In Robinet Testard's miniature illustration of Ovid's Heroides, the painter captures the moment shortly after 49 of Danaus's 50 daughters have slit the throats of their sleeping husbands— Their beds, canopied and striped in crimson and gold, are spread through what looks almost like a drafty dormitory room. The floor is tiled in what could be pink- and green-flecked marble. Pillars and double doors guard their enclosure. They've been forced into marriages of convenience with their first cousins, for political reasons— their father has asked them to play along, then given each one a dagger for this deed on their wedding night. Only one of them—Hypermnestra— spares her husband because he honors her wish to remain a virgin. Each woman sits, startling pale feet swung over the edge of her bed, looking more shell-shocked than dismayed by what they've done. The unfilial daughter sister is handed to the courts by her angry father, who accuses her of faithlessness. And the others are condemned by the gods to an eternity of ceaseless labor: carrying water in perforated vessels, they can never fill a tub in which to wash away their sin. Eventually, they gain pardon, even getting to choose new mates from the winners of some athletic contest. But neither myth nor painting tells how long they had to work at their futile task, or if in the end one of them filed a workplace grievance. I can think of several that fit the bill: excessive work- load, bullying, toxic work environment, health and safety hazards; defective equipment, lack of clear term limits.
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