Life Is A Dream [10]
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
(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