LIFE IS A DREAM

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.