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 unenc.u.mber'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-ident.i.ty Upon the fluctuation of to-day's Mad whirling circ.u.mstance!--And, fool, why not?

If reason, sense, and self-ident.i.ty 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 va.s.sals 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 the mountains, over the wide Deep, And set them down to wake in Fairyland.

CHAMB.

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--

SEG.

My chamberlain?-- And these that follow you?--

CHAMB.

On you, my Lord, Your Highness' lords in waiting.

SEG.

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 va.s.sals 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?

CHAMB.