alt="Modern remains of the Theater of Dionysus, originally constructed in the 4th century BC."/>
Modern remains of the Theater of Dionysus, originally constructed in the 4th century BC.
Then in his early twenties, Pericles had been considered a shy boy, hardly noticed in the shadow of his politician father and patrician mother. But in fact he had spent his time preparing, studying everything from philosophy to military tactics to human nature. He knew that some people joked about his mother’s account of dreaming she had given birth to a lion the night he was born, but Pericles took the story seriously. Now he was ready to start making a name for himself.
Everything he had observed over his first two decades convinced Pericles that his city’s achievements – culminating in the defeat of the Persians – were attributable to the unique form of government that had taken shape in the previous century. After the Greeks had emerged from the murky period that followed the breakup of the Mycenæan civilization around 1100 BC, Athens was ruled by a series of aristocratic clans who raised armies and dispensed justice. These families also enriched themselves by assuming the debts of the less fortunate, and eventually taking their freedom when they were unable to repay. More and more of the population lived in a condition of virtual slavery, as wealth and power were concentrated in the hands of fewer and fewer families.
At the end of the sixth century, the situation came to a head. Cleisthenes, of the powerful Alcmæonid family (from which Pericles was descended through his mother), attempted a thorough overhaul of the government to outlaw the practice of enslavement for debt and to extend voting rights to a broader base of citizens. This would effectively disenfranchise the council of nobles, who were used to a more exclusive authority. Not surprisingly, the oligarchs objected, and a few established themselves as tyrants. Cleisthenes was exiled.
Then a remarkable thing happened. The rest of the upper classes allied with the common people and rose up against the tyrants. Besieged in the old temple on the Acropolis, the former oppressors had to sue for mercy before being exiled themselves. In 505 BC, Cleisthenes made a triumphant return, after which he codified his reforms in the Athenian constitution.55 According to this document, Athens was ruled by the Ecclesia, or people’s assembly, which voted directly on legislation and was open to all male citizens with two years of military experience. A smaller group of five hundred, the Boule, was chosen from the Ecclesia to prepare and propose the laws. The Ecclesia also elected the magistrates who ran the legal system and the military, as well as a large pool of jurors to serve at trials. The entire enterprise was based on the novel premise of isonomia, the equality of all citizens before the law.
Aristotle, The Athenian Constitution 3.17; see also Peter J. Brand, “Athens and Sparta: Democracy vs. Dictatorship,” Ancient World Online, available via https://umdrive.memphis.edu/pbrand/public/.
The result was the unprecedented participation of Athenians in their government, which became known as demokratia – rule by the demos, the free citizens in assembly. Over the centuries, critics have maintained that Athens was not a true democracy because slavery still existed and women were excluded from participating, as were those unable or unwilling to serve in the military. Even so, what was practiced in Athens became the paradigm of democracy in the West, the model that all future free systems would reference in some way. Cleisthenes’ reforms, moreover, ushered in a dazzling burst of creative excellence, producing seminal achievements in art, drama and philosophy. The tragedies that Aeschylus was presenting at the Theater of Dionysus were a part of this broader cultural ferment.
The playwright kicked at the wooden theater benches. “Not so many years ago,” he said, “we didn’t have seats at all. We sat on the ground and that was good enough for us. Now everything is fancy.”
“It can’t be too fancy for me,” Pericles replied. “I want to do your plays justice! They are noble things; the dignity of Darius is particularly impressive. But with all their wisdom and majesty, the Persians never understood that the root of their failure was to attack Athena’s city in the first place.”
“You may be an Athenian, but you should be careful assuming that you know what the gods are about, Pericles. Especially since your family . . . ” Aeschylus’s voice trailed off.
“Yes. The Alcmænidæ were once under a curse. I know that is what you were hinting at.”
“They murdered their enemies in Athena’s temple. No matter what the reason, that is an unforgivable sacrilege, like a child killing his parent.”
“But what if the parent committed a worse crime? Circumstances always matter. And our curse was lifted, so what my ancestors did couldn’t have been so very bad.” Pericles looked up at the ruins on the Acropolis. “Maybe one day I can wipe that slate completely clean.”
“What do you think Athena would say?” Aeschylus asked. “She would want her people to avoid these crimes and honor each other as they honor her. That’s more important than any passing political glory.”66
This sentiment is expressed by the goddess herself when she appears in the final act of Aeschylus’s Eumenides, the third in his trio of plays about the curse on the house of Agamemnon.
Pericles drew the playwright’s attention to the beautiful singing voice of the boy who was playing the part of Atossa, the Persian queen mother. But he could not help noting to himself that pericles literally meant “surrounded by glory.”
When The Persians made its formal debut the following day, Atossa came onto the stage consumed with worry. The expedition led by her son Xerxes against the Greeks should have been an all-but-certain victory, for he took with him the cream of the military force of the mightiest empire on earth. But Atossa received the shocking news that the Persian fleet had been devastated by the Greeks at Salamis.
The queen went to the tomb of her husband, Darius, who had been defeated by the Greeks in the first Persian invasion. His ghost appeared and told her that Xerxes had brought this calamity upon himself by building an enormous pontoon bridge across the Hellespont, thus uniting Europe and Asia.77 At some 1,350 yards wide, the bridge allowed Xerxes to move his immense army quickly from Persia into Greece; but it was an affront to the gods, who punished him for it.
Herodotus, The Histories 7.34–36.
Xerxes himself then appeared and walked to the center of the stage, with members of the chorus standing around him. He wore a rich, exotic robe, but it was dirty and torn, revealing wounds painted on in bright red, and his mask depicted an agonized scowl. He still could not comprehend the reason for his own suffering. The audience sat spellbound as the Persian king bemoaned his lot:
Ah me, how sudden have the storms of Fate,
Beyond all thought, all apprehension, burst
On my devoted head! O Fortune, Fortune!
With what relentless fury hath thy hand
Hurl’d desolation on the Persian race!
Wo unsupportable! The torturing thought
Of our lost youth comes rushing on my mind,
And sinks me to the ground. O Jove, that I
Had died with those brave men that died in fight!
The chorus asked the king over
