PERSIANS | The Podcast

Almost four years after the original podcast project, this amazing play is coming to the Abbey Theatre in March 2024. Presented on the Peacock stage, this will be an opportunity to hear and see this beautiful translation live.

For tickets and more information you can visit abbeytheatre.ie - we look forward to seeing you there!

During Dublin Theatre Festival in 2020, director Conor Hanratty
created a ten-episode series of podcasts introducing a new Irish-language translation
of Aeschylus’ tragedy Persians by Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill.

Now that we are can gather as audiences again, we begin 2022 with a live, unplugged version. This is a thrilling opportunity to encounter a rich new version of Europe’s oldest surviving play and to find a way in to understanding its retelling in Europe’s oldest spoken language, Irish.

Part of the ClassicsNow festival, 
Persians: The Podcast – Unplugged features performances by
Caitríona Ní Mhurchú, Bríd Ní Neachtain, Owen Roe and Iarla Ó Lionáird.
Presented with English surtitles.
Hosted and introduced by Conor Hanratty

January 23, 2022

Xerxes arrives and sings a lament with the Chorus,
bringing The Persians to a close.

October 2nd, 2020.

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when this and all future episodes come online,
please be sure to subscribe wherever you get your podcasts.

The Ghost and the Queen both depart, separately, and the Chorus is left
to contemplate the past. In their nostalgia they remember how it was when
Darius reigned, before this bitter reversal of fortune.

PERSIANS | The Podcast
Europe’s oldest play - in Europe’s oldest language.
As part of Dublin Theatre Festival 2020, PERSIANS | The Podcast
explores a project with an ancient future.

Supported by The Arts Council - An Comhairle Ealaoin.

The Ghost of Darius appears, horrified to hear the news of Persia’s defeat.
He attempts to explain why it has happened, foretells what misery still awaits,
and gives some advice for his son.

PERSIANS | The Podcast
Europe’s oldest play - in Europe’s oldest language.
As part of Dublin Theatre Festival 2020, PERSIANS | The Podcast
explores a project with an ancient future.

Supported by The Arts Council - An Comhairle Ealaoin.

The Chorus contemplates the awful news, and the Queen
plans to make offerings to the Dead.

PERSIANS | The Podcast
Europe’s oldest play - in Europe’s oldest language.
As part of Dublin Theatre Festival 2020, PERSIANS | The Podcast
explores a project with an ancient future.

Supported by The Arts Council - An Comhairle Ealaoin.

The Messenger continues, and says some of the play’s most famous (and noteworthy) lines.
He then finishes his account, explaining the extent of the Persian army’s destruction.

PERSIANS | The Podcast
Europe’s oldest play - in Europe’s oldest language.
As part of Dublin Theatre Festival 2020, PERSIANS | The Podcast
explores a project with an ancient future.

Supported by The Arts Council - An Comhairle Ealaoin.

Finally news arrives from the west,
confirming the worst fears of the chorus and the Queen.

PERSIANS | The Podcast
Europe’s oldest play - in Europe’s oldest language.
As part of Dublin Theatre Festival 2020, PERSIANS | The Podcast
explores a project with an ancient future.

Supported by The Arts Council - An Comhairle Ealaoin.

The Messenger:

 Now Artembares, the commander of ten thousand horsemen,
is being pounded against the rugged shores of Sileniae.
Dadakes, commander of a thousand,
was struck by a spear and so his body leapt out of his ship:
noble Tenagon,the Bactrian, now haunts the wave-battered island of Ajax.
Lilaios, Arsames and Argestes, vanquished all three,
now beat their heads against the tough rocks of the dove-breeding island.
Pharnouchos died, that son of the Egyptian Nile,
and three more fell from a single ship: Arkteus, Adeues and Peresseues.
Matallos of Chrysa, commander of ten-thousand, perished:
his full auburn beard was soaked,
and changed colour when it sank into the purple dye of the sea.
We lost Magus the Arab and Artabes the Bactrian,
leader or thirty-thousand dark-skinned horsemen:
he moved to a cruel land, and was killed there, too.  
And Amistris, and Amphistreus,
who wielded a spear tempered with woe,
and brave Ariomardos, who dispensed grief with his arrows,
and Seisames the Mysian;
and Tharybis, admiral of five times fifty ships;
a handsome Lyrnaean man he was.
There he lies, the poor man, having met his miserable fate.
And Syennesis, the bravest of them, leader of the Cilicians,
who brought more trouble to the enemy than any other one of us, met a glorious end.
This is what I can remember about the commanders,
but it’s only a small part of our great suffering. 

Now we meet the Queen, who comes onto the stage in a golden carriage
to tell the Chorus about her troubling dreams.

PERSIANS | The Podcast
Europe’s oldest play - in Europe’s oldest language.
As part of Dublin Theatre Festival 2020, PERSIANS | The Podcast
explores a project with an ancient future.

Supported by The Arts Council - An Comhairle Ealaoin.

QUEEN:

Ever since my son raised up the horde
To cross the world and to destroy the Greeks, 
I have been visited by nightly dreams. 
But last night’s was the most vivid I have seen. 
Two beautifully-dressed women appeared to me, 
One in Persian robes, one in Greek. 
Both were obviously very tall, larger than life, 
both utterly beautiful, both human - sisters. 
One lived in Greece, her homeland, 
for that was her lot, the other lived here, 
in this barbarian country. 

A fight seemed to be brewing between them, 
as I saw it. My son learned of this conflict, 
and he tried to restrain these women, 
calming them, putting their necks beneath his yoke:
One of them bore it with pride, the bridle in her mouth, 
but the other, well, she fought. She tore the harness 
from the chariot, dragged it along with her bare hands,
and smashed the yoke, cleaving it in two. 

My son fell from his chariot. 
Worse still, Darius was there, watching, 
and when Xerxes saw this, he tore his robes to rags. 

That’s what I saw during the night. 
I got up, and washed my hands in the spring
to cast away the horror of the dream. 

I went to make a sacrifice, 
to honour the gods that might avert such horror. 
And then I saw an eagle, trying for shelter
at Apollo’s hearth. My dear ones, I was dumb with terror. 
Next a hawk swooped down, a flash of wings
and ripped the eagle’s head off with its claws. 

The eagle could do nothing, 
offered itself up without a fight. 
These things were as awful to see
as they now sound to you that hear them. 

But you should know: if my son succeeds, 
his honour will be greatest of them all. 
But if he fails, he still remains your king. 

CHORUS:

Mother, we answer you, 
we do not want to frighten you
or to give you any false hope. 

If you have seen a bad omen, 
pray to the gods, ask them to avert bad fortune, 
and to bless you, and your child, and your people. 

Then, you must pour out libations
to the earth and to the dead. 
Ask your husband Darius,
who appeared to you in the night,
to intervene for us, 
to send up blessings from the underworld
to you, your son and us here in the light. 
to keep bad fortune in the depths below. 

This is our advice, from our prophetic hearts. 
All will be well.

(English translation by Conor Hanratty)

Tonight the Chorus enters -
a group of Persian Elders, left behind in the capital city, Sousa.

PERSIANS | The Podcast
Europe’s oldest play - in Europe’s oldest language.
As part of Dublin Theatre Festival 2020, PERSIANS | The Podcast
explores a project with an ancient future.

Supported by The Arts Council - An Comhairle Ealaoin.

Chorus:

The Faithful counsellors, they call us
The Persian departed who have gone to the land of Greece
While we remain, guardians of the rich, golden palace.
Lord Xerxes, the King Himself, 
Son of Darius the Great, 
Chose us to oversea the empire
by virtue of our seniority.  
My heart is troubled, it predicts disaster, 
desperate for the King to return home 
with his glittering golden army:
Every son of Asia has departed,
barking at how young this king is,
and here we wait for a sign,
a messenger, on horse or foot,
but none have come. 

***

They left Sousa and Agbatana behind,
the ancient ramparts of Kissia at their backs
they went on horses, and in ships, and on foot,
making steady progress in their huge formations.
Great men they were, like Amistres and Artaphrenes, 
Megabates and Aspates, 
all leaders of the Persian horde, 
all subject to their king and lord, 
leaders of this massive army, 
unbeatable archers on their horses, 
shocking to look at, terrifying in battle, 
indomitable spirits.
Atembares the charioteer, 
Masistres, noble Imaios,
unbeatable with his bow, 
and Pharnakes, and Sosthanes,
master of the horses.

The mighty, bountiful mother Nile sent others to the fight:
Sousiskanes, Pegastagon of Egypt, 
and the king of holy Memphis, Arsames the Great, 
and Ariomardos, ruler of the ancient city of Thebes, 
skilled sailors who navigate marshes of the Nile. 
An army beyond counting.  
Next came the horde from Lydia, 
roused from their lives of luxury
all along their continental coast,
spurred into action by Mithragathes
and noble Arkteus, king-like rulers both,
fuelled by the endless gold of Sardis, 
mounted on chariots with four, or even six horses;
a terrifying wonder to behold. 
And then the men of holy Tmolus, 
hearts set on putting Greece under the yoke;
Mardon, and Tharybis, anvils to the lance, 
and the Mysians, with their light, fire-hardened spears.
And golden Babylon exhaled a long trail, 
a horde bristling with every kind of soldier:
sailors on their ships, and archers,
who trust their lives to their bows.

Every blade in Asia is drawn, 
all answering the summons of the king.
This is the Persian army, the flower of Persia,
the flower of our young manhood, gone.
All of Asia, the mother that nurtured them, 
grieves anxiously for them. Parents, wives, 
counting the days and worrying 
as the days add up. 

***

They have crossed into the neighbouring land. 
The king’s army, which destroys cities, crossed the Hellespont,
named after poor Athamas’ daughter,
crossing on a floating bridge of ships, 
held fast with flaxen ropes. 

They yoked the neck of the sea itself
with this ingenious roadway. 
The raging fire of Xerxes, king of this Asian horde,
equal to the gods, son of the golden race, 
he shepherds his flock into Europe, 
trusting his commanders on land and on sea. 

*
His gaze is dark, and deadly, like a snake, 
and he whips his way across the land, 
in his dazzling chariot of Syrian gold,
leading his soldiers and sailors
a harsher Ares, striking at Greeks. 

No one could ever withstand
such a cataract of forces, rushing like that.
You cannot stop the ocean. 
The Persian army is invincible, 
our men are brave at heart. 

***

But can any mortal avoid
being tricked by the gods?
Is any man quick-footed enough
to side-step their snares?
Ate, the mother of ruin, is friendly at first,
seductive as she weaves her web, 
until it closes like a net
and no living thing can hope to flee. 

***

Long ago, the Gods decreed 
that it was Persia’s fate to wage our wars,
toppling the towers in the tumult
of our cavalries charging, destroying cities.
But now we have learned more, 
and cast our sights on the seas, 
the wide, watery way whipped by the winds, 
our cables lashing a path across it for our men.

*

The black robes of my heart are torn, 
the terror! What happens if our men all die, 
and our great city is left to cry out
Aahh! Our Persian army! 
And Kissia will answer this city’s lament, 
Ahhh! she will cry, a city crowded 
only with women, tearing their linen dresses.

*

All the soldiers, all the horsemen, 
they have all gone, like a swarm of bees, 
following their leader, 
yoking the two continents
and crossing over to that other land.

Every bed is half-empty, soaked with the tears
of every gently-grieving Persian woman: 
alone under the marriage yoke, 
each aches with desire for her husband, 
her raging, departed warrior. 

***

But come now, Persians, 
let us sit here in this ancient place
and think deeply, carefully
about what may befall. 

How are things going 
for Xerxes, son of Darius?
Has his arched bow won?
Has his sharpened spear
found victory?

Our Queen approaches, 
like a ray of light
from the eyes of a god. 

We prostrate ourselves, 
we show our respect, 
we greet her with words of 
obedient salutation.

(English translation by Conor Hanratty)