Life Is a Dream

ACT II ACT II SCENE I—A Throne-room in the Palace. Music within. (Enter King and Clotaldo, meeting a Lord in waiting) KING. You, for a moment beckon'd from your office, Tell me thus far how goes it. In due time The potion left him? LORD. At the very hour To which your Highness temper'd it. Yet not So wholly but some lingering mist still hung About his dawning senses—which to clear, We fill'd and handed him a morning drink With sleep's specific antidote suffused; And while with princely raiment we invested What nature surely modell'd for a Prince— All but the sword—as you directed— KING. Ay— LORD. If not too loudly, yet emphatically Still with the title of a Prince address'd him. KING. How bore he that? LORD. With all the rest, my liege, I will not say so like one in a dream As one himself misdoubting that he dream'd. KING. So far so well, Clotaldo, either way, And best of all if tow'rd the worse I dread. But yet no violence? LORD. At most, impatience; Wearied perhaps with importunities We yet were bound to offer. KING. Oh, Clotaldo! Though thus far well, yet would myself had drunk The potion he revives from! such suspense Crowds all the pulses of life's residue Into the present moment; and, I think, Whichever way the trembling scale may turn, Will leave the crown of Poland for some one To wait no longer than the setting sun! CLO. Courage, my liege! The curtain is undrawn, And each must play his part out manfully, Leaving the rest to heaven. KING. Whose written words If I should misinterpret or transgress! But as you say— (To the Lord, who exit.) You, back to him at once; Clotaldo, you, when he is somewhat used To the new world of which they call him Prince, Where place and face, and all, is strange to him, With your known features and familiar garb Shall then, as chorus to the scene, accost him, And by such earnest of that old and too Familiar world, assure him of the new. Last in the strange procession, I myself Will by one full and last development Complete the plot for that catastrophe That he must put to all; God grant it be The crown of Poland on his brows!—Hark! hark!— Was that his voice within!—Now louder—Oh, Clotaldo, what! so soon begun to roar!— Again! above the music—But betide What may, until the moment, we must hide. (Exeunt King and Clotaldo.) SEGISMUND (within). Forbear! I stifle with your perfume! Cease Your crazy salutations! peace, I say Begone, or let me go, ere I go mad With all this babble, mummery, and glare, For I am growing dangerous—Air! room! air!— (He rushes in. Music ceases.) Oh but to save the reeling brain from wreck With its bewilder'd senses! (He covers his eyes for a while.) What! E'en now That Babel left behind me, but my eyes Pursued by the same glamour, that—unless Alike bewitch'd too—the confederate sense Vouches for palpable: bright-shining floors That ring hard answer back to the stamp'd heel, And shoot up airy columns marble-cold, That, as they climb, break into golden leaf And capital, till they embrace aloft In clustering flower and fruitage over walls Hung with such purple curtain as the West Fringes with such a gold; or over-laid With sanguine-glowing semblances of men, Each in his all but living action busied, Or from the wall they look from, with fix'd eyes Pursuing me; and one most strange of all That, as I pass'd the crystal on the wall, Look'd from it—left it—and as I return, Returns, and looks me face to face again— Unless some false reflection of my brain, The outward semblance of myself—Myself? How know that tawdry shadow for myself, But that it moves as I move; lifts his hand With mine; each motion echoing so close The immediate suggestion of the will In which myself I recognize—Myself!— What, this fantastic Segismund the same Who last night, as for all his nights before, Lay down to sleep in wolf-skin on the ground In a black turret which the wolf howl'd round, And woke again upon a golden bed, Round which as clouds about a rising sun, In scarce less glittering caparison, Gather'd gay shapes that, underneath a breeze Of music, handed him upon their knees The wine of heaven in a cup of gold, And still in soft melodious under-song Hailing me Prince of Poland!—'Segismund,' They said, 'Our Prince! The Prince of Poland!' and Again, 'Oh, welcome, welcome, to his own, 'Our own Prince Segismund—' Oh, but a blast— One blast of the rough mountain air! one look At the grim features— (He goes to the window.) What they disvizor'd also! shatter'd chaos Cast into stately shape and masonry, Between whose channel'd and perspective sides Compact with rooted towers, and flourishing To heaven with gilded pinnacle and spire, Flows the live current ever to and fro With open aspect and free step!—Clotaldo! Clotaldo!—calling as one scarce dares call For him who suddenly might break the spell One fears to walk without him—Why, that I, With unencumber'd step as any there, Go stumbling through my glory—feeling for That iron leading-string—ay, for myself— For that fast-anchor'd self of yesterday, Of yesterday, and all my life before, Ere drifted clean from self-identity Upon the fluctuation of to-day's Mad whirling circumstance!—And, fool, why not? If reason, sense, and self-identity Obliterated from a worn-out brain, Art thou not maddest striving to be sane, And catching at that Self of yesterday That, like a leper's rags, best flung away! Or if not mad, then dreaming—dreaming?—well— Dreaming then—Or, if self to self be true, Not mock'd by that, but as poor souls have been By those who wrong'd them, to give wrong new relish? Or have those stars indeed they told me of As masters of my wretched life of old, Into some happier constellation roll'd, And brought my better fortune out on earth Clear as themselves in heaven!—Prince Segismund They call'd me—and at will I shook them off— Will they return again at my command Again to call me so?—Within there! You! Segismund calls—Prince Segismund— (He has seated himself on the throne. Enter Chamberlain, with lords in waiting.) CHAMB. I rejoice That unadvised of any but the voice Of royal instinct in the blood, your Highness Has ta'en the chair that you were born to fill. SEG. The chair? CHAMB. The royal throne of Poland, Sir, Which may your Royal Highness keep as long As he that now rules from it shall have ruled When heaven has call'd him to itself. SEG. When he?— CHAMB. Your royal father, King Basilio, Sir. SEG. My royal father—King Basilio. You see I answer but as Echo does, Not knowing what she listens or repeats. This is my throne—this is my palace—Oh, But this out of the window?— CHAMB. Warsaw, Sir, Your capital— SEG. And all the moving people? CHAMB. Your subjects and your vassals like ourselves. SEG. Ay, ay—my subjects—in my capital— Warsaw—and I am Prince of it—You see It needs much iteration to strike sense Into the human echo. CHAMB. Left awhile In the quick brain, the word will quickly to Full meaning blow. SEG. You think so? CHAMB. And meanwhile Lest our obsequiousness, which means no worse Than customary honour to the Prince We most rejoice to welcome, trouble you, Should we retire again? or stand apart? Or would your Highness have the music play Again, which meditation, as they say, So often loves to float upon? SEG. The music? No—yes—perhaps the trumpet— (Aside) Yet if that Brought back the troop! A LORD. The trumpet! There again How trumpet-like spoke out the blood of Poland! CHAMB. Before the morning is far up, your Highness Will have the trumpet marshalling your soldiers Under the Palace windows. SEG. Ah, my soldiers— My soldiers—not black-vizor'd?— CHAMB. Sir? SEG. No matter. But—one thing—for a moment—in your ear— Do you know one Clotaldo? CHAMB. Oh, my Lord, He and myself together, I may say, Although in different vocations, Have silver'd in your royal father's service; And, as I trust, with both of us a few White hairs to fall in yours. SEG. Well said, well said! Basilio, my father—well—Clotaldo Is he my kinsman too? CHAMB. Oh, my good Lord, A General simply in your Highness' service, Than whom your Highness has no trustier. SEG. Ay, so you said before, I think. And you With that white wand of yours— Why, now I think on't, I have read of such A silver-hair'd magician with a wand, Who in a moment, with a wave of it, Turn'd rags to jewels, clowns to emperors, By some benigner magic than the stars Spirited poor good people out of hand From all their woes; in some enchanted sleep Carried them off on cloud or dragon-back Over the mountains, over the wide Deep, And set them down to wake in Fairyland. CHAMB. Oh, my good Lord, you laugh at me—and I Right glad to make you laugh at such a price: You know me no enchanter: if I were, I and my wand as much as your Highness', As now your chamberlain— SEG. My chamberlain?— And these that follow you?— CHAMB. On you, my Lord, Your Highness' lords in waiting. SEG. Lords in waiting. Well, I have now learn'd to repeat, I think, If only but by rote—This is my palace, And this my throne—which unadvised—And that Out of the window there my Capital; And all the people moving up and down My subjects and my vassals like yourselves, My chamberlain—and lords in waiting—and Clotaldo—and Clotaldo?— You are an aged, and seem a reverend man— You do not—though his fellow-officer— You do not mean to mock me? CHAMB. Oh, my Lord! SEG. Well then—If no magician, as you say, Yet setting me a riddle, that my brain, With all its senses whirling, cannot solve, Yourself or one of these with you must answer— How I—that only last night fell asleep Not knowing that the very soil of earth I lay down—chain'd—to sleep upon was Poland— Awake to find myself the Lord of it, With Lords, and Generals, and Chamberlains, And ev'n my very Gaoler, for my vassals! Enter suddenly Clotaldo CLOTALDO. Stand all aside That I may put into his hand the clue To lead him out of this amazement. Sir, Vouchsafe your Highness from my bended knee Receive my homage first. SEG. Clotaldo! What, At last—his old self—undisguised where all Is masquerade—to end it!—You kneeling too! What! have the stars you told me long ago Laid that old work upon you, added this, That, having chain'd your prisoner so long, You loose his body now to slay his wits, Dragging him—how I know not—whither scarce I understand—dressing him up in all This frippery, with your dumb familiars Disvizor'd, and their lips unlock'd to lie, Calling him Prince and King, and, madman-like, Setting a crown of straw upon his head? CLO. Would but your Highness, as indeed I now Must call you—and upon his bended knee Never bent Subject more devotedly— However all about you, and perhaps You to yourself incomprehensiblest, But rest in the assurance of your own Sane waking senses, by these witnesses Attested, till the story of it all, Of which I bring a chapter, be reveal'd, Assured of all you see and hear as neither Madness nor mockery— SEG. What then? CLO. All it seems: This palace with its royal garniture; This capital of which it is the eye, With all its temples, marts, and arsenals; This realm of which this city is the head, With all its cities, villages, and tilth, Its armies, fleets, and commerce; all your own; And all the living souls that make them up, From those who now, and those who shall, salute you, Down to the poorest peasant of the realm, Your subjects—Who, though now their mighty voice Sleeps in the general body unapprized, Wait but a word from those about you now To hail you Prince of Poland, Segismund. SEG. All this is so? CLO. As sure as anything Is, or can be. SEG. You swear it on the faith You taught me—elsewhere?— CLO (kissing the hilt of his sword). Swear it upon this Symbol, and champion of the holy faith I wear it to defend. SEG (to himself). My eyes have not deceived me, nor my ears, With this transfiguration, nor the strain Of royal welcome that arose and blew, Breathed from no lying lips, along with it. For here Clotaldo comes, his own old self, Who, if not Lie and phantom with the rest— (Aloud) Well, then, all this is thus. For have not these fine people told me so, And you, Clotaldo, sworn it? And the Why And Wherefore are to follow by and bye! And yet—and yet—why wait for that which you Who take your oath on it can answer—and Indeed it presses hard upon my brain— What I was asking of these gentlemen When you came in upon us; how it is That I—the Segismund you know so long No longer than the sun that rose to-day Rose—and from what you know— Rose to be Prince of Poland? CLO. So to be Acknowledged and entreated, Sir. SEG. So be Acknowledged and entreated— Well—But if now by all, by some at least So known—if not entreated—heretofore— Though not by you—For, now I think again, Of what should be your attestation worth, You that of all my questionable subjects Who knowing what, yet left me where I was, You least of all, Clotaldo, till the dawn Of this first day that told it to myself? CLO. Oh, let your Highness draw the line across Fore-written sorrow, and in this new dawn Bury that long sad night. SEG. Not ev'n the Dead, Call'd to the resurrection of the blest, Shall so directly drop all memory Of woes and wrongs foregone! CLO. But not resent— Purged by the trial of that sorrow past For full fruition of their present bliss. SEG. But leaving with the Judge what, till this earth Be cancell'd in the burning heavens, He leaves His earthly delegates to execute, Of retribution in reward to them And woe to those who wrong'd them—Not as you, Not you, Clotaldo, knowing not—And yet Ev'n to the guiltiest wretch in all the realm, Of any treason guilty short of that, Stern usage—but assuredly not knowing, Not knowing 'twas your sovereign lord, Clotaldo, You used so sternly. CLO. Ay, sir; with the same Devotion and fidelity that now Does homage to him for my sovereign. SEG. Fidelity that held his Prince in chains! CLO. Fidelity more fast than had it loosed him— SEG. Ev'n from the very dawn of consciousness Down at the bottom of the barren rocks, Where scarce a ray of sunshine found him out, In which the poorest beggar of my realm At least to human-full proportion grows— Me! Me—whose station was the kingdom's top To flourish in, reaching my head to heaven, And with my branches overshadowing The meaner growth below! CLO. Still with the same Fidelity— SEG. To me!— CLO. Ay, sir, to you, Through that divine allegiance upon which All Order and Authority is based; Which to revolt against— SEG. Were to revolt Against the stars, belike! CLO. And him who reads them; And by that right, and by the sovereignty He wears as you shall wear it after him; Ay, one to whom yourself— Yourself, ev'n more than any subject here, Are bound by yet another and more strong Allegiance—King Basilio—your Father— SEG. Basilio—King—my father!— CLO. Oh, my Lord, Let me beseech you on my bended knee, For your own sake—for Poland's—and for his, Who, looking up for counsel to the skies, Did what he did under authority To which the kings of earth themselves are subject, And whose behest not only he that suffers, But he that executes, not comprehends, But only He that orders it— SEG. The King— My father!—Either I am mad already, Or that way driving fast—or I should know That fathers do not use their children so, Or men were loosed from all allegiance To fathers, kings, and heaven that order'd all. But, mad or not, my hour is come, and I Will have my reckoning—Either you lie, Under the skirt of sinless majesty Shrouding your treason; or if that indeed, Guilty itself, take refuge in the stars That cannot hear the charge, or disavow— You, whether doer or deviser, who Come first to hand, shall pay the penalty By the same hand you owe it to— (Seizing Clotaldo's sword and about to strike him.) (Enter Rosaura suddenly.) ROSAURA. Fie, my Lord—forbear, What! a young hand raised against silver hair!— (She retreats through the crowd.) SEG. Stay! stay! What come and vanish'd as before— I scarce remember how—but— (Voices within. Room for Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy!) (Enter Astolfo) ASTOLFO. Welcome, thrice welcome, the auspicious day, When from the mountain where he darkling lay, The Polish sun into the firmament Sprung all the brighter for his late ascent, And in meridian glory— SEG. Where is he? Why must I ask this twice?— A LORD. The Page, my Lord? I wonder at his boldness— SEG. But I tell you He came with Angel written in his face As now it is, when all was black as hell About, and none of you who now—he came, And Angel-like flung me a shining sword To cut my way through darkness; and again Angel-like wrests it from me in behalf Of one—whom I will spare for sparing him: But he must come and plead with that same voice That pray'd for me—in vain. CHAMB. He is gone for, And shall attend your pleasure, sir. Meanwhile, Will not your Highness, as in courtesy, Return your royal cousin's greeting? SEG. Whose? CHAMB. Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy, my Lord, Saluted, and with gallant compliment Welcomed you to your royal title. SEG. (to Astolfo). Oh— You knew of this then? AST. Knew of what, my Lord? SEG. That I was Prince of Poland all the while, And you my subject? AST. Pardon me, my Lord, But some few hours ago myself I learn'd Your dignity; but, knowing it, no more Than when I knew it not, your subject. SEG. What then? AST. Your Highness' chamberlain ev'n now has told you; Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy, Your father's sister's son; your cousin, sir: And who as such, and in his own right Prince, Expects from you the courtesy he shows. CHAMB. His Highness is as yet unused to Court, And to the ceremonious interchange Of compliment, especially to those Who draw their blood from the same royal fountain. SEG. Where is the lad? I weary of all this— Prince, cousins, chamberlains, and compliments— Where are my soldiers? Blow the trumpet, and With one sharp blast scatter these butterflies And bring the men of iron to my side, With whom a king feels like a king indeed! (Voices within. Within there! room for the Princess Estrella!) (Enter Estrella with Ladies.) ESTRELLA. Welcome, my Lord, right welcome to the throne That much too long has waited for your coming: And, in the general voice of Poland, hear A kinswoman and cousin's no less sincere. SEG. Ay, this is welcome-worth indeed, And cousin cousin-worth! Oh, I have thus Over the threshold of the mountain seen, Leading a bevy of fair stars, the moon Enter the court of heaven—My kinswoman! My cousin! But my subject?— EST. If you please To count your cousin for your subject, sir, You shall not find her a disloyal. SEG. Oh, But there are twin stars in that heavenly face, That now I know for having over-ruled Those evil ones that darken'd all my past And brought me forth from that captivity To be the slave of her who set me free. EST. Indeed, my Lord, these eyes have no such power Over the past or present: but perhaps They brighten at your welcome to supply The little that a lady's speech commends; And in the hope that, let whichever be The other's subject, we may both be friends. SEG. Your hand to that—But why does this warm hand Shoot a cold shudder through me? EST. In revenge For likening me to that cold moon, perhaps. SEG. Oh, but the lip whose music tells me so Breathes of a warmer planet, and that lip Shall remedy the treason of the hand! (He catches to embrace her.) EST. Release me, sir! CHAMB. And pardon me, my Lord. This lady is a Princess absolute, As Prince he is who just saluted you, And claims her by affiance. SEG. Hence, old fool, For ever thrusting that white stick of yours Between me and my pleasure! AST. This cause is mine. Forbear, sir— SEG. What, sir mouth-piece, you again? AST. My Lord, I waive your insult to myself In recognition of the dignity You yet are new to, and that greater still You look in time to wear. But for this lady— Whom, if my cousin now, I hope to claim Henceforth by yet a nearer, dearer name— SEG. And what care I? She is my cousin too: And if you be a Prince—well, am not I Lord of the very soil you stand upon? By that, and by that right beside of blood That like a fiery fountain hitherto Pent in the rock leaps toward her at her touch, Mine, before all the cousins in Muscovy! You call me Prince of Poland, and yourselves My subjects—traitors therefore to this hour, Who let me perish all my youth away Chain'd there among the mountains; till, forsooth, Terrified at your treachery foregone, You spirit me up here, I know not how, Popinjay-like invest me like yourselves, Choke me with scent and music that I loathe, And, worse than all the music and the scent, With false, long-winded, fulsome compliment, That 'Oh, you are my subjects!' and in word Reiterating still obedience, Thwart me in deed at every step I take: When just about to wreak a just revenge Upon that old arch-traitor of you all, Filch from my vengeance him I hate; and him I loved—the first and only face—till this— I cared to look on in your ugly court— And now when palpably I grasp at last What hitherto but shadow'd in my dreams— Affiances and interferences, The first who dares to meddle with me more— Princes and chamberlains and counsellors, Touch her who dares!— AST. That dare I— SEG. (seizing him by the throat). You dare! CHAMB. My Lord!— A LORD. His strength's a lion's— (Voices within. The King! The King!—) (Enter King.) A LORD. And on a sudden how he stands at gaze As might a wolf just fasten'd on his prey, Glaring at a suddenly encounter'd lion. KING. And I that hither flew with open arms To fold them round my son, must now return To press them to an empty heart again! (He sits on the throne.) SEG. That is the King?—My father? (After a long pause.) I have heard That sometimes some blind instinct has been known To draw to mutual recognition those Of the same blood, beyond all memory Divided, or ev'n never met before. I know not how this is—perhaps in brutes That live by kindlier instincts—but I know That looking now upon that head whose crown Pronounces him a sovereign king, I feel No setting of the current in my blood Tow'rd him as sire. How is't with you, old man, Tow'rd him they call your son?— KING. Alas! Alas! SEG. Your sorrow, then? KING. Beholding what I do. SEG. Ay, but how know this sorrow that has grown And moulded to this present shape of man, As of your own creation? KING. Ev'n from birth. SEG. But from that hour to this, near, as I think, Some twenty such renewals of the year As trace themselves upon the barren rocks, I never saw you, nor you me—unless, Unless, indeed, through one of those dark masks Through which a son might fail to recognize The best of fathers. KING. Be that as you will: But, now we see each other face to face, Know me as you I know; which did I not, By whatsoever signs, assuredly You were not here to prove it at my risk. SEG. You are my father. And is it true then, as Clotaldo swears, 'Twas you that from the dawning birth of one Yourself brought into being,—you, I say, Who stole his very birthright; not alone That secondary and peculiar right Of sovereignty, but even that prime Inheritance that all men share alike, And chain'd him—chain'd him!—like a wild beast's whelp. Among as savage mountains, to this hour? Answer if this be thus. KING. Oh, Segismund, In all that I have done that seems to you, And, without further hearing, fairly seems, Unnatural and cruel—'twas not I, But One who writes His order in the sky I dared not misinterpret nor neglect, Who knows with what reluctance— SEG. Oh, those stars, Those stars, that too far up from human blame To clear themselves, or careless of the charge, Still bear upon their shining shoulders all The guilt men shift upon them! KING. Nay, but think: Not only on the common score of kind, But that peculiar count of sovereignty— If not behind the beast in brain as heart, How should I thus deal with my innocent child, Doubly desired, and doubly dear when come, As that sweet second-self that all desire, And princes more than all, to root themselves By that succession in their people's hearts, Unless at that superior Will, to which Not kings alone, but sovereign nature bows? SEG. And what had those same stars to tell of me That should compel a father and a king So much against that double instinct? KING. That, Which I have brought you hither, at my peril, Against their written warning, to disprove, By justice, mercy, human kindliness. SEG. And therefore made yourself their instrument To make your son the savage and the brute They only prophesied?—Are you not afear'd, Lest, irrespective as such creatures are Of such relationship, the brute you made Revenge the man you marr'd—like sire, like son. To do by you as you by me have done? KING. You never had a savage heart from me; I may appeal to Poland. SEG. Then from whom? If pure in fountain, poison'd by yourself When scarce begun to flow.—To make a man Not, as I see, degraded from the mould I came from, nor compared to those about, And then to throw your own flesh to the dogs!— Why not at once, I say, if terrified At the prophetic omens of my birth, Have drown'd or stifled me, as they do whelps Too costly or too dangerous to keep? KING. That, living, you might learn to live, and rule Yourself and Poland. SEG. By the means you took To spoil for either? KING. Nay, but, Segismund! You know not—cannot know—happily wanting The sad experience on which knowledge grows, How the too early consciousness of power Spoils the best blood; nor whether for your long Constrain'd disheritance (which, but for me, Remember, and for my relenting love Bursting the bond of fate, had been eternal) You have not now a full indemnity; Wearing the blossom of your youth unspent In the voluptuous sunshine of a court, That often, by too early blossoming, Too soon deflowers the rose of royalty. SEG. Ay, but what some precocious warmth may spill, May not an early frost as surely kill? KING. But, Segismund, my son, whose quick discourse Proves I have not extinguish'd and destroy'd The Man you charge me with extinguishing, However it condemn me for the fault Of keeping a good light so long eclipsed, Reflect! This is the moment upon which Those stars, whose eyes, although we see them not, By day as well as night are on us still, Hang watching up in the meridian heaven Which way the balance turns; and if to you— As by your dealing God decide it may, To my confusion!—let me answer it Unto yourself alone, who shall at once Approve yourself to be your father's judge, And sovereign of Poland in his stead, By justice, mercy, self-sobriety, And all the reasonable attributes Without which, impotent to rule himself, Others one cannot, and one must not rule; But which if you but show the blossom of— All that is past we shall but look upon As the first out-fling of a generous nature Rioting in first liberty; and if This blossom do but promise such a flower As promises in turn its kindly fruit: Forthwith upon your brows the royal crown, That now weighs heavy on my aged brows, I will devolve; and while I pass away Into some cloister, with my Maker there To make my peace in penitence and prayer, Happily settle the disorder'd realm That now cries loudly for a lineal heir. SEG. And so— When the crown falters on your shaking head, And slips the sceptre from your palsied hand, And Poland for her rightful heir cries out; When not only your stol'n monopoly Fails you of earthly power, but 'cross the grave The judgment-trumpet of another world Calls you to count for your abuse of this; Then, oh then, terrified by the double danger, You drag me from my den— Boast not of giving up at last the power You can no longer hold, and never rightly Held, but in fee for him you robb'd it from; And be assured your Savage, once let loose, Will not be caged again so quickly; not By threat or adulation to be tamed, Till he have had his quarrel out with those Who made him what he is. KING. Beware! Beware! Subdue the kindled Tiger in your eye, Nor dream that it was sheer necessity Made me thus far relax the bond of fate, And, with far more of terror than of hope Threaten myself, my people, and the State. Know that, if old, I yet have vigour left To wield the sword as well as wear the crown; And if my more immediate issue fail, Not wanting scions of collateral blood, Whose wholesome growth shall more than compensate For all the loss of a distorted stem. SEG. That will I straightway bring to trial—Oh, After a revelation such as this, The Last Day shall have little left to show Of righted wrong and villainy requited! Nay, Judgment now beginning upon earth, Myself, methinks, in sight of all my wrongs, Appointed heaven's avenging minister, Accuser, judge, and executioner Sword in hand, cite the guilty—First, as worst, The usurper of his son's inheritance; Him and his old accomplice, time and crime Inveterate, and unable to repay The golden years of life they stole away. What, does he yet maintain his state, and keep The throne he should be judged from? Down with him, That I may trample on the false white head So long has worn my crown! Where are my soldiers? Of all my subjects and my vassals here Not one to do my bidding? Hark! A trumpet! The trumpet— (He pauses as the trumpet sounds as in Act I., and masked Soldiers gradually fill in behind the Throne.) KING (rising before his throne). Ay, indeed, the trumpet blows A memorable note, to summon those Who, if forthwith you fall not at the feet Of him whose head you threaten with the dust, Forthwith shall draw the curtain of the Past About you; and this momentary gleam Of glory that you think to hold life-fast, So coming, so shall vanish, as a dream. SEG. He prophesies; the old man prophesies; And, at his trumpet's summons, from the tower The leash-bound shadows loosen'd after me My rising glory reach and over-lour— But, reach not I my height, he shall not hold, But with me back to his own darkness! (He dashes toward the throne and is enclosed by the soldiers.) Traitors! Hold off! Unhand me!—Am not I your king? And you would strangle him!— But I am breaking with an inward Fire Shall scorch you off, and wrap me on the wings Of conflagration from a kindled pyre Of lying prophecies and prophet-kings Above the extinguish'd stars—Reach me the sword He flung me—Fill me such a bowl of wine As that you woke the day with— KING. And shall close,— But of the vintage that Clotaldo knows. (Exeunt.) ACT III. SCENE I.—The Tower, etc., as in Act I. Scene I. (Segismund, as at first, and Clotaldo.) CLOTALDO. Princes and princesses, and counsellors Fluster'd to right and left—my life made at— But that was nothing Even the white-hair'd, venerable King Seized on—Indeed, you made wild work of it; And so discover'd in your outward action, Flinging your arms about you in your sleep, Grinding your teeth—and, as I now remember, Woke mouthing out judgment and execution, On those about you. SEG. Ay, I did indeed. CLO. Ev'n now your eyes stare wild; your hair stands up— Your pulses throb and flutter, reeling still Under the storm of such a dream— SEG. A dream! That seem'd as swearable reality As what I wake in now. CLO. Ay—wondrous how Imagination in a sleeping brain Out of the uncontingent senses draws Sensations strong as from the real touch; That we not only laugh aloud, and drench With tears our pillow; but in the agony Of some imaginary conflict, fight And struggle—ev'n as you did; some, 'tis thought, Under the dreamt-of stroke of death have died. SEG. And what so very strange too—In that world Where place as well as people all was strange, Ev'n I almost as strange unto myself, You only, you, Clotaldo—you, as much And palpably yourself as now you are, Came in this very garb you ever wore, By such a token of the past, you said, To assure me of that seeming present. CLO. Ay? SEG. Ay; and even told me of the very stars You tell me here of—how in spite of them, I was enlarged to all that glory. CLO. Ay, By the false spirits' nice contrivance thus A little truth oft leavens all the false, The better to delude us. SEG. For you know 'Tis nothing but a dream? CLO. Nay, you yourself Know best how lately you awoke from that You know you went to sleep on?— Why, have you never dreamt the like before? SEG. Never, to such reality. CLO. Such dreams Are oftentimes the sleeping exhalations Of that ambition that lies smouldering Under the ashes of the lowest fortune; By which, when reason slumbers, or has lost The reins of sensible comparison, We fly at something higher than we are— Scarce ever dive to lower—to be kings, Or conquerors, crown'd with laurel or with gold, Nay, mounting heaven itself on eagle wings. Which, by the way, now that I think of it, May furnish us the key to this high flight That royal Eagle we were watching, and Talking of as you went to sleep last night. SEG. Last night? Last night? CLO. Ay, do you not remember Envying his immunity of flight, As, rising from his throne of rock, he sail'd Above the mountains far into the West, That burn'd about him, while with poising wings He darkled in it as a burning brand Is seen to smoulder in the fire it feeds? SEG. Last night—last night—Oh, what a day was that Between that last night and this sad To-day! CLO. And yet, perhaps, Only some few dark moments, into which Imagination, once lit up within And unconditional of time and space, Can pour infinities. SEG. And I remember How the old man they call'd the King, who wore The crown of gold about his silver hair, And a mysterious girdle round his waist, Just when my rage was roaring at its height, And after which it all was dark again, Bid me beware lest all should be a dream. CLO. Ay—there another specialty of dreams, That once the dreamer 'gins to dream he dreams, His foot is on the very verge of waking. SEG. Would it had been upon the verge of death That knows no waking— Lifting me up to glory, to fall back, Stunn'd, crippled—wretcheder than ev'n before. CLO. Yet not so glorious, Segismund, if you Your visionary honour wore so ill As to work murder and revenge on those Who meant you well. SEG. Who meant me!—me! their Prince Chain'd like a felon— CLO. Stay, stay—Not so fast, You dream'd the Prince, remember. SEG. Then in dream Revenged it only. CLO. True. But as they say Dreams are rough copies of the waking soul Yet uncorrected of the higher Will, So that men sometimes in their dreams confess An unsuspected, or forgotten, self; One must beware to check—ay, if one may, Stifle ere born, such passion in ourselves As makes, we see, such havoc with our sleep, And ill reacts upon the waking day. And, by the bye, for one test, Segismund, Between such swearable realities— Since Dreaming, Madness, Passion, are akin In missing each that salutary rein Of reason, and the guiding will of man: One test, I think, of waking sanity Shall be that conscious power of self-control, To curb all passion, but much most of all That evil and vindictive, that ill squares With human, and with holy canon less, Which bids us pardon ev'n our enemies, And much more those who, out of no ill will, Mistakenly have taken up the rod Which heaven, they think, has put into their hands. SEG. I think I soon shall have to try again— Sleep has not yet done with me. CLO. Such a sleep. Take my advice—'tis early yet—the sun Scarce up above the mountain; go within, And if the night deceived you, try anew With morning; morning dreams they say come true. SEG. Oh, rather pray for me a sleep so fast As shall obliterate dream and waking too. (Exit into the tower.) CLO. So sleep; sleep fast: and sleep away those two Night-potions, and the waking dream between Which dream thou must believe; and, if to see Again, poor Segismund! that dream must be.— And yet, and yet, in these our ghostly lives, Half night, half day, half sleeping, half awake, How if our waking life, like that of sleep, Be all a dream in that eternal life To which we wake not till we sleep in death? How if, I say, the senses we now trust For date of sensible comparison,— Ay, ev'n the Reason's self that dates with them, Should be in essence or intensity Hereafter so transcended, and awake To a perceptive subtlety so keen As to confess themselves befool'd before, In all that now they will avouch for most? One man—like this—but only so much longer As life is longer than a summer's day, Believed himself a king upon his throne, And play'd at hazard with his fellows' lives, Who cheaply dream'd away their lives to him. The sailor dream'd of tossing on the flood: The soldier of his laurels grown in blood: The lover of the beauty that he knew Must yet dissolve to dusty residue: The merchant and the miser of his bags Of finger'd gold; the beggar of his rags: And all this stage of earth on which we seem Such busy actors, and the parts we play'd, Substantial as the shadow of a shade, And Dreaming but a dream within a dream! FIFE. Was it not said, sir, By some philosopher as yet unborn, That any chimney-sweep who for twelve hours Dreams himself king is happy as the king Who dreams himself twelve hours a chimney-sweep? CLO. A theme indeed for wiser heads than yours To moralize upon—How came you here?— FIFE. Not of my own will, I assure you, sir. No matter for myself: but I would know About my mistress—I mean, master— CLO. Oh, Now I remember—Well, your master-mistress Is well, and deftly on its errand speeds, As you shall—if you can but hold your tongue. Can you? FIFE. I'd rather be at home again. CLO. Where you shall be the quicker if while here You can keep silence. FIFE. I may whistle, then? Which by the virtue of my name I do, And also as a reasonable test Of waking sanity— CLO. Well, whistle then; And for another reason you forgot, That while you whistle, you can chatter not. Only remember—if you quit this pass— FIFE. (His rhymes are out, or he had call'd it spot)— CLO. A bullet brings you to. I must forthwith to court to tell the King The issue of this lamentable day, That buries all his hope in night. (To FIFE.) Farewell. Remember. FIFE. But a moment—but a word! When shall I see my mis—mas— CLO. Be content: All in good time; and then, and not before, Never to miss your master any more. (Exit.) FIFE. Such talk of dreaming—dreaming—I begin To doubt if I be dreaming I am Fife, Who with a lad who call'd herself a boy Because—I doubt there's some confusion here— He wore no petticoat, came on a time Riding from Muscovy on half a horse, Who must have dreamt she was a horse entire, To cant me off upon my hinder face Under this tower, wall-eyed and musket-tongued, With sentinels a-pacing up and down, Crying All's well when all is far from well, All the day long, and all the night, until I dream—if what is dreaming be not waking— Of bells a-tolling and processions rolling With candles, crosses, banners, San-benitos, Of which I wear the flamy-finingest, Through streets and places throng'd with fiery faces To some back platform— Oh, I shall take a fire into my hand With thinking of my own dear Muscovy— Only just over that Sierra there, By which we tumbled headlong into—No-land. Now, if without a bullet after me, I could but get a peep of my old home Perhaps of my own mule to take me there— All's still—perhaps the gentlemen within Are dreaming it is night behind their masks— God send 'em a good nightmare!—Now then—Hark! Voices—and up the rocks—and armed men Climbing like cats—Puss in the corner then. (He hides.) (Enter Soldiers cautiously up the rocks.) CAPTAIN. This is the frontier pass, at any rate, Where Poland ends and Muscovy begins. SOLDIER. We must be close upon the tower, I know, That half way up the mountain lies ensconced. CAPT. How know you that? SOL. He told me so—the Page Who put us on the scent. SOL. 2. And, as I think, Will soon be here to run it down with us. CAPT. Meantime, our horses on these ugly rocks Useless, and worse than useless with their clatter— Leave them behind, with one or two in charge, And softly, softly, softly. SOLDIERS. —There it is! —There what? —The tower—the fortress— —That the tower!— —That mouse-trap! We could pitch it down the rocks With our own hands. —The rocks it hangs among Dwarf its proportions and conceal its strength; Larger and stronger than you think. —No matter; No place for Poland's Prince to be shut up in. At it at once! CAPT. No—no—I tell you wait— Till those within give signal. For as yet We know not who side with us, and the fort Is strong in man and musket. SOL. Shame to wait For odds with such a cause at stake. CAPT. Because Of such a cause at stake we wait for odds— For if not won at once, for ever lost: For any long resistance on their part Would bring Basilio's force to succour them Ere we had rescued him we come to rescue. So softly, softly, softly, still— A SOLDIER (discovering Fife). Hilloa! SOLDIERS. —Hilloa! Here's some one skulking— —Seize and gag him! —Stab him at once, say I: the only way To make all sure. —Hold, every man of you! And down upon your knees!—Why, 'tis the Prince! —The Prince!— —Oh, I should know him anywhere, And anyhow disguised. —But the Prince is chain'd. —And of a loftier presence— —'Tis he, I tell you; Only bewilder'd as he was before. God save your Royal Highness! On our knees Beseech you answer us! FIFE. Just as you please. Well—'tis this country's custom, I suppose, To take a poor man every now and then And set him ON the throne; just for the fun Of tumbling him again into the dirt. And now my turn is come. 'Tis very pretty. SOL. His wits have been distemper'd with their drugs. But do you ask him, Captain. CAPT. On my knees, And in the name of all who kneel with me, I do beseech your Highness answer to Your royal title. FIFE. Still, just as you please. In my own poor opinion of myself— But that may all be dreaming, which it seems Is very much the fashion in this country No Polish prince at all, but a poor lad From Muscovy; where only help me back, I promise never to contest the crown Of Poland with whatever gentleman You fancy to set up. SOLDIERS. —From Muscovy? —A spy then— —Of Astolfo's— —Spy! a spy —Hang him at once! FIFE. No, pray don't dream of that! SOL. How dared you then set yourself up for our Prince Segismund? FIFE. I set up!— I like that When 'twas yourselves be-siegesmunded me. CAPT. No matter—Look!—The signal from the tower. Prince Segismund! SOL. (from the tower). Prince Segismund! CAPT. All's well. Clotaldo safe secured?— SOL. (from the tower). No—by ill luck, Instead of coming in, as we had look'd for, He sprang on horse at once, and off at gallop. CAPT. To Court, no doubt—a blunder that—And yet Perchance a blunder that may work as well As better forethought. Having no suspicion So will he carry none where his not going Were of itself suspicious. But of those Within, who side with us? SOL. Oh, one and all To the last man, persuaded or compell'd. CAPT. Enough: whatever be to be retrieved No moment to be lost. For though Clotaldo Have no revolt to tell of in the tower, The capital will soon awake to ours, And the King's force come blazing after us. Where is the Prince? SOL. Within; so fast asleep We woke him not ev'n striking off the chain We had so cursedly help bind him with, Not knowing what we did; but too ashamed Not to undo ourselves what we had done. CAPT. No matter, nor by whosesoever hands, Provided done. Come; we will bring him forth Out of that stony darkness here abroad, Where air and sunshine sooner shall disperse The sleepy fume which they have drugg'd him with. (They enter the tower, and thence bring out Segismund asleep on a pallet, and set him in the middle of the stage.) CAPT. Still, still so dead asleep, the very noise And motion that we make in carrying him Stirs not a leaf in all the living tree. SOLDIERS. If living—But if by some inward blow For ever and irrevocably fell'd By what strikes deeper to the root than sleep? —He's dead! He's dead! They've kill'd him— —No—he breathes— And the heart beats—and now he breathes again Deeply, as one about to shake away The load of sleep. CAPT. Come, let us all kneel round, And with a blast of warlike instruments, And acclamation of all loyal hearts, Rouse and restore him to his royal right, From which no royal wrong shall drive him more. (They all kneel round his bed: trumpets, drums, etc.) SOLDIERS. —Segismund! Segismund! Prince Segismund! —King Segismund! Down with Basilio! —Down with Astolfo! Segismund our King! etc. —He stares upon us wildly. He cannot speak. —I said so—driv'n him mad. —Speak to him, Captain. CAPTAIN. Oh Royal Segismund, our Prince and King, Look on us—listen to us—answer us, Your faithful soldiery and subjects, now About you kneeling, but on fire to rise And cleave a passage through your enemies, Until we seat you on your lawful throne. For though your father, King Basilio, Now King of Poland, jealous of the stars That prophesy his setting with your rise, Here holds you ignominiously eclipsed, And would Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy, Mount to the throne of Poland after him; So will not we, your loyal soldiery And subjects; neither those of us now first Apprised of your existence and your right: Nor those that hitherto deluded by Allegiance false, their vizors now fling down, And craving pardon on their knees with us For that unconscious disloyalty, Offer with us the service of their blood; Not only we and they; but at our heels The heart, if not the bulk, of Poland follows To join their voices and their arms with ours, In vindicating with our lives our own Prince Segismund to Poland and her throne. SOLDIERS. —Segismund, Segismund, Prince Segismund! —Our own King Segismund, etc. (They all rise.) SEG. Again? So soon?—What, not yet done with me? The sun is little higher up, I think, Than when I last lay down, To bury in the depth of your own sea You that infest its shallows. CAPT. Sir! SEG. And now, Not in a palace, not in the fine clothes We all were in; but here, in the old place, And in our old accoutrement— Only your vizors off, and lips unlock'd To mock me with that idle title— CAPT. Nay, Indeed no idle title, but your own, Then, now, and now for ever. For, behold, Ev'n as I speak, the mountain passes fill And bristle with the advancing soldiery That glitters in your rising glory, sir; And, at our signal, echo to our cry, 'Segismund, King of Poland!' etc. (Shouts, trumpets, etc.) SEG. Oh, how cheap The muster of a countless host of shadows, As impotent to do with as to keep! All this they said before—to softer music. CAPT. Soft music, sir, to what indeed were shadows, That, following the sunshine of a Court, Shall back be brought with it—if shadows still, Yet to substantial reckoning. SEG. They shall? The white-hair'd and white-wanded chamberlain, So busy with his wand too—the old King That I was somewhat hard on—he had been Hard upon me—and the fine feather'd Prince Who crow'd so loud—my cousin,—and another, Another cousin, we will not bear hard on— And—But Clotaldo? CAPT. Fled, my lord, but close Pursued; and then— SEG. Then, as he fled before, And after he had sworn it on his knees, Came back to take me—where I am!—No more, No more of this! Away with you! Begone! Whether but visions of ambitious night That morning ought to scatter, or grown out Of night's proportions you invade the day To scare me from my little wits yet left, Begone! I know I must be near awake, Knowing I dream; or, if not at my voice, Then vanish at the clapping of my hands, Or take this foolish fellow for your sport: Dressing me up in visionary glories, Which the first air of waking consciousness Scatters as fast as from the almander— That, waking one fine morning in full flower, One rougher insurrection of the breeze Of all her sudden honour disadorns To the last blossom, and she stands again The winter-naked scare-crow that she was! CAPT. I know not what to do, nor what to say, With all this dreaming; I begin to doubt They have driv'n him mad indeed, and he and we Are lost together. A SOLDIER (to Captain). Stay, stay; I remember— Hark in your ear a moment. (Whispers.) CAPT. So—so—so?— Oh, now indeed I do not wonder, sir, Your senses dazzle under practices Which treason, shrinking from its own device, Would now persuade you only was a dream; But waking was as absolute as this You wake in now, as some who saw you then, Prince as you were and are, can testify: Not only saw, but under false allegiance Laid hands upon— SOLDIER 1. I, to my shame! SOLDIER 2. And I! CAPT. Who, to wipe out that shame, have been the first To stir and lead us—Hark! (Shouts, trumpets, etc.) A SOLDIER. Our forces, sir, Challenging King Basilio's, now in sight, And bearing down upon us. CAPT. Sir, you hear; A little hesitation and delay, And all is lost—your own right, and the lives Of those who now maintain it at that cost; With you all saved and won; without, all lost. That former recognition of your right Grant but a dream, if you will have it so; Great things forecast themselves by shadows great: Or will you have it, this like that dream too, People, and place, and time itself, all dream Yet, being in't, and as the shadows come Quicker and thicker than you can escape, Adopt your visionary soldiery, Who, having struck a solid chain away, Now put an airy sword into your hand, And harnessing you piece-meal till you stand Amidst us all complete in glittering, If unsubstantial, steel— ROSAURA (without). The Prince! The Prince! CAPT. Who calls for him? SOL. The Page who spurr'd us hither, And now, dismounted from a foaming horse— (Enter Rosaura) ROSAURA. Where is—but where I need no further ask Where the majestic presence, all in arms, Mutely proclaims and vindicates himself. FIFE. My darling Lady-lord— ROS. My own good Fife, Keep to my side—and silence!—Oh, my Lord, For the third time behold me here where first You saw me, by a happy misadventure Losing my own way here to find it out For you to follow with these loyal men, Adding the moment of my little cause To yours; which, so much mightier as it is, By a strange chance runs hand in hand with mine; The self-same foe who now pretends your right, Withholding mine—that, of itself alone, I know the royal blood that runs in you Would vindicate, regardless of your own: The right of injured innocence; and, more, Spite of this epicene attire, a woman's; And of a noble stock I will not name Till I, who brought it, have retrieved the shame. Whom Duke Astolfo, Prince of Muscovy, With all the solemn vows of wedlock won, And would have wedded, as I do believe, Had not the cry of Poland for a Prince Call'd him from Muscovy to join the prize Of Poland with the fair Estrella's eyes. I, following him hither, as you saw, Was cast upon these rocks; arrested by Clotaldo: who, for an old debt of love He owes my family, with all his might Served, and had served me further, till my cause Clash'd with his duty to his sovereign, Which, as became a loyal subject, sir, (And never sovereign had a loyaller,) Was still his first. He carried me to Court, Where, for the second time, I crossed your path; Where, as I watch'd my opportunity, Suddenly broke this public passion out; Which, drowning private into public wrong, Yet swiftlier sweeps it to revenge along. SEG. Oh God, if this be dreaming, charge it not To burst the channel of enclosing sleep And drown the waking reason! Not to dream Only what dreamt shall once or twice again Return to buzz about the sleeping brain Till shaken off for ever— But reassailing one so quick, so thick— The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy—Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed— Himself—in his old habit—his old self— What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!— But soft—soft—soft!— You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming—I forget—my brain Is not so clear about it—but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking—Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before— Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true— Give him his sword; set him on a fresh horse; Conduct him safely through my rebel force; And so God speed him to his sovereign's side! Give me your hand; and whether all awake Or all a-dreaming, ride, Clotaldo, ride— Dream-swift—for fear we dreams should overtake. (A Battle may be supposed to take place; after which)

Related documents

• Life Is a Dream#33953
• The Story of a Life#48895
• On Luck, Responsibility and the Meaning of Life#703414
• A Meaning to Life: Book Review#778137
• A Life Sentence: A Novel#45936