Life Is a Dream_Pedro Calderon De La Barca

by Pedro Calderón de La Barca

  How trumpet-like spoke out the blood of Poland!

  CHAMBERLAIN. Before the morning is far up, your Highness

  Will have the trumpet marshalling your soldiers

  Under the Palace windows.

  SEGISMUND. Ah, my soldiers—

  My soldiers—not black-vizor’d?—

  CHAMBERLAIN. Sir?

  SEGISMUND. No matter.

  But—one thing—for a moment—in your ear—

  Do you know one Clotaldo?

  CHAMBERLAIN. 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.

  SEGISMUND. Well said, well said!

  Basilio, my father—well—Clotaldo

  Is he my kinsman too?

  CHAMBERLAIN. Oh, my good Lord,

  A General simply in your Highness’ service,

  Than whom your Highness has no trustier.

  SEGISMUND. 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.

  CHAMBERLAIN. 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—

  SEGISMUND. My chamberlain?—

  And these that follow you?—

  CHAMBERLAIN. On you, my Lord,

  Your Highness’ lords in waiting.

  SEGISMUND. 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?

  CHAMBERLAIN. Oh, my Lord!

  SEGISMUND. 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.

  SEGISMUND. 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?

  CLOTALDO. 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—

  SEGISMUND. What then?

  CLOTALDO. 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.

  SEGISMUND. All this is so?

  CLOTALDO. As sure as anything

  Is, or can be.

  SEGISMUND. You swear it on the faith

  You taught me—elsewhere?—

  CLOTALDO (kissing the hilt of his sword). Swear it upon this Symbol, and champion of the holy faith I wear it to defend.

  SEGISMUND (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?

  CLOTALDO. So to be

  Acknowledged and entreated, Sir.

  SEGISMUND. 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?

  CLOTALDO. Oh, let your Highness draw the line across

  Fore-written sorrow, and in this new dawn

  Bury that long sad night.

  SEGISMUND. Not ev’n the Dead,

  Call’d to the resurrection of the blest,

  Shall so directly drop all memory

  Of woes and
wrongs foregone!

  CLOTALDO. But not resent—

  Purged by the trial of that sorrow past

  For full fruition of their present bliss.

  SEGISMUND. 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.

  CLOTALDO. Ay, sir; with the same

  Devotion and fidelity that now

  Does homage to him for my sovereign.

  SEGISMUND. Fidelity that held his Prince in chains!

  CLOTALDO. Fidelity more fast than had it loosed him—

  SEGISMUND. 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!

  CLOTALDO. Still with the same

  Fidelity—

  SEGISMUND. To me!—

  CLOTALDO. Ay, sir, to you,

  Through that divine allegiance upon which

  All Order and Authority is based;

  Which to revolt against—

  SEGISMUND. Were to revolt

  Against the stars, belike!

  CLOTALDO. 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—

  SEGISMUND. Basilio—King—my father!—

  CLOTALDO. 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—

  SEGISMUND. 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.]

  SEGISMUND. 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—

  SEGISMUND. Where is he?

  Why must I ask this twice?—

  A LORD. The Page, my Lord?

  I wonder at his boldness—

  SEGISMUND. 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.

  CHAMBERLAIN. He is gone for,

  And shall attend your pleasure, sir. Meanwhile,

  Will not your Highness, as in courtesy,

  Return your royal cousin’s greeting?

  SEGISMUND. Whose?

  CHAMBERLAIN. Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy, my Lord,

  Saluted, and with gallant compliment

  Welcomed you to your royal title.

  SEGISMUND. (to ASTOLFO). Oh—

  You knew of this then?

  ASTOLFO. Knew of what, my Lord?

  SEGISMUND. That I was Prince of Poland all the while,

  And you my subject?

  ASTOLFO. 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.

  SEGISMUND. What then?

  ASTOLFO. 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.

  CHAMBERLAIN. 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.

  SEGISMUND. 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.

  SEGISMUND. 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?—

  ESTRELLA. If you please

  To count your cousin for your subject, sir,

  You shall not find her a disloyal.

  SEGISMUND. Oh,

  But there are twin stars in that heavenly face,

  That now I know for having overruled

  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.

  ESTRELLA. 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 commend
s;

  And in the hope that, let whichever be

  The other’s subject, we may both be friends.

  SEGISMUND. Your hand to that—But why does this warm hand

  Shoot a cold shudder through me?

  ESTRELLA. In revenge

  For likening me to that cold moon, perhaps.

  SEGISMUND. 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.]

  ESTRELLA. Release me, sir!

  CHAMBERLAIN. And pardon me, my Lord.

  This lady is a Princess absolute,

  As Prince he is who just saluted you,

  And claims her by affiance.

  SEGISMUND. Hence, old fool,

  For ever thrusting that white stick of yours

  Between me and my pleasure!

  ASTOLFO. This cause is mine.

  Forbear, sir—

  SEGISMUND. What, sir mouth-piece, you again?

  ASTOLFO. 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—

  SEGISMUND. 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!—

  ASTOLFO. That dare I—

  SEGISMUND. (seizing him by the throat). You dare!