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Imagining Xerxes
 Bloomsbury Studies in Classical Reception

Bloomsbury Studies in Classical Reception presents scholarly monographs

offering new and innovative research and debate to students and scholars
in the reception of Classical Studies. Each volume will explore the appro-
priation, reconceptualization and recontextualization of various aspects
of the Graeco-Roman world and its culture, looking at the impact of the
ancient world on modernity. Research will also cover reception within
antiquity, the theory and practice of translation, and reception theory.

Also available in the Series:

Ovid’s Myth of Pygmalion on Screen, Paula James

 Imagining Xerxes: Ancient
Perspectives on a Persian King

Emma Bridges
 Bloomsbury Academic
An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

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Bloomsbury is a registered trade mark of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

First published 2015

© Emma Bridges 2015

Emma Bridges has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act,
1988, to be identified as the Author of this work.

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the author.

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For my parents, with love and thanks
 Contents

List of Illustrations and Photographs viii

Note on Translations, Illustrations and Abbreviations ix
Acknowledgements x

Introduction: Encountering Xerxes 1

1 Staging Xerxes: Aeschylus and Beyond 11
2 Historiographical Enquiry: The Herodotean Xerxes-Narrative 45
3 Xerxes in his Own Write? The Persian Perspective 73
4 Pride, Panhellenism and Propaganda: Xerxes in the Fourth
Century bc 99
5 The King at Court: Alternative (Hi)Stories of Xerxes 127
6 The Past as a Paradigm: Xerxes in a World Ruled by Rome 157
Epilogue: Re-imagining Xerxes 191

Bibliography 201
Index 227
 List of Illustrations and Photographs

Illustrations
Plate 1: Xerxes’ army crosses the Hellespont xii
Plate 2: Atossa’s dream. Based on a 1778 sketch by George Romney 10
Plate 3: Xerxes contemplates the brevity of human existence44
Plate 4: Darius and his crown prince. Detail of Persepolis treasury sculpture 72
Plate 5: Xerxes rebuking the sea. Based on a nineteenth-century Spanish
lithograph illustrating La Civilisación (1881) by Don Pelegrin Casabó y Pagés 97
Plate 6: Esther at the court of Xerxes. Based on an illustration from Harold
Copping’s Women of the Bible (1937)126
Plate 7: Xerxes’ return to Persia. Adapted from a lithograph illustrating Jacob
Abbott’s History of Xerxes the Great (1878) 155
Plate 8: A Xerxes for the twenty-first century. Based on the depiction of Xerxes in
Zack Snyder’s movie 300 (2007) 190

Photographs
Figure 1: Council Hall: South jamb of east doorway of main hall depicting
enthroned Darius with crown prince behind him 84
Figure 2: Persepolis treasury: South portico of Courtyard 17 depicting audience
scene with king and crown prince 85
 Note on Translations, Illustrations
and Abbreviations

Translations are my own, unless otherwise stated. Translations of Persian

inscriptions in Chapter 3 are from A. Kuhrt, The Persian Empire: A Corpus of
Sources from the Achaemenid Period (Routledge: London and New York 2007),
and are reproduced by kind permission of the publisher.
Chapter frontispieces were illustrated by Asa Taulbut. Plates 1 and 3 are
original drawings created by the artist; others are based on the images referred
to in the captions. Photographs in Chapter 3 (Figures 1 and 2) are reproduced
courtesy of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago.
Abbreviations of the names of ancient authors and texts follow those used
in the Oxford Classical Dictionary. Standard abbreviations are used for modern
texts. Persian inscriptions discussed in Chapter 3 are referred to by the abbrevia-
tions used in Kent (1953) and Kuhrt (2007).
 Acknowledgements

This book started life as a doctoral thesis written at the University of Durham
and funded with the support of a Durham University Research Studentship
and the Ralph Lindsay Scholarship. My doctoral supervisors, Edith Hall and
Peter Rhodes, have continued to show their unfailing generosity in sharing
their time and their wisdom, as well as in providing moral support and advice.
I am especially grateful that both accepted and supported my decision to
prioritize family life over academic pursuits for a time during the decade since
the completion of the thesis, and yet unquestioningly resumed their roles as
mentors when I was ready to take up the challenge of writing this volume.
Edith’s gentle yet firm encouragement inspired my decision to resume research;
for this, and much else, it is no exaggeration to say that I will be forever in her
debt. Both she and Peter offered comments on a complete draft of the finished
work; as ever, I have benefited enormously from their combined expertise and
their differing yet complementary approaches to the study of the ancient world.
The final version of the book has also been shaped along the way by the
input of several other individuals and institutions. My examiners, Chris Pelling
and Peter Heslin, offered invaluable insights which led me to think about the
material in new ways; Chris has since then been a continuing source of support,
and provided incisive comments upon Chapters 2 and 6. At the proposal stage
Bloomsbury’s anonymous referees offered detailed feedback and pertinent
suggestions which enabled me to refine my thinking, and as the manuscript
neared completion I was most grateful for the attention to detail exercised by
a meticulous peer reviewer, who saved me from numerous errors. Charlotte
Loveridge at Bloomsbury was a patient and enthusiastic supporter of the project
from the outset, and Anna MacDiarmid provided invaluable assistance as the
work went into production. As a part-time Associate Lecturer at the Open
University, I have been fortunate to be able to indulge my love of things classical
while still devoting time to raising a young family under sometimes challenging
circumstances; the enthusiasm of my student cohorts continues to inspire
me and to enrich my appreciation and understanding of the ancient world.
Meanwhile I have also benefited greatly from the expertise and good humour
of the staff at the British Library Document Supply Centre at Boston Spa;
 Acknowledgements xi

without this invaluable facility in Yorkshire the pursuit of my research would

undoubtedly have been far more difficult and drawn-out. In the final stages of
the writing process Asa Taulbut offered up his time and his remarkable talent to
produce the illustrations at very short notice; I valued greatly the opportunity to
share ideas with him as well as his capacity to create beautiful visual representa-
tions of those ideas.
Several others also deserve credit for their role in developing more broadly
my own ability and self-confidence as a classical scholar. The roots of my enthu-
siasm for the classical world were first planted by Ken Parham of Durham Sixth
Form Centre and later nurtured at Brasenose College, Oxford, by Ed Bispham,
Llewelyn Morgan, the late Leighton Reynolds, and Greg Woolf. I am indebted to
each of them for their encouragement and their faith in me, and can only hope
that the present work proves that faith to have been justified.
That this volume has eventually come to fruition is due in no small part
to the love and understanding of my family, whose presence is my anchor.
My husband David has wholeheartedly supported the project; along with our
children, Charlotte and Joseph, he has patiently endured my preoccupation
with Xerxes for the past year. My parents, Margaret and Terry Clough, provided
the foundation upon which all that I have achieved has been built. As always,
they have been an unfailing source of support – both emotional and practical –
throughout this process yet, with their customary kindness and modesty, expect
nothing in return. It is to them that this book is gratefully dedicated.
1. Xerxes’ army crosses the Hellespont
 Introduction: Encountering Xerxes

When in 480 bc Xerxes crossed the Hellespont from Asia into Greece, he
stepped simultaneously into the imagination of the Greeks whose homeland
he endeavoured to conquer. The bridge of boats across which his vast army
marched (Plate 1) would become an enduring symbol of the transgression of
a boundary – both physical and moral – by an arrogant king who dared to
defy the will of the gods in his attempt to join two continents. The course of
events which followed – first documented at length by Herodotus and retold
in abbreviated form by successive generations of Greek writers – is familiar to
those with even a passing acquaintance of Greek history of the period, although
the precise details are often the source of scholarly conjecture. Although many
Greeks surrendered to the invaders, the advance of the Persian hordes through
Greece was blocked at the pass of Thermopylae by a small band of troops
led by the Spartans under their king, Leonidas, and vastly outnumbered by
Xerxes’ army; the Spartans who fought there were assured of immortality in
commemorative traditions which would portray their defeat at the hands of the
Persians as a heroic stand for Greek freedom. A simultaneous naval engagement
at Artemisium proved indecisive when storms beset the fleet, but the ensuing
clash at Salamis was to be the battle in which the Greeks – under the leadership
of the Athenian general Themistocles – achieved their most celebrated naval
victory against Xerxes’ fleet. That was not before the king’s army had ransacked
an abandoned Athens and torched the Acropolis, however; this particular act
of irreverence – repeated in 479 by the remnants of the king’s army – would
live long in the collective memory. After his failure at Salamis the king himself
withdrew to Persia, leaving behind his general Mardonius in charge of an army
which would suffer its final defeat at the hands of a Greek force at Plataea in 479
bc. Plataea marked the end of Xerxes’ attempts to gain military domination over
2 Imagining Xerxes

Greece; for the victorious Greeks, however, their defeat of Xerxes would become
a defining moment in their history, and the memory of this glorious triumph
would endure for centuries.1
Their struggle against Xerxes was not the mainland Greeks’ first encounter
with a mighty Asiatic foe; ten years previously, the Athenians and their Plataean
allies had secured at Marathon a decisive victory over the Persian force sent to
Greece by Xerxes’ father Darius. Yet, where Xerxes set foot on the Hellenic soil
which he intended to claim as his own – and in the course of his expedition
committed the ultimate act of desecration in burning the sacred buildings
of Athens – Darius had remained in Persia and instead sent his generals to
carry out his campaign. As a result it was Xerxes, not his father, who subse-
quently entered into the Greek cultural encyclopaedia both as the archetypal
destructive and enslaving eastern king and as a symbol of the exotic decadence,
wealth and power of the Persian court. The narratives of his exploits are rich
in motifs and episodes with which he came to be associated: the whipping
and branding of the sacred Hellespont which mirrored both his mission as
would-be enslaver and his brutal treatment of subordinates; his awe-inspiring
army which was said to have drunk dry the rivers on its journey to Greece; the
elaborate throne from which he observed his troops in battle; and the sexual
politics of his palace, to name a few. The king himself, whose defeat at Salamis
would be for the Greeks a lasting cause for celebration, was a figure who could
inspire both fear and hatred, and whose image would at the same time become
a source of enduring fascination in a literary tradition whose echoes would
continue to resonate for centuries. The central concern of this volume is to
explore the richness and variety of Xerxes’ afterlives within the ancient literary
tradition.
The historical encounter between Xerxes and the Greeks has been the focus
for several recent scholarly endeavours, with attention being paid to particular
texts2 or episodes3 in which Xerxes features; meanwhile other works have
unpicked the sources to evaluate the historical accuracy of the accounts of

1
On the broader traditions relating to the commemoration of the Persian Wars as a whole see Clough
(2003), pp. 25–32. Bridges, Hall and Rhodes (2007) provide a series of case studies which demon-
strate the richness and diversity of responses to the Persian invasions since antiquity.
2
For example, recent editions of Aeschylus’ Persians (Garvie, 2009) and Ctesias’ Persica (Stronk,
2010; Llewellyn-Jones and Robson, 2010) and recent commentaries upon books of Herodotus
dealing with Xerxes’ expedition (Flower and Marincola, 2002, on Book 9; A. M. Bowie, 2007, on
Book 8) as well as a new English translation of his work (Holland and Cartledge, 2013).
3
On Salamis, see Strauss (2004); on Thermopylae, Cartledge (2006).
 Introduction: Encountering Xerxes 3

his invasion,4 collated and analysed the sources for Achaemenid Persia,5 or
provided an insight into scholarly analysis of Persian history.6 While the process
of disentangling the ancient testimonies in order to establish a narrative of
Xerxes’ reign and his invasion of his Greece is a rich field for study, however,
my concern here is not to produce a biographical account or a cohesive picture
of the ‘real’ historical king who spearheaded the second Persian invasion of
Greece. Instead it is to draw together for comparative analysis the range of
literary approaches to the figure of this king with a view to considering the ways
in which these adaptations and deformations of the Xerxes-traditions – from
the earliest appearance of Xerxes on the tragic stage in 472 bc and the portrayal
of his character in Herodotus’ fifth-century historiographical narrative to the
biographical works of the Roman tradition and the moralizing texts of the
Second Sophistic – were shaped by the diverse contexts within which they
were produced. These successive re-imaginings from a variety of cultural and
historical perspectives demonstrate that the figure of the king who played such
a key role in events of the fifth century bc inspired an astonishing array of
responses; in this sense the ‘real’ historical Xerxes has become inseparable from
the literary character(s) who developed in his wake.
The earliest surviving cultural response to the figure of Xerxes is that seen in
Aeschylus’ Persians, his tragic drama of 472 bc which envisaged the reaction at
the Persian court to the news of the defeat at Salamis and culminated with the
return of the king himself, in rags and with a mere fraction of his vast army, to
Susa. The reversal of fortune of this theatrical Xerxes and his transformation
from intimidating aggressor to wretched failure acted as a reminder to the
Athenians of their celebrated achievement in driving back the Persian foe.
My first chapter investigates the ways in which Aeschylus’ text assimilated the
Persian king into this extraordinary piece of tragic theatre – the only extant
Athenian tragedy based on a historical, rather than a mythical, theme – within
which an actor was called upon to assume the guise of Athens’ great barbarian
adversary. While Aeschylus’ text begins with the Chorus’ remembered image
of Xerxes as terrifying invader in the parodos, this picture is gradually eroded
throughout the course of the play as the scale of the disaster at Salamis
is revealed. Aeschylus uses the perspectives of the other characters in his

4
Wallinga (2005).
5
Briant’s monumental 2002 work on Achaemenid Persia remains the most comprehensive study of
the sources for Xerxes’ reign. Kuhrt (2007) provides an exhaustive collection of the ancient sources
in English translation.
6
Harrison (2011). On the evolution of Achaemenid scholarship since the advent of the Achaemenid
History Workshops in the late 1970s see further p. 75 below.
4 Imagining Xerxes

drama – the Queen, the messenger and the ghost of Darius – to build up the
spectators’ anticipation of the eventual appearance of the king himself. In doing
so he draws on a series of striking images: the Queen’s dream, which allego-
rizes Xerxes’ failed mission and foreshadows his desolation upon his return
to Susa; the messenger’s report of the scene at Salamis, in which he describes
the watching king’s reaction to the defeat; and the rich and exotic appearance
of the ghost of Darius, who represents here a contrasting model of successful
Persian kingship against which Xerxes’ failure is measured. The arrival of Xerxes
himself, distraught and in rags, is the play’s climactic moment, in which the king
performs a sung lament; the full spectacle of his humiliation is thus played out
on stage before the audience. A sung lament by the king would also feature in
a later poetic and performative response to Xerxes; Timotheus of Miletus’ late
fifth-/early fourth-century bc citharodic nome was also entitled Persians, but
represented an art form very different from the tragic drama of Aeschylus. This
interpretation of the aftermath of the Persian defeat at Salamis – by a poet who
in his time was thought of as a musical revolutionary – demanded a performer’s
sung impersonation of the imagined words of Xerxes in his melodramatic
response to the destruction of his fleet. Chapter 1 also looks at the relationship
between Timotheus’ composition and Aeschylus’ play, as well as considering
the possible influence of the Xerxes-image upon the comic barbarians of
Aristophanes’ plays.
While the negative image of Xerxes as marauding invader would come to
dominate many later interpretations of the king’s persona, it is also possible to
find strands of the Xerxes-tradition which look beyond this image of an irascible
and impious despot in order to reflect upon other elements of his imagined
character. As early as the Histories of Herodotus we encounter him as a more
human figure, one susceptible to the vacillations of fortune and at the mercy
of the course of history as well as deeply conscious of his position within the
Persian royal dynasty. This Xerxes is epitomized in the scene early in Herodotus’
seventh book which takes place at Abydus before the invasion of Greece: having
surveyed the scale of the huge military force under his command, the king at
first congratulates himself on this affirmation of his power but then, in a flash of
insight which encapsulates a key theme of Herodotus’ text and transcends any
notion of a polarity between Greeks and barbarians, weeps as he acknowledges
the transient nature of human existence. Chapter 2 considers the ways in which
Herodotus’ narrative weaves a complex picture of Xerxes and utilizes this king
in order to exemplify one of the underlying ethical premises of his work – that
human fortune does not reside for long in one place – as well as considering
 Introduction: Encountering Xerxes 5

how the Histories might use the story of Xerxes as a way of reflecting upon the
political realities of Herodotus’ own day. It is also in Herodotus’ text that we
find the beginnings of a strand of the Xerxes-tradition which looks beyond his
invasion of Greece and ventures behind the closed doors of the Persian court
to explore the personal rivalries, sexual scandal and political intrigue within
the king’s harem. This interest in Persian ‘harem politics’ was to inspire a whole
swathe of later texts and demonstrates that the boundary between historio-
graphy and what we might now describe as ‘romantic fiction’ was far from
clear-cut in the ancient literary tradition.
Although these earliest Greek traditions and many of their literary
descendants were inspired by Xerxes’ invasion of Greece, it is striking that
no surviving source from Persia itself makes any reference to this military
campaign which took place on what was the western fringe of the Persian
empire. This omission acts as a reminder that the dominant verdict upon the
king, as pronounced by western society, is largely coloured by the response of
that society to his military campaign. An analysis of the contemporary Persian
sources for Xerxes thus allows us to unearth an entirely different perspective
upon his reign; it is this perspective which is the subject of Chapter 3. The
Achaemenid Persian sources differ from the Greek texts in both their emphasis
and their form; here we find not literary narratives but instead material evidence
in the shape of boastful official inscriptions and the sculptural decoration which
adorned the royal palaces of Persepolis and Susa. An analysis of this source
material provides a picture of the way in which the projected ideology of the
Achaemenid kings – developed during Darius’ reign and appropriated by his
son and later successors – shaped the image of Xerxes which was communicated
to his subjects and to posterity. Here the emphasis is overwhelmingly upon
continuity with the past and the eternal tenets of Persian kingship rather than
upon the specific character traits of the individual monarchs. This imagining of
the king’s character emerges as having been as much a construct, and a product
of its cultural and political backdrop, as the western retellings of his story.
My fourth chapter returns to the Greek tradition, moving forward in time
to the fourth century bc and a Greece which was increasingly fragmented
in political terms. Within the body of extant Athenian literature from this
period the Persian Wars are still a pervasive presence – forming in particular a
significant part of the catalogue of Athenian exploits in the epitaphioi (funeral
orations) – as a result, at least in part, of the presence of Persia as a player on
the Greek political stage from the late fifth century onwards. We also detect here
an interest in developing ideas about kingship; references to the government of
6 Imagining Xerxes

Persia feature in fourth-century texts as part of broader discussions of the nature

of power and political theory. While several writers display an awareness that
the theme of Athenian resistance to Persia was by now something of a cliché,
in this new political context the most prominent vision of Xerxes which we see
here is that of the great panhellenic foe. For some, like Lysias, the memory of
resistance to this archetypal foreign enemy was a reminder of Athens’ glorious
past; others – most prominent among them the orator Isocrates – used the
spectre of Xerxes in their own anti-Persian rhetoric, conflating him with the
Persian rulers of their own day as a means of advocating a new expedition
against the Persians which would serve to unite the disparate and warring Greek
states. Here we find a much-reduced literary portrait of Xerxes which relies on a
repertoire of key elements of the tradition to serve writers’ rhetorical purposes:
the king is identified by his extreme anger and impiety, and motifs symbolizing
his attempted enslavement of Greece (for example, the Hellespont bridge) loom
large in accounts of his invasion. This was a brand of rhetoric which would
also later be taken up by the Macedonian kings; for Alexander in particular
Xerxes seems to have become the focal point of a propaganda campaign in
which, in order to garner political support in Greece, he presented himself as
leading a moral crusade to seek vengeance from Persia for past wrongs done
to the Greeks. Chapter 4 demonstrates too, however, that the negative image
of Persian kingship as personified by Xerxes was not the sole possible response
to the Persian monarchy in this period; in particular Xenophon’s Cyropaedia,
a fictionalized biography of Xerxes’ maternal grandfather Cyrus the Great,
provides a eulogistic portrait of a ruler whose reign is seen there as the high
point of imperial Persian history.
While for the orators of fourth-century Athens it was the image of Xerxes as
the formidable panhellenic enemy which proved most useful, alternative strands
of the tradition were being developed simultaneously by other writers. These
versions of Xerxes, whose origins might be traced back to Herodotus’ closing
chapters, have as their common setting the king’s court; they take their readers
behind the closed doors of the Persian palace into an exotic and decadent
world populated by influential women, eunuchs and powerful courtiers whose
conflicting interests could lead to corruption and intrigue. Chapter 5 examines
the array of prose narratives inspired by the theme of the Persian court; these
texts, despite the disparate cultural milieux from which they originate, are
united by a shared fascination with this indoor realm and by the position which
they occupy at the interface between historiography and romantic fiction. This
chapter begins with the fourth-century bc Persica of Ctesias of Cnidus whose
 Introduction: Encountering Xerxes 7

role as doctor at the court of Artaxerxes II allowed him access to the Persian
royal traditions which formed the basis of his narrative. It then considers the
ways in which vase paintings of this period share an interest in conjuring up
images of the Persian court before looking at the way in which a particular story
– that of the adventures in Persia of the Athenian commander Themistocles
after his ostracism by his countrymen – allows the reader of Diodorus’ much
later (first-century bc) historiographical account access to Xerxes’ palace. It
is not only in the Greek-derived traditions, however, that the Persian court
occupies a prominent role. An examination of the Old Testament book of Esther
demonstrates here that the palace of Xerxes (named Ahasuerus in the biblical
version), with all its richness and decadence, could become the location for a
story which originated in the Jewish tradition. This chapter ends by looking at
other later imagined narratives – the Greek novel, and the ekphrasis-writing of
Philostratus during the Second Sophistic – which, in their use of the Persian
court setting, illustrate a far-reaching fascination with the motifs long since
associated with the most notorious of the Achaemenid kings.
Even several centuries after the Persian invasions of Greece, at a time when
the political world-map had been redrawn by the advance of Roman domination
in the Mediterranean, the theme of Xerxes’ aggression retained its appeal.
Chapter 6 investigates the ways in which the image of Xerxes was revisited in
a world ruled by Rome. It looks at the contexts within which the Romans, as
the new world-conquerors, engaged with the broader Persian Wars traditions
before examining the ways in which elements of the Xerxes-narrative feature in
Latin literature (particularly in the rhetorical schools, as seen in the suasoriae of
Seneca the Elder and compilations of rhetorical examples such as those produced
by Valerius Maximus) as a moral paradigm, whether as providing negative
exempla of the types of behaviour to be avoided by contemporary leaders or as
illustrating a wider theme of the mutability of fortune. Within the context of the
Roman tendency to look to the past for such exempla the recollection of Xerxes’
arrogance and immorality also provided a point of comparison for the conduct
of particular individuals; this is particularly apparent in the work of authors
hostile to the emperor Caligula, who would himself become a stereotypical
symbol of debased tyranny in the Roman historiographical tradition. Yet during
the Roman period we also find a thought-provoking alternative to this casting
of Xerxes as the definitive villain; in the works of the Jewish historian Josephus,
Xerxes appears as a pious ruler who is fêted for his tolerance and support of the
Jews in his empire. Josephus’ Jewish perspective reminds us (like the Persian
sources discussed in Chapter 3) of the extent to which the mainstream tradition
8 Imagining Xerxes

was shaped by the responses of Greeks who bore the scars of Xerxes’ invasion.
This chapter looks also at the continuing presence of Xerxes in the collective
consciousness of Greeks who lived under Roman rule, considering the ways
in which references to Xerxes at a time when Greece was subject to a powerful
foreign empire – that of Rome – might carry subversive undertones (as seen in,
for example, the geographical writing of Pausanias) before examining Plutarch’s
more cautious use of the Xerxes-themes. Here we find a writer whose work
demonstrates his awareness of the potential for negative comparisons between
the Persian king and the Roman emperor in a period when the notion of the
‘freedom of the Greeks’ was a delicate one given the Greeks’ subjection to the
government at Rome. The chapter concludes by considering the way in which
a Latin satirical take on Xerxes by Juvenal subverts the image of the king as an
artificial literary construct.
The Xerxes-tradition did not evaporate with the decline of classical liter-
ature; far from it. In the post-classical period, the lasting appeal of the Persian
Wars narratives has given rise to their treatment in diverse forms of literary
and artistic media; representations of Xerxes have thus found their way into
a staggering range of literary genres, artistic media and cultural settings up
to the present day, from the earliest portrayals in fifth-century bc drama and
historiography through to the most up-to-date elements of twenty-first-century
mainstream culture including graphic novels, movies and video games. While
exhaustive treatment of the multifarious post-classical responses to Xerxes falls
outside the immediate scope of this volume, my epilogue looks at one specific
example of the way in which Xerxes has been re-imagined in the modern world.
By considering the presentation of the king in the 2007 film 300 and its 2014
follow-up 300: Rise of an Empire it highlights both the continuing audience-
appeal of Xerxes as a figure with the ability to fascinate and entertain and the
ongoing capacity, almost 2,500 years after the historical Xerxes’ invasion of
Greece, of portrayals of his character to incite controversy.
The strands of the Xerxes-traditions explored in the chapters of this book
reveal a Persian king who assumes multiple guises, each of them shaped in
varying degrees by developing traditions and by the authorial choices of those
who engaged in the act of imagining him for fresh audiences and in new
historical and artistic contexts. For some he is the brutal despot at the head of
a massive army, whose enslaving mission is reflected in his whipping of subor-
dinates or his cruel mutilation of those who arouse his displeasure. Elsewhere
he becomes the converse of this fearsome dictator, either as the wretched and
lamenting king stripped of both his royal garb and his dignity, or as a casualty
 Introduction: Encountering Xerxes 9

of the vacillations of fortune, driven back to his homeland humiliated and

with only a single ship to carry him there. He can also be pensive, exchanging
arrogant self-congratulation for a moment of contemplation which highlights
a broader truth about human existence. In other contexts too he becomes part
of a bigger picture – that of the dynasty into which he was born. Here he is his
father’s son and his grandfather’s grandson, a representative of the unchanging
values of the Achaemenid royal line and the upholder of stability and continuity
for his subjects. On rare occasions Xerxes can be generous, pious and tolerant,
dispensing largesse to those who seek his assistance. Meanwhile he is envisaged
by others as enthroned in the inner chambers of his palace, a decadent playboy
at the centre of a vision of lascivious sensuality, court intrigue and harem
politics. This astounding array of images, with their potential for inspiring
drama and romance, their ability to provoke reflection or criticism, and their
capacity to educate and entertain, bears witness to the far-reaching literary
impact of the Greeks’ historical encounter with Xerxes.
2. Atossa’s dream. Based on a 1778 sketch by George Romney
 1

Staging Xerxes: Aeschylus and Beyond

The viewer of an artistic depiction of the dream-vision seen by Aeschylus’

Persian queen (Plate 2, based on George Romney’s 1778 sketch, ‘Atossa’s
Dream’)1 could be forgiven for failing at first to identify the figure who lies
prostrate in the foreground. Raising his hand to his head in a gesture of despair,
and stripped bare of the rich royal garments which might provide clues about
his status or identity, he lies humiliated and pathetic, cast out from his chariot
and watched over by an anxious bearded spectator – the ghost of his father –
who is powerless to intervene. The women who stand over him, personifications
of Asia and Greece, are no longer restrained beneath the harness attached to
his chariot; his attempt to join them together in subjection to his command has
been catastrophically thwarted. The wretched character seen here – unrecog-
nizable as the fearsome warring king who marched on Greece with a military
force of millions at his disposal – is the imagined Xerxes whom Aeschylus
chose to present to the audience of his Persians. He is a Xerxes created within
the theatrical context of a tragic drama; pictured by the Chorus at the start
of the play as the formidable invader who struck terror into the hearts of the
Greeks, the king is transformed in the course of the tragedy into a grief-stricken
spectacle who eventually appears before us in rags and bereft of his vast army.
By envisaging the reaction at the Persian court to news of the Athenian
victory at Salamis the Persians – the only surviving text of an Aeschylean trilogy
produced in 472 bc, with Pericles as choregus2 – presents to us a Xerxes who at

1
For an alternative artistic rendering of the queen’s dream see also John Flaxman’s 1795 illustration
from his Compositions from the Tragedies of Aeschylus (reproduced by Hall 1996, p. 32).
2
The hypothesis to the Persians tells us that the other plays in the trilogy, and the accompanying
satyr play, were on mythical themes; see Hall (1996) pp. 10–11 for a discussion. On the question
of whether, as choregus, Pericles could have exercised any control over the play’s subject matter or
content see Garvie (2009), pp. xviii–xix.
12 Imagining Xerxes

first displays many of the characteristics which would come to be adopted in

later literary depictions of the barbarian invader.3 Here was an enemy capable of
inspiring terror and awe, who had threatened the homeland and the lives of the
Greeks; in articulating the absolute fear felt at his advance, the ultimate victors
were also able to express their pride in their own success at overcoming the
Persians against all odds. At the same time, however, Xerxes’ defeat – precisely
because it had seemed at first that all was weighted in his favour – reduced the
king, in the eyes of the triumphant Greeks at least, to a pathetic figure, one
who might be viewed with derision or perhaps even pity.4 For the Athenian
spectators in the Theatre of Dionysus in 472 bc, many of whom would actually
have fought at Salamis, Aeschylus’ tragedy – the first Greek cultural response to
the figure of Xerxes which survives in its entirety and the only extant example
of a tragic play based on a historical theme5 – evoked memories of events which
had taken place less than eight years previously. As a piece of tragic theatre, this
first configuration of Xerxes is shaped by the requirements of the drama; this
has an impact upon the presentation of his character in terms both of the play’s
moral dimension and the visual and aural elements of the way in which he is
envisaged. An analysis of the play’s presentation of the Persian king will demon-
strate the ways in which Aeschylus’ audience encountered his version of Xerxes
– a theatrical impersonation of the then still-living barbarian ruler6 – and the
dramatic process by which the play uses the tools at the tragedian’s disposal to

3
The role of Xerxes here cannot be divorced from the play’s ideological construction of Persia. Said
(1978, p. 21) saw Persians as an early example of the phenomenon of ‘Orientalism’, describing it as
a ‘highly artificial enactment of what a non-Oriental has made into a symbol for the whole Orient’.
The construction of the opposition between Greeks and barbarians in the play was first explored
in detail by Hall (1989), pp. 56–100; this is updated in Hall (2006), pp. 184–224. See also Hall
(1993) and Harrison (2000). On the suggestion that the play presents an ideological opposition
between democracy and tyranny as political systems, see below, p. 20 n. 28. Note, however, that the
presentation of Darius in the play as representing a more benevolent and sagacious style of kingship
than that of his son complicates the picture of a straightforward Greek/barbarian dichotomy or a
clear-cut opposition between democracy and tyranny; the differentiation of the kings in this way
reflects negatively on Xerxes as an individual. See pp. 26–30 below.
4
On the possibility of a variety of audience responses to Aeschylus’ Xerxes see p. 35.
5
Tragedies on historical themes are attested prior to this date, but none has survived. Earlier
examples include Phrynichus’ Sack of Miletus, thought by most scholars to have been produced in
the late 490s bc, which dramatized the capture and destruction of Miletus by the Persians in 494,
during the Ionian revolt. Later Phrynichus produced another historical tragedy, the Phoenician
Women; the ancient Alexandrian hypothesis to Aeschylus’ Persians suggests that Aeschylus’ play
was modelled upon Phrynichus’ tragedy and quotes the opening line as well as asserting that in the
play the defeat of Xerxes was reported by a eunuch who was setting out thrones for officials. See
Rosenbloom (1993) and Roisman (1988). Hall (1996), pp. 7–9 provides an overview of the ancient
testimonies regarding later Greek tragedies on historical themes. See Garvie (2009), pp. ix–xv for a
detailed discussion of Persians as ‘historical tragedy’.
6
Xerxes was assassinated seven years later, in 465 bc. See pp. 131–2 below.
 Staging Xerxes: Aeschylus and Beyond 13

erode gradually the magnificent image of a fearsome enemy which is envisaged

in the parodos.
Despite the focus on the defeat of Xerxes’ force at Salamis the king himself
actually appears only after over 900 lines of the text.7 Although he is literally
absent from the stage for much of the play, however, his presence is felt
throughout in the words spoken by the Chorus and by other characters: the
Queen, the messenger and Darius. This chapter will explore the ways in which
their perspectives on Xerxes both anticipate his eventual arrival at the Persian
court and create a series of images highlighting significant elements of his
personality and behaviour as conceived in the early stages of the evolution of the
Xerxes-traditions. By using striking visual imagery in the words of the Chorus,
the Queen’s report of her dream foreshadowing Xerxes’ failure, and the messen-
ger’s description of the actual defeat at Salamis, when the prophecy seen in the
dream becomes a reality, Aeschylus stages the decline of his offstage protagonist.
Before Xerxes himself appears we are also offered an image of what might
have been, in the form of the ghost of his father Darius, whose dramatically
contrived presence in the play as a representative of past royal splendour and
success serves to highlight the inadequacy of his son; Xerxes’ predecessor also
pronounces an ethical judgement on his actions. Xerxes’ eventual appearance
on stage is the final spectacular chapter in the tragic drama, which culmi-
nates with an outpouring of emotional anguish from the Greeks’ vanquished
foe; he embodies the Persians’ humiliation and, by association, the triumph
of the Greeks. This tragic Xerxes would inspire a range of literary responses
throughout antiquity and beyond; the present chapter will also examine closely
one performative re-interpretation of his character, a dithyramb composed by
Timotheus of Miletus sixty or more years after Aeschylus’ Persians, which illus-
trates the way in which Aeschylus’ theatrical character could be adapted in a
new artistic and historical context.

7
For this reason some commentators have seen the Persians as a nostos play, that is, one whose focus
is on the return of a central character from a mission or expedition (as with Odysseus’ homecoming
in the Odyssey): Taplin (1977), p. 124. The nostos-theme is alluded to early on in the play, when the
Chorus divulge that they are worried about the king’s homecoming (νόστῳ τῷ βασιλείῳ, 7). Xerxes
is already conspicuous by his absence in the play’s opening lines: he is among those Persians who
have ‘gone to Greece’ (1–2), and attention is drawn to the fact that the Chorus of elders have been
appointed to oversee matters in his absence (3–7).
14 Imagining Xerxes

First impressions: The formidable foe

It is within the parodos of the Persians – sung by a Chorus of elderly Persian

advisors who express their anxiety about the condition of the Persian army and
its commander8 – that we find the play’s first image of the as yet absent Xerxes,
set in the context of his leadership of the expedition to Greece. It is an image
of royal splendour and one which conveys a sense of the fearsome appearance
of the mighty king and his vast army; the Chorus’ description also reflects
the haughty self-assurance of the king as he set out on his mission to Greece.
This is a king imagined at the height of his power and confidence, shaped by
Aeschylus’ need at the start of his play to set up his Xerxes for the crushing
fall which will be enacted in the course of the tragedy. Having set the scene by
listing the contingents of the Persian force and its commanders in an epic-style
catalogue9 which serves to emphasize the size of the military force under Xerxes’
command, the Chorus conjure a mental picture of the king as he undertakes his
expedition:10

The King’s army, which annihilates cities,

has already passed over to our neighbours’ land opposite,
crossing the strait named after Helle,
Athamas’ daughter, on a floating bridge bound with flaxen ropes,
yoking the neck of the sea with a roadway bolted together.

The raging leader of populous Asia

drives his godlike flock against every land
in two movements: an equal of the gods, born of the golden race,
he trusts in his stalwart
and stubborn commanders both on land and on the sea.

He casts from his eyes the dark

glance of a lethal snake;
with numerous soldiers and numerous sailors
he speeds on in his Syrian chariot,
leading an Ares armed with the bow against famous spearsmen.

8
Here, as throughout the play, the Chorus voice the perspective of Xerxes’ Persian subjects on the
actions of their king, as contrasted with the obviously royal viewpoints from within his immediate
family which are later provided by the characters of the Queen and the ghost of Darius. Schenker
(1994) suggests that the Chorus provide a ‘national’ perspective on the situation, as contrasted with
what he describes as the ‘personal’ view of the Queen.
9
On epic language and imagery in the play see further Saïd (2007), pp. 76–9.
10
Translations of Persians used in this chapter are those of Hall (1996).
 Staging Xerxes: Aeschylus and Beyond 15

No one is so renowned for valour

that they can withstand such a huge flood of men,
and ward them off with sturdy defences.
(Persians 65–89)

The Chorus’ recollection of the sight of Xerxes, sacker of cities, at the head of
his immense army, offers a visual snapshot of the king in his role as powerful
invader and incorporates several of the key topoi relating to Xerxes – recurring
literary motifs which would come to characterize him in discourse surrounding
the Persian Wars. The impression created here is one which draws primarily
on Xerxes’ capacity to induce terror; the image also highlights themes which
were to become embedded in the Greek imagination as symbolizing his
invasion of Greece. Of crucial significance is the reference to Xerxes’ bridging
of the Hellespont, an episode which in later texts would come to function as
shorthand for the arrogance and transgressive behaviour of the king. References
to the crossing from Asia into Greece in the literary tradition, beginning with
Aeschylus’ play, also turned the actual event into something with a deeper
symbolic meaning; it would come to represent Xerxes’ exercise of his despotic
power and imperial ambition as well as his mission to enslave the Greeks in
order to incorporate them into his already vast empire. The image here of the
sea as having a yoke (ζυγόν, 71)11 placed about its neck metaphorically implies
that it is a living being, to be tamed, just as Xerxes attempted to subdue Greece
and its inhabitants with the ‘yoke’ of slavery (at line 130, too, the sea is also
described as ἀμφίζευκτον, ‘yoked from both sides’). The noun τὸ ζεῦγος had
been used since Homeric times to refer to a pair of beasts joined together
(e.g. Iliad 18.543), and the verb ζεύγνυμι also applied to the action of yoking,
harnessing or fastening together; with this suggestion of binding action it could
also, like the English term ‘wedlock’, be used to refer to marriage. Aeschylus’
play is, however, the earliest evidence of the application of vocabulary relating
to yoking to the joining of opposite banks with bridges. While the metaphor is
a logical one in the context, the fact that frequently in Greek literature from this
point on the term is applied to Xerxes’ bridge might indicate that the Persian
invasion itself suggested this particular usage of the terminology. Elsewhere in

11
In relation to the crossing itself the most striking image of yoking is in the Queen’s account of her
dream; see pp. 19–21 for an analysis. Darius also describes Xerxes as having treated the sea like a
slave by using ‘fetters’ (δεσμώμασιν, 745) and ‘hammered shackles’ (πέδαις σφυρηλάτοις, 747) to
constrain it. On the significance of the image of the yoke throughout the play see further Michelini
(1982), pp. 81–6 and M. Anderson (1972), pp. 167–8. Hall (1996), ad 50 analyses the link between
‘yoking’ and political subjugation in early Greek thought. See further Brock (2013), pp. 108–9 on
the use of imagery relating to the control of animals in relation to Persian conquest.
16 Imagining Xerxes

the play the Chorus assert that the inhabitants of Tmolus are ‘set on casting the
yoke of slavery (ζυγὸν ἀμφιβαλεῖν δούλιον) onto Greece’, and later the Persians
themselves are described as being ‘yoked’ under Xerxes’ regime (591–4, where
they imagine themselves as being able to speak freely once this yoke has been
removed).
While the Hellespont crossing acts here as shorthand for the invasion as a
whole, aggression and hostility are Xerxes’ defining personal characteristics
in the image conjured up by the Chorus. Their description of him as θούριος
(‘raging’, 74) relates to the Iliadic epithet for Ares,12 the god who personified the
brutality and bloodshed of war, and whose name is also used in this description
as a metaphor for the army led by Xerxes; the king himself is imagined as a
deadly snake, or dragon (the Greek here is δράκων, 82), whose very gaze is
sinister.13 Meanwhile his army is one which fights not with the spear, like the
hoplite soldiers of Athens, but with the bow (85), which came to symbolize
Persian warfare in Greek discourse;14 here and throughout the play – notably
at the end of the parodos, where the Chorus wonder ‘Has the drawn bow won,
or has the mighty pointed spear been victorious?’ (147–9) – the two sides are
distinguished from one another by the different weaponry which they use.15 The
thematic significance of the chariot from which Xerxes commands his troops,
although not emphasized here, will also later become clear with the Queen’s
recollection of the dream which symbolizes his defeat.
The deadly combination of Xerxes’ overwhelming power and his potential
for causing destruction is accompanied too by a sense that here is a leader
deemed to be no ordinary mortal. The Greek translated here as ‘an equal of the
gods’ (ἰσόθεος φώς, 80), emphasizes Xerxes’ status as φώς, a mortal, yet suggests
a comparison with the divine either in his actions or his attitude, although the
suggestion that the Chorus think of him as actually being a god does not come
until later in the play (157, where they refer to him as θεός); later Darius too
is described as both δαίμων (620) and θεός (643). While there is no evidence

12
Hall (1996), ad 73, referring to Iliad 15.127. The Queen also refers to Xerxes as θούριος when
describing to Darius his expedition (718, 754). Garvie (2009), ad 73–80 notes that the Chorus
intend their use of the epithet as a compliment, but that the Queen’s use of the same adjective carries
a negative connotation.
13
Garvie (2009), ad 81–6 offers a detailed summary of the literary precedents for this description.
14
Hall (1989), pp. 85–6; see also Sancisi-Weerdenburg (1993b), p. 130. Root (1979), pp. 164–9
examines the association of the bow with Persian kings in Achaemenid art, suggesting that
Aeschylus’ play may reflect this tradition.
15
Cf. 26, 31, 55, 239–40, 278, 555, 926, 1020–3. On Xerxes’ reference to the empty quiver which he
carries at the end of the play see below, pp. 33–4. Note too that at line 817 Darius refers to the spears
which will destroy the Persians at Plataea as ‘Dorian’, in an acknowledgement of the role played by
Sparta in that battle.
 Staging Xerxes: Aeschylus and Beyond 17

to suggest that the Persians actually believed their kings to be divine (see also
below, p. 25 with n. 42, on the representation of the practice of proskynēsis),
Aeschylus’ misrepresentation of the Chorus’ perception of their royal masters
as gods serves a dramatic purpose here; for an Athenian audience to whom the
notion of worshipping a mortal would be abhorrent it emphasized the Persians’
difference from themselves as well as highlighting further the Chorus’ status as
slave subjects.16
At the same time the description emphasizes the Persians’ imagined confi-
dence in the mission which, they suggest here, cannot possibly fail (it will
become apparent, however, that this confidence is at odds with the concerns
voiced elsewhere by the Chorus for the safety of the king and his army). The
notion that it would be impossible for anyone to withstand such an onslaught is
reiterated throughout the parodos as the Chorus repeatedly stress the immense
size of the force which Xerxes has at his command. They frequently highlight
the fact that the whole of Asia has gone to Greece (11, 56–7, 61), and the use
of words beginning with πολυ- (πολύανδρος, ‘populous’ at 74; πολύχειρ κὰι
πολυναύτας, ‘with numerous soldiers and numerous sailors’ at 83) stresses the
sheer size of the military force under the authority of the king. A Homeric-
style simile later reinforces this impression of immeasurable numbers: ‘all the
cavalry and all the infantry, like a swarm of bees, have left with the leader of the
army’ (128–9, cf. Iliad 2.87–90).17 This in turn allows Aeschylus to remind his
audience of the awe and terror which Xerxes and his advancing army inspired
in the Greeks whose homeland they invaded, as well as setting up the king for
the overwhelming calamity whose aftermath will later be played out on stage for
the gratification of the spectators in the theatre.
This vision of a formidable enemy thus acts as our introduction to Xerxes
at the start of the Persians; yet despite his terror-inducing appearance he had
ultimately been no match for the Athenians who routed his fleet at Salamis.
From this point in the play there begins a process by which the picture of the
fearsome aggressor is gradually eroded; the culmination of this is the eventual
melodramatic appearance of Xerxes on the stage upon his return to Susa.

16
Harrison (2000), pp. 87–91. While Hall (1996), ad 76–80 suggests that the reference to Xerxes as
ἰσόθεος φώς carries ‘overtones of excessive aggrandisement’ in the context of a tragedy, note contra
Garvie (2009), ad 73–80, asserting that the epithet, which frequently describes a hero in Homer,
‘need not indicate Xerxes’ hybris or presumption’.
17
M. Anderson (1972), p. 169 considers the significance of this simile. Harrison (2000), pp. 66–75
explores the emphasis on Persian numbers, discussing the link between this and the theme of
the ‘emptiness’ of Asia which is highlighted in the play. On the use of the term πλῆθος, which
is associated in the play both with abundance and with multitudes of people, see also Michelini
(1982), pp. 86–96.
18 Imagining Xerxes

Already by the end of the parodos the Chorus’ tone has reverted from the
awestruck reverence for their leader seen in the description of Xerxes and his
army to something which resembles the foreboding which they expressed at
the very start of their song (8–11). Despite their apparent confidence in the
invincibility of the Persian army the elders remain uneasy about the invasion
(92–100), musing on the fact that mortal men may find it hard to avoid both
the cunning deception of a god and the lure of Atē.18 They go on to suggest that
although fate, ordained by the gods, dictated that the Persians should engage
in wars of conquest (102–5),19 it was the act of setting their sights on the sea
which meant that they overstretched themselves.20 This train of thought again
reminds the Chorus of the crossing of the Hellespont (113–14). It is specifi-
cally this element of the expedition, rather than the mere fact of the attempted
subjugation of Greece, which is the source of their fear (116), and their reflec-
tions lead to a prediction of the scenes of mourning in Susa which will result
from the Persians’ defeat (121–5); the vision here of the women of Susa tearing
their clothes in the act of lamentation foreshadows the play’s final scene where
it is in fact Xerxes and the Chorus who rend their garments (1030, 1060). At
this point it is noteworthy that Xerxes himself is not yet singled out for explicit
censure; his subjects, despite their concerns, express no disapproval for his
personal conduct, instead referring to the Persians as being collectively respon-
sible for this course of action. This is perhaps unsurprising given the Chorus’
subordinate status and the emphasis which they have placed on the supreme
power of the king. It is only later in the play, once the extent of the disaster has
become clear, that they become more explicit in apportioning blame to Xerxes
(see below, pp. 24–5 and p. 33).

18
Atē is here the personification of the delusion sent by the gods to lead mortals to reckless action and
thus disaster. The notion that the gods conspired against Xerxes is also reiterated by the messenger
(361–2, 373; see below, p. 22) and by the Queen (472–3; see p. 24). Winnington-Ingram (1973)
considers the level of blame which is apportioned to divine agents by the play’s different characters.
On the question of the degree of personal responsibility which is carried by Xerxes, see Podlecki
(1993), pp. 58–64.
19
On the suggestion in the Persians that Xerxes was under pressure to measure up to the standards
set by his ancestors, see below, p. 28. We might also compare here the Herodotean picture of Xerxes
as following in the footsteps of his forebears in embarking on a war designed to foster imperial
expansion (discussed at pp. 61–2).
20
The suggestion that the Athenians are naturally accustomed to seafaring as contrasted with the
Persians, who are very much presented as a land-based power, recurs throughout the play: Pelling
(1997, ed.), pp. 6–9.
 Staging Xerxes: Aeschylus and Beyond 19

Defeated in a dream

It is the Queen who next gives voice to the sense of foreboding which is apparent
by the end of the parodos.21 Introduced by the Chorus as ‘the mother of the King’
(151) and then addressed by them as ‘aged mother of Xerxes and Darius’ wife’
(156) she is defined here in terms of her relationship to Xerxes and his father22
and creates a strong visual impression as she enters the stage on a chariot and
in her finery.23 Her primary role here is to articulate a dramatic vision which
foreshadows the news of Xerxes’ defeat and his later arrival on the stage. The
Queen’s anxiety relating to the expedition focuses primarily on Xerxes’ personal
safety (168–9) and has been brought about by the image she has seen in a dream.
The vision she describes (181–99) expands upon the Chorus’ allusion to Xerxes’
bridging of the Hellespont and the ‘yoking’ of two continents;24 here, however,
her son is powerless and demeaned, no longer the imposing commander seen
in the Chorus’ opening song.
The Queen describes having seen two women whose clothes (one wears
‘Persian’ robes, the other ‘Doric’ garments, 182–3) signify that they are personi-
fications of Persia and Greece; when the two quarrelled Xerxes ‘tried to restrain
and mollify them; he harnessed them both beneath his chariot and put a yoke-
strap beneath their necks (ἅρμασιν δ’ ὑπο / ζεύγνυσιν αὐτὼ καὶ λέπαδν’ ὑπ’
αὐχένων / τίθησι)’ (190–2). This reference to Xerxes’ attempt to subjugate Hellas
and join it to Asia mirrors the imagery used by the Chorus earlier; significantly,
too, the reference to Xerxes’ chariot – used here as a tool in the exercise of his
rule – calls to mind the Chorus’ earlier description of him (84) as riding in a
chariot when commanding his troops.25 By contrast with the Chorus’ presen-
tation of his unassailable power, however, on this occasion Xerxes’ exercise of

21
Critical responses to the Queen – who is not named in the text but has been identified with Atossa,
the daughter of Cyrus, who is found in Herodotus’ account (Broadhead 1960, p. xxvi) – vary in
their assessment of how far the audience is expected to sympathize with her: Sancisi-Weerdenburg
(1983), p. 24, for example, sees her as a ‘model of motherly care’, while Harrison (1996), p. 82–3
suggests that her very appearance in a political context implies a negative judgement and plays on
Greek perceptions of the influence of royal women at the Persian court (cf. Brosius 1996, p. 105).
McClure (2006) considers the Queen’s primary role in the play as one in which she is used as a
means of framing Xerxes’ return and intensifying his public humiliation at the end of the play. For
an overview of the scholarly debate on her character see Dominick (2007), pp. 436–41.
22
On the notion that she is the wife and mother of Persian gods (expressed at 157) and the implied
suggestion that the Chorus therefore believe both Darius and Xerxes to be divine see Garvie (2009),
ad loc.
23
See 607–8, with Hall (1996) and Garvie (2009), ad loc.
24
See above, p. 15. Saïd (2007), pp. 88–9 discusses some of the ways in which the images presented in
the Queen’s dream relate to the rest of the play.
25
On the depiction of the royal chariot in Persian art, and its significance in Persian ideology as part
of the royal insignia, see Briant (2002), pp. 223–5.
20 Imagining Xerxes

imperial command is challenged by what follows. Although one of the women

submits to the yoke, the other resists aggressively, tears the harness from the
chariot and smashes the yoke in two; Xerxes falls from the vehicle (196). By
being violently hurled from the chariot which was a distinctive feature of his
appearance in the Chorus’ earlier description, Xerxes is symbolically stripped of
one of the material assets used to define him in the play.26 In the dream as well
as in the reality recently experienced by the Greeks Xerxes’ attempt at control
has been thwarted; in the Queen’s vision he is reduced to a state of passivity and
helplessness. While Darius can only look on in pity Xerxes tears his robes in
grief (198–200): these elements of the dream-scene prefigure both Darius’ later
appearance in the play and Xerxes’ own onstage response to the disaster (to be
discussed below, pp. 26–30 and 30–5).
The Queen’s premonition of the outcome of Xerxes’ expedition is accom-
panied too by a bird-omen, the defeat of an eagle by a hawk (207–10), which
mirrors the theme of the defeat of an apparently stronger power by a weaker
one. Yet despite her terror as witness to these portents (210–11) the Queen
remains confident in her son’s supreme authority over his own people (212–14).
While a successful outcome would win him admiration, her words make it clear
that so long as he is still alive, his position as king is secure, for, as sole ruler, he
is unaccountable to the community (οὐχ ὑπεύθυνος πόλει, 213).27 The implied
contrast between the rule exercised by Xerxes and the political system at Athens
is later highlighted in the Queen’s questioning of the Chorus as to the identity of
the Athenians who, she learns ‘are neither the slaves nor subjects of any single
man’ (242).28 As conceived of by the Queen, then, any disaster is one whose
consequences for Xerxes himself relate more to the king’s personal humiliation

26
On the question of whether Xerxes is in a chariot when he eventually appears on the stage, see
below, n. 56.
27
For Herodotus, the accountability of individuals in positions of power is specifically associated with
a democratic constitution (see Hdt. 3.80).
28
Here the Queen uses the Greek term ποιμάνωρ, ‘shepherd’ (241) in formulating her assumption that
the Athenians must be subject to a sole ruler; this echoes the Chorus’ earlier description of Xerxes’
army as his ‘flock’ (ποιμανόριον, 75). On the significance of the Queen’s questioning of the Chorus
in relation to the construction of an ideological opposition between Athens (as a democracy) and
Persia (as a tyranny), see Goldhill (1988) and Harrison (2000), pp. 76–91. This contrast between
Greek and Persian political models in the play is also discussed by Kantzios (2004) in the context of
a study of the use of fear as an instrument of rule. On the broader issue of the relationship between
the performance of tragedy and civic ideology see Goldhill (1987 and 2000). Rhodes (2003) argues
that some features of tragedy which have been ascribed to its performance in the context of a
democracy relate more broadly to polis ideology rather than specifically to democratic ideology;
see also Griffin (1998), suggesting that, while some individual plays deal with political themes, the
phenomenon of tragic performance cannot be seen as primarily political in its motivation. Griffith
(1998) discusses some of the ways in which tragedy explores socio-political relations and suggests
(pp. 43–8) that elements of the Athenian audience may still relate to the notion of elite political rule,
and perhaps even feel nostalgia for this during the evolution of democracy.
 Staging Xerxes: Aeschylus and Beyond 21

than to any notion that his position as ruler might be called into question.29 It
is this humiliation which is later played out on the stage as the ragged Xerxes
laments the loss of his forces; with the arrival of the messenger the audience is
taken one step closer to this final vision of the disgraced king.

The dream becomes reality

The messenger’s narrative of events at Salamis is the means by which the

Queen and the Chorus first learn what the theatre audience already knows –
that Xerxes’ navy has been defeated and that he is on his way back to Persia
with what remains of his fighting force. To begin with the onstage characters
are left in suspense as to the condition of the king himself; the messenger’s
initial emphasis is on the great losses sustained by the forces, as he announces
melodramatically that ‘the whole barbarian force has perished’ (255). His first
exchange with the Chorus makes no mention of Xerxes, providing instead a
summary of events which links with the Chorus’ earlier description of the size
of Xerxes’ force by focusing on the numbers of Persian dead (260, 272–3, 278).
The emphasis on numbers, both of the size of the fleet, and of the Persian dead,
is a striking feature of the messenger’s speech and mirrors the way in which
Aeschylus builds up a picture of the scale of the disaster throughout the play.30
It is the Queen’s interruption which brings the focus back to her son, as she
asks which leaders have survived and which perished (296–8); the messenger
correctly interprets her question as a demand for news of Xerxes and reports
that ‘Xerxes himself lives and looks upon the light’ (299).
The Queen’s expression of her relief at the news of her son’s survival (301–2)
is followed by the messenger’s catalogue of the Persian commanders who lost
their lives in the battle. By contrast with the catalogue of the parodos which
advertised the extent of Xerxes’ power, this list of the fallen serves to create
the impression of total disaster and begins the dramatic process by which
Aeschylus reveals the full extent of the humiliation of Xerxes’ defeat. The scale
of the reversal is given further emphasis as the messenger reminds his audience

29
This of course accords with the historical reality that Xerxes’ power apparently remained undimin-
ished by his failure in Greece. No territory was lost, and the campaign related only to a
proportionally small frontier of the vast Persian empire; in fact many Greeks had fought alongside
Xerxes rather than against him, and many remained Persian subjects in the years after the invasion
of mainland Greece. By contrast it suited the rhetoric glorifying the Athenians’ achievements to
present the defeat as a total disaster for Xerxes.
30
Saïd (2007), pp. 71–3.
22 Imagining Xerxes

that the king’s fleet vastly outnumbered that of the Greeks: a thousand or more
Persian ships as opposed to the Greeks’ 300.31 Once again we are reminded of
the parodos, and the Chorus’ expression there of their belief that numerical
superiority will guarantee a Persian victory; the Queen suggests here too that
Xerxes’ own confidence in the size of his navy may have spurred him on to
engage in the sea battle (352).
While the messenger’s account of the actual battle (384–432) is focused
primarily upon evoking a sense of the sights and sounds of the action at sea,
his analysis of the prelude to this examines Xerxes’ role, raising the issue of
causation and the moral question – crucially important in the context of a
tragic drama – of where the blame for the disaster should fall. In keeping with
the Chorus’ earlier assertion that mortals might be deceived by an ill-willed
deity (92–100; see above, p. 18) he too suggests that divine interference is at
least partly responsible for what has occurred (354).32 Significantly he also
alludes to the ruse by which Themistocles tricked the Persians into fighting
in the narrow strait,33 highlighting Xerxes’ error of judgement in falling for
the trick. On two occasions here the messenger explicitly refers to a failure of
understanding on Xerxes’ part (361–2, 373);34 the king’s tactical ineptitude is
thus implicitly contrasted with the brilliant strategic abilities of the Athenians’
naval commander. It is at this point in the narrative that we can detect the early
beginnings of a strand of the Xerxes-tradition in which the king, on the basis
of his failings, might (at least from the perspective of the Athenian audience)
be perceived as an object of derision. Although, like the Chorus earlier in the
play, the messenger makes no overt criticism of his master, there is nonetheless
a suggestion here that – despite having apparently had the odds stacked in

31
The Greek text here is ambiguous and could be taken to mean that the Persians had either a
thousand or 1207 ships; the number of Greek ships could be either 300 or 310.
32
Winnington-Ingram (1973) examines the way in which religious ideas are presented in the
Persians, pointing out that, while the Chorus and the messenger refer to the gods’ jealousy and
deceit as a cause of the disaster, Darius attributes it to the Persians’ own acts of hybris, punishable
by Zeus. He suggests that this apparent contradiction is crucial to the structure of the play and that
it draws attention to the notion of human responsibility as well as acting as a warning against acts
of hybris.
33
The story, in which Themistocles was said to have been responsible for devising the plan to lure
the Persian fleet into battle, is related by Herodotus (8.75). Aeschylus’ version does not name
Themistocles (no individual Athenian is named in the play); the messenger gives only a brief outline
of the story in which ‘a Greek man’ (355) is said to have come from the Athenian force with the
message that the Greeks were planning to flee. Podlecki (1999), pp. 15–26 argues for a pro-Themis-
toclean reading of the play as a whole. Although the date of Themistocles’ actual ostracism (whether
before or after the performance of Persians) is disputed, he was certainly under attack at Athens by
472. On the chronology of his career see Lenardon (1959).
34
See also 391–2 where he alludes to the terror of the barbarians in general once they realized that
they were ‘mistaken in their expectation’.
 Staging Xerxes: Aeschylus and Beyond 23

his favour owing to the vastly superior size of his force – Xerxes’ military
failure could be ascribed to a lack of foresight. This error of judgement would
also form a key element of Herodotus’ assessment of Xerxes’ expedition (see
pp. 66–7).
Acting on the false information, and without pausing to consider the possi-
bility of a trick, Xerxes is said to have called his fleet to action immediately (361).
The king’s pre-battle address, related by the messenger using indirect speech,35
briefly outlines the plan to position his fleet in order to engage the Greek navy
(364–71) and culminates in a threat to have his men universally beheaded if all
does not go according to plan (369–71). The meting out of violent and arbitrary
punishment in the form of bodily mutilation came to be associated with the
idea of barbarian tyranny in Greek thought in the fifth century bc;36 Aeschylus’
play is our earliest evidence for the association of Xerxes with this practice. The
portrait of the king presented by the messenger here thus combines a sense of
his potential for inducing fear (this time among his own subjects rather than
among those against whom he was fighting) with the suggestion of tactical
ineptitude as well as a deluded confidence in the inevitability of a Persian
victory.
The ensuing description of the naval catastrophe and loss of Persian life
(presented in the messenger’s account as unprecedented in its scale, 431–2) is
bracketed by references to Xerxes’ commanding role; this allows the audience
an insight into his character as seen in the context of his military leadership.37
The total disaster at sea is further compounded by the hoplite engagement on
Psyttaleia (447–64), in which the troops sent there by the king are trapped
and slaughtered by Greek soldiers. Once again the messenger places emphasis
on Xerxes’ failure to anticipate this outcome (454).38 It is in the description of
Xerxes’ reaction to the disaster, however, that we find the most striking visual
image of the king in the messenger scene (465–70):

35
The use of reported speech here, and the way in which it distances the listener from the words of the
king, contrasts strongly with the immediacy of the messenger’s report of the stirring patriotic battle
cry of the Greeks at 402–5, which is rendered in direct speech and which calls for the liberation of
Greece.
36
Hall (1989), pp. 158–9. On bodily mutilation as practised by Xerxes as a form of punishment in
Herodotus’ account see below, p. 48. Persian sources suggest that this was not merely an imaginative
construct on the part of Greek writers, but that it had some basis in Persian practice.
37
Schenker (1994), p. 287 n. 13 points out that, by contrast with the Queen’s focus on Xerxes himself,
the messenger’s report ‘emphasizes the national rather than the personal’. Despite this the episode
is structured in such a way – with reference to Xerxes’ role at the beginning and end of the account
of Salamis – as to focus attention on the question of the extent to which the king is to blame for the
disaster.
38
Darius too comments on Xerxes as having been deluded in his actions: see pp. 27–30 below.
24 Imagining Xerxes

Xerxes wailed aloud as he saw the depth of the disaster. For he had a seat with
a clear view of the whole militia, a high bank close to the sea. He tore his robes
and shrilly screamed, and straightaway gave an order to the infantry, rushing
away in disorderly flight.

The messenger’s recollection of Xerxes sitting on his throne, observing the course
of the battle, evokes an image which was to become firmly established in literary
treatments of the Persian invasion, appearing in narratives of Thermopylae as
well as of Salamis.39 At this point he is distanced from the action, an observer of
the battle rather than a participant in it, whose own life is not in peril yet whose
misguided decisions have brought about the deaths of hordes of Persians. His
reaction to the disaster, described here by the messenger, provides – like the
image of Xerxes seen in the Queen’s dream – another example of the way in
which reported action in the text prefigures the action which will take place on
the stage at the end of the play; the rending of his garments and wailing aloud
anticipates Xerxes’ performance of these same actions in the play’s final scene.
Despite his distress at Salamis, however, he still continues to act as tyrannical
ruler over his subjects, giving orders to his infantry; this too can be seen to
anticipate the play’s final scene in which he reverts to his role as master over the
Chorus, directing their actions as they mourn the Persians’ losses (see p. 34).
The reaction of the onstage listeners to the messenger’s report of events at
Salamis returns the theatre audience’s attention to the question of responsibility
for the disaster. While the Queen’s immediate response is to blame a deity for
deceiving the Persians (472–3), she also frames the expedition as a whole as
a quest for vengeance against Athens on Xerxes’ part, and suggests too that it
is his actions in this regard which have brought suffering upon the Persians
(473–7):

The vengeance my son planned to exact from famous Athens turned bitter on
him, and the barbarians whom Marathon destroyed were not enough for him.
My son, expecting to exact requital for them, has brought on a multitude of
afflictions.40

Her analysis here mirrors the messenger’s suggestion that a combination of

divine malevolence and Xerxes’ own lack of foresight has brought about the
calamitous outcome. Soon afterwards, the Chorus too go further than before in

39
See below, pp. 54–5, on the image of the throne in Herodotus’ narrative.
40
The mention of Marathon here reminds the audience of Darius’ previous campaign against Greece;
this is perhaps designed to prepare us for the raising of his ghost in the next scene.
 Staging Xerxes: Aeschylus and Beyond 25

assigning a degree of blame to the king himself; in their ode sung shortly after
receiving the news of the catastrophe they lament (547–54):

For now the land of Asia mourns

emptied out of its men
Xerxes led them away popoi,
Xerxes destroyed them totoi,
Xerxes wrong-headedly drove everything on in seafaring ships.

The naming of Xerxes as a cause of the disaster, with the repetition of his name
at the beginning of three lines,41 is striking, and the notion of total destruction
articulated by the Chorus here ties in with the pervasive emphasis placed on the
annihilation of the entire Persian force throughout the play. Here the Chorus
also make their first implied comparison between Xerxes and his father – a
contrast which will later be developed further – by recalling that Darius brought
no harm to his citizens (555–7). Later in this same ode (584–94) the Chorus
go so far as to suggest that the king’s power has itself been destroyed, that
Xerxes’ subjects will no longer submit to his rule, and that now the ‘yoke’ of his
power has gone his people will speak freely against him; nor will they prostrate
themselves before him any longer (οὐδ’ εἰς γᾶν προπίτνοντες / ἄρξονται,
589–90). The allusion here to the practice of proskynēsis, which for the Greeks
should be performed only before gods,42 is another reminder of the difference
between Xerxes’ rule over his barbarian subjects and the freedom enjoyed by
the citizens of Athens. The Chorus’ assessment of the consequences of Xerxes’
defeat here also goes further than the Queen’s suggestion at 212–14 that though
Xerxes, if defeated, would fail to win admiration, he would not be subjected to
public scrutiny; their picture of a Xerxes who is weakened politically as well as
having had his military force destroyed taps into the triumphalist rhetoric of the
Athenian victors. This Xerxes is a far cry from the all-powerful leader envisaged
in the parodos; in this way we are brought closer to the anticipated revelation of
his wretched physical condition.

41
The translation given here mirrors the structure of the Greek text in this sense.
42
Hall (1996), ad 152 emphasizes the Greeks’ view of this as a degrading practice (see also Couch
1931), although Garvie (2009), ad 152 suggests that here it is merely an example of Aeschylus’
‘presenting the Persians as behaving in the way that his audience would expect’. Briant (2002), p. 222
notes that, as performed by the Persians, ‘contrary to what the Greeks deduced from it, the rite did
not imply that the king was considered a god’.
26 Imagining Xerxes

In the father’s shadow: Darius and Xerxes

Where often in tragedy a messenger scene immediately precedes the arrival of

the central character,43 in the case of the Persians the arrival of Xerxes onstage
is deferred by the episode in which Darius’ ghost is raised. The spectacle of
necromancy, while providing the theatre audience with an exotic and visually
striking display for their entertainment and therefore shaped to a large degree
by the dramatic requirements of a stage performance,44 also allows Aeschylus
to explore in detail the ethical comparison between Xerxes and his father. The
scene performs a further thematic and structural role in preparing us for the
entrance of the recently defeated king; Darius’ pronouncements concerning his
son’s actions inform the audience’s perception of Xerxes, and the evocation of a
contrast between father and son is a crucial element of Aeschylus’ presentation
of Xerxes’ character. The presence of the deceased king on stage also calls to
mind his role in the Queen’s dream, where he was described as standing by
and pitying the defeated Xerxes (καὶ πατὴρ παρίσταται/Δαρεῖος οἰκτίρων σφε,
197–8), although father and son are never actually brought face to face in the
course of the play. Darius’ assessment of Xerxes’ conduct is, however, far more
explicitly judgemental in the ghost-raising scene than in the Queen’s description
of her dream; it is the spectre of Xerxes’ predecessor who draws the audience’s
attention most clearly to the moral dimension of the invasion.
It is the Chorus who first draw attention to the comparison between father
and son; their hymn summoning Darius’ ghost (634–80) stresses their love and
respect for the deceased king (652–5; cf. 555–7, 671):

For he never killed our men

through the ruinous waste of war.
He was called godlike in counsel for the Persians, and godlike in counsel
He was, since he steered the army well.

By implication Xerxes, insofar as he failed to avert the Persians’ military catas-

trophe, is to be judged by the standards set by his father. The contrast between
the two kings is stressed still further by Darius himself; on learning of recent
events he comments that never since kings have ruled Asia has such a disaster
befallen the city of Susa (759–61), later boasting, ‘I went on military campaigns
with a large army, but I never brought such a great catastrophe on the city’

43
Taplin (1977), pp. 82–5.
44
Griffith (1998), p. 59 summarizes the visual and aural impression created by the figure of Darius’
ghost. On the staging of the scene see also Taplin (1977), pp. 114–19.
 Staging Xerxes: Aeschylus and Beyond 27

(780–1). The Chorus’ lavish eulogy of Darius’ rule after the departure of his ghost
(852–907) reinforces this impression; it begins with an exaggerated nostalgic
reflection on the excellence of Darius’ rule, obsequiously describing him as ‘the
old all-sufficing undamaging invincible godlike king Darius’ (855–6), then going
on to praise the dead king’s military exploits and to list the lands over which he
ruled.45 For the contrast with Darius to work here some subtle manipulation of
history is required, with the omission of any suggestion that Darius’ own policies
created a precedent for Xerxes’ actions. In fact his campaign against Greece,
which was thwarted at Marathon, was the forerunner of the more recent invasion,
and elsewhere he had suffered a great military humiliation when, having invaded
the Scythians’ territory (having accessed it by bridging the Bosporus, which
for Herodotus could serve as a parallel for Xerxes’ crossing of the Hellespont),
he was outwitted by them and forced to retreat. Where Herodotus’ account
would implicitly bring out the similarities between the campaigns of Darius and
Xerxes,46 the opposite is true of Aeschylus, who uses the contrast of father and
son as a means of drawing out a moralizing strand in his assessment of Xerxes.
It is the joining of Europe and Asia by means of the Hellespont bridge which
becomes the focus for Darius’ criticism of Xerxes’ actions. His incredulity that
his son has implemented such a plan (723) overlooks the fact that the building
of a bridge between continents is something which he too accomplished
as king of Persia; his subsequent analysis of the question of responsibility
combines a reflection upon the role of the gods with a denunciation of Xerxes
for his youthful folly and – mirroring the messenger’s assessment – his error of
judgement. Darius’ initial acceptance of the Queen’s suggestion that a δαίμων is
responsible for affecting Xerxes’ mind (724–5) later gives way to a more detailed
analysis of the situation in which he suggests that it is Zeus who has carried
out the destruction of the Persian force in fulfilment of prophecies; Xerxes’
rashness, however, hastened this pre-ordained disaster (739–42). It is not the
expedition itself but the crossing of the Hellespont which becomes for Darius
the manifestation of Xerxes’ folly (744–51):

And this was achieved by my son, uncomprehending (οὐ κατειδώς) in his

youthful audacity (νέῳ θράσει), the man who thought he could constrain
with fetters, like a slave, the sacred flowing Hellespont, the divine stream of

45
Hall (1996), ad 852–907 notes that many of the states in this list were Greek communities which
were once under Persian control, but which had been liberated by 472 bc: ‘The play’s ostensible
lament for the Persians’ lost domains functions for the audience as a celebration of the autonomy of
numerous Greek city-states.’
46
On Darius’ bridging of the Bosporus see Herodotus 4.87–8, cf. 3.134–4. For a discussion of further
parallels between Xerxes and Darius in Herodotus’ account, see below, pp. 59–60.
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