Chapter IV: Part 4

Ione. I cannot doubt the truth of this, my lord, for one whose word I trust learned it, and followed to the haunted glen, there saw Rienzi, whose guilty conscience drove him from the place, leaving behind this scroll whereon are all the traitors' names. And this dagger,--'tis his own, as thou mayst see [_shows dagger and scroll_].

Con. I can no longer doubt; but I had rather have felt the dagger in my heart than such a wound as this. The names are few; I fear them not, and will ere long show them a king may pardon all save treachery like this. But tell the name of thy brave friend who hath discovered this deep treason, and let me offer some reward to one who hath watched above me with such faithful care.

Ione. Nay, my lord, no gift, no thanks are needed. 'Tis a true and loving subject, who is well rewarded if his king be safe.

Con. Thou canst not thus deceive me. It was thine own true heart that dared so much to save my life. Oh, Ione, why wilt thou make me love thee more by deeds like these,--why make the sorrow heavier to bear, the parting sadder still?

Ione. Thou dost forget, my lord, I have but done my duty. May it please thee, listen to a message I bear thee from the queen.

Con. Say on. I will gladly listen to thy voice while yet I may.

Ione. She bid me tell thee that to-morrow, ere the sun shall set, the Princess Irene will be here. [Constantine _starts and turns aside._] Forgive me that I pain thee, but I must obey. Yet, farther: thy bride hath sent her statue as a gift to thee, and thou wilt find it in the queen's pavilion. She bid me say she prayed thee to go look upon it, and remember there thy solemn vow.

Con. Oh, Ione, could she send none but thee to tell me this? To hear it from thy lips but makes the tidings heavier to bear. Canst thou bid me go, and vow to love one whom I have learned to hate? Canst thou bid me leave thee for a fate like this?

Ione. My lord, thou art soon to be a king; then for thy country's sake, remember thy hand is plighted to the princess, and let no kindly thoughts of a humble slave keep thy heart from its solemn duty.

Con. I am no king,--'tis I who am the slave, and thou, Ione, are more to me than country, home, or friends. Nay, do not turn away,--think only of the love I bear thee, and listen to my prayer.

Ione. I must not listen. Hast thou so soon forgot the vow thou made that no word of love should pass thy lips? Remember, 'tis a slave who stands before thee.

Con. Once more thou shalt listen to me, Ione, and then I will be still forever. Thou shalt be my judge, thy lips _shall_ speak my fate. I cannot love the princess. Wouldst thou bid me vow to cherish her while my heart is wholly thine? Wouldst thou ask me to pass through life beside her with a false vow on my lips, and, with words of love I do not feel, conceal from her the grief of my divided heart? Must I give up all the bright dreams of a happier lot, and feel that life is but a bitter struggle, a ceaseless longing but for thee? Rather bid me to forget the princess and bind with Love's sweet chains the slave unto my side,--my bride forever.

Ione. The _slave_ Ione can never be thy bride, and thou art bound by solemn vows to wed the Princess Irene. My duty and thine honor are more precious than a poor slave's love. Banish all thoughts of her, and prove thyself a faithful lord unto the wife who comes now trustingly to thee. Ask thine own heart if life could be a bitter pilgrimage, when a sacrifice like this had been so nobly made. A tender wife beside thee, a mother's blessing on thy head,--oh, were not this a happier fate than to enjoy a short, bright dream of love, but to awake and find thy heart's peace gone, thy happiness forever fled; to see the eyes that once looked reverently upon thee now turned aside, and lips that spoke but tender words now whisper scornfully of broken vows thou wert not brave enough to keep. Forgive me, but I cannot see the prince so false to his own noble heart. Cast off this spell; forget me, and Irene shall win thee back to happiness.

Con. Never! All her loveliness can never banish the pure, undying love I bear to thee. Oh, Ione, canst thou doubt its truth, when I obey thee now and prove how great thy power o'er my heart hath grown? Oh, let the sacrifice win from _thee_ one gentle thought, one kind remembrance of him whose life thou hast made so beautiful for a short hour. And in my loneliness, sweet memories of thee shall cheer and gladden, and I will bear all for thy dear sake. And now farewell. Forgive if I have grieved thee, and at parting grant me one token to the silent love that henceforth must lie unseen within my heart. Farewell, Ione! [_He kisses her._]

Ione [_falling at his feet_]. Ah, forgive me,--here let me seek thy 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.

Zuleika. Come, let us on! The moments speed. The darkening gloom befriends us. First to the tent of the young prince, and while I in brief speech do acquaint him with mine errand, thou shalt keep guard without. Then will we guide him to his father, and unto Allah leave the rest [_shrouds herself in dark mantle and veil_]. Lead on, good Hassan. Let us away!

Hassan. Fold thy veil closer, that none may know the daughter of Mohammed walks thus late abroad. Come, and Allah grant we sleep not in paradise to-morrow!

[_Exit, leading_ Zuleika.

CURTAIN.

SCENE FOURTH.

[Ion's _tent_.
Ion _chained, in an attitude of deep despair, upon
a miserable couch. He does not see the entrance
of_ Zuleika _and_ Hassan.]

Zuleika. Stand thou without as watch, good Hassan, and warn me if any shall approach. [_Exit_ Hassan.] Young Greek, despair not; hope is nigh.

Ion [_starting up_]. Bright vision, whence comest thou? Art thou the phantom of a dream, or some blest visitant from that better land, come to bear me hence? What art thou?

Zuleika. I am no vision, but a mortal maiden, come to bring thee consolation.

Ion. Consolation! ah, then indeed thou art no mortal; for unto grief like mine there is no consolation, save that which cometh from above.

Zuleika. Nay, believe it not. Human hearts are at this moment hoping, and human hands are striving earnestly to spare thee the agony thou dost dread.

Ion. Are there then hearts to feel for the poor Greek? I had thought I was alone,--alone 'mid mine enemies. Sure, those fetters are no dream, this dark cell, the words "Thy father dies!" No, no! it is a dread reality. The words are burned into my brain.

Zuleika. Is death, then, so dread a thing unto a warrior? I had thought it brought him fame and glory.

Ion. Death! Oh, maiden! To the soldier on the battle-field, fighting for his father-land 'mid the clash of arms, the fierce blows of foemen, the shouts of victory; 'neath the banner of his country, the gratitude of a nation, the glory of a hero round his brow,--death were a happy, ay, a welcome friend. But alone, 'mid foes, disgraced by fetters, dragged to a dishonored grave, with none to whisper of hope or comfort, death is a cruel, a most bitter foe.

Zuleika. Mine errand is to take from that death the bitterness thou dost mourn, to give a parting joy to the life now passing.

Ion. Oh, hast thou the power to save my father's life! Oh, use it now, and Greece shall bless thee for thy mercy!

Zuleika. Oh, that the power _were_ mine, how gladly would I use it in a cause so glorious! I am but a woman, and tho' the heart is strong, the arm is very weak. I cannot save thy father, but trust I may still cheer the parting hours with a brief happiness.

Ion. Lady, thy words of kindly sympathy fall like sweet music on my troubled heart, and at thy magic call hope springeth up anew. Thou art unknown, and yet there is that within that doth whisper I may trust thee.

Zuleika. Thou mayst indeed. Heaven were not more true than I will be unto my word. [Hassan _pauses before the door_.]

Hassan. Lady, the hours are fleeting. It were best to make good speed.

Zuleika. Hassan, thou dost counsel aright; morn must not find me here. [_To_ Ion.] Young Greek, thou knowest with the coming dawn thy father dies.

Ion. Ay, ere another moon doth rise that life, so dear to Greece, shall be no more; the heart that beat so nobly at his country's call be still forever,--I know it well!

Zuleika. And hast thou no last word for him, no parting wish?

Ion. O maiden, my life were a glad sacrifice, so that I might for a single hour look on him,--for the last time say, "My father, bless thy Ion."

Zuleika. That hour shall be thine. Fold thyself in yonder cloak, and follow me.

Ion. Follow thee,--and whither?

Zuleika. To thy father's presence. Thou shalt spend with him the last hours of his earthly life. Stay not; this friendly gloom will ere long pass away.

Ion [_falling on his knees and catching her robe_]. Art thou my guardian angel? Oh, may the consolation thou hath poured into a suffering soul, fall like heaven's dew upon thine own; and if the prayers of a grateful heart bring hope and joy and peace, thy life shall bloom with choicest blessings. O maiden, how do I bless thee! [_Kisses her robe._]

Zuleika. Speak not of that,--kneel not to me, a mortal maiden. Thy gratitude is my best reward. Hassan, lead on!

Hassan. Lady, I do thy bidding. First let me lead thee to a place of safety.

Zuleika. Nay, Hassan, I tarry here,--thou canst return; I will await thee. Now make all speed,--away!

Ion. Let us hence; my heart can ill contain its joy. Oh, my father, shall I see thee, hear thy voice, feel thine arms once more about me, and die with thy blessing on my head. Heaven hath blessed my mission.

Zuleika. Shall we depart? The hour wanes.

Ion. I will follow whither thou shalt lead. But, stay! is there no danger unto thee? Will thy deed of mercy bring suffering to thee, my kind deliverer?

Zuleika. Fear not for me. Yet one pledge must I ask of thee on which my safety doth depend. 'Tis this: Swear that from the moment thou dost leave me until thou art again a prisoner here, though the path lie plain before thee thou wilt not fly.

Ion. I swear. Thou mayst trust me.

Zuleika. Yet once again. Breathe not to mortal ear the _means_ by which thou sought'st thy sire, and let the memory of this hour fade from thy heart forever. [Ion _bows assent_.] What pledge have I of thy secrecy, and of thy truth?

Ion. The word of a Greek is sacred, and were not my gratitude my surest pledge to _thee_?

Zuleika. Pardon, I do trust. Now haste thee.

Ion [_pointing to his fetters_]. Thou dost forget I am a prisoner still.

Zuleika. Hassan, unloose these fetters, and give the Greek his freedom. [Hassan _takes off the chains_; Ion _springs joyfully forward_.]

Ion. Now am I free again, and with the Turk's base fetters have I cast off my fears and my despair. Hope smiles upon me, and my father calls. Oh, let us tarry not.

Zuleika [_folding a dark mantle round him_]. Thus shrouded, in safety thou mayst reach his cell; this ring will spare thee question. Hassan will guide thee, and I--will pray for thy success. Farewell! May Allah aid thee!

Ion. Lady, though I may never know thee, never look on thee again, the memory of this brief hour will never fade. The blessed gift of mercy thou dost bestow will I ever treasure with the deepest gratitude, and my fervent prayer that all Heaven's blessings may rest upon thee cease but with my life [_falls on his knee and kisses her hand_]. Pardon,--'tis my only thanks. Spirit of mercy, farewell! farewell! [_Follows_ Hassan; Zuleika _gazes after him, then sinks down weeping_.]

CURTAIN.

SCENE FIFTH.

[_Tent of_ Cleon _the Greek_.
Cleon, _chained, pacing to and fro_.]

Cleon. A few short hours and all is o'er,--Cleon sleeps with his fathers. I could have wished to die like a hero in my harness, and have known my grave were watered by my loved one's tears; to take my wife once more unto my bosom; once more bless my noble Ion; and pass hence with the blest consciousness of victory won. 'Tis bitter thus to die, ingloriously and alone. [_Proudly raising his head._] But the name of Cleon is too dear unto his people e'er to be forgotten. The memory that he strove ever for his country's welfare shall strew with tearful blessings his unhonored grave. [_Steps approach; voices are heard._] Ah, they come! They shall find me ready. [_Enter_ Ion.] Has mine hour come? I am here.

[Ion _casts off his cloak, and springs forward_.]

Ion. Father! O my father!

Cleon [_starting back wildly_]. Thou? Here!

Ion. Yes, thy Ion; bless me, Father [_kneels_].

Cleon [_raising and clasping_ Ion _to his breast_]. Here, on my heart, dear one. I turn to meet my executioners, and see thee, my boy. Great Heaven, I bless thee! [_They embrace tenderly and weep._] Thou camest thither--how?

Ion. Alone, with my good sword.

Cleon. Thy guide through the perils of the way, my child?

Ion. The good Father who doth guide all who trust in him.

Cleon. And thine errand?

Ion. To behold thee, my father, and with my life to strive for thy release.

Cleon. My noble boy, thou hast come unto thy death. Oh, who could bid thee thus brave the doom that must await thee?

Ion. My mother bid me forth; and as she girded on my sword, she bid me seek my father, with her blessing on my mission.

Cleon. My brave Iantha, thus for thy country's sake to doom thine own heart to so deep a sorrow [_looks sadly upon_ Ion]. Tell me, my son, did thy mother bear bravely up against the fatal tidings? I had feared her tender heart might but ill meet a blow so fearful. Speak to me of her.

Ion. When the rude Turk did in rough speech acquaint her with thy fell defeat, she sank as one o'erpowered by her grief, praying the friendly hand of death might take her hence; but soon the spirit of the Greek rose high within her, and, banishing her fears, with brave and trusting heart she sent me forth to seek, and if it might be, save thee. Ah, my father, that I might die for thee!

Cleon. And thou hath come to see me die! Dost thou not know that with the night thy father passeth hence, and when the stars again look forth it will be upon his grave?

Ion. Father, 'tis because thou art doomed that I am here. And if my heart speak truly, those same bright stars shall serve to guide thee back to freedom.

Cleon. Thou doth speak wildly. What wilt thou do? Wilt _thou_ brave the king?

Ion [_proudly_]. Nay, I have knelt for the last time unto Mohammed. I have offered him my liberty, my service, ay, my life itself, and he hath scorned me. I have deigned to bow before him as a suppliant, and he hath spurned me; I have sought by all the power love and despair could teach to move him, and his ear was closed to me. I seek him not again.

Cleon. Child, what hath led thee to the presence of the king? How didst thou brave the frown of him before whom even armed men do tremble? Didst thou dream thy feeble voice could reach a heart so cruel, that thy prayers could soften one who knoweth not the name of mercy?

Ion. Love can brave all dangers. It giveth wisdom to the untaught, strength to the weak, hope to the despairing, comfort to the mourner. Love hath been my guide, my guard.

Cleon. My boy! my Ion! Truly doth God place in the pure heart of such as thou his truest wisdom, his deepest faith [_embraces him with deep emotion_]. But--art not thou in danger? Did not thy bold speech anger the proud king? Art thou still free?

Ion. Let not thy heart be vexed with fears for me,--I am unharmed.

Cleon. Ion, deceive me not, but as thou hopest for thy father's love, speak truly. Art thou in danger from the Turk, and in thy devotion to thy father dost thou seek to be thyself the sacrifice? Answer me, Ion.

Ion. Father, I sought to spare thy too o'erburdened heart another grief. I _am_ a prisoner in Mohammed's power, and know not if my fate be life or death.

Cleon. 'Tis as I feared; and thou, the last hope of thy country, must fall,--all, all, for me! Oh, mine own disgrace were bitter, but to see thee die! Oh, woe is me!

Ion. Father, were it not better thus to die, than in disgraceful peace to pass away with no thought for our fatherland, no proud consciousness of having at the call of duty sacrificed all we held most dear, and leave a name held sacred as one who yielded life and liberty on the altar of his country?

Cleon. But that thou in thine innocence and bloom should meet death at the hands of heartless foemen; and for _my_ sake! 'Tis this that tears my heart.

Ion. The purer the victim the more acceptable the sacrifice. But fear not, dear father. The Turk is yet a man; 'tis 'gainst thee he wars, and he will not wreak his vengeance on a child. He may relent, and for my love's sake, pardon mine offence.

Cleon. Child, thou knowest not Mohammed. He pardons none; all fall before him, with relentless hand,--all strew his pathway unto victory. Will he then spare and pity thee? Nay, sire and son must fall! [_Stands sorrowfully._ Ion _suddenly sees_ Zuleika's _ring upon his hand, and springs forward_.]

Ion. Father, thou shalt yet breathe the air of freedom, shall clasp my mother to thy heart; once more shall lead thy gallant band onward to victory.

Cleon. Raise not bright hopes to crush them at their birth; wake not to dreams of triumph the heart that hath striven to drive hence all save the solemn thoughts meet for one so soon to pass away.

Ion [_pointing to the door_]. See, the gray morning 'gins to glimmer in the east. 'Tis no time for despair. Haste, Father, freedom is near!

Cleon. What doth thus move thee, Ion? Dost thou forget these chains, the guards, the perils at each step? Thou art dreaming!

Ion. I tell thee 'tis no dream. Thou shalt be free. This mantle will disguise thee; this ring open a pathway through the guards; these stars shall be thy silent guide. Wilt thou go?

Cleon. 'Tis strange! Whence then that ring? How dost thou, a captive, wander thus freely, and offer liberty with such a bounteous hand?

Ion. A solemn oath doth forbid me to reveal to living man the secret of this hour; but if ever angels do leave their homes to minister to suffering souls, 'twas one most bright and beautiful who hath this night led me unto thee, and placed in mine hand the power to set thee free.

Cleon. Truth speaketh in thine earnest eye and pleading voice, and yet I dare not listen to thy tale.

Ion. Oh, Father, heed not thy fears, thy doubts! Take thy liberty, believing it heaven-sent. No oath binds thee to Mohammed; thou art no rightful prisoner of war,--neither duty nor honor doth demand thy stay. Thy country calls, and Heaven doth point the way.

Cleon. 'Tis true; no oath doth bind me to the Turk, and yet to fly--My soldier's spirit doth ill brook such retreat.

Ion. Then stay not, my father, but whilst thou may, depart.

Cleon. Bright hopes call me hence. Life, love, fame, beckon me away.

[Hassan _looks in_.]

Hassan. The promised hour hath well-nigh gone. Prepare, young Greek; we must away.

Ion. A moment more. [_Exit_ Hassan.] Father, time wanes. Once more I do entreat thee,--go!

Cleon. Heaven grant I choose aright! Come Ion, we will forth together. [Ion _folds the cloak about_ Cleon; _gives him the ring_.] Come, let us go.

Ion. Nay, but one can pass forth. Thou goest. I await the morning here.

Cleon. Then do I tarry also. Nay, Ion, I will not go hence without thee.

Ion. Then all is lost. Father, thy stay can nought avail me. It cannot save, and thou wilt but sacrifice thine own priceless life.

Cleon. Then fly with me; let me bear thee to thy mother. Alone, I will not go.

Ion. I cannot go; a vow doth bid me stay,--a vow that nought shall tempt me from the camp to-night; and when did a Greek e'er break his plighted word?

Cleon. If thine honor bid thee stay, thy father will not tempt thee hence; but he may stay and suffer with thee the fate of the faithful [_throws off the mantle_].

Ion. Oh, my father, do not cast from thee the priceless boon of liberty. Think of thy broken-hearted wife, thy faithful followers, thy unconquered foes; think, Father, of thy country calling on thee for deliverance. What were my worthless life weighed 'gainst her freedom. And what happier fate for a hero's son than for a hero's sake to fall!

Cleon. Thou true son of Greece! Mayst thou yet live to wield a sword for thine oppressed land, and gird with laurels that brow so worthy them.

[Hassan _enters_.

Hassan. No longer may I stay: thine hour is past.

Ion. I come,--yet one moment more, good Hassan; it is my last. [_Exit_ Hassan.] Once more, my father, do I entreat thee,--go. Thou dost forget a guardian spirit watcheth over me, and the power that led me hither may yet accomplish my deliverance. If nought else can move thee, for my sake go, and win for me that freedom mine honor doth now forbid me to seek. Break not my heart, nor let me plead in vain.

Cleon. My boy, for thy dear sake do I consent. I _will_ earn thy deliverance bravely, as a soldier should; and thy dear image shall be to me the star that leads me on to victory.

Ion [_joyfully_]. Away! Hassan will guide thee past the guards. Then fly,--and Heaven guide thee, O my father! [Ion _again shrouds_ Cleon _in the mantle, concealing his chains in the thick folds_.] Thus muffle thy tell-tale fetters, that no sound may whisper to the Turks there walks a Greek under the free heavens forth to freedom.

Cleon. My Ion, one last embrace! God grant 'tis not our last on earth! Bless thee, thou true young heart! Heaven guard thee!

[Hassan _enters in haste_.

Hassan. Art ready? We must depart. [Cleon _bows his head and follows_. Ion _rushes after, looking from the tent_.]

Ion. Saved! saved! The morning sun that was to shine upon his grave, will smile upon him far, far from foemen's power. And Mohammed, thinking to look upon a dying slave, shall waken to the sound of his victorious war-trump. Ion, thy mission is accomplished. Thou hast given a saviour to thy fatherland, and mayst fall thyself without a murmur [_looks up thankfully; a loud noise without_].

[_Enter_ Abdallah _and_ Murad.

Abd. Where is the prisoner? Come forth!

Ion. I am here [_comes forward_].

Abd. Ha!--here is treason! Without there!--the prisoner hath escaped!

Murad. Who flieth yonder, past the camp?

Abd. 'Tis he! Forth, call for aid! Search without delay! Here is foul work abroad. First, seize yon boy; fetter the base spy; bear him before the king. Speed hence!

Murad [_to_ Ion]. Infidel dog, thou shalt learn what it is to brave Mohammed's ire!

[_They seize_ Ion, _and drag him away_.]

CURTAIN.

BIANCA.

OPERATIC TRAGEDY.

NOTE TO BIANCA.

The peculiarity of this opera was that while the words were committed to memory, the music was _composed_ and _sung_ as the scene proceeded.

In spite of its absurdity, this play was a great favorite; for Jo was truly superb as the hapless Bianca, while her trills and tragic agonies were considered worthy of the famous Grisi herself.

CHARACTERS.

Adelbert . . . . . . _Betrothed to Bianca._

Huon . . . . . . . _His Rival._

Juan . . . . . . . _A Page._

Bianca . . . . . . . _A Spanish Lady._

Hilda . . . . . . . _A Witch._

BIANCA.

OPERATIC TRAGEDY.

SCENE FIRST.

[_A wood._
_Enter_ Huon.]

Huon. Hist! All is still. They are not yet here. On this spot will the happy lovers meet. O wretched Huon! she whom thou so passionately doth love will here speak tender words to thy thrice hated rival. Yet I, unseen, will watch them, and ere long my fierce revenge shall change their joy to deepest woe. Hark! they come! Now, jealous heart, be still! [_Hides among the trees._]

[_Enter_ Bianca _and_ Adelbert.

Adel. Nay, dearest love, fear not; no mortal eye beholds us now, and yon bright moon looks kindly down upon our love.

[_They seat themselves beneath the trees._

Bianca. Ah, dearest Adelbert, with thee I feel no fear, but thy fierce rival Huon did vow vengeance on thee, for I did reject his suit for thine. Beware! for his wild heart can feel no pity, tenderness, or love.

Adel. I fear him not. Ere long thou wilt be mine, and then in our fair home we will forget all but our love. Think not, dearest, of that dark, revengeful man; he does not truly love thee.

Bianca. Near thee I cannot fear; but when thou art far from me, my fond heart will ever dread some danger for thee. Ah, see the moon is waning; dear love, thou must away.