Ion

What cryptic, twisted utterances… What could she possibly be implying?

And why does she still speak to the god so hostilely?

Is this related to the friend on whose behalf she sought to consult the oracle?

Perhaps her deep friendship will not let her rest.

Or… could it be that she is concealing something else?

That she fights to keep her silence regarding a second crime?

Well, so what, I say. Why should the daughter of Erechtheus be any of my concern?

What is she to me? Nothing.

Her business is not related to me at all!

No, my business is getting back to work –

I am long overdue from starting to use the golden pitchers to transfer water

into the anointing vessels.

Ion starts the work of pouring water into the sacred vessel but he is clearly distracted.

[As I always say, it is important to keep pure the…  the…]

But. Pure?

…after forcing a virgin…

he just abandons her to her fate?

It’s just not…

Someone needs to say…

something.

I mean… after conceiving children in secret

…he does not even care whether they live or die?

How could someone not say: ‘what is the matter with you’?

Someone should…

no, not someone… me…

I need to give Phoebus a stern talking to:

 

Lord Phoebus, light of purity: you must not be like this!

Since you rule over us, you should follow a virtuous path.

Consider: whenever a mortal does something evil,

it is the gods who ensure that he is punished.

But how can it be just for you to inscribe our sacred laws,

While convicted of lawlessness yourself?

And if – I know that this cannot be the case, but let me follow this to its logical conclusion –

If gods followed human law and you were forced to pay our penalty for… raping women

Then you and Poseidon and, yes, even Zeus who rules the heavens,

Would be bankrupted, your temples emptied of gold paying out all the required fines.

In matters like these, you gods have no regard for just action –just lust,

Stumbling forward without even a moment of consideration for the consequences.

And if you act like this, on what grounds could you condemn humankind when we fall short?

You would have no right –

for we would just be imitating the actions of the gods, thinking them paragons of virtue,

It would not be our fault if they have only modeled lives full of vice. 451

(Ion Exits)

 

Chorus

–Lady Athena, hear us. May you be favourable!–

[You who are truly unlike mortals]

For your birth, the pains of labor

Did not summon Eileithyia, my goddess.

No, it was the Titan Prometheus – forethought –

Who delivered you down from the peak

Of Zeus’ head.

 

–May you come to us Nike, blessed victory!–

Come now to the Pythian temple

From your golden rooms in Olympus

Fly down the paths of the sky

To the hearth fires of Phoebus, the pure light,

Come to the center – the very navel – of the earth.

Where on that tripod – celebrated in our sacred dance–

He brings about sacred oracles.

 

Athena, may you also bring with you the revered one

Her:  the daughter born from Leto and the sister of Phoebus

You: two goddesses, forever, ever-virgins.

Please, twinned maidens – unlike mortals and free from our needs—

may you both grant that the ancient lineage of Erechtheus

finds itself fortunate in children,

through favorable and clear oracles. 471

 

—-

[Unlike those who are forever,]

When mortals seek immortality and a fortune

which cannot be overturned or lost

there is only one sure investment:

The sight of children maturing,

shining brightly in the halls of their ancestors

children full of youth and life

holding from previous generations

a healthy, growing inheritance

to one day pass down to the next generation.

 

For children are a shield in bad times

In good time, a loving balm.

And for our homeland, they bring salvation

through the strength of their spear.

 

In my opinion it is worth more than any fortune

Hoarded, stacked up in the storehouse of a king

To carefully raise loving children.

To be wealthy but childless – I would regret

Such a life. And I would criticize any who said otherwise.

No. Wealth in moderation

And the blessing of children: that is all we could wish for.

 

[Now I call on you, border of human and divine land]

I call on you sacred seats and boulder thrones

Of Pan, stones which meander alongside

the many recesses of the long Makrai

 

Which lay amidst the light step of three virgin girls

dancing choral patterns in memory of Aglauros,

along the rolling green in front of Pallas’ Temple.

 

There where you play the flute’s

Swift shrill calls for them

In holy rhythms.

There, where, hidden from the sun,

You play the flute, Lord Pan,

Sounds drifting out from

somewhere deep inside your sacred caves.

 

There, the very cave where the virgin took her newborn

after she delivered the child of Phoebus

–the agony of labor for the mother and for what?—

There, where she left him as meat for scavenger birds;

Inviting wild animals to share in the gory feast.

 

Of all that came from that perversion of marriage

–terror, bitter anger, and the taste of bile–

this was the final horror. I’ve never heard anyone claim

either in our loom-side stories or in any public speech,

that a child born from a mix of god and human

has a fortunate life.