The Greek “chlamys” is best translated by the word scarf. Sometimes it seems exactly to correspond with what we understand by “scarf,” being a narrow strip of fine material, often embroidered and sometimes ornamented with a fringe. The drapery which is often introduced to give relief to a nude statue, is generally some kind of chlamys. The drapery of the Apollo Belvidere is a familiar example.
There is another garment which was sometimes worn by the Greek women over the long tunic. This was a sleeveless short tunic much ornamented, but without a girdle. We have many examples of this dress in the figures on the Greek vases. I am told that modern milliners call this kind of thing a peplum, but this is quite a misnomer. A peplum or peplon is, as we have seen, an ample shawl.
When the chlamys was worn as a cloak, it was either fastened in front below the neck or on the right shoulder; in both cases by means of a brooch. As the chlamys when cut as a scarf would be wretchedly meagre and poor when worn as a cloak, it was modified and extended in shape, and, indeed, in this form (were it not for the thinness of the material) it would be hardly distinguishable from the pallium.
The female scarfs were almost always used as scarfs and not as cloaks. They were more ornamented than those of the men, and were often embroidered with gold.
The Coa vestis, or robe of Cos, was made of the finest silk, and was as transparent as our thinnest veils. It was generally dyed either deep blue or purple, and I need hardly add, was never worn by any respectable female.
Greek women do not appear to have worn much covering for the head, except when they got old. In youth the hair was so abundant and the art of arranging it was carried to such perfection, that to hide it would have been a great blunder. To protect themselves from the sun’s rays in summer and from the storms in winter they had parasols and umbrellas, shaped exactly like the modern Japanese article. These they either carried over their heads themselves, or had a female slave to carry them.
Nothing, to my mind, shows the exquisite taste of the Greeks more than the way the women arranged their hair. The bands and jewels with which the hair was often adorned, rather assisted nature instead of distorting her. If we compare these classical coiffures with the frightful wigs worn by the Roman ladies under the Cæsars, or with the plaited tresses of mediæval times, or again with the powder and pomatum structures of the last century, we are struck by the great superiority of the Greek fashion.
I am not giving a lecture on hair-dressing, and will say nothing about modern times, beyond emphatically condemning every fashion which distorts the shape of the head.
The Greek modes of arranging the hair, however elaborate, never leave us in doubt as to what is underneath. We can always trace the shape of the head. We never fancy that the knots, chignons, and tresses conceal a sugar-loaf or a small portmanteau.