Sappho by Nancy Freedman Page B

inward thought. Dionysos the spring-god signaled the time of year for his festival, when the long days begin, when animals are in foal, the earth newly bedecked, and the vine puts out young shoots.
    I long and I yearn
    The words were spoken aloud in furious joy, a hymn to herself. This was the first day of the celebration. Theater was part of it, and she, a participant, was temporarily a holy person, a servant of Dionysos. She savored the importance of it: Dionysos, master of magic and illusion. Last year he caused a vine to grow from the penis of the statue of a senator in the public square. It was a pompous statue, and as the vine lengthened the laughter grew.
    Sappho’s coan robe, made for the occasion, was purple, that most costly of colors, with circles of saffron. Even at this early hour slaves were searching for roses of the same hue for her hair. She remembered to give thanks to the poet Arion, who first costumed the chorus.
    She sprang from her bed and rang for it to be removed, impatient to see the traditional masks: the supercilious young man, the scheming slave, the old man. She longed to melt into the crowds that followed the phallic symbol raised in honor of procreation and birth, all the while chanting the ancient chants. How wonderful this first day was!
    Sappho set out for the baths with three of her women. In the street strolling bands of musicians recounted the exploits of the joy-god. Tales of his beauty filled all ears. Over pipes and flutes the human voice rang out—how he had turned the pirates who captured him into dolphins. Sappho loved the story—she loved all stories. She passed beneath Aeolian columns, and the owlish eyes of their decorated capitals watched as her maids took her robe and she slid into the Paros marble of the bath. Other girls were bathing, for it was their time at the pool. They chatted of plum cakes and caraway confections, of perfumes and the fine things their mothers took from their women’s chests for the occasion—pale gold ornaments from Sardis, silks of Kos, scented Athenian oils, and from Thrace silver statues of griffins, herons, creatures combining man and lion, and many representations of the dolphin.
    Listening, Sappho found their voices sweet and their merriment beguiling, but the observer in her did not allow her to be totally part of this or any gathering. She preferred to luxuriate in the clear warm water, handle her firm breasts, stretch her legs, wriggle her toes. She passed her hands over her belly, flat as a boy’s, admiring the aristocrat’s ankles. Though small, I am well made, she thought with satisfaction. She signed to her women to dry her body, which they rubbed to rosiness and covered with a single garment.
    On the way to the villa their path was blocked by cavorting, caroling youths, holding bunches of grapes. She was not permitted to pass until she had plucked and nibbled some from their mouths.
    At home her slaves waited to remove her robe and prepare her for the ceremony. She was handed a mirror of polished copper. She giggled with the girls at the handle in the shape of the male organ. One of the slaves went on her knees to shave the swelling mound between her legs and another her armpits, for when she led the dances, the diaphanous coan must show her statuelike through its draperies. From a milk-white glass container, spikenard of Tarsos was taken to lave on her breasts. Egyptian metopion was applied to her legs, and the palms of her hands received the scent of roses of Amathos. Her lashes were touched with gum ammoniac mixed with mastic to stiffen them, while her underarms were made sweet with marjoram, her loosened hair brushed with incense, and a comb of ivory from the Indies set in it with eight jeweled pins.
    Next from her woman’s chest came small alabaster boxes. The first held a white powder obtained by treating lead with vinegar. This preparation lightened Sappho’s complexion. From another box came red