Women's Dress in the Ancient Greek World 0715631366

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WOMEN’S DRESS IN THE ANCIENT GREEK WORLD

Frontispiece. Rita Hayworth wearing a Greek-inspired evening gown. Studio publicity shot, c. 1945. Private collection of the editor.

Women’s Dress in the

ancient greek world Editor

Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones

Contributors Sue Blundell, Douglas L. Cairns, Andrew Dalby, Glenys Davies, Aideen M. Hartney, Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones, Daniel Ogden, Eva Parisinou, Judith Lynn Sebesta, Tyler Jo Smith, Bridget M. Thomas, Ruth Veness, Beate Wagner-Hasel

Duckworth and The Classical Press of Wales

First published in 2002 by Gerald Duckworth & Co. Ltd. 61 Frith Street, London W1V 5TA (sole distributor outside N. America) and The Classical Press of Wales Distributor in the United States of America: The David Brown Book Co. PO Box 511, Oakville, CT 06779 Tel: (860) 945–9329 Fax: (860) 945–9468 Originated and prepared for press at The Classical Press of Wales 15 Rosehill Terrace, Swansea SA1 6JN Tel: 01792 458397 Fax: 01792 464067 © 2002 The contributors All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. ISBN 0 7156 3136 6 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Typeset by Ernest Buckley, Clunton, Shropshire Printed and bound in the UK by Gomer Press, Llandysul, Ceredigion, Wales

CONTENTS

1.

2. 3.

4. 5. 6. 7.

8.

9. 10.

11. 12. 13.

Introduction Constraints and contradictions: whiteness and femininity in ancient Greece Bridget M. Thomas (Truman State University) The graces and colour weaving Beate Wagner-Hasel (University of Hannover) Transvestism or travesty? Dance, dress and gender in Greek vase-painting Tyler Jo Smith (University of Virginia) The ‘language’ of female hunting outfit in ancient Greece Eva Parisinou (University of Leicester) The meaning of the veil in ancient Greek culture Douglas L. Cairns (University of Glasgow) Investing the barbarian? The dress of Amazons in Athenian art Ruth Veness (University of Oxford) Levels of concealment: the dress of hetairai and pornai in Greek texts Andrew Dalby (Saint-Coutant) Visions of gleaming textiles and a clay core: textiles, Greek women, and Pandora Judith Lynn Sebesta (University of South Dakota) Clutching at clothes Sue Blundell (London) A woman’s view? Dress, eroticism, and the ideal female body in Athenian art Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones (The Open University) Controlling women’s dress: gynaikonomoi Daniel Ogden (University of Wales, Swansea) Clothes as sign: the case of the large and small Herculaneum women Glenys Davies (University of Edinburgh) ‘Dedicated followers of fashion’: John Chrysostom on female dress Aideen M. Hartney (University of Bristol) Index v

Page vii 1 17

33 55 73 95

111

125 143

171 203 227 243 259

INTRODUCTION Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones Anatole France one said, ‘Show me the clothes of a country and I can write its history.’ 1 Yet the study of dress in the ancient world has been shamefully undervalued. The semantics of the clothing of the past is an area of research that can shed a much-needed light on a variety of problems faced by students of antiquity, and in particular, as far as this book goes, on the lives and perceptions of women of the ancient Greek world. It is odd to recognize that while current scholarship questions ancient ideas of the ancient body, it rarely considers that, more often than not, the ancient body was clothed. It is time to re-dress the Greek body and allow it to be read with its full accoutrements of clothing, jewellery and make-up. To borrow a phrase from Alison Lurie, we need to understand the ‘language of dress’ spoken in the Greek world, and make full use of its vocabulary, dialects, and constructions.2 Clothing can offer us a unique insight into the psychology not only of an individual, but also of a society. Outside the realm of fashion history proper, the study of dress as an indicator of a society’s mores has been almost entirely neglected by ancient historians and classicists who, despite several generations’ worth of potted histories on the construction and draping of Greco-Roman clothing (some of which fall far short of the mark of being in any way ‘scholarly’),3 have only infrequently attempted to investigate the role of clothing in its wider cultural context.4 Things are beginning to change, and the study of Roman dress in its sociocultural context, for example, is now looking much healthier. In 1988 an important seminar entitled ‘The Religious, Social, and Political Significance of Roman Dress’ was organized by Larissa Bonfante, and many of its papers were subsequently published in a groundbreaking volume, The World of Roman Costume, co-edited by Bonfante and Judith Lynn Sebesta.5 The only comparable accounts given over to Greek dress, however, tend to be scattered through journals and art-studies, although Georges Losfeld has provided two useful, but undervalued, volumes which deal with the etymological, social, and artistic background to the study of Greek dress.6 Ann Geddes has analysed the dress of Athenian men in the context of Athens’ inward-looking democratic ideology and offered an insight that contrasted well with Margaret Miller’s study of the Persianization of Athenian culture (including dress issues) in the classical period.7 Andrew Stewart, Hans van Wees, and James Davidson have also questioned the nature of dress and its social messages in archaic and vii

Introduction classical Greek culture and have provided a stimulus for further debate, not least reflected in the current volume as well as in a series of studies in preparation at the time of writing.8 If scholarship has been slow to recognize the importance of ancient dress, the world of fashion has long recognized the great debt owed to Greece and Rome and their sense of sartorial elegance. The clothing styles of ancient Greece and Rome have proved inspirational for designers and arbiters of taste for centuries. The appeal of classical clothing can be seen to stretch back to Italian Renaissance dress of the fifteenth century, a period in which soft linen shifts and highwaisted gowns in the ‘antique’ style became the fashionable must-have of the great ladies of Florence, Milan, Venice and Rome. Throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries classical clothing was the source of inspiration behind the fancy-dress costumes of the European courts; the masques held at the Tudor and Stuart courts in England were peopled with courtiers costumed in fanciful version of classical dress, whilst the elegant and sexy ladies of Charles II’s court were painted by Lely and his contemporaries in a series of flesh-exposing ‘Greek’ gowns.9 Classical dress – that is to say, loose drapery – quickly became a byword for eroticism. In the eighteenth century classical drapery was used by Reynolds and Coates for their portraits of British women, while in France the grandes dames of the Ancient Regime were often depicted as nymphs or goddesses. Eighteenth-century aesthetic admired the classical female form and lauded Greek dress as both pure and uncluttered. Indeed, Thomas Pope went so far as to use his commentary on Iliad Book 14 (The Toilette of Juno) to make an appeal to society ladies to consider abandoning the corsets and hoop-skirts of the day in favour of the ‘dress of the fair sex of…between two and three thousand years ago’. He begged, May I have leave to observe the great simplicity of Juno’s dress, in comparison with the innumerable equipage of a modern toilette? …One may preach till doomsday on this subject, but all the commentators in the world will never prevail upon a lady to stick one pin the less in her gown, except she can be convinced, that the ancient dress will better set off her person. …I could be glad to ask the ladies which they should like best to imitate, the Greeks or the Asiaticks? I would desire those that are handsome and well made to consider that the dress of Juno (which is the same they see in statues) has manifestly the advantage of the present, in displaying whatever is beautiful: that the charms of the neck and breast are not less laid open than by the modern stays; and that those of the leg are more gracefully discover’d than even by the hoop-petticoat: that the fine turn of the arms is better observ’d; and that several natural graces of the shape and body appear much more conspicuous. It is not to be deny’d but the Asiatick and our present modes were better contriv’d to conceal some people’s defects, but I don’t speak to such people. I speak only to ladies of that beauty who can make any fashion prevail by their being seen in it and who put others of their sex under the wretched necessity of being like them in their habits, or not being like them at all. As for the rest, let ’em follow the mode of Judaea and be content with the name of Asiaticks.10

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Introduction Classicism did enter mainstream fashion again in the early decades of the nineteenth century; indeed, the dress historian C.W. Cunnington described the period 1800–1821 as the ‘vertical epoch’, with the years 1800–1807 as the era of ‘pure Classicism’.11 Naomi Tarrant had recently demonstrated that women’s dress of this period (defined by the classic Jane Austen-style ‘Empire line’) was based solely on ancient Greek modes inspired in large part by the influential costume studies of Thomas Hope, who chose to concentrate his attention on representations of Greek dress at the expense of Roman styles.12 By the mid-Victorian period, the fashionable female shape had been squeezed and contorted into tightly laced corsets and ankle-boots and had been swollen out with petticoats, crinolines and bustles. The dress reform movement, which advocated the abandonment of the hourglass corset, encouraged an emancipated female lifestyle by extolling the virtues of the antique waist of Venus and the Graces. The fuller figure, dressed in loose drapes, became an inspirational model for that certain type of woman who campaigned for social and political reform. The full classical waist also became a figure of derision: a cartoon from Fun magazine of 1869 (Fig. 1), for example, and entitled ‘Oh Stay’ or ‘Graces versus Laces’, shows two fashionable beauties, tightly corseted and puffed out with bustles, gazing with admiration into a haberdasher’s shop, stocked full of corsets and crinolines. One particularly vicious specimen of corset is given pride of place in a bell jar. Above them, stretched out languidly on a cloud, lies Venus, her ample frame modestly concealed by only a small drape. Behind her, the three Graces embrace one another and look down at the fashionable shoppers with obvious scorn. The cartoonist has included some lines of dialogue: Venus: My stars, what can that thing be under a glass case? How do they wear it? The Graces: It’s no use asking us, we have nothing to do with it! 13

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Introduction The early decades of the twentieth century witnessed another revival of ancient Greek fashions. The most interesting interpretations of the classical sources came from the Spanish designer Mariano Fortuny who, in 1909, discovered a way of pleating very fine silk-satin in a style reminiscent of the Ionic tunics worn by the Archaic korai (‘maidens’) discovered on the Athenian Acropolis and elsewhere in the Greek world, although the dress he originally designed using this new pleating process was actually based on that worn by a male, the famous bronze charioteer from Delphi. The process itself was never revealed and went to the grave with Fortuny in 1949, after he had earned his riches and reputation by selling his one-off pleated Delphic gowns to influential female patrons worldwide.14 At the opposite end of the social ladder, in 1926 Mrs Rosalind Klin patented to fellow American female consumers the revolutionary Kestos brassiere, an inexpensive undergarment created from two small handkerchiefs, folded into triangles which crossed over at the front and stayed in place with the aid of two elastic shoulder straps, which crossed over the back and fastened beneath the bust. The prototype, Klin claimed, was actually based on the garment worn by Aphrodite in the Iliad; it quickly became a profitable seller, especially attracting young girls because of its gentle shape and the way that it made the tubular dresses of the late 1920s hang on their bodies with a goddess-like allure.15 Fashion photographers have long loved things Greek: think of Steichen’s Isadora Duncan dancing, or Man Ray’s women in siren shifts, or Hollywood’s portraits of Lana Turner, Jean Harlow and Rita Hayworth (frontispiece). More recently, in 1973, Norman Parkinson photographed the model Apollonia skyhigh on a Greek column; in 1979 Avedon photographed Lauren Hutton in a white sheath dress for a Revlon Ultima advertisement which imitated his own 1954 picture of a goddess at the gaming tables. The fashion pages of British newspaper colour supplements still stress that Greek is chic. The Guardian Weekend Magazine of February 2001 noted that ‘Greece is the word’ and advised its (female) readers to, ‘Cut a classical dash in a gossamer dress or take yourself off to Olympian heights in a substantial skirt.’ 16 The Sunday Times Magazine ran a lavishly illustrated article the following month called ‘Myth World’, in which (male?) readers were warned, ‘Beware of Greeks wearing shifts. It’s the return of the strong woman. Think Diana the Huntress or Athena the Protector. This is goddess dressing with attitude.’ 17 The Independent On Sunday had long since recognized the appeal of classical Greek clothing and in a 1994 article entitled ‘Grecian 2000’ reported how, Down the catwalk, wearing this summer’s collections, appeared a file of aspiring goddesses, their hair crowned with haloes of gold, in plisé shifts, tunics and togas. Fashion editors scribbled furiously in their notebooks: Delphi! Santorini!! Mikonos!!! and their thoughts turned to fashion shoots amid classical pillars. White replaced black as the designers’ favourite colour, it all looked quite heavenly, and now everybody has gone Greek.18

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Introduction The latest revival in ancient Greek dress styles probably began – as so many fashion fads do – with the British designer Vivienne Westwood. In the 1980s, whilst her fellow designers concentrated on images of power dressing by ‘constructing’ women in tailored jackets and padded shoulders, Westwood opted for a softer approach and went pagan with two classically inspired collections, Pagan I in 1988 and Pagan V 1990 (Rifat Ozbek also looked to the Graeco-Roman past in 1990 with his White Collection). Despite (or perhaps because of ) this popular fixation with classic Greek chic, the scholarly world has been neglectful of the study of ancient Greek clothing, certainly outside the realm of art-historical studies. Research into dress history was not, until recently, considered worthy of proper scholarly attention, certainly not among old-school classicists. Thus, when Pope steeled himself to comment on the dress of Andromache in Iliad book 22, he addressed his debate specifically to ‘my female readers’ and appended his description of the princess’s apparel with the comment that, ‘the Ladies cannot be but pleased to see so much learning and Greek upon this important subject.’ 19 Nevertheless, at least Pope took the important step forward of recognizing that the subject of dress was of some importance, if only to the ‘light minds’ of his female readers. But Pope was in good company: writers in classical antiquity itself occasionally gave a nod to the issue of female dress, although usually to lampoon its ostentation or to voice a bewildered question about why women opted to wear such an array of clothes. The Roman author Aelian, for example, writing in his Varia Historia around 180 ad, commented on female profligacy of ancient times, noting: Surely most women of antiquity indulged in showy habits. They wore tall tiaras on their heads and their feet were shod in sandals. Long earrings hung from their lobes. The part of the tunic between the shoulder and the hand was not sewn together but fastened with gold pins and silver brooches. These were the habits of women in very ancient times.20

He goes on to suggest that his readers refer to a passage from Aristophanes to get a fuller picture of the variety of dress and ornaments used more specifically by the women of ancient Athens: as to the women of Attica, let Aristophanes tell of their luxury.21

The passage Aelian (probably) cites is now preserved as a tantalizing fragment of Aristophanes’ Thesmophoriazusae II, a text which both displays the intricacies of Attic women’s dress in the classical period and our own inprecise knowledge of ancient Greek technical terminology. xurovn, kavtoptron, yalivda, khrwthvn, livtron, prokovmion, ojcqoivbou", mivtra", ajnadhvmata, e[gcousan, o[leqron to;n baquvn, yimuvqion, muvron, kivshrin, strovfi∆, ojpisqosfendovnhn, kavlumma, fu'ko", peridevrai∆, uJpogravmmata,

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Introduction trufokalavsirin, ejllevboron, kekruvfalon, zw'm∆ ajmpevconon, truvfhma, parufev", xustivda, citw'na, bavraqron, e[gkuklon, kommwvtrion. ta; mevgista d∆ oujk ei[rhka touvtwn. ei\ta tiv… diovpa", diavliqon, plavstra, molovcion, bovtru", clidw'na, perovna", ajmfideva", o{rmou", pevda", sfragi'da", aJluvsei", daktulivou", kataplavsmata, pomfovluga", ajpodevsmou", ojlivsbou", savrdia, uJpoderivda", eJlikth'ra", a[llãa povll∆à a{ ti" oujd∆ a]n levgwn levxeie.

Many of Aristophanes’ specific dress-terms can only be guessed at in translation and have to remain open to comment and subsequent criticism. In his lively translation of the passage (and the accompanying brief commentary), even Jeffrey Henderson is forced to acknowledge that the meaning of many words is unclear and that a lot of guesswork is needed. Nonetheless, he makes a brave stab at de-coding Aristophanes’ ‘feminine’ vocabulary: razor, mirror, scissors, wax-salve, nitre, wig, dress-trimmings, hair-ribbons, headbands, alkanet, destruction steep, white face-powder, perfume, pumice-stone, brassiere, hair-bag, veil, rouge, necklaces, mascara, soft gown, hellebore, hairnet, girdle, shawl, negligee, bordered robe, velvet gown, tunic, death pit, striped jacket, curling irons. I haven’t come to the best of this stuff. What’s next? Earrings, gold jewellery hops, necklet, cluster pin, anklet, brooches, bracelets, chains, foot-bangles, signets, links, rings, plasters, bubble-hats, breastbands, dildoes, carnelians, chokers, twists and lots of other things which you wouldn’t have the stamina to enumerate.22

From such a passage it becomes clear that the ancient Greeks had an elaborate and nuanced vocabulary of dress-related words (especially when related to women); even a cursory flip through Liddell and Scott’s lexicon will throw up dozens of dress and fashion terms employed in the Greek vocabulary. While we cannot simply presume that there is exact symmetry between modern English and ancient Greek clothing terminology and its usage, we must be as aware of the nuances of dress terms in ancient Greek as we are in contemporary English. What becomes apparent from a study of a text like Aristophanes’, is the fact that a great deal more work on the nature and meaning of Greek dress needs to be undertaken, certainly to a level that parallels the interesting studies of Roman dress which have appeared in recent times. xii

Introduction In May 1999 the University of Wales Institute of Classics and Ancient History (UWICAH) organized a conference at Hay-on-Wye in order to re-dress the balance in favour of the Greeks and study ancient Greek women’s clothing. This book is the fruition of that conference. It is hoped that it will inspire further study of this important subject. The present volume covers a wide chronological span (c. 900 bc – ad 500) and takes the reader to the far corners of the ancient Greek world, from the cities of the Black Sea to the towns of South Italy and the shores of North Africa. It questions the nature of ancient Greek clothing, the symbolism attached to the creation of cloth and the wearing of certain fabrics in certain fashionable ways. This book is not a manual intended to instruct the reader in how to drape and create ancient Greek dress (that important work has already been done by late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century scholars); indeed, in a way, this volume deconstructs ancient Greek clothing and puts it back together in a new way. The scholarship encountered in these pages shares similar themes: in particular, authors examine the symbolic, ideological and idealizing qualities of Greek women’s dress and the bodies which the clothing was intended to cover; they highlight issues of the gaze (a popular theme in contemporary scholarship), of male representations (and censorship too) of the female figure, as well as the symbolism attached to clothing in its raw state (wool working) and its final form (when disported on the body). A major theme that emerges here is the attempt to classify female social status through clothing and other body-related issues, such as the whiteness of female skin or an artificial cosmetic whiteness. Do clothes, like veils and mantles, qualify women as upper class and, moreover, imbue them with a sense of virtuous modesty? Conversely, does the use of make-up or the wearing of transparent fabrics (or outright nudity for that matter) qualify women as morally reprehensible? These are some of the major, and most pressing, issues tackled by the authors. It is hoped that this book will open up a wider discourse about the nature of dress in ancient life and that it will serve to promote the idea that dress, clothing, and fashion should be more integrated into mainstream scholarship. Critics may ask, ‘does fashion matter?’ I leave the answer to that doyenne of taste, Joan Rivers: Does fashion matter? Always – though not quite as much after death.23

Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones Cardiff, November 2001 Notes 1 2

Cited in Newman 2001, 210. Lurie 1981.

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Introduction 3 Houston 1931, for example, has little of real scholarly value, despite the book’s popularity. 4 The same concern applies to the study of dress in the ancient Near East. Research into ancient Egyptian clothing, however, is actually in a very healthy stage: VogelsangEastwood 1993 has done a great deal of work on reconstructing dress in three dimensions from the surviving art works, and Robins 1993 has done much to promote the study of the social meaning of clothes in Egyptian society. 5 Sebesta and Bonfante 1994. 6 Losfeld 1991, 1994. 7 Geddes 1987; Miller 1997. 8 Stewart 1997; van Wees 1998; Davidson 1997. See also Llewellyn-Jones 2002 (forthcoming). 9 See MacLeod and Marciari Alexander. 10 Cited in Shankman 1996, 685–6. 11 Cunnington 1937, 447–60. 12 Tarrant 2001. See also Watkin 1968. 13 Fun Magazine, 30 October 1869. For further details see Smith 2001, 120. 14 Tarrant 2001, 178. 15 Alden 1998. 16 The Guardian Weekend 3 February 2001, 42. 17 The Sunday Times Magazine 11 March 2001, 56–62. 18 The Independent On Sunday 13 March 1994, 4–6. I am grateful to Paula James for alerting me to this article. 19 Cited in Shankman 1996, 1043–4. 20 Aelian VH 1.18. 21 Ibid. 22 Ar. Fragment 332. Trans. Henderson 1996, 197. 23 Cited in Newman 2001, 40.

Bibliography Alden, M.J. 1998 ‘Divine underwear – in all the better shops’, Omnibus 36, 32–3. Cunnington, C.W. 1937 English Women’s Clothing in the Nineteenth Century. London. Davidson, J. 1997 Courtesans and Fishcakes. The consuming passions of Classical Athens. London. Geddes, A.G. 1987 ‘Rags and riches: the costume of Athenian men in the fifth century.’ CQ 37, 307–31. Henderson, J. 1996 Three Plays by Aristophanes. Staging women. New York and London. Houston, M. 1931 Ancient Greek, Roman and Byzantine Dress. London. Llewellyn-Jones, L.J. 2002 (forthcoming) Aphrodite’s Tortoise. The veiled women of Ancient Greece. London and Swansea.

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Introduction forthcoming ‘Herakles re-dressed’, in L. Rawlings (ed.) Herakles–Hercules in the Ancient World, London and Swansea. Losfeld, G. 1991 Essai sur le costume grec, Paris. 1994 L’ Art grec et le vêtement, Paris. Lurie, A. 1981 The Language of Clothes, London. MacLeod, C. and Marciari Alexander, J. (eds.) 2001 Painted Ladies. Women at the court of Charles II, London. Miller, M.C. 1997 Athens and Persia. A study in cultural receptivity, Cambridge. Newman, C. 2001 National Geographic: Fashion, Washington D.C. Robins, G. 1993 Women in Ancient Egypt, London. Sebesta, J.L. and Bonfante, L. (eds.) 1994 The World of Roman Costume, Madison. Shankman, S. 1996 The Iliad of Homer Translated by Thomas Pope, London. Smith, A. (ed.) 2001 Exposed. The Victorian Nude, London. Stewart, A. 1997 Art, Desire and the Body in Ancient Greece, Cambridge. Tarrant, N. 2001 ‘Where are the Romans? Classical influences on women’s fashionable dress from the late eighteenth century to the twentieth century’ in P.W. Rogers, L.B. Jorgensen and A. Rast-Eicher (eds.) The Roman Textile Industry and its Influence. A birthday tribute to John Peter Wild, Oxford, 172–80. Van Wees, H. 1998 ‘Greeks Bearing Arms: the state, the leisure class, and the display of wealth in archaic Greece’, in N. Fisher and H. van Wees (eds.) Archaic Greece: New approaches and new evidence, 333–78. Vogelsang-Eastwood, G. 1993 Pharaonic Egyptian Clothing, Leiden. Watkin, D. 1968 Thomas Hope and the Neo-Classical Ideal, London.

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1 CONSTRAINTS AND CONTRADICTIONS: Whiteness and Femininity in Ancient Greece Bridget M. Thomas

wJ" ejmoi; polu; h{dion zwvsh" ajreth;n gunaiko;" katamanqavnein h] eij Zeu'xiv" moi kalh;n eijkavsa" grafh'/ gunai'ka ejpedeivknuen.

To learn about the excellence of a living woman is much sweeter to me than if Zeuxis showed me a beautiful woman whose likeness he had captured by drawing.1 (Xenophon, Oeconomicus 10.1)

This excited exclamation, assigned to Socrates in Xenophon’s work on home management, occurs in the context of an extended narration by Socrates himself as he relates an earlier conversation with Ischomachos, a respectable Athenian gentleman, about the latter’s success in the community and (as a necessary corollary) his success at home in the training of his wife. It interests me for two reasons: first, because it introduces the section of the treatise that deals with women’s use of cosmetics; second, because it pretends to make a statement about the relationship between reality and representation. When Socrates differentiates between a representation of a beautiful woman (or a good wife) created by a visual artist and one created by a verbal artist, he creates a distinction that is actually quite problematic: the verbal portrait is just as much a product of the imagination as the painted portrait, and both are created by the male observer. In recent years, feminist theorists have become interested in the fact that men have traditionally controlled the production of images of women in art and literature; for instance, Laura Mulvey observes: Women are constantly confronted with their own image in one form or another, but what they see bears little relation or relevance to their own unconscious desires. They are being turned all the time into objects of display, to be looked at and gazed at and stared at by men. Yet, in a real sense, women are not there at all. The parade has nothing to do with woman, but everything to do with man.2

According to such theorists, these representations reflect men’s fears and fantasies more than they voice women’s aspirations. Thus the study of these representations becomes a study of the male imagination. These images become important insofar as they are recognized as part of an ideology that constructs 1

Bridget M. Thomas and defines gender roles, for both men and women. Throughout the discussion of literary whiteness that follows, I will stress the power that descriptive language has to direct the gaze of the audience. This language tells us how to look and how to feel about what we see. In short, it both reflects and prescribes cultural ideas about femininity. Socrates’ stated preference for nature over artifice neatly anticipates the point of the episode in which Ischomachos reprimands his wife for wearing white facial make-up: Ischomachos does not want his wife to be painted like some picture either; he too prefers a natural to an artificial woman. In this paper I reflect on the connotations of whiteness (both ‘natural’ and ‘artificial’) in early Greek literature. The conventions by which women were associated with whiteness (or fairness) and males with blackness (or darkness) were an important part of the discourses that constructed gender in ancient Greece.3 Since whiteness was connected to the ideal of female beauty and behavior, I will examine examples of the use of the color term leukos in early Greek literature to discern more precisely its associations. I will argue that references to color in literature work to enforce (in both positive and negative terms) a standard of feminine beauty and behavior; yet, women who tried to be white or even merely to appear to be white inevitably became tangled in a set of contradictions. Before discussing the significance of whiteness in literature, we should look briefly at pictures. Visual depictions of men and women in early Greek art frequently emphasize this same distinction in color: female figures are painted with a stark white pigment, while male figures are painted with a dark reddish pigment. This convention can be observed in Mycenean wall-paintings and many archaic vases (e.g. Corinthian early sixth-century vases and Attic blackfigure vases), and may have been influenced by a similar Egyptian custom.4 As Beazley points out, however, the color distinction was not strictly observed in the earliest paintings; it only gradually became the rule.5 The fact that strict observance of this color distinction occurred over time speaks of its artificiality. Indeed, even common sense tells us that a color distinction between the male and female is highly artificial;6 the difference in color between an actual Greek woman and man would not be this extreme, and (as Mediterranean natives) neither of them would be white. This artificial contrast has been explained as evidence of the Greek tendency to polarize sexual characteristics: it reflects an antithesis between fine-skinned, fragile women and tougher and hardier men.7 I would add that this convention does not merely reflect, but also promotes this exaggerated distinction as an ideal. Even in literature (in genres characterized by words and not pictures), references to whiteness conjure up visual images. As a color term, the adjective gives details about a woman’s appearance. Just by using such an adjective, the author invites the audience to look at her. And since the adjective participates in a larger cultural discourse, when he describes her as ‘white’ the author invites the audience to look at her in a certain way – that is, as an object of beauty. The 2

Constraints and contradictions: whiteness and femininity in ancient Greece adjective indicates that the audience member should read about her, imagine her, and desire her. Whiteness in Homeric epic It is common in archaic Greek epic for the poet to use one particular color term in passages that mention women. In the Homeric epics the compound adjective leukwvleno" (‘white-armed’) describes mortal women on several occasions, but it describes the goddess Hera most often. Indeed, Hera is described as ‘whitearmed’ twenty four times in the Iliad; in each of these lines, the epithet begins in the second syllable of the fourth foot (leukwvleno" ”Hrh). In nineteen of these lines, the epithet is preceded by the word qeav (‘goddess’); in these cases the string of three words fills the space between the feminine caesura of the third foot and the verse end. Another epithetic phrase8 occupying exactly the same number of syllables was also available to the poet: bow'pi" povtnia ”Hrh (‘ox-eyed lady Hera’) occurs fourteen times in the Iliad. The fact that the poet had two possible ways to fill out the same metrical space suggests that the epithets may not have been strictly ornamental;9 indeed, each seems to have carried distinct connotations, one of which was more appropriate to a particular context than another.10 My examination of the nineteen instances11 where the poet calls Hera ‘white-armed goddess’ and the fourteen12 where she is ‘ox-eyed’ has convinced me that the former is found in an altogether different context than the latter: leukwvleno" describes Hera at those points in the narrative when the goddess, sympathetic to the suffering of the Greeks, encourages others to assist them or when she submits to the requests or orders of others; bow'pi" on the other hand, describes Hera when she is either acting rebelliously or is being punished for her rebellion.13 Thus Hera is ‘white-armed’ only when she exhibits positive feminine behavior. A set of examples from a book in which both epithets are used to describe Hera will demonstrate this point. At the beginning of Book 1 of the Iliad, Hera feels pity for the Danaans and intervenes on their behalf. Here the narrator calls her leukwvleno" several times. The first reference occurs in lines 53–6: ejnnh'mar me;n ajna; strato;n w[/ceto kh'la qeoi'o, th'/ dekavth/ d∆ ajgorh;n de; kalevssato lao;n ∆Acilleuv". tw'/ ga;r ejpi; fresi; qh'ke qea; leukwvleno" ”Hrh. khvdeto ga;r Danaw'n, o{ti rJa qnhvskonta" oJra'to.

For nine days the god’s arrows fell upon the army, but on the tenth day Achilles called the people to the assembly; the goddess of the white arms, Hera, put this idea in his mind, for she pitied the Danaans when she saw them dying.

In this passage Hera’s intervention is explained by a reference to the emotion she felt when confronted with their suffering: she intervenes because the misfortunes of the Greeks trouble her. This concern is emphasized twice more 3

Bridget M. Thomas in passages that also involve Athena. Here the narrator explains Athena’s arrival (lines 193–6): h|o" o} tau'q∆ w{rmaine kata; frevna kai; kata; qumovn, e{lketo d∆ ejk koleoi'o mevga xivfo", h\lqe d∆ ∆Aqhvnh oujranovqen: pro; ga;r h|ke qea; leukwvleno" ”Hrh, a[mfw oJmw'" qumw'/ filevousav te khdomevnh te:

As he weighed in his mind and spirit these two things and was drawing his great sword from its sheath, Athena came down from the sky. For the goddess of the white arms, Hera, had sent her, since she loved and pitied both men equally in her heart.

Once again the narrator emphasizes the emotional connection that Hera feels for the Greeks – this time for both Achilles and Agamemnon. The participles (filevousav te khdomevnh te) modifying ‘white-armed’ Hera emphasize the fact that she is motivated by sympathy and affection. This connection is stressed when Athena explains her appearance to Achilles: an only slightly altered version of the same two lines appears in her utterance there (1.208–9). Later in the narrative (still in the opening book) the narrator twice uses the epithet bow'pi" to modify Hera. At line 551 the narrator introduces her response to Zeus, who has just scolded her for inquiring into his affairs: there the narrator calls her ‘ox-eyed’. In the same exchange, when Zeus orders her to sit in silence and threatens her with physical violence, the narrator describes her response (lines 568–9): w}" e[fat∆, e[deisen de; bow'pi" povtnia ”Hrh, kaiv rJ∆ ajkevousa kaqh'sto ejpignavmyasa fivlon kh'r.

So he spoke, and the goddess the ox-eyed lady Hera grew fearful and sat down in silence wrenching her heart to obedience.

In both of these examples Hera dares to question Zeus and is disciplined as a result. When Hera displeases her husband and her punishment enforces a separation from the society of the gods, she is no longer called ‘white-armed’ but ‘ox-eyed’. Significantly, the scene ends with an attempt by Hephaestus to cheer up his mother. In this brief passage (just lines after Zeus’ disciplinary action) Hera is called ‘white-armed’ twice more. Here Hera is again portrayed in a positive light: first (line 572) Hephaestus plans to comfort her; then (595–6) she smiles at her son and is reintegrated into the society of the gods: w}" favto, meivdhsen de; qea; leukwvleno" ”Hrh, meidhvsasa de; paido;" ejdevxato ceiri; kuvpellon.

So he spoke, and the goddess of the white arms Hera smiled at him, and smiling she accepted from her son’s hand the goblet.

Thus, when Hera enters into a positive exchange with someone – when she becomes an integrated participant in her society – the narrator again calls Hera 4

Constraints and contradictions: whiteness and femininity in ancient Greece ‘white-armed’. The audience is made aware of her whiteness whenever she performs a positive feminine role (obedient wife, agreeable mother, concerned guardian) in relation to those around her. I should anticipate some objections to this argument. Some may find problematic the attempts to locate the poet’s preference for one epithet over another in particular contexts, especially since the circumstance of the composition of this poem is too much unknown; if the poem was indeed composed as part of an oral tradition (or even as the crowning achievement of that tradition) then one or another epithet may have been attached to different episodes in the poets’ repertoire. I must still insist on the significance of those contexts in which Hera is ‘white-armed’. As I have demonstrated above, the narrator often calls her by different epithets even within the same episode; this would contradict the notion that an epithet might attach itself to an episode and thereby be merely conventional. And even if one should argue that the scene with Zeus and the scene with Hephaestus (both Book 1) are in origin two distinct episodes, the fact that these epithets attach themselves to episodes so different in tone also attests to the connotations of the epithets. While looking at those contexts in which Hera is described as ‘white-armed’, we may seem to be overlooking the fact that the other noun that is part of that noun-epithet phrase may also be important: perhaps the poet chose one phrase over the other because he wanted to emphasize Hera in her capacity as ‘goddess’ (qeav) or ‘lady’ (povtnia). And yet it is very difficult to surmise what distinction is made with a choice between these two words. While it might be tempting to argue from Book 1 that Hera is ‘lady’ (and not goddess) in her interactions with Zeus, her consort, the same clear distinction is not observable later on in the poem; Hera is also called the ‘ox-eyed lady’ in interactions with Aphrodite (14.222), Sleep (14.263), and Helios (18.239). Having considered these objections, I maintain that there is meaning here: the characteristics associated with the epithet leukwvleno" are those of sympathy, assistance, and acquiescence as these are manifested in the female goddess. Mortal women are also described (fifteen times) as ‘white-armed’ (leukwvleno") in the Iliad and the Odyssey. Notably, none of these instances occurs in a context in which women appear to be acting in a socially unacceptable way. Rather, the adjective clearly refers to the fairness of women who live their lives (as they should) within the household:14 in fact, in six of the fifteen instances the adjective is explicitly linked with interior spaces within the home.15 For example, Helen is ‘white-armed’ (Il. 3.121) when Iris (125) ‘found her in the chamber; she was weaving a great web’ (th;n d∆ eu|r∆ ejn megavrw/. h} de; mevgan iJsto;n u{fainen). This portrayal of Helen (renowned for her beauty) occupied with the approved Greek woman’s activity suggests that the epithet is connected with appearance, space, and activity that is conventionally (and ideally) feminine.16 The other mortal women whose names are linked with the epithet (Nausikaa, Andromache, and Arete) are all likewise portrayed as positive examples of 5

Bridget M. Thomas womanhood: the narrator draws our attention to their whiteness as they perform their proper feminine roles (whether that be laundering clothing, lamenting losses in war, or welcoming guests in the home). The Nausikaa passage seems most worthy of comment, since the associations of whiteness here are many. In this passage, the narrator invites us to look at this young woman as she frolics with her handmaidens (Od. 6.99–101): ‘But when she and her maidservants had full enjoyment of the meal, then they cast off their veils and played a game of ball, and Nausikaa of the white arms (leukwvleno") led them in the sport.’ The act of unveiling combined with the reference to Nausikaa’s bare arms indicates that the epithet is meant to draw attention to both Nausikaa’s vulnerability and her desirability.17 The combination of these two attributes in this context suggests a third – her nubility. Indeed, there are several references to marriage in this book: Nausikaa makes the trip to the river because she is concerned about having clean clothes for her wedding (6.25–70), Odysseus comments specifically on her desirability as a bride (6.158–61), and Alcinoos later offers her to Odysseus as a bride (6.309–16). The same associations are suggested in the passage in which we see Penelope after Athena has enhanced her appearance (Od. 18.195–6): kaiv min makrotevrhn kai; pavssona qh'ken ijdevsqai, leukotevrhn d∆ a[ra min qh'ke pristou' ejlevfanto".

She made her taller and broader to look at, and she made her whiter than sawn ivory.

Again the narrator directs the audience’s gaze as we (like the suitors) size her up. As she shows herself to the suitors in this passage, her whiteness is linked explicitly to her desirability. In fact, Penelope’s enhanced color and stature have a pronounced effect on the suitors (18.212–13): ‘their knees buckled, their hearts were beguiled with desire, and they all prayed to lie down beside her’. Clearly the adjective has connotations for Penelope in her role as potential bride; in this appearance, she embodies several ideal feminine characteristics: modesty, desirability, and nubility. At this point it might seem that all women in the Homeric epics are ‘whitearmed’, but this is not the case. Notice, for instance, that none of the immortal females (e.g. Kirke, Kalypso) whom Odysseus encounters in his travels are described with this epithet. Those women seem not to have been characterized by their whiteness because (although beautiful) they transgressed the rules for conventional Greek womanhood in that they were the masters of their households and lived without the companionship (or guardianship) of men. Although Odysseus may desire them, he does not want to marry them. Likewise, although attendant maidservants are described as ‘white-armed’ on a few occasions, this is not the case when the poet is describing their misbehavior. The absence of the adjective on these occasions strengthens our point about its

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Constraints and contradictions: whiteness and femininity in ancient Greece connotations: women are ‘white-armed’ only when both their appearance and behavior are consistent with society’s standards. Whiteness in tragedy Since tragedies were performed before an audience as a spectacle, it might seem that the visual words that occur in these texts are redundant: they repeat things that the audience already sees. But references to whiteness almost always occur in speeches that describe action offstage. Thus even in the context of a performance, visual description is important: it directs the imagination of the audience as that audience forms a mental picture of a narrated event. As we will see, visually descriptive words tell the audience both what to look at and how to feel about it as they look. The color term leukov" is often used in descriptions of women in tragedy.18 As in epic poetry, the adjective is rarely used by female characters to describe themselves; more often someone else (often a messenger or servant) uses it to describe an upper-class woman. In tragedy, then, it marks a class distinction: the servants who describe their mistresses with this adjective both signal this distinction and convey respect. Even so, the adjective is never used to describe the overall appearance of a woman, but rather a specific part of the body: the adjective is used to describe her neck, her throat, her cheek,19 her hands. These tend to be the parts of the body that were exposed even when a woman was fully dressed. The mention of whiteness in this context has two separate but related connotations: (1) because of their nakedness (their visibility), these body parts are especially likely to create desire; (2) because of their nakedness (their lack of cover, protection), these body parts are especially vulnerable to injury.20 In fact, both of these connotations (desirability and vulnerability) may be present in these passages: the white throat, as Loraux reminds us, is both a place of feminine beauty and the part of the body through which the knife pierces or by which a woman hangs.21 Indeed, very often in tragedy the woman whose body is described as white is a young maiden about to be wed; she is also often a character with no speaking part in the drama; rather she is a bride exchanged between two men.22 Thus the adjective carries connotations of youthfulness and desirability as well as the attendant traits of passivity and submission: her whiteness signals that she is an appropriate object of male desire. At the same time, in tragedy most brides are unsuccessful: the maiden described as white is someone whose life is cut short either before the ritual or before the fulfillment of the marriage;23 so her whiteness also conveys her status as a youthful victim. The conventional interpretation of passages such as these states that references to a woman’s beauty at the time of her death increase the pathos of the scene. This is certainly true, and we should be attentive to how this works: such lines, as they draw attention to society’s loss, also make a statement about what that society values. The death of a woman described as leukov" suggests that her loss is most keenly felt because she represents an ideological complex that 7

Bridget M. Thomas her society values; in this case, what was valued most is not just beauty, but also modesty, passivity, and obedience. Ironically, the characteristics that society values most in women (especially in the cases of Alcestis and Iphigenia) are also responsible for the women’s suffering. A selection of passages from Euripides’ Medea will provide us with several examples of the contexts in which the whiteness of women is noted in tragedy. Early in the drama, Medea herself is described as white, and so, nearer to the end, is the young princess. The first example begins at line 28, when the nurse reports on the extreme grief of her mistress: wJ" de; pevtro" h] qalavssio" kluvdwn ajkouvei nouqetoumevnh fivlwn: h]n mhv pote strevyasa pavlleukon devrhn aujth; pro;" auJth;n patevr∆ ajpoimwvxh/ fivlon kai; gai'an oi[kou" q∆, ou}" prodou's∆ ajfivketo met∆ ajndro;" o{" sfe nu'n ajtimavsa" e[cei.

She does not heed the warnings of her friends at all – like a rock or a wave of the sea – except whenever she turns her all-white neck and weeps to herself over her dear father and her country, and her home, all she abandoned when she came here with a man who now mistreats her.

These lines invite the audience to notice Medea’s whiteness (to imagine her as a vulnerable and desirable woman) early in the play. The position of the color reference in this report of her grief is significant, since here Medea regrets all that she had done in order to win the love of Jason; she especially regrets the violence that she did to her father’s family. In effect, the nurse describes Medea’s ‘all-white neck’, as she reports Medea’s wish to undo her transition from maiden to wife.24 Thus, this passage also emphasizes the connection between whiteness and youthful femininity. But the nurse’s report does not just convey her wish to be able to return to maidenhood; it also emphasizes her suffering and extreme vulnerability. At this point in the drama, Medea is still an extremely sympathetic figure: the nurse describes her as the beautiful and helpless victim of recent decisions and events. As I mentioned above, Medea is not the only woman described as white in this particular play. As one might imagine, Jason’s new bride, the princess Glauce, is described with the same language. These references to her whiteness – like many other references to a woman’s whiteness in tragedy – occur as a messenger describes her death. The princess, who has no speaking part in the play, is a positive model of conventional femininity – a beautiful and submissive creature.25 In the description of her death, the messenger describes her as ‘white’ three different times. The first reference occurs when Medea’s children deliver her gifts to the princess (1144–9): devspoina d∆ h}n nu'n ajnti; sou' qaumavzomen, pri;n me;n tevknwn sw'n eijsidei'n xunwrivda,

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Constraints and contradictions: whiteness and femininity in ancient Greece provqumon ei\c∆ ojfqalmo;n eij" ∆Iavsona. e[peita mevntoi proujkaluvyat∆ o[mmata leukhvn t∆ ajpevstrey∆ e[mpalin parhivda, paivdwn musacqei's∆ eijsovdou".

The mistress whom we now honor instead of you, before she saw your two children, looked eagerly toward Jason. However she then covered her eyes and turned her white face away, disgusted at the entrance of the children.

The princess, the woman whose cheek is described as ‘white’, is a woman anticipating marriage. In this passage we watch her as she encounters her prospective bride-groom: at first she looks directly at Jason with unconcealed desire, then veils her eyes in a gesture of sexual chastity. Her whiteness is associated explicitly with this gesture, and hence with her status as a modest and desirable maiden. The physical gesture is interpreted by the messenger as one that barely hides her disgust at this reminder of Jason’s children and wife. This concealment of her negative feelings about the children is significantly linked to her status as a marriageable woman: it broadcasts her modesty at the same time that it suggests animosity toward Jason’s former (barbarian) wife. The adjective also suggests the princess’s beauty when it occurs at line 1164: here it describes the lady’s foot as she gazed at herself dressed in the gown and crown (1163–6): ka[peit∆ ajnasta's∆ ejk qrovnwn dievrcetai stevga", aJbro;n baivnousa palleuvkw/ podiv, dwvroi" uJpercaivrousa, polla; pollavki" tevnont∆ ej" ojrqo;n o[mmasi skopoumevnh.

And then getting up from her seat she moved through her rooms, walking prettily with each all-white foot, absolutely thrilled with the gifts, again and again gazing back at her outstretched leg.

Here the compound adjective (‘all-white’) is especially emphatic: with it, the messenger invites the audience to gaze with him at the princess and to appreciate her beauty. There is also room in this text for audience members to identify with the princess and to look at her body as she does ( skopoumevnh). This participle suggests that the princess enjoys the sight of her own white limbs; she participates in the discourse that constructs her femininity. The adjective occurs just once more in the Medea; here it describes the flesh of the Greek princess as she was dying (1188–9): pevploi de; leptoiv, sw'n tevknwn dwrhvmata, � leuvkhn e[dapton savrka th'" dusdaivmono" (‘the fine-spun gown, gift of your sons, was eating into the white flesh of the wretched woman’). Here again her whiteness connotes both the desirability of the young bride and the grotesque appearance of her body afflicted with pain. At the same time that the adjective emphasizes both her beauty and vulnerability, it reminds its audience of what it values (and should value). 9

Bridget M. Thomas In sum, tragic texts direct their audience’s attention to the whiteness of a woman when she is suffering (either extreme grief or death) and when she is about to marry or recalling her marriage. Parts of the body (not the whole person) are described as white, and in the case of deaths these are usually the points of injury – thus Glauce’s skin is white as it is destroyed by the poison of the robe and Iphigenia’s neck is white as it is cut. Taken together this evidence supports our view that whiteness connotes not only beauty but also a degree of helplessness or vulnerability; in other words, like physical beauty, a degree of helplessness is also considered attractive. We noticed a similar range of associations in epic poetry: the color term is very often linked with a woman’s nubility – thus it has the connotations of youthfulness, beauty, desirability, and submission. The term describes Hera when she is either helpful or obedient; it describes Penelope and Nausikaa when they are preparing for marriage. By linking whiteness with qualities that were associated with conventional femininity, such poetry promotes both a physical and a behavioral ideal. Nature, custom, and deceit While it is certainly true that the association of women with whiteness did not originate with artists – pictorial or literary – it is also true that artists were not the only ones who were reinforcing this association. Medical theorists in ancient Greece also acknowledged a distinction between the color of men and women; they attributed it to a difference in masculine and feminine natures. According to scientific explanations, the fairness of a woman’s complexion reflected her body’s moisture and relatively cool temperature.26 Aristotle makes an explicit connection between a woman’s color and her sexual and reproductive success. He acknowledges first the connection between the pleasure (carav, hJdonhv) a woman feels and the fluid secretion (e[kkrisi") she produces during intercourse, and then makes the following assertion: ‘this happens in light-skinned and feminine women (tai'" leukocrovoi" kai; qhlukai'"), generally speaking, and does not happen in dark and manly-looking women (tai'" melaivnai" kai; ajrrenwpoi'").’27 Later Aristotle states that although female pleasure and moisture are not necessary for conception, the two are, nevertheless, conducive to conception: if the female experiences pleasure and emits a secretion, ‘there is a good passage’ (eujodei'tai) for the male’s seed since the mouth of the uterus is not closed.28 Here the ‘feminine’ response to sexual contact is valued because it guarantees that her body will be open and receptive. Thus, science links whiteness with a greater potential for not only pleasure but also fertility; it marks deviations from the ideal as unfeminine and potentially less productive. This feminine ideal – this glorification of whiteness – must have had tremendous influence on actual women. Being aware that their skin was supposed to be (unnaturally) white ‘by nature’ and also that lives of ordinary exertion would take them further from this unrealistic goal, these women might naturally have felt rather desperate. The combination of these messages 10

Constraints and contradictions: whiteness and femininity in ancient Greece is certainly confusing: the (male-dominated) society imagines its ideal (a color that cannot be achieved naturally by any human), associates it with ‘natural’ femininity, and then challenges (even requires) women to try to achieve it by artificial means. Indeed, many women probably avoided the sun as much as possible in order to maintain a fair complexion, but this was an option only for women of the highest class, and even they were doomed to fail. For actual living women, however much they restricted their movement, could not hope to have a truly white complexion. The only other way to achieve this appearance was to paint one’s face white – to disguise nature’s failure with cosmetics. This practice seems to have been fairly common: there are explicit references to the practice in comedies29 and the dried remains of make-up (lead carbonate) have been found in jars in women’s graves.30 Women applied make-up in order to appear to be women – that is, in order that their external appearance might match that of the ideal woman.31 Both of these practices (confinement and cosmetics) further involved the association of femininity and deceit,32 since both cosmetics and confinement are ultimately forms of deception: the woman who puts on make-up intends to deceive her husband, while the woman who stays indoors deceives everyone else, including herself. Since her confinement guarantees that she will not be visible to anyone outside of the household, her fair appearance (her very existence) can only be reputed, never substantiated. This brings us back to the Xenophon passage and its argument against the use of make-up and in favor of confinement. In this dialogue, Ischomachos relates some details about his household, in particular his relations with his young wife: he reports both his instructions for her to remain indoors and his justification. He explains carefully (7.18) that the terms of their living arrangement – their partnership – are divinely ordained. The gods have made their natures different and complementary: ‘And since both types of tasks, that is, the indoor and the outdoor tasks, require labor and attention, god from the beginning adapted the woman’s nature (th;n fuvsin), as it seems to me, to the indoor and man’s to the outdoor tasks and pursuits’ (7.22). Ischomachos makes another crucial assertion several sections later (7.30), when he concludes that our laws (novmoi) are meant to guarantee that we live according to our natures: Now, wife, since we know what duties have been entrusted to each of us by god, we should both try to perform the duties assigned to us as well as possible. The law (oJ novmo"), moreover, joins in this recommendation, for it joins together a man and a woman.

By connecting law with both his wife’s nature and the will of the gods, Ischomachos hopes to gain his wife’s complicity in her confinement. The measure of his success will be the color of her skin. This is why Ischomachos relates in the same narrative an anecdote about an occasion on which he ‘noticed that she was painted with much white lead, so that she might 11

Bridget M. Thomas seem to be fairer (leukotevra) than she was’ (10.2). Ischomachos complains about the artificial application of whiteness because this confounds his expectation that her complexion will reflect the success of her confinement. Rather than deceive him by faking her whiteness, Ischomachos would prefer to have his wife strive to achieve this fairness of complexion through means which seem to him to be more natural – like performing household chores indoors. As her husband, he regards the color of her skin as a marker of his upper-class status and her submission. And this is the crucial point: her whiteness has become an indicator of her obedience to his rules. In the end, then, this ideal for feminine beauty seems to have as much to do with controlling women’s behavior as creating an appealing appearance.33 Since this ideal was reinforced by many fundamental cultural media – in epic poetry, on vase paintings, in medical texts, on the dramatic stage, and in the home – many women probably aimed to achieve it. And yet, however much she stayed indoors and however many layers of white paint she put on her face, she was never really any closer to achieving her goal. Her confinement and the poison of the lead would only give her a temporary (and deceptive) sense of success. Notes 1 I will provide my own translations for all Greek passages that are important for my argument. 2 Mulvey 1989, 13. 3 Indeed, this essay is a result of my study of the links between color and identity in the text of Aeschylus’ Suppliants. I plan to argue elsewhere that a central crisis in that play is the tension between appearance and essence: the Danaids appear to be Egyptian but claim to be Greek. Whiteness, as the marker of an ideal Greek woman, is in fact a marker of both gender and ethnicity. 4 Wallace 1927, 33–6. 5 ‘Male figures, and not only female, are often white in early archaic art; the Herakles of the New York centaur vase was white. Often, too, there is no reason why one male in a picture should be white or black rather than another; it is for variety, or to mark one figure well off from the next’. Beazley 1951, 9. 6 Of course, such an idealized standard of beauty influenced real women. A certain class of women may have even managed to achieve a stark shade of white with the aid of cosmetics (for which, see the discussion of Xenophon below). The color, although realized on an actual female body, is still artificial. 7 Irwin 1974, 116. See also Kober 1934, 189–91. 8 On the use of epithets and epithetic phrases in Homer, see Parry 1928 (1971), Vivante 1982 and Dee 1994. 9 In fact, there are a few instances of lines that are identical except for the choice of epithet and other modifiers: compare 14.222 with 1.595 and 21.434; and 15.92 to 1.551, 4.50, 16.439, 18.360, and 20.309. Even in these lines wherein the beginning of the line is identical, the context may be different, and thus a different epithet may be required.

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Constraints and contradictions: whiteness and femininity in ancient Greece 10 Parry (1928, 1971) is aware of these equivalent noun-epithet formulae, and entertains the possibility that, in the case of a few such pairs, tradition resisted simplification due to a strong habit of using both formulae (180). Regarding this particular pair of adjectives used to describe Hera, Parry rather enigmatically states that the ‘poet’s choice between the two formulae…seems to have been determined by a whole series of associations’ (182). By way of an explanation, Parry simply observes that lines that end with the same noun-epithet formula also occasionally begin with the same series of words. Although this observation is certainly suggestive in a few cases, many more remain unexplained; we will need to look beyond the line in question for an understanding of the poet’s choice. 11 I have grouped these instances into two groups according to Hera’s characterization in the passage: she assists others in Iliad 1.55, 1.195, 1.208, 5.711, 5.775, 5.784, 8.350, 19.407, 21.418, and 21.434; she obeys others in Iliad 1.595, 5.755, 5.767, 8.381, 14.277, 15.78, 15.92, 15.130 and 21.377. There are no instances of this phrase in the Odyssey. 12 In these passages Hera is either acting rebelliously or being punished for such past action: she rebels in Iliad 1.551, 4.50, 8.471, 14.159, 14.222, 14.263, 16.439, 18.239, 18.360, 20.309; she is punished in 1.568, 15.34, 15.49 and 18.357. There are no instances of this phrase in the Odyssey. 13 Book 14 (the beguilement of Zeus) provides the most striking example of the use of this epithet and the most clear statement of its connotations. 14 Although the color distinction clearly coincides with a class distinction, the epithet does not apply only to the highest class, since it also describes a general class of maidservants, presumably those who attend the ladies of the house, and thus also work and live primarily indoors (see 7.239, 18.198, and 19.60). Presumably there are varying degrees of whiteness: the maidservants may be ‘white-armed’, but when Nausikaa stands among them she is whiter still. 15 In these lines the epithet is followed by the phrase ejn megavroisin or ejk megavroio: Iliad 6.371 and 6.377; Odyssey 7.12, 18.198, and 19.60; I am counting the example from Iliad 3.121 (discussed in the text above) as the sixth example. 16 This passage has much in common with the Lucretia episode in Livy’s Ab Urbe Condita (1.57). There too the emphasis is on the sight of the woman engaged in this traditional female activity. On the significance of the sight of women’s bodies in Livy’s history, see Joshel 1992. 17 On the erotic connotations of the act of unveiling, see Nagler 1974, 44–60, esp. 47. 18 These descriptions occur in passages featuring dying maidens or brides (Euripides Alcestis 159; Euripides Medea 923, 1148, 1164, 1189; Sophocles Antigone 1239; Euripides Electra 1023; Euripides Iphigenia at Aulis 875) and lamenting women (Euripides Phoenician Women 1351; Euripides Orestes 1467; Euripides Ion 891; Euripides Hippolytus 771; Euripides Medea 30). Only one reference (Euripides Bacchae 1206) does not fit into either of these categories. This use of the adjective is ironic as it occurs in a passage wherein Agave describes what the thiasos did ‘with the white fingers of our hands’; here Euripides emphasizes the incongruity of the delicacy of the women’s bodies and the violence of their deed. 19 The Greek words pareiav (an epic form, usually found in the plural) and parhvion (an Ionic form, usually found in the singular) which are often translated as ‘cheek’ or ‘jaw’ literally mean ‘the side of the face’. When the noun is used to refer to a part of

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Bridget M. Thomas a woman’s body it often suggests that the woman being described has turned away from the speaker (or the speaker has turned away from her), and thus the speaker looks upon only the side of her face. This posture has at least two possible connotations: it might signal deference (as often when the gesture is accompanied by grieving) or it might signal concealment. 20 Similarly, in the context of the Homeric battlefield, ‘the soft, unprotected flesh at which an enemy directs his weapons’ is called leukos (Iliad 11.573, 15.316); see Irwin 1974, 114–15. 21 Loraux 1987, 49–65, notes that in tragedy the ‘topography of the [female] body…is structured around the places of death’. 22 See Wohl 1998. 23 On the parallels between the Greek wedding and funeral, see Rose 1925, Redfield 1982, Seaford 1987, and Rehm 1994. 24 The Greek concept of maidenhood differed from the contemporary one in a very important way: it didn’t include the idea of the hymen – the barrier that sealed the body of a virgin. Thus a woman was able to retain the status of maiden as long as she was able to keep from her guardian knowledge that she had experienced sexual contact. Widowhood was considered to be a second maidenhood: the loss of virginity was not considered to be a permanent one. See Sissa 1990. 25 Boedeker (1997, 127–48) notes that both Medea and the princess are white; she places this observation in the context of a larger argument, contending that the princess resembles Medea as she might have been before she married Jason. 26 The distinction between the color of men’s and women’s bodies was an extension of a rather elaborate set of dichotomies about their essential differences. The ideal female body was thought to be soft and porous, and so capable of absorbing and retaining moisture; the ideal male body, on the other hand, was hard and compact and so incapable of absorbing moisture, hence ‘dry’ (Hippocrates, Diseases of Women I.1 and Glands 1 and 16). The male body was thought to be hot because of its dynamic power: unlike the female, the male body was capable of creating seed with the power to generate a new individual (Aristotle, Generation of Animals 736b35 ff.). The female body, since it was relatively weak and cool, was also relatively pale. See Dean Jones 1994, 123 ff., for further discussion of these and similar passages. 27 De Generatione Animalium 727b33 ff.; cf. Historia Animalium 583a11. Several texts grouped with the Hippocratic corpus make a similar assertion: e.g. Natura Mulierum I (vii.312.3, 9–10) and Mul. 2. III. (viii.238.16–17). 28 De Generatione Animalium 739a29 ff. 29 Aristophanes’s Lysistrata 43–7 and Ecclesiazousai 878, 930 and 1072. 30 This type of jar (pyxis) is sometimes decorated with depictions of women involved in their beauty regimes. Shear 1936, 317, notes that lead carbonate was known to be poisonous by authors at least as early as Pliny the Elder. 31 It is difficult to determine how this powder was applied, but judging from vasepaintings, I imagine that the goal was full coverage of the face as well as the throat and neck. 32 This association is made explicit by a passage in Plutarch (Pericles 12): Pericles’ enemies compare the decoration of Athens to the dressing up (literally ‘face-beautifying’) of a pretentious (ajlazwvn) woman. See Powell 1995, 251–2. 33 This is still a familiar notion today. Women are still confronted with images of

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Constraints and contradictions: whiteness and femininity in ancient Greece idealized bodies that many risk their health to approximate. Current fashion shows us images of women who are thin like drug addicts (‘Heroin Chic’) and thus glamorize starvation and substance abuse. Breast implants provide women with another artificial (and dangerous) means of producing a ‘natural’ ideal. See Haiken 1997. By complying with such cultural expectations, women are also (to some extent) guilty of promoting them.

Bibliography Beazley, J.D. 1951 The Development of Attic Black-Figure, Berkeley, Cal. Boedeker, D. 1997 ‘Becoming Medea: assimilation in Euripides’, in J. Clauss and S.I. Johnston (eds.) Medea: Essays on Medea in myth, literature, philosophy, and art, Princeton. Dean Jones, L. 1994 Women’s Bodies in Classical Greek Science, Oxford. Dee, J.H. 1994 The Epithetic Phrases for the Homeric Gods, New York and London. Haiken, E. 1997 Venus Envy: A history of cosmetic surgery, Baltimore. Irwin, E. 1974 Colour Terms in Greek Poetry, Toronto. Joshel, S. 1992 ‘The body female and the body politic: Livy’s Lucretia and Verginia’, in A. Richlin (ed.) Pornography and Representation, Oxford. Kober, A.E. 1934 ‘Some remarks on color in Greek poetry’, The Classical Weekly 741, 189–91. Loraux, N. 1987 Tragic Ways of Killing a Woman, tr. A. Forster, Cambridge, Mass. Mulvey, L. 1989 Visual and Other Pleasures, Bloomington. Nagler, M. 1974 Spontaneity and Tradition: A study in the oral art of Homer, Berkeley. Parry, M. 1971 ‘The traditional epithet in Homer’, in A. Parry (ed. and trans.) The Making of Homeric Verse, Oxford and New York. Powell, A. 1995 ‘Athens’ pretty face: anti-feminine rhetoric and fifth-century controversy over the Parthenon’, in A. Powell (ed.) The Greek World, London and New York. Redfield, J. 1982 ‘Notes on the Greek wedding’, Arethusa 15, 181–201. Rehm, R. 1994 Marriage to Death, Princeton. Rose, H.J. 1925 ‘The bride of Hades’, Classical Philology 20, 238–42. Seaford, R. 1987 ‘The tragic wedding’, Journal of Hellenic Studies 107, 106–30

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Bridget M. Thomas Shear, T.L. 1936 ‘PSIMYTHION’, in Classical Studies presented to Edward Capps on his Eightieth Birthday, Princeton. Sissa, G. 1990 Greek Virginity, tr. A. Goldhammer, Cambridge, Mass. Vivante, P. 1982 The Epithets in Homer: A study in poetic values, New Haven and London. Wallace, F.E. 1927 ‘Color in Homer and in ancient art’, Smith Classical Studies 9, 33–6. Wohl, V. 1998 Intimate Commerce: Exchange, gender, and subjectivity in Greek Tragedy, Austin, Texas.

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2 THE GRACES AND COLOUR WEAVING Beate Wagner-Hasel In 1972 a female and a male statue, a kore and a kouros, were excavated in a necropolis near Merenda in Attica. The two slightly larger-than-lifesize statues, found buried close together in their ‘grave’, were probably interred during the Persian war. Originally they must have stood on graves. On the base of the kore the following inscription was engraved: ‘Grave of Phrasikleia. I will for ever be named Kore, the gods have given this name to me instead of marriage (gamos). Aristion of Paros has made me’.1 The excavators were fascinated by the rich decoration on the female statue (Fig. 1). The robe, a chiton, was adorned with different decorations and colours. As these painted decorations were still visible, it was possible to attempt to reconstruct the pattern and colours of the robe. The front of the gown was decorated with rosettes and swastikas, the back with four-cornered stars and a variety of different flowers. The predominent colours used were red, black and yellow.2 According to the inscription, the statue represented a bride, the patterns and colours obviously part of a wedding dress. Adorning and clothing the bride is a favourite motif in Attic vase-painting.3 In some cases the dress of the bride depicts a rosette pattern as seen on the statue of Phrasikleia.4 In the mythological sphere adorning the bride belonged to the duties of the Charites, the divine attendants of Aphrodite. They appear on the most elaborate depiction of a wedding scene, the wedding of Thetis and Peleus, on the François vase, a volute-krater made by Kleitias and Ergitimos.5 According to Hesiod it was their task to adorn Pandora, the protype of the bride, with seductive jewellery (Op. 74).6 In the Homeric epics the Charites weave cloth for Aphrodite, the divine representative of female beauty (Iliad 5.338). In this paper, I would like to consider the significance of the Charites for female appearance. The Graces (Charites) belong to the type of female deity that is usually found in groups, like the Muses, the divine singers, or the Moirai, the Goddesses of fate, who spin together the threads of a man’s life. Philosophers such as Aristotle and Seneca believed that the Graces guaranteed reciprocity, gratitude and social integration. According to Aristotle, men built sanctuaries for the Graces to ensure reciprocal giving (Nic.Eth. 5,1133a 4–5); for Seneca, the oldest of the 17

Beate Wagner-Hasel three Graces represents giving, the next represents receiving and the youngest of the Graces stands for return (de beneficiis 1.3.2–10).7 The early poets Homer, Hesiod and Pindar emphasized the connection of the Graces with feasting, singing and dancing, and appealed to them to confirm the effect of their hymns. According to Hesiod, the Graces are the daughters of Eurynome and Zeus (Theog. 907) and have their living quarters immediately next to the nine Muses (Theog. 66). Whilst the Muses enjoy the feasts and have the ‘desire to sing’ the Graces are responsible for dancing: ‘For not even the gods arrange dances or feasts without the revered Graces’, Pindar tells us (Ol. 14.8–9). Their names stand for pleasure and joy (Euphrosyne) suggesting the effect of their melodious songs for festive radiance (Aglaia), the splendour of the blooms (Thalia) and also for erotic desire.8 ‘From their eyes dripped love as they looked, limb-loosener; and beautifully did they glance from beneath their brows’, Hesiod writes (Theog. 910–11). In the fifth century bc Bacchylides describes his task as weaving a song with the help of the garland-bearing Graces, who crowned his festive hymns with honour (Bacchylides, Dithyramb. 19.6–8 Maehler). At the same time, Pindar called on the Graces in his hymns to ensure that the words outlive the deeds (Nem. 4.6–9: ‘The word lives longer than the deeds… with the good fortune of the Charites’ presence’). The Athenians in particular regarded the Graces as patrons of weddings and called them gameliai, wedding deities.9 A votive offering from the Acropolis in Athens dating from 510 bc, shows the Graces dancing to the music of a flute player (Fig. 2) They are leading a naked youth Fig. 1. The dress of Phrasikleia (reconstruction). In Karakasi 1997, p. 514. (a young Ephebe) by the 18

The graces and colour weaving hand,10 whereas they themselves are dressed in transparent robes. Indeed, welldressed, eupeploi, is one of the epitheta ornantia poets used to characterize them.11 How can the significance of the Charites within the culture of festivity be explained? In what contexts is their role due to their female sex? Loraux, who posed the question of what constitutes a goddess, argues that this plural appearance is a strategy to express the de-individualisation of the feminine.12 With this interpretation, she not only shows the significance of the female character of the Graces, but also implies at the same time a marginalisation of the feminine. The connection of the Graces with the female world is not well reflected. It is just these lines of connection between the Graces and female labour that I wish to explore, as well as to explain what meaning is conveyed by the numerous Graces. My argument is that the collective character of the Graces has a functional significance and has its roots in the collective nature of female labour and sociability. Textile work, and especially colour weaving, is portrayed in the Homeric epics as a particular skill of the Graces (Iliad 5.338). In the world of the epics, the Graces are in no way a personification of abstract principles, but rather embody the female retinue of high-ranking women: the amphipoloi or the dmoai gynaikes. The duties of weaving cloth and of clothing their mistress and guests and are the collective responsibilities of the amphipoloi and the Graces. The ability of the Graces to weave coloured pictures may

Fig. 2. Three Graces dancing. Votive offering from Athens, 510 bc Athens, Akropolis-Museum. In Borbein 1995, p. 140.

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Beate Wagner-Hasel explain their role in presenting the physical appearance of the bride and their significance for the poets, who metaphorically create woven pictures for the participants of feasts. Such a conclusion suggests the analysis of the use of the term charis in the Homeric epics. This paper will firstly deal with the term charis and, secondly, will discuss the technique of colour weaving. My last point, the discussion of the effect of both poetically created and woven pictures in the context of the festive culture in ancient Greece, will bring me back to the question of women’s dress. 1. The meaning of Grace (charis) As with the term Graces, the term charis holds a multitude of meanings. Apart from the meaning in the sense of ‘service’, ‘thanks’, ‘favour’, charis possesses a further semantic dimension, that means ‘grace’. This meaning should be understood as a visual power, coming from a person or from a speech. In his study on the terms of ‘joy’ in Homer, Latacz characterised the effect of charis as ‘attracting everyone’s attention’ (‘Alle-Blicke-auf-sich-Lenken’).13 There is some disagreement as to which of the two levels of meaning takes priority. Whereas Scheid Tissinier believes in an original meaning in the sense of ‘service’, ‘gift’ and ‘thanks’,14 other experts on Greek language emphasize the visibility of charis and define its original meaning as ‘brightness’ or ‘light’.15 In her most recent study on the meaning of charis, MacLachlan has attempted to reduce the different meanings to a common idea and has defined charis as reciprocal ‘social pleasure’.16 I wish to go a step further and apply the ‘social pleasure’ to concrete subjects, to bright patterned weavings. The disparate meanings of charis assume a common meaning, if charis is regarded from this technical point of view. This suggests that weaving applies to all cases of charis. Weavings are not only gifts, but also possess a charisma, that can be traced back to the meaning of charis as a light or visual power. In the epics, the term charis occurs in all central relationships based on reciprocity, whether it is the relationship between the warriors, between couples, or more precisely, the household community or the relationship between people and the gods.17 Charis occurs in the context of military service, that is to say, as the benefit of military victory as well as the thanks that are given for the achievement of such a service or benefit (Iliad 5.211; 5.873–4; Odyssey 5.307). In one case, the term refers to relationships between couples. Here charis means the thankfulness of the wife, or bride, for the bridewealth given by the husband. In this case charis is not something that is ‘brought’ or ‘given’ (charin pherein), as in the case of military service, but as something that is ‘seen’ (charin eidenai). In the 11th Book of the Iliad, the poet reminds us of the fate of Iphidamas, who died at Troy and had ‘seen no charis’ from his bride, although he had given a great deal of bridewealth: a hundred cattle and numerous sheep (Iliad 11.242–5). Here charis is part of the reciprocal relationship between married couples and their families. Normally only the masculine role of bringing the 20

The graces and colour weaving bridewealth is noticeable in the epics. For such gifts the epics have their own term – hedna. As soon as the groom had given the hedna, the bride would move into the groom’s house. Because of this, Köstler called these hedna ‘Heimführungsgaben’ (gifts for leading her to his home).18 These hedna were probably nothing more than herds, as with the gifts of Iphidamas mentioned above. Whilst these hedna pass into the hands of the father of the bride, the courted women receive gifts of jewellery and clothes called dora from their suitors. As I have tried to show elsewhere in the case of both types of gift, the men acquire the right to the children as well as to the textiles woven by the wife and her maids.19 Therefore, in the context of the relationship between husband and wife, charis can carry a double meaning of ‘service’ and ‘thanks’. The benefits offered by the female manifest themselves in either sexual love or in the act of producing textiles. In addition to this, the thankfulness of the wife has a visible element, since an erotic power can emanate from the weavings. This effect is also found in the clothes and the gifts of jewellery, from which charis similarly emanates. This kind of charis can be traced back to the decorative pictures which are created by particular techniques of colour weaving and metal work.20 I wish to clarify this theory by examining a number of examples more closely. Odysseus is presented as the main recipient of the feminine form of charis. When Odysseus is stranded on Scheria, he bathes in the river and covers himself with oil and clothing provided by Nausikaa (Odyssey 6.224–37). However, it is the goddess Athena who is responsible for the effect of this clothing: she magnifies his size and strength, curls his locks and sheds charis over his head and shoulders. Homer compares this to the work of a craftsman trained by Hephaistos or Athena, who overlays gold upon silver, producing works that are filled with charis. Odysseus sets himself apart from the young woman and sits ‘glistening with charis and beauty’ (kavllei> kai; cavrisi stivlbwn). Nausikaa feels astonishment and desire at the sight of Odysseus and wants to take him as her husband (Odyssey 6.232–44). A further example takes place back on Ithaka when Odysseus is washed and clothed by the tamie, the highest ranking of the women in service. She is called Eurynome, like the mother of the Graces in Hesiod’s Theogony. Again, it is said that Athena sheds charis over his head and shoulders (Odyssey 23.153–63). The effect of charis on Penelope’s disposition is significant here, because in the stranger, she recognizes her missing husband (Odysseus), now glistening with charis and beauty. Previously, Penelope had repeatedly failed to recognize Odysseus, due to his poor-quality clothing (Odyssey 23.95). Here, both cases of charis cause the mantle to be shining and refined and this is attributed to the influence of the goddess Athena. Yet practically, charis appears to be the result of the cleansing and dressing ritual. Charis clings to the body and to the clothing. Another example from the Iliad illustrates this further. In the Iliad, charis is interchangeable with the dress term: heima. In the same way, as is said of Odysseus, Paris is said to glisten with beauty and 21

Beate Wagner-Hasel heimata (Iliad 3.392). This means that the dress has the same effect as charis – it glistens. Clothing in the epics possesses its own unique visual power. The garments Aphrodite wears after being bathed by the Graces, are described as a ‘wonder to behold’: thauma idesthai (Odyssey 8.366). Both the purple-coloured cloth woven by the Nymphs on the island of Ithaka and the threads spun by Arete on her spindle in the company of her maidens (amphipoloi), are described in the same way (Odyssey 13.108; 6.306). For this reason the goddess Athena, who pours charis over the men, is seen as responsible for this technique of colour weaving. According to the words of poets, the ability to produce wonderful work was given to the women of the Phaiacians by Athena (Odyssey 7.111). For this reason such examples of female skilfulness have the same influence as charis in the sense of erotic power over the opposite sex. This also includes the clothes in which Paris radiates splendour. They increase the power of attraction to the opposite sex. Paris receives the clothes from Aphrodite, who has carried him away from the battle into the bedroom (thalamos), where he was waiting to renew his vows of love with Helen (Iliad 3.374–447). In the Homeric hymn to Aphrodite (85–91), it is not only the physical beauty of the goddess but also the splendour of her clothing that causes Anchises to feel sexual desire for her. This is similar in the case of Penelope who appears before the gathered suitors shrouded in a shining veil. Her splendid appearance has the same effect as the charis poured over Odysseus. It evokes sexual desire and also serves as an invitation to give gifts.21 One of these gifts, an ear-pendant, that Penelope receives from Eurymachos, has prominence. This earring is said to radiate charis (Odyssey 19.210–14). The kind of charis emanating from the gifts of jewellery given to the desired women has the same effect on the opposite sex as the clothing. In order to tempt Zeus, Hera uses one of the textile objects, namely the belt of Aphrodite, into which love and desire have been woven. Then she puts on jewellery, earrings ‘consisting of three berry-like drops. And much charis gleamed therefrom’ (Iliad 14.192–3). 2. Colour-weaving These examples show that charis is related to something physical, or to an object which has shiny characteristics. One of these is clearly jewellery consisting of gold and silver. The power of splendour in clothing can be traced back to the purple colour and indeed classical literature attributes the shining effect to this colour.22 Both the pieces of jewellery and the cloth display a further characteristic in that they carry patterns, described as pictures. Athena had incorporated many pictures, or daidala, into the veil-garment worn by Hera when she attempted to seduce Zeus (Iliad 14.179). In the Odyssey, linen sheets described as daidaleos lie over the chairs in the Megaron of the house of Odysseus and Penelope (Odyssey 1.130/2).

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The graces and colour weaving According to the study by Frontisi-Ducroux, in metallurgy and the workmanship of carpenters, the term daidaleos refers to the production of a pattern, or to be precise, of plastic pictures by means of inlaid work.23 Archaeological finds from the geometric and archaic periods also support this view. A similar technique is hidden in the use of the term daidaleos in pattern weaving. This term can also be replaced with the adjective poikilos, which refers to the coloured and patterned nature of the weaving (Iliad 3.125–7; 22.440–1). In the past, the use of poikilos has mistakenly been judged as a reference to the production of weavings with embroidery and it was assumed that it was not possible to produce patterned weaving on the usual type of warp-weighted loom used in Greece. According to the most recent study by Barber on textile work in ancient times, this view must be revised.24 Her own experiments and observations in other cultures have shown her that the loom technique in question consisted of the addition of coloured supplementary wefts to the foundation wefts. The Homeric term for this kind of pattern-weaving is passein /empassein and it can be translated as ‘inlay’ or ‘scattering’. Andromache was scattering bright roses into a purple coloured robe, a diplax (Iliad 22.440–1). Helen similarly incorporates the pattern of a battle scene into the purple-coloured diplax she is weaving on her loom (Iliad 3.125–7).25 Such work with supplementary wefts is still undertaken today for the production of ceremonial cloth in Indonesia, the pattern of which demonstrates a pronounced similarity with geometric vase painting, as Barber argues. It was already assumed in the nineteenth century by Conze that the origins of geometric vase painting could be found in woven art.26 However the research of Barber has provided a technical explanation. As comparisons between figures found on ceremonial cloth in Indonesia and on geometric vases suggest, the characteristically figured stylization of geometric vase painting arises from the imitation of the specific technique of the introduction of supplementary wefts.27 However, more than cross-cultural comparison is needed to affirm this. Textile finds in graves only prove patterns produced by embroidery or by the tapestry method of weaving.28 A diaper work embroidered with lions in metallic thread – now in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London – was found in Koropi in Attica;29 a fragment of gold-woven cloth (in the Museum of Thessaloniki) comes from an aristocratic tomb at Vergina in Macedonia.30 In order to reconstruct a pattern we are largely reliant on the literature from that time and on the way dress is depicted on vase paintings and statues.31 As Palmyrenic finds of the first and second centuries ad suggest, there must have been a congruence in the patterns of textiles and paintings: the pattern in textiles, a woollen cloth found in the tomb of Kitot of the first century ad, for example, is exactly replicated by stonemasons in the decoration of buildings a century later.32 Contrary to assumptions made in the nineteenth century, when skill was mistakenly equated with professionalism and occupation, the production of patterned clothing remained largely in the domestic sphere.33 However, we 23

Beate Wagner-Hasel know very little about the working process in antiquity, although we can assume that, as in other cultures, textile work had a collective nature. This is the case for the dress offered by many poleis of the classical age to their city-deity. The weaving of the peplos for the goddess Hera in Elis involved the work of 16 women. In Athens, two Arrhephoroi were enlisted to start weaving the peplos for Athena.34 Their number reminds us of the Homeric amphipoloi and of the two Athenian Graces. The function of the multiplicity of the Homeric amphipoloi comes from the semantic meaning of the word, which refers to the context of the textile work. The amphipoloi are those who ‘move on both sides’. Hiller has made a connection to the Mycenean term a-pi-qo-ro.35 Here, it is a term for female working groups, which appear in Thebes in the context of producing textiles. Hiller assumes a religious origin, due to the connection with a potnia (mistress) in the Linear B table and interprets a-pi-qo-ro as the retinue of a priestess. Equally obvious is the allusion to the activity of weaving. Pictorial evidence also supports this. There are only few pictorial representations from archaic Greece; one can be seen on a famous attic lekythos dating from the sixth century bc by the Amasis Painter, now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (Fig. 3).36 The female weavers depicted on the belly of the vase approach both sides of a large loom; that two people could work on one piece of weaving is known not only from modern comparisons, but also from ancient pictorial material from Egypt.37 What is striking about the Greek example is that the weighing of the wool, the spinning, the weaving and the gathering together of completed cloth, are always depicted as being undertaken by two women. It cannot be safely concluded that spinning and weaving were always conducted in groups of two, especially as the vasepainting was produced in the context of the Panathenaic offering of the robe, but even if a ritual context Fig. 3. Women at textile work. Attic lekyis accepted, the functional need for thos of the Amasis-Painter, 540 bc, New people working together in textile York, Metropolitan Museum 31.11.10. work is obvious. What is noticeable Courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of about the pictorial example is also Art, Fletcher Fund, 1931 24

The graces and colour weaving the combination of images of festivity and of representations of the female working sphere. The shoulder of the Amasis vase, an ointment container, depicts girls dancing in the same way the Graces dance on the previously-mentioned offering relief. Judging by the seated veiled woman holding the wreath at the centre of the scene, it must be a wedding dance. This combination of working and feasting is also presented in the epics, where it is said that Aphrodite goes dancing with the Graces (Odyssey 18.194). This common sociability also characterizes the amphipoloi of Nausikaa, whose beauty is regarded as equal to the beauty of the Graces (Odyssey 6.18). Nausikaa not only does the laundry with them, but also enjoys a ball game with her amphipoloi (Odyssey 6.100). Such a connection between sociability and weaving can also be found in Pindar’s Ninth Pythian Ode, where he speaks of his composition of a song with the deep-girdled Charites (9.1–4) and reminds the audience of Kyrene, the female founder of the city of Kyrene, who avoided war in favour of weaving and feasting with her maidens (9.17–20). Patterned clothing has a special symbolic significance, which is produced in the ritual sphere by the Arrhephoroi and by the Graces. In the epics, these patterned weavings have a memorial function and act as a sign of friendship and fame (Wagner-Hasel 2000a, 126, 161, 213–19). In Attic drama patterned clothing plays an important role. It acts as a mark of recognition for a person (Aischylos, Choephoroi 23l ff.; Euripides, Ion 1417 ff.). In Athens, the pattern of the robe made for Athena Polias was under the special control of the council of the city.38 The symbolic meaning of these clothes to signify membership can be seen in the motif of the common or shared robe. Poets as well as philosophers emphasized the motif, in order to implore that the Polis community should remain united.39 We know of numerous examples from the classical period that show groups of women covered by a single common robe. Due to the rosette pattern, Gundel Koch-Harnack ascribes an erotic symbolism.40 It appears to me that the common or shared robe should rather be interpreted as a symbol of community, which has its roots in collective work and the collective appearance in rituals. This idea is given more weight, when we move out of our own cultural context and examine foreign rites: a group of women performing a ritual dance at a funeral service in modern Indonesia (Fig. 4) and a group of women depicted on a vase painting from ancient Greece (Fig. 5) make the similarities apparent. Whilst performing a ritual both groups of women are wrapped in cloth together.41 3. Weaving mental pictures The meaning of charis as a visual power, emanating from woven pictures, or pictures forged by blacksmiths, leads us on to a further function of charis. This is specifically the charisma of a speech or a festive song. Alkinoos acknowledges that Odysseus has not spoken without charis (Odyssey 8.236). The song also 25

Beate Wagner-Hasel radiates charis. When the murdered suitors arrive at the underworld (Hades) and report of Penelope’s steadiness, Agamemnon praises the happy Odysseus: ‘The fame of her excellence will never perish. The gods will fashion a song with charis about the shrewd Penelope’ (Odyssey 24.196–8). This kind of poetical charis is also bound to an object, to a garland. The metaphor emphasizes the

Fig. 4. An Indian cotton textile unites a group of women on Sumba, who are performing a dance prior to the burial of King Umbu Nai Wolang of Kapunduk. They are wearing ceremonial sarongs which indicate that they are members of an aristocratic family. In Kahn-Majlis 1991, p. 16, Fig. 2

Fig. 5. Nine women with a common robe. Black-figured kylix, Berlin F 3993. In Koch-Harnack 1989, p. 111, Fig. 1.

26

The graces and colour weaving competence of the Graces in ensuring the effect of speech. ‘His words are not crowned with charis’, says Odysseus as he reproaches Euryalos in the epic for calling him a coward (Odyssey 8.175). According to Latacz, the picture of the garland suggests that charis indicates how something is said and how song is presented. As garlands decorate the body, charis decorates the words.42 Charis concerns the effect of the speech or the song, not the specific content. Whereas the content is controlled by the Muses, the correct form and effect of the songs is a matter for the Graces. This is particularly the case for the choral poets of the fifth century bc who, as mentioned earlier, liked to refer to the Graces. Pindar as well as Bacchylides made use of technical colour-weaving terms in their hymns: Pindar weaves a coloured hair band for the sons of Amythaon (Pindar fr. 169 Bowra; cf. Nem. 4) and Bacchylides commemorates Hieron’s first victory at Olympia in 476 bc describing his task as ‘weaving a song with the deep-girdled Charites’ (Bacchylides 5.9 Maehler). In his dithyramb to the Athenians, he calls on the garland-bearing Charites: ‘Weave now, o muchpraised attentiveness from Ceos, some fresh composition for Athens, most lovely, blessed’ (Bacchylides 19.9–11 Maehler). Snyder believes that this use of the metaphor of weaving expressed the new self-confidence of the poets. In contrast to the Homeric singers they perceived themselves as the producers of their songs and regarded poetry as a learned skill, a techne, like weaving.43 However, the tertium comparationis is not the skill as such, but rather a specific knowledge of how to create pictures. This technique was dominant not only amongst female weaving experts and the skilful smiths, from whose products charis emanated, but also amongst poets and singers. The pictures they produced through their artistic skills were required to be just as convincing or powerful as the decorative art of metal objects and clothes. In a culture which was predominantly oral, knowledge was not passed through handbooks or written methods. Therefore it was necessary to develop special techniques of memorization to ensure that knowledge could be passed down to the next generation. Tradition was not passed on through ideas and principles, but rather by imitating the behaviour of people in the community. This can be seen in the daily cohabitation of the generations or in ritual performances, in which the order of the community and the value system were emphasized. This method of learning through participation is poetically simulated by creating mental pictures. Visual effectiveness, vividness and personal orientation are therefore crucial features of early spoken and later, written poetry. In order to have a high visual element and in order to make an impact, the telling of occurrences and phenomena must as far as possible have a concrete character.44 It is just this visual effectiveness that is a matter for the Graces. Charis is also seen here as a visual power, ensuring that the mental pictures produced by singers and orators are perceived correctly. That the pictures of singers and orators are presented as woven in Pindar and Bacchylides, is not so much due 27

Beate Wagner-Hasel to the common effect of charis in woven pictures and those created in literature, as to the appearance of a new medium, the written text. In contrast to the Homeric singers, the poets of the fifth century produced a written text to be sent to their patrons (Pindar, Nemean Ode 8.46). In a metaphorical sense, the poets of the fifth century also produced a piece of material, a text. Both groups, the poets and the high-ranking women in the epics, used a similiar skill or technique to create pictures. Whereas the women used the technique of tapestry, embroidery or supplementary weft-weaving, the poets created their mental pictures by writing down words on their scrolls.45 Both the woven text, created by poets, and the illustrated weavings, produced by women, have commemorative qualities. Weavings function as gifts in guestfriendship, funeral rites and wedding ceremonies. More than any other objects, textiles symbolize the relationship between persons or groups who owe one another charis.46 When the social order breaks down as in Hesiod’s Age of Iron (Op. 190), consequently charis disappears.47 In the Homeric epics Telemachos receives a wedding dress from Helena she calles mnema (Odyssey 15.54). A fragment of Pherekydes of Syros, a philosopher of the sixth century bc, refers to this symbolic meaning of textile wedding gifts: ‘When it came to the third day of the wedding, Zas (= Zeus) made a large, beautiful robe (pharos) and on it he wove (poikillei) Ge and Ogenus (= Okeanos)…to marry you I honour you with this. Hail to you and be my wife’ (7 [B] 2 Diels/Kranz).48 This custom is not only proved in mythological scenes49 but also in Attic ceremonial context of the anakalypteria (Pollux 2.59; 3.36).50 My view of the prominent role of the Graces within the festive culture of ancient Greece, especially in wedding ceremonies, is derived from this symbolic function of weaving. The Graces were responsible for both, for correct appearance in rituals, and for the effectiveness of the woven and poetically-created pictures, through which the different types of communities confirmed their order. This responsibility for the visibility of the social order by means of texts, weavings and ritual performances (i.e. dances) may explain the emphasis placed by philosophers on the prominent role of the Graces in ensuring social integration, based on reciprocity. The relationship between couples is just one of these communities based on reciprocal giving, called charis. According to Plutarch the ancients set up statues of Peitho and the Graces beside Aphrodite, the patron of sexual love, ‘so that they might attain what they want from another by persuasion, not fighting or being contentious’ (Mor. 128 c–d). Within this strategy of visualization of the social order, women’s dress must have played a prominent role by sending messages to the audience through patterns and colours. We just have to decipher them. Acknowledgement With thanks to Emma Dixon for help with the English translation.

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The graces and colour weaving Notes Karakasi 1997, 509. Karakasi 1997, 514. 3 Oakley and Sinos 1993, 16. 4 Oakley and Sinos 1993, figs. 62, 64, 69. The symbolic meaning of the rosette pattern is discussed by Koch-Harnack 1989, 24–32, 168–71. 5 Oakley and Sinos 1993, 24; figs. 50–3. At the marriage of Hebe and Herakles two female figures, probably the Charites, adjust the pillows on either end of an ornate bed in the bridal chamber on a black-figure tripod pyxis (Oakley and Sinos 1993, 36, fig. 103). 6 The Charites share this duty with Athena, the goddess of the art of the loom. In Hesiod’s Theogony (574–6) Athena is responsible for both clothing and jewellery of Pandora. 7 See Schwarzenberg 1966, 67. 8 Their names differ in space and time. In Sparta they were worshipped under the name of Phaenna (Shining One) and Cleto (Glorious One) (Paus. 3.18.6 and 9.35.1). In Athens they were called Hegemone (Guide) and Auxo (Growth) and worshipped together with Aphrodite, Peitho and Demos; Hermesianax also regarded Peitho (Persuasion) as a member of the Graces (Pausanias 9.35.1–6). For further references see MacLachlan 1993, 41–55. 9 Pirenne-Delforge 1996, 203; MacLachlan 1993, 44–5. 10 Borbein 1995, 140. When swearing an oath, young Ephebes – just as much as the women who begged the gods to bless the town with prosperity at the Thesmophoria – appealed to the Graces (Aristophanes, Thesmophoriazusai 295–300; cf. MacLachlan 1993, 54). 11 Pindar (Nem. 10.10; Pyth. 5.45 and 9.2), Sappho (fr. 90 Diels) and Bacchylides (Dithyramb. 15.48–9, Maehler) characterized them as kallikovmoi/hjuvkomoi, baquzwvnoi and eujpevploi. During Roman times the Graces are pictured disrobed (Pausanias 9.35.7). Cf. Schwarzenberg 1966, plate 8, 9 and 10; MacLachlan 1993, 51. 12 Loraux 1991, 45. 13 Latacz 1966, 84 ff. 14 Tissinier 1994, 35 ff., 258 ff. 15 Borgoud and MacLachlan 1985, 5–14. 16 MacLachlan 1993, 4–7, 52. 17 Wagner-Hasel 2000a, 131–65. 18 Köstler 1950, 48, 60. 19 Wagner-Hasel 1988. For charis as sexual favour see also Theognis 1331–3 and Sappho fr. 2 ed. E.M. Voigt; cf. MacLachlan 1993, 56–72, with further references. 20 Wagner-Hasel 2000a, 155. 21 For erotic veiling see Llewellyn-Jones 2000. 22 Stulz 1990. 23 Frontisi-Ducroux 1975. 24 Barber 1991. 25 The term is also found in later sources. Cf. Nonnos 41.277 ff., quoted by Eisler 1910, 162. Here, it is Harmonia who is scattering cosmic principles, the earth, the sky, the stars and the sea, into her weaving. Another term is kavmnein, which means the careful work of the smith, the warrior and the weaver. The term is used to characterize the work 1 2

29

Beate Wagner-Hasel of Athena (Iliad 5.734–5), Helen (Odyssey 15.105) and the Graces (Iliad 5.338). Their weavings are all together characterized by the attribute poikivlo" (Iliad 6.734–5; Odyssey 15.105). This attribute is normally reserved for weavings used in rituals, i.e. for the peplos, which is offered to Athena by the women of Troy, or for the girdle, which Hera uses to seduce Zeus (Iliad 6.288, 14.219). The term of the classical sources for work in various colours, often interpreted as embroidery, is poikivllw. Cf. LSJ s.v. poikivllw. 26 Conze 1870. 27 Kahn-Majlis 1991, 100, fig. 78. 28 Bieber 1967, 26; Wace 1948; Pekridou-Gorecki 1989, 41–5; Granger-Taylor 1994, Vickers 1999. 29 Vickers 1999, 69, fig. 22. 30 Boardman 1993, fig. 147, Plate XII. 31 Vickers 1999, 63, fig. 15. 32 Schmidt-Colignet 1995, 50, figs. 78 and 79. 33 For discussion see Betalli 1982, 261–78; Wagner-Hasel 2000b, 318–24. 34 Barber 1992. 35 Hiller 1987. 36 von Bothmer 1985, 185. 37 Barber 1991, 81, figs. 3,2–3,5. 38 Barber 1992. 39 Scheid and Svenbro 1994, 17–43. 40 Gundel Koch-Harnack 1989, 169. 41 Kahn Majlis 1991, fig. 2; see also Llewellyn-Jones 2000, chap. 10. 42 Latacz 1966, 86. MacLachlan 1993, 95 refers to the Graces as vegetation goddesses: ‘Because they carry echoes of lush fecundity from their early presentation as vegetation goddesses, and this echo enhances the imagery of the garland crown.’ 43 Synder 1980, 196. 44 Wagner-Hasel 2000a, 73–6. 45 Wagner-Hasel 2000a, 163. 46 Wagner-Hasel 2000a, 105–12, 125–30. 47 MacLachlan 1993, 26. 48 Quoted after Oakley and Sinos 1993, 25. Cf. also Eisler 1910, 197–217, who interprets the pharos of Zeus as a cosmic robe (‘Weltenmantel’) of the king. 49 Cf. Bacchylides 17 (Maehler 1997). In his third dithyrambus he tells the story of Theseus, who receives a purple robe (aji>ovna porfureva) as wedding dress from Amphitrite. For discussion see Waldner 2000, 62, 206–13. 50 For a discussion of the ritual unveiling see Llewellyn-Jones 2000, chapter 11 and forthcoming 2002.

Bibliography Barber, E.W.J. 1991 Prehistoric Textiles. The development of cloth in the Neolithic and Bronze Ages with special references to the Aegean, Princeton. 1992 ‘The peplos of Athena’, in J. Neils (ed.) Goddess and Polis: The Panathenaic Festival in ancient Athens, Princeton, 103–17.

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The graces and colour weaving Betalli, M. 1982 ‘Note sulla pruduzione tessile ad Atene in età classica’, in Opus 1, 261–78. Bieber, M. 1967 Entwicklungsgeschichte der griechischen Tracht von der vorgriechischen Zeit bis zum Ausgang der Antike, ed. F. Eckstein, Berlin. Boardman, J. (ed.) 1993 The Oxford History of Classical Art, Oxford and New York. Borgoud, W.A. 1985 ‘Les Kharites et la lumière’, in Revue belge de philologie et d’histoire 63, 5–14. Bothmer, D. von 1985 The Amasis Painter and His World, The Paul Getty Museum, Malibu. Conze, A. 1870 Zur Geschichte der Anfänge griechischer Kunst, Vienna. Eisler, R. 1910 Weltenmantel und Himmelszelt, 2 vols., Munich. Frontisi-Ducroux, F. 1975 Dédale. Mythologie de l’artisan en Grèce ancienne, Paris. Granger-Taylor, H. and Sheffer, A. 1994 ‘Textiles from Masada. A preliminary selection’, in J. Aviram, G. Foerster, E. Netzer (eds.) Masada IV. Final Reports, Jerusalem 1994, 153–288. Hiller, S. 1987 ‘A-PI-QO-RO amphipoloi’, in Minos 2, 239–55. Kahn Majlis, B. 1991 Gewebte Botschaften – Indonesische Traditionen im Wandel / Woven messages – Indonesian Textile Tradition in Course of Time, Hildesheim. Karakasi, E. 1997 ‘Die prachtvolle Erscheinung der Phrasikleia. Zur Polychromie der Korenstatue. Ein Rekonstruktionsversuch’, in Antike Welt 28/6, 509–17. Koch-Harnack, G. 1989 Erotische Symbole. Lotosblüte und gemeinsamer Mantel auf antiken Vasen, Berlin. Köstler, R. 1950 Homerisches Recht, Vienna. Latacz, J. 1966 Zum Wortfeld ‘Freude’ in der Sprache Homers, Heidelberg. Llewellyn-Jones, L.J. 2000 Women and Veiling in the Ancient Greek World, Ph.D. thesis, Cardiff University. 2002 (forthcoming) Aphrodite’s Tortoise. The veiled women of Ancient Greece, London. Loraux, N. 1991 ‘Qu’est-ce qu’une déesse?’, in P. Schmitt Pantel (ed.) Histoire des femmes I: L’antiquité, Rome and Bari, 31–62. MacLachlan, B. 1993 The Age of Grace. Charis in early Greek poetry, Princeton. Maehler, H. 1997 Die Lieder des Bakchylides, Zweiter Teil. Die Dithyramben und Fragmente. Text, Übersetzung und Kommentar, Leiden (= Mnemosyne, Supp. 167).

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Beate Wagner-Hasel Oakley, J.H. and. Sinos, R.H. 1993 The Wedding in Ancient Athens, Wisconsin. Pekridou-Gorecki, A. 1989 Mode im antiken Griechenland, Munich. Pirenne-Delforge, V. 1996 ‘Les Charites à Athènes et dans l’île de Cos’, in Kernos 9, 195–214. Scheid, J. and Svenbro, J. 1994 Le métier de Zeus. Mythe du tissage et du tissu dans le monde gréco-romain, Paris. Scheid-Tissinier, E. 1994 Les usages du don chez Homère. Vocabulaire et pratiques, Nancy. Schmidt-Colinet, A. (ed.) 1995 Palmyra. Kulturbegegnung im Grenzbereich, Mainz. Schwarzenberg, E. 1966 Die Grazien, Bonn. Snyder, J.M. 1980/81 ‘The Web of Song. Weaving imagery in Homer and the lyric poets’, Classical Journal 76, 193–6. Vickers, M. 1999 Images on Textiles. The weave of fifth-century Athenian art and society, Konstanz. Wace, A.B. 1948 ‘Weaving or embroidery’, in American Journal of Archaeology 52, 51–5. Wagner-Hasel, B. 1988 ‘Geschlecht und Gabe: Zum Brautgütersystem bei Homer’, in Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte, Rom. Abt. 105, 32–73. 1998 ‘Cavrite"’, in: Archaiologia kai technes 68, 24–31. 2000a Der Stoff der Gaben. Kultur und Politik des Schenkens und Tauschens bei Homer, Frankfurt am Main and New York. 2000b ‘Arbeit und Kommunikation’, in Thomas Späth and Beate Wagner-Hasel, Frauenwelten in der Antike, Weimar and Stuttgart, 311–35. Waldner, K. 2000 Geburt und Hochzeit des Kriegers. Geschlechterdifferenz und Initiation in Mythos und Ritual der griechischen Polis, Berlin and New York.

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3 TRANSVESTISM OR TRAVESTY? Dance, Dress and Gender in Greek Vase-painting Tyler Jo Smith Black-figure vase-painters include female participants on a sizeable number of representations of male revelry, commonly called ‘komast’ scenes. Among the surviving products of sixth-century Corinth, Athens, Boeotia, East and West Greece (but curiously not Laconian ones), the females dance alongside the males, or join them in more sexually explicit activities. In most examples, the female figures can be distinguished from the males by either a distinctive dress style or by their complete nudity. However, a small number of Athenian komast scenes attributed to the KY Painter portray female figures dressed in the exact ‘padded’ costumes of their male counterparts, as well as executing their identical poses and gestures. Although it has been proposed that the KY Painter’s whiteskinned females are actually ‘men dressed as women’, the opposite will be suggested here. The female dancers are in fact women dressed in the characteristic short red chiton worn by virtually all komasts depicted by the KY Painter. In addition, the drapery of the females on other Athenian examples as well as on non-Attic black-figure vases will be discussed. It should become clear that vase-painters portray the revellers, both male and female, neither as burlesque entertainers in disguise nor as extracts from the dramatic stage, but rather as willing participants in less formal and sometimes drunken occasions, as well as products of established archaic artistic tradition and convention. The bottom-slapping, fat-bellied, fat-bottomed komast dancer is first identified in the works of Early and Middle Corinthian artists, decorating series of aryballoi, in addition to many other shapes. These works were catalogued and studied by Axel Seeberg in 1971, who labelled them ‘komos vases’ and ‘padded-dancer vases’.1 Athenian painters such as the KX and KY Painters, active during the early years of the sixth century bc, were no doubt inspired by Corinthian models to decorate a large number of shapes with komast dancers, where the male revellers wear the same short red chiton as Corinthian komasts, and practice a similar range of dancing moves.2 The typical dress style of both Corinthian and Athenian komasts is the short red chiton, sometimes embellished with nicely patterned borders.3 The figures, be they engaged in dancing or some other activity, can also be depicted as partial nudes, fully clothed with their genitals exposed. 33

Tyler Jo Smith It has often been assumed that the komast conceals some type of padding beneath his garment, exaggerating his belly and buttocks and giving him and his companions a somewhat grotesque and comical appearance. This is further evidenced by the possible addition of a belt for added support and the overfold of material, called a kolpos by some scholars.4 Undoubtedly, the identification of these figures as ‘padded’ dancers was initially inspired by our knowledge of the comic stage, and by the similarities in appearance of the late seventh- and early sixth-century komast dancers to the comic actors appearing on South Italian phlyax vases throughout the fourth century.5 The later comic actors are clearly costumed, complete with masks, leggings, attached phalloi, and no doubt padding beneath their short chitons. Their setting is the stage and their actions entirely dramatic. By contrast, the komast dancers of Corinth, Athens and elsewhere are most often shown performing a limited range of dancing poses and their signature bottom-slapping gesture. Although the komasts of Corinth and Athens initially prefer the short red chiton be it padded or not, the Athenian revellers soon shed it in favour of complete nudity. Interestingly, their bulging anatomy is retained in spite of their lightened garment load.6 There are a few black-figure komast vases portraying male revellers wearing what appears to be padding attached to their buttocks. The most notable examples decorate vases from Chios and Laconia, and could be, to some extent, indicative of regional trends.7 It seems preferable not to classify the komast dancers exclusively as protoactors or as an early version of the comic chorus. From an iconographic perspective the komasts seem to be ‘men of action’, and variations on their dress style are shared by contemporary active and mobile figures, both divine and mortal. The messenger god, Hermes, sports a similar short garment on contemporary black-figure vases, such as an oinochoe attributed to the manner of the Gorgon Painter, as well as on a series of bronze statuettes produced throughout the sixth century.8 The human revellers are further associated by vase painters with the hybrid creatures of mythology, satyrs and centaurs, through the often inexplicable and haphazard addition of red paint to their bodies, faces, and necks.9 Their sometimes drunken and unruly behaviour likens them to satyrs most of all. But many iconographic elements – among these dance style, dress and attributes, and the context of the performances – allow us to separate the mortal revellers from their mythological counterparts. Corinthian nudes Our exploration of the female participants in black-figure komos scenes begins in Corinth, whose vase-painters, though pioneers of komast imagery, were probably not the first to invite females to take part. On the occasions when Corinthian vase-painters include females in komast scenes they are normally presented as nude figures joining the male dance routines. 10 The examples are Late Corinthian (c. 575–550), and thus overlap with the years of already 34

Transvestism or travesty? Dance, dress and gender in Greek vase-painting established Athenian komast imagery seen primarily on Komast Cups, Siana Cups and Tyrrhenian amphorae.11 On both sides of the ‘BD’ Painter’s psykterneck amphora in Brussels (R.248) two nude females dance alongside male revellers.12 Although the figures are not fully preserved we can see that the males wear the characteristic short red chiton, and the nudity of the females is confirmed by their painted white bodies. All figures, both male and female, display wreaths around their heads, and according to Seeberg’s description the females also wear necklaces.13 A second example is found on an amphoriskos by the Tydeus Painter in the British Museum (Fig. 1) where the dancers are better preserved.14 Again the nude females and clothed males revel around the body of the vessel. The full white figures are depicted in the foreground, creating a sense of depth unusual in black-figure painting. Their bodies are painted in outline and adhere to the well-known convention of the black-figure technique for distinguishing females: the use of added white paint. At the same time, it is worth noting that Corinthian painters might stray from convention perhaps for purely aesthetic reasons or to create narrative emphasis. Such is the case on the name vase of the Tydeus Painter.15 Here the bearded Tydeus grabs the reclining Ismene by the arm about to plunge his sword into her body. The visible body parts of the female figure are highlighted in white, providing a contrast with the nude male Tydeus, not surprisingly shown in full black (except for a touch of added red on his neck). But what of the fleeing Periklymenos, a nude and bearded male whose body is represented in the white paint ordinarily reserved for females? One explanation could be his semidivine status as the son of Poseidon, or indeed the power of metamorphosis he is said to have possessed.16 Returning to komast imagery, a further ambiguity is the anatomy of the nude females in Late Corinthian scenes. For the most part, the dancing girls have somewhat boyish figures and, in Fig. 1. Corinthian amphoriskos, by the some cases, where their torsos are Tydeus Painter (London BM 1884.8–4.9). Photo courtesy of the British Museum. turned frontally, they appear to 35

Tyler Jo Smith be rather flat-chested. Indeed, the black-figure technique with its limiting profile views, matched with an artistic tradition that knew little precedent for depicting female nudes, made this a difficult undertaking for the vase-painter and one not attempted by many. The sporadic interest in displaying the breasts on some females may not have offered the most voluptuous or attractive results, the grim situation further exacerbated by equipping the ladies with those same round buttocks and exaggerated thighs as their clothed male companions. ‘Padded’ Athenians? Athenian vase painters invite women to the komos more frequently, their scenes prevalent on cups and amphorae. Komast cup specialists, such as the KY Painter, the Palazzolo Painter, and a few more recently named hands, portray respectfully clothed females as enthusiastic additions to male revels.17 As we shall see, like the Corinthian females, the Athenians cannot be complimented for their girlish figures. Often their anatomy and even their hair styles are indistinguishable from their male companions, and their dancing poses are drawn from the same established repertoire. On the whole, Komast Cup painters prefer two- and three-figure compositions, such as on examples assigned to the KY Painter.18 The dancers, both bearded and beardless, demonstrate the familiar poses and gestures established by this painter. Each of the males wears the short red chiton and their exaggerated anatomical features are clear. In almost every komast scene assigned to this painter one komast holds a drinking horn, the standard drinking vessel. The KY Painter admits females to the komos on a handful of examples – among these a fragmentary proto-Siana Cup from Thasos, a skyphos in Athens, a tripod-kothon in Athens, and on two column kraters, one in Berlin (Fig. 2) and the other in Würzburg.19 This eclectic array of decorated shapes displaying male–female dance iconography should be noted as unusual for a painter whose favourite shape is known as the ‘Komast Cup’ – so named for the predominance of its chosen komast subject matter. In each of these examples the females dance with the males and all wear the identical short red chitons, the typical garment of virtually every dancer attempted by this painter. While some dancers might don the same type of clothing regardless of supposed gender, the setting of their revels is rarely indicated by black-figure painters. However, T.B.L. Webster believed that their chitons provided significant clues. He suggested that all dancing figures, both male and female, might actually be disguising themselves in some fashion. On vases such as these, where the painter has chosen a single dress style for all participants, according to Webster each of the entertainers is actually male. That is to say, even the white-skinned figures are not themselves females, but rather men dressed as women – transvestites, if you will.20 Again, it seems that Webster was drawing on his profound knowledge of and interest in ancient Greek drama, where male actors played both male and female roles. Like many scholars he seemed 36

Transvestism or travesty? Dance, dress and gender in Greek vase-painting desperate to associate these komasts with the origins of Greek drama, and in some cases with both tragedy and comedy, which seems highly unlikely.21 Webster no doubt knew something of the ritual transvestism occurring during some festivals to honour Dionysos and other deities – most notably the oschophoria, where the procession was led by two youths of aristocratic birth, dressed in girl’s clothing.22 In addition, Dionysos was represented in Attic drama as a master of disguise and impersonation, and has been described recently by Miller as a ‘latent transvestite’ owing to his increasingly effeminate appearance on redfigure vases.23 Returning to Webster, we can be certain he was fully aware of the female nudes in contemporary Corinthian komast scenes, but he isolated the Athenian examples to stretch his point.24 He separated ‘padded dancer vases’ as ‘ritual dance scenes’ from ‘pictures of the komos which followed the symposion’.25 In fact, the symposion setting is evident on at least one vase in the group under discussion, the column krater in Berlin (Fig. 2), attributed to the KY Painter by Greifenhagen. In this scene, the males and females dance around a large mixing vessel, and one of the komasts holds both a drinking horn and an oinochoe. The remaining revellers dance empty-handed. We see the two females confronting males to form dancing pairs, and in one case a tender exchange is taking place. Although the characteristic kline with recliners is missing, the prevalence of drink and revelry recalls the sympotic atmosphere, and possibly suggests this context, where a large number of komast scenes are actually set, such as those decorating Siana Cups.26 As for the KY Painter’s female

Fig. 2. Athenian column krater, by the KY Painter (Berlin 1966.17). Photo courtesy of Staatliche Museen zu Berlin.

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Tyler Jo Smith revellers, regardless of alleged ritual or sympotic surroundings, they represent rare examples in komos imagery of women behaving in a purely masculine manner. At the same time, if the KY Painter had desired to dress men as women, surely he would have done just that – shown identifiably male figures in distinctively female clothing. With the viewer of these scenes in mind, this method might have provided a more credible solution, and one in keeping with the established conventions of the black-figure technique. Some of the less prolific Komast Cup painters place female dancers in their komast scenes. The drinking-cup painters substitute one male reveller in the group for a decently dressed female. The females wear a slightly longer and looser chiton unlike the ‘padded’ type often worn by the males, and this short garment will become one of the favourite dress styles for female participants in later Athenian black-figure komast scenes. A Komast Cup by the Palazzolo Painter and another by his companion the Prague Komast Painter each demonstrate a male-female couple dancing without drink and devoid of setting.27 Despite his beastly appearance, the front-facing male on the Palazzolo Painter’s cup is most likely a fully nude and mortal male.28 His frontal face, a feature unique to a handful of vases by this painter, reminds us of a satyr or possibly even a theatrical mask. Not surprisingly, Webster further suggested that dancers such as these, whose styles of dress and even undress distinguish their gender, were quite likely human performers (no doubt all male!) in the guise of satyrs and maenads. Apart from the occasional frontal-faced male, and a preponderance of drinking vessels held by dancers, there is not a single aspect of this iconography that we can identify as directly Dionysian. Indeed, the great god of wine and drama, as well as his semi-human followers, the satyrs, are absent from these and nearly all black-figure komast scenes. Another Komast Cup, this one attributed by Brijder to the Bézier Komast painter, places a female figure between two males on each side, and again each female wears the short loose chiton.29 In each case, her dress distinguishes her from the males, whose nudity will also become standard in the remaining Athenian black-figure komast scenes. The short chiton worn by females on Komast Cups is reserved by vase-painters for active or athletic female figures. Atalanta sports the same garment or a simple pair of trunks during her wrestling match with Peleus in a number of black-figure examples, and the warrior Amazons also wear it into battle, as seen on a fragmentary band cup in the Getty (79.AE.197) thought to be by the Amasis Painter.30 The painters of Tyrrhenian amphorae follow the tradition of Komast Cup painters in their love of komast iconography, but the portrayal and mood of their revelling scenes is unprecedented. These Athenian painters often instill the scenes with an erotic dimension unknown to Komast Cup painters. In a large number of examples women join the male revellers and their primary occupation appears to be dancing. However, the colourful male komasts are nude and sometimes ithyphallic, which seems not to detract from their love 38

Transvestism or travesty? Dance, dress and gender in Greek vase-painting of the dance. A vase in Munich attributed to the Guglielmi Group merges dancing figures with love-making couples.31 The sexually engaged women in these scenes are distinguished by their complete nudity, while the dancing females are almost always wearing short chitons, with elaborate painted or incised designs. Their chitons are loose at the bottom, and again should be differentiated from the so-called ‘padded’ variety worn by the KY Painter’s dancing girls.32 The uninhibited females may further entice the aroused males by lifting their skirts suggestively while they perform their dance routines, exposing a little leg, or by raising their chitons even higher inviting the advances of satyrs.33 This combination of the dance and the erotic may have been what you expected from komast imagery, but it should be emphasized that it is not actually the norm. Black-figure painters from Athens and elsewhere emphasize the dancing or revelling itself, and in the largest number of scenes where females are involved they dance beside the males with only minimal overlap or interaction of any kind. Although many Tyrrhenian komast scenes are sexually explicit, others may be more subtle. An amphora in Japan, attributed to the Timiades Painter, displays a komast scene in its primary decorated frieze on one side.34 The female figure in her short chiton dances with three nude males. She is obviously coupled with a male dancer at the centre of the composition; he affectionately tickles her chin as she reaches to fondle his knee. The positioning of their bodies, as well as the so-called ‘up and down’ gestures they are practising, are perhaps the early manifestations of courtship iconography, normally homosexual, ritualized by black-figure vase-painters throughout the second half of the sixth century.35 On the opposite side of this same vase a heterosexual love-making scene fills the main frieze, while the neck exhibits a homosexual love-making troupe. It seems the Tyrrhenian amphora painters are leading us through the stages of a single evening of drinking, dancing and love. Even in the absence of couches with recliners and other expected trappings, the symposion setting undeniably springs to mind. ‘Good girls’ don’t dance At this point we are invited to ask the obvious question: who are the female participants in black-figure komast scenes? Can we identify these figures as hetairai, professional and talented courtesans attending the symposion to compliment and entertain an otherwise all-male group? Perhaps they are prostitutes (pornai) and their setting is the brothel (porneion)? Or, in keeping with the ideas of Pickard-Cambridge, Webster and others, the females might well be maenads or nymphs, and their revels indicative of Dionysian ambience, be it mythological or ritualistic. Some scholars have been hesitant to label the figures in these scenes as more than ‘dancing women’ or ‘female revellers’, and you may have noted my caution in describing them thus far. La Rocca has described our scenes as possible examples of a ‘mortal komos with hetaerae’,36 39

Tyler Jo Smith while Blundell explains: the female dancers, flute-players and acrobats who were hired to perform at upperclass male drinking parties provided sexual services as well as entertainment. They were probably mostly slaves, but as skilled artists they would have been more expensive than the average prostitute.37

A third opinion, that of Lissarrague, who has studied symposion iconography in particular, states: woman play a secondary, quasi-instrumental role: whether as musician, lover, or nursemaid to the sick drinker, she is almost as much as an accessory for the symposion as is the great krater.38

A common thread in the more recent interpretations is that the women are mortal rather than mythical, hired entertainers of some ilk and not the maenads or nymphs of the Dionysian entourage. The dancers should no more be regarded as women disguised as maenads, than as men dressed as women, but rather as mortal attendants and entertainers at male drinking parties. Their revelling represents a more advanced, if degenerate, stage of a long evening, the culmination of a symposion’s seemingly more civilized pursuits. The surge of scholarship on women in antiquity has naturally included women as subjects for vase-painters as well as artists working in other media.39 These writings have inevitably raised more questions than answers, and have encouraged us to ask new questions of the old material. At the same time, the limitations of the evidence have forced somewhat inadequate explanations about women’s status and roles, as well as contradictions or confirmations of certain stereotypes, both ancient and modern.40 The corpus of painted vases provides the richest and most abundant source of visual evidence from the Greek world, and might well benefit from a more rigorous injection of feminist and related theories.41 At the same time, the pigeon-holing of classical Greek females into categories of good and bad, married women and all others, hardly encourages us to identify our dancing girls as the respectable type; and in nearly every possible way the behaviour of females attending the komos as portrayed by vase-painters satisfies our most unsavoury expectations.42 While the engendering tendency of art and archaeology has been avoided here, so has the assumption that only male fantasy could have dictated the resulting imagery, where females as dancers or females as partakers of sexual pleasures are simply products of male artistic imagination with little or no reflection of real life preferences. Indeed, we cannot even be certain in our identification of the males, who in red-figure komos scenes are often completely indistinguishable from the symposiasts themselves. If we look to the garbing of females as suggestive of any real life practice at all, the temptation might be to cast our vote with the KY Painter who offered us a definite, if unexpected, dose of gender equality, rather than a situation where women were reluctantly being exploited. 40

Transvestism or travesty? Dance, dress and gender in Greek vase-painting The remaining black-figure scenes Returning to Athenian black-figure vases, we can observe amongst the komast scenes produced throughout the middle and third quarter of the sixth century the continuation of female dance iconography established by earlier painters. Many well-known painters represent the komos with or without female participants, among them Lydos, the Amasis Painter, the Swing Painter, as well as the painters of a large number of Little Master Cups. Clearly, space will not permit a comprehensive survey of komast scenes from these years where women take part, and the selection here will be based on an interest in dress styles, as well as choices where the identification of the figures as female is seemingly more certain. We will then conclude with a few examples of male-female dance imagery from the other regions of Greece producing black-figure vases. As we shall see, in this later period a fuller range of possibilities for women’s dress in komast scenes now makes itself known: short chitons, both tight-fitting and loose, long chitons, the peplos, and, naturally, full nudity. Painters of Athenian black-figure amphorae and cups are most likely to place male revellers in female company in komast scenes. A small number of komast vases have been attributed to one of our favourite talents, the painter known as Elbows Out. Of the vases either assigned to the hand of the painter himself or decorated in his manner, three portray females dancing with males. The best example is found on the neck-amphora formerly in the collection of Castle Ashby (Fig. 3).43 The komast scene is rather uninspired and appears on the shoulder of the amphora on both sides. Nude males alternate with draped females, whose short tight chitons fall at the tops of their thighs just covering their buttocks. Notice the slim builds of all figures both male and female, yet

Fig. 3 Athenian neck-amphora, by Elbows Out (New York, Callimanopoulos, formerly Castle Ashby). Photo courtesy of R. Wilkins.

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Tyler Jo Smith the emphasis on their exaggerated and rounded buttocks. Indeed the treatment of this one anatomical feature is reminiscent of earlier times.44 Their jerky dance movements are absolutely characteristic of this painter, who somehow does not allow the expected bottom-slapping to occur. From the workshop of Nikosthenes comes a more significant number of komast scenes, about half of which represent some form of female participation.45 For the first time, on these so-called Nikosthenic amphorae we see females in longer drapery, either a chiton or peplos, and the revelling scenes are normally situated in a single frieze on the body of the vase. The alternating composition reminds us of Elbows Out, and is repeated again and again by the later black-figure painters. An excellent example from the Niarchos Collection depicts females in long, belted chitons, while on a second example in Glasgow (Fig. 4), at least some of the females wear a peplos that opens on one side, revealing a sexy bit of leg with the kicking motions of their dance.46 The females on the Glasgow vase are also adorned with animal skins, and the fully nude males have muscular, athletic builds. On an amphora in Cleveland, where satyrs with similar anatomy are substituted for human revellers, the suggestively dressed females alternate with them in the typical manner.47 Here the mythological and mortal worlds meet, though remain distinct; we see the human male komasts relegated to the position of neck decoration. Cup painters are perhaps not surprisingly the most prolific practitioners of later black-figure komast scenes, incorporating this iconography on nearly 100 band-cups, lip-cups, and cups of other shapes, though in a totally uninteresting, even mechanical manner. The alternating groups of diminutive Fig. 4. Athenian Nikosthenic amphora (Glasgow, dancers, nude males and draped females, decorate the exterior Burrell). Photo courtesy of R. Wilkins. 42

Transvestism or travesty? Dance, dress and gender in Greek vase-painting friezes of the cups, and the longer dress styles of the females follow those observed on Nikosthenic amphorae. Full nudity may also be selected for females or even the old-fashioned short red chiton, such as a band-cup in Munich, and again on a Cassell Cup in Leiden.48 A slightly more creative version is seen on both sides of an eye-cup in Manchester Museum (Figs. 5–6), where the decorative eyes appearing on the exterior of the vessel separate the boys from the girls.49 The female figure on each side of the cup is given pride of place between the eyes, and is draped in a long red chiton or peplos covered with an animal skin. In each case, she is a more lively dancer than the standing

Fig. 5. Athenian eye-cup, detail of draped female (Manchester III H 53. Photo courtesy of Manchester Museum)

Fig. 6. Athenian eye-cup, detail of nude males (Manchester III H 53). Photo courtesy of Manchester Museum.

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Tyler Jo Smith and youthful nude males who face her. The clue to identifying these figures as females is contained in their costume rather than their skin colour – the long garment and animal skin combination adorns the dancing females either in the presence of human male revellers or of beastly satyrs. Interestingly, in Webster’s publication of this vase in 1947 he considered the females ‘maenads’, and their garment the peplos.50 The addition of animal skins, though not uncommon in later black-figure scenes, entreats us to ponder his wisdom. As we travel beyond Corinth and Athens, we discover black-figure painters with an enthusiasm for komast imagery, though not much interest in female participation. The examples are few, and the iconography to some degree inspired by Corinthian and Athenian vases. In Boeotian painting, where komast scenes are much loved, we see the familiar composition of a draped female between nude males, but on an unlikely shape – an imitation of a Komast Cup.51 This combination of iconography and shape is, to my knowledge, unknown to Athenian painters. On Chian black-figure chalices, we find the first series of truly ‘padded’ male dancers, many of whom also wear turbans on their heads and wreaths across their chests.52 The females in these scenes hold wreaths and wear long belted garments that look most like chitons, and their occupation is not normally dancing. The fragmentary vase from Emporio places two standing females next to a dancing male pair, and at least one of the females plays pipes to accompany the dance.53 A black-figure chalice from Rizari (Fig. 7), portrays a male and female confronting to form a ballroomstyle dancing couple.54 The dress of the male suggests he is a komast, but the treatment of the subject is highly suspect. Lemos describes the dress of the female in this scene as a chiton with paryphe, that is the vertical band here reserved and dotted.55

Fig. 7. Chian black-figure chalice, from Rizari,Chios (after A.A. Lemos, Archaic Pottery of Chios (Oxford, 1991) 171, fig. 94. Reproduced by permission of the author.

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Transvestism or travesty? Dance, dress and gender in Greek vase-painting

Fig. 8. Caeretan hydria, detail of komast scene (Paris 10.227). Photo courtesy of Musée du Louvre.

A final example is found on the shoulder of a Caeretan hydria (Fig. 8), where we see a local variation on mainland iconography.56 The nude male revellers alternate with draped females in the usual manner, and the style of their dancing is less restrained than the Athenian equivalent. A new garment is introduced by the West Greek painter, who shortens the chiton enough to expose the ladies from the waist down. We should further note the athletic build of the females, recalling similar figures on vases by the KY Painter. Here both dress style and the skin-colour help us distinguish gender, and confirm with certainty that these are not men dressed as women.57 This paper has surveyed the diverse treatment of females in komast scenes by black-figure painters both on the Greek mainland and abroad. From our initial observations of dancing Corinthian nudes to more respectfully clothed Athenian women we see that females took part in mortal male revels and the subject was considered suitable for vase decoration by at least some painters. Occasionally, such as on Tyrrhenian amphorae, the female’s participation is of the more sexually explicit variety, while a much larger number of vases allow the females to dance in a manner similar to the males they join. However, one feature of this male–female dance iconography seems constant. Painters often, though not always, distinguish the gender of the revelling figures in the conventional fashion, by differentiating skin colour, but more importantly by offering us distinctive dress styles in scenes where both males and females are draped, or by portraying one of the sexes fully nude. As we have seen, the exception to this rule is the KY Painter, who facilitates dance movement by dressing all revellers, both male and female, in the short garment required for 45

Tyler Jo Smith their energetic and agile routines. Black-figure painters from every region of Greece no doubt followed the conventions, styles, and taste of their time and place. At the same time, until the associations between ‘padded dancer vases’ and the origins of drama become more clear, the suggestion that the komasts are performers in drag or dramatic costume remains implausible, or at least unprovable. Acknowledgements Thanks are owed to the McIntire Department of Art, University of Virginia; and especially to Professor A.A. Lemos, Dr J. Prag, Ms Anne Collins and Ms Maria Rentetzi. For permission to reproduce photographs as well as for providing them, I am grateful to J. Prag (Manchester Museum), M. Denoyelle (Louvre), U. Kästner (Berlin), R. Wilkins (Institute of Archaeology, Oxford).

Abbreviations ABV ARV CVA LIMC Para

J.D. Beazley, Attic Black-figure Vase-painters, Oxford, 1956 J.D. Beazley, Attic Red-figure Vase-painters, 2nd edn., Oxford, 1963 Corpus Vasorum Antiquorum Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae J.D. Beazley, Paralipomena, 2nd edn., Oxford, 1971

Notes 1 The term ‘padded dancer’ was standard in English scholarship before Seeberg; e.g. Payne 1931, 118; Webster 1954. 2 ABV 23–37 lists these painters and the Komast Group; Brijder 1983, 51–2. 3 Seeberg 1971, 1. Cf. Oxford 1947.237, an Early Corinthian aryballos, by the Falstaff Painter, for white dot borders; Amyx 1988, 107.1, pl. 46.3; and two aryballoi by the ‘Thirteen Thousand’ Painter from Rhodes (13004[?]–13005[?]), for incised borders; Amyx 1988, 114.1 and 3, pl. 47.3–4. 4 Stibbe 1990, 8, applies the term to Laconian komasts. Costume sources on the term mostly believe it conceals a girdle; Evans 1893, 25; Houston 1931, 37–9; Hill 1948, 9; Johnson 1964, 30, 33; Losfeld 1991, 226–8; cf. Boardman 1978, 67, who uses the same word to describe the dress of korai. 5 Cf. Payne 1931, 118; Webster 1954; Pickard-Cambridge 1962, 222–3; Trendall 1967, 12; Taplin 1993, 48–54; Csapo and Slater 1995, 64–9; Losfeld 1991, 93 and 193. Actors dressing as women are represented on an Athenian red-figure pelike in Boston (98.883) by the Phiale Painter; ARV 1017.46; Boardman 1989, fig. 124. 6 Most notably in the work of the Falmouth Painter; ABV 33–4; Brijder 1983, 76–9. 7 Chian komasts also wear wreaths and turbans; see Lemos 1991, 96–8, 169–73. The Laconian examples are discussed in Smith 1998, esp. 77–8. 8 London B32, from Nola, ABV 11.16; LIMC V, ‘Hermes’, 309, no. 237, and 311, nos. 260–4, where the garment is called a ‘chitoniskos’; cf. Pekridou-Gorecki 1989, 85–7; Losfeld 1991, 97–102.

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Transvestism or travesty? Dance, dress and gender in Greek vase-painting Smith 1999, 388. Seeberg 1971, 46–8, nos. 231–49. Sidrys and S Ëkiudieneæ 1999, for a recently published example of this iconography on a krater in Lithuania. On female nudity, see Bonfante 1989, 558–62, and 555, n. 77 on white skin as a sign of femininity. See also Thomas, this volume. 11 See Seeberg 1971, 47 on the dates of these vases in relation to KY Painter. Carpenter 1983, revises dates for Tyrrhenian amphorae, though dates are more recently discussed in Kluiver 1992, 73–80, and 1995, 77–81. 12 Seeberg 1971, no. 239; Amyx 1988, 267.1, pl. 122a–d. 13 The inscriptions are nonsense; Amyx 1988, 601. 14 London 1884.8–4.9 (B 41); Seeberg 1971, no. 240, pl. 2a–c. Again with mock or nonsense inscriptions; cf. Amyx 1988, 270.3. 15 Paris, Louvre E 640; Amyx 1988, 270.6, 393–4, 588–9. See also Hampe 1975, 10–16, esp. 11; Simon 1981, 53–4, pl. XIV/29; LIMC V, ‘Ismene 1’, 797–9, no. 3; LIMC VIII, ‘Tydeus’, 142–5. 16 On the use of added colour in Corinthian painting, Amyx 1988, 539–40, who mentions the Tydeus Painter specifically; Payne 1931, 104–5; Boardman 1998, 182–3. 17 For this iconography on Komast Cups see CVA Amsterdam 2 (8), 1–2; Heesen 1996, 101. Scenes imitating the Corinthian scheme of nude females and clothed males are not unknown, as on a column-krater fragment (Oxford G 131.31), from Naukratis, connected with the Komast Group, ABV 36.2; and on an unattributed fragmentary dinos, from Tell Sukas, Riis 1970, 77, fig. 27.a–b. 18 ABV 31–3; Brijder 1983, 73–6. 19 Thasos 85.670, Brijder 1991, 473, pl. 157a–c, and Brijder 1997, 9–10 (Siana Cup); Athens 12688, ABV 33.1 (kothon); Athens, Kanellopoulos, Para, 16.8bis (skyphos); Berlin 1966.17, Trendall and Webster 1971, 21, fig. 1,7; and Würzburg H 5831, Steinhart 1992 (kraters). 20 Webster 1970a, 28–35, esp. 32–3; Trendall and Webster 1971, 20; cf. Lawler 1964, 66. The term ‘transvestite’ is used in a recent publication concerning late archaic and classical ‘dressed komasts’; Miller 1999, esp. 233, 246–53; cf. Kurtz and Boardman 1986, esp. 69. An obvious example appears on a Corinthian aryballos (Göttingen Hu 538, e), where a bearded male komast (or satyr?) wears a short decorated chiton similar to the type worn by women on Tyrrhenian amphorae; Amyx 1988, 596, Gr 14, pl. 140.1b. 21 e.g. Webster 1954; a good recent summary is Csapo and Slater 1995, 89–101. The best ancient is source is perhaps Lucian, The Dance, 28. 22 There is some debate about which deity the festival honoured, but the element of cross-dressing is universally agreed upon; Deubner 1932, 142–7; Parke 1977, 79–80; Simon 1983, 89–92; Serwint 1993, 421; Zaidman and Schmitt Pantel 1997, 198–9; Seaford 1998, 131–3; Price 1999, 97–100, on gender roles and festivals; Miller 1999, 243, n. 81. 23 Miller 1999, 233, fn. 33. On Dionysos, drama and vase-painting, Carpenter 1997, 104–18; and Esposito 1998, 107–8 and 117. 24 Webster 1970b, 12; Webster 1972, 114–15. 25 Webster 1972, 114. 26 Smith 2000, 311–14; and Steinhart 1992, 508–11. 27 Harvard 1925.30.133 (Palazzolo); ABV 34.2; Brijder 1983, 229, no. K87. Prague 80–14 (Prague); ABV 35.3; Brijder 1983, 229, no. K89. 9

10

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Tyler Jo Smith Brijder identifies the figure as ‘a nude man’; see previous note. Brijder in CVA Amsterdam 2 (8), 1–3, pl. 65–7, with previous bibliography. 30 e.g. Manchester III H 5; ABV 91.3; LIMC II, ‘Atalante’, 945.63. Brommer 1985, 184–5, fig. 2 (amazons) and Veness in this volume. For female athletic dress see Bonfante 1975, 21; Congdon 1981, 14–18; Scanlon 1988, 186–91; Serwint 1993, 406–11; and Parisinou and Veness in this volume. 31 Munich 1432 (J.175); ABV 102.98; CVA 8 (37), pl. 315.4, 316.2 and 318.103; Kluiver 1996, 21, no. 200. 32 On the short chiton, esp. for women, see Evans 1893, 33–4; Bieber 1928, 19–21; Serwint 1993, 411–17; Pekridou-Gorecki 1989, 71–7; Losfeld 1991, 97–102 and 243; and note 7 above. 33 e.g. Louvre E830, the Guglielmi Group, is an example of skirt lifting; CVA 1 (1), pl. 2.1 and 7; Kluiver 1996, 21, no. 210. Villa Giulia 50631 (50640), the Castellani Painter, displays satyrs and women; ABV 100.73; Kluiver 1996, 7, no. 124, fig. 10. 34 Kurashiki, Ninagawa; Simon 1982, no. 22; Kluiver 1995, 67, no. 42. 35 Similar gestures are used by a male-female couple on an Orientalizing Cretan oinochoe (Heraklion, Afrati L60); Boardman 1998, 113, and 135, fig. 269. 36 Boardman and La Rocca 1978, 78. 37 1995, 147–8. 38 1990, 22. 39 Webster 1972, 226–43, lists women on vases. See also Havelock 1982; Shapiro 1986; Ridgway 1987; Williams 1993, Osborne 1996; all of whom deal with women on vases with varying degrees of success. 40 Pomeroy 1975, 79–92; Keuls 1985, 204–28; Katz 1995, 22–32; Blundell 1995, 130–49; Davidson 1997, 73–136. 41 As has long been the case for art history, anthropology and archaeology. Brown, 1997, introduces the problem for classical art and archaeology; cf. Barstow 1978; Conkey and Spector 1984; Gibbs 1987; Pollock 1988, 1–17; Sørenson 1988; Hodder 1991, 168–72; Gero and Conkey 1991; Hirschon 1993; Nixon 1994, Claasen 1994, esp. 41–50; Wiley 1997. For a proposal of feminist methodology applied to both the humanities and sciences, see Harding 1987, and the rebuttal of Gross and Levitt 1994, 107–48. 42 Beauvoir 1989, 555–74; and note 39 above. 43 Now New York, Callimanopoulos; ABV 248.1; CVA Castle Ashby 1 (15), pl. 4–5. 44 Pomeroy 1975, 144, believes the prominent buttocks of female figures are sexually symbolic, though fails to notice this to be a feature of artistic convention for archaic representations, in vase-painting in particular. 45 Tosto 1999, 59–62 for komasts on Nikosthenic amphorae. 46 Paris, Niarchos A 036; ABV 225.4–7; Marangou 1995, 70–5, no. 9. Glasgow, Burrell; ABV 225.5; CVA Glasgow 18, pl. 14. The peplos is thought to open on one side, though there may also have been a version that pinned on the shoulders and had no slit in the skirt; Boardman 1978, 67–8; Pekridou-Gorecki 1989, 77–82. 47 Cleveland 74.10; ABV 219.24; Simon 1981, pl. 22. 48 Munich 2211 (J.633); CVA 11 (57), pl. 29.5–8. Leiden l 1992/6.98; SchneiderHerrmann 1975, pl. 37, fig. 98. 49 Manchester Museum III H 53; ABV 201.1; Webster 1947, 3, no. 4, pl. 2b. 50 His description reads: ‘maenads between the eyes; youths between eyes and handles…red for maenads’ peplos, iris of eyes, youths’ hair’; Webster 1947, 3. 28 29

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Transvestism or travesty? Dance, dress and gender in Greek vase-painting 51 Munich 2267 (426); Kilinski 1990, 58–9, pl. 6.2; cf. Brijder 1983, 72 (‘a Boeotian dancers cup’). 52 Lemos 1991, 102–3, 169–73. 53 Lemos 1991, 324, no. 1468, pl. 194. 54 Lemos 1991, 325, no. 1487, pl. 195, fig. 94. 55 Lemos 1991, 325. The same combination is worn by female ‘worshipper’ figures on Chian vases; cf. Lemos 1991, 126–8, fig. 70, no. 888 and 896. For paryphe, Losfeld 1991, 161 and 186. 56 Louvre 10.227, by the Eagle Painter; Hemelrijk 1984, no. 12, pl. 57–60. 57 Webster 1954, 579 and 583.

Bibliography Amyx, D.A. 1988 Corinthian Vase-Painting of the Archaic Period, Berkeley and London. Barstow, A. 1978 ‘The uses of archeology for women’s studies: James Mellaart’s work on the neolithic goddess at Çatal Hüyük’, Feminist Studies 4, 7–18. Beauvoir, S. de 1989 The Second Sex, trans. by H.M. Parshley, with an introduction by D. Bair, New York. Bieber, M. 1928 Griechische Kleidung, Berlin and Leipzig. Blundell, S. 1995 Women in Ancient Greece, Cambridge, Mass. Boardman, J. 1978 Greek Sculpture, The Archaic Period, London. 1989 Athenian Red Figure Vases, The Classical Period, London. 1998 Early Greek Vase Painting, London. Boardman, J. and La Rocca, E. 1978 Eros in Greece, London. Bonfante, L. 1975 Etruscan Dress, Baltimore. 1989 ‘Nudity as a costume in classical art’, American Journal of Archaeology 93, 543–70. Brijder, H.A.G. 1983 Siana Cups I and Komast Cups, Amsterdam. 1991 Siana Cups II: The Heidelberg Painter, Amsterdam. 1997 ‘New light on the earliest Attic black-figure drinking cups’, in J. Oakley and O. Palagia (eds.) Athenian Potters and Painters: the Conference Proceedings, Oxford, 1–15. Brommer, F. 1985 ‘Herakles und Theseus auf Vasen in Malibu’, Greek Vases in the J. Paul Getty Museum 2, 183–228. Brown, S. 1997 ‘Ways of seeing women in antiquity: an introduction to feminism in classical

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Tyler Jo Smith archaeology and ancient art history’, in A.O. Koloski-Ostrow and C.L. Lyons (eds.) Naked Truths: Women, sexuality, and gender in classical art and archaeology, London and New York, 12–42. Carpenter, T.H. 1983 ‘On the dating of the Tyrrhenian Group’, Oxford Journal of Archaeology 2, 279–93. 1997 Dionysian Imagery in Fifth-Century Athens, Oxford. Claassen, C. 1994 Women in Archaeology, Philadelphia. Congdon, L.O.K. 1981 Caryatid Mirrors of Ancient Greece, Mainz am Rhein. Conkey, M.W. and Spector, J.D. 1984 ‘Archaeology and the study of gender’, in M.B. Schiffer (ed.) Advances in Archaeological Method and Theory 7, London, 1–38. Csapo, E. and Slater, W.J. 1995 The Context of Ancient Drama, Ann Arbor. Davidson, J. 1997 Courtesans and Fishcakes, London. Deubner, L. 1932 Attische Feste, Berlin. Esposito, S. 1998 The Bacchae of Euripides, Newburyport, Mass. Evans, M.M. 1893 Chapters on Greek Dress, London. Gero, J.M. and Conkey, M.W. 1991 Engendering Archaeology: Women and prehistory, Oxford. Gibbs, L. 1987 ‘Identifying gender representation in the archaeological record’, in I. Hodder (ed.) The Archaeology of Contextual Meanings, Cambridge, 79–89. Gross, P.R. and Levitt, N. 1994 Higher Superstition: The academic left and its quarrels with science, Baltimore. Hampe, R. 1975 ‘Tydeus and Ismene’, Antike Kunst 18, 10–16. Harding, S. 1987 ‘Is there a feminist method?’, in S. Harding (ed.) Feminism and Methodology: Social science issues, Bloomington and Milton Keynes, 1–14. Havelock, C.M. 1982 ‘Mourners on Greek vases: some remarks on the social history of women’, in N. Broude and M.D. Garrard (eds.) Feminism and Art History: Questioning the Litany, New York, 45–61. Heesen, P. 1996 The J.L. Theodor Collection of Attic Black-figured Vases, Amsterdam. Hemelrijk, J.M. 1984 Caeretan Hydriae, Mainz am Rhein. Hill, D.K. 1945 Fashions of the Past, Illustrations from the Collections of the Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore.

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Transvestism or travesty? Dance, dress and gender in Greek vase-painting Hirschon, R. 1993 ‘Open body/closed space: the transformation of female sexuality’, in S. Ardener (ed.) Defining Females: The nature of women in society, Oxford, 51–72. Hodder, I. 1991 Reading the Past, 2nd edn, Cambridge. Houston M.G. 1931 Ancient Greek, Roman and Byzantine Costume and Decoration, London. Johnson, M. (ed.) 1964 Ancient Greek Dress, Chicago. Katz, M.A. 1995 ‘Ideology and “the status of women” in ancient Greece’, in R. Hawley and B. Levick (eds.) Women in Antiquity: New assessments, London and New York. Keuls, E.C. 1985 The Reign of the Phallus: Sexual politics in ancient Athens, Berkeley. Kilinski, K. 1990 Boeotian Black Figure Vases of the Archaic Period, Mainz am Rhein. Kluiver, J. 1992 ‘The “Tyrrhenian Group”, its origins and the neck-amphorae in the Netherlands and Belgium’, BaBesch 67, 73–109. 1995 ‘Early “Tyrrhenian”: Prometheus painter, Timiades painter, Goltyr painter’, BaBesch 70, 55–103. 1996 ‘The five later “Tyrrhenian” painters’, BaBesch 71, 1–58. Kurtz, D.C. and Boardman, J. 1986 ‘Booners’, Greek Vases in the J. Paul Getty Museum 3, 35–70. Lawler, L. 1964 The Dance of the Ancient Greek Theatre, Iowa City. Lemos, A.A. 1991 Archaic Pottery of Chios, Oxford. Lissarrague, F. 1990 The Aesthetics of the Greek Banquet: Images of wine and ritual, Princeton. Losfeld, G. 1991 Essai sur le costume grec, Paris. Marangou, L.I. 1995 Ancient Greek Art from the Collection of Stavros S. Niarchos, Athens. Miller, M.C. 1999 ‘Re-examining transvestism in archaic and classical Athens: the Zewadski stamnos’, American Journal of Archaeology 103, 223–53. Nixon, L. 1994 ‘Gender bias in archaeology’, in L.J. Archer, et al. (eds.) Women in Ancient Societies, New York, 1–23. Osborne, R. 1996 ‘Desiring women on Athenian pottery’, in N.B. Kampen (ed.) Sexuality in Ancient Art, Cambridge, 65–80. Parke, H.W. 1977 Festivals of the Athenians, London. Payne, H. 1931 Necrocorinthia: A study of Corinthian art in the Archaic Period, Oxford.

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Tyler Jo Smith Pekridou-Gorecki, A. 1989 Mode im antiken Griechenland, Munich. Pickard-Cambridge, A. 1962 Dithyramb, Tragedy and Comedy, 2nd edn, revised by T.B.L. Webster, Oxford. Pollock, G. 1988 Vision and Difference: Femininity, feminism and the histories of art, London. Pomeroy, S.B. 1975 Goddesses, Whores, Wives, and Slaves, New York. Price, S. 1999 Religions of the Ancient Greeks, Cambridge. Ridgway, B.S. 1987 ‘Ancient Greek women and art: the material evidence’, American Journal of Archaeology 91, 399–409. Riis, P.J. 1970 Sukas I, the North-East Sanctuary and the First Settling of Greeks in Syria and Palestine, Copenhagen. Scanlon, T.F. 1988 ‘Virgineum Gymnasium: Spartan females and early Greek athletics’, in W.J. Raschke (ed.) The Archaeology of the Olympics, Madison, 185–216. Schneider-Herrmann, G. 1975 Eine niederländische Studiensammlung antiker Kunst, Leiden. Seaford, R. 1998 ‘In the mirror of Dionysos’, in S. Blundell and M. Williamson (eds.) The Sacred and the Feminine in Ancient Greece, London and New York, 128–46. Seeberg, A. 1971 Corinthian Komos Vases, London Serwint, N. 1993 ‘The female athletic costume at the Heraia and prenuptial initiation rites’, American Journal of Archaeology 97, 403–22. Shapiro, H.A. 1986 Review of ‘The reign of the phallus: sexual politics in ancient Athens’, American Journal of Archaeology 90, 361–3. Sidrys, R.V. and S Ëkiudieneæ 1999 ‘A black figure krater with padded dancer scene from Kaunas, Lithuania’, Antike Kunst 42, 3–8. Simon, E. 1981 Die griechischen Vasen, 2nd edn, Munich. 1982 The Kurashiki Ninagawa Museum, Mainz am Rhein. 1983 Festivals of the Athenians: An archaeological commentary, Madison. Smith, T.J. 1998 ‘Dances, drinks and dedications: the archaic komos in Laconia’, in W.G. Cavanagh and S.E.C. Walker (eds.) Sparta in Laconia: The archaeology of a city and its countryside, London, 75–81. 1999 ‘Remembering black-figure: old methods, new applications’, in R.F. Doctor and E.M. Moormann (eds.) Proceedings of the 15th International Congress

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Transvestism or travesty? Dance, dress and gender in Greek vase-painting of Classical Archaeology (Amsterdam,1998): Classical Archaeology Towards the Third Millenium, Amsterdam, 387–90. 2000 ‘Dancing spaces and dining places: archaic komasts at the symposion’, in G.R. Tsetskhladze et al. (eds.) Periplous: Papers on classical art and archaeology presented to Sir John Boardman, London, 309–19. Sørensen, M.L.S. 1988 ‘Is there a feminist contribution to archaeology?’, Archaeological Review from Cambridge 7, 29–44. Steinhart, M. 1992 ‘Zu einem Kolonnettenkrater des KY-malers’, Archäologischer Anzeiger, 486–512. Stibbe, C.M. 1990 ‘A Laconian volute krater from Sicily’, Xenia 19, 5–18. Taplin, O. 1993 Comic Angels and Other Approaches to Greek Drama through Vase-Painting, Oxford. Tosto, V. 1999 The Black-Figure Pottery Signed Nikosthenes-Epoiesen, Amsterdam. Trendall, A.D. 1967 Phlyax Vases, 2nd edn, London. Trendall, A.D. and Webster, T.B.L. 1971 Illustrations of Greek Drama, London. Webster, T.B.L. 1947 ‘Further Greek vases in the Manchester Museum and School of Art’, Museum Publications, New Series 4, Manchester. 1954 ‘Greek comic costume: its history and diffusion’, Bulletin of the John Rylands Library 36, 563–84. 1970a Greek Theatre Production, London. 1970b The Greek Chorus, London. 1972 Potter and Patron in Classical Athens, London. Williams, D. 1993 ‘Women on Athenian vases: problems of interpretation’, in A. Cameron and A. Kuhrt (eds.) Images of Women in Antiquity, London, 92–106. Wylie, A. ‘The engendering of archaeology: refiguring feminist science studies’, Osiris 12, 80–99. Zaidman, L.B. and Schmitt Pantel, P. 1997 Religion in the Ancient Greek City, Cambridge.

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4 THE ‘LANGUAGE’ OF FEMALE HUNTING OUTFIT IN ANCIENT GREECE Eva Parisinou Within an ever expanding field of gender studies focusing on the history of women in ancient Greece, mythical huntresses have long been the object of scholarly interest. This is often due to the uniqueness of their persona which embodies elements generally thought to conflict with conventional ideas about the nature and conduct of females, as these were moulded by their male contemporaries. Men’s stereotypes about female attitudes appear particularly striking in societies like ancient Athens, and were meant to affect later perceptions of them by both authors and artists. Part of the unconventional aspects of the image of a huntress in Greek art and literature was undoubtedly her dress with its accessories. The female hunting dress bore direct reference to the outfit and behaviour of men when performing their traditional roles of hunter, warrior or athlete. In this paper, I shall first seek to define these ‘male’ attitudes towards huntresses, focusing on descriptions of the outfit and nature of huntresses in literature and art. Secondly, I shall show how the hunting dress with its weapon accessories gradually becomes a code – embodying negative connotations of a wild woman, beyond control – which is attributed to further mythical females who share a particular type of lifestyle and attitude. In his Hymn to Artemis, Callimachus in third century bc draws the fullest picture of Artemis, the divine huntress par excellence. This picture consists of details of physical appearance, outfit and conduct which recall and supplement earlier literary accounts of Artemis and other mythical huntresses. The physical appearance of Artemis in the Odyssey combined the shining beauty of Aphrodite with the purity and wildness of a virgin huntress, who never experienced male control (Od. 17.37). Praises of the grace and marvellous aspect of Artemis may be found in the Homeric Hymn to Apollo (ll. 197–9), Aeschylus (Ag. 140) and Callimachus (Hymn 3.204), while the reputation of her beauty reaches the times of Pausanias who refers to the sanctuary of Artemis Kalliste (1.29.2). Artemis is blonde (cru'sea kovmh) and has beautiful locks of hair (eujplovkamo"), according to Homer (Od. 20.80) and Euripides (Hipp. 82; Phoen. 191). No mention of the dress of the goddess survives in literature earlier than Callimachus, who first attributes to her the epithet ‘goddess of the tunic’ 55

Eva Parisinou (‘cai're, Citwvnh’ Hymn 3.225). This name is particularly, but not exclusively, associated with the cult of Artemis in Miletus where both epithets ‘Citwvnh’ and ‘Kiqwvnh’ are used in connection with the goddess (Günther 1988, 235–7; Perlman 1989, 127–8; Cole 1998, 39).1 This type of dress, which reaches the knee, would have facilitated movement during Artemis’ hunt of wild beasts (Hymn 3.11–12). Her knee-length chiton has an embroidered border (‘legnwtovn’) and is combined with hunting boots (endromides; Hymn 3.16). The significance of Artemis’ boots in hunting is clearly implied by the special arrangements for their maintainance in good condition – whenever not worn by the goddess – by twelve Cretan nymphs (Hymn 3.15–16). These nymphs from Amnisos were also responsible for the tending of Artemis’ hounds (Hymn 3.17, 90–7). The golden belt of the goddess matches her golden armour and the bridles of her golden chariot (Call. Hymn 3. 110–12), while her swiftness is another quality intimately associated with her persona as huntress. Artemis’ hunting ability is supplemented by her loud voice which is reflected in her Homeric appellation as ‘goddess of the loud hunt’ (keladeinhv, Il. 20.70). The hunting accessories of Artemis are standard in literature and consist of a bow and a quiver full of arrows, the effectiveness of which is enhanced by hounds. The arrows of Artemis target wild beasts, notably deer, boars (Il. 21.48; Od. 6.104), hares (Call. Hymn 2), lynxes and stags (Call. Hymn 17). Humans may also fall victim to her arrows, such as the mother of Andromache (6.428) and the daughter of Isander in the Iliad (6. 204). Hera scornfully accuses Artemis of being a lion to women, ready to kill any woman she pleases (Il. 21.483–4); this comment is confirmed later in the poem by Artemis’ killing of the daughters of Niobe (Il. 24.605–6). Intimate living accessories of Artemis’ hunting outfit are her dogs which receive a particularly detailed description in the text of Callimachos (Hymn 3.90–7); two half-white dogs, three with hanging ears, one speckled, and seven Spartan bitches. The pine torches of the goddess, first kindled in the woods of Mysian Olympos, carry unquenchable light, the purity of which derived directly from Zeus’s lightning bolts (Hymn 3.116–18). Although no explicit literary reference exists for the use of Artemis’ torches during hunting, they do form part of her hunting accessories. The torches reveal Artemis’ divine dimension as Bringer of Light (faesforivh) in Callimachos (Hymn 3.11), a quality also attested by Euripides (IT 21) and Sophocles (Trach. 214; OT 206). The latter call Artemis ajmfivpuro" (=carrier of two lights, one in each hand), faesfovro" and purfovro". The goddess masters archery, as is repeatedly mentioned in the Iliad in connection with hunting (for example: Il. 20.39, 70; 21.485–6; Od. 6.102–4) and war. Artemis teaches men hunting, such as Menelaus in the Iliad (5.51–2). Compared to the male archer-god and her brother Apollo, she is no less competent. They share the work in the killing of Niobe’s children (Il. 24.605–6). Artemis’ Homeric epithets as toxofovro" (bearer of bow), ijocevaira (who dispenses arrows) and toxovdamno" (who tames with her bow) are often mentioned alongside 56

The ‘language’ of female hunting outfit in ancient Greece those of Apollo ‘the far-shooter’ (Il. 23.872), ‘the god with the winged arrows’ (Il. 20.68), or ‘the god famed for his archery’ (Il. 4.120). In Callimachos’ Hymn to Artemis, the goddess clearly expresses a competing attitude towards Apollo, not least when she asks her father to give her as many names as Apollo (l.7). Literary descriptions of mythical huntresses reveal traits shared with Artemis. Callimachos refers to the Cretan nymph Diktynna as ‘slayer of stags’ (ejlafovno", Hymn 3.190) and a good archer (eu[skopon), loved by Artemis. The nymph is portrayed in flight within natural landscape to avoid the erotic pursuit of Minos (Hymn 3.190–3). A similar dislike of male love is expressed by blonde, swiftfooted Atalante, a virgin huntress who competes with men both in hunting and in other sports, such as the footrace and wrestling (Golden 1998, 136–7; Ley 1990, 31–60). Her reputation as huntress with good aim (Hymn 3.217) was questioned neither by her male companions at the hunt of the Calydonian boar nor by the Centaurs (Hymn 3.222–4). Cyrene, Prokris and Antikleia are the closest companions of Artemis in Callimachos’ Hymn; they hunt with dogs (Hymn 3.207), wear quivers on their right shoulder and leave their right breast bare (Hymn 3.212–14). Cyrene won at the athletic games at the tomb of Pelias in Iolkos (Hymn 3.208). Prokris and Antikleia were married women, but at least the first one shared the untamed nature of virgin huntresses, judging by her stormy relationship with her husband Kephalos (Kearns 1998, 99–100). In art, the earliest representations of huntresses appear in the late seventh century bc and are associated with two main types of garment of different length. The first is an ankle-length tunic, usually girded, combined with hunting weapons (normally a bow, arrows and a quiver) as is observed on a late seventh century bc black-figure Phrygian oinochoe in Boston.2 The huntress carries a quiver across her waist and shoots an animal (possibly a lion) from behind; a rain of arrows is on its way to the beast while many arrows have already found their target on the animal. The surrounding landscape is conventionally indicated by two further animals resembling a stag and a griffin. The ankle-length chiton, often topped by an animal skin, remains the predominant hunting garment throughout the archaic period and is supplemented with standard hunting accessories which comprise a bow, arrows and quiver. A good example is the figure of Artemis in the Gigantomachy frieze of the Siphnian Treasury in Delphi (c. 525 bc).3 The goddess fights alongside Apollo whose outfit (mid-thigh chiton and quiver) is well paired with that of his female fighting companion. The second type of hunting-dress is a short peplos or chiton and is particularly associated with Atalante from the late seventh and the beginning of the sixth century bc. The heroine is sometimes epigraphically identified on sixthcentury bc Attic representations of the hunt of the Calydonian boar.4 She normally wears a mid-thigh or even slightly shorter, sleeveless, girded tunic, with ornate border around the neck, arms and hem.5 A knee-length dress may sometimes replace shorter garments and may be combined with boots, while an 57

Eva Parisinou ankle-length dress is even rarer in the representations of Atalante as huntress.6 Her loose long hair is sometimes adorned with a wreath and on only one occasion in Attic sixth-century bc vase-painting is the heroine depicted wearing a high-crested helmet.7 A lionskin occasionally supplements Atalante’s outfit.8 Apart from bow and quiver, Atalante also fights with sword, knife or lance.9 On the ‘François’ vase, her elaborate dress is fastened at the shoulders and is furnished with an ornate overfold which leaves her broad belt uncovered. She is the only participant of the hunt who does not wear an animal skin (Fig. 1). The lower part of her peplos is split in front of her right thigh. Atalante’s striding pose is accentuated by the conventional device of white colour which covers her legs. She raises a lance in her right hand, following the movement of her male hunter-companion, Melanion, who fights next to her. Both of them are accompanied by the dog Methepon. Both long and short varieties of hunting-dress continue to appear in the fifth century bc. The short chiton clearly gains popularity over the long dress from the second half of the century, and it is associated with the typical outfit of Artemis. Examples of the long peplos or sleeveless girded chiton, combined with a hanging quiver from the shoulder of barefoot Artemis, are found in fifth-century bc Attic representations of the goddess (Fig. 6); she occasionally uses a torch as weapon against wild animals or Giants.10 On the other hand, substantial development of the fashion of the short hunting chiton takes place during the fifth century bc in Attica (Fig. 2). It is normally sleeveless and girded. It may sometimes stop high above the knee. The hunting chiton of Artemis is often supplemented by an animal skin or a chlamys tied around her neck.11 Artemis’ running boots reach to a height from mid-calf to knee and may be partly laced up at the sides or at the front for tighter fitting. Inverted tongues may hang out from the top edge of the boot. The weapons of the goddess remain the same, with torches being occasionally used to burn the Giants in broader scenes of Gigantomachy. South Italian vases show clear preference for the short chiton and boots as outfit for the huntress goddess, and they tend to adorn Artemis with jewellery or patterned dress.12 In the fifth century bc, images of huntresses retain the mid-thigh or kneeFig. 1. Atalante in the hunt of the Kalylength chiton of the earlier periods donian boar. Florence, M.Arch. 4209 together with boots of the endromides (‘Francois’ vase). Drawing E.P. 58

The ‘language’ of female hunting outfit in ancient Greece type reaching up to mid-calf or the knee.13 A himation, a chlamys or an animal skin often add variety to their plain short garment. Headdresses are not uncommon, such as pointed caps of oriental type. Double spears become increasingly popular weapons of huntresses in red-figure representations, as do hounds (Fig. 3).14 A club appears in the hands of Atalante on an early fifth-century bc ‘Melian’ relief and should probably be attributed to a local preference.15 The above joint examination, of literary descriptions and images of huntresses in art, exhibits several features shared between them. These include sexual purity or virginity and competitive behaviour towards male hunters on both a personal and a ‘professional’ level which often reaches aggression and contempt. The ‘raw’ aggression of

Fig. 2. Detail of Artemis dressed in short hunting dress. Basle, Antikenmuseum und Sammlung Ludwig, Inv. Kä 404. Photo: Claire Niggli.

Fig. 3. Huntress dressed in short chiton, holding double spears and accompanied by hounds. Paris, Louvre CA 2993.

these women towards their animal victims may be compared with their ruthless vengefulness towards their human opponents. The latter feature contrasts sharply with conventional submissive female attitudes as these were defined in classical Athens, a period contemporary with our images of mythical huntresses. These females live and act in the open (not in the oikos) and feel particularly close to wild beasts and their hunting hounds. Their short chiton and weapons are included in the dress code of male hunters and warriors16 and at the same time they visually testify to their man-like nature, full of energy and aggression. Their belt is not unknown from male outfits. Furthermore, in some cases at

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Eva Parisinou least, the belt may be read as a sign of the huntresses’ devotion to the realm of Artemis, where belts appear to have been used in the ritual transition of a maiden to a woman.17 Huntresses’ boots enhance their swiftness and their bare legs reflect their constant physical exercise and fitness, comparable to their male counterparts. Their long hair, which is not uncommon in men, is often separately mentioned in literature as being left loose and this is confirmed by many painted representations, thus underlining their untouched, natural condition. Female athletes and warriors share a similar dress code with huntresses, namely the short dress, sometimes topped by an animal skin, and supplemented by weapons or boots. Like huntresses, female athletes are physically fit, strong and swift, elements that drive them to open competition and constant contact with male athletes (Golden 1998, 123–40; Scanlon 1988; Arrigoni 1985). They spend much time in the open and prefer to wear as little clothing as possible to ensure freedom of movement – like their male counterparts. Attic vase representations of Atalante wrestling with Peleus or accompanied by male athletes, depict her barefoot and wearing trunks (sometimes clearly defined as perivzwma); these are often combined with an exercise cap and a bare top.18 Alternatively she may wear a short, above mid-thigh, sleeveless tunic or even a loin-cloth with a bare top.19 On a tondo of a red-figure cup by the Euaion Painter in the Louvre the heroine wears a pair of briefs consisting of a strovfion (type of athletic bra) and trunks (perivzwma), and an exercise cap on her head.20 Particularly eloquent is a group of sixth century bc bronze female statuettes, many of which come from Laconia while others seem to be reflecting Laconian influence.21 These female figures combine a knee-length or mid-thigh tunic or peplos with bare feet and long hair falling at the back and on the shoulders. The dress is normally sleeveless, less often short-sleeved. A ring-shaped belt articulates the body (Sturgeon 1995, 495–9), the musculature of which is sometimes particularly pronounced, in especially the legs and arms. The lower part of the chiton may sometimes be split (known as citwvn scistov") or even gently raised by the female depicted to reveal a greater part of the thigh (fainomhrivde").22 In some cases the tunic is worn obliquely across the chest thus leaving one, the right, breast bare (Serwint 1993, 410).23 Given the Dorian provenance of a good number of these works, one immediately links these athletic females with the Spartan tradition which encouraged women’s physical exercise equally with men for the sake of producing healthier offspring.24 The concept of partly revealing the female breast is further encountered in fifth century bc representations of huntresses, such as Prokris and Atalante (Serwint 1993, 415–16).25 In Callimachus’ hymn to Artemis (3.213–14), the female hunting companions of the goddess (Cyrene, Prokris and Antikleia) leave their right breast and shoulder bare to facilitate hunting. Women warriors such as the Amazons generally follow similar dress codes with their breast uncovered from as early as 440 bc (Serwint 1993, 410–14). Distinctive features 60

The ‘language’ of female hunting outfit in ancient Greece of their dress include a mid-thigh or even shorter chiton, girded with a tight belt around the waist (Sturgeon 1995, 495 n. 69); their outfit includes a range of weapons, such as shield, spear, sword as well as bow.26 High-crested helmets and greaves are necessary supplements to the outfit of the Amazons, especially when in action on the battlefield. As with huntresses and female athletes, Amazons, too, are opposed to men (ajntiavneirai Il. 3.189; 6.186; Blok 1995, 169–93) or are ‘man-hating’ (Aesch. PV 724: stugavnwr; Blok 1995, 181). They live outdoors and engage in hunting and fighting (Hdt. 4.114). They suppress their femininity often to extremes, such as the Skythian race of Sauromatai, who prevent the growth of the right breast of their girls from their early childhood. The Amazons’ favourite goddess is Artemis, whom they worship in the open with armed dances around her wooden image in Ephesos (Call. Hymn 3.237–47, 305–17). The short sleeveless tunic of huntresses is also observed on other categories of ‘wild’ females and particularly those who had not yet crossed the boundaries of puberty. Their ‘wildness’ derived from their girlhood, which had not yet been subjected to male control through the ‘yoke’ of marriage. On a series of representations on black-figure krateriskoi found in Attic sanctuaries of Artemis, the wild nature of these girls is visually exposed by their short dress (knee-length or even shorter, sleeveless chitons) and their outdoor training, neither of which formed part of the lifestyle of married Athenian females. The girls on the krateriskoi participate in a type of foot-race which appears to be held in the open, within the sanctuary of the goddess (Serwint 1993, 419–22; Golden 1998, 126; Scanlon 1988, 186; Scanlon 1990, 79–81). It therefore appears that the fashion of the short dress, although mainly perceived as typical hunting costume for men and women, in reality articulates a specific code of conduct for the females who choose to wear it. The short dress visually defines unconventional females of active lifestyle, at least by classical Athenian standards, who are used to living outdoors, contact men freely in male social environment (such as the wild nature outside the polis, the palaestra and the battlefield) and who seize the opportunity to express themselves through male stereotypes (for example, anger, aggressiveness, revenge). Their short clothes display their physical fitness. These women are well acquainted with many ‘raw’ realities of life associated with bloodshed and death on the battlefield or during the hunt. Their virginity or detestation of men is another constant feature of their exceptional nature. In the case of the parthenoi from Artemis sanctuaries, their short dress and active lifestyle reflects their ‘untamed’ nature, resembling wild animals (also defined by their name as ‘bears’ or a[rktoi in Greek) who are not yet subjected to male control and who therefore are still confined on the margins of their later conventional female social role inside the oikos. However the effectiveness of the short hunting dress as a code of female lifestyle and conduct does not stop here. Several female demons adopt this hunting fashion to express their aggressive and vengeful nature which is here 61

Eva Parisinou predominantly experienced not by animals, but by humans. Some of the earliest hunting female demons are the Gorgons, who appear in art wearing a short hunting dress and winged boots from as early as the late seventh century bc, almost at the same time as Atalante’s earliest appearances in similar dress in the hunt of the Calydonian boar.27 Gorgons wear a knee-length or even shorter tunic, often bearing ornamented borders and topped by an animal skin (Fig. 4). A snake-belt is tightly fitted around their waist and matches their real snakeaccessories, usually around the head and in the hair; snakes are an intimate feature of Gorgons from as early as their first surviving literary description in the Shield of Herakles ([Hes.] Scutum Herculis ll. 229–37). Large, wide-open eyes, bare white teeth, and wings (attached to their boots and occasionally springing from their back) are standard features of Gorgons, adding to their horrifying appearance. Both eyes and wings as expressions of sharp vision and swiftness – the second of which is indicated by the running pose of Gorgons have been encountered earlier as essential physical hunting skills. A further category of virgin female hunting demons are Erinyes. Their hunting nature is attested in tragic drama several times, with reference to their ambush-places, their hunting nets and the rest of their hunting weapons. The latter include goads, whips, swords and torches, which combine well with qualities such as swiftness, when hunting their victims to death (Schnapp 1997, 86–90, 110–11; Padel 1992, 80, 118, 156, 176–7; Vidal-Naquet 1988, 150, 157–8). Their association with snakes is reflected in their tragic epithets dravkainai (Aesch. Eum. 128; Eur. IT 286) or drakontwvdei" kovrai (Eur. Or. 256) as well as by the poison they spew out (Eum. 479, 730; Padel 1992, 123) and their sensitivity to blood (Eum. 244; Padel 1992, 173–4). The priestess in Aeschylus’ Eumenides (ll. 47–8) emphatically rejects her earlier identification of Erinyes with women, linking them instead with Gorgons and Harpyiai. She points out that their garb is wicked to wear in sight of the gods’ statues or in human homes. She describes them as wingless, black and utterly loathsome (Eum. 50–2). They are called ‘dogs’ and ‘dog-faced’ (kunwvpide", Eur. Or. 260) in tragic drama (Thomson 1938, 236, 259), where the blackness of both their skin (crw'ta kelainaiv, Eur. El. 1345; melavgcrwte", Eur. Or. 321; kelainaiv, Aesch. Ag. 462; mevFig. 4. Gorgo as decoration on a shield-band c. 570–525 bc. Kunze 1950, pl. 23. lainai, Aesch. Eum. 52) and their 62

The ‘language’ of female hunting outfit in ancient Greece chiton (faiocivtwne", Aesch. Cho. 1049; Eum. 352) are frequently attested. Their swiftness is another distinct trait of Erinyes, and a necessary quality during hunting. It is reflected in their epithets tanuvpode" (‘swift-footed’), dromavde" pterofovroi (‘winged runners’, Eur. Or. 316), the last of which also accords with some vase-representations of Erinyes with wings on their back. Erinyes give out loud cries when they catch their victims (Aesch. Ag. 1115–17; Vidal-Naquet 1988, 150 n. 69), just like Artemis (the goddess of the ‘loud hunt’). In Attic red-figure vase-painting, the hunting features of the Erinyes are clear (Fig. 5).28 They are usually barefoot and wear a short chiton (knee-length or even mid-thigh) which may be topped by a thicker garment with crossed bands. Snakes spring from their heads, arms and hands. Wings are an occasional feature in Attic works, while they commonly appear in South Italian vases. The latter continue to depict Erinyes in the typical hunting outfit with the addition of laced boots, jewellery, patterned clothes and a variety of weapons, ranging from snakes to double lance and burning torches.29 Sometimes stark colour-contrasts occur between their crossed straps and belt and their hunting chiton, as in the well-known Apulian scene of the sleeping Erinyes who are being woken up by the ghost of Klytemnestra. Echoes of the Attic literary tradition about the blackness of Erinyes may be found on a representation of a black-skinned and clothed Erinys bearing white wings on a Paestan Hydria in the British Museum (c. 340–330 bc).30 She emerges from earth underneath an altar in a scene of the punishment of Agrios.

Fig. 5. Erinyes in hunting costume chasing Orestes. Antikensammlung, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin-Preussischer Kulturbesitz-Inv. F2380.

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Eva Parisinou Other monstrous females adopt parts of the hunting dress, especially the short chiton which they normally combine with bare feet. Weapons are missing from their outfit probably because they use other devices to destroy their human victims. Among these groups of hunting female monsters are the Harpyiai. Their name quvellai (winds) in the Odyssey (20.66) bears direct reference to their swiftness. This feature is further indicated by their wings and also their individual names Aello (‘storm-swift’) and Okypete (‘swift-flier’). The Harpyiai are compared with the Erinyes in the Eumenides (ll. 48–51) with whom they share a dreadful face and vengeful nature. The dress of Harpyiai bears similarities with that of the Erinyes. It is normally a knee-length belted chiton, sleeveless or short-sleeved, often with ornamented borders.31 This may be supplemented by an animal skin worn on top of the chiton.32 Related outfits of demonic females may be seen in representations of Skylla, the so-called ‘dog of the sea’ in the Odyssey (ll. 12.80–97). One of her most prominent features is her dreadful bark. On a Melian clay relief now in the British Museum (c. 475–450 bc), Skylla’s dog nature is draped in a sleeveless short dress.33 Dog heads and forelegs spring from her waist, probably alluding to their function as hunting weapons which snatch her human (usually male) victims. Representations of the personification of dogs’ rabies, Lyssa, also adopt female form, dressed in the hunting short chiton (Padel 1992, 118 n. 17, 156, 162–3; Padel 1995, 17–21, 141, 181, 190, 241) (Fig. 6). In a scene of the killing of Aktaeon by the Lykaon Painter, Lyssa appears wearing boots and a pleated chiton up to mid-thigh. The latter is topped by a thicker patterned garment with long sleeves and an animal skin.34 She moves swiftly to the right inciting the dogs to attack Aktaeon, while a dog’s head springs from the top of

Fig. 6. Lyssa and Artemis in the scene of the punishment of Aktaion. Boston, MFA 00.346. Pfuhl (1923), 515.

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The ‘language’ of female hunting outfit in ancient Greece her head. Short chiton and boots remain the typical outfit of Lyssa in South Italian vase-painting, where snakes are added, around her arms.35 Similar to Lyssa in nature was Ate, the personification of ruinous madness. Whilst Ate may not be safely identified in art, she assumes a more concrete form in literature where she is closely related to other demonic huntresses. Among her distinct traits one may note her dog-like nature, the swiftness of her feet and her chasing of her victims until their final entrapment in her nets (Padel 1992, 163; 1995, 181–2, 189–90). The above comparative study of the traits of demonic females and huntresses of wild beasts shows that their outfit is one of the features that they share, and, surely, the most striking. Both types of huntress need a short garment to allow them freedom in movement when pursuing their victims. In art, the combination of a short dress with the conventional running pose reveals the full musculature of the legs and arms of these females, which is a feature particularly pronounced also in male imagery. It is worth noting here that the well-trained body, and especially the parts that played a vital role in the capture of victims, are displayed even through long split garments (peploi or chitons). This device appears in Corinthian representations of Amazons from as early as the seventh century bc.36 The split chiton may be connected with both long and short garments and it is also found in sixth-century bc representations of female huntresses and athletes.37 Belts are a common accessory of both demonic and conventional huntresses probably as an allusion to their virgin status in some cases, but in any case, to articulate their bodies and emphasize movement. Animal skins are worn on top of short chitons; they bear direct reference to the wild realm where huntresses act, highlighting a vital aspect of their persona. Hunting boots of the endromides type are also indispensable supplements of their outfit, recalling their swiftness. Like huntresses of wild beasts, demonic huntresses also use weapons, though of greater variety. Female demons’ weapons range from double lance and sword to goads, torches and hunting nets. Hounds are not mere companions of these demonic huntresses as in usual hunting practices, but they reflect the character of their mistresses. Erinyes, Skylla and Lyssa are hounds themselves either because they chase their victims like hounds, or because they merely look like them.38 Skylla barks, while Skylla’s and Lyssa’s bodies contain hounds’ heads and legs, which take active part in the catching of their victims. Serpents are an indispensable feature of demonic huntresses, underlining their wildness and vengefulness as well as their poisonous nature. Erinyes brandish snakes in their hands and arms as weapons against their victims; just like snakes and hunting hounds, Erinyes are aroused by the smell of blood. On the other hand, dogs and snakes underline the evil nature of these females. Adulterous or vulgar women are often called dogs in Homer and in tragic drama, such as Klytemnestra, Helen and the maids in Odysseus’ house. All of them are thought to deserve death (Redfield 1994, 195; Padel 1992, 124–5, 173; Vidal-Naquet 1988, 65

Eva Parisinou 152 n. 77). Another pronounced feature of female hunting demons is their vision, which does not merely serve to locate their victims as in the case of conventional huntresses, but it also petrifies them with fear and makes them an easier catch. A rather exceptional method of hunting under divine influence is described by Euripides in his Bacchae, set in a Theban context (Vidal-Naquet 1988, 152). Here, the huntresses use none of the above weapons but prefer to destroy their wild animal victims with their bare hands. Maenads are dressed in long garments (sleeved or sleeveless chiton or peplos) which are often topped by animal skins.39 They are barefoot and have long, untied hair. Their intimate relationship with wild nature is indicated by their wild animal-victims and the serpents which are often found twining around their arms and in their hair. Erinyes compare themselves with Maenads in the Eumenides, though the latter only reveal their hunting attitudes under the divine possession of Dionysos. One may finally conclude that all types of hunting dress, especially the short variety, have clearly been treated in Greek art and literature as immediately discernible visual codes defining particular patterns of female behaviour. In an Attic context, these patterns deviated from the traditionally established codes of acceptable female behaviour. Mythical huntresses adopt male patterns of outfit, lifestyle, conduct and, to an extent, physical appearance, especially in terms of their well-trained and displayed bodies. They compete with men on the hunting ground, battlefield or the palaestra, and reveal their truly aggressive side which often inspires fear in their male opponents. It seems no coincidence that most female huntresses are virgins or that their marital relationships often have tragic ends. Demonic huntresses often target as victims powerful men, such as Orestes, Perseus, Phineus, Odysseus and his companions, and Aktaeon. It finally becomes clear that the image of a female wearing a short dress with weapons, coupled by aggressive behaviour and (in many cases) sexual purity, becomes a common code of denoting wild untamed females. Within a mythological perspective, the dress, lifestyle and manners of these heroines or goddesses may have attracted the admiration, and at the same time the fear, of common females, those who followed generally acceptable rules of dress and conduct, as was the case in Athens. For the latter, the image of wild huntresses, warriors or even athletes would have probably reflected what was conceivable rather than what was realistic for ordinary women. It is no coincidence that this dress is predominantly – if not exclusively – associated in Attic art not with ordinary women but rather with goddesses, heroines and demons. On the other hand, this same fashion of the short hunting dress would have been more readily accepted by females living in Laconia and, to an extent, Dorian regions which shared cultural links with Laconia; this is indeed shown by a number of short-dressed female statuettes of Peloponnesian origin. While the latter appear to be ordinary females, who apparently chose the short ‘manly’ outfit with its accessories because it best suited their ‘manly’ lifestyle, the same 66

The ‘language’ of female hunting outfit in ancient Greece dress was meant to represent no more than wishful thinking for the ordinary Athenian woman, and was therefore destined to remain the privilege of females detached from the mortal world, such as goddesses, heroines and demons. Acknowledgements: Warm thanks are expressed to Paul Cartledge who read and commented on an earlier draft of this paper, and to the organizers and participants of this conference for their useful discussion and feedback. Notes A late archaic inscription from Miletus (Museum of Balat inv. 997) attests a long use for this epithet for Artemis in Ionia. Despite its fragmentary condition, its restoration as a dedication to Artemis ‘Kiqwvnh’ by Günther seems pretty likely (1988, 235–7, esp. 237 nn. 128–9). Artemis is also known as Citwneva in Syracuse (Ath. 14.629e) and possibly in Attica (schol. Callim. in Iovem 77; Perlman 1988, 128 nn. 71–2). The epithet Katagwgiv" is another likely appellation of Artemis in Cyrene. Lexicographers have understood the epithet as an allusion to an article of female clothing, possibly resembling a himation which might have been worn by the goddess (Pollux 7.49; Hesych. s.v. katagwgiv"). However, it is hard to rule out another possible meaning of the epithet defining ‘the goddess who descends’. 2 LIMC 2 Artemis 633 no. 109a, fig. 634, pl. 451. 3 LIMC 2 Artemis 726 no. 1335, pl. 555. 4 LIMC 2 Atalante 941 no. 2, pl. 687, Schnapp 1997, pl. 292, 502 no. 242 (c. 570 bc); LIMC 2 Atalante 941 no. 5, pl. 688 (Kyllenios Painter, c. 570–560 bc). 5 For example (Attic black-figure): Schnapp 1997, pl. 299, 505 no. 266 (c. 540 bc); von Bothmer 1948, pl. 43.1, LIMC 2 Atalante 941 no. 6. Boiotian black-figure: Schnapp 1997, pl. 310, 507 no. 284, LIMC 2 Atalante, 941 no. 10 (c. 570–550 bc). Laconian examples (Atalante dressed in mid-thigh, bordered and girded chiton): Schnapp 1997, pl. 313, 507–8 no. 291 (the Hunt Painter, c. 550–540 bc); Schnapp 1997, 313, 508 no. 292 (c. 540 bc); Schnapp 1997, 313–14, 508 no. 293 (the Allard Pierson Painter, c. 540 bc); Schnapp 1997, pl. 313, 508 no. 294 (the Hunt Painter, c. 555–545 bc). South Italian examples: Daltrop 1966, pl. 23, LIMC 2 Atalante 941 no. 13 (Lykurgus Painter, c. 350 bc). 6 Attic representations of Atalante wearing a knee-length dress and boots or bare feet: LIMC 2 Atalante 941 no. 3, pl. 688, Schnapp 1997, 505 no. 263 (Group of C Painter; c. 570–560 bc); Schnapp 1997, pl. 290 no. 237, 502 (c. 600–550 bc), LIMC 2 Atalante 941 no. 4. A Caeretan hydria: LIMC 2 Atalante 941 no. 11, pl. 688 (c. 525–500 bc). ‘Melian’ clay reliefs: LIMC 2 Atalante 941 no. 16, pl. 689; Daltrop 1966, 15, LIMC 2 Atalante, 941 no. 17 (c. 440 bc). South-Italian examples: LIMC 2 Atalante 941 no. 14, pl. 688 (near the Underworld Painter, c. 340 bc). Atalante occasionally wears a long dress while hunting, such as on a fragmentary black-figure, ‘merrythought’ cup from Sardis, Mellink 1962, pl. 24 (c. 550 bc). An ankle-length dress, split along its full length to reveal one bare leg, is worn by two female figures on an Attic, black-figure ‘Droop’ cup which depicts the chase of the Calydonian boar. Here the painter has apparently doubled 1

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Eva Parisinou the usual presence of Atalante in this scene by placing two females in identical dress and posture on either side of the animal: Schnapp 1997, pl. 306, 506 no. 278 (c. 550 bc). 7 Atalante’s outfit combines a high-crested helmet with a bow, quiver, mid-thigh bordered chiton and bare feet on an Attic black figure hydria: see n. 5. A similar outfit is observed in the iconography of Artemis on a ‘Tyrrhenian’ amphora where she chases the children of Niobe: LIMC 2 Artemis 726. 8 For example: n. 4 (vase by the Kyllenios Painter); n. 5 (Boiotian example and Laconian vase by the Hunt Painter). 9 An unusual representation on a Caeretan hydria depicts Atalante as huntress of the Calydonian boar, dressed in hoplite outfit and holding shield and sword: Schnapp 1997, pl. 312, 313, 507 no. 290 (c. 530–520 bc), LIMC 2 Atalante 941 no. 12. 10 For torches used as weapons against animals: LIMC 2 Artemis 653 no. 396, pl. 478 (Herakles Painter, c. 370 bc). In scenes of Gigantomachy: LIMC 4 Gigantes 230 no. 318, pl. 143 (Aristophanes, late fifth century bc). 11 In Attica, five late fifth-century bc works of the Klügmann Painter combine most of these iconographical features: LIMC 2 Artemis 651 nos. 353–6, pl. 474; LIMC 2 Artemis fig. 700 no. 1034, pl. 526 (c. 440–430 bc); LIMC 2 Artemis 726 no. 1344, pl. 557 (close to the Villa Giulia Painter, mid-fifth century bc); LIMC 2 Artemis 735 no. 1339, pl. 563, Schnapp 1997, pl. 359, 519 no. 407 (Barclay Painter, c. 445 bc); LIMC 6 Kephalos 5 no. 31, pl. 8 (late fifth century bc). In sculpture: LIMC 2 Artemis 732 no. 1409 and LIMC 1 Aktaeon pl. 39 (‘Melian’ relief, c. 450 bc); LIMC 2 Artemis 647 no. 285 (Laconian relief, fifth century bc). 12 For example: LIMC 2 Artemis 704 no. 1074, pl. 530 (c. 350–325 bc); LIMC 2 Artemis 706 no. 1097, pl. 531 (Creusa Painter, late fifth century bc); LIMC 2 Artemis 706 no. 1097a, pl. 532 (close to the Bendis Painter, c. 370 bc); LIMC 2 Artemis 722 no. 1287, pl. 551 (Baltimore Painter, c. 320 bc). In scenes of the death of Aktaeon: LIMC 2 Artemis 732 nos. 1402–6, 733 nos. 1413–15. In scenes of Marsyas’ myth: LIMC 2 Artemis, 734 no. 1428. In scenes depicting Meleagros and Atalante by Meleagros Painter: Schnapp 1997, pls. 431, 529–530 nos. 511–15. 13 For example: LIMC 7 Prokris 529 no. 1, pl. 420 (Workshop of the Bowdoin Painter, c. 450 bc); LIMC 7 Prokris 529 no. 2, pl. 420 (Niobid Painter, c. 460 bc), Schnapp 1997, pl. 430, 529 no. 508. 14 See two first examples of n. 13. 15 See n. 6 (first example of ‘Melian’ reliefs). 16 For a full discussion of hunters’ outfits: Schnapp 1997, esp. pp. 177–452; LIMC 6 Kephalos, 1–6. 17 For belts as votives to Artemis: Cole 1998, 37–9. For the ritual loosening of the belt to dedicate it to Artemis by women before their marriage (Artemis as Lysizonos): Cole 1998, 34. For a possible such Attic red-figure representation by the Achilles Painter (c. 450 bc): LIMC 2, Artemis 676 no. 721a, pl. 504. Also, see n. 1 and 24. 18 For example: LIMC 2 Atalante 945 no. 63, pl. 695, Ley 1990, 62, 320 pl. 3 (Atalanta Group, c. 550 bc); LIMC 2 Atalante 945 no. 69, pl. 696 (Krokotos Group or Hydra Painter, c. 500 bc), Ley (1990), 66; Ley 1990, 66, 323 pl. 10 (c. 500 bc). For trunks and cap combined with a bare top: LIMC 2 Atalante 945–6 no. 72, pl. 697, Ley 1990, 64–5, 322 pl. 8 (Oltos, c. 525–510 bc); LIMC 2 Atalante, 947 no. 86, pl. 699, Ley 1990 69, 325 pl. 15 (Aberdeen Painter, c. 475–450 bc). For a sakkos, trunks and a bare top as outfit of Atalante: LIMC 2 Atalante 947 no. 85, pl. 699 (Aberdeen Painter, c. 450–30 bc); Ley

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The ‘language’ of female hunting outfit in ancient Greece 1990, 69, 325 pl. 16 (workshop of the Aberdeen Painter, c. 450–430 bc). 19 For example: LIMC 2 Atalante 945 no. 62, pl. 695, Ley 1990, 61, 319 pl. 1 (Attic with Corinthian influence, c., 560 bc); Ley 1990, 61–2, 319 pl. 2 (c. 560–540 bc) and 62–3, 320 pl. 4 (c. 550 bc); LIMC 2 Atalante 946 no. 74, pl. 698 (Chalkidian hydria by the Inscriptions Painter, c. 540 bc), Ley 1990, 64, 321 pl. 7. A loin-cloth may alternatively be the only garment of Atalante: LIMC 2 Atalante 945 no. 66, pl. 696, Ley 1990, 63, 320 pl. 5 (c. 540 bc); Ley 1990, 65, 322 pl. 9 (Psiax, c. 520–510 bc); Ley 1990, 65–6, 322 pl. 9 (c. 500 bc). 20 LIMC 2 Atalante 945 no. 60, pl. 695, Ley 1990, 68, 324 pl. 14. For a comparable outfit of Atalante: LIMC 2 Atalante 946 no. 73, pl. 697, Ley 1990, 70, 326 pl. 18 (Peleus Painter, c. 440–430 bc). 21 For the origin and the stylistic influences of these statuettes: Scanlon 1988, 191–2. A Laconian provenance has been established for a number of them while Laconian influence has been recognised in the style of others, found elsewhere in the Peloponnese. For some statuettes of this series we lack a secure provenance. 22 For the etymology of the word and its occurrences in literature: Chantraine 1968, 1170. It is made up of the verb faivnw (‘to reveal’ or ‘to show’) and the noun mhrov" (‘thigh’). 23 The pattern of one bare breast is found on bronze statuettes depicting female runners from as early as 560 bc: London, BM inv. 208. It also appears in representations of Amazons significantly later, in the classical period: see n. 26. It is also found in the earlyfourth-century bc red-figure representation of Atalante as huntress from Bengazi: LIMC 2 Atalante 941 no. 9, pl. 688. 24 For a full list of these bronzes: Scanlon 1998, 203–4. For Spartan girls’ education in connection with representations of female athletes on bronze statuettes and mirrorsupports: Dettenhofer 1998, 19–26, esp. 20–3; Golden 1998, 128–131; Kron 1998, 205–8; Sturgeon 1995, 495; Serwint 1993, 406–7; Bonfante 1989, 559–60; Scanlon 1988, 186–202. 25 For representations of Prokris: LIMC 6 Kephalos 4 no. 26, pl. 7 (Hephaistos Painter, c. 440–430 bc). For Atalante as huntress see nn. 4–9. For Atalante as athlete, see nn. 18–20. 26 For a wealth of representations of Amazons in this outfit: LIMC 1 Amazones, pp. 587–636. Also see n. 17. 27 For Gorgons dressed in short chiton and in running pose: LIMC 4 Gorgo-Gorgones, 306–10 nos. 233–76; 311 no. 283, 289; 312–13 nos. 292–301; 313 no. 305; 313, 307, 309, 310a, 313–14; 314 nos. 315–17, 320, 325, 331. 28 Attic red-figure iconography: Knoepfler 1993, 81 pl. 63; 79–80 pl. 61; 80 pl. 62; 82 pl. 65; LIMC 3 Erinys 832 no. 44. South-Italian representations of Erinyes as huntresses: LIMC 3 Erinys 827 no. 4; 828–9 no. 8–16; 829 nos. 20–1; 830 no. 27; 832 no. 49–50; 833 no. 55–7, 59, 63–4; 834 no. 65, 69, 70, 74; 837 no. 102. 29 For torches held by Erinyes: LIMC 3 Erinys 832 no. 45, pl. 599 (Kertch, c. 380–360 bc), Knoepfler 1993, 72–3 no. and pl. 55. 30 LIMC 3 Erinys 838 no. 105 (Python, c. 340–330 bc); LIMC 1 Agrios 226 (pl). 31 Attic representations: LIMC 4 Harpyiai 446 nos. 1–2, pl. 266; 446–7 nos. 9–10, pl. 268; 447 nos. 12–13, pl. 269; 447 no. 16 (c. 410 bc). Boiotian works: LIMC 4 Harpyiai 447 no. 11, pl. 268 (450 bc). Chalcidian works: LIMC 4 Harpyiai 447 no. 14, pl. 269 (c. 530 bc). Laconian representations: LIMC 4 Harpyiai 448 nos. 22–4,

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Eva Parisinou pl. 270. South-Italian representations: LIMC 4 Harpyiai 447 no. 17, pl. 270 (Amykos Painter, c. 410 bc). Reliefs: throne of Amyklai (work of Bathykles), LIMC 4 Harpyiai 448 no. 20 (550–500 bc). 32 For Harpyiai wearing animal skin: see n. 29 (second Attic example). 33 LIMC 8 Skylla I 1139 no. 9, pl. 785 (possibly from Aigina). For comparable representations of Skylla: LIMC 8 Skylla I 1138 nos. 1–3, pl. 784; 1138–9 no. 8, pl. 785. 34 LIMC 6 Lyssa 324 no. 1. For further examples of Lyssa appearing in the same scene in South Italian vase-painting: LIMC 6 Lyssa 325 nos. 2–3 and 5, pl. 166. 35 See n. 32. 36 A long, split peplos is worn by Amazons the names of whom are inscribed on a late seventh century bc Corinthian alabastron (of Samothracian origin): Once in Imbros; LIMC 1 Amazones 587 no. and fig. 1; Blok 1995, pl. 7. 37 See nn. 5–14 and nn. 18–20. 38 For the nature of dogs in Greek literature: Redfield 1994, 193–204; Padel 1992, 124–5. 39 For some Attic black and red-figure examples: LIMC 8 Mainades 783–4 nos. 7–8, pl. 524; 784 nos. 9, 12, pl. 525; 784 no. 25, pl. 526; 785 no. 27, pl. 527; 786 nos. 36 and 38, pl. 530.

Bibliography Arrigoni, G. 1985 ‘Donne e Sport nel Mondo Greco Religione e Società’, in G. Arrigoni (ed.) Le Donne in Grecia, 55–201, Rome and Bari. Blok, J.H. 1995 The Early Amazons: Modern and ancient perspectives on a persistent myth, Leiden, New York and Köln. Boardman, J. 1984 ‘Atalante’, LIMC 2, 940–50. Bonfante, L. 1989 ‘Nudity as a costume in classical art’, AJA 93, 543–570. Bothmer, von D. 1948 ‘An Attic black-figured dinos’, Bulletin of the Museum of Fine Arts 46, 42–8. Chantraine, P. 1968 Dictionnaire étymologique de la langue grecque, III–IV, Paris. Cole, S.G. 1998 ‘Domesticating Artemis’, in S. Blundell and M. Williamson (eds.) The Sacred and the Feminine in Ancient Greece, London and New York, 27–43. Daltrop, G. 1966 Die kalydonische Jagd in der Antike, Hamburg and Berlin. Dettenhofer, M.H. 1994 ‘Die Frauen von Sparta: Ökonomische Kompetenz und politische Relevanz’, in M.H. Dettenhofer (ed.) Reine Männersache? Frauen in Männerdomänen der antiken Welt, Köln, Weimar and Vienna, 15–40. Devambez, P. and Kauffmann-Samaras, A. 1981 ‘Amazones’, LIMC 1, 586–653.

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The ‘language’ of female hunting outfit in ancient Greece Golden, M. 1998 Sport and Society in Ancient Greece, Cambridge. Günther, W. 1988 ‘ “Vieux et inutilisable” dans un inventaire inédit de Milet’, in D. Knoepfler and N. Quelle, Comptes et inventaires dans la cité grecque, Actes du colloque international d’épigraphie tenu à Neuchâtel du 23 au 26 septembre 1986 en l’honneur de Jacques Tréheux, Neuchatel and Geneva, 215–37. Jentel, M.-O. 1997 ‘Skylla I’, LIMC 8 Suppl., 1137–45. Kahil, L. 1984 ‘Artemis’, LIMC 2, 618–753. Kahil, L. and Jacquemin, A. 1988 ‘Harpyiai’, LIMC 4, 445–50. Kearns, E. 1998 ‘The nature of heroines’, in S. Blundell and M. Williamson (eds.) The Sacred and the Feminine in Ancient Greece, London and New York, 96–110. Knoepfler, D. 1993 Les imagiers de l’Orestie: mille ans d’antique autour d’un mythe grec, Zurich. Kossatz-Deissmann, A. 1992 ‘Lyssa’, LIMC 6, 322–9. Krauskopf, I. and Simon, E. 1997 ‘Mainades’, LIMC 8 Suppl., 780–803. Krauskopf, I. and Dahlinger, S.-Ch. 1988 ‘Gorgo-Gorgones’, LIMC 4, 285–330. Kron, U. 1998 ‘Sickles in Greek sanctuaries’, in R. Hägg (ed.) Ancient Greek Cult Practice from the Archaeological Evidence, Proceedings of the Fourth International Seminar on Ancient Greek Cult organized by the Swedish Institute at Athens, 22–24 October 1993, Stockholm, 187–215. Kunze, E. 1950 Archaische Schildbänder: Ein Beitrag zur frühgriechischen Bildgeschichte und Sagenüberlieferung, Olympische Forschungen II, Berlin. Ley, A. 1990 ‘Atalante-Von der Athletin zur Liebhaberin. Ein Beitrag zum Rezeptionswandel eines mythologischen Themas auf Vasen des 6.-4. Jhs. V. Chr’, Nikephoros 3, 31–72. Mellink, M.J. 1962 ‘Archaeology in Asia Minor’, AJA 66, 71–85. Padel, R. 1992 In and Out of the Mind. Greek images of the tragic self, Princeton. 1995 Whom Gods Destroy. Elements of Greek and tragic madness, Princeton. Perlman, P. 1989 ‘Acting the she-bear for Artemis’, Arethusa 22, 111–33. Pfuhl, E. 1923 Malerei und Zeichnung der Griechen, III, Munich. Redfield, J.M. 1975 Nature and Culture in the Iliad: the Tragedy of Hector, Durham and London.

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Eva Parisinou Sarian, H. et al. 1986 ‘Erinys’, LIMC 3, 825–43. Scanlon, T.E. 1988 ‘Virgineum Gymnasium. Spartan females and early Greek athletics’, in W.J. Raschke (ed.) The Archaeology of the Olympics. The Olympics and other festivals in Antiquity, Madison, 185–216. 1990 ‘Race or chase at the Arkteia of Attica?’, Nikephoros 3, 73–120. Schnapp, A. 1997 Le chasseur et la cité: chasse et érotique en Grèce ancienne, Paris. Serwint, N. 1993 ‘The female athletic costume at the Heraia and prenuptial initiation rites’, Hesperia 97, 403–22. Sieveking, J. 1913 ‘Erwerbungen der antiken Sammlungen Münchens 1911.K: Vasensammlung’, JDAI 28, 19–22. Simantioti-Bournia, E. 1992 ‘Kephalos’, LIMC 6, 1–6. 1994 ‘Prokris’, LIMC 7, 529–30. Sturgeon, M.C. 1995 ‘The Corinth Amazon: formation of a Roman classical sculpture’, AJA 99, 483–505. Thomson, G. 1938 The Oresteia of Aeschylus II, Cambridge. Vian, F. and Moore, M.B. 1988 ‘Gigantes’, LIMC 4, 191–270. Vidal-Naquet, P. 1988 ‘Hunting and sacrifice in Aeschylus’ Oresteia’, in J.-P. Vernant and P. VidalNaquet (eds.) Myth and Tragedy in Ancient Greece, New York, 141–59.

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5 THE MEANING OF THE VEIL IN ANCIENT GREEK CULTURE Douglas L. Cairns I We associate veiling (covering the head, and sometimes also the face, with a garment) in Greek culture especially with women; and in so far as veiling is the expression of an occurrent emotion or a longer-lasting disposition, we tend to associate it particularly with aijdwv". I shall not argue that either of these intuitions (or insights) is wrong. Women veil, and veiling is a typical expression of a woman’s aijdwv", both as a spontaneous emotion and as a disposition or trait of character.1 Yet men veil too; and there are many examples in literature and in art where the veiling of the head can be more immediately related to some attitude or emotion that is not (or not obviously) aijdwv". The purpose of this paper is to use these cases in particular to help establish whether there is some common element of signification in all (or almost all) manifestations of veiling that might be used to illuminate what it meant, in the Greek context, for a woman to veil. This is not to say that I am advocating a univocal, essentialist, or reductionist interpretation; I shall not claim that the gesture or habit of veiling brings a ready-made, monolithic meaning to every context in which it occurs; rather I want to argue that there is a degree of commonality in the diversity of the ways in which veiling may be manifested, that underlying this diversity there is a certain conceptual unity,2 and that this is of inestimable importance in recognizing how veiling participates in Greek constructions of the self in its interactions with others. It is just as wrong to rule out the existence of such commonality as an a priori methodological principle as it would be to assume that instances of a particular sign must be reducible to a single and constant essence. Establishment of underlying commonality, moreover, can coexist with full recognition of irreducible specificity in the ways in which the sense of a particular cultural or linguistic sign can be limited by its application in a variety of non-interchangeable contexts. There can be a commonality in multivalence which need not reduce multivalence to univocity; the only constraint that commonality imposes on multivalence is that it should not be arbitrary. The evidence adduced in the present paper will confirm that veiling as a gesture is multivalent in its range of uses (i.e. the gesture has different 73

Douglas L. Cairns significances according to context, and only close attention to context will pin these down). But in the case of a gesture such as this we also have to reckon with multivalence within contexts. In Iliad 3 (139–44), for example, Helen covers her head with a white veil as she leaves her chamber to proceed to the battlements of Troy. The gesture is an ordinary manifestation of women’s modesty (as is the presence of the two ajmfivpoloi who accompany her, 143);3 but Helen is also weeping (142), and veiling is often a means of concealing one’s tears (see below). Furthermore, Helen is on her way to the walls as a result of a desire for her former home and family implanted by the goddess, Iris; we know from the context that Helen is sensitive regarding the shame that attends her leaving of Menelaus (3.173–80), and it would not be far-fetched to conjecture that the experience of shame also conditions her use of the veil. Sensitivity to the specific context, especially to the possible causes and eliciting conditions of the gesture of veiling, is essential in determining which of the many meanings of the veil are in play; but in cases such as this, it would be a mistake to pin the passage down to one significance at the expense of other relevant possibilities.4 One must also, however, bear in mind that the multivalence of a gesture can encompass degrees of ambivalence and indeterminacy: in Odyssey 10 (48–55) Odysseus, on awaking to find that his companions have opened the bag of winds he received from Aeolus, first considers whether he should end it all by throwing himself from the ship in despair or endure his anguish in silence and remain among the living; on choosing the latter course, he then covers himself up and lies concealed in the ship. This is a literary passage, but an indeterminacy that is characteristic of ‘real life’ interactions is maintained, because the head-covering is over-determined in terms of its possible elicitors (e.g. anger, grief, shame, embarrassment) and no guidance is forthcoming from the narrative. (Contrast, e.g. Odyssey 8.83–103, where the reasons for Odysseus’ veiling are apparent to the external audience, but, necessarily, obscure to Alcinous.) I make these points in order to show that, although this paper will discuss veiling as a manifestation of aijdwv", as a manifestation of grief, as a manifestation of anger, and so on, nevertheless I am not subject to the delusion that manifestations of veiling can be neatly sorted, labelled, and filed under separate headings; multivalence, ambivalence, and indeterminacy are factors which must be taken into account, and there is no suggestion that the gesture is one whose significance can be located in a limited range of discrete categories; on the contrary, the possibility of ambivalence and over-determination can be used to corroborate my contention that the various ‘senses’ borne by the sign ‘veiling’ are not wholly discrete but inter-related. The evidence presented in this paper is heterogeneous in genre, period, and place of origin; this ignores all the important differences in veiling practice that obtain in different social contexts in different places at different times,5 74

The meaning of the veil in ancient Greek culture but at the level of generality at which this paper is pitched, these are of less significance; the aim is to identify elements of Greek mentality with respect to veiling which are not subject to the same degree of variation as are the customs, fashions, and dress codes of particular Greek communities at specific historical periods. The heterogeneity of the evidence used, in fact, may give some idea of the persistence of the underlying features I seek to identify across a range of contexts and periods. II That women in Greek societies veil, both as a regular public demeanour and as a response to particular events and circumstances, is demonstrated by a wealth of visual evidence and confirmed in literature.6 This veiling can manifest their aijdwv" both as an occurrent affect (shame, bashfulness) and as an abiding quality or disposition (modesty). But even this is not true of women alone; for in many Greek societies similar behaviour is expected of male adolescents.7 In a broader sense, too, it is clear that men as well as women can veil their heads to express their aijdwv" in any of the common scenarios in which that emotion would be appropriate. In Euripides’ extant Hippolytus Phaedra veils her head out of retrospective shame at the uninhibited and sublimated ravings which spring from her passion for her stepson;8 but in another play with the same theme it was the youth, Hippolytus, who veiled his head on becoming the recipient of her unwanted attentions.9 Men regularly veil out of embarrassment, shame at their own actions, vicarious shame at the behaviour of others, etc.10 Men (like women) also veil in other emotional scenarios in which honour and propriety are in question, for example to express grief or anger.11 Though standards of propriety in emotional expression may differ in the cases of men and women (open lamentation, for example, is more acceptable in women than in men),12 still veiling is found in both sexes in conjunction with these emotions. Clearly, these scenarios are not to be sharply distinguished from those in which veiling is an expression of aijdwv" – anger is a matter of responding to an attack on one’s honour, and grief is an emotion whose expression is regulated by standards of honour and appropriateness; all three emotions (aijdwv", anger, and grief ) involve self-consciousness and self-protection, and all focus on one’s vulnerability as an individual for whom interaction in the public arena has suddenly become problematic. In other contexts, however, veiling is less an expression of spontaneous emotion than a ritualized, culturally approved form of behaviour. As a gesture of mourning,13 veiling is clearly a ritualized form of the spontaneous selfconcealment that accompanies grief (and that can be construed as the aijdwv" that copes with emotion); but, since the corpse or the bones for burial are also veiled or covered,14 the veiling of the mourner is also part of that identification between mourner and deceased which is also apparent in the mourner’s haircutting, self-mutilation, and ritual defilement.15 Given that there exists a well75

Douglas L. Cairns attested link between veils and clouds (apparent in the etymology of Latin nubere/nubes, but reflected also in Greek poetic imagery),16 one might also observe in this connexion that both deceased and mourner are said, in Homer, to be enveloped in a black cloud;17 this is another example of their ritual identification and a symbolic analogue to their literal veiling.18 It is well known that in many ancient Greek communities the veiling (and unveiling) of the bride is an important element of wedding ritual;19 the bride’s veiling certainly conveys messages (first) about her adherence to cultural norms and (second) about her subjective emotional experience that can be immediately understood in terms of honour, aijdwv", and swfrosuvnh, but it is equally clear that it also constitutes a ritualized enactment of her separation from her old status prior to the assumption of her new. Thus the veiling of the bride invites comparison with the use of veiling in mystic initiation,20 where the ritual function of separation is the paramount significance of the gesture.21 Veiling, then, is proper to the liminal stage of classic, tripartite rites of passage. The case of mystic initiation, where veiling appears (more or less) as a ‘pure’ marker of separation, pinpoints the common factor in all the above cases, emotional and ritual, for in all, veiling demonstrates separation from the group in a situation in which the status and the identity of the individual are in question. Anthropological studies of veiling in other cultures confirm that separation is the common factor in a wide variety of different veiling practices and customs.22 III What do the applications of veiling we have considered so far (most of which – the veiling of the bride at her wedding being the obvious exception – can be manifested by men as well as women) tell us specifically about the cultural significance of women’s veiling? First, let us consider the ‘emotional’ cases. Men, as we have seen, conceal themselves when they feel that their honour has been impaired — when ashamed, when humiliated, when insulted, when indulging in emotions which they consider inappropriate to display in public. Often, this behaviour can be seen to involve a degree of feminization: although the tears of heroes often pass without adverse comment in Homer,23 weeping can equally be characterized as feminine, as when Achilles accuses Patroclus of weeping like a ‘silly girl’ at Iliad 16.7–8. Similarly, in Odyssey 8, when Demodocus’ tale of the Fall of Troy causes Odysseus to weep,24 he is famously compared to a woman who has lost her husband in just such a situation; in post-Homeric literature, this association between weeping and the feminine becomes virtually automatic.25 In the case of women, veiling is analogous in ideology to seclusion (both are culturally approved indicators of women’s modesty); just so, it is sometimes clear that a man who veils or secludes himself when his honour is impaired places himself in a feminized predicament: in Sophocles’ Ajax, the hero spends much of the earlier part of the play in the seclusion of his tent, lamenting his own humiliation in an extravagant, emotional fashion that 76

The meaning of the veil in ancient Greek culture (Tecmessa tells us, 317–20) he had previously declared appropriate to the cowardly and excessively emotional. Of course, he has mitigated the impropriety by taking to his quarters – the place to which he consigns Tecmessa to conduct her (typically feminine) lamentations at 578–82.26 Similarly, when Meleager withdraws from battle to register his anger with his mother (in the paradigm offered by Phoenix in Iliad 9) he is said specifically to shut himself in his qavlamo" and to lie beside his wife; in doing so he behaves more like the degenerate and uxorious Paris than a bona fide Homeric hero.27 The impairment of status which male veiling (or male seclusion) represents can thus be seen as representing the reduction of a man to the status of a woman; men veil or stay indoors when their honour is impaired or at stake, but women do so as a matter of everyday propriety. A woman, then, is like a dishonoured man, or (as Aristotle puts it in the biological context, On the Generation of Animals 728a17–21), an imperfect man. (Note Aristotle’s use of an explicit comparison between the woman and the boy in this context; this – ideologically loaded – biological observation can also be paralleled with reference to veiling practice: like women, boys also veil to manifest their respect for the norms that constrain them and to mark their status as different from that of men.) The association between dishonour and concealment (and between honour and exposure) is thorough-going in Greek thought.28 In the Iliad, defeated (but divinely favoured) warriors can be rescued by divine protectors in a cloud, in mist, or in a garment;29 this form of veiling ensures that defeat stops short of annihilation, yet highlights the warrior’s inferiority. This explains why, at Iliad 17.645–7, Ajax begs Zeus to lift from the Achaeans the mist in which they are enveloped, in order that, if they must die, they should at least die in the light.30 In the Odyssey, which is the narrative and celebration of the hero’s famous return, that return is threatened by the detention of Odysseus (‘unseen’, according to those left behind in Ithaca) in the cave of Calypso the Concealer, in preference to whose offer of eternal, immortal obscurity Odysseus prefers mortality and home.31 In Sophocles’ Oedipus Tyrannus the notion of concealment as the appropriate treatment of the shameful motivates both Creon’s efforts to remove Oedipus from the light of the Sun and Oedipus’ own self-blinding;32 in this case, it is particularly clear that concealment by remaining indoors bears the same relation towards the shameful as does the concealment by veiling of, for example, Euripides’ Heracles (Heracles 1159–60). When, in the Homeric Hymn, Demeter’s honour is impaired following the loss of her daughter, she takes on a humble and miserable appearance and covers herself in a dark garment (H. Dem. 40–2, 90–4, 180–3; cf. n. 11 above); by contrast, to display her true divinity (her true timhv, revealing that she is timavoco", 268) before Metaneira and her sisters she allows a light to shine afar from her immortal body (278–9).33 Similarly, one might observe how the attempted concealment of the sorrows aroused in the as yet unrecognized 77

Douglas L. Cairns Odysseus by the first and third songs of Demodocus in Odyssey 8 forms the immediate prelude to, and a foil for, the revelation of his heroic identity as Odysseus, son of Laertes, whose fame reaches heaven, Odyssey 9. 20, and the subsequent celebration of his exploits in his extended narrative of his own adventures. Again, in the generational conflict of the gods in Hesiod’s Theogony (explicitly a matter of timhv)34 the struggle for ascendancy is a struggle to consign one’s opponents to perpetual darkness.35 To be the passive victim of concealment is thus to be deprived of timhv.36 Actively to conceal onself or one’s intentions from others, on the other hand, is to dishonour them, to deal in a degree of darkness as the price of greater light.37 Deeply implicated in this form of concealment is the first woman: Prometheus first conceals the thighbones of the sacrificial victim in fat in an attempt to deceive Zeus, then conceals fire; but in return for these slights Zeus sends a concealed evil, a worthless object in a fine covering, an exact requital for the dishonour he himself had received. The link between honour and light, dishonour and darkness, is nowhere more apparent than in epinician poetry:38 the victor shines (he is ajglaov", O. 14.5–7, cf. I. 6.60–2); the victory itself can be described as ajglai?a; achievement is a matter of a light shining on the victor; the ode which celebrates victory and the celebration itself are bright, splendid, a source of light; and (finally) the fame which song confers on success will shine for ever more.39 This complex of ideas achieves its most poignant expression in Pythian 8.95–7, with its stark contrast between the quotidian benightedness and ephemerality of the human condition and the brilliant, but transitory splendour of achievement: ejpavmeroi: tiv dev ti"… tiv d∆ ou[ ti"… skia'" o[nar a[nqrwpo". ajll∆ o{tan ai[gla diovsdoto" e[lqh/, lampro;n fevggo" e[pestin ajndrw'n kai; meivlico" aijwvn.

Creatures of a day! What is someone? What is no one? Man is a dream of a shadow. But whenever god-given splendour comes, a bright light rests on men, and gentle is their life.

It is the epinician poet’s task to ensure that this achievement, this splendour does not escape notice; hence the rhetorical importance of ajlavqeia, the disclosure or exposure of the victor’s splendid fame, and its persistence in the abiding memory of the poet’s public, both in the present and in the future.40 This frequent epinician topos intersects with the theme of this paper in that its associations are fundamentally visual; Nemean 5.14–18 shows how this can encompass veil-imagery: aijdevomai mevga eijpei'n ejn divka/ te mh; kekinduneumevnon, pw'" dh; livpon eujkleva na'son, kai; tiv" a[ndra" ajlkivmou" daivmwn ajp∆ Oijnwvna" e[lasen. stavsomai: ou[ toi a{pasa kerdivwn

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The meaning of the veil in ancient Greek culture faivnoisa provswpon ajlavqei∆ ajtrekev": kai; to; siga'n pollavki" ejsti; sofwvtaton ajnqrwvpw/ noh'sai.

I am ashamed to speak of a great deed that was not ventured in justice, how they left the famous island, and what fortune drove the brave men from Oenona. I stand aside: not every truth is better for showing her face precisely; and often silence is the wisest counsel for a man.

In an elaborate praeteritio, the poet’s aijdwv" at relating an unsavoury incident in the past of the Aeacidae is mirrored in the image of a quasi-personified ajlavqeia refusing to reveal (veiling) her face;41 this is paradoxical, given that ajlavqeia implies the absence of concealment,42 yet still the image exploits the normal Pindaric correlation between the honourable and its ‘truthful’ commemoration, and stresses the need for concealment, to; siga'n, in face of the dishonourable.43 Plutarch’s account of the death of Demosthenes (Life of Demosthenes 28.2–29) may serve to illustrate the persistence of these fundamental ideas at a much later period. There is no reason to doubt that in its essentials Plutarch’s narrative preserves a historical core, i.e. that Demosthenes took his own life at the temple of Poseidon on the island of Calauria (in the Saronic Gulf ), but this core is fictionalized through its articulation in a traditional schema of the (ironic) death of the artist and further overlaid with quasi-theatrical motifs in which, with their emphasis on visual and non-verbal elements of meaning, the symbolic significance of veiling is central.44 Hunted by Archias the former tragic actor, Demosthenes takes refuge in the temple, where he has a dream that he competes with Archias for the protagonist’s prize at a dramatic festival, losing in the end not because his performance is inferior, but because his production is not as well resourced (eujhmerw'n de; kai; katevcwn to; qevatron ejndeiva/ paraskeuh'" kai; corhgiva" kratei'sqai, ‘although he was successful and held the attention of the audience he was defeated through lack of equipment and resources’, 29.2). The dream is patently prophetic, and comes true in the fullest sense in the sequel: faced first with Archias’ promises (a dramatic performance whose conviction Demosthenes impugns: Æw\ ∆ArcivaÆ ei\pen Æou[q∆ uJpokrinovmenov" me pwvpot∆ e[peisa", ou[te nu'n peivsei" ejpaggellovmeno"", ‘ “Archias”, he said, “you never convinced me with your acting, and you won’t convince me now with your promises” ’ 29.2), then with his threats, Demosthenes, as if capitulating, begs leave to compose a message to his family; withdrawing into the temple, he makes as if to write, bites his pen, then veils his head and turns away from Archias and his men (ejnto;" ajnecwvrhse tou' naou', kai; labw;n biblivon, wJ" gravfein mevllwn proshvnegke tw'/ stovmati to;n kavlamon, kai; dakwvn, w{sper ejn tw'/ dianoei'sqai kai gravfein eijwvqei, crovnon tina; katevscen, ei\ta sugkaluyavmeno" ajpevkline th;n kefalhvn, 29.3). The spear-carriers who are looking on mock

Demosthenes for the cowardice and effeminacy that they take to be the obvious import of his gesture (kategevlwn wJ" ajpodeiliw'nto" aujtou', kai; malako;n 79

Douglas L. Cairns ajpekavloun kai; a[nandron, 29.4);45 but Demosthenes has used his veiling to

conceal the operation of the poison he has sucked from his pen, and once it has taken effect he uncovers his head, fixes Archias with an unabashed, manly stare, utters his last, defiant words, and staggers from the temple of his own volition to die a free man. Demosthenes loses the contest against superior forces, but his performance surpasses that of his opponent; the concealment which his enemies took to imply disgrace was a foil for the greater glory of a self-chosen death, a moral victory which lives forever in Plutarch’s anecdote.46 So the ajrethv of the successful male, in epinician, in epic, and elsewhere, must be allowed to shine; it requires revelation, not concealment, proclamation, not silence. Silence, on the other hand, is a woman’s ornament, according to Sophocles’ Ajax (as reported by his concubine, Ajax 293). Notoriously, too, the ajrethv of women is enhanced not by publicity, but by obscurity, as Thucydides has Pericles inform us in the Funeral Speech (2.45.2). Similar is the observation of Euripides’ chorus of maidens at Iphigeneia at Aulis 568–72: mevga ti qhreuvein ajretavn, gunaixi; me;n kata; Kuvprin kruptavn, ejn ajndravsi d∆ au\ kovsmo" ejnw;n oJ murioplhqh;" meivzw povlin au[xei.

It is a great thing to hunt excellence: women do it in relation to secret love, but among men, on the other hand, the infinity of order within them makes the city greater.

Men’s ajrethv takes innumerable forms and is exercised in the public sphere of the povli", whereas women’s is uniform, and has something to do with (katav) concealed passion.47 Women’s veiling thus marks them out as potential vehicles of dishonour, creatures whose excellence, such as it is, is realized in concealment rather than in openness and exposure. This belongs with a more general association between women, concealment, deceit, and the occult (frequently figured in woman’s relation to the production of textiles). Returning to Hesiod’s Theogony, we remember that woman came to exist through deceit and manifested her own deceitful nature from the outset in her immediate need to be clothed and veiled (Theogony 573–5): 48 zw'se de; kai; kovsmhse qea; glaukw'pi" ∆Aqhvnh ajrguf°evh/ ejsqh'ti: kata; krh'qen de; kaluvptrhn daidalevhn ceivressi katevsceqe, qau'ma ijdevsqai.

The pale-eyed goddess Athena dressed and adorned her in a silver-white garment; down over her head she drew with her hands a finely-made veil, a wonder to behold.

The frequently observed distinction between (naked) kouroi and (clothed) korai 80

The meaning of the veil in ancient Greek culture – the former representing a normative ideal of excellence, allowed to appear as they essentially are, the latter concealed as culture demands – bears repetition in this connexion.49 We have also seen that veiling separates, and can signify liminality: the liminality of those between life and death, between boyhood and manhood, between parqevno" and gunhv, as of those who are mourning, those who are being initiated, and those who withdraw in anger from social interaction, is transitory. That women are prescribed a space of their own throughout their lives, and that they must replicate that segregation when they step beyond the boundaries of their households, suggests (on the one hand) that women’s participation in the outdoor world of men is similarly temporary and transitory, but also (on the other) that women’s separation from the world of men in general, and therefore women’s liminality vis-à-vis that world, is, in one way or another, permanent. IV There are two ways of looking at the cultural significance of veiling: we must see the phenomenon in all its multivalence, as (in different ways in different contexts) a manifestation of modesty, shame, anger, grief, pollution, initiatory liminality, etc.; but we should also be prepared to recognize the unity that underlies this multivalence, a unity that lies in the function of veiling as a mark of separation and a sign that status is in question. I do not think it would be either possible or helpful to express the latter notion exclusively by means of a single Greek term, but none the less, the unity is more than formal, a genuine aspect of Greek mentality rather than a modern interpreter’s construct; for the various manifestations of veiling are unified by the fact that social interaction in Greek culture is a matter of committing one’s own honour in an arena in which it must find its own level relative to the honour of others. The operative Greek concept here is that of timhv. Timhv constitutes the individual’s selfhood or identity in so far as it is viewed socially; thus timhv is the crucial concept in the interaction ritual of the Greeks, functioning as it does both as the claim to honour that one projects and the validation of honour that one seeks to receive in social interaction. It thus encompasses, in the terms employed by Erving Goffman, both ‘demeanour’ and ‘deference’. In Goffman’s account, at the heart of all the various strategies that we employ in interaction lies a certain concept of the self, not a hidden, inner self, unknowable to others, but what he describes as the ‘sacred self ’, that social presentation of one’s identity and personality which the rituals that ease interaction are designed to protect.50 Qua demeanour and deference, Greek timhv, I should say, presupposes something very like the ‘sacred self ’, and it is to such a conception of timhv that we should look when seeking the underlying unity in the various manifestations of veiling that we have been considering. Veiling occurs when one’s social self, the public identity to which one was previously committed, is challenged or threatened, whether in reality or 81

Douglas L. Cairns in ritual – when one’s honour is impugned or at stake (and when one’s veiling will express embarrassment, shame, or anger), when one’s status as a participant in a relationship is undone by death (whether one’s own or that of a member of one’s group),51 and when one’s social role and identity have to be reborn in ritual. If this what veiling means, the implications for conceptualization of women are considerable, even if predictable: women, it would, appear, are allotted a social role and personality that is forever vulnerable, forever under threat, forever in a state of withdrawal from the world of men.52 Notes See Cairns 1996a, 1996b. I see this unity in terms of the Aristotelian ‘focal meaning’ which is favoured and successfully applied by N.R.E. Fisher in his study of u{bri" (Fisher 1992, 1 with refs. in n. 1); the alternative model of ‘family resemblance’ (Wittgenstein 1967, §§ 66–7), is superficially attractive, and not without utility in the analysis of other concepts, but though all members of a family share characteristics with other members of the same family, there is no single characteristic or set of characteristics which unites them. The typical scenarios in which veiling occurs, however, do exhibit certain features in common. 3 Nagler 1974, 45. 4 Cf. Boegehold 1999, 18, for the same observation re the representation of gesture in the visual arts. 5 For these, we can expect much enlightenment from the forthcoming work of Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones. I should like to take this opportunity to thank Lloyd for much helpful discussion. 6 See, e.g., Cairns 1996a and 1996b; obvious examples: (e.g.) Od. 1.333–4, 5.232, 16.415–16, 18.209–10, 21.64–5; Ar. Lys. 530–1. 7 See, e.g., Aesch. 1.26, Xen. Lac. Pol. 3.4; Sittl 1890, 7–8; Ferrari 1990, 190; visual evidence cited in Cairns 1996b, 155. 8 E. Hipp. 243–6; for veiling as an expression of feminine aijdwv", cf. IT 372–6, Pho. 1485–92. 9 E. fr. 436 N2. 10 E. Her. 1159–62, Or. 459–61; Pl. Phdr. 237a; Aesch. 1.26. 11 Grief: see, e.g., Il. 24.159–65 (below, n. 13); Od. 4.114–16, 153–4; 8.83–6, 90–2; A. Cho. 81–3; E. Hcld. 604, Hec. 432–4, 487, Supp. 110–11, Her. 1111, Ion 967, IA 1122–3, 1547–50; Pl. Phd. 117c; A. R. 4.1294 (despair represented as grief/mourning). Anger: see, e.g., H. Dem. 40–2, 180–3, 196, 319, 360, 442; Hdt. 6.67; E. Med. 1144–55; with Cairns 2001. Grief is most probably the reason for Thetis’ veiling at Il. 24.90–6 (SbT on 94a; cf. Cairns 2001, 21–2), but a case is made for anger by Slatkin 1986 (expanded as Slatkin 1991, reprinted in Cairns (ed,) 2001, 409–34); cf. Loraux 1998, 49. 12 Van Wees 1998 traces a historical development in the cultural permission accorded men’s and women’s lamentation; the evidence he presents for a shift in attitudes between Homer and classical Athens is persuasive, yet I would emphasize that the distinctions he discerns are of degree rather than kind, a matter of redrawing the boundaries rather than 1 2

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The meaning of the veil in ancient Greek culture the introduction of wholly new and newly gendered standards of propriety. 13 Veiling may be more normally a spontaneous than a ritualized expression of grief, and is certainly not a ubiquitous element of funerary ritual, but it does occur: the grief of the chorus of A. Cho. is expressed in ritualized gestures, and they are certainly veiled (Cho. 81–3); for artistic representations of veiled female mourners, cf. Langlotz 1961, figs. 17–23 (various media and periods); Friis Johansen 1951, 36–7 and fig. 18, figs. 25, 79, 83 (classical Attic grave reliefs); Lullies and Hirmer 1960, 89–90 and pls. 207–9 (the fourth-century ‘weeping women sarcophagus’, of Phoenician origin but Greek manufacture); Boardman 1998, 102 fig. 200 (Early Protattic tankard, Reading 54.8.1); Van Wees 1998, 26 fig. 1.8(c) (Early Protoattic krater, Mainz University 156); and the female mourners of Memnon on the Attic rf cup, Ferrara 44885 (ARV2 882.35). But male mourners may also veil: Priam at Il. 24.159–65 (with Richardson 1993 on 163) and on a Melian relief, Toronto 926.32 (Carpenter 1991, fig. 319); cf. Achilles on the pelike, London E363 (ARV2 586.36, Carpenter fig. 313). It is worth noting in this connexion that female unveiling also appears as a spontaneous expression of grief (Hecuba at Il. 22.406–7, Andromache, ibid. 468–72, Demeter at H. Dem. 40–1; cf. Andronikos 1968, 1–2; cf. also Antigone at E. Pho. 1485–92), the discarding of the everyday veil/headgear symbolizing the effect of loss on one’s social persona; but that this is wholly compatible with (real or figurative) veiling as an expression of the same emotion is apparent in two of these contexts, for Demeter immediately replaces her krhvdemna with a kuavneon kavlumma (H. Dem. 42) and Andromache’s eyes are shrouded in dark night (Il. 22.466). 14 See, e.g., Il. 18.352–3 (Patroclus), 24.587–8 (Hector); see Andronikos 1968, 7–9; cf. the covering of the bones for burial, 23.254 (Patroclus: see Richardson’s note, 1993 ad loc.), 24.795–6 (Hector); for this as a historical practice, see Kurtz and Boardman 1971, 186. Cf. Apollo’s covering of Hector’s body with his golden aegis (24.18–21) and his veiling of the body in a dark cloud 23.184–92 (below n. 17). On the covering of the body in a shroud (e[nduma) and with one or more additional coverings (ejpiblhvmata), see Kurtz and Boardman 1971, 144, 200–1 (with refs. on p. 363), Garland 1985, 24–5, 32, 36 (with refs on p. 139). Artistic representations regularly show the deceased covered except for the head (Kurtz and Boardman 1971, 145, Garland 1985, 32) and the fifthcentury funerary law of Iulis (Sokolowski 1969, no. 97 A. 6–8) stipulates that the corpse should be covered except for the head during the ejkforav; but a terracotta representation of an ejkforav found at Vari in Attica and now in the National Museum in Athens (see Kurtz and Boardman 1971, pl. 16; Vermeule 1979, 18 fig. 12; Garland 1985, 33 fig. 9) has a removable shroud which covers the deceased’s entire body, while geometric scenes of both provqesi" and ejkforav frequently depict the shroud suspended over the body in a way which suggests a practice of complete covering; several scenes in tragedy also require total concealment of the corpse; see S. Aj. 915–19, 1003–4, El. 1468–75 E. Hipp. 1459–61, El. 1227–32; cf. the covering of the head of a male corpse with a woman’s kaluvptra at Christus Patiens 1470, possibly drawn from Agave’s mourning for Pentheus at the end of E. Ba. (see Dodds 1960, 58, 234). Plato, Laws 960a, would prohibit open display of the corpse in the street (cf. the Iulis inscription, A 10–11; also the Delphic funeral prescription, ibid. no. 77 C. 13–19), but it is unclear whether this entails complete concealment. The evidence suggests variation in practice not only according to place and period, but perhaps also between or within specific performances of the ritual. One might also mention here artistic depictions of deceased women whose heads are veiled in ways which exploit both wedding and funeral iconography: see Rehm 1994,

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Douglas L. Cairns 33–40 passim (with illustrations); cf. Cairns 1996b, 155 n. 38. 15 e.g. Priam’s veiling in Il. 24.159–65 is accompanied by self-defilement; the identification of mourner and deceased is underlined when Priam’s journey to ransom Hector’s body is then compared to a journey to death (24.328) and when Hermes becomes his escort. 16 Onians 1951, 421; Nagler 1974, 50–1. An excellent example is E. Or. 459–69: Or. feels aijdw'" at the approach of Tyndareus, whom he feels he has betrayed, and wishes to avoid coming face-to-face with him (460–1); he thus casts around for some ‘darkness’ (skovto", 467), some ‘cloud’ (nevfo", 468), which will conceal him from the old man’s gaze. 17 Black cloud covers deceased, Il. 23.184–92; cf. the black cloud which envelops the dying at Il. 16.350, 20.417–18, Od. 4.180; a mist (ajcluv") covers the eyes of the dying at Il. 5.696, 16.344; Od. 22.88; death itself is a garment which envelops the dying at Il. 5.68, 553, 12.116 (pace Dyer 1964, 36–7), 16.502, 855, 22.361; Hes. WD 166; cf. S. OC 1701 (w\ to;n ajei; kata; ga'" skovton eiJmevno"); ‘black night’ covers (kaluvptein) the eyes of the dying at Il. 5.310, 659, 11.356, 13.425, 14.438–9, 22.466; cf. skovto" o[sse kavluyen, Il. 4.461, 503, 526, 6.11, 13.575, 14.519, 15.578, 16.316, 325, 20.393, 471, 21.181; skovto" ei|le(n), Il. 5.47, 13.672, 16.607; cf. Clarke 1999, 241–2 (also 167–8). For the cloud of a[co" which shrouds the mourner or griever, see Il. 17.591–2, 18.22–7; Od. 24.315–19; cf. Il. 20.421 (ajcluv"). Cf. Onians 1951, 420–30; Moreux 1967, 238–40, 254–5; also the Nurse’s exclamation at E. Hipp. 250–1 (kruvptw: to; d∆ ejmo;n povte dh; qavnato" sw'ma kaluvyei…), a complaint which explicitly links the image of death as a concealing garment with Phaedra’s request to be veiled in shame only a few lines before (244–5). 18 The earth which covers the remains of the deceased is another ‘garment’ which conceals the dead and completes the separation from the world of the living; cf. (e.g.) Il. 6.464 (ajllav me teqnhw'ta cuth; kata; gai'a kaluvptoi), 14.114 (Tudevo", o}n Qhvbh/si cuth; kata; gai'a kaluvptei) with Vernant 1983, 154, Sourvinou-Inwood 1995, 123–7. For a striking example of the ‘earth’ = ‘garment’ metaphor, see Pi. N. 11.13–16: ‘but if a man has wealth and surpasses others in form, and in contests demonstrates his strength by winning, let him remember that the limbs he clothes are mortal and that the last of all garments he will put on is earth (kai; teleuta;n aJpavntwn ga'n ejpiessovmeno")’. In this respect too the mourner identifies with the deceased by covering himself with dust or dung (Il. 18.23–5, 24.164–5). (On the use of kaluvptw in Homer, cf. Dyer 1964.) 19 On veiling as an element of wedding ritual and its function as a symbol of women’s marital status, see the refs. in Cairns 1996a, 80–1, 1996b, 154–5. 20 See Deubner 1932, 78; Onians 1951, 446–50; Burkert 1983, 266–9, 1985, 286; Foley 1994, 68. Cf. H. Dem. 192–205; the ritual is parodied at Ar. Nub. 254–68. 21 This is not to deny either that veiling also contributes to the disorientation of the initiand which is a significant element of the ritual (Seaford 1996, on E. Ba. 616–37), or that it can signify the passage from ignorance to knowledge (revelation) which is central to the initiate’s transition from one status to another. 22 On the separating function of the veil, cf. Van Gennep 1960, 168 (also FrontisiDucroux 1995, 35–6, 46–7, on the veiled corpse). That this is the fundamental significance of veiling is confirmed by its acknowledgement in studies of a wide range of heterogeneous cultures whose veiling practices vary widely: see Murphy 1964; Papanek 1973; Mason 1975, 649–61, esp. 659; Mernissi 1975, 3–4, 83–7; Fischer 1978, 207–8;

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The meaning of the veil in ancient Greek culture Vieille 1978, 464; Accad 1978, 618; Sharma 1978, 218–33; Makhlouf 1979, 32–4, 38, 93; Jeffery 1979, 3–6, 100–2, 109–10, 150–9; Anderson 1982, 397–420; Abu-Lughod 1986, 77, 115–17, 152–3, 159–67. 23 See Monsacré 1984a and b; Waern 1985; Arnould 1990; Holst-Warhaft 1992, 107–8; Van Wees 1998. 24 Cf. the comparison of weeping warriors to children or widows at Il. 2.289–90. Note that in Od. 8 Odysseus weeps discreetly, so that none of the Phaeacians but Alcinous notices (532), and even Alcinous only hears his sobs – Odysseus has taken steps to ensure that his tears are not visible; cf. his earlier veiling at 83–6, 92–3 and that of Telemachus at 4.114–16, 153–4. Though weeping in itself is not regarded as effeminate in every circumstance in Homer, it is significant that weeping in inappropriate circumstances can elicit the gesture of veiling and invite comparision with female grief or distress; cf. and contrast Van Wees 1998, 14–15. 25 See, e.g., Archil. fr. 13. 10 West; S. Tr. 1071–5; E. Hel. 947–9, 991–2; discussion and further refs. in Van Wees 1998, 16–18. 26 For hiding indoors as a sign of dishonour and an analogue to veiling, cf. 190–1. See further Zeitlin 1990, 82 Wißmann 1997, 116–17. 27 Il. 9.553–7, 565–6, 574–6, 581–3; on the qavlamo" as feminine space, see Vernant 1983, 148–9. 28 See Bremer 1976, 32–6, etc.; cf. Vernant in Frontisi-Ducroux and Vernant 1997, 26. 29 See Il. 3.380–2 (Aphrodite/Paris), Il. 5.314–15 (Aeneas concealed by Aphrodite’s robe), Il. 5.344–6 (Apollo/Aeneas), 11.750–2 (Poseidon/the Molione); cf. Slatkin 1986, 7 = 1991, 41–4 = Cairns (ed.) 2001, 416. 30 Zeus complies at 17. 648–50; cf. Luther 1966, 13. That Ajax’s request amounts to a plea for the opportunity to display his excellence and win renown is recognized by the scholia (AbT) and by Longinus (9.10), quoted by Edwards 1991 on 645–7. 31 Odysseus is ‘unseen’, without honour: Od. 1.235, 241–2; concealed by Calypso in her cave: 1.13–15, 5.57, etc.; offer of immortality at the price of eternal obscurity: 5.135–6, 7.256–7, 23.335–6; cf., e.g., Crane 1988, 17–18; Vernant in Frontisi-Ducroux and Vernant 1997, 46–9. Other obstacles – the Lotus-Eaters, Circe, the Sirens – threaten Odysseus’ poetic fame with oblivion (Crane 1988, 42–4; Vernant in Frontisi-Ducroux and Vernant 1997, 11–50), but the connexion of this with the visual is clearest in the case of Calypso. 32 See Creon’s command at 1424–31; for the self-blinding as an aijdwv"-reaction, manifesting the desire to be invisible as well as sightless, see Cairns 1993, 216–19, and cf. OT 1411–12. 33 I should thus dispute Janko’s statement (1982, 163) that timavoco" in H. Dem. 268 is, in contrast with its use at H. Aphr. 31, ‘no more than a decorative epithet’. 34 On timhv as goal and motivating force in the generational conflict of the gods, see 389–404, 411–52, 488–91, 881–5, 888–900, 904. 35 See Bremer 1976, 197–204. 36 See 154–8, 459–73, 501–5, 617–28, 644–53, 658–60, 666–9, 716–31, 736–819 (Tartarus: nb 744–5, 755–7 [the house of Night/Night herself veiled in cloud]; 793–8 [divine perjurer concealed by kako;n kw'ma]; 813–19 [the Titans are hidden, the HundredHanders are freed]); 888–900; for a partial exception, see 295–305 (Echidna is concealed as part of her exclusion from Olympian society, but not dishonoured). 37 For self-concealment/concealment of one’s actions or intentions as attempt to

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Douglas L. Cairns dishonour one’s opponents or as a foil for/prelude to glory, see 173–5, 468–73, 478–84, 488–91, 505–6, 533–42, 565–75 (Pandora), 888–900. In this last passage Zeus, concerned for his own timhv, deceives and swallows Metis, dishonouring her and her potential son (a potential ruler of gods and men), but providing through concealment a foil for the glorious birth of Athena from his head (924–5; rather than from ‘the darkness of the womb’, A. Eum. 665). 38 See Bremer 1976, 236–314; noted briefly by Bultmann 1948, 10. 39 See O. 1.14–15, 3.5–6, 8.10–11, 9.98–9, 13.14–15, 14.5–7; P. 5.52–3, 6.44–6, 10.26–8; N. 1.10–13, 3.68–70, 9.30–1, 11.19–21; I. 1.64–7, 2.18, 6.60–2; cf. the Charites (one of whom is, of course, Aglaia), O. 14.13–17. On the relation between the Charites and light, see MacLachlan 1993, 52–3, 86, 115–16; on cavri" and light, cf. 33–5, 65, 98, 141, 149. For the same complex of notions expressed via favo", fevggo", lamprov", etc., see O. 4.10, 10.20–3; P. 8.95–7; N. 3.64, 83–4, 4.37–41, 8.32–4; I. 1.22, 2.12–22, 6.60–2. For the darkness of defeat see I. 4.48 (‘one must do everything to dim/darken, ajmaurw'sai, one’s opponent’). 40 O. 2 92, 6.89–92, 7.68–9, 8.2, 10.3–6, 51–5; cf. fr. 205; but poetry can also conceal truth (be inimical to ajlavqeia): see N. 7.20–7 (Homer’s Odysseus has ousted the worthier Ajax in the poetic tradition and in the popular imagination; this involved blinding [nb] the public with deceptive tales, 23–5); cf. N. 8.23–34 (as a result of such tales, Ajax’s fate has been lavqa, his brightness repressed at the expense of the ‘rotten glory of the obscure’, tw'n d∆ ajfavntwn ku'do"…saqrovn). Cf. Puelma 1989, 87–8; in general Detienne 1973, 72–8; Finkelberg 1998, 169–71; for Bacchylidean examples, cf. 3.96, 5.187–90, 8.19–21 (nb lavmpei), 9.85–7, 13.199–209 (where the ajlavqeia of praise is contrasted with the obscurity that is the fate of blame), fr. 14. On epinician ‘truth’, see Woodbury 1969; Komornicka 1972; Bremer 1976, 161, 296–314; Gerber 1982 on O. 1.28b; Maehler 1982 on Bacch. 3.96; Burnett 1985, 44–5, 57–9; Hubbard 1985, 100–6; Puelma 1989, 86–9; Ortega 1970 and Hölscher 1975 are (despite their titles) more generally conceived (and in themselves very useful) essays on Pindaric poetics. On the role of ajlhvqeia in preserving the poetic memory of praiseworthy deeds, cf. Detienne 1973, 18–27, 60. Heitsch 1962, 24–33 has a representative collection of passages in which the etymological sense of ajlhvqeia as ‘Unverborgenheit’ is explicitly activated; cf. Luther 1966, 32–5 (esp. 32–3 on the antithetical association of ajlhvqeia with words of concealing, veiling, cloaking, etc.), 90–2, 94, 118, 155–6, 172, 229; the etymology is also discussed (with greater emphasis on memory than on the visual) by Krischer 1965; Detienne 1973, 47–8, 69–72; Snell 1975. 41 For veiling as an expression of aijdwv" and a response to the ignoble, cf. P. 4.145–6: Moi'rai d∆ ajfivstant∆ [BH; ajfivstaint∆ V, Chaeris; see Braswell 1988, 229–30] ei[ ti" e[cqra pevlei | oJmogovnoi" aijdw' kaluvyai, where kaluvyai is to be taken as final after Moi'rai d∆ ajfivstant∆, not consecutive after e[cqra pevlei (pace Braswell 1988, 229; see rather Dissen 1830, 233–4, Gildersleeve 1890, 294, Greene 1944, 71.) (The interpretation of this passage offered by Ferrari 1990, 195–7, is simply impossible, resting as it does on an unparalleled use of ajfivstamai to mean ‘hinder’, ‘prevent’.) The image of the veiled or downcast head is also implicit in the use of ‘looking bright’ (o[mmati devrkomai lamprovn) and ‘not concealing the light of one’s eyes’ (mh; kruvptein favo" ojmmavtwn) to convey the notion of justified pride at N. 7. 66 (contrasted with skoteino;n yovgon in 61, mevmyetai in 64) and N. 10.40–1; cf. Parth. 1.9–10 (‘the man who has nothing [i.e. no ajrethv] hides his head beneath black silence’). For aijdwv" itself as a concealing garment, cf.

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The meaning of the veil in ancient Greek culture P. 9.12 with Ferrari 1990, 194; cf. Cairns 1996a, Ferrari 1997, 6. Since, however, aijdwv" not only shuns the dishonourable but also responds positively where honour is due, it can also be opposed to the concealment/forgetfulness which ignores a legitimate claim to honour: see O. 7.44–7 (and n. 42 below). 42 See the contrasting image of the ‘cloud of forgetfulness’ (lavqa"…nevfo") at O. 7.45 (where the affinity with veiling imagery is noted by Heidegger 1992, 79); associations such as this between memory and disclosure, forgetting and concealing in the imagery of lhvqh / ajlhvqeia render futile much of the debate on whether aj-lhvqeia is better understood as entailing the absence of concealment (lanqavnw) or of forgetfulness (lanqavnomai) (see n. 40 above). 43 For a full discussion of the passage, cf. Pfeijffer 1999, 67–8, 121–6; the relation between veiling, silence, and the disreputable is paralled in the description of the man without ajrethv in Parth. 1. 9–10 (n. 41 above). For a (less paradoxical) image of unveiling in association with ajlhqeivh, cf. the unveiling of the Heliades in Parmenides B 1 DK (wjsavmenai kravtwn a[po cersi; kaluvptra", 10) as their chariot emerges from the house of Night on its journey towards the light of Aletheie (29). See further Luther 1966, 90–2; for various views on the philosophical significance of ajlhvqeia in early Greek poetry and philosophy, see Bultmann 1948, 15–23; Heitsch 1962, 24–6, 29–31; Heitsch 1963, esp. 49–51; Krischer 1965; Luther 1966 passim; Snell 1975. The etymology of ajlhvqeia as ‘Unverborgenheit’ is repeatedly exploited in the philosophy of Martin Heidegger: see Heidegger 1962, 255–73; 1975a, 102–23; 1975b, 19–52; and esp. 1992 passim. 44 For the death of the artist caused by a symbol of his art, cf. (e.g.) Lefkowitz 1981, 72–3 (Aeschylus killed by a falling tortoise). The theatricality of the Plutarch passage is discussed in an unpublished paper by P. E. Easterling, ‘The Actor as Icon’. I am grateful to Professor Easterling for helpful discussion. 45 For veiling as a sign of defeat or cowardice, see, e.g., S. Aj. 245–7 (following Ajax’s defeat, his men must now slink away, their heads covered), 1145–6 (Menelaus’ way of calling Teucer a coward is to compare him to a storm-tossed sailor who covers his head and lets his shipmates trample him). 46 As well as the veiling and unveiling, with their implications for Demosthenes’ status as an interactant, and the direct eye-contact which re-establishes his status in the interaction (29.4), Demosthenes’ remaining seated and looking Archias directly in the face (29.3) as he rejects his overtures further emphasize the importance of non-verbal communication for the understanding of this passage and the protocols of honour and status that it exploits. 47 The link with concealment is there in this passage whether we take kata; Kuvprin kruptavn as a reference to women’s resistance to illicit sex (as I should prefer) or, as do Foley (1985, 80) and Stockert (1992, 367–8), as a reference to discreet but legitimate love-making. 48 On Pandora cf. n. 37 above; Loraux 1993, 81; Reeder 1995, 278 (and the vases discussed on 279–84); cf. Calypso (n. 31 above); on the use of clothing (the product of woman’s labour qua instrument of woman’s deceptive concealment: Penelope, Nausicaa, Medea, Clytemnestra, Deianira, etc.), see Jenkins 1985, 109–32; on female:darkness :: male:light in Greek thought in general, cf. Foley 1994, 139. 49 See, e.g., Stewart 1990, 105–6, 109–10; Blundell 1995, 92–4; Salomon 1997, 200–1. This common view is criticized by Sourvinou-Inwood 1995, 236–40, but her own version of the distinction (ibid. 246, 253–4, 266) is broadly compatible with my argument here.

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Douglas L. Cairns 50 Goffman 1967. The usefulness of Goffman’s work for the understanding of timhv is well observed by Van Wees, 1992, 69–71; cf. also Macleod 1982, 138–9, whose account of timhv as both a ‘status-role’ and its acknowledgement, though inspired by Beattie 1964, 35–6, is thoroughly compatible with Goffman. 51 On funerary/mourning ritual as a means of dealing with the disruption in social roles which death occasions, see Humphreys 1993, 160; on the deceased’s lack of social identity in the worlds of the living and the dead until funeral rites are concluded, see Garland 1985, 47; cf. in general Durkheim 1995, 400–6. 52 These statements inevitably require refinement and qualification: e.g. the notion that veiling expresses women’s cultural invisibility is complicated by the paradox that the veil, the instrument of women’s concealment, is itself regularly made conspicuous and beautiful and used to attract and manipulate, rather than to repel, the male gaze: see Il. 14.184–5 (dressing seductively, Hera, bathed in the light of cavri", 183, puts on a veil ‘as bright as the sun’; cf. Il. 3.41, Th. 573–5, discussed above); cf. the shining veils of Il. 22.406, Od. 1.334, 13.388, 16.416, 18.210, 21.65. But this is matter for another discussion.

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The meaning of the veil in ancient Greek culture Bultmann, R. 1948 ‘Zur Geschichte der Lichtsymbolik im Altertum’, Philologus 97, 1–36. Burkert, W. 1983 Homo Necans, Berkeley and Los Angeles. 1985 Greek Religion, Oxford. Burnett, A.P. 1985 The Art of Bacchylides, Cambridge, Mass. Cairns, D.L. 1993 Aidos: The psychology and ethics of honour and shame in ancient Greek literature, Oxford. 1996a ‘ “Off with her aijdwv"”: Herodotus 1.8.3–4’, CQ 46, 78–83. 1996b ‘Veiling, Aidos, and a red-figure amphora by Phintias’, JHS 116, 152–7. 2001 ‘Anger and the veil in ancient Greek culture’, G&R 48, 18–32 Cairns, D.L. (ed.) 2001 Oxford Readings in Homer’s Iliad, Oxford. Carpenter, T.H. 1991 Art and Myth in Ancient Greece, London. Clarke, M. 1999 Flesh and Spirit in the Songs of Homer: A study of words and myths, Oxford. Crane, G. 1988 Calypso: Backgrounds and conventions of the Odyssey, Frankfurt am Main. Detienne, M. 1973 Les Maîtres de vérité dans la Grèce archaïque, 2nd edn, Paris. Deubner, L. 1932 Attische Feste, Berlin. Dissen, L. 1830 Pindari carmina quae supersunt cum deperditorum fragmentis selectis ex recensione Boeckhii, vol. ii Commentarius, Gotha and Erfurt. Dodds, E.R. (ed.) 1960 Euripides: Bacchae, 2nd edn, Oxford Durkheim, E. 1995 The Elementary Forms of Religious Life, New York. Dyer, R.R. 1964 ‘The use of kaluvptw in Homer’, Glotta 42, 29–38. Edwards, M.W. 1991 The Iliad: A Commentary v, Cambridge. Ferrari, G. 1990 ‘Figures of speech: the picture of Aidos’, Métis 5, 185–204. 1997 ‘Figures in the text: metaphors and riddles in the Agamemnon’, CP 92, 1–45. Finkelberg, M. 1998 The Birth of Literary Fiction in Ancient Greece, Oxford. Fischer, M.M.J. 1978 ‘On changing the concept and position of Persian women’, in Beck and Keddie (eds.) Women in the Muslim World. Fisher, N.R.E. 1992 Hybris: A study in the values of honour and shame in ancient Greece, Warminster.

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Douglas L. Cairns Foley, H.P. 1985 Ritual Irony: Poetry and sacrifice in Euripides, Ithaca. 1994 The Homeric Hymn to Demeter, Princeton. Friis Johansen, K. 1951 The Attic Grave Reliefs of the Classical Period, Copenhagen. Frontisi-Ducroux, F. 1995 Du masque au visage: aspects de l’identité en Grèce ancienne, Paris. Frontisi-Ducroux, F. and Vernant, J-P 1997 Dans l’oeil du miroir, Paris. Garland, R. 1985 The Greek Way of Death, London. Gerber, D. 1982 Pindar’s Olympian One: A commentary, Toronto. Gildersleeve, B.L. 1890 Pindar: The Olympian and Pythian Odes, 2nd edn, New York. Goffman, E. 1967 Interaction Ritual, New York. Greene, W.C. 1944 Moira: Fate, good, and evil in Greek thought, Cambridge, Mass. Heidegger, M. 1962 Being and Time, London. 1975a Early Greek Thought, New York. 1975b Platons Lehre von der Wahrheit, 3rd edn, Bern. 1992 Parmenides, Bloomington and Indianapolis. Heitsch, E. 1962 ‘Die nicht-philosophische ajlhvqeia’, Hermes 90, 24–33. 1963 ‘Wahrheit als Erinnerung’, Hermes 91, 36–52. Hölscher, U. 1975 ‘Pindar und die Wahrheit’, in Institut für klassische Archäologie der Universität München (hrsg.), Wandlungen: Studien zur antiken und neueren Kunst Ernst Homann-Wedeking gewidmet, Waldsassen. Holst-Warhaft, G. 1992 Dangerous Voices: Women’s laments and Greek literature, London. Hubbard, T.K. 1985 The Pindaric Mind: A study of logical structure in early Greek poetry, Leiden. Humphreys, S.C. 1993 The Family, Women, and Death: Comparative studies, 2nd edn, Michigan. Janko, R. 1982 Homer, Hesiod, and the Hymns: Diachronic development in Epic diction, Cambridge. Jeffery, P. 1979 Frogs in a Well: Indian women in purdah, London. Jenkins, I. 1985 ‘The ambiguity of Greek textiles’, Arethusa 18, 109–32. Komornicka, A.M. 1972 ‘Quelques remarques sur la notion d’ ajlavqeia et de yeu'do" chez Pindare’, Eos 60, 235–53.

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The meaning of the veil in ancient Greek culture Krischer, T. 1965 “ “Etumo" und ajlhqhv" ”, Philologus 109, 161–74. Kurtz, D.C. and Boardman, J. 1971 Greek Burial Customs, London. Langlotz, E. 1961 ‘Zur Deutung der “Penelope” ’, JDAI 76, 72–99. Lefkowitz, M.R. 1981 The Lives of the Greek Poets, London. Loraux, N. 1993 The Children of Athena: Athenian ideas about citizenship and the division of the sexes, Princeton. 1998 Mothers in Mourning, Ithaca. Lullies, R. and Hirmer, M. 1960 Greek Sculpture, New York. Luther, W. 1966 Wahrheit, Licht und Erkenntnis in der griechischen Philosophie bis Demokrit, Bonn. MacLachlan, B. 1993 The Age of Grace: Charis in early Greek poetry, Princeton. Macleod, C.W. 1982 ‘Politics and the Oresteia’, JHS 102, 124–44. Maehler, H. 1982 Die Lieder des Bakchylides. 1. Teil. Die Siegeslieder vol. ii. Kommentar, Leiden. Makhlouf, C. 1979 Changing Veils: Women and modernisation in North Yemen, London. Mason, J.P. 1975 ‘Sex and symbol in the treatment of women: the marriage rite in a Libyan oasis community’, American Ethnologist 2, 649–61. Mernissi, F. 1975 Beyond the Veil: Male-female dynamics in a modern Muslim society, New York. Monsacré, H. 1984a Les Larmes d’Achille: le héros, la femme et la souffrance dans la poésie d’Homère, Paris. 1984b ‘Weeping heroes in the Iliad’, History and Anthropology 1, 57–75. Moreux, B. 1967 ‘La nuit, l’ombre, et la mort chez Homère’, Phoenix 21, 237–72. Murphy, R. 1964 ‘Social distance and the veil’, American Anthropologist 66, 1257–74. Nagler, M.N. 1974 Spontaneity and Tradition: A study in the oral art of Homer, Berkeley and Los Angeles. Onians, R.B. 1951 The Origins of European Thought about the Body, the Mind, the Soul, the World, Time, and Fate, 2nd edn, Cambridge. Ortega, A. 1970 ‘Poesia y verdad en Pindaro’, Helmántica 21, 353–72.

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Douglas L. Cairns Papanek, H. 1973 ‘Purdah: separate worlds and symbolic shelter’, Comparative Studies in Society and History 15, 289–325. Pfeijffer, I.L. 1999 Three Aeginetan Odes of Pindar: A commentary on Nemean v, Nemean iii, and Pythian viii, Leiden. Puelma, M. 1989 ‘Der Dichter und die Wahrheit in der griechischen Poetik von Homer bis Aristoteles’, MH 46, 65–100. Reeder, E.D. 1995 Pandora: Women in classical Greece, Princeton. Rehm, R. 1994 Marriage to Death: The conflation of wedding and funeral rituals in Greek Tragedy, Princeton. Richardson, N.J. 1993 The Iliad: A commentary vi, Cambridge. Salomon, N. 1997 ‘Making a world of difference: gender, asymmetry, and the Greek nude’, in A. Koloski-Ostrow and C.L. Lyons (eds.) Naked Truths: Women, sexuality, and gender in classical art and archaeology, London. Seaford, R. 1996 Euripides: Bacchae, Warminster. Sharma, U.M. 1978 ‘Women and their affines: the veil as a symbol of separation’, Man n.s. 13, 218–33. Sittl, C. 1890 Die Gebärden der Griechen und Römer, Leipzig. Slatkin, L.M. 1986 ‘The wrath of Thetis’, TAPA 116, 1–24. 1991 The Power of Thetis, Berkeley. Snell, B. 1975 “ ∆Alhvqeia ”, WJbb 1, 9–17. Sokolowski, F. 1969 Lois sacrées des cités grecques, Paris. Sourvinou-Inwood, C. 1995 ‘Reading’ Greek Death to the End of the Classical Period, Oxford. Stewart, A. 1990 Greek Sculpture: An exploration, New Haven. Stockert, W. 1992 Euripides, Iphigenie in Aulis ii, Vienna. Van Gennep, A. 1960 The Rites of Passage, London. Van Wees, H. 1998 ‘A brief history of tears: gender differentiation in archaic Greece’, in L. Foxhall and J. Salmon (eds.) When Men were Men: Masculinity, power, and identity in classical antiquity, London.

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6 INVESTING THE BARBARIAN? The Dress of Amazons in Athenian Art Ruth Veness Amazons, according to Strabo, make the skins of animals into helmets, clothing and girdles.1 Strabo is writing around the time of the birth of Christ, yet this is the first reference in literature to the dress of amazons. Their weapons and their horsemanship are mentioned in archaic and classical poetry, but it is art alone that provides a full picture of the appearance of amazons as the Greeks imagined them.2 The appearance of amazons has been important to modern discussions of them. Amazons wearing the clothing of Persians in Athenian art after 480 bc have been a significant factor in the popular view that in this period amazonomachies were used to represent the Persian wars and especially the Greek victory over the Persians.3 Amazons are, it is argued, models of effeminate, weak and degenerate foreigners, fully deserving their defeat at the hands of Greek heroes.4 This view is, I believe, mistaken. The presentation of amazons in fifth-century literature, the lack of true fit between the amazonomachy stories and the Persian wars, and other aspects of the depiction of amazons in art, all argue against such a Persian interpretation; however, the amazons’ dress independently provides sufficient guidance to the viewer. Clearly, for Greek artists, clothing could bear a powerful weight of meaning. An examination of amazon costume in Greek art both before and after 480 will show that amazonomachies had much wider appeal in fifth-century Athens than to symbolize a past victory over the Persians. Archaic amazonomachies The earliest identifiable amazons in Greek art are depicted on a terracotta votive shield from Tiryns, dating from the end of the eighth century.5 Here the amazons wear mid-length tunics, compared to the very short ones of the Greeks, and are further distinguished from their opponents by the crude but clear indication of breasts on the main amazon, and beards on the Greeks. A Corinthian alabastron of probably the late seventh century gives the amazons long belted garments, open down the side for ease of action.6 A series of bronze relief plaques from shield bands, dating from the late seventh to the mid-sixth centuries, shows a duel of Greek and amazon.7 The amazon here 95

Ruth Veness wears a shorter, knee-length, tunic, but is still clearly distinguished from her opponent, who is naked. There are further distinctions: the Greek has greaves, a cuirass, a Corinthian helmet, and Boiotian shield; the amazon has a highcrested helmet and round shield or no shield. All these pictures make clear efforts to show that Greek and amazon are different, through the different clothes they give them to wear. Further, with their breasts, longer tunics, and avoidance of nudity, the amazons are represented as clearly female. Amazons appear on Athenian painted vases after about 575 bc. These amazons are most like the type of the shield band reliefs, without long dresses or any indication of breasts. They wear short tunics, like male warriors. They are, though, still clearly marked out as women by the white paint used throughout black-figure for female skin. At this stage, amazons do not have anything like a uniform dress; the artists are still experimenting with costume to find something that best suits these women warriors. A wide variety of clothing and armour is used for both amazons and Greeks. Often Greek and amazon are differentiated one from the other in non-gendered ways, by style of helmet, or pattern of tunic, as on an amphora by the Timiades Painter (Fig. 1),8 as if to suggest that amazons and Greeks are essentially different from one another, and not only because the former are women. But overall there are very few items of dress, armour or weaponry used by amazons that are not elsewhere worn by Greeks, and vice versa. This even applies to items that might be considered particularly barbaric, such as animal skins; these too are worn by Greek warriors in art at this period, as well as by Herakles with his lion-skin. The artists seem to draw from a common pool of material for both sides, as if to indicate that

Fig. 1. Attic black-figure Tyrrhenian neck-amphora by the Timiades Painter with duels of Greeks and amazons, 570–560 bc. Boston MFA 98.916. Henry Lillie Pierce Fund. Courtesy, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

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Investing the barbarian? The dress of amazons in Athenian art after all amazons and Greeks, despite their differences, have much in common. Sometimes Greek and amazon may be portrayed in very similar ways within the same picture; a Siana cup attributed to the C Painter shows Herakles and his opponent wearing identical red tunics, each bordered with the same wave pattern,9 while a small kyathos in London shows Herakles, without his lionskin, and an amazon, both wearing identical white-spotted skirts with two bands or baldrics slung diagonally across their chests.10 Thus there is a tension or ambivalence in the depictions, which is the visual equivalent to the Homeric epithet used of amazons, ‘antianeirai’.11 This may be translated as ‘matching men’, that is, both equal to men, and opposing, fighting against, men. They are conceived of as on one level very much other than those they fight, but at the same time they are recognised as having common characteristics. The short tunics that amazons wear are also worn by certain other females, usually figures in motion, such as Atalante on the François vase (Atalante is an amazonian woman in many ways), or winged figures such as gorgons. However, other females in action-poses wear long dresses, such as Thetis wrestling with Peleus and goddesses fighting giants. The practical nature of the dress in action is thus not enough to explain its use. The significance of the short tunic is more symbolic than practical. It is men’s dress, and the wearing of men’s clothes may signal that the wearers are manlike women, creatures on the boundaries between male and female life, or in other ways abnormal. It is monstrous or marginalized figures who wear short skirts, while respectable ladies, such as goddesses, wear long skirts. So the armed warrior Athena wears a long dress, while amazons wear short ones; although there is much in common between amazons and Athena, there are also important differences, and this is one way of marking them.12 On the other hand Artemis may wear a short tunic, since she is in many ways a transitional figure, like the amazons. A few feminine aspects of the amazons’ appearance are not shared by Greeks. Sometimes they wear jewellery. Some early Attic amazons have a tunic with a patterned vertical band down the centre, as on the Timiades Painter’s amphora (Fig. 1),13 which is a common feature of women’s dress of the period, simply transferred from their long robes to the amazons’ shorter ones. Amazons most often wear the lightweight Attic helmet regularly worn by Athena; Greeks wear this less often than they do other styles.14 Greeks often fight naked, but amazons never do. By later black-figure, c. 530 onwards, the appearance of both amazons and Greeks has become more settled. Both now wear a common costume of tunic, often with breastplate, marking their similarities. At the same time, even more regularly than before, amazons wear the Attic helmet to distinguish them as different and as female. In early red-figure, however, the use of Attic and Corinthian helmets is shared out more evenly between Greeks and amazons, and without the white paint to mark a figure as female an amazon can be indistinguishable from a young Greek hoplite. This forces viewers to look more 97

Ruth Veness closely at the pictures, to study the context in order to separate the two sides. The amazons considered so far look in some ways like Greek men and in some ways like Greek women. But from almost the start, c. 570, some amazons wear a cap with a long point; they are archers using the Skythian or sigmashaped bow. A typical example can be seen on a small neck-amphora (Fig. 2).15 Male figures with such caps and bows began to appear in Athenian vasepainting at this time, and are to be identified as Skythians.16 The costume of ‘Skythian’ amazons is taken without adaptation from that of male Skythians in art; it has no separate tradition. Thus from c. 530 amazons appear in the full Skythian costume as do male Skythians.17 In red-figure, without the tell-tale white paint, it can be impossible to tell apart amazon from male Skythian.18 Some amazons also take on Thrakian elements of appearance, notably the pelta; a form of foreign dress has become part of the amazon tradition.19 The ‘Skythian’ amazons follow the lead of their male counterparts in role as well as appearance. From their first appearance, male Skythians are shown as allies of Greeks, fighting alongside Greek hoplites in battle scenes.20 So it is quite natural for the amazon ‘hoplites’ in their Greek dress likewise to gain some ‘Skythian’ allies. As in mainstream battle scenes, the foreign allies are fewer and more peripheral figures than the hoplite figures, and can sometimes appear more cowardly. In a series of later black-figure amazonomachies a peripheral amazon flees the battlefield; sometimes she is an archer with a Skythian cap (Fig. 2).21 But there are some brave foreign archers too, and cowardly ‘hoplites’.22

Fig. 2. Attic black-figure small neck-amphora of the group of Medea showing Herakles fighting amazons, c. 520 bc. New York MMA 61.11.16. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Christos Bastis Gift Fund, 1961.

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Investing the barbarian? The dress of amazons in Athenian art In summary, the way amazons are portrayed before 480 emphasizes their status both as women and as warriors. The Greek costume of amazons, with its combination of male and female elements, suggests that amazons hold a complicated position in Greek thought. They are at the same like and unlike their Greek opponents – like as warriors, and unlike as women – and also both like and unlike the women to whom their Greek opponents are wed. The picture is further complicated by some amazons’ foreign costume. Various different models of foreignness are tried out on amazons; besides Skythian and Thrakian, some other elements can be found around the turn of the century.23 This foreign dress is usually found alongside Greek dress in the same pictures. It adds to the otherness of amazons, the way in which they are unlike Greeks, but this coexists with the amazons’ likeness to Greeks. Amazons are being used to explore issues of ‘us’ and ‘them’, not only in relation to foreigners, but also in relation to the Greeks themselves and especially their wives. The amazons show that one and the same people can be both outsider and insider at the same time, both foreign and familiar. Amazonomachies and the Persian wars It is argued that after 480 bc amazons wear Persian dress because they are used to represent the Persian invaders. The acceptance of this argument has implications not only for how we believe the Athenians saw their relationships with Persians and other foreigners, but also for our views on the position of amazons in Athenian thought, and how male Athenian citizens thought of their women, and their relationships with them. However, the new elements of foreign clothing are not the only significant part of the amazons’ costume, and, in so far as they are significant at all, they need not be explained in terms of the defeat of the Persians. Foreign clothing of various kinds has been a regular part of the tradition of amazons in art almost from the start.24 After c. 490, male Skythians practically disappear from Greek art.25 It is not surprising that amazons in Skythian dress should disappear with them, nor that a different foreign dress should be brought in to fill the gap, nor that that dress should be Persian, the most familiar foreign dress of the period.26 Indeed, elements of Persian clothing began to appear in amazonomachies from about the turn of the century.27 On fifth-century vases, amazons in Persian dress are to be found more frequently than were amazons in Skythian dress in the previous century; overall the ratio of foreign to ‘Greek’ amazons changes from roughly one in four to one in two. ‘Persian’ amazons are often prominent figures, in contrast to the minor and peripheral Skythians; the main amazon on a krater attributed to the Niobid Painter stands out clearly, in her striking black-and-red lozenge patterned garments (Fig. 3).28 On a kalyx krater attributed to the Painter of the Berlin Hydria, only one out of nine amazons wears trousers, but that one is central, the only mounted amazon on the obverse, shown frontally, as if riding straight out at the viewer.29 99

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Fig. 3. Attic red-figure volute krater by the Niobid Painter showing a battle of Greeks and amazons, c. 460 bc. Naples, Mus. Naz. 2421.

The new proportion and prominence of foreign amazons, however, do not require the Persian theory for their interpretation. They are best understood by reference to what happens in all-male battle scenes. Previously, the tradition of ceramic amazonomachies was heavily influenced by the mainstream battlescene tradition of the period, with its use of Skythians as minor allies. With the disappearance of Skythians in battle scenes, the only pictures of battles involving foreigners available as models are those of Greeks fighting Persians. It would have been natural, therefore, if the vase-painters had depicted Greeks battling against amazons who are all dressed as Persians. Thus it is not the amazons in Persian clothing who require special explanation, but rather the amazons who are still clothed as Greeks. Significantly, instead of following the pattern of Persian battle scenes, as they did the scenes with Skythians, the vase-painters chose to break from their relationship with mainstream battle tradition. Rather than painting battles with all the amazons dressed as Persians, they regularly depict amazons in Greek dress and amazons in Persian dress fighting side-by-side. The Persian battle scenes are discarded as possible models for amazonomachies because of the essential difference between Persian warriors and Skythians. Where Skythians were allies fighting on the Greeks’ side, Persians only fight against Greeks. Amazonomachy artists appear to have felt a strong urge to retain the ‘Greek’ amazons as well as the ‘foreign’ ones, and indeed to keep the one alongside the other within a single picture. By challenging the model provided by Persian battle scenes, the artists have prioritized their conception of amazons as women warriors associated with Greek hoplites over their conception of them as foreigners. This alone suggests that the Persian connection is not the most important element in amazonomachy pictures. Once foreign amazons are freed from being lesser allies of their hoplite companions, they branch away from the minor or cowardly roles by which previously they had largely been constrained. Amazons in Persian dress are more 100

Investing the barbarian? The dress of amazons in Athenian art likely to be brave and heroic figures. An amazon from another of the Niobid Painter’s kraters is notable for taking the pose of the Athenian hero and tyrantslayer Harmodios.30 In their new frequency and prominence, they share the honours with their ‘Greek’ sisters in a new, more equal, style of battle between Greek and amazon. This contrasts ‘Persian’ amazons with male Persians in art, who are often shown in ways that emphasize their defeat and degradation, as on a cup by Douris, where a Greek triumphs over a Persian shown in a most ridiculous position and with a far more abject expression than any amazon.31 Although half the amazons are now shown wearing Persian dress, half of them are still wearing Greek dress, and these amazons too can take prominent roles at the centre of the action. A particularly striking example is the main amazon on the name vase of the Penthesileia Painter (Fig. 4).32 She wears a plain short peplos over a short chiton, in contrast to the dead or dying amazon, in elaborate foreign dress, lying at the edge of the field. Many other amazons mix elements of Persian and Greek dress together, in many different permutations.33 Variations include a plain Greek chiton worn with patterned trousers (Fig. 5),34 or a Persian sleeved jacket worn without trousers (Fig. 6).35 Some costume elements, such as a sleeveless zig-zag patterned tunic depicted on a lekythos by Aison,36 seem unique. Many of the costumes worn by amazons would never have been worn by any real person, Greek or foreigner.

Fig. 4. Attic red-figure cup by the Penthesileia Painter with a Greek killing an amazon, c.460 bc. Munich Antikensamml. 2688 (J 370). Courtesy, Staatliche Antikensammlungen und Glyptothek, Munich.

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Fig. 5. Attic red-figure volute krater by the Painter of the Woolly Satyrs showing a battle of Greeks and amazons, c. 460 bc. New York MMA 07.286.84.

Other new elements of costume found on vases after 480 are not foreign but feminine, emphasizing the amazons’ female bodies. They are given their own version of the new Greek anatomical corselet, complete with breasts; several occur on a krater attributed to the Painter of Bologna 279.37 Some amazons wear their chitones in such a way as to bare one breast, as on a krater attributed to the Painter of the Woolly Satyrs (Fig. 5).38 In fact, since it appears from art and inscriptions that ordinary Greek women at times wore items of Persian dress in the fifth century, even the amazons’ Persian clothing might be thought of as feminine, and marking them as like Greek women.39

Fig. 6. Attic red-figure dinos of the Polygnotan group with a battle of Greeks and amazons, c. 450 bc. London, British Museum 99.7.21.5.

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Investing the barbarian? The dress of amazons in Athenian art Setting aside vase-paintings, it is on the public monuments that we should really expect to find Persian amazons, if the Persian war interpretation is correct. The great mural paintings of amazonomachies in the Theseion and the Stoa Poikile are known to us from literature, which tells us nothing about the amazons’ clothing.40 Some vase-paintings are thought to reflect these wallpaintings in some ways, but figures who retain the same poses from vase to vase often wear very different clothing, preventing any real idea of the appearance of amazons in the murals.41 Overall they might well have worn a similar range of costumes to the amazons on vases. The Parthenon is a very different matter. There are no indications at all of amazons in Persian dress. Although the west metopes are very poorly preserved, no sleeves or trousers are to be seen. Enough remains of the first metope to show that the rider wore a chiton with no sleeves and a chlamys, while on the last metope a nude (therefore Greek) warrior confronts a figure who clearly wears a short, belted chiton: visible is the chiton’s armhole, with the bare armpit, and a bare knee and leg. Amazons are distinguished from Greeks but only in a gendered way (Greek nudity); there is nothing foreign about their appearance.42 The amazonomachy depicted on the shield of the Athena Parthenos can to some extent be reconstructed with the help of several copies or versions of it or of groups from it.43 Not one shows amazons wearing trousers or foreign caps. Only on one of the Peiraieus reliefs is there an amazon in a sleeved jacket. Otherwise, amazons wear thigh-length or knee-length chitones, sometimes with chlamydes, and sometimes boots, all of which are identical to items worn by the Greeks they fight.44 In a few cases the amazons’ chitones are loosened at one shoulder, baring one breast.45 Some Greeks are naked; no amazons are. Again then amazons are marked out as different from Greeks in that they are women, not foreigners.46 Some amazons wear Greek helmets, and carry round shields as some Greeks do.47 In some copies amazons carry peltai, but these tend to be the copies that are less close to the original in detail, and in some cases the amazon appears in another copy with a round shield.48 It is clear from the poses of the amazons, which Harrison says are better preserved throughout all the copies than are details of clothing and equipment, that they fight mainly with the traditional hoplite weapons of spear and sword.49 They do not even use bows, although two Greeks do.50 One amazon wields a single-edged axe, but one Greek wields precisely the same weapon in precisely the same manner.51 If anything, the Greeks are more brutal, more ‘barbaric’, than their opponents. Overall, the shield displays a balance between Greek and amazon. Besides the two visually identical axe-wielders, other figures and groups echo each other to express the similarities between the two sides. Two dead figures, one Greek and one amazon, lie at the bottom of the shield, while each party also has a group of a warrior helping his or her wounded companion from the battlefield.52 Both amazon and Greek can be brutal in warfare, and both sides equally can suffer death and wounding and the pain of the survivors.53 103

Ruth Veness The absence of Persian dress or barbaric behaviour on the Parthenon in particular – the building which Castriota calls a ‘Victory Monument’ to the Persian wars – must be a major blow to a Persian interpretation.54 This absence cannot be excused by the different tradition of sculpture, since trousered amazons had been depicted earlier at Temple E at Selinous,55 and especially at the Temple of Apollo Daphnephoros at Eretria.56 The Parthenon, then, differs from other depicted amazonomachies of the period, in which Persian and other foreign dress does appear; in general the effect seems to be to stress the similarity of Greek and amazon at the expense of other aspects of these complex stories. It is important to rule out the Persian theory, and not merely to concede – as many are willing to do – that amazons should be seen as women in addition to representing Persians. If the idea that amazons symbolize Persians remains prominent, that will crucially affect the way in which amazons are discussed as representing women. Women will be seen primarily as barbarians to be defeated. The Persian model may be used to illuminate women as they are represented through amazonomachies, but only as one element among many, and not more important than other elements. The main subject of amazonomachies is the obvious one: women at war with men. Arms and the woman The amazons’ use of costume identical to that of the Greeks they fight marks them as similar to, and in many ways equal to, men. This emphasizes the danger, the threat that the women might pose. It also suggests that for men this is a worthy battle, one worth the effort of fighting. At the same time the suggestion that women may be equal to men raises issues about the status of women, and their role in society. If women are equals then there are consequences for the way men treat them. The ‘Penthesileia’ cup is particularly interesting (Fig. 4).57 The traditional identification of the central amazon as Akhilleus’ victim is inspired by the perceived look of love between the amazon and her killer.58 However, aspects of the composition, and the way in which it is forced into the space of the tondo, leave open the possibility that it is adapted from one of the Athenian wall-paintings of the battle of amazons and Athenians.59 Whichever it is, there does appear to be a strong emotional connection depicted between the man and the woman; the artist is using an amazonomachy to express something about the complexity of relationships between men and women. The amazon’s Greek dress shows that it is not a confrontation between Greek and barbarian that is significant here, but one between man and woman, a woman who is both different from, and similar to, the man. Where Greek dress speaks of the danger posed by women by suggesting they are a match for Greek men, Persian dress intensifies the sense of danger. The Persian appearance of the women intimates that they are as dangerous as the men who posed the most serious recent threat to Athens. More generally, the women’s clothing suggests that danger equal to that posed by foreigners may 104

Investing the barbarian? The dress of amazons in Athenian art be caused also by ‘secret’ or ‘hidden’ foreigners, the alien within. If Greek dress marks the women as insiders, the Persian or other foreign dress marks them as outsiders, as alien. Costumes made of combined Greek and Persian dress compound the effect of finding the two separate costumes together in a single picture; this expresses the problem of distinguishing insiders from outsiders, and the impossibility of confining women under any single label. The use of costume unique to amazons takes it a step further, by suggesting that in some respects none of the pre-existing labels are suitable for women. Amazons and women are marked out as something never seen before, requiring a closer look. The shock of the immediate juxtaposition of the familiar Greek male dress with the female body drives home the essential difference between them as well as the similarities. The jewellery and feminine aspects of amazon dress emphasize that though they fight, the amazons are women. This combined with the Greek dress (and the feminine elements of dress are primarily adaptations of Greek not foreign dress) marks the amazons as Greek women, as Greek wives. The bared breasts of the amazons are one of the most complex aspects of their appearance, containing several possible layers of meaning. Beth Cohen suggests that the meaning of a bared breast depends upon whether it is bared deliberately, even provocatively, by the woman herself, or whether it is bared through the actions of another upon the woman’s body.60 However, it is not always clear that such neat distinctions can be made, especially in the case of the complex amazons. The bared breast can express vulnerability. It can also express power; once again amazons may be seen as equals of men, who are regularly allowed to expose naked flesh. A Greek wearing his chiton fastened only on one shoulder, ‘baring a breast’, can be seen on the Niobid Painter’s krater (Fig. 3).61 There are potential resonances with the images of supplicating mothers, and of seducing wives such as Helen. That the baring of breasts is not appropriate for respectable Athenian wives does not mean that amazons are not associated with Greek wives, but rather that Greek wives may not be what they appear on the surface – the outsider inside, the alien within. Athenian thinking about amazons as expressed in art is really thinking about women – women in general, and therefore especially the women in whom the Athenians are really interested: their wives, the mothers of their sons. Tyrrell has suggested that amazons represent parthenoi and their counterparts the ephebes, and that the message of the amazon myth is that parthenoi must be made safe through marriage.62 But amazons are not ephebes. They do not hunt, rather they arm for battle and engage in it; their bows are weapons of war not of the chase. They have moved past the ephebe stage; they are a hoplite army fighting another hoplite army in war. They should be seen, then, as the female counterpart of the hoplite, the wife and mother. Their visual similarity with Athena, another hoplite armed female, may support this; while Athena is parthenos, she also has a mythical existence as pseudo-wife and pseudo-mother of the Athenian nation, through the story of her attempted rape by Hephaistos and the birth of Erikhthonios. 105

Ruth Veness This conclusion is supported by the literary references to amazons in fifthcentury Athens. In literature the amazons’ status as unmarried and manless parthenoi is clear, but the main emphasis is the same as that in art: amazons as man-hating, as fighting men. Furthermore, marrying an amazon does not make her safe: Theseus’ attempt to do so resulted first in the danger of the amazon attack on Athens (depicted in art), and ultimately in the death of his and the amazon’s son (dramatized in Hippolytos). Elsewhere in tragedy, amazons are associated with Klytaimestra, the Danaides, Phaidra and even Kreousa, all destructive wives or wives-to-be. These women are not all characterized as evil, and there is a shading between Klytaimestra on the one hand and the sympathetic Kreousa on the other; the implication is not that amazons or women are malevolent, but rather that they are dangerous and destructive, regardless of their intentions. This is the effect of the artistic amazonomachies, with their evenly-matched battles poised on the point of danger, with their clothing of amazons in Greek dress, foreign dress, masculine dress, and feminine dress, characterizing amazon women as both insider and outsider, the hidden threat of destruction from within. This is the danger in the very heart of the city, in the house, not at the edges where Tyrrell’s parthenos-ephebe is to be found, not yet fully integrated into the community. The real danger is from the woman who has been integrated, taken into the household. You must marry the amazon, the woman, but she remains an amazon, remains a danger. Notes Strabo 11.5.1. Amazons use the bow in Pindar Nem. 3.38 and Aiskhylos Suppliants 287–9, and ride horses in Pindar Ol. 8.47 and Euripides Hippolytos 307, 582. 3 ‘The myth of the defeat of the Amazons…was seen, especially by the Athenians, as the mythical prefiguration of the Persian wars’ (Hall 1993, 114). ‘There seems little doubt that fighting Amazons was equated with fighting Persians in the minds of fifth-century Greeks, and particularly in the minds of Athenians’ (Boardman 1982, 5). ‘Representations of battles between…Greeks and Amazons were understood by fifth-century Athenians as symbolic of the Persian wars’ (Harrison 1966, 127). ‘After the wars…invading Persians from the East were equated with Amazons’ (Tyrrell 1984, 5). These are just a few of the more recent manifestations of this view. 4 The fullest recent expression of this view can be found in Castriota, 1992, 43–58, 82–5, 143–51. 5 Nauplio Museum 4509; Bothmer 1.1; LIMC ‘Amazones’ 168. References are to items in Bothmer 1957, by chapter and catalogue number, and to the Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae entry ‘Amazones’, by catalogue number. Refer to these for full details. 6 Now lost; Bothmer 1.4; LIMC ‘Amazones’ 1. 7 Bothmer 1.5–13; LIMC ‘Amazones’ 170–4. 8 Boston Mus. of Fine Art 98.916; Bothmer 2.8; LIMC ‘Amazones’ 9. 9 New York Metr. Mus. 12.234.1; Bothmer 2.27; LIMC ‘Amazones’ 17. 1 2

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Investing the barbarian? The dress of amazons in Athenian art 10 London British Mus. B 463; Bothmer 3.80; LIMC ‘Amazones’ 76. The coincidences in some depictions may well be unconscious on the part of the artist; they tend to be found on the smaller or poorer quality vases, as if detailed differentiation of Greek from amazon was seen as a luxury rather than a necessity. 11 Hom. Il. 3.189; 6.186. 12 The visual similarities and differences are both brought out on a hydria of c. 530, which has a rare example of Athena attending an amazonomachy: Paris Louvre F 300; Bothmer 3.310; LIMC ‘Amazones’ 49. That Athena, who regularly supports Herakles in depictions of other endeavours of his, so infrequently appears in amazonomachies may indicate artists’ awareness of, and uneasiness with, the similarities between these women warriors and their own city goddess. On the subject of similarities between Athena and amazons, see Deacy 1997. 13 See note 8. 14 Jenifer Neils has suggested to me that the Attic helmet is not a ‘real’ piece of armour, but was created especially for Athena, to display her face. As such, it might be called the closest thing to ‘feminine’ armour. 15 New York Metr. Mus. 61.11.16; LIMC ‘Amazones’ 51. 16 On Skythians in Athenian vase-painting, see Vos 1963. 17 Among many examples is the reverse of the well-known ‘Kroisos vase’ attributed to Myson: Paris Louvre G 197; Bothmer 8.9; LIMC ‘Antiope II’ 10. 18 The identity of some lone figures as Skythian or amazon is still under debate; for instance Paris Louvre G 106, Vos’ no. 263, which is listed in Bothmer (9. 37) as an amazon. Vos (1963, 26) says, ‘it is doubtful, to say the least, whether Amazons are meant’. 19 See Shapiro 1983. Shapiro tries to separate ‘Thracian Amazons’ and ‘Scythian Amazons’, but this is not really possible, and he himself notes the ‘conflation of two (or more) races which many Amazon vases share’. (Shapiro 1983, 107, and cf. 111.) 20 This role of male Skythians gives one reason to doubt Shapiro’s suggestion that Skythian amazons serve to recall hostilities between Skythians and Greek settlers around the Black Sea (Shapiro 1983, 113) – along with the fact that such hostilities are unrecorded and must remain mere speculation. 21 See note 15. 22 Of the fleeing amazons in this composition, more are dressed as Greek hoplites than as Skythian archers. ‘Contrast with these [cowardly amazons]’, says Bothmer (1957, 51), ‘the courageous archer on the Philadelphia neck-amphora who in spite of her lighter armour (pelta and cap) has moved in to protect the queen’: Philadelphia University Mus. 1752; Bothmer 3.110; LIMC ‘Amazones’ 41. 23 On other elements of foreign costume, see Shapiro 1983, 113–14. 24 The Skythian and Thrakian elements of dress worn by amazons have generally excited no desire to explain them in terms of wars between Athenians and these peoples; an exception is Shapiro (1983), whose attempt is inspired by a belief in the Persian interpretation of fifth-century amazonomachies. This is an interesting attempt to deal with the discrepancy between modern attitudes to the post- and the pre-480 amazonomachies, but fails to produce conviction about even the reality of some of the battles suggested. 25 See Vos 1963, 81: ‘After 490 one has to search thoroughly to find any [vases with Skythians] at all.’ 26 The dress itself may to some extent explain its own popularity. On early red-figure amazonomachies Shapiro (1983, 113) comments ‘to some extent innovations in Amazon dress have less to do with strict chronology than with the new decorative possibilities

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Ruth Veness offered by the invention of the new technique’. It is easy to imagine that the richly decorated Persian dress would have appealed to artists well able to delineate its complexities in red-figure. 27 See Shapiro 1983, 114. 28 Naples Mus. Naz. 2421; Bothmer 10.6; LIMC ‘Amazones’ 298. 29 New York Metr. Mus. 07.286.86; Bothmer 10.2; LIMC ‘Amazones’ 296. 30 Palermo Mus. Naz. G 1283; Bothmer 10.5; LIMC ‘Amazones’ 297. There is another example on the Naples vase (note 28). 31 Paris Louvre G 117. 32 Munich Antikensamml. 2688 (J 370); Bothmer 9.30; LIMC ‘Amazones’ 178. 33 This is something different from the many archaic amazon archers in Skythian caps and Greek tunics, since the use of the cap alone is an established iconographical marker for Skythians in this period. Shapiro (1983, 107 and 111) has commented on the conflation of two or more races suggested by amazon costumes in the sixth century. From the beginning of red-figure onwards the variety of different pieces of costume, sometimes combined together, begins to increase. However it is nothing like as marked as the mass permutations observable in the post-480 depictions. 34 New York Metr. Mus. 07.286.84; Bothmer 10.7; LIMC ‘Amazones’ 295 (for another example see note 29). 35 London British Mus. 99.7.21.5; LIMC ‘Amazones’ 233. Other combinations include: Persian dress with Greek helmet on the Naples vase (note 28 and Fig. 2) and Greek chiton with Persian cap on the New York vase (note 34 and Fig. 5). 36 Naples Mus. Naz. RC 239; LIMC ‘Amazones’ 243. 37 Basel Antikensamml. and Samml. Ludwig BS 4860; LIMC ‘Amazones’ 302. 38 See note 34. 39 See Miller 1997, 153–87 on the use by Athenian women of items of Persian dress. 40 Paus. 1.15.1–3, 1.17.2; Arr. An. 7.13.10; Plut. Kimon 4.6–7; Aristoph. Lys. 678 with sch. 41 Barron 1972 gives a comprehensive study of the relationship between the vases and wall-painting. 42 In the old debate over whether the metopes depict Persians or amazons, the lack of Persian dress should be a deciding factor. Yet, even though supporting the identification as an amazonomachy, Boardman (1985, 104) describes the amazons as wearing ‘oriental tunics and hats’, whatever that is supposed to mean; compare his description of them elsewhere as ‘orientals’ three times in a single paragraph (1982, 18). I can see nothing that looks more like the long flaps of a cap than like long hair. 43 See Harrison 1966 and 1981; LIMC ‘Amazones’ 246. 44 Chitones in all copies. Chlamydes in the good Patras copy and some of the neo-Attic reliefs, and apparently the Lenormant shield. Boots on Greeks and amazons in Patras shield. 45 There are a greater number of bared breasts in the Strangford and Vatican copies, which seem to preserve the details of costume and equipment less well. The close copies of groups from the shield on neo-Attic reliefs from the Peiraieus and elsewhere, suggest that the original showed some amazons with bared breasts. 46 Boardman (1982, 21) describes the amazons of the shield as ‘barely oriental [my emphasis]’, (since the shield has ‘innovations…at least in dress’, despite the fact that amazons in Greek clothing have a longer tradition than do those in oriental clothing), but really there is nothing oriental about them at all.

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Investing the barbarian? The dress of amazons in Athenian art 47 Round shields and helmets in nearly every copy of appropriate size, except the Vatican shield segment. Some copies have amazons only using round shields, including the Patras and Lenormant copies. 48 The Vatican segment seems to have substituted peltai for round shields throughout, along with adding bared breasts to more amazons. This copy seems to reflect well the composition of the original, but these are easy changes to make without altering the picture as a whole, and maybe the copyist has added or increased in number these amazon ‘markers’. Similarly, the Strangford shield, which also has bared breasts where other versions do not, has two peltai as well as round shields; one pelta, in the ‘death-leap’ group, is a round shield in a Peiraieus relief and in the better Patras shield, the other pelta is given to an amazon who has no shield in the Patras version, nor should have since she is using that hand to climb a cliff. 49 Harrison 1981, 293. An amazon has a sword and scabbard on the Patras shield. 50 A Greek clearly posed as an archer on two Peiraieus reliefs, and another probable Greek archer on the Patras and Strangford copies. The Aphrodisias sarcophagus puts a small composite bow in the hand of the dead amazon. The Patras shield has a shape which might be interpreted as part of a bow. The Lenormant shield has a quiver in the field. But no bows are used by amazons, and no poses appropriate for shooting may be seen. 51 Amazon with axe on Vatican shield segment; Greek with axe on Conservatori shield segment. 52 Dead Greek and amazon: most copies only show one dead figure, but Harrison (1981, 290) takes the two dead figures of the detailed Aphrodisias sarcophagus to be convincing reflections of the original, although before this had come to light she had thought a reconstruction with both ‘gives us two fallen figures too much alike in pose to belong to a successful composition’ (1966, 121). If such a subjective judgement can bear any weight, it might be said that the artist was more concerned to express the similarities between Greeks and amazons than he was with his composition. Helper groups: an amazon helper group is only attested on the Lenormant shield, and has been considered an adaptation or misunderstanding of the Greek helper group or the knifing group (Harrison 1966, 119). After the Aphrodisias sarcophagus’ evidence of two dead figures, Harrison (1981, 290) concluded that the amazon helper group should be accepted. 53 Harrison, believing that the shield symbolizes the Persian wars, nonetheless says it shows a ‘mass of struggling and suffering humanity’ (1981, 317) and ‘the disparagement of military enterprises’ (1981, 311). These observations do not seem compatible with the Persian interpretation, any more than does the balance, even equality, between Greek and amazon observable here. 54 Castriota 1992, 134. 55 Temple E at Selinous, c. 470 bc: Bothmer 7.4; LIMC ‘Amazones’ 96. 56 Temple of Apollo Daphnephoros at Eretria, c. 510–500 bc. Bothmer 8.1; LIMC ‘Antiope II’ 2. Boardman (1982, 9 and note 29) suggests an Athenophile political interpretation for the choice of subject on this monument. 57 See note 32. 58 This may be doubted; it is not clear that a story of Akhilleus falling in love with Penthesileia was known in fifth-century Athens. Indeed, the detailed construction of an emotional and romantic episode drawn out of a martial epic would be very much in character for hellenistic storytellers. The summary of the Aithiopis relates only that Akhilleus was accused of having fallen in love with Penthesileia, not that he actually did so.

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Ruth Veness 59 Barron (1972, 36 n. 116) says it ‘may well reflect the Athenian Amazonomachy rather than Achilles and Penthesilea’. 60 Cohen 1997. 61 See note 28. 62 Tyrrell 1984.

Bibliography Barron, J.P. 1972 ‘New light on old walls: the murals of the Theseion’, JHS 92, 20–45. Blok J.H. 1994 The Early Amazons: Modern and ancient perspectives on a persistent myth, Leiden. Boardman, J. 1982 ‘Herakles, Theseus and Amazons’, in D. Kurtz and B. Sparkes (eds.) The Eye of Greece: Studies in the art of Athens, Cambridge. 1985 Greek Sculpture: The classical period, London. Bothmer, D. von 1957 Amazons in Greek Art, Oxford. Castriota, D. 1992 Myth, Ethos and Actuality: Official art in fifth-century bc Athens, Wisconsin. Cohen, B. 1997 ‘Divesting the female breast of clothes in classical sculpture’, in A.O. KolowskiOstrow and C.L. Lyons (eds.) Naked Truths: Women, sexuality and gender in classical art and archaeology, London and New York. Deacy, S. 1997 ‘Athena and the Amazons: mortal and immortal femininity in Greek myth’, in A.B. Lloyd (ed.) What is a God? Studies in the nature of Greek divinity, London. Hall, E. 1993 ‘Asia unmanned: images of victory in classical Athens’, in J. Rich and G. Shipley (eds.) War and Society in the Greek World, London. Harrison, E.B. 1966 ‘The composition of the Amazonomachy on the shield of Athena Parthenos’, Hesperia 35, 107–33. 1981 ‘Motifs of the city-siege on the shield of Athena Parthenos’, AJA 85, 281–317. Miller, M.C. 1997 Athens and Persia in the Fifth Century bc: A study in cultural receptivity, Cambridge. Shapiro, H.A. 1983 ‘Amazons, Thracians, and Scythians’, GRBS 24, 105–14. Tyrrell, W.B. 1984 Amazons: A study in Athenian mythmaking, Baltimore and London. Vos, M.F. 1963 Scythian Archers in Archaic Attic Vase-Painting, Archaeologica Traiectina 6, Groningen.

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7 LEVELS OF CONCEALMENT: The Dress of Hetairai and Pornai in Greek Texts Andrew Dalby The defining of people (by law and otherwise) Let us begin with the meaning of the terms porne and hetaira, and some words that overlap with these, in Greek texts. It may seem illogical, but it will be helpful, to approach the distinction between hetaira and porne with the help of a text in another language – Plautus’ play Pseudolus, based on Greek comedy but translated or adapted into Latin in the early second century bc. At line 179 of this play the entrepreneur Ballio threatens his girls that if they fail to get plenty of presents from their admirers today, he will send them out as streetwalkers tomorrow, Cras poplo prostituam vos. How close this scene may be to a Greek original we do not know, but it appears to match classical Athenian better than early Roman social life. Ballio’s girls are hetairai – they prey on one or more long term admirers; he threatens to demote them to pornai (‘common prostitutes’). We are told, in Greek sources, of Athenian businesses that resembled Ballio’s: in the speech Against Neaera, for example, several of the households in which Neaera is said to have lived successively conformed to this general pattern. We hear of no classical Roman businesses that operated thus. The distinction between the terms hetaira and porne is seldom so clearly set out as it is here in Plautus’ scene. This scene also explains why the two terms so often function as synonyms: that can be no surprise, if it was imaginable that one might move, or be pushed, from the one category to the other within a day. There are other terms again, denoting entertainers, that sometimes appear interchangeable with these two. The auletris (‘flute girl’) and orchestris (‘dancing girl’) had their own special skills, but their performances at private parties included the services that were also offered by pornai. Both of them could be regarded as, and are occasionally described as, pornai, even if some might think the term out of place. It is used as synonymous with orchestris in the Attic Dinner of Matron: ‘And whores came in, two acrobatic maidens, driven in by Stratocles like fleet-footed birds.’ This parodic text, largely a Homeric cento, is not notable for careful use of vocabulary: but the same terminology, in a text of similar date, is used by a tasteless host, as characterized by Theophrastus, 111

Andrew Dalby saying encouragingly over the drinks that the entertainment of his guests has been arranged for, and that if they say the word the boy will go and get her from the whoremonger’s: ‘then we can all have some music and some fun with her’ (Theophrastus, Characters 20.10). Part of his tastelessness, though not all of it, consists in equating the entertainment he nearly offers with prostitution. In later centuries, actresses are similarly equated with prostitutes. Deikteriades (‘showgirls’) and mimades (‘mime actresses’), who performed mimes, dances or ballets that were by all accounts erotic, were classed legally as pornai or prostitutae. In the law of the Roman Empire, in fact, actors of both sexes were considered prostituti, because ‘it is by an immoral arrangement that they give away control of their bodies’: so Cassiodorus explains the matter (Variae 7.10) to a newly appointed Tribunus voluptatum (‘Lord Chamberlain’) of the late fifth century. He adds, with an eye on the women, ‘you are placed in control of prostitutae: be careful to be chaste yourself ’. Mimades were a feature of Roman and Byzantine Greece, but the profession possibly dates back to hellenistic times if, as it seems, the first and only mention of a deikterias is to be attributed to Polybius: ‘Myrtion was one of the most notorious and common deikteriades’ (Athenaeus 576f, apparently from Polybius 14.11.2–5). The first known mimas is in a text by Aelian (fragment 123), two later ones occurring in the title of a Byzantine poem (AP 9.139) ascribed to Claudianus, and in the scandalous Secret History of Procopius, in which the future empress Theodora’s juvenile career as actress and prostitute is described in loving detail. Now to the question of how hetairai may be recognized by their dress. We may begin with some modern texts. Naked women on Athenian vase paintings, whether or not engaged in sexual acts, are usually described in modern captions as hetairai. Most readers are well aware that this is shorthand, and somewhat inaccurate shorthand at that. The obvious objection to it is that by giving such a label we are claiming to know the artist’s intention in creating the scene, and in depicting a particular character in the scene, more fully than we usually do know it. As one example from many possible ones, let me take a well known water jug of 440–430 bc in the British Museum with what might be called a ‘genre painting’ of a big washbasin, a duck standing in or on it, and two people wearing nothing but a garter each standing on either side; and, from a recent (and good) historical monograph, the caption ‘Two hetairai at their toilette’. Hetairai, of course, because they are naked: but this may not be a helpful way to proceed, any more than it would be helpful to say of a nineteenthcentury nude photograph that the subject of it is a prostitute.1 The present paper – which, in focusing on a verbal medium, evades the risks that those who write captions for works of art must necessarily take – raises a different objection to the shorthand linking of hetairai with artistic nudity. A correlation between hetairai and clothing emerges very clearly from the ancient Greek texts, and it is precisely the opposite of the one assumed in such captions as these. Hetairai, in the texts, wear more and finer clothes than other women. 112

Levels of concealment: the dress of hetairai and pornai in Greek texts We can already begin to grasp this from the laws of certain ancient Greek cities. Three examples, preserved in literary sources, will be quoted here,2 beginning with the southern Italian city of Locri Epizephyrii and its semilegendary lawgiver: Zaleucus put a stop to the wayward behaviour of licentious women by means of a cunning plan. He legislated as follows. A free woman may not be accompanied by more than one female slave, unless she is drunk. She may not leave the city during the night, unless she is committing adultery. She may not wear khrysia [gold ornaments] or esthes paryphasmene [a garment with a border], unless she is a hetaira. A man may not wear a ring made partly of gold or a dress that is isomilesion [comparable with Milesian wear], unless he is prostituting himself or committing adultery. Naturally no one wanted to earn these imputations, so Zaleucus easily dissuaded people from misbehaving without the unpleasantness of penalties. Diodorus Siculus, Historical Library 12.21.

Beside this let us set a law of Syracuse, as reported by Phylarchus and cited by Athenaeus: Among the Syracusans there was a law that a woman should not wear khrysous [gold jewellery] or anthina [flowery dress] or have clothes with purple paryphai [borders] unless she accepted the name of a public hetaira, and another law that a man should not get himself up or adopt a fancy and conspicuous mode of dress unless he confessed to being an adulterer or a kinaidos [passive homosexual], and a free woman was not to go out after sunset unless she was committing adultery. She was even forbidden to go out during the day except under certain conditions…’ Phylarchus (Athenaeus 521b).

Eustathius gives a second version of this Syracusan law, but it is surely drawn unacknowledged from Athenaeus, one of Eustathius’ favourite sources. He uses it in the course of his comment on the Homeric formula khryseei Aphroditei (‘to golden Aphrodite’: Commentary on the Iliad 19.282). Thirdly, for a Spartan law, let us quote Clement of Alexandria: ‘I like old Sparta, which permitted only hetairai to wear anthinai esthetes [flowery dresses] and khrysous kosmos [gold ornament], thus forbidding finery to respectable women and allowing it only tais hetairousais [which we must surely translate ‘to those in the escort business’]’ (Clement of Alexandria, Educator 2.10 bis.105). It need occasion no surprise, assuming these three fairly late sources have it right, that the great lawgiver Zaleucus laid down for the Locrians exactly the same law that is reported from Syracuse, nor that something very similar is reported from Sparta. In just the same way, in other cases, the legendary Lycurgus’ law code for Sparta showed many similarities with laws reported from Cretan cities. Ideas such as these were in Greek minds at the time when laws were becoming more formalized and were, on one occasion or another, first written down. The laws on women’s clothing are scarcely laws in our sense at all. To take a parallel example: in both Rhodes and Byzantium, according to the third113

Andrew Dalby century writer Chrysippus of Soli, it was against the law for men to shave. Athenaeus, in the course of citing Chrysippus on this point, interweaves a quotation from the comic playwright Alexis, which, while its logic is just like that of the laws of Locri and Syracuse, is not a law at all but the everyday opinion of the streets of Athens: If you see a man with his hair waxed or shaved, it’s one of two things: either he’s ‘cruising’ and planning to do all the things that don’t go with a beard, or he’s fallen into the misfortune of being too rich. What harm does our hair do us, by the gods? It is what shows each one of us to be a man. Alexis (Athenaeus 565b).

In both Rhodes and Byzantium (so we learn as Athenaeus returns to his citation of Chrysippus) the law had become a dead letter: in Rhodes, at least, this had happened after Alexander the Great, by shaving and being a world conqueror, changed the fashion in men’s appearance (Athenaeus 565a–c). So it was with women’s dress. When it mattered for their reputation whether women wore showy dress, then, if they wished to be considered respectable, they did not wear showy dress. The law, as formulated, stated public opinion; if public opinion changed, the law became a dead letter. In Greek views such as are expressed in these laws, hetairai are the women who are dressed better, more visibly, more expensively, more showily than other women. In such Greek views dress mattered to hetairai: they needed to catch the eye, whether other women needed to or not. But we now go on to investigate whether other types of source confirm that there was a general view on the dress of hetairai such as we have derived from the laws. This paper, while focusing on Greece, and particularly Athens, of around the fourth century bc, will draw evidence from other times and places that appears to sharpen or to clarify the picture. In Aristophanes’ Ecclesiazusae (877–929) there is a scene in which two or three old women, and a young one, are hoping to catch men’s eyes, under the new dispensation established in the Ecclesiazusae, which, very briefly set out, is that women rule the world, and have determined that men must from now on satisfy the old women before being allowed to make love to the young ones. This being the case, why does the First Old Woman, as the scene begins, tell the audience that she has plastered her face with psimythion (‘white lead, lead carbonate’) and ankhousa (‘alkanet’) and is dressed krokoton (‘in saffron’)? It is not because she needs to attract the young men: she has the prior right to them, under the new dispensation, whether they are attracted to her or not. The point is obvious enough: she must make it clear to the audience that she has spent time on her appearance, ridiculous as it no doubt is, simply because that is what hetairai did, with results, in terms of dress and make-up, such as she now displays. Why, in a pivotal scene in Plautus’s Mostellaria (157–293), as we watch Philematium preparing for a meeting with her doting young man, do we learn 114

Levels of concealment: the dress of hetairai and pornai in Greek texts that she is anxious about her dress and her hair, and wants a mirror? Why are we told, in considerable detail, that she applies to her face cerussa (‘white lead’) and purpurissum (‘chalk dyed with shellfish purple’), while being advised against eye shadow of melinum (‘grey alum from Melos’)? It is not because, on his arrival, he will mind about the detail of her appearance, or remark on the subject at all. It is because she is a hetaira, and this scene introduces her and classifies her as such. The maid Scapha drives home, for the audience, the point that Philematium is in the business of making money by meeting men: because she has been holding the mirror Scapha reminds her, at the end of her preparations, to wipe her hands, in case her lover, noticing the smell of bronze, may think she has been handling cash. The laws quoted above all specify, in closely similar ways, fancy clothes and ‘gold’. These two features recur continually in references to the appearance of hetairai in the comedies. Examples from Greek texts will follow. Meanwhile we return to Ballio, the brothel-keeper in Plautus’s Pseudolus (182), who sums the matter up when he asks one of his girls rhetorically, ‘Why do I provide you with vestis, aurum and everything you need?’ Those are the most obvious things she needs, not in Roman terms (in Rome the combination of ‘clothes and gold’ had no special resonance and the gold might well seem an unnecessary investment) but in Greek terms. Plautus worked in a Greek tradition and he is, at this point, translating his source or its underlying thought literally: in vestis, aurum (‘dress, gold’) he gives us a reasonable equivalent of the phrase himatia kai khrysea. This Greek phrase, ‘dresses and gold [ornaments]’, is the standard statement of the two accoutrements of a hetaira. In the history of Neaera, as retailed by an enemy, we hear that after a contretemps with her lover Phrynio she packed up the himatia and khrysia that Phrynio had given her and decamped to Megara. In due course Phrynio attempted to recover his property through arbitration: and the arbitrator awarded the ‘dresses and gold ornaments’ to Neaera (Against Neaera 35, 46). Of another member of the profession, by way of a fourthcentury source quoted by Athenaeus, we learn that ‘Nannion was nicknamed Proskenion [Front-of-stage] because although she had a pretty face and wore khrysea and expensive himatia, she was very ugly when she stripped’ (Antiphanes, On Hetairai (Athenaeus 587b) ). Approaches to transparency We begin to define the typical dress of hetairai more closely by looking, once again, at a law: the law attributed to the city of Lepreae that adulteresses should be exposed in transparent dress in the market-place for eleven days (Heracleides Ponticus, Constitutions 14). Let me hypothesize – corroborative evidence will appear – that the purpose at which this law aims is to shame offenders by labelling them hetairai.

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Andrew Dalby How were clothes made so as to be transparent, or relatively so? There are of course several possible ways, but the texts give us two particular kinds of transparent dress evidently known in classical Greece. One of these is tarantina or tarantinidia, the name apparently denoting semi-transparent golden-tinted scarves that were woven from the byssus or ‘wool’ of the pinna, the shellfish Pinna nobilis; it would seem, though no source tells us so, that they were so named because they were made in Tarentum. There is no room for doubt that cloth actually can be woven from the byssus of the pinna. D’Arcy Thompson, in his Glossary of Greek Fishes, avers that the manufacture lingered on in Taranto even down to his own time. For surviving examples from ancient and medieval times see now Felicitas Maeder’s article ‘Muschelseide: gesponnenes Gold’. The classical literary evidence for tarantina is not copious. In Menander’s Arbitrators (489) Pamphile, focus of the plot, had been enticed away and raped while taking part in the Tauropolia, an all-night festival, and was seen returning to the dancing ring with her tarantinon torn.3 In investigating a second kind of transparent garment we must begin with the term ampekhone for a veil, and with the phrase trikhaptos ampekhone used by the comic playwright Pherecrates, who here describes a dream scene in Paradise. ‘Girls in ampekhonai trikhaptoi, just coming into bloom, their rhoda [roses, i.e. pubic hair] clipped, drew off through a funnel full cups of anthosmias black wine for those who wished to drink; and when any of us had eaten or drunk, the cups filled again twice as full as before’ (Pherecrates fragment 108 (Athenaeus 269b) ).4 The girls’ garments are – in the speaker’s imagination – revealing enough for him to see their rhoda: so what are these ampekhonai trikhaptoi that they are wearing? Trikhaptos, to Pherecrates, is an adjective qualifying ampekhone. The Byzantine lexicographer Photius, our only informant, glosses trikhaptos with the noun phrase bombykinon hyphasma (‘a wild silk veil’), and the fact that he does so may suggest that this line of Pherecrates is the single occurrence of trikhaptos that the lexicographers had to work with. Now it is proper to ask whether Photius knew its meaning or was guessing, and we have no answer. Our only alternative approach to the meaning of trikhaptos would be the etymological one: literally it means ‘woven in hair’, and that could, for all we know, have been the idea in Pherecrates’ mind. On the other hand, if Photius is right, Pherecrates’ text – about 400 bc – gives us one of the first two historical mentions of wild silk, and about 400 bc would be the right date, because, to our next informant on the subject, in the second half of the fourth century, Coan wild silk was something familiar and with a known history. After describing the life history of a moth that was found on the island of Cos, Aristotle adds: ‘Certain women unwind the cocoons of these creatures, and afterwards weave a fabric with the threads. A Coan, Pamphila daughter of Plateus, is credited with this invention’ (Aristotle, Study of Animals 551b13).5 It seems likely that the silk moth of Cos was Lasiocampa otus, a large European moth that weaves a silky cocoon.6 Not very far from Cos, the island of 116

Levels of concealment: the dress of hetairai and pornai in Greek texts Amorgos possibly shared in the manufacture in the very earliest period: in Aristophanes’ Lysistrata (150–1) the heroine pictures her co-conspirators ‘nude in Amorgine shifts’ – and with their pubic hair neatly trimmed – driving their husbands wild with frustrated desire.7 The Digest of Justinian is the first ancient text that actually sets Serica (‘the Chinese fabric, i.e. true silk’) and bombycina (‘wild silk’) side by side. About that same date the business conducted by the ladies of Cos finally ceased to be of interest, because the Chinese silk moth was naturalized in Europe in the sixth century ad and true silk became much easier to get. Meanwhile, throughout classical times, Coa vestis or bombycina vestis (‘a dress of Coan silk’) – perhaps it would be a tenue pallium (‘thin shift’) – was notable as a most sensuous and revealing garment for a beautiful woman.8 ‘In her Coan silk you can see her as well as if she were naked’, Horace bluntly advises (Satires 1.2.101), talking of the evaluation of a prostitute. As for Chinese silk, Seneca convinces us that he would have preferred not to look at young women ‘in silk dresses, if dress is the word. Truly nothing shields their bodies, nothing guards their modesty: they are naked’ (Seneca, De Beneficiis 7.9.5). Levels of concealment We may now begin to consider the use made of transparency, and other kinds of semi-revelation, in the dress of pornai and their analogues. We shall take the evidence in order: actresses and dancers; prostitutes, with a glance at flute-girls; and finally hetairai. As regards mimades, actresses, a fictional scene in Apuleius’s Metamorphoses is informative. A pantomime, supposed to be performed in the amphitheatre at Corinth, is on the theme of the Judgment of Paris. Venus is played by a girl whose ‘perfect loveliness was emphasised by her virginal nudity. Only a thin bombycinum [wild silk] scarf covered the beauties of her sexual parts. An inquisitive breeze played amorously with this scrap of cloth, sometimes naughtily wafting it aside’ and sometimes smoothing it against her body (Apuleius, Metamorphoses 10.31). It seems that something similar to this wisp of cloth, a G-string or the like, was de rigueur for erotic dancing in public, in the circus or on the stage. Procopius explains how the rule operated in the sixth century ad in Byzantium, with the fortunate result that the future empress Theodora never appeared on a public stage completely nude: Then she began to take part with the mimi in the theatre performances: her role was to be the butt of their farcical indecencies. She was clever and very sharp at this, and soon became well known. A shameless and unshockable creature, she would go through any improper routine without the slightest hesitation: if it meant getting a slap or a box on the ear, she played for laughs and laughed the loudest herself, and was sure to lose some clothes so that the audience could have a good look at the parts of her body, front and rear, that ought to have been concealed from male view…

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Andrew Dalby Quite frequently, in front of a full audience in the theatre, she actually stripped off and stood on stage nude, except for a diazoma [G-string] concealing her sex and pubic triangle. Not that she would have minded showing the audience this as well, but in fact no one is allowed to appear on stage entirely nude: the pubic area must be covered by a diazoma.’ Procopius, Secret History 9.13–14, 20–1.

For a much earlier period – the early third century bc in Macedon or Greece – we may adduce an anecdote recounted at second hand by Athenaeus. When the drinking got under way and among other entertainments there was a dance by those Thessalian dancing-girls who perform nude en diazostrais [in G-strings], the Arcadian ambassadors could not restrain themselves: they jumped up from their couches and shouted what a wonderful sight they were seeing, and how happy a man Antigonus was to be able to enjoy such things. Persaeus of Citium (Athenaeus 607c).

It would be wrong to suppose, on the basis of a few sources very widely separated in date and context, that we can be certain whether there were such rules at all times and in all places. But the evidence as it applies to actresses and dancers is consistent. When performing in public, they had to wear le minimum. Because the evidence is consistent, it helps us to interpret some pictures that otherwise might puzzle us. A vase painting from fourth-century bc southern Italy, now in the Ashmolean, depicts a girl acrobat performing a handstand, balancing on a revolving wheel spun by a clown.9 Why, when other vase paintings so often show dancers, acrobats and other entertainers naked, does this girl wear not only a string of pearls but also a pair of knickers in patterned, but fairly transparent, fabric? Because this is a stage act, a scene or interlude from a mime: it is a realistic depiction of a public performance. Why do the Three Graces wear similar garb in a well-known mosaic from Sicily? Because they are not goddesses: they are contemporary dancers, playing the Three Graces in a pantomime. For pornai – we may hypothesize – a priority was to catch the eye of a potential client in circumstances where ordinary people would be wearing ordinary clothes. This was achieved by wearing clothes that were largely transparent. Pherecrates’ dream of Paradise (fragment 108, quoted above) is relevant here. The speaker is not so much dreaming of a hetaira as of being served a fantasy dinner at a hetaira’s establishment. The maids in such a house were not so much maids as pornai, and he can picture them dressed in wild silk veils that conceal nothing. Horace’s observation (Satires 1.2.101, quoted above) is also relevant, though he is talking of Rome. To add to these, there is a well-known collection of descriptions, in comedy fragments, of how Solon set up the brothels in Athens. ‘You can gaze under the open sun at girls nude and posted in line of battle, standing in finely-woven hyphea’: this is Eubulus’s version (fragment 67 118

Levels of concealment: the dress of hetairai and pornai in Greek texts Kock (Athenaeus 568f ) ). Eubulus himself used the idea again (fragment 84 (Athenaeus 568e) ). Xenarchus then borrowed the theme, and lifted a whole line out of Eubulus’s description, but forgot the hyphea: ‘There are very pretty youngsters in the brothels: you can see them basking in the sun, their breasts bare, nude and posted in line of battle, so that you can choose the one you fancy’ (Xenarchus 4 Kock (Athenaeus 569b) ). The alleged creation of the brothels by Solon is, I imagine, an undeserved slur on a reformer who had other priorities, but these descriptions are in the present tense: the brothels of Athens thus existed in the fourth century.10 If the girls’ breasts are visible as if naked, then the hyphea or ‘webs’ are not only finely-woven but fairly transparent. If the garment in question is being given its proper name (hyphea being used metaphorically in these passages) the name is probably himation: just like a flute-girl’s himation, semi-transparent and in the circumstances of a private party easily discarded. We remember that in Aristophanes’ Thesmophoriazusae (1177–89), in order to distract the Scythian policeman, ‘Euripides’ fetches out a flute-girl to practise her routine. While she does so the Scythian already has opportunities to admire her shapely body. As he prepares to make good his escape, Euripides then encourages her to take off her himation and sandals and sit on the Scythian’s lap. As to the dress that hetairai wore in public, the textual evidence is richer: simply because hetairai were more often spoken of? It seems to suggest to us that their dress was like that of other women, but finer, perhaps more elaborate, often more expensive, and with a transparent veil. First of all, a costly, brightly coloured himation. This is evidently the main item of dress: hence the term is also used for ‘dress’ in general, an ambiguity which may be felt by a modern reader but presumably did not confuse an ancient one. From the laws quoted at the outset it is evident that a ‘flowery’ dress was loaded with significance, the anthina of the law attributed to Sparta by Clement of Alexandria, the esthetes euantheis of Lucian (Dialogues of Hetairai 6.2). To dress krokoton ‘in a saffron-coloured himation’, whether the saffron bestowed a yellow or red colour, was equally significant; if other women dressed krokoton, as some did, the comedies allow us to suppose that this identified them as, let us say, fun-loving.11 The general term himation may be replaced by a more specific ledos or leidion or ledion or ledarion (LSJ ‘cheap summer dress’, with numerous citations); and this in one text is interchangeable with parapekhy (LSJ ‘woman’s garment with a purple border on each side’): ‘Glycerion, getting from a lover a new leidion, a Corinthian parapekhy, sent it to the fuller’s…’ (Machon (Athenaeus 582d) ). Outside the himation was an ampekhone. This, too, is an ambiguous term to the modern reader: it can be used for ‘outward appearance of dress’ in general (Xenophon, Memorabilia 1.2.5; Plato, Republic 425b), confirming that it is the outer item of dress, and therefore at a quick glance the most prominent one. It is a ‘veil’, typically semi-transparent and fragile: thus a girl who has been doing 119

Andrew Dalby what shepherdesses do in Arcadian pastoral ends up with a torn ampekhone, and her lover promises to buy her a bigger one (Theocritus 27.59–60).12 It is an important item of a hetaira’s equipment, to judge from a third-century epigram: ‘Doricha, your bones are adorned…with the perfume-breathing ampekhone in which you used to wrap the handsome Charaxus, flesh to flesh…’ (Poseidippus (Athenaeus 596c) ). The pornai of the quotation from Pherecrates, above, seem to wear nothing else. More generally, the ampekhone is an essential item of proper women’s dress in the usual stereotype: hence the startling effect of its occasional absence, whether in religious observance (like the slave women sweeping Athena’s precinct in Euphorion fragment 53 Powell) or for work in the fields: Pythaenetus in On Aegina III says that Periander saw Melissa, Procles’ daughter, from Epidaurus, dressed Peloponnesian style – she was unveiled, wearing only a khiton, and was serving the farm labourers their wine – and fell in love and married her. Athenaeus 589f.

It might also be absent because of a conscious adoption of male dress. Hipparchia, wife of the cynic Crates, announces (in an epigram by Antipater of Sidon (Anthologia Palatina 7.413) ) that she will give up her ampekhonai peronetides (‘veils fastening at the shoulder with a brooch’) along with her fancy shoes and her perfumed hair-net: she is off on the road with a wallet, a staff and a heavy cloak. Underneath the ampekhone and the himation is a khitonion or khitoniskos. This, like the himation, is a term applicable to men’s as well as to women’s dress: translations vary from the ‘short frock’ of LSJ to ‘shift’ and ‘tunic’ (C.R. Kennedy) and ‘undervest’ (C.B. Gulick). As an item of women’s dress it is the undergarment. If it is worn alone, and is semi-transparent, the wearer may be regarded as gymne (‘nude’: Aristophanes, Lysistrata 150, quoted above). If it is torn away to the waist, the upper body is left naked, and perirrexas ‘having torn away’ is the violent expression that is used on both occasions on which such an incident is described: one, from Demosthenes (On the False Embassy 198), concerning an Olynthian prisoner of war in Macedonia; the other, the celebrated trial of the eminent hetaira Phryne, from Athenaeus on the basis of Hermippus and of Hypereides’ defence speech.13 Phryne was accused on a capital charge by Euthias, and escaped conviction. He was so angry that he would never take another case, so Hermippus tells us: She was defended by Hypereides. He was getting nowhere, and the jury was evidently in a mood to convict. So he had her brought into full view and tore away her khitoniskoi, baring her breasts. In his conclusion, working up the feelings of pity aroused by this display, he instilled in the jury a religious awe for one who was the hierophant and handmaid of Aphrodite, thus persuading them to indulge their compassion and not to kill her. Afterwards a decree was passed that no one speaking for a defendant should arouse feelings of pity, and no defendant, man or woman, should be visible at the moment of judgement.

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Levels of concealment: the dress of hetairai and pornai in Greek texts Phryne was actually especially beautiful in the parts normally not seen. For this reason it was difficult to see her naked. She wore an ekhesarkon khitonion [figurehugging shift], and she never went to the public baths. At the Eleusinia and the Poseidonia, under the eyes of all of Greece, she simply took off her himation and unfastened her hair, and so entered the sea. Phryne was the model for Apelles’ painting of ‘Aphrodite rising from the waves’ and for the Cnidian Aphrodite of the sculptor Praxiteles, who was her lover. Athenaeus 590d.

The care that hetairai took over their appearance was not limited to the choice of clothes. Additional measures taken to attract lovers or clients included various kinds of padding and cosmetics, along with careful attention to posture. These contrivances are not the focus of this paper, but a thoroughly unsympathetic sketch of them, from a comedy fragment by Alexis, will make an appropriate coda. Once they are rich, they take in new hetairai, novices in the trade. They immediately remodel them, so that they retain neither their old manners nor their old looks. One happens to be short: a cork sole is stitched into her shoes. One is tall: she wears flat slippers and goes out with her head hanging down on her shoulder to lose height. One has no hips: she has padding under her dress, so that people who see her say, ‘Ten eupygian! [What an arse!]’ One has a flabby stomach: she’ll end up with bosoms like the comic actors’, when they hoist up her tummy as if with a windlass and push it all out like this.14 One has carroty eyebrows: they paint her with lamp-black. One’s black: she plasters herself with psimythia [white lead]. One’s too white-skinned: she rubs on paideros. One has a beautiful part of her body: it’s displayed naked.15 One has nice teeth: she must laugh, so that everyone will admire her lovely mouth. If she doesn’t like to laugh, she must stay indoors all day with a little myrtle twig upright between her lips, like a goat’s head on sale at any butcher’s shop: she’ll grin in the end, whether she wants to or not. Alexis 98 K (Athenaeus 568a; Clement of Alexandria, Education 2.3.8).

Conclusion With the caveat that this paper deals only with one kind of source material I will finally restate the results that seem to emerge. Hetairai as texts generally define them are women who kept up a certain status, sometimes an extremely high status, and were either maintained by their current lovers or by a man who ran them as a business venture. There is a range of statuses within the category hetaira, and that category is itself embraced in the wider category of porne ‘prostitute’, which in its general sense includes also auletris ‘flute girl’, orkhestris ‘dancing girl’, mimas ‘actress’. In principle hetairai dress no differently from ‘respectable’ women except for more elaboration, more care to bring out the best – according to the current ideal – in their appearance. For all that, dress, so far as we can learn of it from the sources, is crucial in helping us to interpret the positions and roles of women that are described in the sources. Here it is that the ‘levels of 121

Andrew Dalby concealment’ come into play, for pornai and hetairai must be ready on occasion to display as well as to conceal. At one end of the spectrum is the high class hetaira who may, like Phryne, reveal even less than other women: it was difficult to see her naked; unlike others (we must suppose) she kept her khitonion on when she bathed in the sea at the Eleusinian festival, and it was a magnificant stroke of theatre when her advocate, to the surprise of all, tore away her khitonia in open court. At the other end of the spectrum are the dancers and mimes whose profession required them to reveal practically everything. Notes Michael Duigan, at the conference at Hay-on-Wye, made this point neatly by retelling the story of Candaules’ wife while a similar vase painting was on the screen. Not only hetairai, but also queens, may be imagined naked. The caption quoted in the text is from Reinsberg 1993, fig. 84. On the problem of recognizing female social ‘class’ in vase-paintings see Sebesta and Llewellyn-Jones, both this volume. 2 Daniel Ogden’s paper in this volume supplies additional similar examples from among laws that survive as inscriptions. 3 Thompson 1947, 200; Maeder 1999; Dalby 2000, 66 and n. 134. See also Lucian, Dialogues of Hetairai 7.2, and for further references LSJ s.v. tarantinon. 4 Anthosmias wine was made from must to which brine had been added (Epitome of Athenaeus 31f ). 5 Pliny 11.75–6 also gives full information on the manufacture, but based largely on Aristotle. 6 Davies and Kathirithamby 1986, 112–13, with references given there; SherwinWhite 1978, 378. The fact that the Chinese fabric, too, was woven from the cocoons of moths was little known: among ancient authors only Pausanias, in one of his curious but useful digressions (6.26.6–7), is able to give the method of its manufacture with fair accuracy. 7 A further mention of amorgina in Aeschines, Against Timarchus 97. See Hunter 1983 on Eubulus fragment 67. 8 See Dalby 2000, 66 and n. 134, for citations on this subject from the imperial period. 9 For an illustration see Dalby and Grainger 1996, 71. 10 A fourth description is by Philemon: all four are quoted by Athenaeus (568e–569f ). The excuse for describing them, within each play, will have been a debate as to whether a young man ought to satisfy his sexual desires by visiting brothels, by keeping a hetaira or concubine, or by seducing a respectable girl. 11 Aristophanes, Lysistrata 44 krokotophorousa ‘wearing saffron’, 47 krokotidion ‘little saffron dress’; from line 51 it is clear that you might dye it afresh. LSJ translates krokoton as a noun, ‘saffron-coloured robe worn by gay women’, but it seems rather to be an adverb in the passages there cited. LSJ’s ‘gay’ is my ‘fun-loving’. A saffron colour was also suited to Dionysus; and it was worn by the effeminate ‘Agathon’ in Aristophanes, Thesmophoriazusae 138, 253. On the actual colour of a saffron dye see Llewellyn-Jones 2000. 12 An ampekhonon (Theocritus 15.21, 39, 71) is understood by Gow 1952 ad loc. as ‘the wrap regularly worn by women [in the third century], which resembles an ample 1

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Levels of concealment: the dress of hetairai and pornai in Greek texts himation but is often made of very thin and clinging materials which allow the heavier folds of what is worn beneath to show through…when worn out of doors [it] usually envelops both arms and also hoods the head’. See the discussion of ampekhonon and other veiling terms in Llewellyn-Jones 2000. 13 The scene is also described, using the same words, in a fictional letter by Alciphron (4.3). 14 Gulick 1927–41 (whose translation is different from mine) comments very fairly: ‘The text is unsound, and a mere male can scarcely offer a sure interpretation… The main idea is that much pulling and hauling were required to adjust the figure as the women desired.’ 15 Paideros is a red or purple vegetable dye; sykaminon (‘mulberry’) is named in other texts as an alternative. To take the word gymnos as having its literal meaning ‘naked’ is optional, since it coexists with skimpy or transparent garments in some texts already cited.

Bibliography Arnott, W.G. 1996 Alexis, The Fragments: A commentary, Cambridge. Dalby, A. 2000 Empire of Pleasures: Luxury and indulgence in the Roman world, London. Dalby, A. and Grainger, S. 1996 The Classical Cookbook, London. Davies, M. and Kathirithamby, J. 1986 Greek Insects, London. Fick, N. 1990 ‘Die Pantomime des Apuleius’, in J. Blänsdorf (ed.) Theater und Gesellschaft im Imperium Romanum, Tübingen, 223–32. Gianotti, G.F. 1996 ‘Forme di consumo teatrale: mimo e spettacoli affini’, in O. Pecere, A. Stramaglia (eds.) La letteratura di consumo nel mondo greco-latino, Cassino, 267–92. Gow, A.S.F. (ed.) 1965 Machon, Cambridge. Gow, A.S.F. (ed. and tr.) 1952 Theocritus, 2 vols., 2nd edn, Cambridge. Gulick, C.B. (ed. and tr.) 1927–41 Athenaeus, The Deipnosophists, 7 vols., London. Hunter, R.L. (ed.) 1983 Eubulus, The Fragments, Cambridge. Llewellyn-Jones, L.J. 2000 Women and Veiling in the Ancient Greek World, Ph.D. thesis, Cardiff University. Maeder, F. 1999 ‘Muschelseide: gesponnenes Gold’, Mare 13, 22–6. Reinsberg, C. 1993 Ehe, Hetärentum und Knabenliebe im antiken Griechenland, Munich.

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Andrew Dalby Sherwin-White, S. 1978 Ancient Cos: An historical study from the Dorian settlement to the Imperial period, Göttingen. Thompson, D’A.W. 1947 A Glossary of Greek Fishes, London.

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8 VISIONS OF GLEAMING TEXTILES AND A CLAY CORE: Textiles, Greek Women, and Pandora Judith Lynn Sebesta On a hydria1 by the Washing Painter a hetaira is shown teaching a younger one an important skill—that of spinning wool (Fig. 1). The scene is a striking one: the elegantly clothed older woman sits in a relaxed pose and demonstrates with her raised right hand the proper way to hold the fingers that allows the spindle to twist easily. Opposite her stands the younger hetaira, distaff raised in her left hand, spindle nearly touching the floor. She holds her right hand open, curving her fingers awkwardly around the drawn fiber as it twists. The scene was not an uncommon one in women’s quarters, for spinning yarn and weaving it into cloth occupied much of their daily work, but the young hetaira is, surprisingly, naked. 2 Though it is not unusual for hetairai to be shown naked in scenes of symposia, or to be shown working wool when not occupied with their clients, this depiction of a naked hetaira spinning is so far unique on surviving Greek vases. Unique as it is, the vase nonetheless unites several important metaphors and images that surrounded women in Greek culture: container and wool, that which

Fig. 1.

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Judith Lynn Sebesta is bounded (contained) and that which is unbounded, wealth and wonder, craft and craftiness, sexuality and danger. This paper examines how these metaphors and images interweave in the Greek conceptualization of woman. Containers of various kinds are frequently associated with women in Greek imagination. For example, when Akrisios, king of Argos, is told by an oracle that his grandson will kill him, he locks his daughter Danae in an underground chamber lined with bronze. Nonetheless, she is impregnated by Zeus. Here the chamber hidden within the earth is troped both as Danae’s womb hidden within her body and as her fertility that Akrisios intended to seal up. Women’s bodies were also troped as containers in Greek philosophical thought. The Greeks were fascinated by the image of a pregnant woman containing an unseen baby inside her… Hippocrates likened the womb to a cupping jar… Aristotle speaks of the womb as an oven, and elsewhere we find the female body correlated with a treasure chamber.3

Vases were one kind of container particularly associated with women. One vase, the loutrophoros, held water for the bride’s ritual bath before her marriage. So closely was the loutrophoros associated with the bride, that it marked the grave of a girl who died unmarried, metaphorically representing her ‘marriage’ with death. The kalathos or wool-basket, a container exclusively associated with women, became a metaphor for wifehood. The quintessential skill Greek men required in a wife was wool-working – which encompassed the preparation of wool for spinning, spinning itself, and the weaving of cloth. Skill in wool-working was so fundamental in a wife that Xenophon, in his treatise on household management, takes for granted that a bride will have mastered all the skills of woolworking before her marriage.4 As a result, the kalathos was a common bridal gift. Because it represented a bride’s diligence and skill in textile production, it is almost invariably shown at her feet or near her in scenes that depict the bride’s toilette. Wool-working, however, was not only troped as a wife’s dedication of her body’s labour to her husband’s household, but also as the dedication of her body’s sexuality to that household. The rite of the arrhephoroi makes explicit the connection between a girl’s attaining sexual maturity, acquiring the prerequisite skill in wool-working, and being ready for marriage and child-bearing. The four arrhephoroi were annually selected from young girls who were at the point of puberty. While the girls lived in seclusion on the Acropolis, certain older women, accomplished weavers, taught the arrhephoroi how to weave the intricately figured peplos that was annually presented to Athena. When the weaving was completed, the arrhephoroi participated in a final rite. They took certain objects, whose identity was not revealed to them, in baskets down to the sanctuary of Aphrodite at the base of the hill and received other secret objects 126

Visions of gleaming textiles and a clay core: textiles, Greek women, and Pandora that they took back up to the Acropolis. Having completed this ritual, they were dismissed as arrhephoroi and returned home. The ritual activities of the arrhephoroi are clearly an initiation rite that they undergo on behalf of all the young girls of Athens from whom they were selected. The ritual activities of the arrhephoroi directly link the creative aspect of textile manufacture with puberty, sexuality, and procreation.5 While it is not certain what was contained in the baskets they carried to Aphrodite (though because they were gifts to Aphrodite, they must have been connected with sexuality and birth), certain Greek authors state that what they carried from her shrine were biscuits shaped like phalluses and snakes.6 It is significant that the total period of the girls’ ritual was the length of pregnancy, and that their seclusion on the Acropolis and dedication to wool-working mirrors the seclusion and occupation that a wife ideally would practice. Implicit in the sequence of the rituals is that the acquisition of textile skills was a prerequisite to marriage and domestic life.7 A wife spent the major part of her time and energy in producing clothing, coverlets, cushions, etc. for her family.8 Textile production was among those skills that were thought to have enabled man to create civilization; thus, a wife who spun or wove not only conformed to society’s expectations, but helped to sustain that civilized society. Yet implicit in the idea that textile skills have to be taught to woman is the idea that a woman has to be taught how to conform to society’s expectations, how to become civilized, which meant, above all else in Greek society, how to control her natural sexuality. When, in the Bakkhai, characters describe the frenzied Theban women reveling in the mountain wilds, they do so, repeatedly, by saying that the women have abandoned not their houses, not their children, not their husbands, but their looms.9 The mountain wilds are the loci for unrestrained feminine sexuality and the loom the locus of controlled feminine sexuality because Greek thought identified women with wild animals. In vase paintings, courtship scenes are often represented as a man armed with a hunting weapon pursuing a woman as he would an animal quarry.10 An important ritual in the wedding, therefore, required the bridegroom to grip the bride by her left wrist in order to lead her to his house. By allowing him to do so, the bride signified her submission to him.11 This idea that a woman is ‘tamed into submission’ through marriage is explicit in one Greek word for marriage, damazein, which means ‘to subjugate or tame an animal; to make subject to a husband’. In the vase scenes of the bridal toilette, the kalathos anticipates this ritual of ‘taming’ and signifies that the bride is ready to submit her sexuality to her husband’s control. Through marriage she becomes a woman whose sexuality is contained by the household, and her working with wool signifies her sexual submission to the order of her husband and the city.12 The sexuality of a hetaira, on the other hand, remained dangerous, as she was never ‘tamed’ by a man. She was a figure of uncontrolled feminine sexuality that remained outside of marriage and thus outside of the order of the city. 127

Judith Lynn Sebesta Because nudity in Greek art indicated both feminine liminality and feminine eroticism,13 it is an appropriate ‘costume’ for a hetaira who is both an erotic and liminal figure. On the Washing Painter vase, the notable absence of the kalathos and her nudity underscore the hetaira’s liminality and exclusion from marriage and the order of the city. The kalathos, however, is an ambiguous metaphor for feminine sexuality. While it is a container and can therefore signify the containment of feminine sexuality, it also has a wide opening from which the carded wool can be easily drawn. Implicit in the image of the kalathos, then, is the idea that feminine sexuality can be contained or be spilled out just as carded wool can be contained or be drawn out of the kalathos. This troping of the kalathos raises the question whether the common practice of conceptualizing Greek women as either ‘respectable women’ (brides, wives) who contain their sexuality or as ‘non-respectable women’ (hetairai) who do not contain their sexuality accurately reflects the Greek view of women. Mary Beard has observed that a number of vase scenes undermine this stereotypical view of dividing Athenian women into wives, who bore their husbands children and occupied themselves with wifely tasks, and the hetairai, who offered that husband witty conversation and erotic pleasure. She notes that a number of vases pair scenes of hetairai engaged with their clients and a wife occupied with her domestic work. For example, on the outside of an Attic red-figure kylix14 hetairai are shown negotiating with men who offer them bags of money. The interior of the cup shows not a scene of love-making (as we might expect), but an Athenian wife pouring an offering on a blazing altar, engaged in one of her important duties, proper conduct towards the gods. Beard observes that the intrusion of the wife into the world of the hetaira necessarily raises the question of whether the division between them can so easily be maintained. Simply to see the wife where you expect to see the hetaira is to begin to question the validity (or reality) of the stereotype.15

In this line of thought, the image of the young hetaira engaged in spinning on the Washing Painter vase and the image of a wife similarly engaged on another vase are pendant images. Perhaps depicting a naked hetaira engaged in such an important ‘wifely’ task is to make a joke, but, as Beard remarks, Once, however jokingly, the symbols of the respectable wife have been associated with the naked hetaira, those categories can no longer be taken for granted; once the hetaira is ambivalent, so also is the wife. Visual images can subvert as much as establish and uphold the norm.16

Beard’s suggestion that we should see a correlation, rather than a separation, between respectable women and hetairai is reinforced when we look at the clothing each wears on vases. A wife was expected to dress modestly at home and to cover her body and head with a mantle if she went outdoors. A hetaira, on the other hand, was expected to spend lavishly on her clothing. Xenophon 128

Visions of gleaming textiles and a clay core: textiles, Greek women, and Pandora states that the famous hetaira Theodote dressed not only herself, but her mother and her attendants as well in fine garments and jewelry.17 In his chapter on the dress of hetairai, Andrew Dalby shows that, according to textual references, hetairai often dressed in transparent or semi-transparent garments or garments that were brightly colored – garments that, in other words, drew attention to their wearers. He notes that, in some communities, adulteresses were also made to dress in transparent garments that made a visible equation between their promiscuity and that of hetairai.18 A vase painter could not easily replicate these aspects of a hetaira’s costume. It was impossible for him to depict the bright colors of the garments of hetairai on red-figure vases. Even on white-ground vases, however, hetairai are not always painted dressed in colors more vivid than those of respectable women because of the restricted range of pigments available to an artist. For example, on a white-ground lekythos by the Pan Painter, a woman, clearly identified as a hetaira by the vase inscription, wears a red mantle over a white chiton.19 The Achilles Painter, on another white-ground lekythos, used red paint to color the peplos of a woman bearing offerings to a grave.20 It was the responsibility of wives to bring offerings to nourish the dead, to honor them with libations, and to keep alive memory of the dead through frequent visits to the grave. The setting and her serious expression indicate that the young woman in red is carrying out the family duties required of a wife. Clearly how women dress on vases does not always reflect how they dressed in real life. Less obvious is the reason why painters do not depict respectable women covered head to toe in a mantle as they would be in public in real life. The main reason for the disparity between women’s costume on vases and in real life is due to the artist’s responding to the tension between Greek expectations of feminine fertility, sexuality, and modesty. A woman qua wife ideally was expected to be modest in dress and fertile in body. Like a hetaira, however, a wife qua woman possessed a powerful sexual allure. In art of Greek and other Mediterranean cultures, woman’s fertility and erotic allure were represented by the naked body or, in the case of respectable women, by a body clothed in clinging or transparent garments that reveal its every curve.21 As a result, in Greek art, respectable women are depicted wearing semitransparent garments. Vase painters show the brides in garments that reveal the outline of the breast(s) and frequently show clearly the areolas and nipple(s) whose visibility not only represents the sexual allure of the young woman, but also her potential fertility through this oblique reference to nursing a baby.22 For example, on a lebes by the Painter of the Louvre, the painter outlines the full breasts of the bride and clearly indicates her right nipple under her finely pleated chiton.23 Likewise on a vase depicting her wedding to Perseus, Andromeda wears a thick, opaque peplos.24 Yet her breasts project prominently and implausibly under the doubled material, and the outline of her flexed left leg leads the eye to her pubic area. Though this area is screened from the view 129

Judith Lynn Sebesta of the vase beholder by several thick folds of material, nevertheless the artist paints the folds of the material so as to form the triangular shape that represents the vulva in ancient erotic art. In such scenes the cultural expectations of modesty, fertility, and sexual allure create a tension in the artist as he tries to mediate his need to idealize and eroticize the female body. As a result, the artist depicts women as modest by dressing them in clothing that in real life would have been opaque, and as sexually alluring by making that clothing semi-transparent in order to reveal certain details of their bodies. In real life, the overfold of the peplos hung free and so would have obscured the outline of the breasts. Moreover, a double layer of cloth – peplos and mantle – covered the breasts, pubic area, and legs. Lastly, the band that women wrapped around their chests to support the breasts would have flattened these breasts at least somewhat in real life.25 In vase painting and sculpture, however, the breasts project as prominently as though supported by a Wonder Bra. Yet even when she is depicted erotically, a respectable woman is shown also as modest. Though the outline of her leg from thigh to ankle may be revealed, the artist never has these garments reveal the details of the pubic area of respectable women. At this area of her body, the semi-transparent peplos and mantle become opaque.26 The fertility of respectable women is signified only by the breast, visible under their clothing, with which they will nurse the hoped-for baby.27 Because fertility and modesty were not qualities men wanted, much less expected, in hetairai, a different semiotic is at work when an artist reveals the hetaira’s body on a vase. On vases hetairai are shown in the semi-transparent or transparent garments that they wore in real life to advertise their sexual allure. They are also shown naked or semi-naked in symposia scenes – again a veristic depiction. Their unabashed nakedness marks them as non-modest and nonfertile – that is, from the men’s point of view as putative fathers, such offspring would not be Athenian citizens and so of no consequence to them and their blood-lines. Thus, while non-realistic transparency of garment marks a respectable woman as erotic, fertile, and yet modest, realistic transparency of garment (because hetairai did wear such garments in real life) and nudity not only mark a hetaira as erotic, but also exclude her from the feminine ideal of fertility and modesty. The erotic content of scenes depicting women working wool is increased by the fact that the women (whether hetairai or wives) shown spinning in their private quarters are put on display to the men viewing the vase. Keuls has noted that the genre scene of spinning women can be paired with the genre scene of women drawing water at fountains and wells where the women are sometimes shown on vases as observed or accosted by men, or even harassed by free men and male slaves. On one vase, in fact, while a man leers at a woman from behind the fountain, another sits naked on the ground masturbating.28 Such scenes suggest that Athenian men viewed as erotic the depictions of 130

Visions of gleaming textiles and a clay core: textiles, Greek women, and Pandora women going about their two socially approved activities of spinning and drawing water. Though for most of the day women secluded themselves within the women’s quarters of their houses, the task of drawing water brought them out into the public area that was usually occupied only by men. Keuls argues that this crossing of female/male boundaries at public fountains and wells created an aura of voyeurism and eroticism similar to the crossing of boundaries by the male viewer who ‘looks at’ women depicted on vases in their secluded household quarters.29 Ironically, the Washing Painter’s hydria itself was a type of vase that also crossed between the social worlds of women and men. It was not only the vase used by women to draw water from public fountains, but it held the water men used to mix with wine at symposia in the men’s quarters – where, of course, the hetaira also mingled freely with men. The usually secluded women that venture outdoors to draw water at the public fountains, the hydria that both men and women used, and the hetaira who was present at the symposia in the men’s household quarters – all cross the male/female boundaries that were strictly drawn in Greek society. The depiction, however, of a hetaira engaged in spinning inside her house may well have a further degree of eroticism. Greek men commonly used two magical spinning instruments, the rhombos and the iunx, to infuse irresistible passion in women.30 Hetairai sometimes also employed these traditionally male forms of erotic magic to attract men and thereby crossed into the male sphere of aggressive sexuality. For example, in an idyll of Theokritos, the hetaira Simaitha uses a iunx in an attempt to attract her lover Delphis back to her. The hetaira Niko, upon her retirement, dedicated a jeweled iunx to Kypris (Aphrodite).31 While the spindle did not resemble the rhombos / iunx, its spinning motion conjures up the dangerous erotic magic hetairai could employ against the boundaries of the male body. The spindle’s allusion to the rhombus / iunx inverts the common Greek metaphor of courtship that likened a man’s pursuit of a woman to a hunter’s pursuit of an animal: the hetaira becomes the hunter, the man the prey. It was not only the process of wool-working that the Greeks used as a metaphor in conceptualizing women, but also the beginning and the end of the process – that is, they also used raw wool and the finished textile as metaphors. Women’s very femininity, in fact, was so co-identified with wool that there was a metaphorical relationship between wool and woman in Greek thought. As Loraux points out, There is a strict and exclusive relationship between women and wool; Hippocrates goes so far as to imprint this relationship right onto the woman’s body, which he compares to ‘wool’.32

Hippokrates explains that the reason why a woman’s body retains moisture more than a man’s is due to a woman’s body being loose in texture and, consequently, 131

Judith Lynn Sebesta like wool, hydrophilic.33 So closely were wool and woman’s body configured that wool becomes, on occasion, a metonym for woman: when a girl was born, a tuft of wool decorated the doorway of her home to show that another spinner had come into the world.34 Wool also functions in myth as a metonym for what made a woman a woman: the womb. When Hephaistos tried unsuccessfully to rape Athena and his semen fell upon her leg, she wiped it off with a tuft of wool that she threw onto the ground. From this spot of earth, Erikhthonios was immediately born. Because this tuft of wool received the god’s sperm, it functions as a substitute womb for the virgin goddess Athena.35 Athena then gave Erikhthonios into the care of the unmarried daughters of Kekrops and rewarded the obedient daughter by teaching her to weave.36 Through this sequence of events, wool is associated with conception, and the making of textiles with child-rearing. Textiles, in fact, marked many stages in a woman’s life – and these stages all focused on a woman’s reproductive status. Mothers dedicated richly woven textiles to Artemis after their daughters had successfully experienced menarche and to birth goddesses after a successful childbirth. Family members dedicated beautifully-woven dresses to Iphigeneia at Brauron on behalf of women who died in childbirth.37 Women were able to transform raw fiber into thread and woven material through exercise of their metis, their intellectual ability to plan and devise.38 Wool-working thus not only represents the craft of women, but also the craftiness, the metis, of women, their ability to plan and devise plots against men, a metaphor that is expressed by the Greek word ‘to weave,’ huphainein, which also means ‘to contrive or plan schemes that require craft’.39 This correlation of craftiness and wool-working is frequently seen in myth. When Odysseus’ men first come upon Kirke, she is singing at her loom. Her singing and weaving of cloth anticipates for Homer’s audience the magic charms and craft she will soon use against Odysseus’ men – except for cautious Eurylokhos, who, with his suspicions aroused, explains that he remained in hiding during his companion’s transformations.40 To accomplish the plot she had woven against her husband, Klytemnestra used two textiles to entrap Agamemnon: the purple garments upon which he walked into his palace and the cloth with which she enveloped his limbs and hampered his attempts to protect himself in his bath.41 To forestall her suitors, Penelope wove a shroud for her elderly father-in-law, Laertes, that she unwove at night. In the Iliad, Homer describes Helen weaving a cloth that depicts all the great Achaean heroes whom her plotted escape with Paris brought to the Trojan shores. In a variation on the theme of wool-working, in the Odyssey, while Menelaos entertains Telemakhos at Sparta, Helen enters with her spinning equipment. When she comments upon Telemakhos’ resemblance to Odysseus and causes them all to weep over the fallen heroes at Troy, she employs her magic arts to ease their sorrow by mixing into their wine a drug that would allay the sorrows of the heart.42 132

Visions of gleaming textiles and a clay core: textiles, Greek women, and Pandora Given this association of the craft of spinning/weaving and the inherent craftiness of womankind, a hetaira shown spinning can be a visual reminder of the danger this feminine craftiness poses for a man. The hydria by the Orpheus Painter in New York makes this association explicit. It shows a scene in a brothel where one woman spins, and another picks up the empty wool basket to refill it. Unseen by all, an Eros watches a third woman who listens intently to the persuasions of a young client who grasps her left shoulder with his right hand.43 The juxtaposition of the spinning woman, the Eros, and the hetaira who gazes deeply, seductively into the young client’s eyes, visually expresses the power of womanly craft/craftiness: woman’s ability to inveigle and to beguile a man with sex.44 Though the association of wool-working and women’s craftiness in the contexts mentioned above can suggest threats to the male social order,45 the final product of wool-working and women’s craft, textiles, can integrate the women into that social order. In myths, at least, textiles become ‘texts’ read by women in order to recognize and establish their relationships to men.46 In the Odyssey, for example, Penelope uses the clothing she made for Odysseus to identify him. When Odysseus, disguised as a beggar and claiming to be a Cretan prince in exile, claims to have entertained a shipwrecked ‘Odysseus’ on Crete, Penelope demands that he prove his assertion by describing the garments that shipwrecked ‘Odysseus’ wore. His description forces Penelope to recognize that his guest was Odysseus, for, as she says, she gave Odysseus these garments in their bedchamber when he departed for Troy.47 In the Ion, Kreousa recognizes her long-lost son Ion when he shows her the swaddling clothes she made for him, and in the Elektra, Elektra is expected to be able to recognize her lost brother Orestes through a garment she had long ago woven for him.48 Textiles also wove women into the male social order by enabling women to become valuable economically to men. A diligent wife not only could produce sufficient yarn and cloth for household needs, but also cloth of great quality that could increase her husband’s prestige. One reason why the suitors courted Penelope for ten years is that she produced elaborately figured weavings of great value. Thomas has argued that, since the possession of goods was the means to and mark of status [in Homeric society]…her loom illustrates the great wealth of the household [her new husband could expect].49

An anecdote in Xenophon’s Memorabilia shows that women could make considerable economic contributions to the household through their weaving. A certain Aristarkhos complained to Sokrates that, due to political events, he had to house a number of female relatives. Because these same political events prevented him from getting additional economic support from family estates, he was in dire economic straits. Sokrates advised him to set all the women to spinning and weaving cloth, which, when sold, provided Aristarkhus with sufficient money to pay for their keep – and live himself very comfortably.50 133

Judith Lynn Sebesta An industrious, skilled wife was, in one sense, a commodity herself – a gift of wealth that her husband had received from her father in marriage, as a Greek word for marriage, ekdosis (‘a giving away’), indicates. The exchange of gifts was one of the most important ways of creating social bonds in Greek society between men: The exchange of women, especially in marriage, occupies the highest tier of gift exchange: it is the most prestigious, most idealized form of an already prestigious and idealized transaction… But from another perspective, this exchange is merely a financial transaction between father-in-law and son-in-law, in which the bride herself is part of a dowry given in return for wooing-gifts.51

If, as something exchanged between two men, a wife was in essence a commodity, so too, of course, was a hetaira, who exchanged the use of her body for money. She did not, however, confine the exchange to sexual use of her body. Vases that depict hetairai spinning indicate that even in moments of ‘ease,’ such women were expected to produce alternate income through the production of fiber. That the brothel was a workplace in more than one way is indicated by some hellenistic epigrams that exploit the pun inherent in the word ergasterion, a word that not only denoted a brothel, but also any factory, including one that produced cloth.52 In one of these epigrams, the hetaira’s body literally becomes the cloth she makes: Philaenium slept secretly in Agamedes’ bosom and made herself a cloak. Cyprian Aphrodite was herself the loom-worker. Let women’s spindles, let women’s well-spun thread, lie idle in the wool-basket.53

Another anecdote links even more closely the loom and a woman’s sexual activity: Strabo recounts that a Corinthian hetaira was chided for not working enough at her loom. According to Strabo, she objected, ‘But I have taken down poles three times already in this short time.’54 In these instances, sexual activity becomes a metaphor for spinning and weaving, and the commodity of a body-on-sale is co-identified with the commodity of cloth-to-be-sold. Thus, we might view a naked, spinning hetaira as a visual pun that raises the question whether there was some slang expression for intercourse that played on the words connected with spinning or weaving.55 Therefore, woman, whether bride or hetaira, was socially constructed as a commodity. Both marriage and extra-marital sexual congress were economic exchanges, whose only distinction was that while fathers did the bartering for their daughters, hetairai did the bartering themselves and, in fact, are depicted on a number of vases so engaged with their clients who present them with flowers, chaplets, and ribbons, in a parody of wooing gifts. If marriage is viewed as a gift exchange that involves traffic in women (albeit a traffic that brings some honor to the women), then marriage can be conflated with the ‘business in the agora,’ including business conducted by hetairai.56 134

Visions of gleaming textiles and a clay core: textiles, Greek women, and Pandora The difference between wife and hetaira, therefore, was determined only by a man’s decision on how he would relate to each woman. In the romanticized exchange called marriage, the father invested the commodity exchanged, the bride, with value that was outwardly represented by the rich bridal clothing she wore. Dressed in saffron-dyed veil and purple-dyed gown (both exceedingly expensive dyes), crowned with a diadem fashioned like a chaplet of leaves, and adorned with earrings, necklace, and bracelets, she was commodified as an object of desire, as a pleasing gift, part of the dowry that the father gave to promote his own prestige and to bestow prestige on her husband. Through equally extravagant wooing-gifts her husband gained – and bestowed – equal prestige on his father-in-law.57 The exchange of a hetaira’s body, however, did not mark any exchange of honor between two men – instead each hetaira negotiated her value, and her interaction in commerce excluded honor of any kind from the exchange of her body. Yet she too, like Theodote, dressed herself as lavishly as she could according to her means. There was a direct equation between the extravagance of her dress, and her income, and the number of male clients she attracted. The more she was an object of desire, the more frequently she, too, exchanged with men a pleasing ‘gift’ for money. Hetairai therefore are frequently depicted on vases dressed in alluring clothes, whose attractiveness is reinforced by the inscription ‘the girl is beautiful’.58 There is one figure in Greek myth that epitomizes the metaphors and images surrounding Greek women and wool-working: Pandora. Pandora is not the First Wife of typical primal myths: she does not bear her husband children and thus become the mother of mankind.59 Instead, Pandora is First Woman, the first of the genos gynaikon, the race of women, a race that is apart from the race of men. Created by Hephaistos out of clay, Pandora is a creature of nature, whose fertility is that of Ge (Earth) herself. As a being alien to mankind, Pandora is an ambiguous image of unbounded sexuality, a kalon kakon, as Hesiod calls her, a beauteous evil whom Athena dresses in lovely raiment and intricately fashioned jewelry, like that of a bride – or a successful hetaira. Stewart comments that Pandora’s clothing conceals a threat, and her sexuality is a disaster waiting to happen. Let loose, unwrapped, and unbounded, it will cause chaos; it will drive men mad. Any Greek would remember how Menelaos intended to kill the adulterous Helen when Troy was finally sacked, but the sight of her breast turned his knees and heart to water and washed all thought of it out of his mind.60

By pairing the naked hetaira with a richly clothed ‘madam,’ the Washing Painter contrasts the naked body of the one with the concealed body of the other. Thus, in this one scene, the viewer sees both the clothed and unclothed female body, a unifying view that focuses on each element of Hesiod’s description of Pandora as a kalon kakon, an evil clothed in beauty. To use Stewart’s words, on the right is the threat (the clothed body), on the left, the disaster (the naked body). 135

Judith Lynn Sebesta Pandora therefore incorporates the metaphors and images that conceptualize woman in Greek imagination. She is feminine sexuality that must be bounded by clothing lest, unrestrained, it endanger men. Through Athena’s gift of metis, Pandora is a wool-worker, capable of creating valuable garments that will bring wealth to her husband, but she is also craftiness and deceit personified. She is the first woman who is commodified, the first to be exchanged in that gift exchange called marriage. Above all else, Pandora is troped by Hesiod as a woven container, as a ‘sheer irresistible snare for men’.61 This hunting metaphor emphasizes that Pandora’s sexuality is aggressive, like a hetaira’s, and like the hetaira, Pandora inverts the hunting metaphor of courtship, so that she becomes the hunter, Epimetheus the prey. Made out of water and clay by Hephaistos, she is made out of the same materials as a vase, and contains the evils of lies, crafty words, and deceit within her. She resembles, in fact, the vase of evils that she will open later on in the myth.62 Hetaira, wife, Pandora, and the Washing Painter vase are therefore analogues of each other. Each is a source of wealth: the hetaira through the exchange of her body, wife through her skill in working wool, Pandora as a gift from the gods, the vase as an object of trade. Each exhibits craft/tiness: the hetaira, wife and Pandora as craftswomen, the vase as product of a craftsman’s skill. Each is an object of desire: the hetaira through her naked beauty, wife and Pandora through their rich raiment, the vase through its exquisitely painted picture. Each is superficially charming: the hetaira, wife, and Pandora whose loveliness conceals their dangerous sexuality, and the vase whose gleaming lovely exterior hides its clay core. Acknowledgements I wish to thank participants of the conference, ‘Women’s Dress in the Ancient Greek World’, University of Wales Institute of Classics and Ancient History, May 1999, and members of the Classics Forum at the University of Bristol (where a version of this paper was also read) for their many helpful comments and suggestions. I also wish to thank Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones for his percipient comments on the themes of eroticism and idealism in depictions of Greek women.

Notes Hydria, by the Washing Painter. Copenhagen, National Museum of Denmark, inv. no. CHR.VIII.520, c. 440–430 bc. 2 Reeder 1995, catalogue no. 50, 216–17. Reeder (217) comments, ‘Only the woman’s nudity, therefore, changes this scene from one that could as easily be a domestic vignette within the women’s quarters of a house.’ 3 Reeder 1995, 195. 4 Xenophon Oikonomikos 7.6. He assumes that her husband will teach all other skills of household management only after their marriage. 1

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Visions of gleaming textiles and a clay core: textiles, Greek women, and Pandora Blundell 1998, 63–4. Reeder 1995, 247. Reeder 1995, 248. The ritual of the arrhephoroi is connected to the myth of Erikhthonios, the offspring of Hephaistos’ attempted rape of Athena. The legs of this baby terminated in the bodies of snakes. Snakes are, of course, phallic symbols. 7 Reeder 1995, 248. 8 Barber 1994, 87 calculates that it took women seven to ten hours to spin enough thread for one hour of weaving. 9 Euripides Bakkhai 118, 514, 1236. 10 Reeder 1995, 339. 11 Reeder 1995, 299–300. 12 Thornton 1997, 75. 13 Stewart 1997, 41. There is irony in showing a naked hetaira making a cloth to cover her body. In contrast to the hetaira’s liminality, spinning and weaving were used as metaphors for establishing social cohesion either through marriage or through government. See for example, Scheid and Svenbro 1996, 15–34. 14 Toledo, Toledo Museum of Art, inv. no. 72.55, early fifth century bc. 15 Beard 1991, 30. 16 Beard 1991, 30. 17 Xenophon Memorabilia 3.11.4. Theodote’s ‘dressing for show’ was not limited to clothing: she furnished her house equally lavishly 18 Dalby, this volume. 19 Cambridge, Harvard University Art Museum, Arthur M. Sackler Museum, inv. no. 1991–29, c. 470 bc. 20 Worcester, Worcester Art Museum, inv. no. 1900.65, 450–445 bc. 21 See, for example, Robins 1996, 27–40 and D’Ambra 1996, 219–32. 22 Sometimes the nipples are so visible that they seem to be erect, as though the woman were sexually aroused, a suggestive depiction that would increase her sexual allure to the viewer of the vase. 23 Athens, National Archaeological Museum, inv. 1658, c. 410 bc. 24 Apulian volute krater by the Sisyphus Group, Malibu, J. Paul Getty Museum, inv. no. 85.AE.102, c. 430 bc. Another example occurs on a red-figure squat lekythos that depicts an Adonia scene in which two women are dressed in peploi. The artist depicts the outline of their full breasts clearly under the material and outlines their legs from ankle to hip. The pubic area of one is hidden by her sideways stance and of the other by the folded material of the peplos. (Karlsruhe, Badisches Landesmuseum, inv. no. B39 (278), Circle of the Meidias Painter, c. 390 bc.) Identical artistic needs and constraints are seen in sculpture. On the stele of Ampharete , the breasts project prominently from under the peplos which falls in thick folds to cover her pubic area. Even though it is covered by both her peplos and mantle, the outline of her leg to her thigh is sculpted distinctly (Athens, Kerameikos Museum, inv. no. P695, c. 400 bc. 25 That the semi-transparent material never reveals this breast band is part of the eroticizing of the body. In this respect, once again, vase painting is not a reliable indicator of actual dress. It is possible, of course, that the breast band was worn mostly by nursing women. 26 An interesting exception is Helen as depicted by the Makron Painter, who positions Helen frontally and paints her pubic hair in detail even though it is covered by three layers of clothing. Helen, of course, is not the model of a respectable wife. Here Makron 5 6

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Judith Lynn Sebesta deliberately dresses her in the transparent clothing of a hetaira, to whom she is assimilated through her promiscuity with Paris. On the vase Menelaos prepares to draw his sword to kill her. Makron has directed the gaze of Menelaos’ eyes down to her pubic area. According to myth, the sight of her naked beauty immediately caused Menelaos to drop his sword and reconcile with his wife. For further comment on this vase, see LlewellynJones, this volume. 27 Artists additionally eroticized the woman’s body by lines that represent how the clothing was creased by the body and its movements. These lines encircle the breasts or may underscore how tightly the cloth was pulled by projecting, full breasts. Artists even eroticized the ‘opaque’ areas of a woman’s body through swirling ‘crease’ lines. These swirling creases are non-realistic, but create a pattern that draws the eye to the woman’s body and, indeed, away from her face. The pattern of lines on women’s peploi and mantles creates a focus that viewers find difficult to ignore. See also Llewellyn-Jones, this volume. 28 Keuls 1983, 212, 213 fig. 14.8 (red-figure hydria, in the style of Epiktetos, Leningrad, Staatliche Ermitage, inv. no. 1612 (St.), c. 520–500 bc). 29 Keuls 1983, 214. 30 The rhombos was an instrument attached to the end of a string and whirled about. The iunx was a bird associated with eroticism that was tied to a wheel and spun about as a magical rite to attract a lover. As a result, iunx also came to mean an erotic spell. By the hellenistic period, the iunx had become co-identified with the rhombos. See Faraone 1999, 176–7. The rhombos is mentioned by the comic playwright Eupolis (c. 446–411) in Baptai frag. 83 (K–A) and by Aristophanes Heros frag. 315 (K–A). Pindar (Pythian 4.213–19) has Iason using a magical iunx to rouse Medea’s love. In Xenophon’s Memorabilia (3.11.17–18), Sokrates jokes with the hetaira Theodote about various forms of love-magic he uses, depicting himself as an aging hetaira who is busy teaching younger girls (his philai) ‘the tricks of the trade’ (Faraone 1999, 2), including the iunx (which he uses metaphorically as ‘love spells’). Impressed, Theodote begs him to impart to her his love potions, love charms, and love spells (iugges). 31 Theocritus Idyll 2. On Niko’s dedicatory inscription, see AP 5.205 and Faraone 1999, 151. For another example of a hetaira using a rhombos, see Lucian Dialogues of the Courtesans, 4.1 and Faraone 1999, 37 note 156, and 150. Aristophanes also mentions the iunx in Lysistrata 1110, where the choros leader speaks of Lysistrata having brought the warring men together through the magic of a iunx. Here a iunx is an appropriate tool for Lysistrata to use, not because she is a hetaira, but because as political leader, albeit of women, she has appropriated a male role. See also Faraone 1999, 8 note 31. 32 Loraux 1993, 157 n. 46. 33 King 1998, 29. King notes that Hippokrates recommended treating a young girl whose menses would not begin by putting warmed lambskins on her body; the hydrophilic lambswool was presumably expected to help draw the suppressed blood out from her body. 34 Hesykhios, s.v. ‘stephanon ekpherein’ and Loraux 1993, 157 note 46. 35 While it is true that Erikhthonios was born from Ge (Earth) and the metaphor of the earth as a ‘womb’ is common, the tuft of wool first received the semen; Ge was the second womb of Erikhthonios, just as Zeus’ thigh becomes the second ‘womb’ for Dionysos after Semele’s death. 36 Athena placed the baby in a basket and ordered the daughters not to open it. One

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Visions of gleaming textiles and a clay core: textiles, Greek women, and Pandora or two of the daughters did – accounts vary in this detail – and were so terrified by what they saw that they leaped off the Acropolis to their deaths. 37 Blundell 1995, 111. Cole 1998, 36–9. Kearns 1998, 100–1, 104. 38 The name of the goddess Metis, mother of Athena, is etymologically connected with the verbs denoting ‘tying, binding’. See Detienne and Vernant 1978, 133–74. 39 Liddell and Scott 1966, 1906 s.v. huphainein. See also Kennedy 1986, 8; Bergren 1983, 73. 40 Homer Odyssey, 10.220–60. 41 Aiskhylos Agamemnon, 910–13, 945–72, 1125–9, 1380–92. Agamemnon describes the garments as made of many colors, which suggests that they resemble the intricately patterned garments frequently shown on black-figure vases. It is possible that Klytaimnestra wove some of these garments herself, for among the forms of great wealth that exceptional households such as Agamemnon’s were expected to possess and display were finely and intricately woven textiles. These textiles also served as excellent gifts for exchange. As mistress of the house Klytaimnestra, like Helen and Penelope, would spend much time in weaving and instructing her slave-women how to produce such textile wealth: Klytaimnestra comments that their house has rooms full of valuable textiles (Agamemnon 958–61; my thanks to Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones for pointing out this detail). See C. Thomas 1988. 42 Homer Odyssey, 4.120–37, 220–32. Given the association of wool-working and women’s craftiness against men, there is a certain irony in Aphrodite’s assuming the guise of a wool-worker when she urges Helen to go to bed with Paris, for it was through Aphrodite’s plotting that Paris and Helen had eloped. As part of Aphrodite’s crafty magic, Helen is able to pass through the palace unseen; hidden in her long robe she is contained (concealed) by fabric. (Iliad 3.383–420) 43 Boardman 1989, fig. 193. 44 While, as noted below, hetairai were expected to earn their keep, when not involved with clients, through wool-working, the presence of Eros and the direct glance of the hetaira expands this scene from being simply a realistic representation of a client interrupting such work. 45 There is irony in Hektor’s words when he makes a comparison between the loom and spindle as women’s weapons and the sword and spear as men’s weapons (Homer Iliad, 6.490–2). Both kinds of weapons were able to penetrate the ideal autonomy of the male body. Mythic examples of ‘loom and spindle used as weapons’ include the poisoned garments woven by Deianeira and Medea. Just as men, like Ajax, would commit suicide with their weapons, women sometimes turned their weapons against themselves: Antigone, Iokaste, and Phaidra hanged themselves with their garments. 46 Because the social body is mapped onto the human body, there is a symbolic relationship between clothing and societal organization. See Silverman 1986, 145. 47 Homer Odyssey, 19.215–19, 253–60; 23.225–30. The bedroom site is significant, for only Odysseus, Penelope, and her maid ever entered it. It confines Penelope’s sexuality, and these garments symbolize the union between husband and wife. 48 Euripides Ion, 1428; Elektra, 540–2. 49 Thomas 1988, 262–3. The lists of clothing and textiles dedicated to Artemis Brauronia include a himation bordered with a purple wave pattern, a scalloped fringed khiton, and a coverlet of various colors with the figure of Dionysos pouring a libation and a woman pouring wine (IG II2 1514.7–38). For a translation of two of the inventories

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Judith Lynn Sebesta see Cole 1998, 37–8. 50 Xenophon Memorabilia, 2.7. Ironically, the amount of money a hetaira could make through spinning and weaving by herself seems to have been relatively little compared to the time and effort the woman put in. Several Greek epigrams note that prostitution was more profitable – as well as more fun: ‘Nikarete, who once served the shuttle of Athena and put many warps upon her loom, honored Kypris with a bonfire of her spindles and other equipment in front of her house. She said, “Get out, you poorly-paid labor of unhappy women, that waste away the flower of youth.” Instead the girl took up garlands, lyre, and the sweet life of parties and festivity. “Kypris,” said she, “I will give you a tenth of all that I make. Give me my work and take what is due to you.’’’ (Greek Anthology, 6.285) 51 Wohl 1998, 27. 52 Davidson 1998, 87. He points out that over 100 loom-weights have been found in the fifth- and fourth-century levels in the brothel called building Z in the Kerameikos, at Athens. 53 Davidson 1998, 88, translating Greek Anthology, 6.284. 54 Davidson 1998, 88, translating Strabo Geographia, 8.6.20. The word, ‘poles,’ is a pun for phallus, loom frame, and ship’s mast; Corinth was an important port and, consequently, an important center of prostitution. As sex and wool-working both brought women their livelihood, the loom/spindle and love-making become metaphors of each other in epigrams, e.g. ‘That one who once boasted of her rich lovers and never bowed her knee to the dreaded goddess Nemesis now weaves on a poor loom the cloth by which she supports herself. Late, but finally, Athena has conquered Kypris.’ (Greek Anthology 6.283). 55 Scheid and Svenbro (1996, 13, and 29) point out that such sexual metaphor was used by Plato (Polites, 281a–283a) who identifies the warp as the virile part of the cloth, and the woof as female. The weights of the upright loom were called laiai, which Aristotle (de Generatione Animi, 717a34–6, 787b20–7, 788a1–5) compared to testicles. In Orphic writings (Orpheus, frag. B 22 Diels) the warp thread was called the sperm. 56 Wohl 1998, 27. 57 Wohl 1998, 66. 58 As for example, on the white-ground oinochoe by the Brygos Painter, London, British Museum, inv. no. D 13, c. 490–480 bc. 59 Zeitlin,1993, xiii. 60 Stewart 1997, 41. 61 Hesiod Theogony. 588–9. He repeats the phrase ‘sheer irresistible snare’ also in Erga, 83. 62 Hesiod Erga, 60–1, 94–5.

Bibliography Barber, E.W. 1994 Women’s Work The First 20,000 Years: Women, cloth, and society in early times, New York and London. Beard, M. 1991 ‘Adopting an approach II’, in T. Rasmussen and N. Spivey (eds.) Looking at Greek Vases, Cambridge, 12–35.

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Visions of gleaming textiles and a clay core: textiles, Greek women, and Pandora Bergren, A.L.T. 1983 ‘Language and the female in early Greek thought’, Arethusa 16.1, 69–95. Blundell, S. 1995 Women in Ancient Greece, Cambridge, Mass. 1998 ‘Marriage and the maiden: narratives on the Parthenon’, in S. Blundell and M. Williamson (eds.) The Sacred and the Feminine in Ancient Greece, New York and London, 47–70. Boardman, J. 1989 Athenian Red Figure Vases: The classical period, New York. Cole, S. 1998 ‘Domesticating Artemis’, in S. Blundell and M. Williamson (eds.) The Sacred and the Feminine in Ancient Greece, New York and London, 27–43. D’Ambra, E. 1994 ‘The calculus of Venus: nude portraits of Roman matrons’, in N.B. Kampen (ed.) Sexuality in Ancient Art, Cambridge, 219–32. Davidson, J. 1998 Courtesans and Fishcakes: The consuming passions of classical Athens, New York. Detienne, M. and Vernant, J.-P. 1978 Cunning Intelligence in Greek Culture and Society, trans. J. Lloyd, Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey. Faraone, C.A. 1999 Ancient Greek Love Magic, Cambridge, Mass. Kearns, E. 1998 ‘The nature of heroines’, in S. Blundell and M. Williamson (eds.) The Sacred and the Feminine in Ancient Greece, New York and London, 96–110. Kennedy, G.A. 1986 ‘Helen’s web unraveled’, Arethusa 19, 8. Keuls, E.C. 1983 ‘Attic vase-painting and the home textile industry’, in W.G. Moon (ed.) Ancient Greek Art and Iconography, Madison, Wis., 209–30. King, H. 1998 Hippocrates’ Woman: Reading the female body in ancient Greece, London and New York. Liddell, H.G. and Scott, R. (eds.) 1966 A Greek-English Lexicon, 9th edn, revised H.S. Jones et al., Oxford. Loraux, N. 1991 The Children of Athena: Athenian ideas about citizenship and the division between the sexes, transl. C. Levine, Princeton. Reeder, E.D. 1995 Pandora: Women in classical Greece, Princeton. Robins, G. 1994 ‘Dress, undress, and the representation of fertility and potency in New Kingdom Egyptian art’, in N.B. Kampen (ed.) Sexuality in Ancient Art, Cambridge, 27–40. Scheid, J. and Svenbro, J. 1996 The Craft of Zeus: Myths of weaving and fabric, transl. C. Volk, Cambridge, Mass.

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Judith Lynn Sebesta Silverman, K. 1986 ‘Fragments of a fashionable discourse’, in T. Modleski (ed.) Studies in Entertainment: Critical approaches to mass culture, Bloomington, Ind., 139–52. Stewart, A. 1997 Art, Desire, and the Body in Ancient Greece, New York. Thomas, C. 1988 ‘Penelope’s worth: looming large in early Greece’, Hermes 116, 257–64. Thornton, B.S. 1997 Eros: The myth of ancient Greek sexuality, Boulder, Col. Wohl, V. 1998 Intimate Commerce. Exchange, gender, and subjectivity in Greek tragedy, Austin, Tex. Zeitlin, F. 1992 Foreword in N. Loraux, The Children of Athena: Athenian ideas about citizenship and the division between the sexes, transl. C. Levine, Princeton, xi–xvii.

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9 CLUTCHING AT CLOTHES Sue Blundell

KALONIKE: We women! What bright ideas are we ever going to come up with, sitting at home applying our blusher, wearing our saffron gowns and generally flaunting ourselves in our cambric shifts and our flimsy slippers? LYSISTRATA: But that’s exactly what I mean. Little saffron dresses, perfumes, flimsy slippers, blusher, see-through chitons – those are just the things we need if we’re going to save Greece. (Aristophanes, Lysistrata 42–8)

This exchange takes place in the opening scene of Aristophanes’ comedy Lysistrata, when the heroine is about to unveil her strategy of the sex-strike to her horrified companions. In order to save Greece, she argues, the women of Athens must voluntarily abstain from sexual intercourse, until frustration drives their menfolk into making peace with the Spartans. For this action to be effective, Lysistrata’s accomplices will have to do all they can to arouse their men’s passions. So the sex-strike, far from suppressing women’s eroticism, is going to exploit it. The snatch of dialogue quoted above makes it clear that, in Aristophanes’ view at least, this eroticism is closely bound up with women’s clothing. Lysistrata is not telling her confederates to inflame their men by undressing; rather, she is telling them that they must dress up. At the same time there is an interplay between the idea of covering the body, and the idea of exposing and exhibiting it. The women are to put on saffron gowns, dainty slippers, and chitons, but the chitons they slip into are to be see-through, or diaphane. In this context, then, women’s clothing is designed both to conceal and reveal. The image conjured up by Lysistrata’s words is the verbal equivalent of the clinging and semi-transparent dresses which, at the time when the play was staged, were beginning to swathe the female form in some very prominent sculptures.1 Clothing in general, it is often said, is more sexually alluring than nakedness, because in concealing the body it excites curiosity and a desire to remove the wrappings which shield the body from view.2 If the clothing is diaphanous or very close-fitting these acts of covering and revealing are performed simultaneously, and the sexual content of the message becomes all the more explicit. When women’s clothes are depicted by artists, or described by playwrights, their qualities can be manipulated in order to heighten the effect of this 143

Sue Blundell interplay between concealment and display. The present chapter deals with one particular form taken by the interplay created by artists – the one which the Athenian vase-painter engages in when he puts clothes onto his female figures, and then directs the viewer’s gaze towards the clothes and the bodies beneath them by making the women clutch at an item of apparel. It deals, in other words, with the gestures which women make with their clothing in Athenian vase-paintings. My main aim is to provide a review of the principal gestures performed and the contexts in which they appear; and on this basis to explore some of their possible meanings. Most modern commentators would agree that the language of gesture is not universal, but is shaped by specific social and cultural circumstances,3 so that the meaning of actions depicted on painted pots made in Greece two-and-a-half-thousand years ago will by no means always be obvious. But clothes-clutching gestures are worth thinking about, for if they can be interpreted they will help to illuminate Greek ideas about femininity and the construction of gender difference. Why did the painter choose clutching at clothes? I begin with some preliminary points. Firstly, I take it as given that most artists do not see themselves as being under any obligation to provide an accurate visual record of the real world. This would have been especially true of the Athenian vase-painter, who even when representing ‘everyday life’ never attempted to depict any more than a fraction of the objects and actions which he would have seen with his own eyes when surveying actual scenes. Certain items were selected and juxtaposed by the painter because of their ability to refer in shorthand fashion to particular aspects of human experience. Vasepaintings could not visually recreate these experiences, but they could allude to them and through these allusions suggest meanings which might be derived from them.4 So the question, ‘Why did vase-painters so frequently show women clutching at their clothes?’ cannot be answered simply by saying that in real life women must have handled their clothing a great deal. Even if this were true (which it may well have been), painters would still have had to decide to depict these particular gestures in preference to all the other actions which they saw women performing regularly (combing their hair, eating their meals, smacking their children, and so on). When one gesture is prioritized over another, there must be reasons for this, even if they are merely reasons of painterly tradition and convention. Exploring these reasons will be part of the process of uncovering a gesture’s meanings. Dressing, undressing, and ambiguity Many of the clothes-clutching actions depicted in vase-paintings are explicitly associated with acts of dressing or undressing. These may be either total (covering or uncovering the naked body) or partial (for example, covering or uncovering one’s face by adjusting a veil). In real life dressing and undressing are 144

Clutching at clothes activities which take place on the boundary between the private and the social worlds. In dressing we are preparing our bodies for public presentation, and when we undress we are generally withdrawing into the private domain. Greek vase-painters sometimes depict women’s clothes-clutching gestures in contexts where it is clear that one or the other activity is being performed, so that the viewer is able to predict with some certainty whether a character is about to move into a social or a private milieu. But vase-paintings in general are often open-ended in their meanings. Meaning is a product of a set of interactions between the artist, his painting, and its viewer; and sometimes the viewer is given the freedom to mentally complete a painted scene in his or her own way. Clothes-clutching gestures may contribute significantly to this kind of open-endedness. Because in these paintings we are generally looking at a frozen moment of action, we cannot always tell whether a woman is in the process of putting an item of clothing on or of taking it off.5 In Fig. 8, for example, it is impossible to know from the gesture itself whether the woman is about to draw her veil over her face or whether she is pulling it away. In images such as these, where the clotheshandling gesture could easily go either way, the interplay between concealment and exposure is an intrinsic component of the scene’s meaning. Individual viewers may want to make up their own minds whether the woman in the picture is covering or uncovering her face; or they may decide alternatively to settle for ambiguity, and in this way to preserve the sense of suspense generated by the uncertainty of the outcome. A woman who may be either dressing or undressing is truly on the boundary. Poised between the social and the private spheres, she belongs at this moment in time to neither of them. Such a figure can therefore be used to accentuate the drama of a scene. It also seems to express very cogently the notion of female liminality – the positioning of women on the boundaries between different social categories. This concept is believed by many commentators to have been a fundamental determinant of the social status assigned to women in many parts of the Greek world.6 Clothing is feminine My final preliminary point provides, perhaps, a partial answer to the question raised by the first one. According to Bassi (1995, 7), clothing ‘is generally encoded as feminine in Greek culture’. We may want to query this assertion in relation to certain individual garments.7 But few people would have difficulty in agreeing that, as a generic item, clothing is much more closely associated with females than males, both in Greek literature and in Greek art; not the least because a high proportion of the men depicted in Greek art are nude. Most of us have grown up in cultures where concern with dress and appearance has been viewed as a quintessentially feminine trait; and it should not come as any surprise to us to realize that the Greeks too saw clothing as expressing some fundamental truths about women.8 Men, on the other hand, were not 145

Sue Blundell supposed to take much of an interest in their clothing; so that those who were noted for wearing fine garments were liable to gain reputations for being both womanizers and womanized.9 On this basis we can surmise that for Greek artists their depiction of clothing, and therefore of clothes-clutching, was part of their construction of femininity. Through these gestures with clothing artists were highlighting, for whatever reason, the femininity of their female characters. This supposition will be examined further in the review of gestures which is to follow. Shoes My review of clothes-clutching gestures starts at the feet and moves gradually up the body. So I begin with images of women who are grasping their shoes,10 a topic which I shall be treating at greater length than the material may appear to warrant, since the great majority of females shown in vase-paintings are barefoot. However, the comparative scarcity of footwear in paintings suggests that when shoes do make an appearance the viewer is intended to take notice of them. In Greek culture, as in our own, shoes in certain contexts seem to be invested with a great deal of significance. In general they form a fascinating subject, but unfortunately not one that can be dealt with at great length here. In classical Athens both men and women may sometimes have gone barefoot indoors, especially during the summer months. Some may have remained unshod even when they left the home. Socrates, for example, caused something of a stir when he took a bath and put some shoes on before going out to dinner, since these were ‘two circumstances which were very unusual for him’ (Plato, Symposium 174A).11 In him shoelessness may have been a badge of an asceticism considered typical of all those who followed his calling: elsewhere philosophers like Socrates are referred to as ‘stuck-up, white-faced, barefoot characters’ (Aristophanes, Clouds 102–3). In others, the condition would have been imposed by poverty, as it was with the mythical lost boy Eros, who was pictured as ‘hard and weather-beaten, shoeless and homeless, always sleeping out for want of a bed…’ (Plato, Symposium 203D). But for most people, males and females, shoes were certainly the norm when leaving the house. There are numerous references to footwear in literature, and both women and men are shown wearing shoes in sculpture. In addition, the shoe-maker’s craft was significant enough to be recorded by both writers and painters.12 Not surprisingly, women’s shoes were generally of a different style from men’s and could be seen as conferring a distinctively feminine identity on their wearers.13 When Euripides’ elderly relative is to be despatched to a festival disguised as a female worshipper, he needs to ask the effeminate poet Agathon for the loan of some footwear, as well as a saffron gown, a girdle and a wrap (Aristophanes, Thesmophoriazousai 253–68). Praxagora, conversely, purloins her husband’s shoes when she infiltrates an Assembly meeting masquerading as a man; the husband, meanwhile, is left with no choice but to grab his spouse’s 146

Clutching at clothes ‘Persian slippers’14 when he has to dash out of the house to relieve himself (Aristophanes, Ekklesiazousai 74–5, 319, 345 and 508). Shoes were put on when one was going out, and sometimes removed on reentering the house. So Praxagora instructs her fellow conspirators, ‘Quick, slip on your men’s shoes, just like you’ve seen your husbands do when they disappear off to the Assembly, or go out anywhere at all’ (Aristophanes, Ekklesiazousai 269–71). The young women of the Chorus who arrive breathlessly on stage to lend succour to the fettered Prometheus had no time for such niceties: they emphasize their anxiety for their relative by pointing out that they rushed out to see him just as they were, ‘unsandalled’ (Aeschylus, Prometheus Bound 135). The goddess Athena, of course, was far better organized, and ‘bound beautiful sandals beneath her feet’ when flying off from Olympos to Ithaka to intercept Telemachos (Homer, Odyssey 1.96). On his return from Troy Agamemnon famously asks someone to take his shoes off for him before he steps onto the tapestries which Clytemnestra has spread across the entrance to the palace (Aeschylus, Agamemnon 944–5). But Agamemnon has religious reasons for doing this, since as far as he is concerned these splendid textiles belong to the gods. In normal circumstances shoes were not necessarily left at the door: when Alcibiades turns up at a party he clearly walks into the house with his shoes on, but orders are then given for slaves to remove them so that he can recline on a couch with the other guests (Plato, Symposium 213B). There were probably a number of situations – involving couch, bath, or bed – in which shoes were taken off once their owner had come indoors.15 But people did not go barefoot all the time in the domestic interior. Lysistrata’s women, as my opening quotation shows, were certainly envisaged as sporting footwear in the privacy of their own homes; and in Xenophon’s Treatise on household management a wife – one who is never known to leave the house – is reprimanded by her husband for wearing make-up and putting on ‘high shoes’ to make herself look taller (Xenophon, Oeconomicus 9.19.2). Females and males in indoor locations are represented as wearing shoes in many of the reliefs on Attic grave stelai;16 while fancy sandals called blautai were sometimes worn at male drinking-parties, though these were probably removed when the guests were ascending their couches.17 So footwear was a common item of apparel. Yet most women in vasepainting appear barefoot, even when the setting is specifically identified as an outdoor one. Men too are often represented in the same way, although with them the condition is not quite so common. Clearly, then, naked feet cannot be interpreted as a straightforward reflection of real-life dress-codes. lnstead, they have to be seen as an artistic convention. There may have been a number of reasons why this convention developed,18 but these are not my concern at present. What interests me in this context is the relative scarcity of shoes, and their visual impact when they do make an appearance. In Fig. 1, for example, the painter in depicting a scene of male-female 147

Sue Blundell courtship has taken the trouble to show the young men wearing elaborate sandals, while the feet of their female partners are bare. The fanciness of the men’s shoes draws the viewer’s attention to the figures’ nether regions, where the contrast with the naked feet of the women (who are almost certainly to be seen as prostitutes) helps to signify a difference between the two parties. The same contrast is featured in the scene on the other side of the cup, where young men are courting boys in a rather more upfront and vigorous manner.19 If shoes are made for walking – and some of the literature already quoted certainly indicates that putting your shoes on was associated with leaving the home for the wider world – then the difference that is being highlighted in both scenes may be one of status. The young men’s sandals, coupled with their sticks, signify their ability to move around freely in outdoor, public space; and in this way their position as Athenian citizens is underlined. Their companions, by contrast, are marked out in this context as people who do not enjoy the same privileges as the youths – who as females or as under-age males are formally excluded from the public domain. Their presence in this world of masculine transactions is sanctioned because of the function which they perform as objects of desire. But their bare feet signal that it is not a world in which they are entirely at home. In other paintings the same contrast between the shod and the unshod works in the opposite direction. When naked men who are still wearing shoes are seen having sex with females whose nudity extends to their feet, it is the males who are identified as being out of place. The interior world of the brothel is not a sphere in which they really belong, and they are in a hurry to be gone.20

Fig. 1. Red-figure cup by Peithinos, 525–475 bc. Side B, men courting women. Antikensammlung, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin – Preussischer Kulturbesitz, F2279.

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Clutching at clothes If putting shoes on can symbolize a passage from the private to the public domain, then conversely shoes-that-have-been-removed can function as markers of private interior space. They signify that their wearers have withdrawn from the outside world and have crossed the boundary into domestic territory, or into a more personalised zone within that territory. In vase-paintings they can be seen hanging on invisible walls or standing on the floor beneath couches or beside wash-basins. Not only do they help to denote the setting in which the scene is being enacted, they also serve as reminders of the public arena to which these people will have access once they have reclaimed their footwear. In all-male gatherings they help to enhance the notion of a masculine community by referring to the public role shared by the scene’s participants.21 But in female environments the implications can be rather different. Here the domestic space which is designated by hanging shoes is not generally that of the ordinary Athenian oikos. Usually the women are entertaining groups of male visitors, and the footwear reinforces our assumptions about their character by telling us that these females are in the habit of stepping out of the house.22 ‘So it is seemly for a woman to remain inside and not venture out of doors’ is the maxim offered to the young wife in Xenophon’s Treatise on household management (7.30). Women who hang shoes on their walls should probably not be regarded as entirely seemly. The dividing-line between public and private space is not the only boundary with which shoes are associated. Their removal can also signify a transition from the secular to the sacred world, as when the lovely Nike from the parapet of Athena Nike’s temple in Athens unties her sandal before performing a sacrifice.23 Rest after travel may be an additional notion conjured up by Nike’s action: this is no fleeting visit, Victory is here to stay. The beginning rather than the end of a journey is called to mind in vase-paintings where a bride is fitted with special shoes called nymphides during the preparations for her wedding (Fig. 2).24 Here the transition alluded to is the one which the young woman will undergo when

Fig. 2. Red-figure squat lekythos in the manner of the Meidias Painter, 450–400 bc. Eros fitting a bride with shoes. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, 95.1402.

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Sue Blundell she passes from her father’s to her husband’s oikos, and at the climax of her journey is transformed from unmarried virgin into sexually active wife. In many cultures, including our own, shoes can of course have strongly erotic connotations.25 This was certainly true for the Greeks. Perfume-jars in the shape of sandalled feet26 would often have been used in amorous contexts, since perfumed oil seems to have featured heavily as an item which aided both seduction and intercourse. Lysistrata’s women, as we know, were advised to use shoes as part of their sexual equipment. Later in the same play, the Athenian magistrate gives a choice example of genital imagery when illustrating his compatriots’ foolish propensity for pandering to female lust: Another chap goes to the shoemaker, a slip of a lad but very well-hung, and says, ‘Oh shoemaker, the strap of my wife’s sandal is pinching her little toe, it’s so very tender. Go round at mid-day and loosen it up a bit, will you? Give her something with a bit more breadth to it.’ (Aristophanes, Lysistrata 414–19)

As erotic objects, shoes were naturally associated with prostitutes as well as with randy wives. In later times streetwalkers advertised their trade by incorporating invitations to clients into the nails on the soles of their shoes, ‘thus stamping the lustfulness of their own feelings onto the earth’ (Clement of Alexandria, Paedagogus 2.11.116) , and actual soles have survived with messages such as ‘follow me’ hammered into them.27 In fifth-century Athens, if some of the brothel scenes in vase-paintings are to be believed, there was a form of sadistic practice where men used to beat prostitutes with slippers or the soles of shoes.28 The fact that the Greeks had a word blautoo, meaning ‘to hit with a slipper’, suggests that the activity was not uncommon. Though the transitions with which shoes are associated are not necessarily sexual in character, gestures involving footwear seem often to impart an erotic flavour to a scene. The significance of the action performed by the Nike on the Acropolis has to be viewed as primarily religious; yet this particular Nike is undoubtedly a sensual figure, and her pose as she bends down to loosen her sandal strap has allowed the sculptor to insert a suggestive shadowy gap between the goddess’s thighs. Not surprisingly, then, she was later to become the ancestor of numerous hellenistic Aphrodites who removed their shoes with more obviously erotic intent.29 In paintings which show the adornment of a bride the transition referred to by the inclusion of nymphides is certainly in part a sexual one; and indeed the kneeling figure who slips the shoes onto the bride’s feet is more often than not identified as Eros (Fig. 2). The crossing of boundaries which is signified by shoes-that-have-beenremoved can similarly involve an erotic element. A pair of boots standing by a wash-basin reminds us that the naked women who are grouped around it are normally covered but have now been uncovered – reminds us, in other words, that ours is a privileged and quite possibly an illicit viewing. Shoes underneath a couch may be used simply to develop the idea of a symposium where there is 150

Clutching at clothes wine-drinking, chat, and relaxation; or they may denote one where the couch is occupied by a woman who is being fondled by her male companion. In brothel scenes, naturally, shoes-beneath-the-couch can mean more than this, and can underscore a representation of full-scale sexual activity.30 Footwear may have been the final item to be removed before a woman hopped into bed: ‘I’m just taking my shoes off!’ is almost the last exclamation heard from one of the strikers in Lysistrata who has been goading her husband into a sexual frenzy by pretending that she was about to share a camp-bed with him (Aristophanes, Lysistrata 950). So when a naked woman is seen on the neck of an amphora lacing her sandal (Fig. 3) – and here I arrive at last at a painting where a woman is actually handling her own shoe – it is more than likely that the gesture will be assigned a sexual significance. ‘Tight lacing excites desire not just because it has a constraining effect but also because it carries the promise of release.’ (McDowell 1989, 73). The overall associations of shoes and lacing, the suggestiveness of the woman’s raised leg, and her location above a scene showing a sexual assault by satyr on maenad all help to impart a tone of eroticism to the image; while the implication that the woman will soon be emerging into the outside world may well prompt the viewer into concluding that she is a street-walker. The impact of this network of connotations is reinforced when the viewer’s gaze moves around the pot. On the other side of the neck another naked woman, this time perched on a cushion, is seen fiddling with her sandal, while below her a determined maenad fends off another marauding satyr. The gesture performed by the woman on the cushion is a bit more ambiguous than

Fig. 3. Red-figure neck-amphora by Oltos, 525–475 bc. Naked woman putting on sandals. Musée du Louvre, G2. Photo RMN - Chuzeville.

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Sue Blundell that of her sister – it is just possible that she is taking her shoe off rather than putting it on. But either way the action points to an erotic encounter. A shoe removed may mean that sex is imminent, while one that is being put on invites speculation as to why it was taken off in the first place. Though other shoe-handling scenes offer rather more in the way of immediate context, the viewer may still be given a substantial role to play in constructing the gesture’s meaning. On either side of a wine-cup31 some naked women are observed dressing, first in an outdoor and then in an indoor setting. In one scene a woman carries a folded garment and a pair of boots, while in the other boots are being pulled on by an otherwise nude female. There is nothing explicitly erotic about these images; no obvious clues have been given concerning the women’s identity or precise locations. But sensuous enjoyment is encouraged by the poses and by the sense that this is an illicit sighting of a private moment; and enjoyment may be heightened by speculation about the precise meaning of the boots. Have they been included merely to denote the act of dressing, or do they signify a more serious sexual purpose? Elsewhere an accumulation of signs helps to intensify the erotic implications of shoe-handling. A naked woman who is tying her sandal is much more obviously dressing for love when the figure flying in with her chiton is Eros himself,32 although it is impossible to know whether she is adorning herself for a husband or a lover. Two naked women, one cleaning her boot and the other carrying a garment and offering her companion a perfume-jar, seem to point more obviously to sexual commerce, especially since the first one has been given a clearly marked patch of pubic hair.33 The inclusion of a male watcher in a scene can sharpen our appreciation of the seductive nature of the sandallacing spectacle, even when the woman doing the lacing is fully clothed;34 and when a nude female squats over a footbath to do up her shoe our sense that this is a form of sexual display is confirmed when we spot the large shadowy dildo sketched in on one side.35 Shoes can have multiple meanings; but when they are handled by females in vase-paintings they almost always help to create an atmosphere of sensuality. In these contexts uncertainty is generated not so much by the objects themselves as by our ignorance concerning the women’s status. Sometimes shoes fairly clearly mean street-walking; but often as viewers we are left to decide for ourselves what kind of women we would like these sandal-lacers to be. Skirts Of all the clothes-handling gestures performed in vase-paintings, the lifting of the skirt will seem to many present-day viewers to be the one most obviously linked to real life. Any woman who has ever worn a long skirt knows that there are a number of situations where it has to be raised in order to avoid tripping. Yet we still need to ask why, and in what contexts, Athenian vase-painters choose to depict this particular gesture. Historically women of many cultures 152

Clutching at clothes have worn garments reaching down to their ankles, but by no means all of them have been regularly represented lifting their skirts. In Greek art itself the motif is certainly not automatic: archaic korai are often to be seen holding out a fold of their lower garments, but the gesture is not particularly common in later classical sculpture. None of the women in the Parthenon frieze, for example, seems to be grasping her skirt.36 In our own culture the skirt is the item of clothing which more than any other distinguishes female from male. ‘A bit of skirt’ is still a common slang expression for a woman, especially in a sexual context. But in ancient Greece skirts were worn by both sexes. In classical Athens it was the length of the garment rather than the garment itself which acted as a marker of gender difference. Long as well as short chitons had been worn by Athenian males up to the end of the sixth century bc, but after that the longer version went out of fashion for men. Like finery in general, it had begun to be associated with a form of luxurious display which was considered unsuitable for citizens of a democratic polis.37 During this period, we can surmise, the short skirt came to be regarded as a sign of masculinity. Long chitons were still worn by men in quite specific circumstances, but even on those occasions were evidently considered unusual enough to be worthy of comment. Musicians, for example, wore them for public performances, and in vase-paintings are sometimes shown stepping onto platforms with their skirts daintily raised in one hand.38 If a man dresses up as a woman, the action of fiddling with the skirt can therefore be used to highlight his transformation. When Pentheus is persuaded to adopt a female disguise in Euripides’ Bacchae, his feminization is underlined in a scene which parodies women’s adornment and titivation: Dionysus: Your belt has come loose, and the folds of your peplos are hanging unevenly down to your ankles. Pentheus: Yes, I believe they are – by my right foot. On the other side the peplos hangs straight. (Euripides, Bacchae 935–8)

So when a woman in a vase-painting holds up her skirt, she may be simply drawing attention to her femininity. But it seems that often there is an added dimension to the gesture. It is frequently used to lend emphasis to a representation of vigorous activity – as for example when a fleeing maiden desperately tries to evade the clutches of a pursuing hero.39 Here the gesture underlines the feminine desirability of the pursuer’s prey, while at the same time making it clear that her desirability has forced her into a course of action which is uncharacteristic for a woman. Females in Greece were supposed to take small dainty steps when they walked; long strides, and most certainly running, were features of male deportment.40 So the action with the skirt tells the viewer that women were not really designed to move around in the outside world. Like the high heels and voluminous skirts of a later era discussed by Veblen, it 153

Sue Blundell makes the point that feminine clothing ‘hampers the wearer at every turn and incapacitates her for all useful exertion’ (1994, 171). This tension between vigorous activity and femininity seems in some ways to be particularly acute when the performer is the goddess Athena (Fig. 4) Mannish exertion would not normally be considered out of the ordinary for this particular deity, but the Pan Painter has managed to make it appear so in a scene in which the goddess is shown absconding with Perseus after he has cut off the Gorgon’s head. Above the waist Athena is, as usual, well equipped for a life of action, with helmet, aegis and spear; but below it she holds out her see-through flowered skirt in a gesture whose delicacy is highlighted by the contrast with the military items displayed in her upper half. For once we are being presented with an image of a feminine, not to say sexy, Athena. Dancing is another activity to which skirt-clutching can add emphasis;41 and sometimes the performance also carries strong overtones of eroticism. ‘Remember what I taught you – lift up your skirt and skip lightly’ is the instruction given by a make-believe madame to a dancing-girl whose task is to lure away a randy policeman (Aristophanes, Thesmophoriazousai 1173–4). When a slim young woman on the inside of a wine-cup42 raises her dress with both hands and is surveyed by an enthusiastic drinker on a couch, we know from her action that she is an entertainer at a symposium; but we also know that after the dancing she may well be providing the male spectator with sexual services. Static dress-lifting can carry a more straightforward sexual invitation, as is the case with one of the unshod females being courted by a sandalled youth (Fig. 1), or with a young woman in a brothel who displays her ankles to a customer.43

Fig. 4. Red-figure hydria by the Pan Painter, 500–450 bc. Athena helps Perseus to slay the Gorgon. British Museum, E181.

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Clutching at clothes The gesture is more ambiguous, though not very, in a situation where a woman is seen lifting up her skirt and viewing the effect in a mirror (Fig. 5). Her action clearly signifies the final stage in the process of dressing; her friend, who is just tying a band around her hair, is not far behind. But it is easy to tell that these women are entertainers who are dolling themselves up for a night on the town. The man who is seated between them is holding a money-pouch; there is a flute-case hanging on the wall; Eros is flying in on each side to bless the occasion; and even the dog seems excited. So the viewer of the pot, like the male viewer in the scene itself, can anticipate that this act of dressing will in the near future be followed by an act of undressing. Covering the body is merely a prelude to its future exposure. Scenes such as this, like some of the depictions of sandal-lacing already discussed, are the female counterpart to paintings in which men are being observed donning their armour prior to their departure for the battlefield.44 In both types of scene the activity of clothing the body denotes an imminent transition from the domestic to the public sphere. But in the female version the confrontation which is going to occur once this boundary has been crossed will take the form of an erotic encounter. Sex is for women what war is for men – their main public duty. The lifting of the skirt is indeed a gesture which emphasizes a woman’s femininity. But its precise significance varies depending on the context. Sometimes it operates through a process of opposition, highlighting feminine incapacity or vulnerability by showing a woman engaged in a form of strenuous exercise to which she is not really suited. But often the action involves an element of erotic display, and in some scenes this is an explicit part of the overall narrative. Ultimately a lifted skirt is a sign, not of gender, but of biological sex: in both

Fig. 5. Red-figure stamnos by the Eucharides Painter, 500–450 bc. Side A, two women dressing, one with mirror and dog; seated male with money-pouch. National Museum, Copenhagen, 124.

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Sue Blundell literature and vase-painting the raising of a skirt to the waist can be featured as an activity which establishes sexual identity.45 A skirt that is only partially raised is a type of undress which may focus an onlooker’s attention on the parts that are still covered, and on the potential for further exposure. Belts Moving up the body to the waist, we consider next the woman who is tying or untying her belt (the zone). Literary sources indicate that this item functioned as an important determinant of femininity. The first woman, Pandora, was ‘girdled’ by the goddess Athena as part of the process of adornment that brought her into being (Hesiod, Works and Days 72); and females in Homer may be be described approvingly as ‘well-girdled’ or ‘deep-girdled’ (Iliad 9.590 and 594). Rituals involving the belt suggest that the concealment or exposure of a woman’s sexuality – its containment or opening-up – were the notions conveyed when the zone was fastened or loosened.46 Shortly before her marriage a young woman might offer to Artemis or Athene the belt which she had worn as a virgin,47 a dedication which prefigured the bridegroom’s untying of her belt on the night of their wedding. This act of loosening a maiden’s belt acquired, understandably, a potent symbolism, and was used to refer to the taking of a woman’s virginity, whether by a husband or by a divine or heroic lover in myth.48 But the opening-up of the female interior was achieved by childbirth as well as by sexual intercourse, so that a woman who was said to loosen her own belt was one who was going into labour.49 When a female handles her girdle in a vasepainting her action is always presented as part of the process of dressing or undressing; and, not surprisingly in view of the belt’s symbolic associations, it seems always to occur in an erotic context. The gesture of tying the belt is frequently depicted as one of the significant stages in a woman’s adornment, and is included alongside perfume-jars, mirrors, jewellery and other items which connote an atmosphere of festivity Fig. 6. Red-figure alabastron, and sensuality. The context in itself tells us that 500–450 bc. Side B, bride the woman is dressing rather than undressing; tying belt. The British Museum, E719. but the gesture too is generally pictured in quite 156

Clutching at clothes a distinctive way, for more often than not the woman is seen holding a fold of her chiton between her teeth while using both hands to adjust the belt (Fig. 6). This would have happened when she was tying rather than untying her girdle, so that when the fold was released it fell down in the form of an overhang at the waist. Sometimes Eros is in attendance and is shown flying into view with more clothing or cosmetic equipment. Occasionally a male watcher is incorporated into the scene: on the reverse of the vase shown in Fig. 6 a young man who offers a necklace to the belt-tying woman is pronouncing her to be ‘kale’ or ‘beautiful’.50 Most of these narratives of female adornment can be interpreted as the preparations for a wedding, so that the procedure with the belt is to be seen as a motif which draws the viewer’s attention to a significant area in the bride’s anatomy. The male watcher, when included, can generally be identified as the bridegroom; and his presence has to be viewed, not as a feature derived from real life (bridegrooms were not, as far as we know, spectators at the dressing of the bride), but rather as an imaginative inclusion which gives added meaning to the belt-tying gesture. There can be little doubt that the particular stage in the process of dressing represented in Fig. 6 is to be regarded as the prelude to a future undressing, one that will mark the bride’s transition from virginity to sexual maturity. The definitive mythological precedent for this type of dressing is provided by no less a figure than Hera, the consort of Zeus and goddess of marriage. When for tactical reasons she wanted to divert her husband’s attention away from events on the battlefield at Troy, Hera made elaborate preparations for an erotic encounter which was to be an action-replay of the couple’s weddingnight (Homer, Iliad 14.161–223). She bathed and anointed her body, dressed in a fragrant robe, and put on a golden brooch and ear-rings with mulberry clusters. Around her waist she fastened a zone with a hundred tassels. The veil which she placed on her head ‘glimmered pale like the sunlight’, and before leaving her chamber she bound fair sandals beneath her feet. Finally she borrowed from Aphrodite a magical band - not a zone but a kestos himas – which was hidden between her breasts.51 This is Hera’s arming scene, the occasion when she equips her body for the magnificent display of prowess which will mark her confrontation with Zeus. She is spectacularly successful, and in the account of the al fresco love-making which follows we do not need to be told that the items which have so wonderfully concealed the goddess’s beauty are now in the process of being removed.52 Like Homer, painters who include belt-tying gestures in their wedding-scenes allude to the sexual climax of the proceedings indirectly, through their depiction of a process of covering the body which is shortly to be reversed. Tying the belt, like lacing the sandals, brings a promise of future release. Explicit references to untying occur in contexts which evoke the more uninhibited eroticism of the drinking-party. In Fig. 7, for example, the combination of lyre, bread-basket 157

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Fig. 7. Red-figure cup by Onesimos, 525–475 bc. Interior: man, and woman untying belt. The British Museum, E44.

and middle-aged male watcher, coupled with the image’s position on the inside of a wine-cup, inform us with some certainty that the woman fiddling with her belt is not a bride but a prostitute who is on the verge of taking her clothes off. But in its essential meaning the scene differs very little from those which show bridal adornment. Gestures with the belt speak either of straightforward exposure, or of a concealment of the body which is specifically undertaken so that later it can be freed from its wrappings. Veils The significance of the veil is discussed in detail elsewhere in this book. Here I shall go no further than making a couple of basic points about the depiction of veil-handling by vase-painters. Firstly, the woman who holds out her veil in a painting is not always to be identified as a new bride (Fig. 8). Often the gesture is used to denote a wife, as in those ‘departure of the warrior’ scenes where the woman’s presence helps to define the domestic environment which the male is about to leave (Fig. 9). But the relationship highlighted by the action need not always be marital. Sometimes veil-clutching is performed by a woman who is simply on the verge of having sex with a man. This may be voluntary, as in the case of a woman who takes part in some after-dinner revels (Fig. 10); or it may be involuntary, and the woman raising her veil may be fending off an assault on her chastity.53 The ‘veil’ which is employed in these scenes may be a cloak or a separate piece of material; or it may be just the 158

Clutching at clothes overhang of a woman’s peplos (Fig. 9) or even the sleeve of her chiton (Figs. 10 and 11), items which would have come in handy for covering the face in the absence of anything more formal. My second point relates to the ambiguity of the veil-grasping gesture, and the way that this is used to underline the notion of transition. It is generally impossible to tell from the action alone whether a woman who holds out her veil in a painting is in the process of covering or uncovering herself. A veil in itself is a kind of boundary; and if the female handling it is shown on the cusp between concealment and exposure her liminality can serve as a potent emblem for the state of suspension which accompanies the crossing of social or personal frontiers. When a bride is led in procession to her new husband’s oikos (Fig. 8) the rite of passage referred to is her own; and the ambivalence of her gesture neatly expresses the dual character of the role awarded to an Athenian wife.

Fig. 8. Red-figure loutrophoros, 450–400 bc. Detail of veiled bride. Antikensammlung, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin - Preussischer Kulturbesitz, F2372.

Fig. 9. Red-figure stamnos by the Kleophon Painter, 450–400 bc. Wife and husband, who is departing for war. The State Hermitage Museum, St Petersburg, St. 1428.

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Sue Blundell This is a woman who is expected to be both chaste and sexually active – to keep herself secure from the gaze of other men, but to open her body up in the presence of her husband.

Fig. 10. Red-figure skyphos by the Brygos Painter, 500–450 bc. Komos scene with two couples. Musée du Louvre, G156. Photo RMN - Lewandowski.

Fig. 11. Red-figure cup by Douris, 500–450 bc. Interior: two women, one spinning, the other holding up chiton sleeve. Antikensammlung, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin Preussischer Kulturbesitz, F2289.

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Clutching at clothes Sometimes the context for a gesture will prompt the viewers of a scene into completing the action themselves, and deciding whether the woman in question is covering or uncovering her features. If it is linked to a warrior’s imminent departure (Fig. 9), viewers are likely to conclude that the gesture is one of veiling rather than unveiling, signifying that the wife’s face will be modestly concealed while her husband is away. But the notion of a boundary is still very much present – here the veil-handling bolsters our awareness of the transition which the woman’s husband is about to undergo. Conversely, when a woman flourishes her chiton sleeve in the midst of a revel (Fig. 10), the context will surely announce to the viewer that this is an unveiling, and that the transition foreshadowed will involve the exposure of the whole of this woman’s body. But in Fig. 11 the action is again truly ambiguous. As far as the viewer is concerned the status of these women is quite indeterminate. Spinning (the activity represented on the left), wool-baskets, the edge of a couch, and veilhandling itself – these are all items which are associated both with respectable wives and with prostitutes.54 So the ambiguity of the gesture reinforces our uncertainty about who these women are meant to be. If there is a boundary alluded to in this particular scene, perhaps it is the one which we ourselves are crossing as viewers. On the outside of the wine-cup there is a depiction of a male revel, with music, dancing and wine-drinking. When we undertake the journey from the outside to the inside of the cup we may well be unsure whether we have rounded off the evening’s festivities with a visit to a brothel, or have returned home to a pair of industrious female relatives. Hairbands Many of the components of clothes-clutching scenes identified so far recur in images of women who are binding their hair. Like sandal-lacing or belttying this gesture can be performed either in an all-female environment or in the presence of a male watcher; and along with belt-tying it seems often to constitute a significant stage in the adornment of a bride.55 In pictorial terms it is often difficult to distinguish tying from untying, so that like veil-handling an action with a hairband can easily appear ambiguous. When it is perpetrated by a woman at a symposium (sometimes a naked woman) it will be more readily interpreted as an action which will loosen the hair rather than bind it up.56 Women who let their hair down are women who are released from normal constraints,57 so that like untying a belt the loosening of a band can signify the opening up of a woman’s body. In one painting, for example, Danae is seen untying her hairband while the golden shower which is the product of Zeus’s lust pours down into her lap.58 But even explicit examples of tying can carry the notion of release: like other types of dressing the tying of a band around the head seems often to refer to a future undressing (Fig. 5), especially when it happens in front of a male observer, whether a bridegroom or a paying customer. 161

Sue Blundell Conclusion So why did painters choose clutching at clothes? Clearly it happened for a variety of reasons, one of which may have been pure convention. Certain types of clothes-handling would have functioned as a kind of code, employed almost automatically when notions of femininity were being conveyed. But gestures with clothes could also be used to signify motion, change or transition; to allude to real-life rituals; to mark or alternatively query a character’s status; and to generate uncertainty and suspense, and in this way involve the viewer in the construction of a scene’s meaning. One or more of these effects could have been produced by a single instance of clothes-handling. In almost every case, however, the gesture also carried intimations of eroticism, either by implication or as an explicit element in the narrative. When a woman in a painting handled her clothing she was being made to draw attention to her body; and while the idea of sexual display may sometimes have existed solely in the mind of the beholder, it was often reinforced by the woman’s partial nudity or suggestive pose, by symbolic or ritual meanings, or by the inclusion of a male watcher whose gaze identified the woman as a legitimate object of masculine desire. Through dress and undress, through the perpetual interplay between concealment and revelation, the basic interiority of the female was being reaffirmed in these paintings. Women were being defined as hidden interiors subject to an on-going process of covering and uncovering. This view was paralleled, on the one hand, by the ideological association between women and domestic inner space; and on the other by the designation of women as biological interiors – as receptacles designed to be filled by men and by babies.59 In real life it was seen as essential to the reproduction of Athenian society that the opening up of this series of interiors should be entrusted, in the case of the free-born Athenian woman, to a single male citizen. The exposure of the female in contexts other than marriage involved danger and disruption. Intrusion into the domestic interior was regarded as a serious violation of a household’s privacy;60 intrusion into the body of another citizen’s wife was a public offence punishable by death.61 Vase-painting could reassert these social boundaries through its emphasis on the covering up of the female form. But at the same time, by making the link between dressing and undressing, and by blurring distinctions between different categories of women, it provided an opportunity for an innocuous transgression of the boundaries which were being restated. Within the controlled environment of a pot’s domestic viewing-space, women could be stripped of their differences and transformed into undiluted erotic spectacles. According to the postmodernist feminist Judith Butler, gender is not a biological condition which stays with us from birth; rather, it is a ‘ritualized public performance’, something that we grow into because we repeatedly act it out in the course of our daily lives.62 Dressing up can be seen as a vital element in this public performance – the item which perhaps more than any other guarantees its success.63 Not everyone will want to go as far as Butler in denaturalizing 162

Clutching at clothes sexual categories in this way; but many will accept that, at the very least, clothing is often used to accentuate and therefore reproduce gender difference. ‘Playing the part of a woman’ is a tactic which Lysistrata recommends to her supporters when she explains in more detail how clothing might feature in her sex-strike. ‘If we were to sit indoors, with all our make-up on, naked beneath our sheerest chitons, with our bushes nicely trimmed, so our husbands started to stiffen and wanted to shag, but we wouldn’t let them – they’d soon make peace, I can tell you.’ (Aristophanes, Lysistrata 149–54)

Here, Lysistrata is telling her friends to put on a performance as sex-objects, and to use their clothing as part of their act. Indeed, to a very large extent the clothing is the act. All that the women have to do is to sit there, and their apparel will do the rest. Their dresses will make a vivid statement about their gender identity, because in covering the women’s bodies they will also reveal their sex-organs. In vase-painting, too, clothing is often manipulated to create a gender performance; and we as the viewers of the pot make up the audience. Notes Lysistrata was produced in 411 bc. One of the best-known examples of a sculpted female in a clinging dress – the ‘Aphrodite’ figure in the east pediment of the Parthenon - had been on display in Athens since the 430s bc. See Blundell 1995, 193–4, for some other contemporary examples 2 See, for example, Steele 1985, 42. 3 See Bremmer and Roodenburg 1991, 1–3. 4 For discussions of the vase-painter’s selection of figurative elements, see Bérard and Durand 1989, 34 (where this kind of pictorial system is referred to as a ‘game of signs’); Beard 1991, 20; and Sabetai 1997, 330–1. 5 See Snodgrass 1988, 60–1, for a discussion of the time-frames for painted scenes, and the distinction between ‘synoptic’ and single scenes. 6 See Gould 1980, 58. 7 For example, certain types of cloak, such as the khlaina, are presented in some contexts as signs of masculinity. So a young man of questionable gender may be asked, ‘…are you being reared as a man?/Where’s your dick then? Where’s your cloak (khlaina)?’ (Aristophanes, Thesmophoriazousai 141–2). 8 The notion that clothing is a basic component in the construction of female identity is perhaps most vividly expressed, where Greek culture is concerned, in the myth of Pandora (Hesiod, Theogony 585–612 and Works and Days 69–105). Pandora, the first female, receives gifts of clothing and jewellery from various deities as soon as she is created, and this clothing is very much part of her packaging. Her lovely exterior is seen as concealing a vicious and exploitative nature; hence clothing is presented as one element in the mysteriousness and general deceitfulness of women. See Bassi 1995, 6, for further discussion. The association between women and dress has been shared by many historical societies, and has, as Tseëlon 1997 points out, led to women being 1

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Sue Blundell condemned as trivial, vain and even evil. Conversely, men are viewed as having their minds on higher things. 9 See Davidson 1997, 164–5. One example which he cites comes from the Aristotelian text On Sophistic refutations (167b9), where we are told that a man who is a dandy (kallopistes) or is seen wandering about at night can be safely accused of being a moichos or adulterer. Men who showed an excessive interest in the female sex were seen as becoming womanized as a consequence. For Athenian men’s adoption of simpler styles of dress in the fifth century, and their increasingly negative attitudes towards elaborate and expensive clothes, see Geddes 1987. 10 I am using ‘shoes’ here as a generic term for footwear. In fact, in paintings and sculpture sandals are depicted more frequently than shoes which cover the entire foot. 11 See also Plato, Phaedrus 229A: Socrates is well equipped to go paddling in the Ilissus since he is, as always, barefoot. In Aristophanes’ Clouds (719, 858) Strepsiades loses his shoes while undergoing philosophical training at Socrates’ Thinkery. 12 Some of the references to shoes in literature will be cited in what follows. See Bryant 1899 for numerous other examples. For shoes in sculpture see Morrow 1985. See Bryant for a list of references to shoemakers and their craft; among these we have Plato, Republic 369D, where shoemakers are placed alongside farmers, weavers and house-builders as essential workers supplying life’s basic necessities in the prototype for a city. For scenes on vases showing shoemakers at work, see Oxford, Ashmolean 563, Boston 01.8035, and London, British Museum E86. 13 So some shoemakers specialized in making either men’s or women’s shoes (Xenophon, Cyropaedia 8.2.5) 14 Women’s white shoes, possibly soft ankle boots. See Stone 1980, 227–9. 15 For some literary evidence, see Bryant 1899, 59. For evidence from vase-paintings, see my discussion below. Bryant’s statement (p. 59, n. 3) that women, unlike men, did not normally remove their shoes indoors seems to go too far for both sexes. Evidence for removal of shoes by men is largely limited to symposium, gymnasium, bath and bed, and the last two apply equally to women. The significance of the barefoot Chorus in Prometheus Bound certainly seems to be that they had hurried away from an indoor location, and therefore had no shoes on. 16 See Morrow 1985, 64, 67, 76, 86, 159, 160. 17 See Bryant 1899, 83–4. In Aristophanes’ Knights (888–9) one character mentions the well-known trick of stealing a man’s slippers when he leaves the room to relieve himself. 18 There may have been technical reasons for the convention: vase-paintings are small in scale, and shoes, and in particular sandals, are fairly intricate objects which would not have been particularly easy to represent. Hence there are some paintings where shoes are not painted in, even though the viewer is meant to recognize them as being there; see for example Boston 95.1402 (Oakley and Sinos 1993, 67, fig. 30). To this we can add ‘fact of life’ reasons – women are generally shown indoors, and in real life may often have gone barefoot in the home; while many of the scenes in which men appear involve either a symposium or the gymnasium, where again in real life they would often have been barefoot. The latter reason would have been compounded by the convention of male nudity, which generally dictates an absence of shoes. 19 Berlin 2279, side B (Kilmer 1993, R196B). Other examples of the sandal/bare feet contrast include, in a heterosexual context, Paris, Louvre G13 and Wurzburg 479 (red-

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Clutching at clothes figure cups; Kilmer 1993, R156, I, and R519); and, in scenes of homosexual courtship or love-making, Paris, Louvre G81 (red-figure cup; Kilmer 1993, R495 A and B), Oxford 1967.304 (red-figure cup; Kilmer 1993, R520), and Munich 2631 (red-figure cup; Kilmer 1993, R573). Plutarch, in Conjugalia praecepta 30, tells us that in Egypt the ancient custom was for women not to wear shoes so that they might stay at home all day. Real-life practice in Greece does not appear to have followed that of Egypt; but bare feet in vase-paintings might in some contexts carry a similar meaning. 20 See Davidson 1997, 170. For examples, see Tarquinia (no number; ARV 408.36) and Oxford 1967.305 (redfigure cups; Kilmer 1993, R543 and R545). 21 Shoes beneath couches: see, for example, London, British Musem E68 (red-figure cup, c. 480; Kilmer 1993, R514B). Shoes besides wash-basins: see Munich 2411 (redfigure stamnos; an all-female scene); Paris, Louvre G291 (interior, red-figure cup, c. 490; a male scene; Kilmer 1993, R454, I). 22 See, for example, Wurzburg 490, side A (red-figure cup, 470–50); Florence PD266, side A (red-figure cup); New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 96.18.131, side A (redfigure cup); Vienna 2150, side B (red-figure cup). A pair of hanging boots is shown above a prostitute who is being beaten with a shoe in Orvieto 585 (red-figure cup; Kilmer 1993, R486B). As with our ‘street-walker’, the Greeks also had words which linked prostitutes with movement, and so by implication with shoes; for example, ‘wanderer’ (peripolas) or ‘alley-treader’ (spodesilaura). 23 For Nike, see Stewart 1990, vol. 2, plate 420. For the removal of shoes as an aspect of piety, see for example Agamemnon’s action in Aeschylus Agamemnon 944–5, and Callimachus Hymns 6.120–2. Shoes in this context (and possibly also in a domestic one) would probably have been seen as polluting – in Mary Douglas’ terms (1966) as violating the boundary between the secular and the sacred by transporting matter from one area to the other. But when worshipping chthonic deities in particular it may also have been considered important for one or both feet to be in contact with the earth; for the phenomenon of ‘monosandalism’, see Amelung 1907, Brelich 1955–7, and Deonna 1935. 24 See Boston 95.1402 (Oakley and Sinos 1993, 67, fig. 30); New York Metropolitan Museum of Art 19.192.86 (Oakley and Sinos 1993, 67, fig. 31); London, British Museum E774 (Oakley and Sinos 1993, 68, fig. 35); Petersburg, Hermitage 1791 (Oakley and Sinos 1993, 76, fig. 44). 25 See, for example, Rossi 1976 and Kunzle 1982, 14–19. 26 See Morrow 1985, plates 1–11. 27 See Winkler 1990, 109 and note 147. 28 See, for example, Paris, Louvre G13, Orvieto 585, Florence 3921 and Milan A8037 (red-figure cups; Kilmer 1993, R156A, R486B, R518B (ii), and R530; and a lost cup illustrated at R490A and B). 29 See, for example, Paris, Collection de Clercq (Havelock 1971, fig. 87). In a wellknown group from Delos (Athens, National Archaeological Museum 3335; c.100 bc), Aphrodite wields her shoe as a weapon against a marauding Pan, but does not appear to be entirely serious about using it. 30 For shoes at a wash-basin used by women, see n. 21 above, and also Syracuse 20065 (red-figure pelike, 500–450), where the erotic significance of a washing-scene with boots is reinforced on the other side of the pot by an image of a naked woman with a dildo climbing into a basket full of dildoes. For shoes underneath the couch where a woman is

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Sue Blundell fondled, see London, British Museum E68 (red-figure cup, c. 480; Kilmer 1993, R514B), where a sandal is seen resting against a podanipter or foot-bath. Couches, with shoes, shared by males and females also occur at Berlin 2286, interior (red-figure cup, 500–450), and shared by a male and a youth, at Paris G81, interior (red-figure cup; Kilmer 1993, R495, 1). A symposium of maenads and randy satyrs also has shoes: Florence 73749 (red-figure cup; Kilmer 1993, R493A and B). For shoes underneath a couch where sex is occurring, see Boston 95.61 (red-figure cup, c. 510; Kilmer 1993, R223A), where a footbath is also shown underneath the couch. For the relationship between sexual activity and footbaths, which could be used as a kind of bidet, see Kilmer 1993, 87 and 92. 31 Boston 10.572 (red-figure cup; Kilmer 1993, R806, A and B). 32 Paris, Louvre G549 (red-figure pelike, c. 440). 33 Naples SA5, interior (red-figure cup; Kilmer 1993, R73). 34 Paris, Louvre L60 (red-figure lekythos, c. 420). 35 Once Berlin 2272 (red-figure cup; Kilmer 1993, R77). 36 To my surprise, a quick survey of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century European paintings in the National Gallery in London uncovered remarkably few examples of women lifting their skirts. For some archaic maidens performing this gesture, see Stewart 1990, vol. 2, plates 99, 122, 153 and 154. 37 See Geddes 1987, 307–9. 38 As well as musicians, charioteers, actors, and priests wore long skirts: see Geddes 1987, 309. For a cithara-player who holds up his skirt, see a black-figure pelike, New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 07.286.72, c. 500; for a flute-player, see a red-figure crater, Paris, Louvre G103, c. 510. 39 For example, in Munich 2309, side A (red-figure amphora, c. 510); London, British Museum E224 (red-figure hydria, c. 420). 40 See Bremmer 1991, 20–1. 41 For example, in Ferrara T128 (red-figure crater, c. 440). 42 British Museum E68, interior (red-figure cup, c. 480; Kilmer 1993, R514I). 43 Munich 2427 (red-figure hydria, 500–490). 44 For example, in Munich 2307, side A (red-figure amphora, c. 510). 45 The feminine disguise adopted by Euripides’ elderly relative is penetrated when his true sexual identity is quite literally uncovered (Aristophanes, Thesmophoriazousai 636–43). Conversely Hagnodike’s attempt to pose as a male doctor is brought to an end when she feels compelled to lift up her skirts in court (Hyginus Fabulae 274). For a woman whose sex is being exposed in vase-painting, see Tarquinia (no number; ARV 224.7; red-figure pelike; Kilmer 1993, R361, A). 46 See King 1993, 119–21, and the evidence cited there: strangulation and binding were seen as culturally opposed to sex, while unbinding and release were equated with the opening-up of a woman achieved through menstruation or defloration. Sabetai 1997, 328, discusses in more general terms the association between girdles and the transitional moments in a woman’s life. Bennett 1997, 140, n. 78, makes a comparison between the Greek woman’s zone and the later corset: ‘the corset held tight the mysteries of feminine sexuality and became itself an object of passion’; and refers to the ‘lasting erotic fascination with the woman’s waist and the devices used to mark and modify it’. 47 See Oakley and Sinos 1993, 14–15. 48 See, for example, Euripides, Alcestis 177, for loss of virginity on the wedding night;

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Clutching at clothes and Odyssey 11.245, for defloration by a divine lover. 49 See Pindar, 0l. 6.39–41, 50 For a detailed discussion of these belt-tying scenes, see Sabetai 1997, 319–28. The scenes reproduced there are as follows: Berlin 4496 (red-figure pelike, c. 480; fig. 3); Paris, Musée du Petit Palais 318 (red-figure hydria; fig. 5); Athens, Agora P6053 (red-figure hydria; fig. 6); Berlin 2393 (red-figure hydria c. 460; fig. 7); Naples 126055 (red-figure hydria; fig. 8); Athens, National Archaeological Museum 1205 (red-figure squat lekythos; figs. 9a and b); New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 06.1021.130 (white-ground lekythos, c. 435–10; fig. 10); New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 08.258.17 (whiteground lekythos, c. 440; fig. 11). Other examples are cited in her notes, 29–40. 51 For a discussion of the nature of this mysterious garment, see Brenk 1977. 52 Deception of the male is a vital element in the account of Hera’s adornment, as it is with Pandora (see n. 8 above). While deception may not have been the first idea to occur to the viewer of a bridal-scene on a vase, the notion of concealment, and therefore mystery, is certainly present. Much briefer accounts of female adornment presented by Homer also include belt-tying: see Odyssey 5.230–2 (Calypso), and 10.543–5 (Circe). While not followed by sex, these scenes do involve goddesses notable for their sexual attraction and power over men. 53 Paris, Louvre G42, side A (red-figure amphora, c. 510). 54 See Blundell 1998, 70–2. 55 For a discussion, see Sabetai 1997, 328–9. Examples include New York, Metropolitan Museum 1972.118.148 (red-figure pyxis, c. 430–20; Sabetai fig. 1), and Athens, National Archaeological Museum 14790 (red-figure lebes gamikos). 56 For example in Brussels A717 (red-figure stamnos, c. 510–500), and New York, Metropolitan Museum 20.246 (red-figure cup). 57 For example, the maenads in Euripides, Bacchae 695. 58 Red-figure crater, Petersburg, Hermitage 637, c. 480–70. 59 This identification is made in many places. See, for example, Aeschylus, Eumenides 648–61, and Plato Timaeus 49–51. The idea that clothes create a kind of interior is graphically expressed by Xenophon in Symposium 4.38, where he refers to the walls and roof of a house as cloaks and mantles. 60 See Demosthenes 24.197, 37.45–6, and 47.35–8; and Lysias 3.6–7. 61 See Lysias 1.33. 62 The quotation comes from Butler 1988, 526, note 9. See also Butler 1990, 138–41. 63 The idea that one can transform one’s gender by changing one’s clothes is neatly expressed in comedy by the character Agathon, the tragic poet who in real life was apparently notorious for his effeminate style of dress: ‘I wear my clothes to suit my inspiration. A dramatic writer has to merge his whole personality into the character he’s presenting. If he’s creating a female character, he has to participate in her experience body and soul… When a playwright’s creating a man, he’s got all the bits and pieces to hand, so to speak. But with women, what nature hasn’t provided, art can imitate.’ (Aristophanes, Thesmophoriazousai 148–56) However, the dénouement of the play – involving the penetration of a feminine disguise (see n. 45) – suggests that for Aristophanes, contra Butler, this kind of ‘transgender’ mimesis amounts to nothing more than a shallow impersonation which can be easily seen through. I am indebted to Ian Ruffell, whose excellent paper ‘Poetics and perversions: Aristophanes, transgender and queer theory’, presented at the Classical Association annual conference in Liverpool in April 1999, encouraged me to think about the gender implications of this play.

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Sue Blundell Bibliography Amelung, W. 1907 ‘Rito: di alcune sculture antiche e di un rito del culto delle divinità sotterranee’, Dissertazioni della Pontifica Accademia romana di archeologia 9, 115–35. Barker, A.W. 1922 ‘Domestic costumes of the Athenian woman in the fifth and fourth centuries bc’, American Journal of Archaeology 26, 410–25. Bassi, K. 1995 ‘Male nudity and disguise in the discourse of Greek histrionics’, Helios 22, 3–22. Beard, M. 1991 ‘Adopting an approach II’, in T. Rasmussen and N. Spivey (eds.) Looking at Greek Vases, Cambridge, 12–35. Bennett, M.J. 1997 Belted Heroes and Bound Women, Oxford. Bérard, C. and Durand, J.-L. 1989 ‘Entering the imagery’, in C. Bérard et al. (eds.) A City of Images. Iconography and society in ancient Greece, Princeton, 23–37. Blundell, S. 1995 Women in Ancient Greece, London. 1998 Women in Classical Athens, London. Brelich, A. 1955–7 ‘Les Monosandales’, La nouvelle Clio 7–9, 469–89. Bremmer, J. 1991 ‘Walking, standing and sitting in ancient Greek culture’, in J. Bremmer and H. Roodenburg (eds.) A Cultural History of Gesture. From antiquity to the present day, Cambridge, 15–35. Brenk, F.E. 1977 ‘Aphrodite’s girdle: no way to treat a lady’, Classical Bulletin 54, 17–20. Bryant, A.A. 1899 ‘Greek shoes in the classical period’, Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 10, 57–102. Butler, J. 1988 ‘Performance acts and gender constitution’, Theatre Journal 40, no. 4, 519–31. 1990 Gender Trouble. Feminism and the subversion of identity, London and New York. Davidson, J. 1997 Courtesans and Fishcakes. The consuming passions of classical Athens, London. Deonna, W. 1935 ‘Monokrepides’, Revue de l’histoire des religions 89, 50–72. Douglas, M. 1966 Purity and Danger. An analysis of concepts of pollution and taboo, London. Geddes, A.G. 1987 ‘Rags and riches. The costume of Athenian men in the fifth century’, Classical Quarterly 37, 307–31.

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Clutching at clothes Gould, J. 1980 ‘Law, custom and myth: aspects of the social position of women in classical Athens’, Journal of Hellenic Studies 100, 38–59. Havelock, C.M. 1971 Hellenistic Art, Greenwich and New York. Kilmer, M.F. 1993 Greek Erotica on Attic Red-figure Vases, London. King, H. 1993 ‘Bound to bleed: Artemis and Greek women’, in A. Cameron and A. Kuhrt (eds.) Images of Women in Antiquity, London and New York, 109–27. Kunzle, D. 1982 Fashion and Fetishism. A social history of the corset, tight-lacing, and other forms of body-sculpture in the west, Oxford. McDowell, C. 1989 Shoes. Fashion and fantasy, London. Morrow, K.D. 1985 Greek Footwear and the Dating of Sculpture, Wisconsin and London. Oakley, J.H. and Sinos, R.H. 1993 The Wedding in Ancient Athens, Wisconsin and London. Rossi, W.A. 1976 The Sex Life of the Foot and Shoe, New York. Sabetai, V. 1997 ‘Aspects of nuptial and genre imagery in fifth-century Athens: issues of interpretation and methodology’, in J.H. Oakley, W.D.E. Coulson, and O. Palagia (eds.) Athenian Potters and Painters. The conference proceedings, Oxbow Monographs 67, 319–35. Snodgrass, A. 1998 Homer and the Artists, Cambridge. Steele, V. 1985 Fashion and Eroticism: Ideals of feminine beauty from the Victorian age to the jazz age, Oxford. Stewart, A. 1990 Greek Sculpture. An exploration, 2 vols., New Haven and London. Stone, L.M. 1984 Costume in Aristophanic Comedy, Salem. Tseëlon, E. 1997 The Masque of Femininity, London. Veblen, T. 1994 The Theory of the Leisure Class, Harmondsworth.

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10 A WOMAN’S VIEW? Dress, Eroticism, and the Ideal Female Body in Athenian Art Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones

I think everyone needs an inspiration or aspiration. Some of the Hollywood stars I liked because they were…something quite different in their films, making one feel the unobtainable could be reached… I was a very keen fan of Bette Davis and can remember seeing her in “Dark Victory”… That film had such an impact on me. I can remember coming home and looking in the mirror frantically trying to comb my hair so that I could look like her. I idolized her.1

This chapter aims to evaluate how far images made in ancient Athens give an accurate or realistic picture of women’s clothes, and to question how artistic representations of dress were related to the gendered conception of the female body. Greek iconography, especially Athenian vase-painting, has often been used arbitrarily by scholars, to illustrate aspects of ‘daily life’, seldom questioning the medium in which those pictures were created or the clientele for which they were made. The images found on Attic vases are still used by some historians as faithful, almost photographic, depictions of ancient life.2 But this is clearly a mistaken approach: a study of the depiction of dress can throw light on some key issues of Athenian art, such as concealment, exposure, and focus, not to mention ancient notions about the female body, but an investigation into the depiction of dress does not necessarily tell us as much about real dress as we might at first suppose. An investigation into the nature of iconographic portrayals of the clothed female form offers us an insight into the ideology of Greek gender, because the artistic images were created by men and (largely) for a male audience. The types of representation of women that were in vogue in archaic and classical Athens were of a definite sort: on the whole, clothed women in art were desirable, beautiful, and sexualized objects of the male gaze, and the dress of these women became an instrument in creating that ideal erotic image. This chapter also aims to assess whether the images of the Athenian female actually meant anything to the female viewers themselves. Did women recognize themselves in the artworks or were they alienated from the images they saw 171

Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones before them? An investigation into the use of dress in these representations may aid our general understanding of how ancient Greek women related to art. We lack any textual accounts of how women saw themselves in art, since no woman has left us a critique of the art she viewed and we have no private thoughts written in journals or letters. But then again, neither do we have the thoughts of male artists or their male patrons to explain why they adopted certain gendered perceptions in art, although we can make educated guesses at why women were imagined by men in certain ways. The scholar has to deal with suppositions. In light of this absence of firm evidence, we may be helped by making a comparative study of the images of women produced in another society. Perhaps one of the most stimulating (and surprising) comparisons can be made with images of women in the modern medium of film, specifically the Hollywood movie genre known as the ‘woman’s film’, a type of motion picture (or ‘emotion picture’ as they were often condescendingly termed) which flourished between 1930 and 1960. This popular film-type was often advertised specifically as ‘a film for the ladies’ and promised female audiences a cathartic experience in their cinema seats. Strongly dramatic and aimed at the heart rather than the head, women’s pictures offered romance, passion, glamour and escape from the humdrum domesticity lived by most of the female audiences of the day.3 Together with the films, popular women’s movie-magazines offered sage advice on how to get a man, how to keep a man, and how to make him happy (or what to do if it all went wrong). The movies and the accompanying magazine glamour-shots represent an invaluable pictorial insight into the predominantly male construction of the female image and into the female reception of these gender stereotypes.4 In her important analysis of the female viewers of Athenian vases, Lauren Hackworth Petersen has used the medium of narrative film to endorse her reading of Attic imagery. She notes, Vases were a primary vehicle of images that almost everyone had access to, much like film today. Pottery with images of women existed in the home for everyday use, in more public symposium settings, and outside of the home for daily use (e.g., fetching water) and/or ritual use. Although an image on a vase is not constructed as a narrative, as in film, the illustration nevertheless permits a viewer to construct a narrative based on the image… The images on vases, like narrative film, were capable of transmitting the dominant ideology.5

The similarities in the images of women contained in the American movies and the Athenian artworks are manifold. Details of composition, gesture, and genre are frequently shared by Hollywood’s male-constructed female movie stars and the women created by ancient Athenian artists, while the specific representations of dress and the clothed female body contain many parallels, despite the obvious differences in fashion developments and the technological 172

A woman’s view? Dress, eroticism, and the ideal female body in Athenian art advances in the construction of clothing that separate Athenian womanhood from Hollywood women. Idealization and eroticism It can be maintained that there are perhaps two pulses running throughout almost the entire corpus of pre-hellenistic Greek art: the erotic and the idealizing. Sometimes the erotic is more evident (as in the blatantly pornographic vase paintings created during the period 530–460 bc)6 and sometimes the idealizing can outdo the sexual, but for a large proportion of Greek artworks I suggest that the two appear concurrently. While images created by Athenian artists are not necessarily purely fantastical (they do, of course, provide selected and invaluable glimpses of reality), many components of an artistic composition are given specific twists that can render scenes as quirky or abstractly symbolic. The ‘distortion’ can be reflected in either the details of the work (such as the stance of the kouroi and korai) or in the general composition of a generic series of studies or scenes (like the popular ‘departure of a warrior’ motif in vase paintings), both of which contain elements of the real and the idealized heroic and both of which offer a stereotypical view of gender roles.7 As Pauline Schmitt Pantel has demonstrated, Greek art (and Attic vase painting in particular) is as much a cerebral construct as a reflection of actuality.8 A similar artistic concept was at work among the movie makers and fanmagazine publicists of the 1930s–1960s, because ‘women’s films’, which purportedly showed scenes of daily life (such common motifs as women cooking, house-cleaning, or sewing), were often specially constructed to show the feminine ideal, that is to say, they represented the model way for a woman to behave, being both hardworking and home-loving.9 These films were aimed at creating a stereotypical image of domestic womanhood but simultaneously pandered to the erotic whims of the audience (male and, perhaps, female). Star actresses in the ‘emotion pictures’ were glamorous and exotic creatures playing at being the domestic goddess. They looked too clean, too coiffured, too sexy, or, in another word, too ‘constructed’ to be real. The eroticizing and the idealizing trends of Hollywood’s vision of womanhood could be specifically manipulated for the delight of the male viewer and it is conceivable that Attic art was intended to stir up the same emotions. In the artworks, particularly vase paintings, the Athenian male was able to see at will a mass of images which depicted women (and men) naked, semi-nude, or clothed in some semi-realistic titillating costume as he took upon himself the role of voyeur and stared into scenes set within, for example, private homes, public brothels, and other men’s symposia.10 Of course the viewer was not simply a spectator of these scenes, he also handled the pot on which they were painted and had the ability, therefore, to control any sense of narrative on the vase by picking it up, manipulating it, turning it, and making it move (like a narrative film, in fact). In addition to the real-life male voyeur, there 173

Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones is frequently a second male observer (sometimes many more) present within the painted scene itself, who also participates in observing the women and somehow ratifies the gaze of the real spectator. I suggest that much of Attic art was specifically designed to cater for this male voyeuristic inclination in much the same way that in movie images, women were (and still are) frequently transformed into erotic exhibits by the controlling male gaze.11 Viewing women; women viewing But could Athenian women (of varying social classes) have identified with these painted images? We are frequently told that certain types of pot were specifically created for female use, and that the images thereon were thought suitable as visual indoctrination for women’s (required) lifestyle. Public sculptural programmes also had a message for women, even if the female-centred reading was prone to certain ideological and gender-based ‘blockages’ in interpretation, as noted by Stehle and Day.12 They are correct, of course, to state that women were aware of, and looked at, the art around them – it is absurd to think otherwise – but there is still a tendency to suppose that ‘male’ artworks (in particular erotic symposium vessels) were hidden away from the sensitive view of the little wife at home and only brought out when the boys called round. If a good wife was supposed to be the protector of her husband’s estate, then it would be reasonable to suggest that she had full knowledge of the type of crockery he used in his private entertainments; she was the one who had to care for these things after all, together with the slaves who had to fetch, carry, and wash them. There is no easy way to categorize ‘male’ and ‘female’ art.13 Surely women and slaves did not turn a blind eye to the scenes depicted on symposia ware, nor did they concentrate their gaze only on the uplifting scenes shown on, say, loutrophoroi or hydriai any more than men conscientiously strove to ignore scenes of weddings or ‘women’s quarter’ motifs on the types of vessels that they were supposedly not to use.14 As Stehle and Day emphasize: If we wish to think about the reception of images by their original viewers, who had various positions within the culture, we would do better to imagine multiple viewing positions. Different viewers, we may suppose, projected their different social identities onto the monuments and brought different cultural knowledge to bear. There is, moreover, (at least) one case in which this move is essential to self-reflective interpretation. When [art] makes use of sexuality to encode meanings…then it is imperative to ask from what position the viewer (including oneself ) is looking when he or she gives meaning to the images.15

As a user and viewer of a vase, an Athenian woman could see herself as the ideal figure of a male desire and a male ideology. In this respect a woman might well have identified with the male viewer. The Greek gaze, male or female, could fall upon any pot and therefore I submit the idea that women and slaves could actively take part in the eroticizing and idealizing myth that was perpetuated on the vases, and in sculptures and 174

A woman’s view? Dress, eroticism, and the ideal female body in Athenian art monuments, if only as a way of dealing with what could be a very unsatisfactory existence. The female viewer (including the female slave) was conscious of her position in society and the vase-painting (especially) reflected that knowledge but gave it the erotic /ideal distortion in a way not dissimilar to the messages that were being doled out to American women in films. In her witty examination of the ‘woman’s movie’, Jeanine Basinger has noted that even though female audiences knew that they were watching escapist fantasies tailor-made for them by men, they chose to go along with them because they wanted to pretend that the movies were true. There are some remarkable parallels working here; as one reads Basinger’s account of the essential elements of the ‘woman’s film’, the images of women depicted on Greek vases come to mind: Movies of those years contained some contradictory information about woman’s life. For instance, although women seemed to feel that their husbands were the most important thing in the world, men apparently were always dying unexpectedly, getting fired, and running off with chorus girls… Women were supposed to be sexually desirable, knowing how to tempt and satisfy men, but they were also supposed to be innocent and pure. How was that going to work? Women needed to be glamorous and lavishly dressed to gain the attention of men…but they were greedy little beasts if they coveted expensive clothes and jewellery. Instead of asking for things, they should create stunning outfits out of the draperies.16

Female stereotypes and social status Basinger notes that Hollywood’s ‘women’s pictures’ showed women in three major ways: a woman might be the perfect female, a good and beautiful wife or mother who looked sexy but knew how to stock a refrigerator or cook a healthy but delicious stew (these were the roles popularly played by the likes of Norma Shearer, Margaret Sullavan and Irene Dunn); alternatively, she might be a pure and incorruptible virgin (the Deanna Durbin and Judy Garland types). Otherwise she might be the vamp, the bad-girl, and the slayer of men (think of Bette Davis and Joan Crawford). These are stereotypes easily definable in the ancient Greek material, both literary and visual: Greek mythology contained the figures of Penelope, Alkestis, and Andromakhe to play the parts of ‘good women’, Artemis, Athene and Hestia to play the virgin-types, and a myriad of leading-ladies, like Medea and Klytaimnestra, to play the roles of ‘wickedwomen’. In a way, the screen goddesses of Hollywood’s golden age stood in for the Olympian goddesses of the first golden age of Greek myth, those divinities and heroines so frequently depicted in the Attic artworks. The painted images of well-groomed, beautiful, and elegant goddesses and heroines and the celluloid creations of equally powerful and beautiful movie stars encapsulated the image of physical feminine perfection and sartorial elegance, even if their characteristics and traits sometimes fell far short of the way in which ‘proper’ women should behave. The devotion shown to Olympian goddesses by their female worshippers can be likened to the idolization shown to the movie stars 175

Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones by their female fans. As one British housewife remarked: They were stars way up in the star-studded galaxy, far removed from the ordinary hum-drum lives of us, the cinema-going fans… The old cliché ‘screen goddess’ was used of many stars, but those are truly the only words that define that divine creature. I was stunned and amazed that any human being could be so lovely.17

But women in the ‘emotion pictures’ were sometimes portrayed as a far more subtle blend of good and bad, and a series of female characters (like Mildred Pierce in the movie of the same name and Margot Channing in All About Eve) were delicately constructed creations – women painted in shades of grey. These female characters may have had dubious screenplay pasts, but they were kind and honest, they had self-made wealth, they looked beautiful, and they dressed exquisitely, sometimes in outfits that far exceeded their social status or economic capabilities. A great deal has been written on the similar divide between respectable and disreputable women in Greek art, and there is a tendency to label all women as either wives or whores (good girls or bad girls). The terms are, of course, too limited and limiting in themselves, and cannot be supported by the iconography which is often deliberately ambiguous in regard to female social status and, in addition, cannot always be adequately qualified by reading visual clues (‘props’ like mirrors, wool baskets, beds, and oil bottles or items of dress such as mantles and veils) contained within the picture.18 Scholarship is now increasingly recognizing that women in Athenian artworks were also depicted in various shades of grey and that there is no easy way to define female status and respectability in Attic art. Recently Mary Beard has perceptively asked, Was there really no resemblance between the wife and the hetaira? Did the wife, unlike the hetaira, have no erotic desire? Was the wife incapable of providing the companionship of a mistress? The function of the insistent stereotype was to mask those awkward questions…and to attempt to ‘naturalize’, to make seem obvious, normal or self-evident, what was in fact an arbitrary, ideological cultural rule. Neither in literature nor visual images could it fully succeed. In fact some of the most interesting visual images turn back on the stereotype itself, directly or indirectly to suggest the fragility of its foundations… Once…the symbols of the respectable wife have been associated with the naked hetaira, these categories can no longer be taken for granted; once the hetaira is ambivalent, so also is the wife. Visual images can subvert as much as establish and uphold the norms.19

Despite this sensible stance, scholarship continues to pronounce on the socio-economic and moral status of women portrayed in Attic art. Jennifer Neils, for example, states that Hetairai are instantly identifiable in vase painting on account of their nudity… Chaste citizen women, when they appear, are always heavily draped and often veiled.20

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A woman’s view? Dress, eroticism, and the ideal female body in Athenian art But this is a somewhat oversimplified reading of the evidence: veiling is not restricted to the citizen wife, and Athenian evidence (literary and visual) attests to the fact that veils (in several distinct styles, including face-veils) were worn by citizen women, hetairai (from courtesans to aulos-players), and even by female slaves. The veil was routinely worn by Athenian women and might even be seen as the ‘democratic’ garment par excellence, so that its (regular) appearances on Athenian vases cannot be used to qualify a woman’s socio-economic status or her ‘respectability’.21 But neither can nudity. The appearance of the naked female form in Attic art should not be routinely interpreted as a depiction of a woman of the demi-monde; there is a place for nudity and, as we will see, semi-nudity, in the portrayal of the ‘respectable’ woman too. 22 Wishful thinking: representing dress and the body It is important to realize that Athenian art could have spoken as much to women as it could to men and that women were quite possibly as embroiled in the erotic/idealistic fantasy as were their men-folk. Basinger argues the same point in regard to Hollywood’s ‘women’s pictures’ and even notes how, In some ways even the concept of the ugly woman is erased by the motion picture. The stories are always about women who are physically attractive. The ones who aren’t play bit parts or are used as cruel jokes… These shadings of attitude towards a woman’s looks indicate the standards by which women are judged. A woman who is beautiful is a prize, and she will win things in life that a woman should have, as long as she does not misuse her beauty or become vain about it.23

Women in Attic art, like those in Hollywood films, are well-groomed, exquisitely dressed, perfect and desirable beings with slim figures, full breasts, pale skins, languid gestures, and straight noses; they are not fat, nor underfed, they are not deformed, they are rarely even old. Obese, emaciated, debilitated and aged women obviously existed in real life, but it is not the job of the artist to show them. In much of Attic art female ugliness is obliterated.24 Similarly, female slaves rarely (if ever) appear to be starved, bruised, or beaten and even though they may wear the ‘uniform’ of cropped hair and very occasionally tattoos (which are probably not brand marks but ethnic markings),25 their bodies closely resemble those of the women they served, in that they are firm and sexually alluring and, interestingly, often very well dressed.26 Bérard, however, insists on distinguishing between work-clothes and, by implication, ‘best clothes’ as means of defining female social status in Attic art. But these two categories of female dress cannot be adequately distinguished in Athenian art (unless we know that a named character from, say, tragedy is being depicted on a pot in ‘working’ clothes).27 Working dress and best dress no doubt existed in reality but it was not a concern of the artist to show this; he preferred to depict even slaves in diaphanous (and therefore expensive) linen. On Attic vases hard-working women are routinely called kalaiv.28 It is often 177

Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones the case on pottery that while the clothes of a women engaged in domestic labour (grinding grain, washing clothes) continue to reveal her sexual charms, her industry is reinforced by the way she wears her clothes and not by their quality. Thus, on a vase, while a working woman may wear a transparent citwvn that often reveals the outline of her breasts, buttocks and pelvis, her iJmavtion is often draped and tied around the waist (rather than thrown over the shoulder) so that it cannot impede her movements.29 Similarly, working-women in the ‘emotion pictures’ and in the photographs printed in popular fan-magazines – secretaries, teachers, female librarians, housewives, and child-carers – are invariably dressed in glamorized, fully accessorized ‘ensembles’ that spoke more of feminine idealization and allure than practicality. But then, the practicality of dress, even ‘working dress’, was not the major concern of the movie image; as Basinger puts it, [the dress of a movie woman] wasn’t going to look natural, or casual, or even comfortable. She was going to be slowed down and inhibited, but she was going to be fashionable and she was going to be glamorous.30

Why then does this idealization (or ‘glamorization’) of the female image happen? Simply because popular taste (in pottery painting, relief sculpture, movies and fan-magazines) demanded the ideal and artists, designers, and photographers responded to that call by inventing a variety of devices that alluded to reality (by making the images recognizable to their patrons) while simultaneously operating on a higher plain and inventing a visual language of representation that frequently drew on the erotic and the idealizing.31 The impact that the ancient art works, particularly the pottery painting of the domestic sphere, may have had on female self perception should not be underestimated. In the ancient world women had a limited understanding of their own body image; bronze mirrors tended to be small, hand-held objects that afforded a woman a restricted (and sometimes distorted) view of her face or truncated sections of her body. Full-length mirrors were unknown, and women could only have perceived themselves in full length by gazing at their reflections in water or, perhaps, bronze shields and platters (but given the expense of these, few women would have enjoyed this type of self-vision). Therefore, a woman’s perception of her own body, and of the clothing that covered it, had to be taken from an examination of the bodies of other women. The way in which other women looked and dressed became a point of reference. But all women may have used the images painted on pots to help them define for themselves what is was to dress and act like a woman. It is my belief that what is worn by human figures in Attic art is essentially ‘real’, that is to say the elements of clothing and the way they are arranged on the human body are taken from real-life practice.32 This statement needs to be qualified in the artistic terms that have been examined above, because the depiction of clothing in Attic art is an excellent example of how the ideal and the 178

A woman’s view? Dress, eroticism, and the ideal female body in Athenian art erotic trends of representing women can be united. Athenian artists (sculptors and painters) constantly modify their depictions of clothing, especially when worn on the female body, in order to endorse the erotic-idealistic inclination.33 Garments were created at home within Athenian households of all classes, through every stage of production from carding to weaving, and completed textiles were also allocated to female care. It is very important to remember that Greek clothes were only ever woven into rectangles to fit the wearer according to length and they were never cut or stitched together, nor did they ever attain a close-fitting, let alone a skin-tight, shape.34 Because of technical limitations (in weaving, sewing, loom-design, fastenings, and textile availability), Greek clothing was not capable of achieving a couture cut or a body-hugging fit. Nonetheless, it has often been observed that Greek clothing, so often classed under the nebulous heading ‘drapery’, exists to reveal the body to its best advantage and to accentuate its curves and its movements, at least in its artistic representation.35 In this respect, the desire of Athenian artists equalled that of the Hollywood costume designers who also aimed to show off the curves and undulations of the clothed female body to maximum effect; the difference between the two types of artist lay in the fact that two thousand years of technical innovation allowed the Hollywood designer to realize his dream. Cutting and styling techniques first invented in the 1930s – like the bias-cut – were utilized by the great costume designers of the day to create silk and satin gowns that clung to the figures of the movie actresses with eye-catching perfection (Fig. 1). Chiffons with beaded decoration hinted at female nudity beneath the well-constructed gowns and, in contrast to the immaculate tailoring and well-supported uplifting hosiery worn beneath the dresses, these gowns gave actresses the idealized image of affected sexy negligence akin to the types of imagery sported by Athenian women on pots and sculpture.36 The Greeks were severely limited by what fashions their fabrics and looms could create, but this does not mean Fig. 1. Studio portrait of Bette Davis, that artists were limited to representing c. 1932. Private collection of the author. 179

Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones dress accurately. The Greeks’ fascination with ‘imaginary’ or ‘abstract’ clothing is, of course, most conspicuous in archaic female sculpture where bodies and clothes are assimilated into one shape: the dainty and regular pleating of the dresses worn by the sixth-century korai defies every attempt to recreate it in actual cloth, principally because these sculptural representations are fine examples of what dress historians understand as problems of ‘fashion and reality’: in other words, the difference between an idealized artistic image of what dress should be and the practical reproduction of what it really is. As Gillian Clark points out regarding the ancient visual evidence for dress, The artist draws on a vocabulary of artistic tradition, not on the vocabulary of the clothing worn in his time.37

This conception is endorsed by art-historian Anne Hollander. She notes, The beauty of dress comes alive in art. Ever since the ancient Greeks… dressed perfection has been embodied in sculpted or painted images, visions of enhanced reality that teach the eye how to see clothes and teach clothes how to look. Images show how artists tailor the figure to suit the fashion, so that it wears clothes to advantage. The eye is then taught to see living clothed figures in light of this image, and to believe what it sees; the authoritative fiction creates the received truth.38

The significant fact that archaic Greek male statues are often entirely naked, whereas female figures seem completely dressed, has its genesis in custom; since social notions and conventions of modesty, segregation, and status demanded that women in daily-life be clothed (in several layers – tunics or dresses, mantles, and veils), artists had to develop distinct techniques for representing the two sexes in art. So while male nudity became an area where artistic sensitivity could be fully expressed, the hidden female body, a more lifeless and simplified shape, was inseparable from its formal clothing, somehow ineligible for life without its garments.39 It is this female body, by custom requiring a concealing dress, that made sculpted and painted clothing an artistic obligation for the Greek representation of ‘woman.’ The desirable naked male body, so well encapsulated in the Parthenon frieze, delights the gaze of the viewer (indeed, if we follow Andrew Stewart’s recent analysis, of the collective gaze of an unified city),40 but the female shape had to show through clothes or else could not be represented at all. The cloth had to be used to help model female physical shapes: in the archaic korai the attention is sharply focused on the legs and buttocks,41 but in the classical statuary more emphasis is given to the female torso and breasts, usually by assimilating the dress to the body with a kind of ‘wet-look’ in which the damp-looking fabric clings to every curve of the female form beneath. So it is that we have the evolution of the overwhelming diversity of clothed female figures in Athenian sculpture – flying Nikai, goddesses at rest, women fastening and clutching robes and veiling their faces.42 In fact, the notionally modern concept of the ‘wet-look’ is actually 180

A woman’s view? Dress, eroticism, and the ideal female body in Athenian art Greek; it was Theocritus (28. 10–11) who first noted, su;n ta'/ povlla me;n e[rg∆ ejktelevsh/" ajndrei?oi" pevploi", polla; d∆ oi|a guvnaike" forevois∆ ujdavtina bravkh.

With her you’ll make many things – Men’s garments, and moist robes such as women wear.

Of course, separate conventions existed in classical Attic art for the painted two-dimensional rendering of dress, and so on vase paintings the lines denoting hanging pleats or bunched material often appear unnatural when compared with sculptured solutions to the same problems dating to the same period. What occupies more of the vase painter’s attention therefore is the transparency of garments.43 Taste, then, dictated that female garments be represented as either transparent or assimilated to the body in a way that highlighted the areas of sexual attention and resulted in the visual enlargement of the breasts and genitalia by the repetition, framing, and outlining of folds of cloth. As such, clothes become ‘genital maps’.44 From the latter half of the sixth century bc to the closing years of the fourth, artists developed techniques of rendering clothing invisible or suggestive in a variety of ways. The va-va-voom factor: the erotic clothed breast The artistic development of the method for portraying the clothed female body in an overtly sexual way began with the close assimilation of the dress and figure. Depictions of the clothed female body emphasized the torso, the curve of the buttocks, the thighs and legs and, most importantly, accented the breasts to such a degree that they appear like torpedoes sticking out of the torso, where they culminate in detailed nipples which are also often exaggerated (Figs. 2 and 3).45 The large nipples suggest abundant fertility and so, accordingly, Larissa Bonfante has suggested that, ‘the image of the female breast was too powerful to be represented lightly’.46 However, it is clear that the ancient Greeks regarded breasts as sexual and not merely functional, so their depiction in many of the artworks has erotic undertones. According to Martin Kilmer, Breast-play is common enough in heterosexual scenes [on vases] to make it obvious that Greeks considered breasts an important part of female sexuality…and the prominent size and obvious display of the breasts…surely have a sexual intent.47

Literature also suggests that breasts were considered sexy; it would appear that the perfect breast, according to Greek taste, was either pale or blushing, and round and large with pointed nipples.48 Such breasts are frequently cited in Greek erotic literature (especially in the hellenistic and Roman periods) as the greatest asset to a woman’s beauty and, even when contained within her clothing, it is clear that the breast was still considered an object of desire. In fact, the clothed breast had an extra special charm: Nonnus, the Christian 181

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Fig. 2. Daughter of Nereus defending her house against Herakles. Pelike by Myson. Oxford, Ashmolean Museum 563.

Fig. 3. Seated goddess (Amphitrite?). Fragment by Douris. Malibu, J. Paul Getty Museum 81. AE. 213.

author of the Dionysiaca, in particular draws on the long-established GrecoRoman literary motif of the erotic clothed breast. In the epic poem, Zeus ogles Persephone’s breasts beneath the modest (saovfrona) covering of her garment49 and Typhon’s enjoyment of Cadmus’s music is compared to a young man who views the ‘circle of the blushing breast pressed by a dress’.50 In addition, Chalcomede’s sexual appeal is highlighted by the sight of ‘the delicate round breast stretching the (diaphanous) robe from within’.51 Although full breasts may have been sexually arousing (even underneath clothing), ancient Greek dress, unsupported by tight tailoring or corsetry and made from loose linen or opaque wool, was incapable of physically presenting the breasts as uplifted or pushed forward; it would take many centuries of technological developments before fabrics, sewing, corsetry, and tailoring techniques could produce such an unnatural silhouette. There is uncertainty about the form and precise function of the female garments known as the strovfion and kestov", although they seem to have been bands of cloth that encircled the upper torso and bound the breasts. They were probably related to a garment known as the mastovdeton referred to in the Greek Anthology,52 although it has been suggested that these ‘garments’ were simply a version of the zwvnh or ‘sash’, but belted higher up the torso.53 A hydria of c. 400 bc in London shows a woman in the act of robing or disrobing; her body is naked save for a wide band of cloth that encircles her upper torso.54 A painting of the 182

A woman’s view? Dress, eroticism, and the ideal female body in Athenian art sporty heroine Atalanta on the tondo of a cup by the Euaion Painter shows her wearing a loincloth and a bust-band with built-in straps resembling, for all intents and purposes, a modern-day sports-bra.55 The effect that both of these primitive cloth ‘bras’ has on the breasts, however, is to flatten them against the body; these bands of cloth do not, or cannot, act as up-lifters, although it is likely that they could help keep the breasts from sagging. In one epigram by Philodemus, for example, a sixty-year-old woman is still praised for the beauty of her bust, which needs no artificial support, despite her age: ÔExhvkonta telei' Caritw; lukabantivda" w{ra", ajll∆ e[ti kuanevwn suvrma mevnei plokavmwn, kajn stevrnoi" e[ti kei'na ta; luvgdina kwvnia mastw'n e{sthken, mivtrh" gumna; peridromavdo"…

Charito has completed sixty years, but the mass of her dark hair is still as it was, and the marble cones of her breasts are still standing firm, with no encircling band to keep them up.56

There is no evidence to suggest that these bands were worn routinely by all women underneath their clothing, and therefore the function and popularity of these garments remains highly speculative. It would appear from most forms of iconographic evidence that nothing was worn beneath the female citwvn or pevplo" (of course, this could be yet another facet of eroticization found in the artistic representation of women).57 Whatever the case, it is highly unlikely that the Greek bust-band (be it a strovfion or kestov" or mastovdeton) could cause the breasts to lift and separate in the way that is frequently portrayed in the vase paintings.58 In the 1950s, due to the reinforced feminine curves of the New Look, big busts were also in vogue but now Hollywood costume designers could actually render male fantasies into reality as they created an uplifted pointy-breasted look for their female stars by various means. Fig. 4, for example, shows the movie star Gina Lollobrigida in the role of Esmeralda in the 1956 film Notre Dame de Paris. Her ‘mediaeval’ cosFig. 4. Publicity still of Gina Lollobrigida in tume is cut with unmitigated 1950s Notre Dame de Paris, 1956. 183

Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones couture lines and it is clear how the actress’ waist is tightly corseted. To enhance the effect, Lollobrigida’s bust is pushed up into two separate ‘cups’ which, in turn, are emphasized by the careful tailoring of her gown (the bust-darts of the bodice are clear to see in the photograph). One way to create this ideal silhouette was with the ‘whirlpool bra’, a solid under-wired foundation garment where each cup was constructed out of a spiral of wire and padded stitching to give a prominently pointed profile, one perfectly akin to the ‘torpedo-breasts’ found in Athenian vase paintings.59 In the 1950s many women could achieve the contorted fashionable look that had been forced upon them by male designers, via female movie stars like Gina Lollobrigida, thanks to technological developments in the fashion industry; the ancient Athenian equivalents of uplifted pointed breasts, however, had to remain a fantasy of the male artistic imagination (or libido) or at least of female aspiration. Evidence from Athenian comic playwrights suggests that certain types of women (namely the hetairai of the public brothels) would alter their body image with padding. Alexis in particular notes how prostitutes can play down fat stomachs by padding their chests with the type of false-bosoms utilized by comic actors in female roles.60 The contrast between a small waist and a large bust seems to have been as popular in ancient Greece as it was in 1950s America, and it has been suggested that the epithets baquvkolpo" and baquvzwno" refer to the deep folds created in a female garment by the tight belting of the waist. Alexis intimates that an ample bosom will make the cinctured waist seem slim by comparison.61 Nevertheless, for Athenian womanhood uplifted and pointed breasts exaggerated beneath the smooth lines of a fitted bodice, à la Lollobrigida, could not be created in actuality.62

Fig. 5. Young women running away from the scene of Helen’s abduction by Theseus. Belly Amphora by Euthymides. Munich, Antikensammlungen 2309.

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A woman’s view? Dress, eroticism, and the ideal female body in Athenian art In Attic vase-painting the loose-fitting linen and wool clothing of reality is rendered into an imaginary skin-tight latex body stocking that reveals every curve of the torso in such a way that it suggests invisibility.63 On a belly amphora by Euthymides (c. 510 bc, Fig. 5), a young woman (centre) is represented running from Helen’s abduction by Theseus; she lifts her favro" in order to veil her face as she flees the scene. The artist has represented her in a long flowing citwvn with a full overhang of cloth at the waist (the kovlpo"). However, the citwvn is represented without pleats on the torso and the artist only displays its fullness in the skirt as the maiden gathers up the excess Fig. 6. Naked woman. Cup by the cloth in order to make a swift exit.64 The Painter of the Agora Chairias cups. well-defined outlines of the girl’s thighs and Athens, Agora Museum 21402. legs are made clear beneath the folds of the skirt but her torso is depicted beneath a tight fitting ‘bodice’ without any fabric pleats whatsoever, in order that Euthymides might concentrate his attention on drawing one uplifted breast that ends in a detailed erect nipple. It is almost as though this girl’s body is unhindered by clothing of any kind. In fact, if we compare Euthymides’s depiction of the clothed girl with an image of a naked buxom girl by the contemporary Painter of the Agora Chairias cups (Fig. 6), then we can see that, in effect, Euthymides’s girl is painted in much the same manner as the naked girl (especially in the details of the breasts); her clothes are linear suggestions and little more. Possibly drawing on late archaic sculptural solutions, vase paintings of the mid-fifth century bc were not so overtly sexual as the earlier examples, but aimed instead to hint at diaphanous cloth by indicating the outline of legs contained within the multiple folds of a citwvn and even a mantle. However, later painters persisted in showing exaggeratedly pointed breasts: the central female figure – Marpessa – in a mythological scene on an psykter by the Pan Painter, for example, wears a loose citwvn composed of ample sleeves and a full skirt (Fig. 7); over this she wears a long mantle. The artist manages to depict her uplifted left breast as a distinctive point, which is emphasized by the fall of the mantle and the composition of Apollo’s bow. Thus it would appear that Marpessa’s breasts are unnaturally splayed across her torso.65 Nonetheless, the artist succeeds in his attempt to render the distinctive prominence of the breast despite the bulkiness of her costume. These styles of representing the sexy clothed female body rely on making the loose citwvn appear tight-fitting, especially around the torso, but another 185

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Fig. 7. Idas, Marpessa and Apollo. Psykter by the Pan Painter. Munich, Antikensammlungen 2417.

technique practised simultaneously during the classical period was to depict the citwvn with accurate width and movement but to make use of its fine linen pleats to highlight the female body beneath. Thus, breasts are delineated by a series of brush strokes that are supposed to represent the actual folds of the cloth, but are deliberately contorted to make the ‘linen’ folds adhere to the breasts in a most unnatural way; the Eretria and Midias Painters are particularly adept at this technique (Figs. 8 and 9). Here the breasts are once again depicted as pointed and uplifted and almost independent of the female torso; the Midias Painter’s technique of drawing the gaze of the viewer towards the breasts is particularly interesting, because his use of painted spirals and lines to represents the folds of the cloth puts one in mind of the construction of the whirlpool bra of the 1950s.

Fig. 8. Detail of a bride from an epinetron by the Eretria Painter. Athens, Archaeological Museum 1629.

Fig. 9. Detail of a woman (Helen?) from a hydria by the Midias Painter. Athens, Ceramicus Museum 2712.

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Fig. 10. Seated pipe-player and castanet dancer. Tondo of a cup by Makron. London, British Museum E61.

The tondo of a cup by Makron (Fig. 10) shows a seated aulos-player wearing a fine pleated linen citwvn; here, however, the artist has chosen to ignore the soft rounded lines created by the fall of the linen and opts for depicting the pleats in regular, almost horizontal, lines. The shape of the woman’s breasts is well defined (and practically depicted in silhouette), but Makron does not concentrate on accentuating their shape by utilizing the pleats of the linen dress, although he skilfully and accurately depicts the fall of fabric beneath the entertainer’s raised arm and at her ankles. Some artistic portrayals, but far fewer in number, use another effect, and show the cloth of the dress falling around or in between the breasts. They therefore appear like large well-supported orbs, but still manage to highlight the eroticism Fig. 11. Seated female. Bell-krater by of the female body beneath the clothing the Truro Painter. Vienna 894. (Fig. 11).66 187

Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones X-ray vision: transparency and dress Pliny claimed that it was Polygnotos of Thasos who ‘first painted women in transparent drapery’; however, his estimated floruit was c. 475–450 bc, some time after vase-painters first turned their attention to diaphanous clothing.67 A common variation on the technique of eroticizing the image of the clothed female body, found on the earliest red-figure vases of the late sixth century, is that whereby the figure is shown through the extremely diaphanous chiffonlike clothing (which is rendered as full and shapeless) either by removing any lines that may obscure the sexual interest or by ignoring the layers of cloth completely to allow the outline of the body to show through unimpeded. Of necessity, artists who are fond of using these techniques tend to depict the fine linen citwvn more than the opaque pevplo", although even the wool dress is allowed to be a sexy costume; it is not uncommon for breasts to be clearly delineated beneath the thick folds of the kovlpo" of the pevplo".68 Breasts are often the point of focus in the representations of diaphanous clothing, but the real area of interest is the legs, thighs and pubic triangle of the wearer. Diaphanous clothing in Hollywood movies also exposed female breasts (but not nipples), legs, and thighs, but unlike their ancient Greek counterparts, images of female movie stars shied away from displaying pubic triangles. Strict censorship imposed on the movie industry by the Hayes Code forbade directors, designers and photographers from depicting the female midriff and pubis; certain dance sequences in the 1952 film Singin’ In The Rain, for example, had to be re-shot when the censors discovered that the sequined leotard worn by leading lady Cyd Charisse revealed wisps of her pubic hair.69 Debate still continues as to the practice of depilation in Greek society, but Kilmer has demonstrated conclusively that, unlike the Hollywood images, in Attic vase painting the pubic triangle was intended to act as a visual stimulus.70 Pubic hair was commonly displayed on naked females in an overtly erotic context throughout the fifth century, but it is interesting to note just how frequently pubic hair is shown on women wearing, what on first view appear to be, transparent garments.71 A beautiful representation of a castanet-dancer from the tondo of the cup by Makron examined above (Fig. 10) shows her wearing a very finely pleated and voluminous citwvn, which is painted with Makron’s customary eye for detail. However, Makron plays tricks with his viewers: the full pleated gown is rendered differently over the torso than it is over the legs, in that the gown’s kovlpo" is represented without the intrusive pleat-lines found on the skirt. Magically, the kovlpo" and upper part of the citwvn have become transparent, while the skirt of the citwvn retains its pleats. In this way Makron allows his viewer to fantasize about the dancer’s pert (but concealed) breasts and the long, elegant, and sensual line of her (covered) thigh and pubic area.72 The most striking example of transparency, however, which is created to set off to best advantage the female frontal pelvic display and pubic hair, comes 188

A woman’s view? Dress, eroticism, and the ideal female body in Athenian art from a cup signed by Makron and shows Helen’s confrontation with Menelaos (Fig. 12). On first observance, Helen (second figure from the right) seems to be dressed modestly enough: her head is covered by a short pleated veil which is held in place by a decorated fillet, and one of her handmaidens (perhaps the personification Peitho)73 attempts to cover Helen with a large mantle. Moreover, Helen’s single delicate linen citwvn with its multiple pleats is actually composed of three layers: a ‘skirt’, a thigh-length kovlpo", and a kovlpo" that hangs down to just past the waist, although, interestingly, the artist chooses to ignore the effect that multiple layers of cloth would have on the transparency of the garment and depicts Helen’s body beneath as though it were only shrouded by the lightest piece of gossamer. Even if Helen’s gown was made from the finest linen imaginable, some opaqueness would of necessity display itself in the three layers of cloth, especially around the pubic area.74 But Makron is following a popular artistic trend, and in an attempt to explain the artist’s interest in Helen’s body Kilmer correctly notes that, Through her transparent chiton’s complex folds we see the full outline of her body: details of both ankles, calves, the right knee, the thighs, flanks, breasts and shoulders and, if as spotlighted, the outline of the abdomen and a neat trim pubic patch. Helen used her body to advantage; Makron wants his public perfectly to understand how.75

Fig. 12. Helen and Menelaos. Skyphos signed by Makron. Boston, Museum of Fine Arts 13. 186.

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Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones For Anderson, Makron’s depiction of Helen’s body through her clothing actually puts the viewer of the vase into the mind of Menelaos: the artist represents not what is actually visible to the unaided eye, but what Menelaos perceives as he looks upon his wife.76

With this in mind, perhaps we should re-interpret Peitho’s action too: is she actually uncovering Helen’s body and allowing us, the viewers, to share Menelaeos’ gaze? A similar rendering of diaphanous clothing is also to be found with some frequency on white-ground lekythoi, especially in the departure of the warrior scenes, a genre that is often infused with a sexual tension.77 A woman’s view? It would appear that there is a real desire on the part of the Athenian artist and the (male) spectator of his work to remove obstacles that obscure the idealistic view and to concentrate the gaze instead on things (objects, bodies) that are removed from reality. Items of female clothing, especially a garment like the veil, were specifically designed to make the female form socially invisible, but corporal invisibility was not a part of Greek art. On the contrary, the body – ‘the Greek Miracle’– was central to hellenic culture and subsequently came to dominate Western artistic tradition.78 Dress was an obstacle to a perfect vision of sexualized womanhood and must have been regarded as a real barrier to artistic sensitivity, no matter how necessary clothing was considered in daily life; female dress helped generate a civilized society, but it was a hindrance to the artistic construction of the feminine ideal.79 So women’s dress in Athenian art is a visual construct, a stylized form of idealizing and eroticizing the female body. The effect that this stylization had on the female viewers of vase-paintings is difficult to know, but women’s knowledge of how to make cloth and their awareness of its capabilities and limitations coupled with their daily experiences of actually wearing clothes, must have aroused some puzzled reactions to the images of dress they encountered in the art works. Female knowledge of the reality of fabrics and dress must have added to their sense of illusion when gazing at the beautiful images of the exquisitely clothed women set before them in the artworks. They were undoubtedly open to ‘reading’ the gendered elements of their artistic portrayals, and I turn again to Basinger’s analysis of the ‘woman’s film’ for some pertinent comparisons: Clothing for women in the movies becomes a subtle instrument for several purposes: teaching the need for conformity, stressing the woman’s role as sex-object or love partner, and showing the viewers consumer goods that they would want to purchase for themselves if at all possible.80

It is well attested that women of the golden age of Hollywood saw the movie images of film stars as aspirational, and that screen clothing was frequently the object of viewers’ special attention. An examination of female spectatorship 190

A woman’s view? Dress, eroticism, and the ideal female body in Athenian art of Hollywood’s ‘women’s pictures’ of the 1930s to 1950s by Jackie Stacey has revealed that fashion was a major instrument used by film-maker to communicate commonly accepted ideas of ‘womanhood’.81 Many women realized that the fashions paraded before them on the silver screen were fantasy creations beyond the purse of the ordinary housewife or outside the technical capabilities of the average home sewing-machine or local retail outlet. Nevertheless, one cinemagoer noted that, My enjoyment of going to the pictures was my way of imagining myself one day going somewhere equally lovely and being able to wear lovely gowns…and have a big house with servants.82

While another remembers that, Stars…were unlike women I knew. They were better dressed and looked much more attractive. They gave me the ambition to make more of myself.83

Of course it is impossible to say whether these ideas were shared by the Athenian female audience of pots, sculptures, and reliefs; no evidence specifically states that a wife was inspired to dress in the risqué style of Helen of Troy after looking at a lekythos given to her by her husband. But the fan-magazines of Hollywood’s golden age certainly do attest to the woman’s film as a positive role-model and, might offer some parallels with the emotions stirred up in an Athenian women too as she gazed at the beautiful and abstract image of femininity set before her on, say, a red-figure vase. In 1935 Eva Dunbar from Oakland, California, wrote a suspiciously splendid and conformist letter into the letters-page of Fan Fare magazine, saying, A step-mother to success – that’s what the motion pictures have been to me – a finishing school in modes and manners. Not that I expect to be rich, beautiful and courted like the stars of the screen, to whom these gracious gifts come as magic, but because of my admiration for these lovely ladies, I keep myself better groomed; I watch my carriage and my complexion. No one will ever mistake me for Jeanette MacDonald but with practice her grace of carriage can be mine … At least with thought I too can be immaculate and artistic in dress. It is really just a mental step-up, something hardly tangible, of the stuff of which inspiration is made, but these beautifully kept and cultivated women make me want to have their charm, and wanting anything is the first jewel in the crown of achievement.84

An Athenian ‘woman’s view’? It is impossible to know. But it is worth considering that the images produced in Attic art, which showed women in a variety of moods, settings, and, most importantly, costumes, may have contributed to the feminine understanding of what it was to be female. It was a male-constructed view, yes, of course, but perhaps not without its appeal to Athenian womanhood too.

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Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones Acknowledgments I am greatly indebted for the support and advice of Dr Mary Harlow, Dr Sue Blundell, Dr Lorna Hardwick, Dr Paula James, Dr Karen Stears, Dr Anton Powell and Steven Griffiths. I am particularly grateful to Professor David Konstan for his close reading of the first draft of this paper and for the perceptive and supportive comments that followed.

Notes An anonymous female Hollywood film fan; cited in Stacey 1994, 167. See, for example, Fantham et al. 1994, vi, 68–127; Bérard 1989, 88–107; Rawson 1973; Keuls 1985. Recently, interpretations of Greek vases have begun to question the reliability of the images and scholars have contemplated the idea that iconography can be receptive to a mélange of readings depending on the archaeological context (although vases depicting women are almost persistently read in the ‘daily life’ setting). See, for example, Moon 1983; Spivey 1991; Lissarrague1992. Moreover, it is now beginning to be recognized that the clientele for which the vases were created had a fundamental effect on the creation of the imagery and it is becoming evident that many scenes of Athenian ‘daily life’ were specifically created for the Etrurian market and were exported to Italy to satisfy the inexhaustible demand for Athenian pottery among Etruscan purchasers. Certain themes, such as erotica and depictions of working women, were particularly popular in Etruria, while wedding scenes and funerary motifs were more popular in Attica (although the divergence in taste is rarely a feature raised in scholarship) and indicates that the Etruscan client was able to choose those scenes that he or she enjoyed the most and found relevant to his or her own life-experience, and could ignore the scenes that had little personal or cultural meaning. On the problem of the Etrurian provenance of Athenian pots see Spivey 1991, and for an examination of female-related iconography see Lewis 1997. She suggests that if we assume that the viewers of these pots are not Athenian, then the questions we ask of them (Are the women real? Where does the scene take place? Is the scene to be considered erotic?) are inappropriate; instead Lewis suggests that we place the pots created for the Etruscan market in a funerary context and re-read the images of women as relating to the idealized world of the dead. As she has stated, ‘This means that we must look at some well-known scenes with an Etruscan eye.’ Further discussion can be found in Shapiro 2000. 3 On the women’s film see studies by Tims 1987; Haskell 1973; Basinger 1993. 4 See Lewis1970. 5 Petersen1997, 50. 6 As defined by Kilmer 1993, 1. 7 See Lewis 1997, 147. For the kouroi and korai see, Spivey 1996, 46–7, 100–2, 109–10. 132 ff.; Osborne 1998, 75–82; Hurwit 1985, 253–61. For the ‘departure of the warrior’ scenes see Lissarrague 1992,172–80. For the stance of the korai see Richter 1966. 8 Schmitt-Pantel 1983, 10. 9 Of course, movies of the 1950s were different to those of the 1930s: the latter were a function of the depression, the former part of the aftermath of the Second World War. In the 1950s there was a deliberate effort to glamorize suburban household life, in part to bring women back into the home, since many had left the confines of domesticity 1 2

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A woman’s view? Dress, eroticism, and the ideal female body in Athenian art during the war to work in industry. The image of Rosie the Riveter, muscular arm flexed beneath her overalls, became the icon of working women who supported the war effort. But in the 1950s, Rosie’s image had to be suppressed again. In this way it can be argued that glamour and fashion are not simply constants of a patriarchal or macho society; they also conform to social pressures – as they may well have done in ancient Athens. Social pressures, and not merely changes in style, may explain, for example, the suppression of the raunchy black- and red-figure vases that were so popular at the beginning of the fifth century. 10 In much the same way that, say, nineteenth-century Orientalist photography, and Orientalist art in general, concentrated on images set within the harem, the private world of women and the family. See Croutier 1989. 11 I am very grateful to Sue Blundell for sharing her thoughts with me on these issues and for allowing me to read her unpublished article, Greek women and textiles: concealment and exposure, 1995. For the idea of women as erotic display in contemporary film see Mulvey 1988, 57–68, 69–79. See also Thomas, this volume. 12 For women viewing public sculpture see Stehle and Day1996. For ‘female’ pots see, for example, Reeder (ed.) 1995, 128–9, 198; Oakley and Sinos 1993, 6–7; Nevett 1999, 49 ff. 13 It has been suggested that women could also have been involved in the manufacture of images, although evidence for this is very rare. It is impossible to tell, therefore, if images were created by women specifically for the female market. For female artists see Sparkes 1991, 11; Beazley 1946, 1–43. Literary sources only mention women artists painting walls and not pottery; see Fantham et al. 1994, 168. It is generally accepted that the status of the Greek artist, male or female – or craftsperson, to be more precise – was lowly and there is debate as to how much knowledge he or she would have had about the goings-on in wealthy homes. See Robertson 1991, 1–12, esp. 3–8; Vickers and Gill 1994. 95–7. 14 Bérard 1989, 9–10, contends that, ‘licentious vases…are the exclusive property of men… This specialized crockery of masculine entertainment contrasts with the daily-life of the Athenian home.’ 15 Stehle and Day 1996, 101. 16 Basinger 1993, 4. See also Holland 1987. 17 Cited in Stacey 1994, 142–3. 18 The champion of the wife/whore dichotomy is, of course, Keuls 1985; see also Williams 1983 (revised edition1993). 19 Beard 1991. 20 Neils 2000. 21 For a full discussion of ancient Greek veiling see Llewellyn-Jones 2000 and forthcoming. Of course, much the same is true in representations of citizens and slaves. Freedom is very difficult to represent visually, so a painter is limited to indicating status by whatever means he thinks to be appropriate (usually it is the depiction of manual labour that classifies the slave). For a further discussion of veiling see Cairns, this volume. 22 The debate about dress, nudity, and respectability is also raised by Sebesta and Dalby, this volume. 23 Basinger 1993, 139–40. 24 Of course, it is only fair to point out that the male body is rarely depicted as fat, old or debilitated either. For a discussion of Greek attitudes towards female beauty see

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Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones Hawley 1998. While there are occasional representations of old and deformed women in archaic and classical Greek art, it is not until the hellenistic period that the taste for realism manifests itself in detailed studies of ‘grotesques’. On representations of the elderly in classical art see Garland 1990, 275–6. For depictions of the physically deformed see especially Garland 1995, 105–22; Fowler 1989, 66–78. See also Ogden 1997. Representations of obese women are particularly interesting; they tend to be made from terracotta and painted with some detail and are sometimes depicted in the act of unbinding their enormous breasts for the benefit (or derision) of the viewer (see Higgins 1986, 157 fig. 193 for a good example). It is not known what kind of women these figures are supposed to represent, but Thompson 1954, 90 ff. suggests that they are prostitutes or burlesque dancing women, although Charbonneaux 1936 interpreted them as votive offerings deposited in sanctuaries by women anxious to lose weight. It is probably better just to agree with Haspels 1951, 54–6, that they are ‘an almost essential counterpart to sweet femininity displayed during hellenism by art in general’. Pinault 1993 argues that, ‘The skeletons of Greek women…reveal that they were shorter and stockier than their images in Greek art. Stocky does not mean fat. Still, without exercise…female bodies tend to be softer and fleshier than men’s… For fifth century medical writer[s], female fat was a threat because it compromised fertility.’ Garland 1995, 120, makes a similarly interesting observation: ‘Given the fact that, except in Sparta, the majority of Greek women took very little exercise and spent most of their time indoors, there is a strong possibility that many of them were grossly overweight. Such limited osteoarchaeological evidence as we have indicates, moreover, that in classical Greece women were considerably shorter and stockier than their idealized counterparts in vase-painting and sculpture. From the point of view of psychological verism, it would, after all, be unsurprising if some Greeks showed a predilection for grossly overweight females, whatever aesthetic canon they subscribed to in public works of art.’ Something of this male sexual arousal by the ample female figure might be found in a series of erotic images on pots dated to the early fifth century. See Kilmer 1993, figs. R518 A(1), R518 A(ii), R156 A and B; Keuls 1985, 180–6. A discussion of the representation of overweight prostitutes on late archaic Athenian pottery is provided by Sutton Jr., 2000, 180–202. 25 Lissarrague 1992, 198–9. Good, clear illustrations of tattooed slaves can be found in Rawson 1973, 54. See further Tsiafakis 2000, esp. 372–6. 26 See further Lewis 1998–99, 90. According to her perceptive interpretation, ‘Within the gynaikeion images of slaves on pottery might even be aspirational…the dirty ragged slave…sees herself as a graceful young woman, holding fans and jewellery to an aristocratic mistress.’ 27 An old messenger depicted on a Sicilian kalyx-krater from the late fourth century that represents a scene from Oedipus Tyrannus has him in ‘working’ clothes (a yellow tunic with a chlamys and high boots) that resemble those worn by another messenger from an unknown tragedy similarly depicted on a kalyx-krater of the same period. See Trendall and Webster 1971, 67, 69–70, 114–15. On messengers in drama see Lewis 1996, 84–5. 28 Bérard 1989, 93. 29 The extreme eroticization of the working woman is found on a tondo of a cup by Oltos (?) (Berlin, 1966.21. Reproduced in Kilmer 1993 as R1192) that shows two women kneading dough. Their garments are both diaphanous and clinging and show every contour of their bodies underneath. To add to the sexual nature of this scene of

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A woman’s view? Dress, eroticism, and the ideal female body in Athenian art domestic toil, the artist has included an image of the phallus-bird. 30 Basinger 1993, 118. 31 See Plotinus Enneads 1.6.1 ff. 32 Himmelmann uses the German term Daseinsbilder to help define the concept of ‘real life’ in Greek art. See Himmelmann 1998, 105. 33 See Barker 1922, 410–25 and pl. VII: ‘It must always be remembered that the Greek rarely fell to the level of mere representation; his art was always design and even pattern-making in his most literal moments. This affects the value of all evidence as literal statement, but especially in this transformation of fact into design-motives apparent in vase-paintings. The sculptured costumes are rarely difficult to decipher [I cannot agree]; those of the vase paintings are often baffling [very true].’ 34 On the process see especially Barber 1991. Linen was used as well as wool, but even in the fifth century there is evidence for the use of silk that would certainly have provided artists with the opportunity to recognize and record endless varieties of thin, soft folds, worn in layers. See Miller 1997, 77–9; Barber 1991, 32, 204; Kübler 1936. Sophistication, sexual allure, power, and austerity could all be expressed by the style in which simple rectangles of fabrics were disposed around the body, and numerous and sometimes elaborate conventions developed, receded, and co-existed both for wearing these clothes and, more intriguingly, for representing them. 35 An investigation into artistic styles of representing dress in art from the ancient world to the early twentieth century is provided by Hollander 1975 (4th edition, 1993). This is still the primary study of artistic representation of ancient dress despite the fact that Hollander herself is not a classicist but an art historian. On the idea of drapery, Clark 1993, 105, perceptively notes, ‘ “classical drapery” has been so prevalent in European art that classicists tend to think of it not as clothing but as an aspect of Greek and Roman art.’ 36 Basinger 1993, 116. Good studies of the role of costume design in Hollywood films and the impact costume had on the public include Bailey 1982, and Engelmeier and Engelmeier 1990. 37 Clark 1993, 105. 38 Hollander 1999, 142. She notes that, ‘modern artists of the fashion camera and, by extension the movie camera too, are heirs to an artistic tradition that has continually established and re-established the true value of clothes’. 39 When ancient reports mention the phenomenon of Greeks becoming confused by the life-like quality of statues and believing them capable of movement, it is important to remember that the illusion of ‘real-life’ is attested for animals and naked males (especially athletes) who wear no sculpted clothes and whose bodies are unencumbered by cloth, allowing their flesh to appear to breathe and even perspire. There are no reports from the archaic or classical periods, as far as I am aware, of seeing statues of women come to life, mainly because, I suggest, the sociological necessity of ‘clothing’ statues of women in artistic renditions of daily dress shattered the illusion of reality. It is only following the introduction of large-scale nude female statuary in the fourth century that reports are made of the lifelike qualities of the unclothed female sculpted body. For a discussion of the illusion of lifelike statues of men, see Spivey 1995. For statues of animals, see Anth. Graec. 9. 717, 734, 731, 737, 793, 738. On the ancient reaction of male viewers to the realistic portrayal of the female nude, see Lucian, Am. 13 ff. cf. Anth. Graec. 16. 160. Ovid seems to suggest that the focus of Pygmalion’s desire was the naked sculpture of

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Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones a woman, since he was in the habit of dressing the statue in robes and jewellery: Met. 10. 262 ff. 40 Stewart 1997, 63–85. 41 This sexual interest in the curve of the back and the posterior is also reflected in vase paintings of the period. See, for example, Euphronios’ fragmentary depiction of Aphrodite (?), New York, collection of Leon Levy and Shelby White. Reproduced in Pasquier et al. 1990, 101. 42 I have developed these ideas further. See Llewellyn-Jones 2001. On the ‘wet-look’ see Stewart 1997, 128–9. Important studies of the sculptural representations of dress include, Morizot 1974, 117–32; Harrison1977; Losfeld 1994, 117–284. 43 I do not want to suggest that all women are necessarily represented in transparent garments, but it is noticeable that even the most conservative depictions of women will often hint at the shape of the breasts beneath their clothing or attempt to delineate one or both legs hidden beneath the gown. For a good discussion of transparency in Greek art see Losfeld 1994, 371–99. 44 Hersey 1996, 12 ff. 45 Compare Stewart 1997, 105, fig. 63. ‘Torpedo-like’ breasts are also a feature of depictions of women in Ptolemaic Egypt and later medieval art: Jean Fouquet’s Madonna and Child, for example, depicts the virgin (in fact a portrait of Agnès Sorel, the mistress of Charles VII of France) with an ample exposed bosom. For an examination see the interesting study of Yalom 1997, esp. 49–52. For the Ptolemaic breast see, for example, Grimal et al. 1998, 147, 171, 176. 46 Bonfante 1989, 568. While the image of the exposing of the breast can allude to supplication, maternity, and anguish (see Cohen 1997 and Bonfante 1997), it is also an erotic device used, for example, by Helen to Menelaos: A. Lys. 145–6. For a discussion see Dipla 1997, 119–30. 47 Kilmer 1993, 26–7 and n. 42 states, ‘Breasts also feature in the erotic play of lesbian couples.’ See also Brooten 1996, 58. 48 See Gerber 1978 and Newbold 2000. 49 Non. Dion. 6. 605. 50 Non. Dion. 1. 529–30. 51 Non. Dion. 14. 277–80. The erotic appeal of the clothed breast is a regular feature of Aristophanic comedy. See Lys. 48, 31; Thes. 638; Fr. 409 ff. Frgs. 8, 325, 647. 52 Anth. Pal. 6.201.4. 53 Losfeld 1991, 223 ff. 54 Hydria of the Group of London. British Museum E 230. See Boardman 1989, fig. 386. 55 Paris, Louvre CA 2259. See Boardman 1975, fig. 369. 56 Anth Pal. 5.13.1–4. 57 It has been suggested that a fabric crossband (i.e., one that cuts between the breasts, but worn over the dress) may have been worn by Athenian virgins. See Villing 2000, 361–70. 58 For a modern interpretation of the kestos see Alden 1998. 59 See Massey 2000, 156. For the use of female underwear and the female body in film noir see Modleski 1988, 89–91. 60 Athenaeus, Deip. 568b. 61 LSJ s.v. baquvkolpo" and baquvzwno". See further Gerber 1978, 211, n. 21.

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A woman’s view? Dress, eroticism, and the ideal female body in Athenian art 62 For an examination of the ‘constructed’ body image of women through corsetry see Thesander 1997. 63 The more restrictive black figure painting could also suggest the female shape by deliberately emphasizing the female contours, especially the buttocks and the legs. See, for example, Boardman 1974, figs. 221, 222, 288, 294. 64 On this gesture see Blundell, this volume. 65 This is also a device used by Onesimos: his paintings of naked women tend to represent the breasts successfully, but the painter clearly has difficulties in depicting breasts beneath clothing. To solve the problem he splays the two breasts across the torso. For his naked females see Brussels, Musées Royaux A 889 and Brunswick, Bowdoin College 1930.1. See Boardman 1975, figs. 224–5. For a clothed female figure with splayed breasts see London, BM E 44, Boardman 1975, fig. 222. Euphronios also uses this technique. See, for example, Paris, Louvre G103, reproduced in Pasquier et al. 1990, 70–1. 66 On depictions of the breasts see Kilmer 1993, 150, 152, 182. 67 Pliny NH 35.58. Polygnotos’ association with the Athenian politician Kimon (who helped him gain Athenian citizenship) makes it clear that he worked during the second quarter of the fifth century. See Plut. Kimon 4.5–6. 68 See Sebesta, this volume. For a discussion of transparency and ancient fabrics – in particular silk – see Dalby, this volume. 69 The incident is recorded in the audience notes accompanying recent British Film Institute screening of the film in London. I am grateful to Paula James for alerting me to the material. Further details can be found in Wollen 1992. 70 M. Kilmer 1993, 133–54. 71 See Henderson 1975, 20, 46, 136 ff., 145 ff. 72 The same technique can be found in Makron’s painting of a maenad on the tondo of a red-figure cup: Munich, Staatliche Antikensammlung 2654. For a good reproduction see Johns 1982, fig. 20. 73 On the identification as Peitho see Stafford 2000, 132 ff. 74 Examples can also be found on Paris, Louvre G143 (Kilmer, fig. R630) and New York, Met. Mus. 12.231.1 (Kilmer, fig. R628). A more accurate rendering of the female body contained beneath three layers of folded cloth is provided by Douris. See Paris, Louvre S 1350. For a good reproduction see Frontisi-Ducroux 1996, 81–100, fig. 37. Here the heavily pleated upper kovlpo" hides the woman’s breasts completely; the thighlength kovlpo" obscures the pubic area (but exposes the navel); the thin linen of the skirt exposes the outline of the legs. 75 Kilmer 1993, 154. 76 Anderson 1997, 204 77 See especially Robertson 1978, 144–5, for two fine examples. 78 Stewart 1997, 3 ff. 79 On the importance of clothing as concealment (especially the act of veiling) see Llewellyn-Jones 2000. Of course it is important to remember that the concealed body can also be a sexualized and erotic body. 80 Basinger 1993, 116. 81 Stacey 1994. 82 Ibid. 154. 83 Ibid.158. 84 Cited in Lewis 1970, 93.

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Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones Bibliography Alden, M.J. 1988 ‘Divine underwear – in all the better shops’, Omnibus 36, 32–3. Anderson, M.J. 1997 The Fall of Troy in Early Greek Poetry and Art, Oxford. Bailey, M.J. 1982 The Glorious Glamour Years. Classic Hollywood costume designs of the 1930s, London. Barber, E.J. 1991 Prehistoric Textiles: The development of cloth in the Neolithic and Bronze Ages, Princeton. Barker, A.B. 1922 ‘Domestic costumes of the Athenian woman in the fifth and fourth centuries bc’, AJA 26, 410–25. Basinger, J. 1993 A Woman’s View: How Hollywood spoke to women 1930–1960, London. Beard, M. 1991 ‘Adopting an approach II’, in T. Rasmussen and N. Spivey (eds.) 26–35. Beazley, J.D. 1946 ‘Potter and painter in ancient Athens’, Proceedings of the British Academy 30, 1–43. Bérard, C. 1989 ‘The order of women’, in C. Bérard et al., A City of Images. Iconography and Society in Ancient Greece, Princeton, 88–107. Boardman, J. 1974 Athenian Black Figure Vases, London. 1975 Athenian Red Figure Vases. The Archaic period, London. 1989 Athenian Red Figure Vases. The Classical period, London. Bonfante, L. 1989 ‘Nudity as a costume in classical art.’ AJA 93, 543–70. 1997 ‘Nursing mothers in classical art’, in A.O. Koloski-Ostrow and C. Lyons (eds.) Naked Truths, 174–96. Brooten, B.J. 1996 Love Between Women: Early Christian responses to female homoeroticism, Chicago. Charbonneaux, J. 1936 Les terres cuites grecques, Paris. Clark, G. 1993 Women in Late Antiquity, Oxford. Cohen, B. 1997 ‘Divesting the female breast of clothes in classical sculpture’, in A.O. KoloskiOstrow and C. Lyons (eds.) Naked Truths, 66–92. Cohen, B. (ed.) 2000 Not the Classical Ideal. Athens and the construction of the Other in Greek art, Leiden, Boston and Cologne. Croutier, A.L. 1989 Harem: The world behind the veil, New York.

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A woman’s view? Dress, eroticism, and the ideal female body in Athenian art Dipla, A. 1997 ‘Helen, the seductress?’, in O. Palagia (ed.) Greek Offerings: Essays on art in honour of John Boardman, Oxford, 119–30. Engelmeier, R and Engelmeier, P.W. (eds.) 1990 Fashion in Film, Munich. Fantham, E., et al. 1994 Women in the Classical World, Oxford. Frontisi-Ducroux, F. 1996 ‘Eros, desire, and the gaze’, in N.B. Kampen (ed.) Sexuality in Ancient Art, 81–100. Garland, R. 1990 The Greek Way of Life, London. 1995 The Eye of the Beholder. Deformity and disability in the Graeco-Roman world, London. Gerber, D.E. 1978 ‘The female breast in Greek erotic literature.’ Arethusa 11. 1.2, 203–12 Grimal, N. et al. 1998 La gloire d’Alexandrie, Paris. Harrison, E.B. 1977 ‘Notes on Daedalic dress’, Journal of the Walters Art Gallery 36, 37–48. Haskell, M. 1973 From Reverence to Rape. The treatment of women in the movies, Chicago. Haspels, C.H.E. 1951 ‘Terracotta figurines’, BABesch 26, 54–6. Hawley, R. 1998 ‘The dynamics of beauty in classical Greece’, in D. Montserrat (ed.) Changing Bodies, Changing Meanings. Studies on the human body in Antiquity, London, 37–54. Henderson, J. 1975 The Maculate Muse. Obscene language in Attic Comedy, Oxford. Hersey, G.L. 1996 The Evolution of Allure. Sexual Selection from the Medici Venus to the Incredible Hulk, Cambridge, Mass. Higgins, R.H. 1986 Tanagra and the Figurines, Princeton. Himmelmann, N. 1998 ‘The divine assembly on the Sosias Cup’, in W. Childs (ed.) Reading Greek art. Essays by Nikolaus Himmelmann, Princeton, 139–55. Holland, P. 1987 ‘The page three girl speaks to women, too’, in R. Betterton (ed.) Looking On: Images of Femininity in the Visual Arts and Media,105–19. Hollander, A. 1975 Seeing Through Clothes, Berkeley. Hurwit, J.M. 1985 The Art and Culture of Early Greece, 1100–480 bc, Ithaca and London. Johns, C. 1982 Sex or symbol? Erotic images of Greece and Rome, London.

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Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones Kampen, N.B. (ed.) 1996 Sexuality in Ancient Art, Cambridge University Press. Keuls, E.C. 1985 The Reign of the Phallus. Sexual politics in ancient Athens, Berkeley. Kilmer, M. 1993 Greek Erotica, London. Koloski-Ostrow, A.O. and Lyons, C. (eds.) 1997 Naked Truths: Women, sexuality and gender in classical art and archaeology, London. Kübler, K. 1936 ‘Ausgrabungen im Kerameikos’, Archäologischer Anzeiger 51, 181–208. Lewis, M. (ed.) 1970 Hollywood and the Great Fan Magazines, London. Lewis, S. 1996 News and Society in the Greek Polis, London. 1997 ‘Shifting images: Athenian women in Etruria’, in T. Cornell and K. Lomas (eds.) Gender and Ethnicity in Ancient Italy, Accordia Specialist Studies on Italy 6, London, 141–54. 1998/99 ‘Slaves as viewers and users of Athenian pottery’, Hephaistos 16/17, 71–90. Lissarrague, F. 1992 ‘Figures of women’, in P. Schmitt Pantel (ed.) A History of Women in the West. Volume I: From Ancient Goddesses to Christian Saints, trans. A. Goldhammer, Harvard, 139–229. Llewellyn-Jones, L.J. 2000 Women and Veiling in the Ancient Greek World, Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Cardiff University. 2001 ‘Sexy Athena: the dress and erotic representation of a virgin war-goddess’, in S. Deacy and A. Villing (eds.) Athena in the Classical World, Leiden, 233–57. 2002 (forthcoming) Aphrodite’s Tortoise. The veiled women of ancient Greece, London and Swansea. Losfeld, G. 1991 Essai sur le costume grec, Paris. 1994 L’art grec et les vêtements. Paris. Massey, A. 2000 Hollywood Beyond the Screen. Design and material culture, Oxford and New York. Miller, M.C. 1997 Athens and Persia in the Fifth Century bc. A study in cultural receptivity, Cambridge. Moon, W. (ed.) 1983 Ancient Greek Art and Iconography, Wisconsin. Morizot, Y. 1974 ‘A propos de la représentation sculptée des vêtements dans l’art grec’, Revue des études anciennes 76, 117–32. Mulvey, L. 1988a ‘Visual pleasure and narrative cinema’, in C. Penley (ed.) Feminism and Film Theory, London, 57–68.

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A woman’s view? Dress, eroticism, and the ideal female body in Athenian art 1988b ‘Afterthoughts on “Visual pleasure and narrative cinema” inspired by Duel in the Sun’, in C. Penley (ed.) Feminism and Film Theory, London, 69–79. Neils, J. 2000 ‘Others within the Other: an intimate look at hetairai and maenads’ in B. Cohen (ed.) Not the Classical Ideal, 203–26. Nevett, L. 1999 House and Society in the Ancient Greek World, Cambridge. Newbold, R.F. 2000 ‘Breasts and milk in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca’, Classical World 94.1, 11–23. Oakley, J.H. and Sinos, R.H. 1993 The Wedding in Ancient Athens, Wisconsin. Ogden, D. 1997 The Crooked Kings of Ancient Greece, London. Osborne, R. 1998 Archaic and Classical Greek art, London. Pasquier, A. et al. 1990 Euphronios, peintre à Athènes au VI siècle avant J.-C, Paris and Milan. Petersen, L.H. 1997 ‘Divided consciousness and female companionship: reconstructing subjectivity on Greek vases’, Arethusa 30, 35–74. Pinault, J.P. 1993 ‘Women, fat, and fertility: Hippocratic theorizing and treatment’, in M. DeForest (ed.) Woman’s Power, Man’s Game. Essays on Classical Antiquity in honour of Joy K. King, Wauconda, 78–90. Rasmussen, T. and Spivey, N.J. (eds.) 1991 Looking at Greek Vases, Cambridge. Rawson, E. 1973 Life in Ancient Greece. Pictures from pottery, London. Reeder, E.D. (ed.) 1995 Pandora. Women in Classical Greece, Baltimore. Richter, G.M.A. 1966 Korai. Archaic Greek Maidens. A study of the Kore-type in Greek Sculpture, London. Robertson, M. 1978 Greek Painting, London. 1991 ‘Adopting an approach I’, in T. Rassmussen and N. Spivey (eds.) Looking at Greek Vases, 1–12. Schmitt Pantel, P. 1983 ‘Image et histoire: illustration ou document’, in F. Lissarrague and F. Thelamon (eds.) Image et céramique grecque, Rouen, 9–20. Shapiro, H.A. 2000 ‘Modest Athletes and Liberated Women: Etruscans on Attic black-figure vases’ in B. Cohen (ed.) Not the Classical Ideal, 315–37. Sparkes, B. 1991 Greek Pottery: An introduction, Manchester. Spivey, N.J. 1991 ‘Greek vases in Etruria’, in T. Rasmussen and N.J. Spivey (eds.) Looking at Greek Vases, 131–50.

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Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones 1995 ‘Bionic statues’, in A. Powell (ed.) The Greek World, London, 442–59. 1996 Understanding Greek Sculpture. Ancient meanings, modern readings, London. Stacey, J. 1994 Star Gazing. Hollywood cinema and female spectatorship, London. Stehle, E and Day, A. 1996 ‘Women looking at women’, in N.B. Kampen (ed.) Sexuality in Ancient Art, 101–16. Stewart, A. 1997 Art, Desire and the Body in Ancient Greece, Cambridge. Sutton Jr., R.F. 2000 ‘The good, the base, and the ugly: the drunken orgy in Attic vase painting and the Athenian self ’, in B. Cohen (ed.) Not the Classical Ideal, 180–202. Thesander, M. 1997 The Feminine Ideal, London. Thompson, D.B. 1954 ‘Three centuries of hellenistic terracottas’, Hespiria 23, 72–107. Tims, H. 1987 Emotion Pictures. The ‘Women’s Picture’, 1930–55, London. Tsiafakis, D. 2000 ‘The allure and repulsion of Thracians in the art of classical Athens’, in B. Cohen (ed.) Not the Classical Ideal, 364–89. Vickers, M. and Gill, D. 1994 Artful Crafts. Ancient Greek pottery and silverware, Oxford. Villing, A. 2000 ‘KESTOS ZWSTHR and Athena’s crossband aegis. Anatomy of a classical attribute’ in G.R. Tsetskhladze, A.J.N.W Prag and A.M. Snodgrass (eds.) Periplous. Papers on classical art and archaeology presented to Sir John Boardman, London, 361–70. Williams, D 1983 ‘Women on Athenian vases: problems of interpretation’, in A. Cameron and A. Kuhrt (eds.) Images of Women in Antiquity, London. 92–106. Wollen, P. 1992 Singin’ in the Rain, London. Yalom, M. 1997 A History of the Breast, London.

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11 CONTROLLING WOMEN’S DRESS: Gynaikonomoi Daniel Ogden In the appendix to Greek Bastardy in 1996 I lamented the fact that, despite the rise in interest over the last twenty years in all things to do with ancient women (particularly, we may add, in the issues of the control of women in narrow senses and wide), hardly any attention had been paid to an institution attested across the Greek world from the archaic period (probably) and into the Roman period, the nominal and prima facie purpose of which was actually to ‘control women’, namely, the institution of the gynaikonomoi, ‘controllers of women’. Admittedly, gynaikonomoi were not easy to pin down: the evidence for them is difficult and fragmentary and seldom manifestly coherent. The fact that they had hardly ever been spoken of in English also perhaps acted as a brake upon their introduction to mainstream scholarship upon ancient women, which seems to be based in this language. In the appendix I tried to promote them to a proper place within the subject. There, amongst other issues, I addressed the problem of the apparent diversity of duties ascribed to gynaikonomoi in the evidence available. In 1962 Wehrli had been driven to despair by this, and in an article the principal conclusion of which is expressed in his footnote 25a, apparently inserted as an afterthought, hypothesized that they were a general moral police. I thought it possible to be more specific. Evidently, they did have wide duties, but these could mostly be understood as deriving from a core job of selecting women for festivals and supervising their behaviour within them.1 Here I take a more specific look at the interest taken by the gynaikonomoi in the control of dress. I consider two questions. First, what was the rationale behind the dress codes they enforced? Second, what sanctions against offenders were at their disposal? The exposition of these issues requires the provision of (interpretative) translations of a substantial amount of the source material for gynaikonomoi. So I have taken the opportunity, in further promotion of the subject, to append translations of all the major sources for them, and for related officials, currently available to me. A 92/1 bc inscription from Andania (IG v.1 1390 = Syll.3 no. 736 = Sokolowski LSCG no. 65; the key points from the inscription are tabulated at the end of this paper) lays out elaborate regulations for the dress of men, 203

Daniel Ogden women, girls and slave women in the celebration of a mystery cult of Demeter and an associated procession, and these are to be controlled ultimately by the gynaikonomos.2 The duties of the gynaikonomos revealed in this text are, I believe, likely to be quite conservative. As often with such inscriptions, the rationale behind the rules remains unexpressed; the rules are not always laid out in an order that strikes us as the most logical; sometimes categories we may suppose to have been significant are not clearly distinguished from each other; and sometimes such categories even appear to go unaddressed. The interpretation of the dress code is therefore difficult, and we must pity the poor gynaikonomos whose job it was to police it. Here I attempt to expound it in a more systematic fashion with the help of an interpretative translation and the table.3 The code takes little interest in the dress of males, but a great deal in the dress of females (I use this last term to be all-encompassing, the code using the term gynaikes for one of its subcategories). The dress of the females is for the Andanians evidently full of difficulty or meaning, or both. They are divided into three categories determined by their status in society, namely free adults, free girls, and slaves, and across these cut three categories determined by their status within the cult, sacred/hierophant (hierai), initiated (teloumenoi; the term is not directly expressed in the feminine) and newly initiated (protomystai). The newly-initiated category constitutes only a minor variation on the ‘initiated’ category. For people in this category, headgear alone is additionally specified, a tiara, which is to be exchanged for a laurel crown; this applies to men and women equally. The dearth of rules relating to the dress of slave women in the sacred/hierophant category may mean either that they were not permitted to attain this grade or that they were subject to the same rules as the free, either the women or the girls as appropriate.4 The class of initiated women alone is subdivided into those that are idioties, in some obscure way ‘independent’, and those that are not. Are they ‘independent’ inasmuch as being without husbands? Or do they enjoy some sort of independent relationship with the cult?5 In cases of the sacred/hierophant women and girls, a distinction is made between what they may wear during the celebration of the mysteries and what they may wear during the associated procession. There are also rules, primarily of a cosmetic nature, which apparently apply to all females across the board: no gold, nor rouge, nor white lead, nor hair band, nor plaits nor shoes except for ones made of felt or sacred leather. Let us concentrate on the items with which the code is primarily concerned, those that fall centrally under the heading of dress. No single rationale can account for all the details of these rules, but several different ones, sometimes overlapping, must be invoked to explain them. In many, but not all, categories of female, a value limit is placed upon their garment combination; no such limit is placed upon the men. There appears to be an approximate correlation between the value limits and status, so that the code can be seen as displaying and reinforcing the hierarchy and dignity-differentials of the various females 204

Controlling women’s dress: gynaikonomoi within it. Thus, the women of the highest status within the cult, the sacred/ hierophant women, are given the highest limit, 200 drachmas. This is explicitly associated with their dress during the celebration itself, although it may apply also to the procession. Sacred/hierophant girls are allowed 100 drachmas, as are independent initiated women and initiated girls; initiated slave women are allowed 50 drachmas. But no spending limit appears to have been imposed on the non-independent initiated women, unless we are to read the 100-drachma limit attached to the independent ones as applying to them also. None of these limits, it should be noted, appears obviously low. However, since even the females in the highest status-category, the sacred/hierophant women, are subject to a value limit, high though it be, we must invoke other criteria also in explanation of the rules. One other concern is evidently to impose a general restriction on the elaborateness of women’s dress. Across the board the code permits only two garments to each female, of which the outer one is always a himation, an over-garment, but the undergarment can be of different sorts: kalaseris, hypodyma, hypodytes, chiton and sindonitas; where alternative undergarments are offered, the kalaseris is one of them. Perhaps there was a feeling that the divine was better honoured through a degree, at any rate, of simplicity of dress (and no doubt too of cosmetics). It may be particularly significant here that the sacred/hierophant women are permitted bands when processing, their ultimate opportunity to show off, but not during the actual celebration of the mysteries. Or perhaps the impulse was a general sumptuary one, a desire to impose a partial restraint upon conspicuous-consumption competition between the women and/or their men-folk and masters. Bands (sameia) are only mentioned in the case of the women categories. Non-independent initiated women could have bands on their himation; perhaps the same was true for the independent ones too, but no specification is made. Sacred/hierophant women were permitted bands on their himation in the procession, but the decoration of their himation during the celebration goes unaddressed; here, however, they are explicitly debarred from having bands on their kalaseris or hypodyma, and perhaps this ban may be read as applying also to the himation. In the last case the term skiai is used for bands, as opposed to sameia; it probably denotes the same thing,6 but we cannot be sure. A certain standardization of dress within the various female categories was no doubt desirable for the visual impact of the celebrations and of the procession in particular. See-through clothing is explicitly banned in general in the cases of nonindependent initiated women, and perhaps also implicitly in the cases of independent initiated women, initiated girls and initiated slave women, and for sacred/hierophant girls in the procession. Perhaps other categories of female could, by default, use see-through clothes. One would have thought modesty to be the motivation here, but the arbitrariness with which the ban seems to be applied is puzzling. Appropriately chaste behaviour is promoted elsewhere in 205

Daniel Ogden the cult’s rules, where the sacred men are to exact from the sacred/hierophant women (alone) an oath to the effect that they have made their common life with their husband in a just and holy fashion. After these rules have been laid down, it is stipulated that the women are to submit themselves to such further refinements of their dress as the initiated men will decide. These codes are to be policed by the gynaikonomos. The sacred men are to exact an oath from him that he will have care concerning the clothing and the other things decreed by the cult’s founder, Mnasistratos. The gynaikonomos is to have the power, it seems, to tear (lymainesthai) clothing that violates the rules and then dedicate it to the gods. The dedication provision is paralleled by others in the text that limit the value of couches and silver plate one may have in one’s tent; anything found to be in excess of the 300 drachma mark is to be devoted to the god.7 Similarly, in a sixth-century bc inscription regulating a cult of Demeter Thesmophoros in Arcadia, a woman who wears a ‘brightly coloured dress’ is to be made to dedicate it to Demeter; if she does not, then the text subjects her to a death-curse, and requires the demiourgos to exact a fine of 30 drachmas from her.8 It is a pity we do not know more about the context of the tearing of the garment in the Andanian case, if this is the appropriate interpretation of lymainesthai (it is the one adopted by Sokolowski and others).9 Was the violating garment torn from the offending women in public there and then in the midst of the celebrations, as if in some humiliating court martial? Could she be stripped naked? Or was she allowed to return home in dignity and surrender the garment to the gynaikonomos in due course? Even in the latter case, there is likely to have been a degree of shaming, since the offending dress once dedicated, tear and all, to the gods was presumably displayed somewhere in the precinct. It is also stipulated that the gynaikonomos will be involved in the ordering of the females in the procession: he is to draw lots for the positioning of the sacred/hierophant women and of the (sc. sacred/hierophant?) girls, and to make sure that they observe their allotted positions. A third-century bc inscription from Gambreion imposes restrictions on the display of mourning by women (LSAM no. 16): mourning women should have grey clothing, not soiled.10 The period of their mourning is limited to four months. The gynaikonomos, chosen by the people at the purifications before the Thesmophoria, is to pray for good things and the enjoyment of them for the women that abide by these laws (and for men abiding by others), and the opposite for those who do not abide by them. In other words, he is to pronounce a curse upon them; cf. again the sixth-century Arcadian Demeter Thesmophoros inscription. Those who do not abide by the rules are not to be permitted to sacrifice to any of the gods for ten years. The sanctions available to the gynaikonomos in this context are religious. His curse to the effect that violators of the rules should have bad things may not appear to be a strong disincentive in itself, but the bar on sacrifices, if enforced, may have been 206

Controlling women’s dress: gynaikonomoi a significant deterrent. One would not be able to propitiate the gods for ten years. If it also included participation in public sacrifices, this would have curtailed a great part of the woman’s dignity and perhaps even social life. What is the rationale behind these restrictions? The insistence that women wear grey clothes rather than soiled seems to indicate a desire to retain the formal and sacred aspects of mourning custom, but to tame and curtail them: grey clothes are presumably symbolically dirty white mourning clothes. Elaborate restrictions upon mourning display for men and women are found in Athens and Chaeronea too, as we shall see. These are usually accounted for in nebulous class terms, as attempts, for instance, to ‘control the aristocracy’. But the fundamental and driving reason the Greek states developed elaborate series of restrictions for mourning by both men and women, however these restrictions were subsequently rationalized, surely related to the dead, not the living. Too much grief could bring back the dead. Did not the goetes, who accomplished magic through the manipulation of ghosts, derive their name from the sound of grief, goos?11 Dressing women in grey clothes at funerals, then, kept the dead in their graves. One of the most important and ambivalent texts for the history of gynaikonomoi is Plutarch’s Solon (21). Here Plutarch describes a series of restrictions upon women, supposedly imposed by Solon in archaic Athens. Whether Solonian or not, these restrictions presumably were in force in the archaic period. These restrictions regulated the appearance of women in public, their mourning (as at Gambreion) and their festivals, and their wild and disorderly behaviour. Women leaving the house were not allowed to wear more than three outer garments (himatia). If they travelled by night it had to be in a wagon with a lamp on the front. Numerous restrictions curbed the display of mourning at funerals, and these too would have impacted primarily upon women. The dead, presumably male or female, were not to be buried with more than three items of clothing. Plutarch then compares ‘most of ’ these archaic Athenian restrictions to those in enforced ‘by our own laws’. But he adds that these ‘own laws’ also provided that offenders be punished by the gynaikonomoi for unmanly and womanish behaviour, and for carrying their mourning to extravagant lengths. It is not clear how specifically the phrase ‘by our own laws’ is to be read. Plutarch certainly means to refer to laws in force in his own age. It is less clear that he means to refer specifically to laws in his own home city of Chaeronea, as opposed to the Greek world more generally. This aside, it also remains unclear whether Plutarch believed that officials known as gynaikonomoi had been responsible for policing such behaviour also in Solonian Athens. There is no other explicit evidence for gynaikonomoi anywhere in the archaic period, but Aristotle’s generalizations about them (Politics 1299a22, 1300a4, 1322b39) indicate that they were to be found widely in the Greek world by 336 bc, the last dateable reference in this text.12 Hence, we cannot exclude the possibility that the phenomenon was already developing in the archaic. So what 207

Daniel Ogden was the rationale behind the dress restrictions policed by the gynaikonomoi or the proto-gynaikonomoi in Athens and Chaeronea? The restriction on the number of outer garments that may be buried with the dead may indicate a sumptuary motive, but we are not compelled to think in these terms. The associated limitation placed on the spending of the women (they can only carry an obol’s worth of food or drink, in a basket not more than a cubit deep) seems less to do with the restriction of conspicuous consumption and more to do with limiting the opportunity of women to squander the housekeeping. The associated regulation that they must only travel by night in a wagon with a lamp is evidently designed to check surreptitious visits to adulterers, so this may imply that the promotion of chastity is the key issue. The funerary restrictions may have a purpose similar to that hypothesized in the case of Gambreion. Plutarch’s remark that his own gynaikonomoi also punished unmanly and womanish behaviour presumably addresses the restriction of men’s behaviour rather than women’s. This is potentially of huge significance: it indicates that the gynaikonomoi did not merely concern themselves with the supervision of the behaviour of women, but also with that of what we might today call gender roles. Plutarch may, in context, only be talking of men making fools of themselves at funerals, but if the phrase ‘unmanly and womanish behaviour’ is meant more widely, then it may also envisage the restriction of excessive dress for men, or even of dress considered womanish, perhaps such as that worn by Agathon in Aristophanes’ Thesmophoriazusae (130–45). Plutarch does not tell us what sanctions were exercised by gynaikonomoi in archaic Athens or imperial Chaeronea. However, two lexicographical entries inform us about the punishments they could mete out at least in hellenistic Athens. Harpocration (s.v. o{ti ciliva", preserving Hyperides F14 Blass) tells that women without order (akosmousai) in the streets were fined 1,000 drachmas – obviously a great deal of money, which only the rich could dream of paying. The size of the fine supports Aristotle’s generalization that the gynaikonomia was a magistracy that was a luxury of aristocracies. Hesychius (s.v. plavtano") says that gynaikonomoi displayed their fines on a white board on a plane tree. Athenaeus preserves a text from the third-century bc Phylarchus bearing upon the activities of the gynaikonomoi in Syracuse (Athenaeus 521b; Phylarchus FGrH 81 F54). Again it is unclear whether all the regulations listed were policed by the gynaikonomoi, or merely those in connection with which they are specifically mentioned. Women were not permitted to wear gold ornaments, nor garments decorated with flowers, nor robes with purple borders, unless they professed that they were public prostitutes.13 A man should not adorn his person, or wear any extraordinarily handsome robes, unless he meant to confess that he was an adulterer and a kinaidos. A free woman could not walk abroad when the sun had set, unless she was going to commit adultery. Even by day, they were not allowed to go out without the leave of the gynaikonomoi, and without one female servant following them. The reason for thinking that 208

Controlling women’s dress: gynaikonomoi the gynaikonomoi were indeed probably concerned with the policing of all these restrictions is the fact that they resemble the restrictions policed by gynaikonomoi in Andania, Athens and Chaeronea. What is the rationale behind them? There may again be a sumptuary impulse, but the promotion of chastity seems to be the chief concern, and the maintenance of the distinction between respectable women and adulterous ones and prostitutes. The restrictions are phrased in a curious fashion: ‘Women could not wear decorated dresses unless they professed they were prostitutes’, ‘Free women could not walk abroad after dark unless they were going to commit adultery’. Presumably women caught walking abroad in decorated dresses were liable to being included by the gynaikonomos in his list of prostitutes, and those walking abroad after dark in his list of adulterous women, if this was distinct. No doubt religious sanctions followed from inclusion in one of these lists, with women in these categories debarred from participation in festivals and sacrifices. Such, at any rate, was the fate that befell women taken in adultery in classical Athens. A similar fate presumably befell the men deemed adulterers and kinaidoi in Syracuse, and no doubt disfranchisement. The term kinaidos may carry overtones of male prostitution, and in Athens again disfranchisement was the penalty for male citizens who prostituted themselves.14 Such a function fits in well with the duties attested for the gynaikonomos in other states: the selection of women for festival participation at Magnesia on the Meander in 197–6 bc (LSAM no. 32), and the keeping of records on women in Alexandria (P. Hibeh 196). Presumably marriage or re-marriage prospects were slim for women (if indeed they were not outlawed) once they had been transferred to such a list. Gynaikonomoi are mentioned also in some very fragmentary laws from Thasos from the fourth century bc (e.g. no. 141 Pouilloux). It is likely therefore, on the analogy of material discussed above, that to them was given the enforcement of a fragmentary law (no. 155 Pouilloux) which speaks of ‘purple and not…neither to own…law. But whichever woman is a prostitute…of those who prohibit and…in the time of Philiskos…embroidery’. A theme which appears repeatedly in the evidence for gynaikonomoi is that of their kosmos, seemingly meant primarily in its sense of good moral order, but, in view of the fact that appearance was clearly a key aspect of moral order, it may have well have been significant also in its sense of the ‘cosmetic’ decoration of women. Aristotle associates gynaikonomoi with the promotion of eukosmia (Politics 1322b39). Harpocration, speaking probably of classical or hellenistic Athens, speaks of women being fined for being ‘without order’ (akosmousai) in the streets. The Andania inscription includes regulations against those who are ‘without order’ (akosmountes), although this seems to denote those who break silence when sacrifices are performed. Plutarch also implies that gynaikonomoi repressed ‘wild and wilfully disorderly behaviour’ (to atakton kai akolaston). In Cyzicus a magistrate is attested at around the turn of the eras. He is apparently concerned with the registering of marriages and the chastity of women, and so 209

Daniel Ogden is probably akin to the gynaikonomos. This magistrate is called the kosmophylax, ‘the guardian of order’.15 And Pergamum had a ‘magistrate set over the good order of maidens’ (ho epi tes eukosmias ton parthenon, IPerg. ii no. 463), while Smyrna had a ‘magistrate set over good order and maidens’ (ho epi tes eukosmias kai ton parthenon), the title presumably constituting a hendiadys.16 The potential rationalizations behind the dress restrictions of the gynaikonomoi were accordingly several: 1. a generalised sumptuary control, perhaps aimed in the first instance at the women’s menfolk 2. perhaps also a desire to curb spending by women themselves 3. a democratic desire to restrict the competitive display of wealth 4. the promotion of female chastity for the sake of the women’s men 5. the promotion of female chastity for the sake of the divine 6. standardization of dress to enhance the visual impact of processing women 7. the expression of status-differences, initiated vs. uninitiated, woman vs. girl, free vs. slave, respectable vs. prostitute or adulteress 8. the maintenance of custom 9. the protection of the living from the return of ghosts 10. the policing of the gender roles, i.e., ensuring that men do not represent themselves as women either through their expression of grief or through a womanish devotion to sex. Sanctions available to the gynaikonomoi in policing these restrictions included: 1. tearing of the offending dress (in public for humiliation?) 2. confiscation of the offending dress 3. dedication of the offending dress (with shaming display?) 4. the imposition of fines 5. shaming by the public display of fines 6. the imposition of bars upon participation in public festivals and sacrifices 7. the imposition of a curse 8. the transfer of women from more to less desirable lists (with religious penalties?). The Greeks understood fully the capacity of dress to be meaningful, and gynaikonomoi could no doubt be busy men. Sources for gynaikonomoi i. Generalisations Generalisations at the end of the classical period: Aristotle Politics 1299a20–3. Some responsibilities affect the state, and of these some affect all the citizens, for the purposes of a particular activity (e.g. a general, while they are under arms), others a section only (e.g. a gynaikonomos or a paidonomos [controller of boys] ).

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Controlling women’s dress: gynaikonomoi 1300a4–8. The paidonomos and the gynaikonomos and any other official in charge of such a concern, is an aristocratic thing, but not a democratic one – for how is it possible to put obstacles in the way of the women of the poor going out? Nor is it an oligarchic thing, for the women of oligarchic men live in luxury. 1322b37–1323a6. Some responsibilities are peculiar to states where leisure and prosperity are above the average (scholiastikoterais kai mallon euemerousais), and where attention is also paid to orderly behaviour (eti de phrontizousais eukosmias). Such are gynaikonomia, paidonomia, guardianship of the laws (nomophylakia) and management of the gymnasia (gymnasiarchia)… Some of these offices are obviously not at all democratic, for example the gynaikonomia and paidonomia, because the poor, not having any slaves, are obliged to use their women and children as servants.

A Roman generalisation: Cicero De Re Publica 4.6, p. 110 Ziegler (i bc). Nor let a prefect be set over women, in the fashion of the elected office (creari) among the Greeks, but let there be a censor, to teach husbands to control (moderari) their wives.

A late Greek generalization: Stobaeus Anthology 2.7.26 /196–7 C (v ad). Courts and council-houses and assemblies and magistracies are properly determined by constitutions. The most common magistracies are: priesthood of the gods, generalship, admiralship, market-wardenship (agoranomia), leadership of the gymnasia, gynaikonomia, wardenship of boys (paidonomia), city-wardenship (astynomia), treasurership, guardianship of the laws, bailiffship. Some of these magistracies relate to the management of cities, some to war and some to harbours and trade.

A general literary reference: Artemidorus of Daldis Onirocriticon 2.30 (ii ad). A person that dreams of being city-warden (astynomein), boy-warden (paidonomein) or gynaikonomos (gynaikonomein) is beset with worries and anxieties concerning his state, his children or his women.

A general literary reference: Menander Rhetor 363–4 pp. 66–7 Russell and Wilson (iii ad). Self-restraint (sophrosyne) is proven in two contexts, in the public community and in private houses. In the public community it is associated with the education of boys and girls, weddings, marriages and laws about offences of disorder (akosmois). There are many cities that elect gynaikonomoi. In other cities it is not respectable for a young man to be seen abroad either before the marketplace is full or after late afternoon, or for a woman to run a shop or do any marketing. Women are not even seen at some festivals, as, for example, at Olympia. One should watch out for these things in encomia. Now in the context of private lives, we ask whether adultery and other errors are minimal in the city.

ii. Athens Early vi bc Athens (?) and i-ii ad Chaeronea (?): Plutarch Solon 21 He [Solon] also imposed a law about women’s trips outside the house, their

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Daniel Ogden mourning and their festivals. This prohibited wild and wilfully disorderly behaviour (to atakton kai akolaston). He forbade women to wear more than three items of outer clothing (himatia) when they went out, or to carry more than an obol’s worth of food or drink, or a basket more than eighteen inches high, or to travel at night unless riding in a wagon with a lamp shining before it. He put an end to the tearing of cheeks at funerals, to the singing of formal dirges, and to the lamentation of one person at the funeral of another. He forbade the sacrifice of an ox at the graveside, the burial of the dead with more than three items of outer clothing (himatia), and the visiting of the tombs of others besides one’s own family, except at the time of burial. Most of these practices are forbidden by our laws too, and those who do such things are punished by the gynaikonomoi for indulging in unmanly and womanish emotions and errors in grief.

A classical theoretical intimation (?): Plato Laws 783e–4d (before 347 bc). So the groom is to attend to his bride and to the production of children, and the bride herself is to do likewise, particularly so long as no children are yet born to them. Overseer-women, whom we have appointed, are to be set over them. Their numbers are to vary depending upon the instructions given to them by those in charge, and the frequency of these. They are to assemble daily in the temple of Eileithuia for up to a third part of an hour. Once assembled there, they are to inform each other if one of them notices a man or woman of child-producing age distracting themselves from the principles set forth at the sacrifices and rites at their marriage. The child-production period and the surveillance of those producing them are to endure for ten years and no longer, if offspring flow in plenty. If some couples remain childless at this point, these couples are to deliberate with their relatives and the women in charge and be divorced for their common good. If there is dispute over the duties and interests of the two parties, they should choose ten law-guardians (nomophylakes) and abide by whatever decision they proffer or enforce. The women are to enter the houses of young couples and are to put a stop to their errors and ignorant behaviour through a combination of advice and threats. If they can not achieve this, they are to go and tell the law-guardians, and these are to restrain them. If these too are unable to achieve this by any means, they are to disclose the matter to the state, registering them and swearing that they are unable to improve this or that man. The man registered for this offence is to be disfranchised, if he does not prevail over his accusers in court. He is not to attend weddings or thanksgiving ceremonies for the birth of children. If he does so, anyone that wishes is to punish him with a beating, scot-free. The same rules are to apply to the woman. The offending woman is to have no part of women’s excursions, honours or attendance at weddings and birthdays, if she has likewise been registered as being without order (akosmousa) and does not win her case.

Early hellenistic Athens (320s bc); the legislation of Lycurgus: Aelian Varia Historia 13.24. The politician Lycurgus proposed a decree to the effect that women should not ride in carriages in the Mysteries. A woman doing this was to be punished to an extent deemed sufficient by the legislator. Lycurgus’ own wife was the first woman to flout the decree. She was convicted and paid the penalty. This story is edifying for people that want one thing but get another.

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Controlling women’s dress: gynaikonomoi Plutarch Moralia 842a–b. [Lycurgus proposed a decree] furthermore that a woman should not go to Eleusis in a carriage, so that the common women should not be disparaged by the rich ones. If a woman was caught doing this, she was to be fined six thousand drachmas. When his own wife disobeyed the decree and the sycophants caught her at it, he bought them off for a talent. When he was subsequently accused over this before the people, he said, ‘At any rate I have been found giving, not taking.’

Early hellenistic Athens: Athenaeus 245a–c. Lynceus of Samos says that the parasite Chaerephon came uninvited to a wedding breakfast and reclined on a couch at the end of the group. When the gynaikonomoi counted up the invited guests and ordered him out as constituting an illegal addition to the thirty permitted by law, ‘Count again,’ he told them, ‘and this time start from my end.’ As to the fact that it was usual for the gynaikonomoi to oversee symposia, and investigate whether the number of guests was in accordance with the law, Timocles says in his Philodikastes [F34 K–A] as follows: Open the doors now, so that we may be more open to the light, perchance the gynaikonomos on his way wishes to take the number of feasters in accordance with the new law, which he is accustomed to do. But he ought on the contrary to have been investigating the houses of those without dinner. And Menander says in his Cecryphalus [F272 K]: Learning that all the cooks that work at marriages have been registered with the gynaikonomoi, in accordance with some new law, so that they can find out whether someone has more guests than the number of permitted feasters, and having gone… And Philochorus says in the seventh book of his Atthis [FGrH 328 F65; Book 7 covers the laws of Demetrius of Phaleron] The gynaikonomoi (he says) together with the Areopagites used to investigate gatherings in houses at marriages and other sacrifices.

Early hellenistic Athens: Nicomachus Eileithuia F1 K–A lines 3–5 Cook: You haven’t investigated who we are in the trade. Did you make advance enquiries of those with accurate knowledge and pay me accordingly? Interlocutor: No, by Zeus, I didn’t.

Early hellenistic Athens: Harpocration s.v. o{ti ciliva" = Hyperides F14 Jensen. Hyperides reported in his second speech against Aristagoras that Crobylus the comic poet says the law in force on these matters was made by Philippides. Women without order (akosmousai) in the streets were fined a thousand drachmas.

Early hellenistic Athens: Hesychius s.v. plavtano" Plane tree: tree on which the gynaikonomoi displayed fines on a white board.

Early hellenistic Athens: Pollux Onomasticon 8.112. Gynaikonomoi: An office set over the good order (kosmos) of women. They would punish women without order (akosmousas). Inscribing their punishments, they would publish these on the plane tree in the Ceramicus.

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Daniel Ogden iii. The wider Greek world, chiefly hellenistic Alexandria? (280–250 bc): P.Hibeh 196 other…whenever…testify…to him…was born and that he is…and of a mother and of a tribe…in whichever…ratified, enrolled…the gynaikonomos…father swearing…arrive…gynaikonomos…son this…and the…young man later…gynaikonomos, that…

Andania (92/1 bc): IG v.1 1390 = Syll.3 no. 736 = Sokolowski LSCG no. 65. See table. 8–11… Let the priest and the sacred males exact the same oath from the sacred females in the temple of Karneios on the first day of the Mysteries, and let them exact in addition the following oath: ‘I have made my common life with my husband in a just and holy fashion.’ Let the sacred males punish a female that refuses to swear with a fine of 1,000 drachmas, and let them not allow her to be involved in the performance of the sacrifice, nor participate in the Mysteries, but let the females that have sworn perform them. And let those that have become sacred males and sacred females swear the same oath in the fifty-fifth year, in the eleventh month before the Mysteries… 13–15… On crowns. Let the sacred males have crowns and the sacred females a white cap, but those newly initiated into the rites a tiara. And when the sacred males make declaration, let the newly initiated males take off their tiaras, and all be crowned with laurel. 16–26… On clothing. Let the males initiated into the Mysteries stand unshod and have white clothing, and let the women (gynaikes) not have see-through clothes, and let them not have borders (sameia) on their himation (over-garment) broader than half a finger, and let the independent women have a linen chiton (tunic) and a himation, altogether worth not more than 100 drachmas, and let the girls (paides) have a kalaseris (fringed garment) or a sindonitas (linen garment) and a himation, altogether not worth more than 100 drachmas, and let the slave females have a kalaseris or a sindonitas and a himation, altogether worth not more than 50 drachmas. As for the sacred females, let the women wear a kalaseris or a hypodyma (undergarment) that does not have a border (skiai), and a himation, altogether worth not more than 200 drachmas, and let the girls have a kalaseris and a himation, altogether worth not more than 100 drachmas. And in the procession let the sacred women (gynaikes) wear a hypodytes (undergarment) and a female himation of wool, with a band (sameia) not broader than half a finger, and the girls a kalaseris and a himation that is not see-through. Let no female have gold jewellery, nor rouge, nor white lead, nor a hair-band nor plaited hair nor shoes, unless of felt or sacred leather. And let the sacred females have twisted wickerwork chairs and on them white pillows or white round cushions, with neither a band (skia) nor purple. As to all properties for the representation of the gods, they are to have their clothing in whatever way the sacred males command. And if any woman has her clothing otherwise, contrary to the decree, or some other prohibition, let not the gynaikonomos allow it, and let him have the power to tear (lymainesthai) it, and let it be dedicated to the gods.

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Controlling women’s dress: gynaikonomoi 26–8. Oath of the gynaikonomos. Whenever the sacred men themselves swear, let them exact an oath from the gynaikonomos over the same sacrifices, that he will have care concerning the clothing and the other things ordered by me in the decree… 28–34. On the procession. In the procession, let Mnasistratus lead, and then the priest of the gods for whom the Mysteries are performed, together with the priestess, and then the judge of the games and the flautists. And after this the sacred girls, in the order dictated by the lot, leading chariots loaded with the boxes to contain the sacred mysteries. Then the mistress of the banquet of Demeter and the undermistresses of the banquet who have entered upon office, and the priestess of Demeter of the Hippodrome, and then the priestess of Demeter in Aigila. And then the sacred women, one by one, just as the lot dictates, then the sacred men, just as ever the Ten arrange them. And let the gynaikonomos allot places to the sacred women and the girls, and have care that they take the place in the procession dictated by the lot. And let the sacrificial victims be led in procession, and let them sacrifice to Demeter a sow that has borne litters, a ram to Hermes, a young sow to the Great Gods, a boar to Karneian Apollo, a sheep to Hagna. 39–41… On the disordered [akosmountes]. Whenever the sacrifices and the mysteries are performed, all must be silent and listen to the declarations. Let the sacred men whip the man that disobeys or that unfittingly makes denial of the divine, and let them keep him from the Mysteries.

Colophon by the sea/Notion (iv bc): Demangel and Laumier 1923 no. 3. …Athenopolios…having been gynaikonomos (gynaikonomesas)…Aphrodite.17

Didyma (ii ad): IDid no. 84. The monument…was set up by Menander, keeper of the oracle (prophetes) and priest of the Kabeiroi, and second-time judge of the games of the great Didymeia, on account of his expenditures in the office of keeper of the oracle, having set in all order (kosmesa…kosmoi) the third house of the gymnasium of Faustinus, after all the expenditures of his liturgy, crown-bearer, leader of the presidents, leader of the council, secretary, market-warden, gynaikonomos, best man (aristeus), judge of the the games of the Great Didymeia, liturgist of all liturgies connected with boys, producer of the best choruses, judge of the games, king, head of the great gymnasium in two years and of the Kapiton gymnasium in two years, head of the council of elders, and having always been useful to the city on embassies and in benefactions, son and descendant of chief priests, of crown-bearers, keepers of the oracle, archons, gymnasiarchs, of the family of those who founded the city. IDid no. 361. …with good fortune. Cornelia the water-carrier of Pythian Artemis, a woman of Ionia, pious, daughter of Cornelius, priest of the Kabeiroi of Miletus and market-warden, panhellene-councillor, gynaikonomos, and benefactor of his homeland in other respects, granddaughter of Marcus Cornelius…of Miletus…, gynaikonomos, performer of the remaining liturgies, daughter of Cornelia…daughter of Demetrius…by the divine Hadrian…lover of beauty (?)… IDid no. 415. …nos, son of Menander…of the people…youngest…president,

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Daniel Ogden senate-president…market-warden, gynaikonomos [reconstruction based solely upon gy-]…games-president of the Great Didymeia.

Gambreion (iii bc): Syll.3 no. 1219 = IJG i no. 20 = LSAM no. 16 With good luck. In the temple-wardenship of Demetrius, in the month of Thargelion, on the second day, Alexon son of Damon proposed. That there should be a law for the Gambreiots that mourning women should have grey clothing, not soiled. Also, mourning men and children should use grey clothing, if they do not want to use white. The usual rites for the dead should be performed to the end within three months, and men should break mourning in the fourth month, and women in the fifth, and the women should by fixed custom rise up out of mourning and go out on the excursions permitted by the law. And the gynaikonomos chosen by the people at the purifications before the Thesmophoria should pray for prosperity and enjoyment of the good things they have for the men who abide by this law and the women who obey it, and the opposite for the men who do not obey the law and the women who do not abide by it. And let it not be holy for them, as impious, to sacrifice to any of the gods for ten years. And let the man elected treasurer after the year in which Demetrius was crown-bearer inscribe this law on two pillars and put the one up before the doors of the Thesmophorion, and the other before the doors of Artemis Lochia. And let the treasurer refer the expense for the stelai to the next meeting of the accountants.

Gortyn (i bc): ICret iv no. 252. Satyridas son of Peithon having been market warden (agoronomesas) and gynaikonomos (gynaikonomesas) on his own dedicates to Gortys the founder and to Plenty (Eueteria).

Ilion (77 bc): IIlion no. 10. An agreement between the cities about the festival. When Demetrius of Ilion, the son of Hippodamas, chaired the judges of the games, in the ninth year, in the month of Seleuceios, according to the Ilian calendar and when Lucius Julius Caesar the son of Lucius was quaestor here, the cities’ representatives met in the temple of Athene before the quaestor Lucius Julius Caesar the son of Lucius and made this agreement amongst themselves. [Regulations for festivals of Athene follow, as agreed between Ilion, Scepsis, Assos, Alexandreia Troas, Abydos and Lampsacos.] …Agreement between the Ilians and the Scamandreians. When Aristonomus the son of N…was priest, in the waning…of the month of…according to the Scamandreian calendar, in the waning quarter of the month of Panamos…those of the Scamandreians inhabiting… those living in Scamandroi…in Scamandroi…having come of age each day two obols and choinikes of wheat…half an obol. The attendant should minister…money to the city. There should be elected a…from those who live in Scamandroi. This same man should also serve as gynaikonomos (gynaikonomein)…buying and selling, in accordance with the former decree. There should be elected…be given to the man elected for the good… There should also be elected a temple-warden (hieronomos) from those living in Scamandroi…everything be given to them from the beginning…150 drachmas…each year until… drachmas…the territory of Ilion…

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Controlling women’s dress: gynaikonomoi Magnesia on Maeander (197–6 bc): Syll.3 no. 589 = IMag no. 98 = LSAM no. 32 When Aristeus son of Demetrius…was crown-bearer, in the month of Smision, with the tribe of Attalis in chairmanship (proedria), with Pythocleies son of Hegesippus secretary to the council, in the waning quarter of the month, in a lawful assembly, with Menestratus son of Artemidorus chairing the chairmen, a decree was passed for the dedication of a bull to Zeus each year at the beginning of the sowing time, and for the praying and the procession and the sacrifice, and for the erection of a rotunda in the agora and the strewing of blankets. The council and the people decided. Resolution of the people. That the current managers (oikonomoi) buy a bull and that the managers in office at any one time buy as fine as possible a bull in the month of Heraeon at the festival each year, and dedicate it to Zeus at the beginning of the sowing in the month of Cronion at the new moon, together with the priest and priestess of Artemis Leucophryene, and with the crown-bearer and the sacred herald, and the sacrificer doing liturgy for the city. And that the wardens of boys (paidonomoi) should despatch nine boys flourishing on both sides (amphithaleis),18 and the gynaikonomoi nine maidens (parthenoi) flourishing on both sides. And in the dedication of the bull let the sacred herald pray with the priest and the priestess and the crown-bearer and the boys and the maidens and the polemarchs and the hipparchs and the managers, and the secretary of the council and the checking-clerk and the general for the safety of the city and the land and the citizens and the women and the children and the other people living in the city and the land and for peace and wealth, and the produce of wheat and all other crops and animals…

Methymna (mid-iv bc): IG xii Suppl. p. 30, superseding xii.2 no. 499 …no one around the altar…so that they may help each other…rendering service …altar…and let the great proclamation be executed in this way. Let the gynaikonomos be a citizen of Methymna, not younger than forty years old. During the all-night festival he is to remain outside the two doors and to ensure that he himself alone and no other man enters the temple, but let there be no other obstacle. So that the honours may be paid to the ancestral gods…thyrsi…

Miletus (ii ad): Milet no. 264 …having been market-warden, peace-…buyer of corn…gynaikonomos [based solely upon –ai—].

Samos (iv bc): Clerc, BCH 1883 pp. 79–80 no. 1 ...to Hera...gynaikonomoi [list of six men’s names with patronymics follows].

Sparta IG v.1 209 = Michel 1900 no. 990 (i bc). Those who were fed [at a banquet celebrating Helen] in the time of Nicocles...[list of officials follows]...[line 10:] Dinocrates son of Dinocles gynaikonomos.

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Daniel Ogden SEG xi no. 626 (c. 110 ad). Soander son of Tryphon undertook the office of gynaikonomos in the year of Nicocrates in accordance with ancient customs and the laws. Colleagues in office were Ariston son of Aphrodisios, Philoclidas son of Onasicles, Gaius Julius Philetor son of Sosicrates, Paris son of Philocalos and Admetos son of Admetos. SEG xi no. 493 (c. 125–50 ad/bc). Isochrysos the son of Isochrysos, member of the council of elders in the year of Cleon, annual official (? – diabetes) in the year of Hermogenes, the year in which the Conooureis were victorious for the first time for forty years, ambassador to the divine Hadrian at Neicopolis, at his own expense, escort of judges from Asia in the year of Claudius the son of Aristotle, gynaikonomos in the year of Abidios the son of Biadas. SEG xi 629 (c. 138–61 ad). Gynaikonomos, Gaius Julius Boiotios, in the year of Gaius Julius Lysicrates. SEG xi no. 498 (c. 145–60 ad). Gaius Julius Boiotios, member of the council of elders in the year of Cleon, gynaikonomos in the year of Lysicrates, member of the council of elders a second time in the year of Titianos, and for a third time in the year of Julius Sosicrates. SEG xi no. 500 (c. 160–70 ad). Varius Phosphoros, member of the council of elders, fellow gynaikonomos (syngynaikonomos), joint holder of the patronomate with the divine Lycurgus, joint sacrificer at the festivals in Puteoli and Naples, at his own expense, dedicates (this) to his sovereign homeland. SEG xi 627 (c. 161–80 ad). Hygeinos son of Hygeinos, gynaikonomos in the year of Cleonymus son of Cleonymus. Colleagues in office were Apollonius son of Zosimus, Philoumenos son of Philoumenos, Atremas son of Rhouphion, Eudamos son of Eudamos. IG v.1 170 = Woodward, BSA 1907/8, 123–5 no. 148 (ii ad). Aurelius Kalemeros son of Agathocles, gynaikonomos, in the year in which Sextus Pompeius Theoxenos was paternal councillor, who loves Caesar and his fatherland, good and just. Fellow magistrates were (etc.)… SEG xi 628 (ii ad?). [Restoration of the term gynaikonomoi here is speculative; nothing can be concluded.]

Syracuse (iii bc): Athenaeus 521b = Phylarchus FGrH 81 F54. But Phylarchus, in the twenty-fifth book of his History, having said that there was a law at Syracuse, that the women should not wear golden ornaments, nor garments decorated with flowers, nor robes with purple borders, unless they professed that they were common prostitutes; and that there was another law, that a man should not adorn his person, nor wear any elaborate robes, different from the rest of the citizens, unless he meant to confess that he was an adulterer and a profligate (kinaidos); and

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Controlling women’s dress: gynaikonomoi also, that a free woman was not to walk abroad when the sun had set, unless she was going to commit adultery; and even by day they were not allowed to go out without the leave of the gynaikonomoi, and without one female servant attending them…

Thasos No. 141 Pouilloux (360–40 bc). Let the market-warden not permit anything…on whichever day they carry a corpse out to burial, before the procession of the cortege. Let no one do any action of grief over good men for more than five days. And let it not be allowed to attend a corpse. And if [sc. these prescriptions are] not [sc. obeyed], let him [the transgressor] regret it, and let not the gynaikonomoi or the archons or the polemarchs let it pass without intervention… No. 154 Pouilloux (late iii–ii bc). a.: the gynaikonomoi. b.: Apollonius son of Demetrius religious official (diakonos). No. 155 Pouilloux (late iv bc). [not?] purple and not...neither to own...law. But whichever woman is a prostitute (ergaz[omene])...of those who prohibit and...in the time of Philiskos (???)...embroidery. No. 164 Pouilloux (c. iii bc). …-s, son of Epic…, having been gynaikonomos [based solely upon –omes-], having obtained…at his own expense, dedicated it to the people. Martin 1944–5 no. 3 (iii bc). Gynaikonomoi dedicated this to Aphrodite: Cleustratus, son of Polycles; Euxenides son of Diophantos; Nossicas son of Demoteles. Martin 1944–5 no. 4 (iii bc). Gynaikonomoi dedicated this to Aphrodite: Eraton son of Theorretos; Aristodemus…; Eratocrates. Croissant and Salviat 1966 no. 2 (iv bc). …Timarchidas, son of Pythion, Gynaikonomoi dedicated this to Aphrodite, after being crowned by the people. Thespiae (220s bc): Roesch 1965 at pp. 3–19, lines 45–7. …Paidonomoi: Theibangelos son of Ismeinias, Milleis son of Philon. Gynaikonomoi: (vacat)…

iv. Ghost reference Edmonds 1961 p. 1046 (a supposed interlinear paraphrase of Menander’s Epitrepontes). v. Kosmo-magistrates Cyzicus, kosmophylax Sève 1979 pp. 328–31 lines 63–70 (c. 25 ad): And so that there should also be

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Daniel Ogden a clear memorial of her [the lamented Apollonis, daughter of Procles] moral restraint for all the city, it is decreed that a statue of her be dedicated in one of the chambers of the square agora in the eastern portico, the one between the office of the assessors and that of the market-warden, and that when the office has been arranged (kosmethenti), it should be used in perpetuity by the kosmophylax and all future kosmophylakes. And those registering the completions of their marriages with the kosmophylax must crown the statue of Apollonis consecrated in the office. Michel Recueil no. 538 (i bc). [A portrait of the priestess Cleidike is to be installed in the sanctuary of Meter Plakiane.] It is to be possible for him also to inscribe the names of the dedicators, together with their patronymics, and to say that [10 named individuals] dedicated the portrait of Cleidike daughter of Asclepiades, having been kosmophylax (kosmophylakesantes). Pergamum (ii bc): IPerg ii 463. Those training in the festival gymnasium. Those set over the good order of the maidens (hoi epi tes eukosmias ton parthenon), and the maidens (nominative). The fellow advocates. The people of the Pergamenes. Smyrna (undated): Robert 1937 pp. 56–9. …having given many demonstrations of his good will towards the people…both for his immediate descendants and for those of his stock (?). Furthermore he submitted himself to trials on behalf of his homeland, exposed himself to risks and undertook numerous embassies because of his devotion to the state. He conducted himself honourably in his offices, and treated all alike equally and fairly. He greeted each of the citizens generously. It is fine thing to vote fitting honours to him in death. Resolved by the people. Athenodorus is to be to crowned with gold and honoured with a bronze statue. The president of the gymnasium and the young men are to crown him with gold and honour him with a bronze statue. The paidonomoi and the boys are to crown him with gold and honour him with a bronze statue. The magistrate set over good order and over maidens (ho epi tes eukosmias kai ton parthenon) is to crown him with gold and honour him with a bronze statue. Since the victors in the sacred games too and the fellow magistrates of Menophantos and the trainers of the boys and of the ephebes approach us wishing also to honour him themselves because of the dead father’s good will towards them…

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Controlling women’s dress: gynaikonomoi Table Dress-code of the Andania mysteries inscription, IG v.1 1390 = Sokolowski LSCG no. 65. Sacred/hierophant (hieroi and hierai )

Initiated

Men

Laurel crowns

White clothing; no shoes

Girls

Celebration: Kalaseris + himation,