). Just as Lady Franklin’s indirect conquest of the Arctic—using British, American, and French polar explorers as her intermediaries—inscribed English and French names on Arctic maps, her more direct exploration of Oceania contributed to British repression of indigenous culture: political districts in both Canada and New Zealand once bore the name “Franklin” (Craciun 2018, 191; Currie 2011).

Inspired by Thoreau’s transposition of placenames within his quotations of Latin poetry, my translation of Ovid’s Tristia 3.9 centralizes a geographic feature located in the far northern regions of the American continent: a small inlet that the American explorer Dr. Elisha Kent Kane had named “Lady Franklin Bay,” and which, by the 1880s, had become the site of another disastrous polar expedition. Led by American army officer Adolphus Greely, the Lady Franklin Bay Expedition of 1881-1884 reached a new record for Farthest North, but only seven of the twenty-five men on the expedition returned home, and rumors of cannibalism haunted the survivors for the rest of their lives. I take, as my voice, one of Greely’s men, who speaks using phrases lifted from some of the many letters written by Lady Franklin during her quest to bring her husband home, including two famous and frequently-quoted letters addressed to President Zachary Taylor (text in red, above).

Through my adaption of Ovid’s Tristia 3.9, I hope to explore the relationship between nineteenth-century American sailors and the formidable Lady Franklin. Although Franklin succeeded in creating an immortal name for her husband, she did so at the expense of the indigenous peoples living in the regions that her search teams scoured for evidence. Debates over whether Sir John Franklin’s men had committed the unspeakable horror of cannibalism, for example, led Franklin’s friend Charles Dickens to publish vicious racial attacks against Inuit informants in the press (Marlow 1981, Stone 1987, Knopf 2013). As the letters that remained unpublished during her lifetime (text in purple, above) reveal, even Lady Franklin acknowledged that her quest could do little to aid the men who lay “lifeless & unburied on the shore” (Elce 2009, 122). The “lifeless & unburied” remains of Sir John Franklin’s men—which show incontrovertible evidence of survival cannibalism, in contradiction to Lady Franklin’s and Dickens’s stories (Keenleyside et al. 1997, Stenton et al. 2024)—reminded me vividly of the divulsa membra (“torn limbs”) of Medea’s brother Absyrtus. By rendering Ovid’s story of Medea’s violence through the words of Lady Franklin, I seek to highlight how the imprint of the Franklin name on the icy landscape of the north carries the weight of a violent imperial history.

 

 

Works Cited

 

Burn, C. R. “After Whom Is Herschel Island Named?” Arctic 62, no. 3 (2009): 317-323.

 

Craciun, Adriana. “The Disaster of Franklin: Victorian Exploration in the Twenty-first-Century Arctic.” In Arctic Modernities: The Environmental, the Exotic and the Everyday, edited by Anka Ryall and Heidi Hansson, 191-212. Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2018.

 

Currie, Erika. “Old Port Town Waiuku.” Heritage Matters: The Magazine for New Zealanders Restoring, Preserving and Enjoying Our Heritage 29 (2011): 26-28.

 

Dietrich, Jessica. “Lady Jane Franklin: Empress of Tasmania?” Tasmanian Historical Studies 14 (2009): 79-91.

 

Eccleston, Sasha-Mae. Epic Events : Classics and the Politics of Time in the United States since 9/11. Yale University Press, 2024.

 

Elce, Erika Behrisch. As Affecting the Fate of my Absent Husband: Selected Letters of Lady Franklin Concerning the Search for the Lost Franklin Expedition, 1848-1860. McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2009.

 

Franklin, Jane. [1849a] “The Lady of Sir John Franklin to the President, Bedford Place, London, April 4, 1849.” Message from the President of the United States, Communicating Copies of a Correspondence with the Lady of Sir John Franklin, Relative to the Expedition to the Arctic Regions under the Command of her Husband, 2-4. United States Senate, 31st Congress, Ex. Doc. No. 8.

 

Franklin, Jane. [1849b] “The Lady of Sir John Franklin to the President, Spring Gardens, London, December 11, 1849.” Message from the President of the United States, Communicating Copies of a Correspondence with the Lady of Sir John Franklin, Relative to the Expedition to the Arctic Regions under the Command of her Husband, 10-12. United States Senate, 31st Congress, Ex. Doc. No. 8.

 

Franklin, Jane. [1854] “Letter from Lady Franklin to the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, 4 Spring Gardens, Feb. 24, 1854.” The Traveller’s Library, Europe Volume 7: Brittany, The Vaudois, Arctic Voyages, etc., 120-140. Longman, Brown, Green, and Longman, 1856.

 

Franklin, Jane. [1856] A Letter to Viscount Palmerston, K.G. from Lady Franklin. With an Appendix. James Ridgway, Piccadilly, 1857.

 

Franklin, Jane. [1857] “No. 38. Lady Franklin to C. Wood, 60, Pall Mall, April 4, 1857.” Accounts and Papers of the House of Commons: Session 3 December 1857–2 August 1858, Volume 60, 34-36.

 

Giles, Paul. “Transnational Thoreau: Time, Space, and Relativity.” In Thoreau at 200: Essays and Reassessments, edited by Kristen Case and K. P. Van Anglen, 138-153. Cambridge University Press, 2016.

 

Gillin, Edward J. An Empire of Magnetism: Global Science and the British Magnetic Enterprise in the Age of Imperialism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2024.

 

Keenleyside, Anne, Margaret Bertulli, and Henry C. Fricke. “The Final Days of the Franklin Expedition: New Skeletal Evidence.” Arctic 50, no. 1 (1997): 36-46.

 

Knopf, Kerstin. “The Exquisite Horror of their Reality: Native and ‘White’ Cannibals in American and Canadian Historiography and Literature.” In F(e)asting Fitness? Cultural Images, Social Practices, and Histories of Food and Health, edited by Annekatrin Metz, Markus M. Müller, and Lutz Schowalter, 19-46. Trier: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier, 2013.

 

Marlow, James E. “Sir John Franklin, Mr. Charles Dickens, and the Solitary Monster.” Dickens Studies Newsletter 12, no. 4 (1981): 97-103.

 

Miller, Cristanne, ed. Emily Dickinson’s Poems: As She Preserved Them. Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2016.

 

Morris, Timothy. “Dickinson’s Arctic.” The Emily Dickinson Journal 6.1 (1997): 89-108.

 

Oliensis, Ellen. “Return to Sender: The Rhetoric of Nomina in Ovid’s Tristia.” Ramus 26.2 (1997): 172-193.

 

Platnauer, Maurice. Claudian, Volume II. Harvard University Press, 1992.

 

Russell, Penny. This Errant Lady: Jane Franklin’s Overland Journey to Port Philip and Sydney, 1839. National Library Australia, 2002.

 

Stenton, Douglas R., Stephen Fratpietro, and Robert W. Park. “Identification of a Senior Officer from Sir John Franklin’s Northwest Passage Expedition.” Journal of Archaeological Science: Reports 59 (2024): 1-6.

 

Stone, Ian R. “The Contents of the Kettles: Charles Dickens, John Rae and Cannibalism on the 1845 Franklin Expedition.” Dickensian 83, no. 1 (1987): 6-16.

 

Thoreau, Henry David. Walden; or, Life in the Woods. Ticknor and Fields, 1854.

 

Waring, Sophie. “The Board of Longitude and the Funding of Scientific Work: Negotiating Authority and Expertise in the Early Nineteenth Century.” Journal for Maritime Research 16, no. 1 (2014): 55-71.


  • The Roman poet Publius Ovidius Naso, known as Ovid, wrote Latin poetry in both epic and elegiac meters. Born in 43 BCE—just as the Roman republic crumbled into the violent tyranny of the Second Triumvirate and then the more stable (and more socially oppressive) principate of Augustus—Ovid often toed the line between praising the glory of Rome and critiquing the regime under which he lived. After being exiled to Tomis, on the icy coast of the Black Sea, in 8 CE, Ovid wrote the Tristia, a series of elegies about his sorrows.

    Bio by Kathryn H. Stutz

  • Kathryn H. Stutz is a doctoral candidate in the department of Classics at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, Maryland. Kathryn’s dissertation research investigates how ancient Mediterranean literature and archaeology shaped polar exploration during the long nineteenth century. Kathryn has also published on several other classical reception topics, including articles concerning the relationship between the Roman orator Marcus Tullius Cicero and the fantastical worldbuilding of J.R.R. Tolkien (thersites, 2022), as well as the influence of Ovid’s queer Orpheus on the Broadway musical Hadestown (Classical Philology, 2024).