Yatromanolakis, Dimitrios. 2008. Sappho in the Making: The Early Reception. Hellenic Studies Series 28. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_YatromanolakisD.Sappho_in_the_Making.2008.
Chapter 3. The Anthropology of Ancient Reception: The Late Archaic and Classical Periods
Ἐνεφανίσθη καὶ χάθηκε ἡ δεσποινὶς ποὺ συνήντησα
μέσ᾽ στὸ συρτάρι μου. Στὴ θέσι της μιὰ τολύπη
κρατεῖ τὸν φώσφορο τῆς ζωοφόρου της. Ἄποικοι
νέμονται τὶς ἐκτάσεις ποὺ ἐγκατέλειψε μὰ τὸ παιδὶ
τῶν ἀναμνήσεών μας κομίζει πλοκάμια ποὺ μοιάζουν
μὲ τὶς ἕξι διαφορετικὲς ἡδονὲς τῆς δεσποινίδος
ποὺ ὑπῆρξε βασικῶς μητέρα τοῦ παιδιοῦ της καὶ
μητέρα μου. Κάποτε ζῶ μέσ᾽ στὸ συρτάρι. Μὰ
κάθε φορὰ ποὺ δὲν ὀνομάζονται μερικὲς περι–
πτώσεις ἀλλιῶς παρὰ χλαμύδες κάτω ἀπὸ τὶς ὁποῖες
ὑποσκάπτονται τὰ θεμέλια μιᾶς τραγικῆς κουρτίνας
παίρνω τὸ τελευταῖο μαντήλι της καὶ παρακαλῶ
τὸ βάτραχό μου νὰ καταργήσῃ κάθε οἰμωγὴ
ποὺ εἶναι δυνατὸν νὰ ὑπάρχῃ μέσα στοὺς θώκους
καὶ ἐπάνω ἀπὸ τὶς κουρτίνες.
The maiden whom I met in my drawer appeared
and disappeared. In her place a wisp is holding
the phosphorus of her zophoros. Settlers exploit
the regions that she left behind but the child
of our memories is bringing tentacles resembling
the six sensual pleasures of the maiden
who was basically the mother of her child and
my mother. Sometimes I live in the drawer.
But each time that certain cases are not named
otherwise but “chlamydes,” under which
the foundations of a tragic curtain are
undermined, I take her last handkerchief
and beg my frog to cancel any wail
that there may be in the seats
and above the curtains.
In this long series of cases presented as intriguing paradoxes, Alkidamas has listed a female figure. The “paradox” here is related to a most pervasive and powerful paradigm in the cultural rhetoric and practice of fifth- and fourth-century Athens. The point that is made is that Sappho, who was from Lesbos and closely associated with the city of Mytilene, was honored by the people of Mytilene, despite the fact that she was a woman. Paros gave honors to a poet fond of insults, and Khios to a non-citizen poet.  Compared to the examples of men “wise and skilled in art” offered by Alkidamas, the cultural paradox in the case of Sappho lies in her being a woman who conspicuously stood out as a poet in the long tradition of famous Lesbian male singers and poets/musicians that became proverbial in Greek antiquity.  By the standards of Athenian cultural politics, this feat was remarkable indeed.
Sappho, a woman—according to truth and nature—and a
poetess . . .
The emphasis placed on the word “woman” in this passing reference to Sappho confirms that a complex cultural hermeneutics of gender was one of the primary prisms through which her poetry and, more importantly, its sociocultural contexts were perceived in societies where the categories “woman,” “woman musician/poet,” and “East Greek” were markedly loaded. As discussed in the course of this chapter, these categories were a formative part of the social economy of Athenian performance cultures throughout the early transmission and successive reperformances of Sappho’s songs in that city. I shall argue that the second ideological concept, “woman poet/musician,” in conjunction with broader and particularly intricate socioeconomic discourses related to East Greek societies, shaped the early making of the figure of Sappho, thus adumbrating the subsequent discursive configurations with which she was presented as conversing.
violet-haired, holy, soft-smiling Sappho
For many literary critics and the majority of critical editors, the fragment clearly indicates that Alkaios was an admirer of Sappho.  And for those scholars who have attempted in the past to defend Sappho’s “chastity,” Alkaios’ ἁγνὴ Σαπφώ has overtly or covertly become an enduring image.  It has often been suggested that in this greeting Sappho was duly portrayed by Alkaios as a sacred, decorous figure, similar to a goddess. 
violet-haired, holy, soft-smiling sister
Σάπφοι, according to this view,  cannot be sustained, since, in all other places in Lesbian poetry where Sappho’s name is recorded, it is spelled Ψάπφω.  If we changed the initial letter of the name in fragment 384 V (μελλιχόμειδε Ψάπφοι), the line would not scan: the double consonant would lengthen the preceding short vowel.
The Politics of Lesbian Idioms
Λεσβίδας, ἃς ὅτε Λέσβον ἐϋκτιμένην ἕλεν αὐτὸς
ἐξελόμην, αἳ κάλλει ἐνίκων φῦλα γυναικῶν.
And I will give seven women skilled in flawless handiwork,
women of Lesbos—whom when Akhilleus himself captured well-built Lesbos
I chose out from the booty—who in beauty surpassed all the tribes of women.
Along with seven tripods, ten talents of gold, twenty cauldrons, and twelve superb, prizewinning horses, the seven women offered to Akhilleus function as objects of exchange in a social economy where gift exchange was essential in establishing and promoting relationships among individuals. The provenance of women is significant for the rhetoric of Agamemnon’s kingly offer because as alluring gifts or even commodities, they surpass all the races of women. If, with Jean Baudrillard, we attempt to detect a dynamic relationship between gift exchange and seduction (in the broadest sense of the term),  Agamemnon’s list of most valuable gifts is rhetorically displayed as an incomparably seductive deal  —especially if compared to other lists of gifts offered in critical moments in the Iliad.  The seven women—Lesbian and obtained on Lesbos (both references introduced emphatically in line 129)—are presented as unrivaled in two fundamental aspects of the socioeconomic marketability of women in ancient Greek societies: they are supremely skilled in handiwork and their allure can be emulated by no other groups of women. This kind of perception about the female inhabitants of a specific island, when embedded in poetry so widely performed and of such Panhellenic impact, reactivates the construction of traditions. As Ionian men are labeled ἑλκεχίτωνες (“with trailing tunics”) in the Iliad, especially on an occasion that suggests that this idea was traditional,  so Lesbian women are singled out as potentially unique in beauty among all women.
βάλλων χρυσοκόμης Ἔρως
συμπαίζειν προκαλεῖται ·
ἡ δ᾽, ἐστὶν γὰρ ἀπ’ εὐκτίτου 5
Λέσβου, τὴν μὲν ἐμὴν κόμην,
λευκὴ γάρ, καταμέμφεται,
πρὸς δ᾽ ἄλλην τινὰ χάσκει.
Once again golden-haired Eros,
striking me with a purple ball,
challenges me to play with
a girl with embroidered sandals. 
But she, for she is from
well-built Lesbos, blames
my hair, because it is white,
and she is gaping at another.
That the word “another” (feminine) refers to an object of interest or desire seems beyond doubt, since the young girl χάσκει and the amatory tone of the song is conspicuous—at least in its opening phrasing.  Similarly central is the emphasis placed on the marked agency of the girl, who can strongly blame (καταμέμφεται) the singing voice’s “white hair” and prefers to gape at other seductive personae. The gaze of the singing “I” is male,  “once again” in search of an eroticized female companion, a playmate or συμπαίστρια.  Through the construction of an almost triangular performative space, Eros, presiding over the reenactment of the song, incites the singer to gaze at a girl who gazes at some other object of desire. Everything else in the song seems, or is, ambivalent,  and has caused a lively and extensive scholarly debate in which partisans of one or another view have applied themselves to a fetishization of the female gaze, as well as of the object of the gaze of the Lesbian lass.
Paradigms and Histories
ἢ Φρὺξ ἔμυζε· κύβδα δ’ ἦν πονεομένη.
Like a Thracian or Phrygian sucking beer through the tube
she sucked; and she was stooped over—working hard.
While in the Homeric epics the Thracians are known as wearing their hair long at the top (Θρήϊκες ἀκρόκομοι, “the top-knotted Thracians”) and Hipponax fragment 115.6 W repeats the same idea,  Arkhilokhos adopts or promotes a different image for them. This performative trafficability of stereotypes is evident in other songs of Arkhilokhos: in fragment 248 W, the inhabitants of the island of Karpathos are assigned a proverbial trait,  while in fragment 124 W the greediness and parsimony of the people of Mykonos (Μυκονίων δίκην) is juxtaposed with the behavior of a male figure who is criticized for going to symposia uninvited and drinking much wine without contributing to the expense.  Later, in a forceful composition, Pindar will attempt to reverse this practice of stereotyping by undermining the old idea that the Boiotians, his compatriots, were rustic and vulgar. 
Libidinal Economies 
(B.) καλόν γε δῶρον, ἕπτ’ ἔχειν λαικαστρίας
(A.) He will give you seven women, from Lesbos.
(B.) What a beautiful gift—to have seven cocksuckers
This is a fragment from Pherekrates’ Kheirôn (159 K-A), a comedy that, as its title suggests, must have somehow employed in its overall thematics the mythological figure of the homonymous centaur. A date for the production of the comedy is difficult to posit, but the very late fifth century would be a suitable time for Pherekrates to have been able to criticize composers/poets like Timotheos and Philoxenos (Kheirôn fr. 155 K-A).  Pherekrates won his first victory some time between 437 and 430 BC, and his Savages (Agrioi) was performed in 420 BC. Whether his Kheirôn was a kind of mythological burlesque remains unknown. For all that, among the few and indirectly transmitted fragments that we have from this comedy,  it is worth observing that the largest part of fragment 162 K-A is a parody of a passage from the Greater Works (Megala Erga) attributed to Hesiod. According to Athenaios (8.364b–c), who quotes fragment 162 K-A, contemporary men, when it came to banquets, did not follow the exhortations offered by a (unidentified) character from Pherekrates’ Kheirôn (fr. 162.1–3 K-A); instead they memorized the lines that followed those excellent exhortations (fr. 162.4ff. K-A)—lines that described the graceless behavior of a host who has invited people to dinner after a sacrifice but looks forward to their leaving soon after their arrival. Athenaios points out that these lines from Pherekrates’ Kheirôn parodied some lines, now lost, from the Megala Erga.  Moreover, in the same fragment from Kheirôn, lines 11–12 K-A (μηδένα μήτ’ ἀέκοντα μένειν κατέρυκε παρ’ ἡμῖν | μήθ’ εὕδοντ’ ἐπέγειρε, Σιμωνίδη, “do not detain anyone to stay with us against his will, nor wake up a man who is asleep, Simonides”) constitute a quotation of Theognidea 467 and 469,  thus contributing further to the levels of intertextuality that the fragment must have displayed.
Λεσβίδας . . .
And he will give seven women skilled in flawless handiwork,
women of Lesbos . . .
According to a widely endorsed suggestion by August Meineke,  the two speakers in Pherekrates fr. 159 K-A may be Odysseus and Akhilleus. The fragmentary nature of this passage and of the whole play does not allow us to view the two lines as something more than an intertextual dialogue with the Homeric episode, an obscene banter related to the beautiful Lesbian women of Iliad 9. I should stress that the Homeric reference to their beauty (9.272 and cf. 9.130) and their superb skills in handiwork is not omitted but caricatured in the καλόν of the second line of Pherekrates fragment 159 K-A and amplified by further details about their dexterity. The particle γε in the second speaker’s remark, “what a beautiful gift,” may convey a kind of irony,  but what is intriguing here is the word λαικαστρίας and its association with women from Lesbos in the fifth century BC. It is in this respect that Pherekrates’ fragment is of significance for my attempt to re-draw the cultural landscape of stereotyping against which the East Greek figure and poetry of Sappho could be viewed by male audiences in fifth- and fourth-century Athens.
To illuminate this remark, Eustathios refers to Aristophanes Frogs 1308 (αὕτη ποθ’ ἡ Μοῦσ᾽ οὐκ ἐλεσβίαζεν, οὔ).
μελύδριον εὑροῦσαί τι τῶν Ἰωνικῶν.
At the outset of the scene, this old woman, probably an Athenian citizen, is represented as restless; she is burning with the desire to exploit the new privileges that Praxagora’s decree in the play now gives her: she can have the young girl’s lover for a sexual encounter before he sleeps with the girl, since according to the newly established social order, this is the legal procedure in such matters (944–945). The wanton tone of the whole episode is already evident in the reference to the “Ionian tune” the old lady wishes to sing. In the context of an exchange of songs between herself and the young girl, the girl indirectly addresses the former and teasingly asks, as a matter of urgency, for Orthagoras, a comic personified version of a dildo, so that the old woman may satisfy herself sexually. The old woman’s reply metonymically associates the Ionian women with the Lesbian women, thus providing, I suggest, the most marked and inclusive “definition” of East Greek female sexuality preserved in texts of the classical period (918–920):
τρόπον τάλαινα κνησιᾷς‧
δοκεῖς δέ μοι καὶ λάβδα κατὰ τοὺς Λεσβίους.
Poor girl, you are already having an itch
for the Ionian pleasure.
You seem to me to also want to do the labda in the manner
of the Lesbians. 
Performative discourses of this kind, as well as other scripts and texts composed earlier than the early fourth century, effectively contributed to habitually internalized and reproduced ideological idioms related to the inhabitants of East Greek cities and of any other Greek areas—Sybaris in South Italy, for instance—that shared the luxuriousness and alleged profligacy of East Greece. Such modalities of thought were often adopted unquestioningly or further modified by later generations, which constructed their own cultural narratives based on comparably habitual processes.
This quaint narrative, with Kleomenes or, rather, Kleomis,  a fourth-century ruler of Methymna, taking action over habits male and female, combines two pivotal elements often reflected in narratives about East Greece: the extravagant luxury of its different cities and the “otherness” of their women. This otherness, which here is only slightly alluded to, will become more explicit several centuries later in Ploutarkhos’ Aitia Hellênika (“Greek Questions”).  The question now is: “why, on Samos, people invoke the Aphrodite of Dexikreon”? Ploutarkhos’ research led him to two alternative etiological stories; the first of them reads as follows:
Although often representing different local traditions and sociopolitical rhetoric, East Greek women and their histories were viewed and written in terms of their potential licentiousness, their marked idiosyncrasies, or at least their unquenchable and lovelorn fervor. Long before the Suda entry related to the sex toys of Milesian women,  around the mid-third century BC Herodas, in one of his mimiambs, presented two women, Koritto and Metro, chatting about dildos somewhere on the coast of Asia Minor.  Kerdon, the craftsman who stitched a flawless scarlet dildo for Koritto, came from Khios or Erythrai (6.58), a city in Asia Minor almost opposite the island of Khios. The cobbler Kerdon reappears in another mimiamb by Herodas,  this time displaying in his shop the elegant shoes and, more indirectly, dildos he skillfully produced for his lady customers. As for Samian women, in the early third century BC Asklepiades of Samos composed an epigram about two of them with apparently atypical erotic proclivities:
φοιτᾶν τοῖς αὐτῆς οὐκ ἐθέλουσι νόμοις,
εἰς δ’ ἕτερ’ αὐτομολοῦσιν ἃ μὴ καλά. δεσπότι Κύπρι,
μίσει τὰς κοίτης τῆς παρὰ σοὶ φυγάδας.
The Samians Bitto and Nannion do not wish to frequent
the realms of Aphrodite in accordance with her laws,
but desert to other things that are not good. Mistress Kypris,
abhor those who are fugitives from the love-making within your realm. 
According to an ancient commentator on this epigram, Asklepiades attacks them for being “masculine” lesbians (ὡς τριβάδας διαβάλλει), but I agree with Kenneth Dover that Asklepiades most likely speaks about a lesbian couple from Samos.  Samos was also an island closely associated in the late fourth/early third centuries BC with unbridled wantonness as well as luxuriousness. Attracted to stories about East Greek curiosities and keen to assault any signs of Eastern habrotês (“luxury”), the Peripatetic Klearkhos of Soloi recounted the “profligate way of life” on Samos during the time of the turannos Polykrates, who was said to have conceived the construction of the impressive “Quarters” (λαύρα and Σαμίων ἄνθεα) in the city of Samos, where prostitutes and other luxurious commodities of all sorts were plentiful and at the disposal “of all Hellas.”  Samos was also recorded as the birthplace of a “woman writer” of a famous handbook on seduction and ars amatoria mentioned by Klearkhos in another work of his and by his almost contemporary historian Timaios of Tauromenion.  The name given to her was Philainis of Samos, and a number of other women writers from Samos and Lesbos later became the authors of such erotic manuals. 
ἡβυλλιῶσαι καὶ τὰ ῥόδα κεκαρμέναι,
πλήρεις κύλικας οἴνου μέλανος ἀνθοσμίου
ἤντλουν διὰ χώνης τοῖσι βουλομένοις πιεῖν.
And girls in [fine] coverings woven of hair,
having newly reached the bloom of youth and with their roses trimmed,
drew with a funnel cups full of dark wine with exquisite bouquet
for those who wished to drink. 
Although ῥόδα (“roses”) in the sense of “bush” also occurs—in a modified version (ῥοδωνιά, “rose-garden,” “rose-bed”)—in the Nemesis of Kratinos (fr. 116.2 K-A),  and the expression ῥόδα κεκαρμέναι becomes easily intelligible in view of the practice of depilation of women’s pubic hair in Greek antiquity,  an entry on ῥόδον in Hesykhios’ lexicon of rare words intrigues with its specificity: ῥόδον· Μιτυληναῖοι τὸ τῆς γυναικός (“rose: the people of Mytilene call so the vulva”). How far back in time does this information go? Is it based on “local knowledge” stemming from texts of Lesbian authors  that Hesykhios had in mind? Or was “rose” in its sexually charged meaning a loan word from the Lesbians that became well known throughout Greece? What is of interest here is the (even faded and diversely represented) resilience of the marked associations of women from Lesbos with carnal pleasure, potentially obtainable in symposiastic contexts. As I have shown, these marked idioms were foregrounded in Athens during the fifth century.
Early Performative Poetics
]. φιλάοιδον λιγύραν χελύνναν. 2
] ποτ’ [ἔ]οντα χρόα γῆρας ἤδη
ἐγ]ένοντο τρίχες ἐκ μελαίναν, 4
βάρυς δέ μ’ ὀ [θ]ῦμο̣ς̣ πεπόηται, γόνα δ’οὐ φέροισι,
τὰ δή ποτα λαίψῃρ’ ἔον ὄρχησθ’ ἴσα νεβρίοισιν. 6
†τα† στεναχίσδω θαμέως. ἀλλὰ τί κεν ποείην;
ἀγήραον ἄνθρωπον ἔοντ’ οὐ δύνατον γένεσθαι. 8
καὶ γάρ π̣[ο]τ̣α̣ Τίθωνον ἔφαντο βροδόπαχυν Αὔων
ἔρωι . . . α̣.εισαν βάμεν’ εἰς ἔσχατα γᾶς φέροισα[ν 10
ἔοντα̣ [κ]άλον καὶ νέον, ἀλλ’ αὖτον ὔμως ἔμαρψε
χρόνωι π̣ό̣λ̣ι̣ο̣ν̣ γῆρας, ἔχ̣[ο]ν̣τ’̣ ἀθανάταν ἄκοιτιν. ※? 12 
] children, the lovely gifts of violet-bosomed [Muses]
] clear-sounding song-loving lyre.
] once being . . . my body [is taken] now by old age
] my hair has turned [white] from black
and my heart has weighed down, my knees that once were
nimble to dance as fawns do not support me.
I often groan for this. But what could I do?
It is impossible for a human being not to grow old.
The story was that Tithonos once, loved by rose-armed Dawn,
was carried off by her to the ends of earth,
when he was handsome and young; yet grey old age in time
overtook him, the husband of an immortal wife.
Starting with lines 1 and 2, the occurrence of ἰόκολπος and λίγυρος suggests that the epithets were employed in a number of songs to describe either a bride (fr. 30.5 V) and divinities (fr. 103.3 V and 58.11 V)  or singing (fr. 101A.2 and 103.7 V) and musical instruments (fr. 58.2 V).  The image in line 5 γόνα δ’ οὐ φέροισι (“my knees do not support me”) finds a close parallel in Alkman fragment 26.1–2 PMG οὔ μ’ ἔτι . . . γυῖα φέρην δύναται (“no longer can my limbs support me”), a fragment addressed to “honey-voiced girls.” More striking is the similarity between Sappho’s evocative, almost staccato †τα† στεναχίσδω θαμέως (“for these I groan often”) and Anakreon’s διὰ ταῦτ’ ἀνασταλύζω θαμά (“for these I sob often . . . ”) in fragment 395.7–8 PMG. These  may not be viewed as fortuitous elements in Sappho’s poetry. They should rather be construed as constituent parts of songs influenced both by compositional elements of oral tradition and by the conditions of their own oral performance. Although repetition of phrases, motifs, images, story patterns, and so forth in early archaic poetry was a feature of the poetics of individual poets, this poetics was considerably influenced by modes of communication generated by a predominantly oral society. That the use of writing might have determined the character of a composition and have entailed the formation of a somewhat different horizon of expectations on the part of the audience is possible.  However, one must pose the question whether archaic audiences (even some of the original ones that belonged to the social elite, if we may use such an overgeneralized term) were more familiar with written than oral modes of communication.
Music and Words: Transmission in Performance
The Strategies of Traveling
Economies of Symposia and Taverns
Take . . . and sing for me some drinking song of Alkaios and Anakreon.
It has persuasively been suggested that the twenty-five Attic skolia (drinking songs) transmitted by Athenaios in the fifteenth book of his Learned Banqueters were part of a collection of skolia that took shape in mid-fifth century BC.  As we have seen, the skolion 891 PMG was part of Alkaios fragment 249 V that was presumably transmitted even as an anonymous composition in classical Attic symposia. The different versions of the Harmodios skolion in honor of the turannoktonoi Harmodios and Aristogeiton  were well known to audiences of fifth-century comedies to the extent that characters in plays of Aristophanes constantly refer to, or quote their multiforms of, this song.  In the fourth century BC, Antiphanes will reconfirm the old popularity of the Harmodios.  Further, the Telamon and the Admetos songs—also specimens in Athenaios’ Attic collection—are recalled by playwrights, especially in the context of staged symposia.  In a reenactment of a banquet in the Wasps, another, explicitly political song by Alkaios is improvised.  Among the skolia that Athenaios preserves one is ascribed to the fifth-century Praxilla of Sikyon, a poet famous for her rococo-like hymn to Adonis.  I should like to stress that between Praxilla fragment 749 PMG and the skolion 897 PMG differences occur in the text as transmitted by the ancient sources.  I shall return to this issue in Chapter Four. On the tondo of a red-figure cup, replete as it is with images of symposiasts making music, drinking, and playing kottabos, an Atticized rendering of the opening phrase of a song generally assigned to Praxilla comes out of the mouth of a singer who reclines on a couch along with an aulos-player: ὦ διὰ τῆς θυρίδος (“oh you . . . through the window”).  Attic symposia facilitated the creation of song repertoires, which could constantly absorb new compositions and subject them to metonymic “genre” associations. 
Eustathios reports that the Atticist lexicographer Pausanias in the second century AD wrote that the song was attributed either to Sappho or to Alkaios or to Praxilla.  Although these are not fifth-century BC sources and we do not know whether such attributions can be dated back to the Hellenistic period, when editorial activities toward a textual fixation of Sappho’s songs led to the first Alexandrian scholarly collection of her poetry,  they certainly reflect late discourses about the reception of Sappho. These lexicographic informants suggest that “Sappho” could well be viewed as being sung at Attic symposia.  Also, the performative rhythms of metrical structures—an aspect sometimes neglected by modern analysts of the cultural history of the classical period—must have played a role in the association of her songs composed in Aeolic meters with Attic fifth-century skolia, which were usually short compositions comprised of four lines or a couplet in meters of Aeolic type. 
πέτρης ἐς πολιὸν κῦμα κολυμβῶ μεθύων ἔρωτι.
Once again I leap up from the Leukadian cliff
and dive into the grey, surging waves, drunk with love. 
Sappho’s †τα† στεναχίσδω θαμέως (“for these I groan often”) in the almost complete poem considered above  recalls Anakreon’s διὰ ταῦτ’ ἀνασταλύζω θαμά (“for these I sob often . . . ”) in fragment 395.7–8 PMG.  In Sappho fragment 94 V, the image καὶ πόλλαις ὐπαθύμιδας πλέκταις ἀμφ’ ἀπάλαι δέραι ἀνθέων [ ] πεποημέναις (“and around your tender neck [you placed] many woven garlands made from flowers”) and especially the occurrence of ὑποθυμίς in line 15 are reminiscent of Anakreon fragment 397 PMG πλεκτὰς δ’ ὑποθυμίδας περὶ στήθεσι λωτίνας ἔθεντο (“they put over their chests woven garlands of lotus”).  The ὑποθυμίς  was the indigenous word of the Aeolians and the Ionians for a garland, which used to be worn around the neck.  Athenaios remarks that the fourth-century BC scholar and poet Philetas of Kos mentions that the Lesbians called a myrtle spray hupothumis, around which they wove violets and various other flowers. 
χαρίεντα μὲν γὰρ ἄιδω, χαρίεντα δ’ οἶδα λέξαι.
For young lads might love me for my words; 
for I sing graceful songs and I know how to speak charming
The speaking subject in Sappho fragment 147 PMG stresses “her” future reception:
Someone will remember us, I say, in the future.
In another song, according to Ailios Aristeides, the singing subject (“Sappho”) boasted that Muses had made her really blessed, even enviable, and that she would be remembered even after her death. 
Even a scholiast on Pindar’s opening strophe in the second Isthmian ode—an introductory praise of those notable poets who shot their hymns of love at any handsome boy at the apex of his bloom—points out that these lines refer to Alkaios, Ibykos, and Anakreon (or any other poets) who paid special attention to the pursuit of their favorite boys. 
A Politics of Music
πρῶτος, ἐν δείπνοισι Λυδῶν
ψαλμὸν ἀντίφθογγον ὑψηλᾶς ἀκούων πακτίδος
[the barbitos] which once was invented first by Terpandros,
the Lesbian, when he heard at banquets of the Lydians
the concordant, octave-doubling plucking of the tall pêktis. 
Archaic Lesbian communities were imagined (in later sociocultural spaces) as having their music infiltrated by the Lydian musical tradition.  “Lydian” in many such references should be understood, I suggest, as an inclusive term metonymically standing for a wider Near Eastern area, since Lydian music or culture were often thought of by diverse ancient Greek communities as an “idealized,” albeit profligate, effeminate, or decadent, topos. To take for granted poetic claims that a musical instrument originated in a specific Near Eastern context is somewhat precarious, since such ideas are frequently contradicted by other similarly constructed pronouncements.  Adopting a “foreign” musical instrument and adjusting it to more indigenous musical practices and tastes or “re-inventing” it altogether must have been a common modality in the ancient Near East and Greece. Especially the contiguity, geographical or cultural, of Lesbos and such areas as Lydia or Phrygia would suggest the sharing of a broader Anatolian musical koinê, despite regional, even marked, differences as well as related ideologies encoded in performative discourses. Attempting to ascertain the specific derivation of an instrument on the basis of chronologically and ideologically heterogeneous ancient informants is, therefore, an almost futile exercise.  What is certain is that a number of cordophones or idiophones were of East Greek or Eastern, non-Greek origin.  In the case of the pêktis (or in Dorian and Lesbian dialects paktis), a many-stringed plucked instrument, it is interesting that, as opposed to the non-Greek roots of numerous names of ancient Greek instruments, but similarly to the trigônos or trigônon, it stems from the Greek adjective pêktos or the verb pêgnumi (“to join or fasten together”). The pêktis, a high-pitched instrument  compared to the relatively low-pitched barbitos, was referred to by Sappho in her songs—once probably as being played by a female companion.  If Sappho’s archaic and East Greek paktis had any resemblance to the pêktides of the classical period, high-pitchedness would suit the higher register of the music of her songs in their reperformances by contemporary women in Lesbos.
ὁ Κλεομάχου διδάσκαλος
†μετὰ τῶν† παρατιλτριῶν
ἔχων χορὸν Λυδιστὶ τιλ-
λουσῶν μέλη πονηρά
Let the son of Kleomakhos,
the didaskalos of tragedies,
go, taking with him a chorus of hair-plucking
female slaves, pulling the hair/textures/strains of their
knavish limbs/songs in the Lydian style/mode. 
ἀρχαῖον ἀείδειν, ὁ δὲ Γνήσιππος ἔστ’ ἀκούειν.
κεῖνος νυκτερίν’ ηὗρε μοιχοῖς ἀείσματ’ ἐκκαλεῖσθαι
γυναῖκας ἔχοντας ἰαμβύκην τε καὶ τρίγωνον
The compositions of Stesikhoros and Alkman and Simonides
are old-fashioned to sing, but we can hear Gnesippos [everywhere, yes.]
That man has invented nocturnal ditties, serenades for
to sing to the iambukê and the trigônon and to call out chicks. 
Instruments such as the iambukê and the trigônon seem to have been high in register  and thus suitable for the performance of songs by women. In effect, “ditties sung by women,” “popular and folk song,” “adultery,” “high-pitchedness,” even “otherness” were metonymically correlated in male hegemonic discourses. The permutations that such connections developed, along with the traditional, archaic and classical Greek concept  that songs of mourning, antiphonal wailing, and women were inseparably interrelated, as if by nature, were grafted onto the Athenian social imaginary to the extent that musical modes high in register were thought of as “feminine,” “slack,” or “soft”—with all the broader, multifaceted cultural and semantic extensions that these terms might have involved in the classical period.
Λυδῆς ἐφυμνεῖ πηκτίδος συγχορδία
Often the Phrygian trigônos . . . and the concord
of the Lydian pêktis resounds in answering strains. 
Another fifth-century Athenian playwright, Diogenes, explores the associations between these two instruments and maidens, but this time the aulos and further Eastern ethnicities are introduced:
ποταμῷ παροίκους Ἅλυϊ Τμωλίαν θεόν
δαφνόσκιον κατ’ ἄλσος Ἄρτεμιν σέβειν
ψαλμοῖς τριγώνων πηκτίδων ἀντιζύγοις
ὁλκοῖς κρεκούσας μάγαδιν, ἔνθα Περσικῷ
νόμῳ ξενωθεὶς αὐλὸς ὁμονοεῖ χοροῖς
And I hear that the Lydian and Baktrian maidens
living by the river Halys worship the Tmolian goddess
Artemis in a laurel-shaded grove
while they thrum the magadis with concordant pluckings
of trigônoi (and) with counterbalancing pluckings of pêktides,
where the aulos, in Persian tune/style, sounds in welcome
concord to the choruses. 
Toward the end of the fifth century, the avant-garde dithyrambist Telestes composed a piece in which the companions of Pelops were presented as the first to introduce the Phrygian nomos of the mountain Mother in Greek banquets:
συνοπαδοὶ Πέλοπος Ματρὸς ὀρείας
Φρύγιον ἄεισαν νόμον·
τοὶ δ’ ὀξυφώνοις πηκτίδων ψαλμοῖς κρέκον
The first to sing to the reed pipes the Phrygian
nomos of the Mountain Mother by the mixing-bowls
of the Greeks were the followers of Pelops;
and they thrummed the Lydian hymn with the high-pitched
pluckings of the pêktis. 
As in other cases, collocation of “Phrygian” and “Lydian” in terms of the origins of instruments suggests a traditionally or conventionally demarcated complementarity of Eastern musical traditions rather than cultural realities, despite the fact that, as we have seen, certain instruments were represented as more closely related to specific regions. Further, an East Greek poet who took up residence in Athens toward the end of the first part of the fifth century, Ion of Khios, in his satiric Omphalê (the name of a mythical queen of Lydia) referred to Lydian psaltriai or female harpists, to Lydian ointments and perfumes that are “better to know than the life-style in the island of Pelops,” and to a Lydian magadis aulos.  The comic poet Platon further elucidates the connotative force that psaltriai will acquire, especially in the context of male symposia, for which they were often hired to entertain the guests:
καὶ σκόλιον ἦισται, κότταβος δ’ ἐξοίχεται θύραζε.
αὐλοὺς δ’ ἔχουσά τις κορίσκη Καρικὸν μέλος <τι>
μελίζεται τοῖς συμπόταις, κἄλλην τρίγωνον εἶδον
ἔχουσαν, εἶτ’ ἦιδεν πρὸς αὐτὸ μέλος Ἰωνικόν τι
Libation has already been poured and they are far along in drinking
and they have sung a skolion, and the kottabos has come out.
Some little lass with reed pipes is playing a Karian tune
for the banqueters, and I saw another lassie playing
a trigônon and she was singing an Ionian song to its accompaniment. 
Here, amidst the tossing of wine drops from kylikes onto a certain material and amatory object/subject (kottabos) and the singing of mirthful skolia,  Karian strains—elsewhere attested as charged with sympotic and sensual or threnodic associations  —are performed in the jolly space of a staged drinking-party while, using her female register, a young harp-player vocalizes a song, significantly described as Ionian. Having examined the marked idioms concerning Ionian ditties, female sexual pleasure, and voluptuous Ionian Muses,  I shall now place emphasis on the discursive convergence related to female things Ionian and Lesbian—a convergence that extends to imaginings of diverse webs of cultural practices. Further, it is worth bearing in mind that, as far as sources allow us to see, in the classical period the technical profession of sympotic psaltriai, kitharistriai, aulêtrides, and orkhêstrides—all female entertainers who could often be lumped together under the broader rubric pornê or hetaira—was both well established and regulated, at least in the fourth century, by legislation. 
and music is a thing deep and intricate. 
Although the context of this apparently reflective “pronouncement” is lost, it seems certain that it mirrors a more general preoccupation with the political, ethical, and performative potential of musical idioms. If, as John Blacking has observed, music is humanly organized sound,  often reflecting and, one might add, interfering with social structuration and practice, archaic and classical musical cultures may be seen—each in its own synchronic complexity and social particularity—as vast arenas of dynamic poetic and musical forms that evolved or regressed, intersected and mutated, resulting in constantly cross-fertilized “genres.”  Music—however it was perceived by different social groups in the classical period—constituted a vital communicative discourse that interfered with matters both linguistic and socioeconomic.
ἀεί τι καινὸν κατ’ ἐνιαυτὸν θηρίον
and music is like Libya, which, by the gods,
gives birth to some new creature/beast
every year. 
The Athenian discursive practices explored throughout this and the previous chapter constituted, I argue, the most fundamental elements of the cultural economy that conditioned the early processes of “scanning” the figure and the poetry of Sappho in male performative contexts. The analysis of situated discourses can be even further widened, but I shall now pause to consider a methodological issue that has a significant impact on current research on Sappho. In Chapter Four, I shall further discuss aspects of comparable methodological paradigms that have dominated the study of the sociocultural context of the poetry of Sappho since the nineteenth century.
Saxa loquuntur: Alterities
This metaphor was employed in 1896 by Sigmund Freud to describe the methods of the discipline of psychoanalysis. For Freud, archaeology and psychoanalysis intersect in their attempt to reconstruct, not just interpret, objects of the past, with a view to gaining access to—and making sense of—ruins and images and to translating the past into a historical narrative. It is not coincidental that Freud conceived of this analogy when he conducted investigations into female hysteria. The passage quoted comes from “The Aetiology of Hysteria,” based on a lecture Freud gave at the Verein für Psychiatrie und Neurologie in Vienna in 1896  that attempted to throw light on the process of reconstructing continuous narratives and filling in lacunae. Female discourses and the female body become an exoticized locus where diverse interpretive negotiations take place, and when some of the latter are “crowned with success, the discoveries” can sometimes be self-explanatory. Anthropological metonymies—interviewing the inhabitants who live in the vicinity, the informants who come from different eras and can be strange to us, and setting these people to work with our implements—constitute central aspects of the process.
Martin Heidegger’s idea of unobtrusiveness, which is significantly resonant with the theory of practice in social sciences, has far-reaching implications for the following discussion of the ways Athenian male audiences scanned “Sappho” in the context of symposia and similar venues. It is through the language of her songs that such discursive idioms shaped the earliest perceptions about her and engendered oral narratives that are confirmed by archival narratives—in the sense “archive” is employed in this book.
Trafficability of Palimpsests
. ..[..].σε εμα κ᾽Αρχ̣εάνα[σ-
σα Γόργω σύνδυγο(ς)· ἀν̣τὶ τοῦ
σ̣[ύν]ζυξ· ἡ Πλειστοδίκη
τ]ῆ̣ι̣ Γ̣[ο]ρ̣γ̣οῖ σύνζυξ μ̣ε- 5
τ̣ὰ τ̣[ῆς] Γ̣ογγύλης ὀν[ο]μασθή-
σετ[αι· κ]οινὸν γὰρ τὸ ὄν̣ο-
μ[α δ]έ̣δο̣ται ἢ κατὰ τῆς̣ [.] . . .
α̣[ . . . ] Πλ[ε]ι̣σ̣τοδ̣ίκη[..]ν
ὀνομ]α̣σθήσ̣ετ̣[αι] κυ- 10
]η̣[ ]. ατ̣ε̣τ̣ουτ
]. νο̣ αν
. . . my . . . and Arkheanassa
yoke-fellow of Gorgo: “yoke-fellow” instead of
will be named mate to Gorgo
along with Gongyla;
for the name that has been given [?]
is her usual one or on the basis of her. . .
. . . Pleistodike
will be named. . . 
Gorgo, we are told by Maximos of Tyros,  was represented in some songs as being in a competitive interaction with the poetic “I.” In fragment 29c.9 V, the reading Γ̣ό̣ρ̣γο̣ι̣ seems plausible, but no context is provided; and in fragment 103 A a col. II. 9 V, not included in Lobel and Page’s edition,  Γόργ̣[ —if articulated so—is the first word of a song.  Maximos’ idea is confirmed by fragment 144 V. In the context of a grammatical discussion of the declension of such nouns as Σαπφώ, an ancient grammarian (possibly Herodianos) observed that—compared to the Attic Σαπφοῦς—the Aeolic genitive was Σαπφῶς, as it is in contemporary Greek,  and he quoted fragmentum adespotum 979 PMG (ἐκ Σαπφῶς τόδ’ ἀμελγόμενος μέλι τοι φέρω)  and Sappho fragment 144 V: μάλα δὴ κεκορημένοις | Γόργως (“those who have been quite glutted with [the misbehavior, company, unmusicality of] Gorgo”).  In fragment 213 V, κ᾽ Αρχεάνα[σ]|σα Γόργω σύνδυγο(ς)—considering “Gorgo” as either genitive or dative—suggests two things: that Arkheanassa is called the partner or yoke-mate of Gorgo, or that she is referred to as the wife of Gorgo. Both meanings were available in fifth-century Athens.  Scholars have so far attempted to elucidate the original meaning of the word in archaic Lesbos by resorting to arguments about possible institutional, homoerotic, or initiatory/educational structures—all hypothetical or somewhat corroborated by very late informants, who are not approached by scholars from the vantage point of the informants’ own cultural economies. For instance, it has been held that “within the women’s communities of archaic Lesbos there were liaisons of an ‘official’ character, which could involve a genuinely matrimonial type of relationship, as is shown by Sappho’s use (fr. 213.3 V.) of the term yokemate. The word . . . is a specific, not generic, way of referring to the actual bond of marriage.”  Marked sexual connotations have been further detected by Claude Calame, who has seen the word σύνδυγος in Sappho fragment 213 V as an element of the representation of actual homoerotic relationships between lover and beloved in the context of initiatory rituals associated with choruses of young girls.  Other related analyses have stressed the initiatory (and homoerotic) character of such choruses, thus attesting to the influential presence of Arnold van Gennep’s old paradigm of rites of passage in Classical Studies. 
Lêtô and Niobê were much beloved companions
ταὶς ἔμαις †τέρπνα† κάλως ἀείσω
these pleasant [songs] now
I shall sing beautifully for my companions. 
Myrtilos does not provide a date for the Athenian Hetaira Aphrodite, but the fragment from the fourth-century BC Philetairos quoted earlier in book thirteen of Athenaios offers a terminus ante quem: “how melting, oh Zeus, and soft is her gaze; no wonder there is a sanctuary to the Hetaira everywhere, but in no place in Greece is there one to the wife” (5 K-A).  As for the sanctuary of Hetaira Aphrodite in Ephesos, Athenaios does not cite more specific sources,  but loyal to his method of free association, quotes a passage from the Erôtika of the fourth/third-century Peripatetic writer Klearkhos.  I shall return to Klearkhos’ Erôtika in Chapter Four. For now, suffice it to note that in this particular narrative, he recounted a story about the king of Lydia, Gyges, which is related to this discussion. The ruler was notorious (periboêtos) for his special attachment to his concubine, for whom, after her death, he erected a monument still named at Klearkhos’ time the “Hetaira monument,” a high edifice that caused sensation and was visible to all the denizens of Lydia. Contacts between Ephesos and Lydia are attested,  and the associations were further validated in fifth- and early-fourth century Athens by oral traditions, historical memories and accounts, as well as performative exploitations of relevant themes. In his Clouds, Aristophanes refers to the cult of Artemis in a “house of gold” at Ephesos, where the young daughters of the Lydians participate in the worship of the goddess; and in his Tumpana-Players, Autokrates indulges in a synaesthetic description of the nimble movements of the Lydian maidens’ dancing at a festival of the Ephesian Artemis. 
οἰ δὲ νάων φαῖσ’ ἐπ[ὶ] γᾶν μέλαι[ν]αν
ἔ]μμεναι κάλλιστον, ἔγω δὲ κῆν’ ὄτ-
τω τις ἔραται·
πά]γχυ δ’ εὔμαρες σύνετον πόησαι
π]άντι τ[ο]ῦ̣τ’, . . .
Some [men?] say a troop of horse and some a host of infantry
and some say an army of vessels is the most beautiful thing
on the black earth, but I say it is whatever one loves.
Quite easy to make this understood by everyone . . .
Although there is no evidence in the papyrus that line 1 is the beginning of a new poem, it has been assumed so from the context.  The definitions that have been given of the priamel since the first systematic usage of the term in Classics  are diverse in perspective.  Ἄλλοι ἄλλα, but Bundy’s account seems the most comprehensive one to consider: “the priamel is a focusing or selecting device in which one or more terms serve as foil for the point of particular interest.”  In this fragment, the list foil of lines 1–3a is capped by the gnomic climax of lines 3b–4 (ἔγω δὲ . . . ), which, in turn, is made specific by a concrete climax introduced in line 15 with the reappearance (?) of the poetic voice (..]μ̣ε̣), the temporal νῦν, and the name of the person who seems to be the focus of the song (Ἀνακτορί[ας]). Between the two climaxes, a mythological exemplum appears that illustrates the gnomic climax (3b–4) and the statement of general comprehensibility which that (τοῦτ’) climax carries with it (5–6a). All the items of the list foil are dependent on the word στρότον, and virtually constitute one notion—that of military display—which is contrasted with or listed next to the idea that ἔγω puts forward.
˻τὰν ἰόκολπον˼ ] 13
]flies in pursuit
] sing to us
of the violet-bosomed one 13
] mostly (especially?)
] wanders. 
In his critical edition, Ernst Diehl, following Wilamowitz, reconstructed his text of line 12 in such a way as to provide the image “taking [the sweet-voiced paktis] sing to us . . . .”  For line 8 he quoted in his apparatus Wilamowitz’s suggestion that “[Ero]s” or “[Imero]s” is the subject of “flies,” an image that partly recurs in Sappho fragment 22 V. Avoiding the old, Eros flies pursuing the youth—according to Wilamowitz, an altogether “archaic” concept. The transition to the exhortation to sing was detected in ἔ̣α in line 11. The papyrus does have a stop (‧) after ]ε̣α, and the comma before λάβοισα appears necessary: with λάβοισα a new idea is introduced. In line 14, [ἐτά]ρων (“of companions”) was hesitantly entertained and duly relegated to Diehl’s apparatus criticus. Finally, in line 13, Max Treu, who also adopted Wilamowitz’s “taking [the sweet-voiced paktis]” in his edition, saw in “the violet-bosomed” a reference to Aphrodite. 
..].γυλα.[ . . . ]α̣νθι λάβοισα.α.[
πᾶ]κτιν, ἆς̣ σε δηὖτε πόθος τ̣.[
τὰν κάλαν‧ ἀ γὰρ κατάγωγις αὔτ̣α[
ἐπτόαισ’ ἴδοισαν, ἔγω δὲ χαίρω,
καὶ γ ̣ὰρ αὔτ̣α δή πο̣[τ’] ἐμεμφ[
] I bid you [sing?]
[of] Gongyla, [Ab?]anthis, taking the [ ]
h]arp as yearning now again flies
you beautiful one; for that dress [ ]
[you] when you saw it; and I rejoice;
for once the Cyprian herself
for praying [
I wish [want.
The translation I provide here is to be taken as tentative. The song, which has in recent scholarship been granted a canonized status among the more substantial fragments of Sappho, has been viewed as significant for the light it may shed on such issues as the configuration of longing and the construction of the gaze in her poetics. The singing “I” is asking, in a self-referential manner, the song’s addressee to take a small harp and perform a song about another female figure; pothos is once more (dêute) involved in the setting, while the singing voice seems to suggest that the cause of the excitement of one of the two female figures is the [seductively elegant] dress worn by the other. The general outline of the rest of the text is difficult to grasp: we hear something about the Kypros-born goddess and there is an obscure reference to a prayer.
ἄ με ψισδομένα κατελίμπανεν 2
πόλλα καὶ τόδ’ ἔειπέ̣ [μοι·
ὤιμ’ ὠς δεῖνα πεπ[όνθ]αμεν,
Ψάπφ’, ἦ μάν σ’ ἀέκοισ’ ἀπυλιμπάνω. 5
τὰν δ’ ἔγω τάδ’ ἀμειβόμαν·
χαίροισ’ ἔρχεο κἄμεθεν
μέμναισ’, οἶσθα γὰρ ὤς ‹σ›ε πεδήπομεν· 8
αἰ δὲ μή, ἀλλά σ’ ἔγω θέλω
ὄμναισαι [ . . . (.)].[..(.)].ε̣αι
ὀ̣σ̣[ –10– ] καὶ κάλ’ ἐπάσχομεν· 11
πό̣[λλοις γὰρ στεφάν]οις ἴων
καὶ βρ[όδων . . . ]κιων τ’ ὔμοι
κα..[ –7– ] πὰρ ἔμοι π‹ε›ρεθήκα‹ο› 14
καὶ πό̣˻λλαις ὐπα˼θύμιδας
πλέκ˻ταις ἀμφ’ ἀ˼πάλαι δέραι
ἀνθέων ἐ̣[ –6– ] πεποημέναις. 17
καὶ π . . . . . [ ]. μύρωι
βρενθείωι ̣ .[ ]ρ̣υ[..]ν
ἐξαλ‹ε›ίψαο κα̣[ὶ ˻βασ˼ ]ι̣ληίωι 20
καὶ στρώμν[αν ἐ]πὶ μολθάκαν
ἀπάλαν παρ̣[ ]ο̣ν̣ων
ἐξίης πόθο̣[ν ].νίδων 23
κωὔτε τιc[ οὔ]τ̣ε̣ τι
ἶρον οὐδ’ ὐ[ ]
ἔπλετ’ ὄππ̣[οθεν ἄμ]μες ἀπέσκομεν, 26
οὐκ ἄλσος .[ ].ρος
] . . . οιδιαι 29
and I honestly wish I were dead.
Weeping she left me
with many tears and said this: 
Alas, what sufferings have been ours, 
Psapph(o), I swear, I leave you against my will.
And these [are the words] I answered her:
Rejoice, go, and
remember me, for you know how we cared for you.
But if not, I shall
remind you . . .
. . . and beautiful times we had.
[For ma]ny [wrea]ths of violets
and [of] roses and . . . together
] by my side you put on,
and many woven garlands
made of flowers
around your soft neck
and with [ ] flowery
choice unguent with which
you anointed yourself;
and on soft couches
[of?] tender [ ]
you satisfied your longing.
And neither any [ no]r any
holy [space] nor [ ]
was there from which we were absent,
nor grove [ d]ance
] . . . oidiai
Along with fragment 96 V, preserved on the same sixth/seventh-century AD parchment,  Sappho fragment 94 V  presents problems closely related to the methodological and ethnographic concerns of linguistic anthropology. How to render πεδήπομεν (“pursue,” “follow after,” “look after,” or “cherish,” as in LSJ?) in line 8, or the plural number of πεδήπομεν? Citing a scholium on Iliad 13. 257 that suggests that the use of first person plural verb instead of the first person singular is characteristic of Aeolic, Blass argued that behind this first person plural is the persona of Sappho.  The scholium reads (Erbse III, p. 448): κατεάξαμεν ὃ πρὶν ἔχεσκον] πληθυντικῷ ἑνικὸν ἐπήγαγεν Αἰολικῶς. Αἰολικῶς appears only in the manuscripts grouped as b and is omitted by A and T. Although the evidence may not appear compelling,  Blass’s argument needs more wide-ranging investigation. If one attempts to view it in a reconstructed original sociocultural context or especially in terms of fifth-century Athenian idioms, the sense of πεδήπομεν may again throw some light on the immanent doublelayeredness of Sappho’s discourse for late archaic and classical Greek societies.
στέφανοι περ[ 10
Within this anthropological hermeneutics and in the light of the discussion about the doublelayered semantic fluidity of the word hetaira, a further discursive idiom might be investigated.