Ion (Talfourd)/Act IV
Scene I
[edit]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
[edit]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
[edit]
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.]