THE KATÁBASIS OF THE HEROE.

JOSÉ LUIS CALVO MARTÍNEZ

(in: Pirenne-Delforge, V., Suárez De La Torre, E. (Eds.), Héros et héroïnes dans les mythes
et les cultes grecs, Liége (2000) 67-78).

0. The Katábasis understood as a transitory breaking of the laws of time and

space in order to go down into the Underworld during lifetime seems to be, in
ancient Greece, a characteristic trait of heroic biography. And so it is, indeed:
Olympian gods never go down to Hades. It is a realm by which they swear with
horror and repugnance, and if any of them goes there exceptionally, he leaves
again as soon as possible. On the other hand, all men go to Hades and none
return. Only heroes can go down and eventually come back again. This was
thought to be a privilege reserved for the sons of gods1, but the very reason that
explains this phenomenon we do not know. We might think of their essentially
(and inconsistently) dual nature in many respects since their very birth: they
partake of the human and the divine, they belong to this world and to the other,
they are earthly as well as definitely non-terrestrial. But this could be only a
plausible condition for it. For the ultimate reason we must look into each heroic
biography.

And, after all, this heroic feat is not a very common one. The heroes in
whose biography we find a katábasis are important, but few: they form a closed
catalogue which includes Heracles, Pirithous and Theseus, Orpheus and
Odysseus. And moreover, these four katabaseis (Pirithous’ and Theseus’ is one
and the same) are by all means similar: they have some traits in common and
others that are very different, which sharply oppose one to the other. Such an
interesting theme for song and tale was bound to develop several profound
variations in the hands of poets and mythologists. And in those of theologians
too: some of them were to adopt even mystical and religious values which were

1
in fact originally alien to the myth itself. This is probably the case of Orpheus,
but even the katábasis of Heracles was in some traditions related to cultic and
mysteric rites2.

There would be many a point to be elucidated on a subject like this, for

which, against all expectations, general bibliography does not abound and when
it exists, tends to be rather misleading: it is not uncommon for an article or a
book on the subject –whether or not it has the word katábasis in its title– to deal
with the Greek conception of the Underworld and not with the katábasis as a
specific theme of the heroic tale. On the other hand, the evidence which has
reached us is scanty, generally late and, if it comes from the mythographic
tradition, not too reliable because it represents contaminated traditions and,
even worse, contains a good amount of theological speculation3.

Nevertheless, the very first question we might raise is whether it is possible

or not to find an elemental nucleus or, so to say, an ultimate narrative pattern
from which all of them could have been derived; or, if there is not one, whether
or not we must look for more than one.

In my opinion, of all the four alluded katabaseis we must, first of all, detach
the one of Odysseus as a very specific one. From the rest perhaps we should
just limit ourselves to deduce a very simple proto-structure according to which
a hero transcends the insurmountable barrier between this and the other world
in order to bring back with him something or someone –a purpose which he is
not always able to accomplish. But this pattern of utter simplicity complicates
itself in several ways resulting in different groupings according to different
criteria: a) sometimes, as is the case with Heracles and Pirithous, the mere
attempt is an act of open hybris, because it consists of breaking by brute
violence the barrier between the world of the gods and the rest; while in the
case of Orpheus and Odysseus, there is no violence, only the use of word and
music in order to fulfill his purpose –a more civilised, and therefore, more
“modern” way. b) Other criteria produce different associations: for instance,
external compulsion assimilates the katábasis of Heracles with that of

2
Odyssseus (none of them wants to go to Hades), while both Pirithous and
Orpheus go willingly to the Underworld, c) Or they may differ in the nature of
what they want to bring back. Heracles goes in search of “Hades’ Dog” (Αἵδου
κύνα), who, besides being the guardian of the realm of the dead, is the pet of
their god Hades4. The purpose itself is a supreme act of hybris and goes hand in
hand with an act of utter violence: Heracles has to fight and conquer Hades
himself. While in the katábasis of Pirithous and Orpheus the object of the
descent is a woman. The latter might be, in origin, a variant of the former; and
both, in turn, might be variants of one and the same pattern: the search and
abduction of the Queen of Hades: the name itself “Eurydike” –“ample justice
giver”– seems to be very appropriate for the chthonic goddess5. Nevertheless, to
go farther back, as does J. Harrison, and carry it to the agrarian spring festival,
seems to be mere guesswork –stimulating as it might be. According to her well-
known theory6, Eurydice is but the vegetation goddess (like Persephone) who
comes up in springtime from under the earth, by herself in a matriarcal society,
although in a later patriarcal one she is given an (unnecessary) male companion.
Now J. Harrison’s only evidence is a famous south Italian funerary vase from
Ruvo in which a winged figure (with the word ΔIΚΑ or AIKA which she
reconstructs as <ΕƳΡƳ>ΔΙΚΑ) can be seen leaving Hades through its door
while she ignores and is ignored by Orpheus who is playing his lyre7. It is
understandable that A. Dieterich, well endowed too with imagination as he was,
told her privately that the theory seemed to him “unwarscheinlich”8; an opinion
which we share. Nevertheless we do not need to go so far back in order to find
a good relation between the tale of Pirithous who goes to Hades in search of the
wife he should not, and that of Orpheus, who goes to search for his own wife,
but returns empty handed because he does what he ought not to. On the other
hand both stories have some traits which differentiate them: Pirithous’ attempt
is an aggresive act, a hybrisma similar to that of Heracles’ for which he suffers
in Hades forever, while the hamártema of Orpheus is a purely formal mistake,
the breaking of a taboo through an unfortunate irreflexive movement. But in
these three katabaseis (Heracles, Pirithous and Orpheus) we might be dealing

3
with a single pattern of identical origin, which in the hands of the poets, took
different turns and ended up as three substantialy different tales.

Still more different is the one of Odysseus. In the Odyssey both the katábasis
of the Greek hero and the one of the popular tale hero are unified simply
because the character of Odysseus himself results from the fusion of both, as is
generally admitted. On the other hand, Odysseus shares with Heracles the trait
of external compulsion, but his katábasis differs from the rest in that the hero
does not go to search a person or an animal, but knowledge. Besides, Homer,
the epic poet, uses the katábasis as a means of transmitting to his
contemporaries a whole complex of ideas and imagery of the Underworld:
geography of access, infernal topography and the condition of its inhabitants.
The “orphists” will go even further with the one of Orpheus: in the voyage of
this hero to Hades they will find the support for their conception of the infernal
topography and the tortuous path which brings the orphic initiate to salvation;
they base some of their conceptions about human origin and destiny on the
things he saw there9.

1. The hybristiké katábasis. Heracles, Pirithous (and Theseus)

There is not much to be said about Heracles’ katábasis10. The evidence is

scanty, though probably quite old because it is for sure that Homer knew about
it: he tells us that the Theban hero went to Hades under the compulsion of
Eurystheus to fetch the “dog of Hades” out of Erebos, and that this feat was the
most difficult or exacting effort (κρατερότατον) of his labours11. According to
one mythological tradition, this one was the last of the twelve; according to
another, the last one was the Hesperides adventure –in fact there is not much
difference: the Garden of the Hesperides is another eschatological place or
representation of the after life. In another passage there is an isolated and
obscure hint at his katábasis: according to it, Heracles wounded Hades himself
“in Pylos in between the dead” –there is a clear play on words here: ἐν Πύλῳ
means “in Pylos” of Messenia as well as “at the Gate” (of Hades). As it is

4
Nestor who is speaking, he probably inserted the first meaning in this phrase,
which originally had the second one, in his own interest12.

Homer also knew about the katábasis of Pirithous and Theseus. In Odyssey
XI he takes it for granted that both are damned in Hades13. They had descended
to the Underworld, according to all our testimonies, with the purpose of
abducting Persephone for Pirithous to marry her. Theseus is only a companion
and he is repaying his friend the favour of having abducted Helen before for
him. In PIbscher, which seems to contain Hesiodic material –or perhaps part of
the cyclic poem The Minyad according to its editors-, we find a dialogue
between Theseus and Meleager: the former is apparently giving details of their
katábasis, and he is asserting the rights of Pirithous to marry Persephone –that
is, the incestuous customs of the Olympians: Pirithous is her brother, while
Hades is only her uncle14. Even so, their purpose is an intolerable hybrisma and
both remain held in Hades as everlasting sufferers. So say all our testimonies
and it can be seen in many an ancient image –for instance the mentioned South
Italian vase. Besides, they have broken the laws of hospitality and so remain
stuck to the very seats where Persephone had just entertained them in what
seems an oneiric image among those which abound in the imagery of the
Underworld. Note that, although Heracles’ and Pirithous’ katabaseis are,
naturally, independent in origin, they were soon contaminated. Maybe as soon
as the fifth century B.C., if, as is probable, it is in his Heraclea where Panyassis
wrote (ἐποίησε) about Pirithous and Theseus with their bodies stuck to a stone
chair in Hades. The reference of Pausanias15 should refer to the meeting of
Heracles with both. At the end of the same century Critias (or Euripides) knew
of a version in which Heracles goes down to Hades and there meets Pirithous
and Theseus16.

Now, probably the very fact that Theseus became in the end the most
powerful Greek state’s main hero, was a hindrance to his condition of a
hybristes condemned in Hades forever. That is why later versions had him freed
by Heracles as a special gift from Persephone, even if Theseus had to leave

5
shreds of a certain part of his body on the chair17. But it was indeed a biased
rectification: testimonies like those of Vergil and Apollonius18 do not relate
anything about it. In any case, Pirithous, a hero of the less powerful Thessaly,
remained in Hades together with his father Ixion, another sinner fixed on a
wheel which turns eternally.

2. The “romantic” katábasis: Orpheus.

Ixion’s wheel stoppped exceptionally the very day on which Orpheus played
his lyre in order to persuade the infernal gods to give him back his wife alive19.
When we talk about Orpheus in this context we should make an effort to
dissociate from his figure many ideas we have on theology and ritual which
were later associated with this hero. At least the etymology of his name leads us
to his probably first and, in any case, primary function: that of a singer and,
above all, a dancer –ὀρϕεύς contains the o-grade of the IE root *ser-p– which
means “moving in a certain way, for instance, slithering like a serpent” as is
done in certain dances20. About this function, therefore, no doubt is possible: all
our sources since Pindar’s “father of song”21 allude to his ability to literally
move all Nature with his lyre. Mythical tradition is unanimous too in making
women the immediate cause of his death, although there are many variants on
the reason and not a little theological elaboration22.

The darkest trait, though, in the history of Orpheus is precisely his katábasis.
And there is more than one reason to suppose that here we have to deal with
quite a recent episode in the form it has reached us. To begin with, Homer does
not even name Orpheus in the Nekyia, and, although this argument ex silentio is
not probatory, there are other reasons to support this idea. The most compelling
one is, in my opinion, its “romantic” character –taking this concept cautiously
and in the broadest sense.

It is true that even in the Homeric poems there are moving and outstanding
cases of conjugal love –Odysseus and Penelope, for instance, to go no further.
But we do not find –and it seems to me hardly possible– a case in which this

6
love occupies the very centre of the main story. In this sense it is not strange if
Euripides is the first author to refer to Orpheus’ descent to Hades in order to
bring back his wife. Indeed, Euripides is the first Greek author who
incorporates the “romantic” element in a well known category of his work –the
so-called “melodramas” and/or “tragicomedies”– although he creates romantic
“heroines” rather than heroes. Even a tragedy like Alcestis has been interpreted
as a peculiar remake of Orpheus’ myth. In this “tragedy” Euripides makes a
passing reference to this episode: Admetus would like to have the tongue and
song of Orpheus in order to get his wife back; but the name of the wife is not
mentioned23 –another fact which has been adduced in support of the hypothesis
that sees the episode as a late creation. Nor does Plato tells us the name of the
wife –our second earliest witness24. In a personal interpretation, and not a very
favorable one to the hero at that, Plato links to the scorn for Orpheus because of
his cowardice, the fact that the gods of Hades did not show Orpheus his real
wife, but only a ghost, that is, the ghost of a ghost –it is the mytheme of Helen
which appears in Stesichorus for the first time. The name Eurydice is not
documented until the first century B.C. in Epitaphius Bionis25 and in the latin
poets Virgil, Ovid and Seneca –all following a Hellenistic model. But not even
the Hellenistic poets agree: it is not the fact, strange enough, that Apollonius
Rhodius ignores the episode, but the erudite poet Hermesianax26 names her
“Agriope”, the “One of ferocious look” which could be a mistake for “Argiope”,
the “One of the shining look”, the moon. Ziegler’s efforts to explain away all
these inconsistencies and gaps in the tradition do not seem very convincing –at
least not in all cases27.

If to all this we add the confusion of our sources about the success or failure
of Orpheus’ expedition to Hades, everything would lead us to the conclusion
that we are in the presence of a myth recent enough for every poet to freely
introduce variants which are, as we have seen, essential aspects of the story.
Indeed, authors such as Diodorus Siculus28, Ps.-Plutarch’s Amatorius29,
Lucian30, the above-mentioned Hermesianax and Virgil31, besides the scholion
to Alcestis32 and probably Manilius33 give complete success to the expedition.

7
As to the testimony of Isocrates34 it is rather doubtful: ἀνῆγην is a conative
imperfect, and, therefore, it could refer to a failed attempt.

On the contrary, the widely accepted version, the one made famous by the
virgilian Georgics35, Ovid’s Metamorphoseis36, and Seneca37, the one that has
reached us through the modern creations of Gluck, Rilke or Cocteau, is the
story of a failure. A failure imposed by a realistic and paradigmatic (and,
therefore, mythopoetic in its true sense) reading of reality: the fact that nobody
comes back after death.

3. The “necromantic” katábasis: Odysseus.

In contrast with the katabaseis of Herakles, Pirithous and Orpheus, that of

Odysseus is a complete episode without any gaps. At the same time it forms
part of a wider story pattern, that of the Odyssey, and it is in this context that its
analysis must be carried out. This episode is the main theme of the so-called
“Nekyia” and is one of the most carefully studied parts of the Odyssey. Gone
are the days when the Homeric analysis saw the whole of it as a “kleines epos”
interpolated by a late poet or “composer” –or at least some parts of it
(especially, the Catalogue of the Heroines, v. 235-332)38. Today most
Homerists think that it forms an organic and inseparable element of Odyssey’s
argument: its strictly central position (Book XI) would be meaningful enough to
support this idea.

Lately most of the light thrown on it has come from a comparative and
structural point of view. The work done on folktale has turned our attention to
the simple fact that the Odyssey is built primarily on a “return tale” (more
exactly a “search, wandering and return tale”). This tale, however, has been
converted into an Epic –and a monumental one like the Homeric epic is-
through the utilization of the characteristic resources of this genre, mainly
expansion and slowing of the narrative pace. In tales of this kind, similar to the
one which is the core of the Odyssey, the hero, kept away from his home for a
time, knows through a prophecy, the search for which is his last adventure or

8
feat, that his wife (or fiancée) is on the verge of marrying; and he returns home
at the very last moment by supernatural means in order to prevent it. Needless
to say there is a cause-effect relation between prophecy and return. Homer,
instead, dissociates both facts and presents us with a “prophecy without
consequence” and a “return voyage without motivation”39: indeed, Odysseus is
aware of the chaotic situation at home but he will not return inmediately –he
tells the Phaeacians that he would rather stay with them for a year in order go
back home “with fuller hands”40.

Moreover, expansion and slowing of the narrative pace, together now

with the archaic resources of symmetry and polarity, create a fourfold episode
which symbolizes the entry of the hero in the other world: those of Circe and
Calypso on the one hand, and those of the Phaeacians and Hades on the other.
Although it does not seem admissible to deduce, like Ganschinietz does41, that
the Odyssey as a whole consists of a series of descensus ad inferos which end
up in the heroe’s glorification and deification, it might certainly be said that the
“otherworldiness” is in the Odyssey more represented than it could seem at first
sight. As a matter of fact, all these episodes have been taken out of their
original context and inserted in a wider one with different function and meaning,
but the traits common to all four are striking and numerous. To allude only to
some of them: both Circe and Calypso seem to be goddesses of the after life
world, as is revealed not only by their names –the one of Calypso is crystal
clear (“The One who conceals”) – but by the fact that both of them live in
paradisiac islands. As for the Phaeacians, they too have a “talking name” –the
“Grey Ones”, the dead— and it must be remembered that before they went to
Escheria, the island where no mortal arrives, they lived in “Hyperaia”, literally
“The land of beyond”. The obvious difference between Hades, on the one hand,
and the islands of Circe, Calypso and the Phaeacians on the other, is that the
last three symbolize the hero’s entrance and staying in a happy world: Homer
relishes in describing their paradisiac conditions, which are very similar to
those of the Elysian Fields or the Islands of the Blessed, that is, a permanent

9
springtime in blooming meadows and fruit gardens irrigated by several
fountains and tempered by the mild gusts of zephyrus.

To go back to the Nekyia. From the point of view of the construction of the
Odyssey’s story or argument, this episode is situated at a central point not
without a reason: it is like a mirror towards which converge the hero’s past
(encounter with his mother and the Trojan war heroes), present (knowledge of
the facts at home in Ithaca) and future (prediction of his own death). That is
why, far from being a clumsy interpolation, on closer examination it appears to
be a masterpiece of narrative engineering. Let us analyze its structure pointing
out, first of all, to a general trait which permeates the whole episode. It has been
noticed by many a scholar that in fact we are in the presence of two different
realities: on the one hand Odysseus, urged by his companions to leave Circe
and go back to Ithaca, is advised by the goddess to go into the palace of Hades
(εἰς’ ’Αΐδεω ỉέναι δόµον) and consult Teiresias about his return home. This is
the last feat of the hero of the folktale. But in fact what we have is a
necromancy, an oracular ritual, which is described in full detail at v. 23-50 and
excludes the very possibility of entering Hades. On the other hand, being the
descent to Hades, or katábasis, the last and greatest feat of a Greek hero, Homer
skillfully combines both situations –or, better still, he juxtaposes them, because
the link between both can be easily seen. The original situation is mantained by
the formula “and there came the soul of...”, but suddenly in v. 568 the souls
cease to come up, and Odysseus says “and there I saw...” which implies a very
different situation. Odysseus seems to be in the middle of Hades.

But a duality is in fact present throughout the whole episode at different

levels which, in a way, are reciprocally determined. We have, to begin with,
two different conceptions of the “other world”: according to the one, it is “the
Beyond”, that is, the other side of the river Ocean where the necromancy takes
place (or the faraway paradise islands). The river Ocean, or the vast sea
between our land and the islands, is conceived as a limes which separates the
world of the living and that of the dead. The other conception is that of an

10
Underworld: the souls “go down into” or “come out from under” Hades. To
locate beyond the Ocean a cave, by the confluence of three rivers
(Pyriphlegethon, Cocytus and Acheron), where the entrance to Hades is situated,
seems to be a simple way of conciliating or making both conceptions
compatible. On a third level we also have two different rituals which are, in this
case, intertwined. In the first place Odysseus makes his necromancy which
originally is a magic rite –in it there are all the drómena and legómena of
Magic: the digging of a trench, the sacrifice of minor victims, the pouring of
their blood, the prayers; the souls drinking the blood of the victims in order to
recover their human mind and feelings. But there is no trace of an essential trait
of Magic –menacing words on the part of Odysseus. The magic ritual had
already been artfully turned into the heroic cult by the time of Homer with the
supression of everything that could be offensive to the official religion. In this
way, what originally was but a magic ritual has turned into a sacrifice to evoke
the soul of the hero Teiresias. On the other hand the poet is forced to introduce
another kind of ritual by juxtaposition as well: the one directed to the gods –in
this case, those of the Underworld. In fact it was obviously not necessary at all
because the souls had begun to go up and drink the blood, but the injunctions of
Circe demanded this other kind of sacrifice in which there is a burning of the
victims already slaughtered, and special prayers to Hades and Persephone.

But let us proceed with the structure of the episode. If the Odyssey, instead
of being a monumental epic poem, were a popular tale in its more simple form,
it would be enough with Teiresias going up and doing his job foretelling the
vicissitudes of Odysseus’ return voyage. But we have seen that this is not the
case. As I said before, whole episode has been expanded and considerably
complicated. And as is usual in this expanded digressions, the composition is
circular (Ringkomposition) and, above all, mostly symmetric. After the mantic
ritual a crowd of anonym souls rush up –young women, old men, warriors–
who wandered in groups here and there: “and pale terror took hold of me” says
Odysseus (v. 42-43). Well, the Nekyia ends 600 verses later with a very similar
situation and a close phraseology: “an endles number of dead began to

11
congregate with a supernatural clamor, and pale terror took hold of me” (v.
632-633)· Between these two utterings the organization of the material has a
remarkable symmetry: the grouping of the different souls –often in threes– or
the contraposition of bands of heroines and heroes, or the division of the whole
picture in two halves separated by the so-called “interlude” in which Odysseus
breaks the narrative and talks to the Phaeacians42, reveals the hand of an expert
and careful artist43.

The first souls who come to drink the blood are those of Elpenor, Teiresias
and his mother Antikleia –the first and last encounters being full of pathos,
while the middle one with Teiresias, the main aim of the necromancy, is as cold
and matter of fact as we expect it to be. After the moving encounter between
Odysseus and his mother, two different groups approach, one of heroines and
another of heroes or warriors. Nevertheless, in this case the symmetry is not
complete: it is broken in that the first group is presented in a narrative and the
second one in a dramatic form. The group of heroines is described as a typical
epic catalogue –and therefore bound to be misunderstood as an interpolation by
or from the Boeotian school of bards-while from the group of heroes three of
them stand out: Agamemnon, Achilles and Ajax. With each of the three
Odysseus will have a little dramatic scene. The reasons for the selection of
precisely these heroes reveals itself in the course of the aforesaid scenes: both
Agamemnon and Achilles show their interest in the actual whereabouts and
deeds of their respective only child (Orestes and Neoptolemus) –a trait which
they share with Odysseus. Of a different kind is the relation between Ajax and
Odysseus: the contest for the arms of Achilles had opened a breach between
them which the latter wants to heal. But the resentful attitude of Ajax shows
this to be an impossible task: he goes away in silence scorning the words of
Odysseus.

Although these two parts of the general picture –the parade of heroines and
that of the heroes– belong in fact to the katábasis genre, and not to the
necromancy, Homer maintains them skillfuly as a part of the latter:

12
Agamemnon speaks to Odysseus only after he has drunk the blood (“he
recognised me inmediately after he drank the black blood”, v. 390), and of Ajax
he says that “he went down again to the Erebos of the dead in the company of
the other souls” (v. 563-564). It is precisely at this point that the katábasis
proper begins. There is no reason to doubt that Homer does not try to conceal it
either: Odysseus is in the middle of Hades as is shown unmistakably by the
wording ἒνθ᾽ ἤτοι Μίνωα ἴδον, v. 568. This katábasis is a little piece, complete
in itself, which is again organised in a symmetric form: first of all Odysseus
sees Minos imparting justice to “the tribes of the dead”. Then, embedded in the
description of two hunting heroes, Orion and Heracles, chasing wild animals
along a field of asphodels, there comes the short series of, again three, famous
damned consisting of Tition, Tantalus and Sysiphus. Finally, as we pointed out
at the beginning, the anonymous crowd of souls aproaches and frightens
Odysseus. The ring has closed and the episode reaches its end.

This is the katábasis of Odysseus. For him, as the hero of the tale, it was
useless because, as we said before, he was no longer the hero of the folktzle,
but of the epic poetry. For Homer, though, it was very useful: as an epic potetes,
and due to the epic character of the Odyssey as a codification of social customs
and religious conceptions, it served as an adequate vehicle for transmitting a
typically Hellenic vision of the Underworld. A conception which survived for
centuries, although it combined inconsistently with others which were the
product of a new morality, alien to the Homeric world, and of new religious
ideas coming from different philosophers and religious thinkers.

13
 NOTES

1 Cf. Virg., Aen. VI, 129-132 where those men endowed with virtue are
added.

2 Esch., HF, 613 (τὰ µυστῶν δ’ ὄργι’ εὐτύχησ’ ἰδών) is our first witness, Cf.
also Ps.-Plato, Ax. 13 (371e1), Diod. Sic., IV, 25. According to Servius,
Heracles’ katabasis had been incorporated even in the orphie cycle: tectum in
Orpheo est, quod quando Hercules ad inferos descendit... (in Aen VI, 392).

3 Among the literature which deals specifically with the subject after 1900,
cf. R. Ganschinietz, “Katábasis”, in RE, X 2 (1919), col. 2360 sq.; E. Norden, P.
Vergilius Maro, Aeneis Buch VI, Leipzig 1903; A. Dieterich, Nekyia, Beiträge
zur Erklärung der neu-entdeckten Petrusapokalypse, Leipzig, 19132; L.
Radermacher, Das Jenseits im Mytbos der Hellenen, Bonn, 1903, etc.

4 Sometimes it is represented as a serpent. As to its name, it is remarkable

that Kerberos is not mentioned until Hesiod (Theog., 311: Kέρβερov ὠµηστήν).
If its etymology is related to IE *gu er (with dissimilation of the first consonant),
and, therefore, to bórboros, etc., that would suppose an old link with the
Underworld.

5 Cf. O. Gruppe, in Roscher, Lexicon, III 1 (1897), col. 1108, 60 sq.; E.

Maass, Orpheus, München, 1908.

6 Cf. Themis. A study in the social origins of Greek Religion, Cambridge,

19272, p. 523 sq.

7 Cf. A. Winckler, Die Darstellungen der Unterwelt auf unteritalische Vasen,

Breslau, 1891.

8 Cf. Harrison, op. cit. (n. 6), p. 522, n. 2.

9 Cf. Orph. Argon., 40-42: ῎Αλλα δέ σοι κατέλεξ’ ἅпερ εἴσιδον ἠδ’ ἐνόησα,
Ταίναρου ἡνíκ’ ἔβην σκοτίην ὁδόν, ῎Αïδòς εἴσω, ἡµετέρη πίσυνος κιθάρη δι’
ἔρωτ’ ἀλόχοιο.

14
 10 W. Burkert (Greek Religion, Oxford, 1985 [engl. transl. from Griechische
Religion der archaischen und klassischen Epoche, Stuttgart, 1977], p. 209)
seems to retrace Heracles’ journey to “shamanistic hunting magic”.

11 Cf. Il. XI, 624

12 Cf. Il. V, 395 sq.

13 Cf. Od. XI, 630-631.

14 Cf. Hes., Fr. 280 M-W (= PIbscher): αὐτός] µὲν γάρ φησι κασίγνητος καὶ
ὄπατρος ]εν ᾽Aΐδην δὲ ϕίλον πάτρωα τετύχθαι.

15 Cf. Paus. X. 29. 9, Πανύασσις δὲ ἐποίησεν ὡς Θησεὺς καὶ Πειρίθους· ἐπὶ

τῶν θρόνων παράσχοιντο σχῆµα οὐ κατὰ δεσµώτας, προσϕύεσθαι δὲ ἀπὸ τοῦ
χρωτòς ἀντὶ δεσµῶν σϕισιν ἔϕη τὴν πέτραν.

16 Cf. Crit., fr. 6: Θησεύς τῷ Πειρίθῳ κολαζοµένῳ καὶ δεδεµένῳ / αỉδοῦς

ἀχαλκεύτοισιν ἔζευκται πέδαις.

17 Cf. Serv., Ad Aen. VI, 617: nam fertur ab Hercule esse liberatus: quo
tempore eum ita abstraxit, ut illic corporis eius relinqueret partem.

18 Cf. Virg., Aen. VI, 618: sedet aeternumque sedebit / infelix Theseus; Apol.
Rhod., I, 101-104: Θησέα δ’, ὃς περὶ πάντας Ἐρεχθεΐδας ἐκέκαστο, / Ταιναρίην
ἀίδηλος ὑπò χθόνα δεσµòς ἔρυκε, / Πειρίθῳ ἑσπόµενον κοινὴν ὁδόν· ἧ τέ κεν
ἄµφω / ῥηίτερον καµάτοιο τέλος– πάντεσσιν ἔθεντο.

19 Cf. Virg., Georg., 484: quin ipsae stupuere domus atque intima Leti /
Tartara caeruleosque implexae crinibus anguis / Eumenides, tenuitque inhians
tria Cerberus ora,/ atque Ixionii uento rota constilit orbis.

20 I do not agree with the interpretation of R. Böhme (“Der Name Orpheus”,

Minos, 18/19 [19791, p. 80) who relates the name ὀρφεύς to a root *ἐ‑ρφ: ὀ‑ρφ‑.
If it comes, as I think, from a “regular” Indoeuropean root *ser-p– : sor-p– (>
*hor-ph– > or-ph-) through aspiration of the labial suffix attached to the root,

15
we do not need to postulate a prothetic vowel. With a velar suffix we have,
precisely, the verb ὀρχεῖσθαι (from *sor-ch-). According to Böhme’s theory the
root *o-rp– is related to “rhaptein” and “rhapsode”, a late name which, on the
other hand, refers to recitation, not to composition or singing –even less to
dancing.

21 Cf. Pind., Ρ IV, 176, ἐξ Ἀπόλλωνος δὲ φορµιγκτὰς ἀοιδᾶν πατήρ ἔµολεν,

εὐαίνητος Ὀρφεύς.

22 Cf. W.K.C. Guthrie, Orpheus and Greek Religion, 1925; F. Graf, Eleusis
und die orphische Dichtung Athens in vorhellenistischer Zeit, Berlin, 1974; R.
Böhme, Der Singer von Vorzeit, Basel, 1980.

23 Cf. Eur., Alc. 357 sq.

24 Cf. Plato, Symp. 179d. 15: Ὀρφέα δὲ τὸν Οἰάγρου ἀτελῆ ἀπέπεµψαν ἐξ
Ἅιδου, φάσµα δείξαντες τῆς γυναικὸς ἐφ᾽ ἣν ἧκεν, αὐτὴν δὲ οὐ δόντες, ὅτι
µαλθακίζεσθαι ἐδόκει

25 Mosch.,Epithaphius Bionis, 123-124: ἁ µολπά, χὠς Ὀρφέι πρόσθεν

ἔδωκεν ἁδέα φορµίζοντι παλίσσυτον Εὐρυδίκειαν.

26 Herm., Fr. 7, 1 sq.: οἵην µὲν φίλος υἱὸς ἀνήγαγεν Οἰάγροιο Ἀγριόπην
Θρῇσσαν στειλάµενος κιθάρην Ἁιδόθεν.

27 Cf. RE, XVIII (1939), col. 1200-1316, 1321-1417.

28 Diod. Sic., IV, 25: τὴν δὲ Φερσεφόνην διὰ τῆς εὐµελείας ψυχαγωγήσας
ἔπεισε συνεργῆσαι ταῖς ἐπιθυµίαις καὶ συγχωρῆσαι τὴν γυναῖκα αὐτοῦ
τετελευτηκυῖαν ἀναγαγεῖν ἐξ ᾅδου.

29 Plut., Amat., 76le: δηλοῖ τὰ περὶ Ἄλκηστιν καὶ Πρωτεσίλεων καὶ

Εὐρυδίκην τὴν Ὀρφέως, ὅτι µόνῳ θεῶν ὁ Ἅιδης Ἔρωτι ποιεῖ τὸ
προσταττόµενον.

16
 30 Luc., Dmort. 28, 3: Ἀναµνήσω σε, ὦ Πλούτων· Ὀρφεῖ γὰρ δι᾽ αὐτὴν
ταύτην τὴν αἰτίαν τὴν Εὐρυδίκην παρέδοτε καὶ τὴν ὁµογενῆ µου Ἄλκηστιν
παρεπέµψατε.

31 Virg., Aen., VI, 119: si potuit manis accersere coniugis Orpheus Threicia
fretus cithara fidibusque canoris.

32 Schol ad Eur., Ale., 357: ᾿Оρφέως γυνὴ Εὐριδίκη... τῇ µουσικῇ θέλξας τòν
Πλούτωνα καὶ τὴν Κόρην, αὐτὴν ἀνήγαγεν ἐξ Ἅιδου.

33 Man., V, 324-328: (Lyra) qua quondam somnumque fretis Oeagrius

Orpheus / et sensus scopulis et silvis addidit aures / et Diti lacrimas et morti
denique finem.

34 Cf. Isoc, Bus., 8, 1: Ἀλλ' ὁ µὲν ἐξ Ἅιδου τοὺς τεθνεῶτας ἀνῆγεν, ὁ δὲ πρὸ
µοίρας τοὺς ζῶντας ἀπώλλυεν.

35 Cf. Virg., Georg., 486-496: restitit, Eurydicenque suam iam luce sub ipsa
/ immemor heu! uictusque animi respexit... /....en iterum crudelia retro I fata
uocant, conditque natantia lumina somnus.

36 Cf. Ον., Metam., X, 56-59: hic, ne deficeret, metuens avidusque videndi /

flexit amans oculos, et protinus illa relapsa est, / bracchiaque intendens
prendique et prendere certans / nil nisi cedentes infelix arripit auras.

37 Cf. Sen., Her. Oet., 1079-1087: sed dum respicit immemor / nec credens
sibi redatta / Orpheus Eurydicen sequi, / Cantus praemia perdidit: / Quae nata
est iterum petit.

38 Cf. Aristarchus thought to be spurious the v. 568-640 (cf. Schol. Vet. ad

loc.), an idea warmly accepted by the modern chorizontes (cf. U. Wilamowitz,
Homerische Unters., 1885, p. 199-226), etc. But the whole of the Nekyia was
considered a late addition still in the fifties and sixties by D.L. Page (Homeric
Odyssey, Oxford, 1955), R. Merkelbach (Untersuchungen zur Odyssée,
München, 1951), G.S. Kirk (The Songs of Homer, Cambridge, 1962) and others.

17
 39 Cf. U. Hölscher, Die Odyssée. Epos zwischen Marchen und Roman
(1988). He takes into account several folktales different in time and space, such
as the Indian “Red Swan Tale”, “Richard of Normandie”, “Sinbad the Sailor”
tales 6 and 7 and “Reinfrit von Braunschweig”.

40 Cf. XI, 356 sq.

41 Cf. loc. cit., col. 2362.

42 Cf. XI, 333-385.

43 Cf. Β. Fenik, Studies in the Odyssey, Wiesbaden, 1974.

18