University of Virginia Library

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 thief-like steps? Am I not arm'd by Heaven
To execute its justice on a life
Above the reach of mortal law? And now,
Call'd to this awful duty, shall I shrink,
While every moment that it lasts may crush
Some life else happy?—May I be deceived,
Lured by the specious form of noble daring,
Which some foul passion, crouching in my soul,
Roused from long ambush, borrows to undo me?
Assure me, gods!—Yes; I have heard your voices
Aright, for I dare pray ye to look down
And see me stab!
[He goes to the couch.
He's smiling in his slumber,
As if some happy thought of innocent days
Play'd at his heartstrings: must I scare it thence
With mortal agonies? This pity's selfish:
Be firm, my soul!—Yet I'll not filch his life
Thus while he sleeps: he is a culprit doom'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 sure instrument in Jove's great hand
To take thy forfeit life;—so make thee ready;
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. Thou art doom'd to present death
By Powers above thy state, and I am sent
To execute their pleasure.

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 darest 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 sparedst 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. Nature,
The human nature thou hast vex'd and scoff'd at,
Cries out to Heaven against thee—Heaven attends,
And answers it by me! I shall perform
Its bidding firmly, yet with such sad grace
As the law's minister to common men
Is privileged to show. If there is one
Whom dying thou wouldst greet by word or token,
Speak, and believe it done.

ADRASTUS.
I have no friend;
If thou hast courage, strike!

ION.
Without a friend!
Most lonely man!

ADRASTUS.
Ha! thou art melted!

ION.
Hope not
Aught from my weak reluctance; should I spare thee,
My comrades will be masters of our lives,
And we shall fall together. Be it so!

ADRASTUS.
Never; I'll yield to thee alone; dispatch!
I recognise in thee Jove's minister,
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 lone shore where night
Shall compass us;—'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 stupified 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 last,
The dreadful, certain proof, that he whose frame
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:
Come—nought but death shall separate us more.

[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,—
O let him live to clasp 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 find him, gods!

[He rushes into the inner chamber.
Medon.
[To Cassander and the others.]
Had ye but seen
What I have witness'd, ye would weep with him.

Crythes
enters with soldiers.
Ha, Crythes! 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 accomplish'd; the foul blot
Is wiped away. Stern shadow of my 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 thy 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 murderous traitor!

ADRASTUS.
Set him free.—
Why do ye not obey me? Ctesiphon,
Thou hadst just cause for this;—my death is sure;
And as thou hast requited me, I 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—
O if it should survive me!

ION.
Think not of it;
The gods have shed such sweetness in this moment,
That, howsoever 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 gentleness enshrined
In an heroic casing.

ION.
Thou art faint;
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 thy goodness
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 succeeding mine; and now I die
Contented as I hail 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 puts the knife in his bosom. 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.
The 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 distance.
Hark! 'tis done!—

Enter Ctesiphon.
All hail, my brother freeman!—is't not so?—
Thy looks are haggard—is the tyrant slain?
Is liberty achieved?

CTESIPHON.
The king is dead;
This arm,—I bless the vengeful 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 long-lost son,
And in his person still the murderer reigns.

PHOCION.
It cannot be; I can believe his birth
Is royal, yet I know he will prefer
His own internal treasury of sweet thoughts
To 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 fools rejoice
To welcome a new master—the loose soldiers
From the base instinct of their slavish trade
Which must be deck'd and master'd; the slight people
In hunger for a holiday; the elders
Confounded by the wisdom of his speech;
Join in one prayer that he would set his foot
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? One, in cruel whim,
May shape new tortures for my quivering nerves,
Or strain my sinews to beguile an hour;
The other may be gracious in caprice,
And from the store great nature gave to all men
Dole out small bounties to adoring slaves;
If I must choose, give me the honest tyrant,
Whom in my dungeon I am free to curse,
Whose bounties seek not to immesh the soul,
And claim it his accomplice! Ion, king—
Never; I'll reason with his guileless heart,
Which has not known a selfish impulse yet,
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 dost thou argue this so sternly? thou
Carest not for general wrongs; and thy own grief
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 of yesterday,
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 youth as I have known him,
One of the same small household which he cheer'd
With cloudless mirth;—vex'd him a thousand times,
And never felt the chiding of a glance;
Seen him anticipate thy wayward wishes
As by sweet instinct, and o'ertax his strength
To gratify them—if thou hast been stretch'd
Long weeks upon a couch of agony,
And felt the blessing of his gentle care,
Thou couldst not do it.—Hear me, Ctesiphon!—
I had a deadly fever once, and slaves
Shrunk trembling—he watch'd o'er me with patience
Which seem'd to draw enjoyment from its use,
And soothed my dull ear with discourse so sweet,
That lovely fancies throng'd about my soul,
And my sad room became a place enchanted,
Its darkness swarming with delightful shapes,
That almost stole away the sense of pain;—
And canst thou bid me slay him now?

CTESIPHON.
The task
Be mine. Thou wilt not play the traitor with me?

[going.
PHOCION.
Hold! If the compact of our dreadful league
Require that he should fall, I will not wait
At distance;—since my thought must be his stabber,
My arm shall not be absent.

CTESIPHON.
Thou wilt find him,
Haply upon the terrace and alone;
But hasten.

PHOCION.
O fear not that I should bear
The prospect of so sad an office long.

CTESIPHON.
That done, I'll meet thee at the temple.

PHOCION.
Well!
All places will be then alike to me.

[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—
For rising from the shocks of circumstance,
My soul, in presence of the starry heavens,
Can feel the littleness of earthly change
And bear its fortunes tranquilly. 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 not one
Of all the fancies 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 our line;
Come, watch beside my throne, and, if I fail
In sternest duty which my country needs,
My bosom will be open to thy dagger
As now to thy embrace!

PHOCION.
Thus let me fall
Low at thy feet, and kneeling here receive
Forgiveness; do not crush 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
That in this moment's error are effaced
The tracings of a thousand kindnesses
Which taught me all I guess'd of brotherhood?

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 glad 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.