Creusa
Into my arms—how? Who carried you to Apollo’s halls?
Ion
A miracle! Oh, may the rest of our lives be as happy
as the misery we’ve endured until now.
Creusa
You came into the world in tears, my child—
and left me in sorrow.
But now—now I breathe again,
pressing my lips to your cheek,
drinking joy at last.
Ion
Your words are mine too.
Creusa
No longer am I bereft of son and heir.
My house stands firm.
My city has a prince.
Erechtheus lives again!
The earth-born race lifts its eyes to the sun—
no longer sunk in gloom.
Ion
Mother—since my father is here,
let him share the joy I’ve brought you.
Creusa (suddenly stricken)
My child… what have you said?
My sin finds me out!
Ion
What do you mean?
Creusa
You are of different blood—different stock.
Ion
Gods! Am I a bastard then—born in your maiden days?
Creusa
No torch, no wedding dance, my child,
ushered in your birth.
Ion
Mother—what shameful root do I spring from?
Creusa
Bear witness—she who slew the Gorgon.
Ion
What do you mean?
Creusa
She who sits upon my native rock,
where the olive grows—Athena.
Ion
Your words are riddles—I cannot read them.
Creusa
Near the nightingale’s haunt—Phoebus…
Ion
Why name Phoebus?
Creusa
He forced his secret love upon me.
Ion
Speak! Your story crowns me with glory—if it’s true.
Creusa
When the tenth month came,
I bore a child to Phoebus in secret.
Ion
Oh, happy news—if it’s real!
Creusa
I wrapped you in these swaddling clothes—
my maiden work, clumsy at the loom.
But I never held you to my breast,
never washed you, never gave you milk.
I left you in a cave—
for taloned kites to tear apart.
Ion
An awful deed—O mother!
Creusa
Fear chained me.
I cast your life away—though I loved you.
I would have killed you outright, if I’d dared.
Ion
And I—I almost killed you, impiously.
Creusa
O horror of what I suffered then!
O horror of what follows now!
We toss from bad to good—
but now the wind shifts fair.
May it hold steady!
The past brought storms enough—
but now a bright breeze lifts us from despair.
Chorus
Let no man say hope is dead—
when he sees what fortune does today.
Ion
O Fortune! You’ve turned countless lives—
from grief to joy.
And mine—almost stained with my mother’s blood—
now shines with unexpected light.
Mother—I’ve found you!
And from where I stand,
there’s no shame in my birth.
But one thing more—
I must speak with you alone.
(He draws her aside, voice low.)
Think carefully, mother.
Did you slip—like maidens do—
and now blame the god to hide your shame,
claiming Phoebus fathered me,
though he did not?
Creusa (swearing solemnly)
No! By Athena—queen of victory—
who fought beside Zeus against the giants,
I swear: no mortal fathered you.
Phoebus is your sire—
and he raised you himself.
Ion
Then why did he give his own child to another man—
saying I was Xuthus’ son?
Creusa
He never said “begotten.”
He gave you as a gift—
his son to a friend—
to rule his house.
Ion
Mother—this troubles me.
Did the god speak truth—or weave a lie?
Creusa
Listen. Here’s my thought:
Phoebus meant kindness.
If he called you his son,
you’d never inherit a father’s name or home.
How could you—when I hid my union with him
and tried to kill you?
So he gave you to Xuthus—
to secure your place.
Ion
I won’t rest on guesses.
I’ll go into Apollo’s shrine
and ask the god himself:
Am I his son—or a mortal’s?
(He looks up suddenly, startled.)
What’s that—hovering above the roof,
shining like the sun?
A face divine!
Mother—let’s flee!
We must not look on gods—
unless it is right we should.
(A blaze of light floods the stage. A majestic figure descends—Athena.
