Ion (Talfourd)/Act IV

Scene I
''The Royal Chamber. Adrastus on a couch, asleep.'' Enter Ion with the knife.

ION.

Why do I creep thus stealthily along With trembling steps? Am I not arm'd by Heaven To execute its mandate on a king Whom it hath doom'd? And shall I falter now, While every moment that he breathes may crush Some life else happy?—Can I be deceived, By some foul passion, crouching in my soul, Which takes a radiant form to lure me on? Assure me, gods!—Yes; I have heard your voices; For I dare pray ye now to nerve my arm And see me strike! [He goes to the couch.] He's smiling in his slumber, As if some happy thought of innocent days Play'd at his heart-strings: must I scare it thence With death's sharp agony? He lies condemn'd By the high judgment of supernal Powers, And he shall know their sentence. Wake, Adrastus! Collect thy spirits, and be strong to die!

ADRASTUS.

Who dares disturb my rest? Guards! Soldiers! Recreants! Where tarry ye? Why smite ye not to earth This bold intruder?—Ha! no weapon here!— What wouldst thou with me, ruffian? [Rising.]

ION.

I am none, But a sad instrument in Jove's great hand To take thy life, long forfeited— Prepare! Thy hour is come!

ADRASTUS.

Villains! does no one hear?

ION.

Vex not the closing minutes of thy being With torturing hope or idle rage; thy guards, Palsied with revelry, are scatter'd senseless, While the most valiant of our Argive youths Hold every passage by which human aid Could reach thee. Present death is the award Of Powers who watch above me while I stand To execute their sentence.

ADRASTUS.

Thou!—I know thee— The youth I spared this morning, in whose ear I pour'd the secrets of my bosom. Kill me, If thou dar'st do it; but bethink thee first How the grim memory of thy thankless deed Will haunt thee to the grave!

ION.

It is most true; Thou spar'dst my life, and therefore do the gods Ordain me to this office, lest thy fall Seem the chance forfeit of some single sin, And not the great redress of Argos. Now— Now, while I parley—Spirits that have left, Within this hour, their plague-tormented flesh To rot untomb'd, glide by, and frown on me, Their slow avenger—and the chamber swarms With looks of Furies—Yet a moment wait, Ye dreadful prompters!—If there is a friend, Whom dying thou wouldst greet by word or token, Speak thy last bidding.

ADRASTUS.

I have none on earth. If thou hast courage, end me!

ION.

Not one friend! Most piteous doom!

ADRASTUS.

Art melted?

ION.

If I am, Hope nothing from my weakness; mortal arms, And eyes unseen that sleep not, gird us round, And we shall fall together. Be it so!

ADRASTUS.

No; strike at once; my hour is come: in thee I recognise the minister of Jove, And, kneeling thus, submit me to his power.

[Adrastus kneels.]

ION.

Avert thy face!

ADRASTUS.

No; let me meet thy gaze; For breathing pity lights thy features up Into more awful likeness of a form Which once shone on me;—and which now my sense Shapes palpable—in habit of the grave, Inviting me to the sad realm where shades Of innocents, whom passionate regard Link'd with the guilty, are content to pace With them the margin of the inky flood Mournful and calm;—'tis surely there;—she waves Her pallid hand in circle o'er thy head, As if to bless thee—and I bless thee too, Death's gracious angel!—Do not turn away.

ION.

Gods! to what office have ye doom'd me!—Now!

[''Ion raises his arm to stab Adrastus, who is kneeling, and gazes steadfastly upon him. The voice of Medon is heard without, calling "Ion! Ion!"—Ion drops his arm.'']

ADRASTUS.

Be quick, or thou art lost!

[As Ion has again raised his arm to strike, Medon rushes in behind him.]

MEDON.

Ion, forbear! Behold thy son, Adrastus!

[Ion stands for a moment stupefied with horror, drops the knife, and falls senseless on the ground.]

ADRASTUS.

What strange words Are these which call my senses from the death They were composed to welcome? Son! 'tis false— I had but one—and the deep wave rolls o'er him!

MEDON.

That wave received, instead of the fair nurseling, One of the slaves who bore him from thy sight In wicked haste to slay;—I'll give thee proofs.

ADRASTUS.

Great Jove, I thank thee!—raise him gently—proofs! Are there not here the lineaments of her Who made me happy once—the voice, now still, That bade the long-seal'd fount of love gush out, While with a prince's constancy he came To lay his noble life down; and the sure, The dreadful proof, that he whose guileless brow Is instinct with her spirit, stood above me, Arm'd for the traitor's deed?—It is my child! [Ion, reviving, sinks on one knee before Adrastus.]

ION.

Father! [Noise without.]

MEDON.

The clang of arms!

ION. [starting up]

They come! they come! They who are leagued with me against thy life. Here let us fall!

ADRASTUS.

I will confront them yet. Within I have a weapon which has drank A traitor's blood ere now;—there will I wait them: No power less strong than death shall part us now.

[Exeunt Adrastus and Ion as to an inner chamber.]

MEDON.

Have mercy on him, gods, for the dear sake Of your most single-hearted worshipper!

[Enter Ctesiphon, Cassander, and others.]

CTESIPHON.

What treachery is this—the tyrant fled, And Ion fled too!—Comrades, stay this dotard, While I search yonder chamber.

MEDON.

Spare him, friends,— Spare him to clasp awhile his new-found son; Spare him as Ion's father!

CTESIPHON.

Father! yes— That is indeed a name to bid me spare;— Let me but rind him, gods!

[He rushes into the inner chamber.]

MEDON. [to Cassander and the others.]

Had ye but seen What I have seen, ye would have mercy on him.

[Crythes enters with soldiers.]

Ha, soldiers! hasten to defend your master; That way—

[As Crythes is about to enter the inner chamber, Ctesiphon rushes from it with a bloody dagger, and stops them.]

CTESIPHON.

It is accomplished; the foul blot Is wiped away. Shade of my murder'd father, Look on thy son, and smile!

CRYTHES.

Whose blood is that? It cannot be the king's!

CTESIPHON.

It cannot be! Think'st thou, foul minion of a tyrant's will, He was to crush, and thou to crawl for ever? Look there, and tremble!

CRYTHES.

Wretch! thy life shall pay The forfeit of this deed.

[''Crythes and soldiers seize Ctesiphon. Enter Adrastus mortally wounded, supported by Ion.'']

ADRASTUS.

Here let me rest;— In this old chamber did my life begin, And here I'll end it: Crythes! thou hast timed Thy visit well, to bring thy soldiers hither To gaze upon my parting.

CRYTHES.

To avenge thee;— Here is the traitor!

ADRASTUS.

Set him free at once:— Why do ye not obey me? Ctesiphon, I gave thee cause for this;—believe me now That thy true steel has made thy vengeance sure; And as we now stand equal, I will sue For a small boon—let me not see thee more.

CTESIPHON.

Farewell!

[Exit Ctesiphon.]

ADRASTUS. [to Crythes and the soldiers.]

Why do ye tarry here? Begone!—still do ye hover round my couch? If the commandment of a dying king Is feeble, as a man who has embraced His child for the first time since infancy, And presently must part with him for ever, I do adjure ye leave us!

[Exeunt all but Ion and Adrastus.] ION.

O my father! How is it with thee now?

ADRASTUS.

Well; very well;— Avenging Fate hath spent its utmost force Against me; and I gaze upon my son With the sweet certainty that nought can part us Till all is quiet here. How like a dream Seems the succession of my regal pomps Since I embraced thy helplessness! To me The interval hath been a weary one: How hath it pass'd with thee?

ION.

But that my heart Hath sometimes ached for the sweet sense of kindred, I had enjoy'd a round of happy years As cherish'd youth e'er knew.

ADRASTUS.

I bless the gods That they have strewn along thy humble path Delights unblamed; and in this hour I seem Even as I had lived so; and I feel That I shall live in thee, unless that curse— Oh, if it should survive me!

ION.

Think not of it; The gods have shed such sweetness in this moment, That, howsoe'er they deal with me hereafter, I shall not deem them angry. Let me call For help to staunch thy wound; thou art strong yet, And yet may live to bless me.

ADRASTUS.

Do not stir; My strength is ebbing fast; yet, as it leaves me, The spirit of my stainless days of love Awakens; and their images of joy, Which at thy voice started from blank oblivion, When thou wert strange to me, and then half-shown Look'd sadly through the mist of guilty years, Now glimmer on me in the lovely light Which at thy age they wore. Thou art all thy mother's, Her elements of gentlest virtue cast In mould heroical.

ION.

Thy speech grows fainter; Can I do nothing for thee?

ADRASTUS.

Yes;—my son, Thou art the best, the bravest, of a race Of rightful monarchs; thou must mount the throne Thy ancestors have fill'd, and by great deeds Efface the memory of thy fated sire, And win the blessing of the gods for men Stricken for him. Swear to me thou wilt do this, And I shall die forgiven.

ION.

I will.

ADRASTUS.

Rejoice, Sufferers of Argos! I am growing weak, And my eyes dazzle; let me rest my hands, Ere they have lost their feeling, on thy head.— So! So!—thy hair is glossy to the touch As when I last enwreath'd its tiny curl About my finger; I did image then Thy reign excelling mine; it is fulfill'd, And I die happy. Bless thee, King of Argos! [Dies.]

ION.

He's dead! and I am fatherless again.— King did he hail me? shall I make that word A spell to bid old happiness awake Throughout the lovely land that father'd me In my forsaken childhood?

[He sees the knife on the ground, and takes it up.]

Most vain dream! This austere monitor hath bid thee vanish Ere half-reveal'd. Come back, thou truant steel; Half of thy work the gods absolved thee from— The rest remains! Lie there!

[''He conceals the knife in his vest. Shouts heard without.'']

The voice of joy! Is this thy funeral wailing? O my father! Mournful and brief will be the heritage Thou leavest me; yet I promised thee in death To grasp it;—and I will embrace it now.

[Enter Agenor and others.]

AGENOR.

Does the king live?

ION.

Alas! in me. The son Of him whose princely spirit is at rest, Claims his ancestral honours.

AGENOR.

That high thought Anticipates the prayer of Argos, roused To sudden joy. The sages wait without To greet thee: wilt confer with them to-night, Or wait the morning?

ION.

Now;—the city's state Allows the past no sorrow. I attend them. [Exeunt.]

Scene II
''Before the Gate of the City. Phocion on guard.''

PHOCION.

Fool that I was to take this idle office At most inglorious distance from the scene Which shall be freedom's birth-place; to endure The phantasies of danger which the soul Uncheer'd by action coldly dallies with Till it begins to shiver! Long ere this, If Ion's hand be firm, the deed is past, And yet no shout announces that the bonds Of tyranny are broken. [Shouts at a distance.] Hark! 'tis done!

[Enter Ctesiphon.]

All hail, my brother freeman!—art not so?— Thy looks are haggard—is the tyrant slain? Is liberty achieved?

CTESIPHON.

The king is dead; This arm—I bless the righteous Furies!—slew him.

PHOCION.

Did Ion quail, then?

CTESIPHON.

Ion!—clothe thy speech In phrase more courtly; he is king of Argos, Accepted as the tyrant's son, and reigns.

PHOCION.

It cannot be; I can believe him born Of such high lineage; yet he will not change His own rich treasury of unruffled thoughts For all the frigid glories that invest The loveless state in which the monarch dwells A terror and a slave. [Shouts again.]

CTESIPHON.

Dost hear that shout? 'Tis raised for him!—the craven-hearted world Is ever eager thus to hail a master, And patriots smite for it in vain. Our Soldiers, In the gay recklessness of men who sport With life as with a plaything; Citizens On wretched beds gaping for show; and Sages, Vain of a royal sophist, madly join In humble prayer that he would deign to tread Upon their necks; and he is pleased to grant it.

PHOCION.

He shall not grant it. If my life, my sense, My heart's affections, and my tongue's free scope Wait the dominion of a mortal will, What is the sound to me, whether my soul Bears "Ion" or "Adrastus" burnt within it As my soul's owner? Ion tyrant? No! Grant me a moment's pleading with his heart, Which has not known a selfish throb till now, And thou shalt see him smile this greatness from him.

CTESIPHON.

Go teach the eagle when in azure heaven He upward darts to seize his madden'd prey, Shivering through the death-circle of its fear, To pause and let it 'scape, and thou mayst win Man to forego the sparkling round of power, When it floats airily within his grasp!

PHOCION.

Why thus severe? Our nature's common wrongs Affect thee not; and that which touch'd thee nearly Is well avenged.

CTESIPHON.

Not while the son of him Who smote my father reigns! I little guess'd Thou wouldst require a prompter to awake The memory of the oath so freshly sworn, Or of the place assign'd to thee by lot, Should our first champion fail to crush the race— Mark me!—"the race" of him my arm has dealt with. Now is the time, the palace all confused, And the prince dizzy with strange turns of fortune, To do thy part.

PHOCION.

Have mercy on my weakness! If thou hadst known this comrade of my sports, One of the same small household whom his mirth Unfailing gladden'd;—if a thousand times Thou hadst, by strong prosperity made thoughtless, Touch'd its unfather'd nature in its nerve Of agony, and felt no chiding glance;— Hadst thou beheld him overtax his strength To serve the wish his genial instinct guess'd, Till his dim smile the weariness betray'd, Which it would fain dissemble; hadst thou known In sickness the sweet magic of his care, Thou couldst not ask it.—Hear me, Ctesiphon!— I had a deadly fever once, and slaves Fled me: he watch'd, and glided to my bed, And sooth'd my dull ear with discourse which grew By nice degrees to ravishment, till pain Seem'd an heroic sense, which made me kin To the great deeds he pictured, and the brood Of dizzy weakness flickering through the gloom Of my small curtain'd prison caught the hues Of beauty spangling out in glorious change; And it became a luxury to lie And faintly listen. Canst thou bid me slay him?

CTESIPHON.

The deed be mine. Thou'lt not betray me? [Going.]

PHOCION.

Hold! If by our dreadful compact he must fall, I will not smite him with my coward thought Winging a distant arm; I will confront him Arm'd with delicious memories of our youth, And pierce him through them all.

CTESIPHON.

Be speedy, then!

PHOCION.

Fear not that I shall prove a laggard, charged With weight of such a purpose.—Fate commands, And I live now but to perform her bidding.

[Exeunt severally.]

Scene III
A Terrace in the Garden of the Palace, by Moonlight.

Enter Ion and Agenor.

AGENOR.

Wilt thou not in to rest?

ION.

My rest is here— Beneath the greatness of the heavens, which awes My spirit, toss'd by sudden change, and torn By various passions, to repose. Yet age Requires more genial nourishment—pray seek it— I will but stay thee to inquire once more If any symptom of returning health Bless the wan city?

AGENOR.

No—the perishing Lift up their painful heads to bless thy name, And their eyes kindle as they utter it; But still they perish.

ION.

So!—give instant order, The rites which shall confirm me in my throne Be solemnized to-morrow.

AGENOR.

How! so soon, While the more sacred duties to the dead Remain unpaid?

ION.

Let them abide my time— They will not tarry long. I see thee gaze With wonder on me—do my bidding now, And trust me till to-morrow. Pray go in, The night will chill thee else.

AGENOR.

Farewell, my lord! [Exit.]

ION.

Now all is stillness in my breast—how soon To be displaced by more profound repose, In which no thread of consciousness shall live To feel how calm it is!—O lamp serene, Do I lift up to thee undazzled eyes For the last time? Shall I enjoy no more Thy golden haziness which seem'd akin To my young fortune's dim felicity? And when it coldly shall embrace the urn That shall contain my ashes, will no thought Of all the sweet ones cherish'd by thy beams Awake to tremble with them? Vain regret! The pathway of my duty lies in sunlight, And I would tread it with as firm a step, Though it should terminate in cold oblivion, As if Elysian pleasures at its close Gleam'd palpable to sight as things of earth. Who passes there?

[Enter Phocion behind, who strikes at Ion with a dagger.]

PHOCION.

This to the king of Argos!

[Ion struggles with him, seizes the dagger, which he throws away.]

ION.

I will not fall by thee, poor wavering novice In the assassin's trade!—thy arm is feeble— [He confronts Phocion.] Phocion!—was this well aim'd? thou didst not mean—

PHOCION.

I meant to take thy life, urged by remembrance Of yesterday's great vow.

ION.

And couldst thou think I had forgotten?

PHOCION.

Thou?

ION.

Couldst thou believe, That one, whose nature had been arm'd to stop The life-blood's current in a fellow's veins) Would hesitate when gentler duty turn'd His steel to nearer use? To-morrow's dawn Shall see me wield the sceptre of my fathers: Come, watch beside my throne, and, if I fail In sternest duty which my country needs, My bosom will be open to thy steel, As now to thy embrace!

PHOCION.

Thus let me fall Low at thy feet, and kneeling here receive Forgiveness; do not crush me with more love Than lies in the word "pardon."

ION.

And that word I will not speak;—what have I to forgive? A devious fancy, and a muscle raised Obedient to its impulse! Dost thou think The tracings of a thousand kindnesses, Which taught me all I guess'd of brotherhood, Are in the rashness of a moment lost?

PHOCION.

I cannot look upon thee; let me go, And lose myself in darkness.

ION.

Nay, old playmate, We part not thus—the duties of my state Will shortly end our fellowship; but spend A few sweet minutes with me. Dost remember How in a night like this we climb'd yon walls— Two vagrant urchins, and with tremulous joy Skimm'd through these statue-border'd walks that gleam'd In bright succession? Let us tread them now; And think we are but older by a day, And that the pleasant walk of yesternight We are to-night retracing. Come, my friend!— What, drooping yet! thou wert not wont to seem So stubborn—cheerily, my Phocion—come!

[Exeunt.]