pardon for the grief I have brought thee. May all the happiness that
earth can bring be ever thine. But, if all others should forsake thee,
in thine hour of sorrow remember there is one true heart that cannot
change. Oh, may the gods bless thee! 'Tis my last wish, last prayer
[_weeps_]. Farewell!
Con. Stay! I would claim from thee one little word which hath the power
to brighten e'en my sorrow. I have never asked thee, for I thought my
heart had read it in thine eyes that looked so kindly on me; in the lips
that spoke such gentle words of hope. But ah! tell me now at parting
dost thou _love_ me, dear Ione?
Ione. I do, most fondly, truly love thee.
Con. Ione, thy voice hath been a holy spell to win me to my duty. Thy
love shall keep me pure and faithful, till we meet above. Farewell!
Ione. Farewell!--and oh, remember how I have loved thee; and may the
memory of all I have borne for thee win thy pardon for any wrong I may
have done thee. The princess will repay the grief the slave hath caused
thy noble heart. Remember Ione, and be true.
[_Exit._
Con. Gone, gone, now lost to me forever! Remember thee! Ah, how can I
ever banish thy dear image from this heart that now hath grown so
desolate? I will be true. None shall ever know how hard a struggle hath
been mine, that I might still be worthy thee. Yes, Irene, I will strive
to love thee, and may the gods give me strength; but Ione, Ione, how can
I give thee up! [_Picks up a flower_ Ione _has dropped, and puts it in
his bosom and goes sadly out._]
CURTAIN.
SCENE THIRTEENTH.
[The Queen's _pavilion. A dark curtain
hangs before an alcove. Enter_ Constantine.]
Con. The hour hath come when I shall gaze upon the form of her who hath
cast so dark a shadow o'er my life. Beautiful and young, and blessed
with all that makes her worthy to be loved, and yet I fear I have not
taught my wilful heart the tenderness I ought.
I fear to draw aside the veil that hides her from me, for I cannot
banish the sweet image that forever floats before mine eyes. Ione's soft
gaze is on me, and the lips are whispering, "I love thee!" But I have
promised to be true,--no thoughts of her must lead me now astray. My
fate is here [_approaches the curtain_]. Let me gaze upon it, and think
gently of the wife so soon to be mine own. Why do I fear? Courage, my
heart! [_He draws aside the curtain, and_ Ione, _veiled, appears as a
statue upon its pedestal._] Another veil to raise! How hard the simple
deed hath grown. One last sweet thought of thee, Ione, and then I will
no longer falter. [_He turns away and bows his head._]
Ione. Constantine! [_He starts, and gazes in wonder as the statue,
casting aside the veil, comes down and kneels._] Here at thy feet kneels
thy hated bride,--the "proud, cold princess," asking thee to pardon all
the sorrow she hath given thee. Ah, smile upon me, and forget Ione, who
as a slave hath won thy love, but as the princess will repay
it,--forgive, and love me still!
Con. Thou, thou Irene,--she whom I so feared to look upon? Ah, no!--thou
art Ione, the gentle slave. Say am I dreaming? Why art thou here to make
another parting the harder to be borne? Fling by thy crown and be Ione
again.
Irene [_rising_]. Listen, Constantine, and I will tell thee all. I am
Irene. In my distant home I learned thou didst not love me, and I vowed
to win thy heart before I claimed it. Thus, unknown, the proud princess
served thee as a slave, and learned to love thee with a woman's fondest
faith. I watched above thee that no harm should fall; I cheered and
gladdened life for thee, and won the heart I longed for. I knew the
sorrow thou wouldst feel, but tried thy faith by asking thee to
sacrifice thy love and keep thine honor stainless. Here let me offer up
a woman's fondest trust and most undying love. Wilt thou believe, and
pardon mine offence? [_Kneels again before him._]
Con. Not at my feet, Irene!--'tis I who should bend low before thee,
asking thy forgiveness. For all thou hast dared for me; for every
fearless deed; for every loving thought, all I can lay before thee is a
fond and faithful heart, whose reverence and love can never die, but
through the pilgrimage of life shall be as true and tender as when I
gave it to the slave Ione [_embraces_ Irene].
[_Tableau._
CURTAIN.
ION.
NOTE TO ION.
This play was found too uninteresting for presentation, and was left
unfinished, but is here given as a specimen of what the young authors
considered _very fine_ writing.
The drama was, of course, to end well. Cleon, being free, at once
assembles a noble army, returns to conquer Mohammed and release Ion, who
weds the lovely Zuleika, becomes king, and "lives happily forever
after."
CHARACTERS.
Mohammed . . . . . . _The Turk._
Cleon . . . . . . . _Prince of Greece._
Ion . . . . . . . _Son of Cleon._
Adrastus . . . . . . _A Priest._
Hafiz . . . . . . . _Turkish Envoy._
Hassan . . . . . . . _A Slave._
Murad . . . . . . . _A Slave._
Abdallah . . . . . . _A Slave._
Iantha . . . . . . . _Wife of Cleon._
Zuleika . . . . . . _Daughter of Mohammed._
Medon . . . . . . . _A Slave._
Selim . . . . . . . _A Slave._
ION.
SCENE FIRST.
[_Room in the palace of_ Cleon.
Iantha _and_ Adrastus.]
Iantha. How wearily the days wear on, and the heavy hours so fraught
with doubt press like death upon my aching heart. To the young, the
fair, the happy, life is a blissful dream, filled with bright joys; for
hope like a star beams on their pathway. But to the grief-worn heart,
worn with weary watching, vexed with sad cares, whose hours are filled
with fear, and ever thronging sorrows, whose star burns with a dim
uncertain light,--oh, weary, weary is the pilgrimage; joyless the
present, dark the future; and the sooner all is o'er, the better.
Adrastus. Daughter, thou hast forgot. The radiant star may pale and
fade, but He who giveth it its light still liveth. Turn unto Him thy
worn and bleeding heart, and comfortless thou shalt not be.
Iantha. Father, I cannot. When I would pray for resignation, words fail
me, and my soul is filled with murmuring, while round me throng visions
of battle-fields and death. Ever comes before me the form of Cleon,--no
longer bright and beautiful as when, burning with hope and confidence in
his high calling, he went forth to conquer or to die; but fallen,
bleeding, perhaps dead, or a captive in the dungeon of the pagan, doomed
to waste in hopeless misery the long years of his manhood. And my
boy,--what will be his fate? Father, can I think on this and pray?
Adrastus. 'Tis hard, Iantha; but to His aid alone canst thou look up to
save thy husband from the horrors of a bloody war. Call on Him, and He,
the merciful, will in thy great need be near thee.
[_Enter_ Medon.
Medon. A stranger craveth audience.
Iantha [_rushing forward_]. A stranger! Cometh he from my lord?
Medon. I know not, lady; but as a messenger is he clad, and with great
haste demandeth speech of thee, saying he bore tidings of great import.
Iantha. Admit him instantly. [_Exit_ Medon.] Father, do thou follow, and
speed him hither.
Adrastus. I hasten to obey thee. Bear a brave heart, my daughter. I feel
that hope is near.
[_Exit_ Adrastus.
Iantha [_joyfully_]. Hope,--thrice blessed word!--wilt thou indeed visit
this doubting heart once more, and sweeten the cup thou hast so long
forsaken? [_Enter_ Hafiz.] Welcome! comest thou from my lord? Thy
tidings speedily!
Hafiz. To the wife of Cleon, late commander of the rebel Greeks, am I
sent to bear tidings of their defeat by Mohammed, now master of all
Greece.
Adrastus. And my lord,--the noble Cleon?
Hafiz. Betrayed, defeated, and now lying under sentence of immediate
death in the dungeon of the Sultan.
Iantha. Lost! lost! lost! [_Falls fainting on a couch._]
[_Enter_ Adrastus.
Adrastus. Daughter, look up!--there is yet hope. There is no time for
rest. Up! rouse thy brave, till now, unconquered heart and cast off this
spell. And thou, slave, hence,--away!
[_Exit_ Hafiz.
Iantha [_rousing_]. Defeated, imprisoned, condemned,--words unto one
heart fraught with such dire despair. Tell me, Father, oh, tell me
truly, do I dream?
[_Enter_ Ion, _who stands listening._
Adrastus. 'Tis no dream. The rough soldier did but tell thee in rude
speech, what I was hastening in more guarded words to bear thee. 'Tis
true; thy lord is in Mohammed's power, a victim to the perfidy of
pagans, and doomed unto a speedy death. Nay, Iantha, shrink not, but as
a soldier's wife, glory in the death of thy brave knight, dying for his
country; and in his martyrdom take to thy soul sweet comfort.
Iantha. Comfort! Oh, man, thou little knowest woman's heart! What to her
is glory, when him she loveth is torn from her forever? What to the
orphan is the crown of martyrdom, the hero's fame, the praise of
nations, the homage of the great? Will they give back the noble dead,
heal the broken heart, tear bitter memories from the wounded soul to
whom earth is desolate? Nay, Father, nay. Oh, Cleon, would I could die
with thee!
Adrastus. This mighty sorrow o'erpowers her reason and will destroy all
hope. Iantha, daughter, rouse thyself; let the love thou dost bear thy
lord now aid in his deliverance. From the wealth of thy heart's true
affection, devise thou some way to save him.
Iantha. Aid me, Father; I have no power of thought. I will trust all to
_thee_.
[Ion _approaches._
Adrastus. I know not what to counsel thee; my life hath ill fitted me to
deal with soldiers and with kings. But if some messenger--
Iantha. Nay, it will not serve. None will dare brave the anger of the
pagan, and death were the doom of such as approach him other than as a
slave. And yet,--perchance he might relent. Oh, were there some true
heart, fearless and loving, to aid me now in mine hour of distress!
Where can I look for help?
Ion [_coming forward_]. Here, Mother,--_I_ will seek the camp of
Mohammed.
Iantha. Thou!--my Ion, my only one. No, no; it may not be,--thy tender
youth, thy gentle, untried spirit. 'Tis madness e'en to think on!
Ion. Mother, am I not a soldier's son, cradled 'mid warriors? Runs not
the blood of heroes in these veins? Are not my father's deeds, his
bright, untarnished name, my proud inheritance? What though this tender
form is yet untried; what though these arms have never borne the
knightly armor? No victor's laurels rest on this youthful brow, and I
bear no honored name among the great and glorious of our land; yet,
Mother, have I not a father, for whose dear sake I may yet purchase that
knighthood for which this young heart glows? Am I not the son of Cleon?
Adrastus. Verily doth a spirit move the boy. Look on him now, Iantha,
and let no weak, unworthy doubt of thine curb the proud spirit that
proves him worthy of his sire.
Iantha. My son, my fair, young Ion, thou art all now left my widowed
heart. How can I bid thee go! The barbarous pagan will doom thee to a
cruel death. How canst thou, an unknown youth, move the fierce heart
that hath slain thy sire?
Ion. Fear not, Mother; he who calls me to this glorious mission will
protect me. Shall I stand weeping while my father still breathes the air
of pagan dungeons; while the base fetters of the infidel rest on his
limbs, and his brave followers lie unavenged in their cold, bloody
graves; while my country's banner, torn, dishonored, is trampled in the
dust,--and he the proud, the brave, till now unconquered defender of
that country's honor, lies doomed to an ignominious death? Oh, Mother,
bid me go!
Adrastus. Iantha, speak to the boy! Let him not say his _mother_ taught
him fear.
Iantha. My Ion, go,--strong in thine innocence and faith, go forth upon
thy holy mission; and surely He who looketh ever with a loving face on
those who put their trust in Him, will in His mercy guard and guide thee
[_girds on his sword_]. Farewell! Go,--with thy mother's blessing on
thee!
Ion. Now is my heart filled all anew with hope and courage, and I go
forth trustingly. Father, thy blessing [_kneels before_ Adrastus].
Adrastus. Go, thou self-anointed victim on the altar of thy love. Bless
thy pure, faithful heart!
Ion [_rising_]. Farewell! Embrace me, Mother.
Iantha [_pressing_ Ion _to her breast_]. Farewell, my Ion. And if the
great Father wills it that I look not again on thee in life, into His
care do I commit thee. Farewell!
Ion. Mother, farewell! And if I fall, mourn not, but glory that I died
as best became the son of Cleon [_draws his sword_]. And now leap forth,
my sword!--henceforth is there no rest nor honor till we have conquered.
Father, I come, I come! [Ion _rushes out;_ Iantha _rushes to the window,
tears off her veil and waves it to_ Ion.]
CURTAIN.
SCENE SECOND.
[_Tent of_ Mohammed; _maps and arms lying
about._ Mohammed _and_ Hafiz.]
Moh'd. And spake they no word of ransom or of hostage?
Hafiz. None, sire. The lady lay as one struck dead; and the priest, foul
Christian dog, bade me go hence, and tarry not.
Moh'd. And held you no speech with those about the princess. Sure, there
were some to listen to thy master's word.
Hafiz. Great master, I sought in vain to set before them the royal will.
At first it were as though a spell had fallen on them. Nay, some did
turn aside and weep, rending their hair, as though all hope were lost.
Then, when I strove to win them to some counsel, they woke to such an
uproar, cursing thy perfidy, and vowing most dire and speedy vengeance
on thee, clashing their weapons and crying, "Down with the pagan dogs!"
Then, drawing forth their lances with fierce oaths, they drove me from
the gates in such warlike manner, I could but strive with haste to make
good mine escape, and without rest have I journeyed hither to bring thee
tidings.
Moh'd. By the prophet! and is it thus they serve the royal messenger.
But they shall rue it dearly. Cleon shall die. To-morrow's sun shall
never shine for him. The proud Greeks shall learn to dread Mohammed's
ire, and bend their haughty heads before him in the dust. I offer
ransom, and they will not harken. I send them honorable terms, and they
thrust my messenger rudely from their gates. They have dared to brave
me,--they shall feel my power!
Hafiz. Mighty Mohammed, if thy poor slave might offer counsel, were it
not wise to tarry till the Greeks on cooler thought shall seek thee with
some treaty which may avail thee better than such hasty vengeance. How
much more worthy were a heavy ransom than the life of a single miserable
prince.
Moh'd. Peace, slave! I have said Cleon shall die, and, by Allah! so I
have not word from these rebel dogs ere three days shall wear away, his
body swung from the battlements shall bear them tidings of Mohammed's
power. [_Enter_ Selim.] What hath befallen, Selim, that thou comest in
such haste?
Selim. Most mighty king, there waits without a youth, demanding speech
of thee.
Moh'd. A youth! Who may he be, and what seeks he with us?
Selim. Most gracious sire, I know not. Our guard surprised him wandering
without the camp,--alone, unarmed, save with a single sword; young, and
I think a Greek. Abdallah seized him as a spy, and led him hither to
await thy royal will. He doth refuse all question, demanding to be led
before thee, where he will unfold his errand.
Moh'd. A Greek! Bring him before us, an he prove a spy he shall hang
before the day waxeth older by an hour. Hence,--bring him hither!
[_Exit_ Selim.] By Allah! my proud foes have deigned to send us
messengers, and seek to win the favor so rudely scorned. They know not
Mohammed, and, so they humble not themselves, will sue in vain.
[_Enter_ Selim, _dragging_ Ion.
Selim. Your Mightiness doth behold the youth. [_To_ Ion, _who stands
proudly._] Kneel, slave!
Ion. I kneel not unto tyrants.
Moh'd. How, bold stripling! Weigh with more care thy speech, and forget
not before whom thou dost stand. [_To_ Selim.] Go, slave, and stand
without; see that none enter here unbidden. [_Exit_ Selim.] Speak, boy!
Who art thou, and why dost thou seek thus fearlessly the presence of thy
foe?--and beware thou speakest truly if it is as a friend to treat in
honorable fashion, or as a spy, thou now standest before us.
Ion. I am a Greek, son to the noble Cleon, now thy captive; I seek his
rescue.
Moh'd. Son to Cleon! Now, by the Prophet, 'tis wondrous strange! And
thou hast ventured alone into the camp amid thy deadly foes? Speak,
boy,--thine errand!
Ion. To offer hostage; to treat with Mohammed for a father's life; to
move to pity or to justice the heart that hath doomed a noble soldier
unto an unjust death.
Moh'd. And where, my bold prince, are thy followers, thy slaves, thy
royal train?
Ion. On yonder plain, cold in their graves.
Moh'd. Hast thou brought ransom? Where is thy gold?
Ion. In the coffers of the Turkish Mohammed, plundered from his
slaughtered foes.
Moh'd. Thou spakest of hostage,--I see it not.
Ion. 'Tis here,--the son of Cleon.
Moh'd. Thou! and thinkest thou thy young, worthless life were a fit
hostage for the leader of a rebel band, the enemy of all true followers,
whose capture hath cost blood and slaves and gold? By Allah! boy, thou
must name a higher price to win the life thou doth seek.
Ion. I have nought else to offer. Thy hand hath rent from me friends,
followers, gold, a sire. But if this young life hath any worth to thee,
if these arms may toil for thee, this form bear burdens to thy royalty,
take them,--take all, O king, but render unto me that life without which
Greece is lost.
Moh'd. Peace! Thy speech is vain; thy life is nought to me.
Ion. I will serve thee as a slave; in all things do thy
bidding,--faithful, unwearied, unrepining. Grant but my boon, and
monarch shall never have a truer vassal than I will be to thee. Great
Mohammed, let me not plead in vain.
Moh'd. Peace, I say; anger me not.
Ion. O king, hast thou no heart? Think of the ruined home, the mourning
people, the land made desolate by thee; of her who now counts the weary
hours for tidings of those dear to her,--tidings fraught with life or
death as thou shalt decree; of the son by thee doomed to see his honored
sire, hero of a hundred battles dragged like a slave unto a shameful
death. As thou wilt have mercy shown to thee, that mercy show thou unto
me. Oh, say to me, "Thy father lives!"
Moh'd. Away! I will not listen.
Ion. Nay, I _will_ kneel to thee. I who never knelt to man before, now
implore thee with earnest supplication. 'Tis for a father's life.
Moh'd. Kneel not to me,--it is in vain. Thy father is my captive, my
deadliest foe, whom I hate, and curse,--ay, and will slay. Boy, dost
thou know to whom thou dost bow?
Ion [_rising proudly_]. To the pagan Mohammed,--he who with murderous
hand hath bathed in blood the smiling plains of Greece; profaned her
altars, enslaved her people, and filled the land with widows' tears and
orphans' cries; he who by perfidy makes captives of his foes, refusing
hostage and scorning honorable treaty; turns from all supplicants,
closes his heart to mercy, and tramples under foot all pity and all
justice,--the murderer, and the tyrant. Yes, king, I know to whom I
plead.
Moh'd. [_in great anger_]. Ho, without there, guards!--Selim! [_Enter_
Selim _and soldiers._] Away with the prisoner! Bind him fast; see he
escape not. Mohammed stands not to be braved by a beardless boy! Hence!
[_Guards approach with chains._]
Ion. Lay not hands upon me,--I am no slave! One more appeal: May a son
look once more upon his father ere death parts them forever? May I but
for an hour speak with Cleon?
Moh'd. Once more thou mayst look upon the rebel Greek. When he hangs
from yonder battlement thou mayst gaze unbidden as thou will. Away! With
to-morrow's sun, he dies.
Ion. So soon, O king!--nay, the son of Cleon kneels not to thee again
[_turns to go_].
Moh'd. Stay,--yield up thy sword! Bend thy proud knee, and surrender
unto me the arms thou art unworthy now to bear.
Ion [_drawing his sword_]. This, my sword, girded on by a mother's hand,
pledged to the deliverance of a captive sire, dedicated to the service
of my country, unstained, unconquered,--_thus_ do I surrender thee. [_He
breaks the sword, and flings it down._]
Moh'd. Again dost thou brave me! Away with the rebel! Bind him hand and
foot. He shall learn what it is to be Mohammed's slave. Hence, I say!
Ion. I am thy captive, but thy slave--never! Thou mayst chain my limbs,
thou canst _not_ bind my freeborn soul! Lead on,--I follow.
[_Exit_ Ion _and guards_.
CURTAIN.
SCENE THIRD.
[_Tent of_ Zuleika; _guitar, ottoman, etc._]
Zuleika [_pacing up and down_]. Night draweth on apace, and ever nearer
comes the fatal hour. With to-morrow's dawn all hope is o'er, for
Mohammed hath sworn the Greek shall die, and when was _he_ ere known to
fail in his dread purpose? In vain have I wept before him, imploring him
to have some mercy; in vain have I sought with golden promises to move
the stony-hearted Hafiz,--all, all hath failed, and I am in despair. And
that brave youth, his true heart filled with love's pure devotion,
seeking by the sacrifice of his own life to save a father! And now each
moment bringeth nearer the death-hour of that father, and he is mourning
in solitude that he may not say farewell. Where can I turn for help? Ah,
Hassan! my faithful slave. He is true, and loveth me like his own. He
must aid me [_claps her hands_; _enter_ Hassan]. Hassan, thou lovest me,
and would not see me grieve?
Hassan. Allah, forbid! Thou art dear to old Hassan as the breath of
life, and while life lingers he will serve thee.
Zuleika. Then must thou aid me in a deed of mercy. Who doth keep watch
to-night before the tent of the young Greek?
Hassan. Mine is the watch. Wherefore dost thou seek to know?
Zuleika. Hassan, thou hast sworn to serve me. I have a boon to ask of
thee.
Hassan. Speak, lady! thy slave doth listen.
Zuleika. Thou knowest that with the morning sun Mohammed hath sworn
Cleon shall die. Such is the fierce anger he doth bear his foe he hath
refused all mercy and scorned to listen to the prayers of the young
prince who hath journeyed hither at peril of his own life to place
himself in the power of the king as hostage for his father.
Hassan. It is indeed most true. Poor youth!
Zuleika. 'Tis of him I would speak to thee. Mohammed, angered at his
boldness, hath, as thou knowest, guarded him in yonder tent, denying him
his last sad prayer to speak once more in life with his father. Oh,
Hassan, what must be the agony of that young heart to see the hours
swift speeding by, and know no hope.
Hassan. What wouldst thou have me do?
Zuleika. Lead him to his father; give him the consolation of folding to
his breast the beloved one to save whose life he hath sacrificed his
own.
Hassan. Dear mistress, thou art dreaming, and cannot know the danger of
so rash a deed. Bethink thee of Mohammed's anger, the almost certain
doom of such as dare to brave his mighty will. I pray thee let not thy
noble heart lead thee astray. Thou canst not save him, and will but harm
thyself.
Zuleika. Hassan, thy love and true devotion, I well know, doth prompt
thee to thus counsel, and in thy fear for me thou dost forget to think
of mercy or of pity. I thank thee; but thou canst not move me from my
firm resolve. Again I ask thee, Wilt thou aid me?
Hassan [_falling at her feet_]. Pardon, but I cannot. Heed, I implore
thee, the counsel of thy faithful servant, and trust to the wisdom these
gray hairs have brought. Thou art young and brave, but believe me,
maiden, dangers of which thou dost not dream beset the path, and I were
no true friend did I not warn thee to beware. Do not tempt me; I cannot
aid thee to thy ruin.
Zuleika. Then will I go alone. I will brave the peril, and carry comfort
to a suffering soul [_turns to go_; Hassan _catches her robe_].
Hassan. Maiden! once more let thy slave entreat. Thy father places faith
in me. I am the captive's guard.
Zuleika. Peace, Hassan, peace; if life be then so dear to thee, and thy
duty to thy king greater than that thou dost owe to thy fellow-man,
Allah forbid that I should tempt thee to forget it. But did death look
me in the face, I would not tarry now.
Hassan. And thou wouldst seek the captive's cell?
Zuleika. This very hour. Soon it will be too late.
Hassan. Thou knowest not the way,--soldiers guard every turn. Oh, tarry
till the dawn, I do implore thee.
Zuleika. The darkness shall be my guide, Allah my guard; shrouded in yon
dark mantle none will deem me other than a slave. Again I ask thee, Wilt
thou go?
Hassan. I go. I were no true man to tremble when a woman fears not. I
will guide thee, and may Allah in his mercy shield us both. Say thy
prayers, Hassan, for thy head no longer rests in safety.