Life Is A Dream [16]
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
(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