The aim of this chapter is to examine certain mythological names involving the component melas. In order to set this enquiry into context, however, I shall first look at the general opposition between melas and leukos in Greek thought.
In his still useful dissertation Die Bedeutung der weissen und der schwarzen Farbe in Kult und Brauch der Griechen und Römer, Gerhard Radke conveys a message which is basically very straightforward1: in relation to the gods and their worship, black is negative, white positive. Melas is associated with the Underworld,2 with Ate,3 with death,4 with mourning.5 In keeping with this nexus of funereal associations, animals described as melas are sacrificed to powers of the Underworld and to the dead: thus at Odyssey 11.32–3 Odysseus promises to dedicate an ὄὄїν παμμέλανα to Teiresias if he gets back safe to Ithaca, while in Colophon, according to Pausanias (3.14.9), they sacrifice a black bitch to Enodia, and moreover they do so at night.6 Leukos, by contrast, is associated not just with divinities of light such as Helios and Day—in Aeschylus’ Persians the glorious day of the victory at Salamis is a λευκόπωλος ἡμέρα (386)—but with divinities in general, especially when they are conceived of as ‘favourable’: the Dioscuri, those twin saviours, ride on white horses.7 Again there is a correspondence in the realm of sacrificial ritual: white animals were sacrificed to several of the major Olympian deities, including Aphrodite, Apollo, Hera, Poseidon, and Zeus.8 Moreover, white clothing may indicate the proper ritual condition in which mortals should approach a god: Diogenes Laertius reports that to meet Pythagoras’ prescription for ritual purity στολὴ λευκή and στρώματα λευκά were the appropriate costume.9 In all these various data from the world of ritual practice we seem to find ample confirmation of the melas-as-negative/ leukos-as-positive polarity which is also evidenced in myth—in, for example, the black sail of forgetful Theseus, which caused his father’s suicide;10 or in Apollo’s changing of the color of the crow from white to black, to punish it for bringing the message about Coronis’ infidelity.11 Melas negative, leukos positive. It seems, at first sight, so simple.
Yet as soon as we look more carefully at the evidence from cult, it is not hard to find inversions of our polarity. The color of death is not always black. In a fragment from Aristophanes’ Daitales, a white dog is offered to Hecate, notwithstanding the goddess’s connections with the Underworld.12 In the Il- iad the dead Patroclus is covered with a white shroud (18.353). Not only Patroclus: the Messenians, according to Pausanias, dressed their great men in white cloaks before burial (4.13.2–3), while Artemidorus could interpret a dream of wearing white as a prognostic of death, since ‘the dead are carried off in white clothes’ (2.3).13 Nor is it only divinities predominantly linked with death and night who are linked with black: Pausanias’ description of Arcadia includes accounts of Demeter Melaina at Phigalia (8.42.4) and Aphrodite Melainis at Mantinea (8.6.5). Again, in relation to sacrificial offerings, Poseidon and other sea deities sometimes received sacrifices of black animals.14 It seems that the link in cult between black-and-negative/white-andpositive is far from universal.
And yet with ingenuity we can find explanations to account for all our apparent exceptions. For Hecate’s white dog we have no context—so, for all we know, it could have been an Aristophanic joke παρὰ προσδοκίαν.15 The fact that the dead are sometimes associated with white might be, not an exception to the normal, symbolically positive connotation of white, but an example of it: white would in that case be apotropaic, to drive away pollution. The blackness of Demeter Melaina could stand for her state of mourning. Pausanias himself explained the blackness of Aphrodite Melainis on the ingenious ground that sex takes place mostly at night. As for marine deities, the sea can be seen as ‘dark,’ so a black sacrifice could be regarded as appropriate for them—a point already made in ancient scholia on Homer.16 Alternatively, Radke argued that Poseidon’s black sacrificial animals correspond to the ‘dangerous wildness’ of the sea.17 With a liberal dose of ingenuity, then, the interpreter can restore the polarity: melas negative, leukos positive.
But how far is such ingenuity justified? In my view, we should not force all cases of the ritual use of white and black into one mold. There is no a priori reason why black and white should be univocal: each instance must be taken on its merits. To relate the blackness of Demeter Melaina to mourning is convincing. But to explain—or explain away—the sacrifice of black animals to Poseidon in terms either of the ‘darkness’ of the sea, or of the sea’s ‘wildness,’ seems to me to be special pleading. The data from cult and ritual is broadly in line with the black-as-negative/white-as-positive polarity, but there are genuine exceptions which we must simply accept as part of the complexity of ritual symbolism.
Nor is this surprising because, as soon as we step outside the sphere of cult and ritual to deal with the ‘everyday’ implications of white and black, the complexity becomes far more noticeable.18 It is true that the expression λευκὸν ἦμαρ was proverbial for ‘a lucky day.’19 But in certain contexts λευκός and its cognates can have a negative quality . Λεύκη is a disease of the skin, a kind of white eruption like leprosy. For a man, to be λευκός can be a sign of effeminacy.20 To be white- livered, λευκηπατίας, or, even worse, white- arsed, λευκόπρωκτος or λευκόπυγος — these are signs of cowardice.21 Although several of the passages linking whiteness with lack of manliness come from comedy, whiteness is presented negatively in other genres too. In Pindar’s 4th Pythian (109), Jason describes his enemy Pelias as relying on his λευκαῖς . . . φρασίν—obviously a negative quality, though commentators disagree about whether to interpret it as, for example, ‘foolish,’ ‘superficial,’ ‘cowardly,’ or ‘crazed.’22
Μέλας is no less complex. Already in Homer the epithet is applied to wine, blood, water, ships and earth. To be μελαγχροίης , which is the appearance given by Athene to Odysseus when she renders him more handsome, is clearly a good quality in a man (Od. 16.175). So is the quality of being μελάμπυγος or μελαμπύγων—terms which can be used admiringly, especially in comedy, to describe a tough, Herakles-like individual.23 More enigmatic is the notion of the person who feels strong emotion around his φρένες μέλαιναι. In the Iliad one’s φρένες can be ‘black’ when one feels grief (17.83), but also when one feels courage (17.499) and anger (1.103–4).24 The quality of being melas is not intrinsically negative.
From what I have said so far I draw three conclusions: (1) In relation to cult and ritual melas is usually negative and leukos positive; but there are genuine exceptions. (2) In the perceptions of everyday life we find a still more complex picture, with an even less tidy match between melas and positive, leukos and negative. (3) It follows that we must always specify the context in which melas and leukos appear, before reaching conclusions about their signification. No signifier has an intrinsic meaning, only a meaning in context.
Against this background I want now to examine the meaning (or lack of meaning) of some mythological names involving melas.
First, three general points need to be made about Greek names. (1) A name, or part of a name, might not necessarily have been felt to be significant. In Poetics Aristotle observes: ‘In the word “Theodoros,” τò δωρος (sic) οὐσημαίνει (1457a13–14). The example which Aristotle chooses is perhaps an odd one, since in principle there would seem to be nothing objectionable about interpreting the name ‘Theodoros’ as ‘god- given.’ But what is relevant to us is Aristotle’s general point: not every part of a name need be felt to carry meaning. (2) The interpreter, ancient or modern, has a crucial role to play in reading significance into a name. We need look no further than Plato’s Cra- tylus, the subject of which is precisely the ὀρθότης of names in relation to the character of their owner. At one point (395b) Socrates talks of the name ‘Ἀτρεύς’: the form of his name is, says Socrates, slightly ‘deflected and hidden,’ but the connection with stubbornness (τὸ ἀτειρές ) and fearlessness (τὸἄτρεστον) and ruinousness (τὸ ἀτηρόν) is clear to those who understand about names. In other words, the significance of a name does not go without saying. (3) The degree to which a name might have been felt to be meaningful varies not only according to the interpreter, but according to context within which the name appears. A name, or an element of a name, might come to semantic life in one context, but remain dormant in another.
Guided by these considerations, I shall address two questions relating to names involving melas. First: is the component melas significant in a particular name in a particular context? Second: if it is significant, what might it signify?
I begin with a sister-and-brother pair from the Odyssey: Melantho and Melanthios, children of Dolios. Melantho is Penelope’s maid who sleeps with the suitor Eurymachos and insults Odysseus; Odysseus and Penelope call her a bitch.25 Melanthios (a metrical alternative is Melantheus) is the arrogant goatherd who kicks Odysseus, helps the suitors in their combat, and eventually suffers humiliating torture and mutilation at Odysseus’ hands.26 Are ‘Melantho’ and ‘Melanthios’ significant names? More specifically, does the element melas bear meaning within these names? Significance depends on context, and one of the contexts within which these names are situated is the Odyssey, a poem replete with names which signify. The insolent suitor with a way with words is Antinoos son of Eupeithes (1.383); the man who willingly supplies Telemachus with his ship is one whose mind goes in the right direction, Noemon son of Phronios (2.386); the nautical way of life of the Phaeacians is expressed by the names of Nausikaa, Nausithoos, Pontonoos, and all the rest; during the Cyclops episode in Book 9 the disguised hero of the poem styles himself as ‘Outis,’ ‘Nobody,’ but at other times this grandson of Autolykos bears the name ‘Odysseus’ given to him by his grandfather, who ‘had been angry with many’ (or else who ‘had incurred the anger of many’), πολλοῖσιν . . . ὀδυσσάμενος, according to Autolykos’ explicit etymologising (19.406-9).27 In this context ‘Melantho’ and ‘Melanthios’ must surely be seen as signifying names. But which aspect of melas do they evoke? It would seem inevitable to take the implied connotation as, in some general negative sense, ‘bad’ or ‘wicked.’ If it were to be proposed that other connotations of ‘black-ness’—courage, for example—are relevant, I cannot disprove it. I merely suggest that it is highly improbable in this context.
Next I turn to the more complicated cases of Melanion and Melanthos. These two mythological figures became jointly famous in 1968, the year when Pierre Vidal-Naquet’s rich and deservedly influential article on ‘the Black Hunter’ was first published.28 The aim of Vidal-Naquet’s paper was to throw light on the Athenian ephebeia by investigating a number of myths whose structure may be seen as parallel to the structure implicit in that institution. What makes Vidal-Naquet’s analysis relevant to our own enquiry is the fact that blackness, or rather ‘being melas, ’ is a characteristic common to several of the myths which he discusses.
Melanion is the Black Hunter. Vidal-Naquet introduces him by quoting a muthos sung in Aristophanes’ Lysistrata by the chorus of old men, who recall a story they heard in childhood (781–96):
Once upon a time there was a young man called Melanion, who fled from marriage and went into the wilderness and lived in the mountains; and he hunted hares and wove nets and had a dog, and never came back home again, because of his loathing. So much did he abhor women, as we sensible fellows do, no less than Melanion did.
For Vidal-Naquet, Melanion is an ephebe manqué, a lone hunter who goes out into the wilds on an exploit, but who does not return to the community afterwards. He is thus partly parallel to another melas-hero discussed by Vidal-Naquet: Melanthos, the mythical opponent of Xanthos.29 Melanthos uses trickery to outwit his opponent in a border zone between Boeotian and Athenian territory, sometimes named as Melainai (or Melania). In some accounts, Melanthos’ victory is ascribed to the intervention of Dionysos Melanaigis (‘of the black goatskin’).30 Unlike the Aristophanic Melanion, however, Melanthos does successfully make the transition back from his marginality: he becomes king of Athens. The stories of both Melanion and Melanthos illustrate, for Vidal-Naquet, the negative quality of blackness during a period spent in the wilds, segregated from civilization. Taken together, they stand as a kind of composite mythical prototype of the historical Athenian ephebe, whose period of military service on the confines of society preceded his eventual reintegration into the adult community.
Is all this convincing? This is not the place to go into the broader question of the institution of the Athenian ephebeia. I restrict myself to a discussion of the two mythical figures Melanthos and Melanion, and, in particular, to a consideration of their ‘blackness.’
We must take each character separately. First, Melanthos. In my view Vidal-Naquet’s overall analysis of the myth of Melanthos is, from the perspective which concerns us in the present article, persuasive. In particular, the threefold occurrence of names containing the element melas—Melanthos himself, the place Melainai, and the epithet Melanaigis31—reinforces the sense that the myth is indeed exploiting the opposition between the ‘fair’ Xanthos as opposed to the ‘dark’ Melanthos. Moreover, the nexus of deception, the wilds, and blackness does seem to mark out both the behavior of Melanthos, and the location of his exploit, as ‘marginal’ in contrast to that which is associated with the ‘central,’ civilized citizen. Therefore I can see no objection to agreeing with Vidal-Naquet, in relation to the extant narratives about Melanthos, not only that the melas component of the name may legitimately be regarded as meaningful, but also that that meaning may plausibly be seen as bearing, in the context of these narratives, an ‘initiatory’ connotation, in so far as ‘being melas’ may designate symbolically a status which is both before and structurally antithetical to that which follows it.32
With Melanion, however, the case is quite different. After quoting the choral narrative from Lysistrata— the story of a lone, woman-hating hunter— Vidal-Naquet recommends that we replace this song within its mythical context. He illustrates this context by citing the association, familiar especially from Apollodorus (3.9.2), between Melanion and Atalante, another character who hunts in the wilds. By the ruse of throwing down some golden apples obtained from Aphrodite, Melanion tricked the usually fast-running Atalante into stooping, losing her race, and thus becoming his bride.33 That Melanion, like Melanthos, uses trickery is certainly a feature which may encourage us to look for further parallels between the two. What is quite unclear, however, is how the Aristophanic Melanion who hated women can be equated with the Apollodoran Melanion who loved Atalante—and who even went on, with her, to over - value sexual intercourse rather than undervaluing it, when (again according to Apollodorus) the two of them made love in a sanctuary of Zeus, as a consequence of which transgression they were metamorphosed into lions.34 A more serious difficulty stems from the fact that Vidal-Naquet fails to take due account of the dramatic context in Lysistrata.35 In response to the men’s chorus, who sing about Melanion the hater of women, the women’s chorus sing about Timon, a wanderer in the wilds who—according to this chorus—hated males, but loved women (805–20). However, the usual story of Timon was that he hated everybody—women included.36 In other words, the chorus of women have invented a largely idiosyncratic version of a traditional story in order to make a polemical point. I suggest that the men’s chorus had done precisely the same thing when they re-invented Melanion as a misogynist. To amalgamate the Aristophanic, woman-hating Melanion with the Apollodoran hero who loved Atalante surely devalues the importance of the distinctive Aristophanic context. Com-edy is a genre in which significant names are common (Lysistrata, Kinesias, Bdelykleon, Philokleon), so in principle we should be well prepared to find significance in the melas component of Melanion’s name in Lysistrata. But in the event I am not confident about ascribing such significance to this name in Aristophanes (or indeed in Apollodorus). In short, whereas I find VidalNaquet’s account of melas in the name ‘Melanthos’ broadly convincing, I am unable to say the same of his account of the name ‘Melanion.’
What we do not have, unfortunately, for either Melanthos or Melanion is a version of their myths as dramatized in a tragedy—the context par excellence for the explicitly etymologised significant name (Pentheus, Aias, Ion, Dolon, Helen).37 The same absence goes for the final and most intriguing figure that I propose to discuss: Melampous. Is the ‘blackness’ of his ‘foot’ significant? If so, what does it signify?
Melampous is a seer who can understand the language of animals and birds.38 Though based in Pylos, he travels to other parts of the Peloponnese and beyond; once he goes on a cattle raid to Thessaly.39 But his most famous exploit is as a curer of physical and mental illness: according to different versions, he cures either all the women of Argos, driven mad by Dionysus, or just the daughters of Proitos, who are punished in various ways by Dionysus or Hera.40 Herodotus, who alludes to the curing of the Argive women, maintains elsewhere (2.49) that Melampous introduced divination and the worship of Dionysus into Greece from Egypt. What, though, of the name ‘Melampous’? To my knowledge, the only ancient interpretation of his ‘blackness’ occurs in a fragment by the 4th century BC historian Dieuchidas of Megara, who relates that Melampous’ mother Dorippe placed the newborn baby in the shade, all except his feet, which became darker (μελανθῆναι) in the sunshine.41 We have no context for this, but the story is intriguing, as it locates Melampous within a story pattern reminiscent of that which attaches to baby Achilles, whose heel was accidentally left unprotected by his mother. Dieuchidas’ explanation for Melampous’ name is dismissed or ignored by virtually all scholars—too hastily, perhaps, because it is an example—weak, but still just perceptible—of the mythical pattern whereby a seer’s special knowledge is balanced by a physical defect.42 But that is not the only way of reading Melampous’ blackness. The Herodotean passage linking Melampous with Egypt would perfectly suit a hero who mediates between Egypt and Greece—being melampodes is a characteristic which we find elsewhere ascribed to Egyptians.43 Nor is that the end of the possible interpretations. H. W. Parke saw a connection between the blackness of Melampous’ feet and the Selloi, priests of Zeus at Dodona who sleep on the ground and do not wash their feet;44 after all, didn’t Melampous understand the speech of birds (we recall that one channel for Zeus’s communications at Dodona was through birds)?45 Nor is even that the end of it: A. B. Cook suggested that ‘in primitive times’ Melampous was imagined as ‘a sacred goat’ (a suggestion less likely to carry conviction now that totemism has long since ceased to be a universal explanatory panacea).46 And couldn’t one go down yet another explanatory avenue, by recalling that the daughters of Proitos, according to Hesiod, suffered from leprosy, ἀλφός, on the head?47 In that case, Melampous would be acting as a kind of black antidote to a white disease, black feet mirroring and counteracting white heads. What we lack, in order to control this riot of exuberant speculations, is one or more detailed contexts—on the model of the Odyssey, in the case of Melantho and Melanthios—which would allow us to be reasonably confident about the significance of the name in that context or those contexts. As it stands, the blackness in the name of Melampous cannot be pinned down to just one meaning.
What’s in a name? Sometimes more, sometimes less, than we might think. But it is impossible to say how much more or less, unless we have a context.
1. Berlin diss. (Jena, 1936). Pierre Vidal-Naquet called this a “catalogue consciencieux” (“Le chasseur noir et l’origine de l’éphébie athénienne,” Annales E. S. C. 23 (1968): 947–64; revised in Le chasseur noir: formes de pensée et formes de société
dans le monde grec (Paris, 1981), 151–74, at 161). Elsewhere I also cite from the 1981 version.
2. Erebos is μελαμφαές at Eur. Hel. 518.
3. Aesch. Ag. 770.
4. Eur. Alc. 843–4.
5. Thetis’ veil, as she mourned for Achilles, was κυάνεον͵ τοῦ δ΄ οὔ τι μελάντερον ἔπλετο ἔσθος (Hom. Il. 24.94). Before the destruction of Corinth by the Romans, Corinthian boys used to cut their hair short and wear black in memory of the killing of Medea’s children (Paus. 2.3.7).
6. Similarly, Orestes offers a black sheep to his dead father at Eur. El. 513–14.
7. Pind. Pyth. 1.66.
8. A few examples . Aphrodite: Lucian dial. meretr. 7.1. Apollo: Theocr. Epig. 1.5. Hera: LSAM 41.6. Poseidon: Appian Bell. Mithr. 70; LSCG 96.5–9; Pind. Ol. 13.69. Zeus: LSCG 85.1–2; Dem. 21.53. See Radke, Die Bedeutung, 23–27.
9. D. L. 8.19; cf. Aeschin. Ctes. 77, on the wearing of λευκὴν ἐσθῆτα by a person sacrificing.
10. Apollod . Epit. 1.10. Black is also the color of the sail of Charon’s boat: Aesch. Sept. 857.
11. Schol. Pind. Pyth. 3.52b; see T. Gantz, Early Greek Myth (Baltimore, 1993), 91.
12. PCG Aristophanes fr. 209.
13. One may note also that both white and black are associated with ghosts: see J. Winkler, “Lollianos and the Desperadoes,” JHS 100 (1980): 155–81, at 160–65.
14. Poseidon: Hom. Od. 3.6. Other sea deities: Porphyr. apud Euseb. Praep. Ev. 4.9.
15. L. Sternbach (“Beiträge zu den Fragmenten des Aristophanes,” WSt 8 (1886): 231–61, at 257) suggested that it might refer to a mangy dog.
16. Eustath. 1454, 4–5, on Od. 3.6; other scholia ad loc.
17. Radke, Die Bedeutung, 30.
18. Some useful material is collected by E. Irwin, Colour Terms in Greek Poetry (Toronto, 1974).
19. As the Persian queen says in reaction to the news that Xerxes is alive and ‘sees the light’: ἐμοῖς μὲν εἶπας δώμασιν φάος μέγα/ καὶ λευκὸν ἦμαρ νυκτὸς ἐκ μελαγχίμου (Aesch. Pers. 300–301). The explanation of the expression varied; cf. references in LSJ s.v. λευκός II.3.
20. Aristoph. Th. 191, cf. Eccl. 428; Xen. HG 3.4.19.
21. PCG Callias fr. 14; Alexis fr. 322. On being black-arsed, see Irwin, Colour Terms, 139–44. The claim to be ‘white- footed’ (a claim staked by the old men in the chorus of Aristophanes’ Lysistrata (664), associating themselves with a fight long ago against the Athenian tyrants) involves an epithet whose significance has never been satisfactorily explained. J. Henderson (Aristophanes: Lysistrata (Oxford, 1987), ad loc.) sees it as an honorific way of referring to foot-soldiers, citing both females who are barefoot (like the bacchants at Eur. Cyc. 72) and monosandalism. However (a) one cannot equate the genders over the issue of ‘whiteness’ and (b) monosandalism is a quite separate and distinctive phenomenon. For A. H. Sommerstein (The Comedies of Aristophanes. Vol. 7: Lysistrata (Warminster, 1990), ad loc.), the ‘Whitefeet’ are aristocrats whose feet have never become dirty or sunburnt.
22. See B. Gentili, et. al, Pindaro: Le Pitiche (Milan, 1995), ad loc.
23. Eubulus fr. 61 Hunter; Aristoph. Lys. 802–3; Archilochus 178 West.
24. See Irwin, Colour Terms, 135–39.
25. Hom. Od. 18.321–39; 19.65–95.
26. Hom. Od. 17.212–60, 369–73; 20.172–84, 255; 21.175–83, 265–68; 22.135–52, 159–200, 474–77.
27. See R. B. Rutherford, Homer: Odyssey Books XIX and XX (Cambridge, 1992), on 19.406–9.
28. Vidal-Naquet, Le chasseur noir. My criticisms of certain aspects of this paper do not diminish my deep admiration for the work of this fine scholar and great man.
29. For the varied and mostly fragmentary sources (which sometimes give the alternative names Melanthios and Xanthios), see Vidal-Naquet, Le chasseur noir, 156 n. 19.
30. Cf. Suda s.v. ‘Μελαναιγὶς Διόνυσος,’ reporting that Dionysos was worshipped under this epithet at Eleutherai (in the border area between Attica and Boeotia); Nonn. Dion. 27.301–7, with F. Vian, ed., Nonnos de Panopolis: Les Dionysiaques, XXV–XXIX (Paris, 1990), nn. on 27.301–3 and 304–7.
31. Cf. Vidal-Naquet, Le chasseur noir, 160.
32. Several sources for the Melanthos myth explicitly connect it with the founding of the Apatouria (in view of the deception, ἀπάτη, practiced by Melanthos). The Apatouria was an Ionian festival featuring sacrifices on the part of those making various “passages,” e.g., those entering the ephebeia.
33. For variants of the myths about Atalante and Melanion, see Gantz, Early Greek Myth, 335–39.
34. Cf. Sommerstein, Lysistrata, n. on 785.
35. The same is true of the follow-up article in which Vidal-Naquet reconsidered the argument of The Black Hunter, returning briefly at one point to the Lysistrata chorus (“The Black Hunter Revisited,” PCPhS 32 (1986): 126–44, at 128).
36. Aristoph. Birds 1548; PCG Phrynichus fr. 19.
37. See M. Platnauer, Euripides: Iphigenia in Tauris, edition and commentary (Oxford, 1938), 32; E. R. Dodds, Euripides: Bacchae (Oxford, 1960), on Ba. 367 (cf. on 508).
38. Apollod. 1.9.12. On myths of Melampous, see Gantz, Early Greek Myth, 185–88, 312–13.
39. Hom. Od. 11.288–97; 15.225–42.
40. Hes. fr. 37 M-W; Herodot. 9.34; Apollod. 2.2.2.
41. FGrH 485 F 9.
42. See R. Buxton, “Blindness and Limits: Sophokles and the Logic of Myth,” JHS
100 (1980): 22–37, at 26–30.
43. E.g. Apollod. 2.1.4.
44. Hom. Il. 16.234–35.
45. H. W. Parke, The Oracles of Zeus (Oxford, 1967), 8–9. Parke was followed by Erika Simon (“Melampous,” LIMC VI.2, 405–10, at 405), and then by Madeleine Jost, “La légende de Mélampous en Argolide et dans le Péloponnèse,” in Polydipsion Argos. Argos de la fin des palais mycéniens à la constitution de l’État classique (Paris, 1992), ed. M. Piérart, 173–84, at 183.
46. A. B. Cook, “Descriptive Animal Names in Greece,” CR 8 (1894): 381–85, at 385.
47. Fr. 133, 4 M–W.
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———. “The Black Hunter Revisited,” PCPhS 32 (1986): 126–44.
Winkler, J. “Lollianos and the Desperadoes.” JHS 100 (1980): 155–81.