Dramatis Personae

Basilio           King of Poland.
Segismund         his Son.
Astolfo           his Nephew.
Estrella          his Niece.
Clotaldo          a General in Basilio’s Service.
Rosaura           a Muscovite Lady.
Fife              her Attendant.

Chamberlain， Lords in Waiting， Officers， Soldiers， etc.， in Basilio’s Service.

The Scene of the first and third Acts lies on the Polish frontier: of the second Act， in Warsaw.

As this version of Calderon’s drama is not for acting， a higher and wider mountain-scene than practicable may be imagined for Rosaura’s descent in the first Act and the soldiers’ ascent in the last. The bad watch kept by the sentinels who guarded their state-prisoner， together with much else (not all!) that defies sober sense in this wild drama， I must leave Calderon to answer for; whose audience were not critical of detail and probability， so long as a good story， with strong， rapid， and picturesque action and situation， was set before them.

ACT I
Scene I

A pass of rocks， over which a storm is rolling away， and the sun setting: in the foreground， half-way down， a fortress.

(Enter first from the topmost rock Rosaura， as from horseback， in man’s attire; and， after her， Fife.)

ROSAURA
There， four-footed Fury， blast
Engender’d brute， without the wit
Of brute， or mouth to match the bit
Of man--art satisfied at last?
Who， when thunder roll’d aloof，
Tow’rd the spheres of fire your ears
Pricking， and the granite kicking
Into lightning with your hoof，
Among the tempest-shatter’d crags
Shattering your luckless rider
Back into the tempest pass’d?
There then lie to starve and die，
Or find another Phaeton
Mad-mettled as yourself; for I，
Wearied， worried， and for-done，
Alone will down the mountain try，
That knits his brows against the sun.

FIFE (as to his mule)
There， thou mis-begotten thing，
Long-ear’d lightning， tail’d tornado，
Griffin-hoof-in hurricano，
(I might swear till I were almost
Hoarse with roaring Asonante)
Who forsooth because our betters
Would begin to kick and fling
You forthwith your noble mind
Must prove， and kick me off behind，
Tow’rd the very centre whither
Gravity was most inclined.
There where you have made your bed
In it lie; for， wet or dry，
Let what will for me betide you，
Burning， blowing， freezing， hailing;
Famine waste you: devil ride you:
Tempest baste you black and blue:
(To Rosaura.)
There! I think in downright railing
I can hold my own with you.

ROSAURA
Ah， my good Fife， whose merry loyal pipe，
Come weal， come woe， is never out of tune
What， you in the same plight too?

FIFE
Ay; And madam--sir--hereby desire，
When you your own adventures sing
Another time in lofty rhyme，
You don’t forget the trusty squire
Who went with you Don-quixoting.

ROSAURA
Well， my good fellow--to leave Pegasus
Who scarce can serve us than our horses worse--
They say no one should rob another of
The single satisfaction he has left
Of singing his own sorrows; one so great，
So says some great philosopher， that trouble
Were worth encount’ring only for the sake
Of weeping over--what perhaps you know
Some poet calls the ’luxury of woe.’

FIFE
Had I the poet or philosopher
In the place of her that kick’d me off to ride，
I’d test his theory upon his hide.
But no bones broken， madam--sir， I mean?--

ROSAURA
A scratch here that a handkerchief will heal--
And you?--

FIFE
A scratch in quiddity， or kind:
But not in ’quo’--my wounds are all behind.
But， as you say， to stop this strain，
Which， somehow， once one’s in the vein，
Comes clattering after--there again!--
What are we twain--deuce take’t!--we two，
I mean， to do--drench’d through and through--
Oh， I shall choke of rhymes， which I believe
Are all that we shall have to live on here.

ROSAURA
What， is our victual gone too?--

FIFE
Ay， that brute
Has carried all we had away with her，
Clothing， and cate， and all.

ROSAURA
And now the sun，
Our only friend and guide， about to sink
Under the stage of earth.

FIFE
And enter Night，
With Capa y Espada--and--pray heaven!
With but her lanthorn also.

ROSAURA
Ah， I doubt
To-night， if any， with a dark one--or
Almost burnt out after a month’s consumption.
Well! well or ill， on horseback or afoot，
This is the gate that lets me into Poland;
And， sorry welcome as she gives a guest
Who writes his own arrival on her rocks
In his own blood--
Yet better on her stony threshold die，
Than live on unrevenged in Muscovy.

FIFE
Oh， what a soul some women have--I mean
Some men--

ROSAURA
Oh， Fife， Fife， as you love me， Fife，
Make yourself perfect in that little part，
Or all will go to ruin!

FIFE
Oh， I will，
Please God we find some one to try it on.
But， truly， would not any one believe
Some fairy had exchanged us as we lay
Two tiny foster-children in one cradle?

ROSAURA
Well， be that as it may， Fife， it reminds me
Of what perhaps I should have thought before，
But better late than never--You know I love you，
As you， I know， love me， and loyally
Have follow’d me thus far in my wild venture.
Well! now then--having seen me safe thus far
Safe if not wholly sound--over the rocks
Into the country where my business lies
Why should not you return the way we came，
The storm all clear’d away， and， leaving me
(Who now shall want you， though not thank you， less，
Now that our horses gone) this side the ridge，
Find your way back to dear old home again;
While I--Come， come!--
What， weeping my poor fellow?

FIFE
Leave you here
Alone--my Lady--Lord! I mean my Lord--
In a strange country--among savages--
Oh， now I know--you would be rid of me
For fear my stumbling speech--

ROSAURA
Oh， no， no， no!--
I want you with me for a thousand sakes
To which that is as nothing--I myself
More apt to let the secret out myself
Without your help at all--Come， come， cheer up!
And if you sing again， ’Come weal， come woe，’
Let it be that; for we will never part
Until you give the signal.

FIFE
’Tis a bargain.

ROSAURA
Now to begin， then. ’Follow， follow me，
’You fairy elves that be.’

FIFE
Ay， and go on--
Something of ’following darkness like a dream，’
For that we’re after.

ROSAURA
No， after the sun;
Trying to catch hold of his glittering skirts
That hang upon the mountain as he goes.

FIFE
Ah， he’s himself past catching--as you spoke
He heard what you were saying， and--just so--
Like some scared water-bird，
As we say in my country， dove below.

ROSAURA
Well， we must follow him as best we may.
Poland is no great country， and， as rich
In men and means， will but few acres spare
To lie beneath her barrier mountains bare.
We cannot， I believe， be very far
From mankind or their dwellings.

FIFE
Send it so!
And well provided for man， woman， and beast.
No， not for beast. Ah， but my heart begins
To yearn for her--

ROSAURA
Keep close， and keep your feet
From serving you as hers did.

FIFE
As for beasts，
If in default of other entertainment，
We should provide them with ourselves to eat--
Bears， lions， wolves--

ROSAURA
Oh， never fear.

FIFE
Or else，
Default of other beasts， beastlier men，
Cannibals， Anthropophagi， bare Poles
Who never knew a tailor but by taste.

ROSAURA
Look， look! Unless my fancy misconceive
With twilight--down among the rocks there， Fife--
Some human dwelling， surely--
Or think you but a rock torn from the rocks
In some convulsion like to-day’s， and perch’d
Quaintly among them in mock-masonry?

FIFE
Most likely that， I doubt.

ROSAURA
No， no--for look!
A square of darkness opening in it--

FIFE
Oh， I don’t half like such openings!--

ROSAURA
Like the loom
Of night from which she spins her outer gloom--

FIFE
Lord， Madam， pray forbear this tragic vein
In such a time and place--

ROSAURA
And now again
Within that square of darkness， look! a light
That feels its way with hesitating pulse，
As we do， through the darkness that it drives
To blacken into deeper night beyond.

FIFE
In which could we follow that light’s example，
As might some English Bardolph with his nose，
We might defy the sunset--Hark， a chain!

ROSAURA
And now a lamp， a lamp! And now the hand
That carries it.

FIFE
Oh， Lord! that dreadful chain!

ROSAURA
And now the bearer of the lamp; indeed
As strange as any in Arabian tale，
So giant-like， and terrible， and grand，
Spite of the skin he’s wrapt in.

FIFE
Why， ’tis his own:
Oh， ’tis some wild man of the woods; I’ve heard
They build and carry torches--

ROSAURA
Never Ape
Bore such a brow before the heavens as that--
Chain’d as you say too!--

FIFE
Oh， that dreadful chain!

ROSAURA
And now he sets the lamp down by his side，
And with one hand clench’d in his tangled hair
And with a sigh as if his heart would break--

(During this Segismund has entered from the fortress， with a torch.)

SEGISMUND
Once more the storm has roar’d itself away，
Splitting the crags of God as it retires;
But sparing still what it should only blast，
This guilty piece of human handiwork，
And all that are within it. Oh， how oft，
How oft， within or here abroad， have I
Waited， and in the whisper of my heart
Pray’d for the slanting hand of heaven to strike
The blow myself I dared not， out of fear
Of that Hereafter， worse， they say， than here，
Plunged headlong in， but， till dismissal waited，
To wipe at last all sorrow from men’s eyes，
And make this heavy dispensation clear.
Thus have I borne till now， and still endure，
Crouching in sullen impotence day by day，
Till some such out-burst of the elements
Like this rouses the sleeping fire within;
And standing thus upon the threshold of
Another night about to close the door
Upon one wretched day to open it
On one yet wretcheder because one more;--
Once more， you savage heavens， I ask of you--
I， looking up to those relentless eyes
That， now the greater lamp is gone below，
Begin to muster in the listening skies;
In all the shining circuits you have gone
About this theatre of human woe，
What greater sorrow have you gazed upon
Than down this narrow chink you witness still;
And which， did you yourselves not fore-devise，
You registered for others to fulfil!

FIFE
This is some Laureate at a birthday ode;
No wonder we went rhyming.

ROSAURA
Hush! And now
See， starting to his feet， he strides about
Far as his tether’d steps--

SEGISMUND
And if the chain
You help’d to rivet round me did contract
Since guiltless infancy from guilt in act;
Of what in aspiration or in thought
Guilty， but in resentment of the wrong
That wreaks revenge on wrong I never wrought
By excommunication from the free
Inheritance that all created life，
Beside myself， is born to--from the wings
That range your own immeasurable blue，
Down to the poor， mute， scale-imprison’d things，
That yet are free to wander， glide， and pass
About that under-sapphire， whereinto
Yourselves transfusing you yourselves englass!

ROSAURA
What mystery is this?

FIFE
Why， the man’s mad:
That’s all the mystery. That’s why he’s chain’d--
And why--

SEGISMUND
Nor Nature’s guiltless life alone--
But that which lives on blood and rapine; nay，
Charter’d with larger liberty to slay
Their guiltless kind， the tyrants of the air
Soar zenith-upward with their screaming prey，
Making pure heaven drop blood upon the stage
Of under earth， where lion， wolf， and bear，
And they that on their treacherous velvet wear
Figure and constellation like your own，
With their still living slaughter bound away
Over the barriers of the mountain cage，
Against which one， blood-guiltless， and endued
With aspiration and with aptitude
Transcending other creatures， day by day
Beats himself mad with unavailing rage!

FIFE
Why， that must be the meaning of my mule’s
Rebellion--

ROSAURA
Hush!

SEGISMUND
But then if murder be
The law by which not only conscience-blind
Creatures， but man too prospers with his kind;
Who leaving all his guilty fellows free，
Under your fatal auspice and divine
Compulsion， leagued in some mysterious ban
Against one innocent and helpless man，
Abuse their liberty to murder mine:
And sworn to silence， like their masters mute
In heaven， and like them twirling through the mask
Of darkness， answering to all I ask，
Point up to them whose work they execute!

ROSAURA
Ev’n as I thought， some poor unhappy wretch，
By man wrong’d， wretched， unrevenged， as I!
Nay， so much worse than I， as by those chains
Clipt of the means of self-revenge on those
Who lay on him what they deserve. And I，
Who taunted Heaven a little while ago
With pouring all its wrath upon my head--
Alas! like him who caught the cast-off husk
Of what another bragg’d of feeding on，
Here’s one that from the refuse of my sorrows
Could gather all the banquet he desires!
Poor soul， poor soul!

FIFE
Speak lower--he will hear you.

ROSAURA
And if he should， what then? Why， if he would，
He could not harm me--Nay， and if he could，
Methinks I’d venture something of a life
I care so little for--

SEGISMUND
Who’s that? Clotaldo? Who are you， I say，
That， venturing in these forbidden rocks，
Have lighted on my miserable life，
And your own death?

ROSAURA
You would not hurt me， surely?

SEGISMUND
Not I; but those that， iron as the chain
In which they slay me with a lingering death，
Will slay you with a sudden--Who are you?

ROSAURA
A stranger from across the mountain there，
Who， having lost his way in this strange land
And coming night， drew hither to what seem’d
A human dwelling hidden in these rocks，
And where the voice of human sorrow soon
Told him it was so.

SEGISMUND
Ay? But nearer--nearer--
That by this smoky supplement of day
But for a moment I may see who speaks
So pitifully sweet.

FIFE
Take care! take care!

ROSAURA
Alas， poor man， that I， myself so helpless，
Could better help you than by barren pity，
And my poor presence--

SEGISMUND
Oh， might that be all!
But that--a few poor moments--and， alas!
The very bliss of having， and the dread
Of losing， under such a penalty
As every moment’s having runs more near，
Stifles the very utterance and resource
They cry for quickest; till from sheer despair
Of holding thee， methinks myself would tear
To pieces--

FIFE
There， his word’s enough for it.

SEGISMUND
Oh， think， if you who move about at will，
And live in sweet communion with your kind，
After an hour lost in these lonely rocks
Hunger and thirst after some human voice
To drink， and human face to feed upon;
What must one do where all is mute， or harsh，
And ev’n the naked face of cruelty
Were better than the mask it works beneath?--
Across the mountain then! Across the mountain!
What if the next world which they tell one of
Be only next across the mountain then，
Though I must never see it till I die，
And you one of its angels?

ROSAURA
Alas; alas!
No angel! And the face you think so fair，
’Tis but the dismal frame-work of these rocks
That makes it seem so; and the world I come from--
Alas， alas， too many faces there
Are but fair vizors to black hearts below，
Or only serve to bring the wearer woe!
But to yourself--If haply the redress
That I am here upon may help to yours.
I heard you tax the heavens with ordering，
And men for executing， what， alas!
I now behold. But why， and who they are
Who do， and you who suffer--

SEGISMUND (pointing upwards)
Ask of them，
Whom， as to-night， I have so often ask’d，
And ask’d in vain.

ROSAURA
But surely， surely--

SEGISMUND
Hark!
The trumpet of the watch to shut us in.
Oh， should they find you!--Quick! Behind the rocks!
To-morrow--if to-morrow--

ROSAURA (flinging her sword toward him)
Take my sword!

(Rosaura and Fife hide in the rocks; Enter Clotaldo)

CLOTALDO
These stormy days you like to see the last of
Are but ill opiates， Segismund， I think，
For night to follow: and to-night you seem
More than your wont disorder’d. What! A sword?
Within there!

(Enter Soldiers with black vizors and torches)

FIFE
Here’s a pleasant masquerade!

CLOTALDO
Whosever watch this was
Will have to pay head-reckoning. Meanwhile，
This weapon had a wearer. Bring him here，
Alive or dead.

SEGISMUND
Clotaldo! good Clotaldo!--

CLOTALDO (to Soldiers who enclose Segismund; others searching the rocks)
You know your duty.

SOLDIERS (bringing in Rosaura and Fife)
Here are two of them，
Whoever more to follow--

CLOTALDO
Who are you，
That in defiance of known proclamation
Are found， at night-fall too， about this place?

FIFE
Oh， my Lord， she--I mean he--

ROSAURA
Silence， Fife，
And let me speak for both.--Two foreign men，
To whom your country and its proclamations
Are equally unknown; and had we known，
Ourselves not masters of our lawless beasts
That， terrified by the storm among your rocks，
Flung us upon them to our cost.

FIFE
My mule--

CLOTALDO
Foreigners? Of what country?

ROSAURA
Muscovy.

CLOTALDO
And whither bound?

ROSAURA
Hither--if this be Poland;
But with no ill design on her， and therefore
Taking it ill that we should thus be stopt
Upon her threshold so uncivilly.

CLOTALDO
Whither in Poland?

ROSAURA
To the capital.

CLOTALDO
And on what errand?

ROSAURA
Set me on the road，
And you shall be the nearer to my answer.

CLOTALDO (aside)
So resolute and ready to reply，
And yet so young--and--
(Aloud.)
Well，--
Your business was not surely with the man
We found you with?

ROSAURA
He was the first we saw，--
And strangers and benighted， as we were，
As you too would have done in a like case，
Accosted him at once.

CLOTALDO
Ay， but this sword?

ROSAURA
I flung it toward him.

CLOTALDO
Well， and why?

ROSAURA
And why? But to revenge himself on those who thus
Injuriously misuse him.

CLOTALDO
So--so--so!
’Tis well such resolution wants a beard
And， I suppose， is never to attain one.
Well， I must take you both， you and your sword，
Prisoners.

FIFE (offering a cudgel)
Pray take mine， and welcome， sir;
I’m sure I gave it to that mule of mine
To mighty little purpose.

ROSAURA
Mine you have;
And may it win us some more kindliness
Than we have met with yet.

CLO (examining the sword)
More mystery!
How came you by this weapon?

ROSAURA
From my father.

CLOTALDO
And do you know whence he?

ROSAURA
Oh， very well:
From one of this same Polish realm of yours，
Who promised a return， should come the chance，
Of courtesies that he received himself
In Muscovy， and left this pledge of it--
Not likely yet， it seems， to be redeem’d.

CLO (aside)
Oh， wondrous chance--or wondrous Providence!
The sword that I myself in Muscovy，
When these white hairs were black， for keepsake left
Of obligation for a like return
To him who saved me wounded as I lay
Fighting against his country; took me home;
Tended me like a brother till recover’d，
Perchance to fight against him once again
And now my sword put back into my hand
By his--if not his son--still， as so seeming，
By me， as first devoir of gratitude，
To seem believing， till the wearer’s self
See fit to drop the ill-dissembling mask.
(Aloud.)
Well， a strange turn of fortune has arrested
The sharp and sudden penalty that else
Had visited your rashness or mischance:
In part， your tender youth too--pardon me，
And touch not where your sword is not to answer--
Commends you to my care; not your life only，
Else by this misadventure forfeited;
But ev’n your errand， which， by happy chance，
Chimes with the very business I am on，
And calls me to the very point you aim at.

ROSAURA
The capital?

CLOTALDO
Ay， the capital; and ev’n
That capital of capitals， the Court:
Where you may plead， and， I may promise， win
Pardon for this， you say unwilling， trespass，
And prosecute what else you have at heart，
With me to help you forward all I can;
Provided all in loyalty to those
To whom by natural allegiance
I first am bound to.

ROSAURA
As you make， I take
Your offer: with like promise on my side
Of loyalty to you and those you serve，
Under like reservation for regards
Nearer and dearer still.

CLOTALDO
Enough， enough;
Your hand; a bargain on both sides. Meanwhile，
Here shall you rest to-night. The break of day
Shall see us both together on the way.

ROSAURA
Thus then what I for misadventure blamed，
Directly draws me where my wishes aim’d.

(Exeunt.)

ACT I
Scene II.

The Palace at Warsaw

Enter on one side Astolfo， Duke of Muscovy， with his train: and， on
the other， the Princess Estrella， with hers.

ASTOLFO
My royal cousin， if so near in blood，
Till this auspicious meeting scarcely known，
Till all that beauty promised in the bud
Is now to its consummate blossom blown，
Well met at last; and may--

ESTRELLA
Enough， my Lord，
Of compliment devised for you by some
Court tailor， and， believe me， still too short
To cover the designful heart below.

ASTOLFO
Nay， but indeed， fair cousin--

ESTRELLA
Ay， let Deed
Measure your words， indeed your flowers of speech
Ill with your iron equipage atone;
Irony indeed， and wordy compliment.

ASTOLFO
Indeed， indeed， you wrong me， royal cousin，
And fair as royal， misinterpreting
What， even for the end you think I aim at，
If false to you， were fatal to myself.

ESTRELLA
Why， what else means the glittering steel， my Lord，
That bristles in the rear of these fine words?
What can it mean， but， failing to cajole，
To fight or force me from my just pretension?

ASTOLFO
Nay， might I not ask ev’n the same of you，
The nodding helmets of whose men-at-arms
Out-crest the plumage of your lady court?

ESTRELLA
But to defend what yours would force from me.

ASTOLFO
Might not I， lady， say the same of mine?
But not to come to battle， ev’n of words，
With a fair lady， and my kinswoman;
And as averse to stand before your face，
Defenceless， and condemn’d in your disgrace，
Till the good king be here to clear it all--
Will you vouchsafe to hear me?

ESTRELLA
As you will.

ASTOLFO
You know that， when about to leave this world，
Our royal grandsire， King Alfonso， left
Three children; one a son， Basilio，
Who wears--long may he wear! the crown of Poland;
And daughters twain: of whom the elder was
Your mother， Clorilena， now some while
Exalted to a more than mortal throne;
And Recisunda， mine， the younger sister，
Who， married to the Prince of Muscovy，
Gave me the light which may she live to see
Herself for many， many years to come.
Meanwhile， good King Basilio， as you know，
Deep in abstruser studies than this world，
And busier with the stars than lady’s eyes，
Has never by a second marriage yet
Replaced， as Poland ask’d of him， the heir
An early marriage brought and took away;
His young queen dying with the son she bore him;
And in such alienation grown so old
As leaves no other hope of heir to Poland
Than his two sisters’ children; you， fair cousin，
And me; for whom the Commons of the realm
Divide themselves into two several factions;
Whether for you， the elder sister’s child;
Or me， born of the younger， but， they say，
My natural prerogative of man
Outweighing your priority of birth.
Which discord growing loud and dangerous，
Our uncle， King Basilio， doubly sage
In prophesying and providing for
The future， as to deal with it when come，
Bids us here meet to-day in solemn council
Our several pretensions to compose.
And， but the martial out-burst that proclaims
His coming， makes all further parley vain，
Unless my bosom， by which only wise
I prophesy， now wrongly prophesies，
By such a happy compact as I dare
But glance at till the Royal Sage declare.

(Trumpets， etc. Enter King Basilio with his Council.)

ALL
The King! God save the King!

ESTRELLA (Kneeling.)
Oh， Royal Sir!--

ASTOLFO (Kneeling.)
God save your Majesty--

KING
Rise both of you，
Rise to my arms， Astolfo and Estrella;
As my two sisters’ children always mine，
Now more than ever， since myself and Poland
Solely to you for our succession look’d.
And now give ear， you and your several factions，
And you， the Peers and Princes of this realm，
While I reveal the purport of this meeting
In words whose necessary length I trust
No unsuccessful issue shall excuse.
You and the world who have surnamed me "Sage"
Know that I owe that title， if my due，
To my long meditation on the book
Which ever lying open overhead--
The book of heaven， I mean--so few have read;
Whose golden letters on whose sapphire leaf，
Distinguishing the page of day and night，
And all the revolution of the year;
So with the turning volume where they lie
Still changing their prophetic syllables，
They register the destinies of men:
Until with eyes that， dim with years indeed，
Are quicker to pursue the stars than rule them，
I get the start of Time， and from his hand
The wand of tardy revelation draw.
Oh， had the self-same heaven upon his page
Inscribed my death ere I should read my life
And， by fore-casting of my own mischance，
Play not the victim but the suicide
In my own tragedy!--But you shall hear.
You know how once， as kings must for their people，
And only once， as wise men for themselves，
I woo’d and wedded: know too that my Queen
In childing died; but not， as you believe，
With her， the son she died in giving life to.
For， as the hour of birth was on the stroke，
Her brain conceiving with her womb， she dream’d
A serpent tore her entrail. And too surely
(For evil omen seldom speaks in vain)
The man-child breaking from that living tomb
That makes our birth the antitype of death，
Man-grateful， for the life she gave him paid
By killing her: and with such circumstance
As suited such unnatural tragedy;
He coming into light， if light it were
That darken’d at his very horoscope，
When heaven’s two champions--sun and moon I mean--
Suffused in blood upon each other fell
In such a raging duel of eclipse
As hath not terrified the universe
Since that which wept in blood the death of Christ:
When the dead walk’d， the waters turn’d to blood，
Earth and her cities totter’d， and the world
Seem’d shaken to its last paralysis.
In such a paroxysm of dissolution
That son of mine was born; by that first act
Heading the monstrous catalogue of crime，
I found fore-written in his horoscope;
As great a monster in man’s history
As was in nature his nativity;
So savage， bloody， terrible， and impious，
Who， should he live， would tear his country’s entrails，
As by his birth his mother’s; with which crime
Beginning， he should clench the dreadful tale
By trampling on his father’s silver head.
All which fore-reading， and his act of birth
Fate’s warrant that I read his life aright;
To save his country from his mother’s fate，
I gave abroad that he had died with her
His being slew; with midnight secrecy
I had him carried to a lonely tower
Hewn from the mountain-barriers of the realm，
And under strict anathema of death
Guarded from men’s inquisitive approach，
Save from the trusty few one needs must trust;
Who while his fasten’d body they provide
With salutary garb and nourishment，
Instruct his soul in what no soul may miss
Of holy faith， and in such other lore
As may solace his life-imprisonment，
And tame perhaps the Savage prophesied
Toward such a trial as I aim at now，
And now demand your special hearing to.
What in this fearful business I have done，
Judge whether lightly or maliciously，--
I， with my own and only flesh and blood，
And proper lineal inheritor!
I swear， had his foretold atrocities
Touch’d me alone. I had not saved myself
At such a cost to him; but as a king，--
A Christian king，--I say， advisedly，
Who would devote his people to a tyrant
Worse than Caligula fore-chronicled?
But even this not without grave mis-giving，
Lest by some chance mis-reading of the stars，
Or mis-direction of what rightly read，
I wrong my son of his prerogative，
And Poland of her rightful sovereign.
For， sure and certain prophets as the stars，
Although they err not， he who reads them may;
Or rightly reading--seeing there is One
Who governs them， as， under Him， they us，
We are not sure if the rough diagram
They draw in heaven and we interpret here，
Be sure of operation， if the Will
Supreme， that sometimes for some special end
The course of providential nature breaks
By miracle， may not of these same stars
Cancel his own first draft， or overrule
What else fore-written all else overrules.
As， for example， should the Will Almighty
Permit the Free-will of particular man
To break the meshes of else strangling fate--
Which Free-will， fearful of foretold abuse，
I have myself from my own son fore-closed
From ever possible self-extrication;
A terrible responsibility，
Not to the conscience to be reconciled
Unless opposing almost certain evil
Against so slight contingency of good.
Well--thus perplex’d， I have resolved at last
To bring the thing to trial: whereunto
Here have I summon’d you， my Peers， and you
Whom I more dearly look to， failing him，
As witnesses to that which I propose;
And thus propose the doing it. Clotaldo，
Who guards my son with old fidelity，
Shall bring him hither from his tower by night
Lockt in a sleep so fast as by my art
I rivet to within a link of death，
But yet from death so far， that next day’s dawn
Shall wake him up upon the royal bed，
Complete in consciousness and faculty，
When with all princely pomp and retinue
My loyal Peers with due obeisance
Shall hail him Segismund， the Prince of Poland.
Then if with any show of human kindness
He fling discredit， not upon the stars，
But upon me， their misinterpreter，
With all apology mistaken age
Can make to youth it never meant to harm，
To my son’s forehead will I shift the crown
I long have wish’d upon a younger brow;
And in religious humiliation，
For what of worn-out age remains to me，
Entreat my pardon both of Heaven and him
For tempting destinies beyond my reach.
But if， as I misdoubt， at his first step
The hoof of the predicted savage shows;
Before predicted mischief can be done，
The self-same sleep that loosed him from the chain
Shall re-consign him， not to loose again.
Then shall I， having lost that heir direct，
Look solely to my sisters’ children twain
Each of a claim so equal as divides
The voice of Poland to their several sides，
But， as I trust， to be entwined ere long
Into one single wreath so fair and strong
As shall at once all difference atone，
And cease the realm’s division with their own.
Cousins and Princes， Peers and Councillors，
Such is the purport of this invitation，
And such is my design. Whose furtherance
If not as Sovereign， if not as Seer，
Yet one whom these white locks， if nothing else，
to patient acquiescence consecrate，
I now demand and even supplicate.

ASTOLFO
Such news， and from such lips， may well suspend
The tongue to loyal answer most attuned;
But if to me as spokesman of my faction
Your Highness looks for answer; I reply
For one and all--Let Segismund， whom now
We first hear tell of as your living heir，
Appear， and but in your sufficient eye
Approve himself worthy to be your son，
Then we will hail him Poland’s rightful heir.
What says my cousin?

ESTRELLA
Ay， with all my heart.
But if my youth and sex upbraid me not
That I should dare ask of so wise a king--

KING
Ask， ask， fair cousin! Nothing， I am sure，
Not well consider’d; nay， if ’twere， yet nothing
But pardonable from such lips as those.

ESTRELLA
Then， with your pardon， Sir--if Segismund，
My cousin， whom I shall rejoice to hail
As Prince of Poland too， as you propose，
Be to a trial coming upon which
More， as I think， than life itself depends，
Why， Sir， with sleep-disorder’d senses brought
To this uncertain contest with his stars?

KING
Well ask’d indeed! As wisely be it answer’d!
Because it is uncertain， see you not?
For as I think I can discern between
The sudden flaws of a sleep-startled man，
And of the savage thing we have to dread;
If but bewilder’d， dazzled， and uncouth，
As might the sanest and the civilest
In circumstance so strange--nay， more than that，
If moved to any out-break short of blood，
All shall be well with him; and how much more，
If ’mid the magic turmoil of the change，
He shall so calm a resolution show
As scarce to reel beneath so great a blow!
But if with savage passion uncontroll’d
He lay about him like the brute foretold，
And must as suddenly be caged again;
Then what redoubled anguish and despair，
From that brief flash of blissful liberty
Remitted--and for ever--to his chain!
Which so much less， if on the stage of glory
Enter’d and exited through such a door
Of sleep as makes a dream of all between.

ESTRELLA
Oh kindly answer， Sir， to question that
To charitable courtesy less wise
Might call for pardon rather! I shall now
Gladly， what， uninstructed， loyally
I should have waited.

ASTOLFO
Your Highness doubts not me，
Nor how my heart follows my cousin’s lips，
Whatever way the doubtful balance fall，
Still loyal to your bidding.

OMNES
So say all.

KING
I hoped， and did expect， of all no less--
And sure no sovereign ever needed more
From all who owe him love or loyalty.
For what a strait of time I stand upon，
When to this issue not alone I bring
My son your Prince， but e’en myself your King:
And， whichsoever way for him it turn，
Of less than little honour to myself.
For if this coming trial justify
My thus withholding from my son his right，
Is not the judge himself justified in
The father’s shame? And if the judge proved wrong，
My son withholding from his right thus long，
Shame and remorse to judge and father both:
Unless remorse and shame together drown’d
In having what I flung for worthless found.
But come--already weary with your travel，
And ill refresh’d by this strange history，
Until the hours that draw the sun from heaven
Unite us at the customary board，
Each to his several chamber: you to rest;
I to contrive with old Clotaldo best
The method of a stranger thing than old
Time has a yet among his records told.

Exeunt.

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!

CLOTALDO
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.)

CHAMBERLAIN
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.

SEGISMUND
The chair?

CHAMBERLAIN
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.

SEGISMUND
When he?--

CHAMBERLAIN
Your royal father， King Basilio， Sir.

SEGISMUND
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?--

CHAMBERLAIN
Warsaw， Sir，
Your capital--

SEGISMUND
And all the moving people?

CHAMBERLAIN
Your subjects and your vassals like ourselves.

SEGISMUND
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.

CHAMBERLAIN
Left awhile
In the quick brain， the word will quickly to
Full meaning blow.

SEGISMUND
You think so?

CHAMBERLAIN
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?

SEGISMUND
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!

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?--

CLO (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 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.

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 commends;
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!

CHAMBERLAIN
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.)

SEGISMUND
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!

SEGISMUND
Your sorrow， then?

KING
Beholding what I do.

SEGISMUND
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.

SEGISMUND
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.

SEGISMUND
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--

SEGISMUND
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?

SEGISMUND
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.

SEGISMUND
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.

SEGISMUND
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.

SEGISMUND
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.

SEGISMUND
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.

SEGISMUND
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.

SEGISMUND
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.

SEGISMUND
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.

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.

SEGISMUND
Ay， I did indeed.

CLOTALDO
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--

SEGISMUND
A dream!
That seem’d as swearable reality
As what I wake in now.

CLOTALDO
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.

SEGISMUND
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.

CLOTALDO
Ay?

SEGISMUND
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.

CLOTALDO
Ay， By the false spirits’ nice contrivance thus
A little truth oft leavens all the false，
The better to delude us.

SEGISMUND
For you know
’Tis nothing but a dream?

CLOTALDO
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?

SEGISMUND
Never， to such reality.

CLOTALDO
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.

SEGISMUND
Last night? Last night?

CLOTALDO
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?

SEGISMUND
Last night--last night--Oh， what a day was that
Between that last night and this sad To-day!

CLOTALDO
And yet， perhaps，
Only some few dark moments， into which
Imagination， once lit up within
And unconditional of time and space，
Can pour infinities.

SEGISMUND
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.

CLOTALDO
Ay--there another specialty of dreams，
That once the dreamer ’gins to dream he dreams，
His foot is on the very verge of waking.

SEGISMUND
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.

CLOTALDO
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.

SEGISMUND
Who meant me!--me! their Prince
Chain’d like a felon--

CLOTALDO
Stay， stay--Not so fast，
You dream’d the Prince， remember.

SEGISMUND
Then in dream
Revenged it only.

CLOTALDO
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.

SEGISMUND
I think I soon shall have to try again--
Sleep has not yet done with me.

CLOTALDO
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.

SEGISMUND
Oh， rather pray for me a sleep so fast
As shall obliterate dream and waking too.

(Exit into the tower.)

CLOTALDO
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?

CLOTALDO
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--

CLOTALDO
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.

CLOTALDO
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--

CLOTALDO
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)--

CLOTALDO
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--

CLOTALDO
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.

CAPTAIN
How know you that?

SOLDIER
He told me so--the Page
Who put us on the scent.

SOLDIER 2
And， as I think，
Will soon be here to run it down with us.

CAPTAIN
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!

CAPTAIN
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.

SOLDIER
Shame to wait
For odds with such a cause at stake.

CAPTAIN
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.

SOLDIER
His wits have been distemper’d with their drugs.
But do you ask him， Captain.

CAPTAIN
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!

SOLDIERS
How dared you then set yourself up for our Prince Segismund?

FIFE
I set up!--I like that
When ’twas yourselves be-siegesmunded me.

CAPTAIN
No matter--Look!--The signal from the tower.
Prince Segismund!

SOLDIERS (from the tower)
Prince Segismund!

CAPTAIN
All’s well. Clotaldo safe secured?--

SOLDIERS (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.

CAPTAIN
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?

SOLDIERS
Oh， one and all
To the last man， persuaded or compell’d.

CAPTAIN
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