ACT II
[Now, when the Italian Interlude is concluded, the light—passing to the middle stage—illumines at centre the lone figure of Caliban, where he squats above his cell. Gazing out over the ground-circle, he calls aloud his yearning thoughts:]
CALIBAN O Sands—Yellow Sands! Falleth on you his rain, Shineth his sun! Yea, there his breeding dews Quicken your blind rock-seeds, till wondrous live things Burst ’em with flame-bright petals; and where his light falls You blossom with stars and flowers: But me—me saith, Am mud! Calleth me a bubble of black ooze Can breed but only mine own belly-kind— Bog-fish and moles.—Lieth! [Rising with a great gesture.] He lieth! ’Tis lies! Sands!—You wild, yellow sands! I, too, I, too, Am born to dance by your eternal waves And build brave temples there. I, too, shall bring you Shoutings of life-song, like those Spirits.—Lo, I come to you—I come now!
[Running down the steps, he rushes out upon the ground-circle, where he stoops on bent knees and kisses the shining earth. Behind him, at the entrance of the cell, Death appears, holding a great gray cloak. He comes forward, speaking in a thin monotone.]
DEATH Caliban!
CALIBAN [Raising his head.] What calleth me there?
DEATH Death: priest of Setebos.
CALIBAN His temple is fallen: will build no more like his.
DEATH Thou shalt restore his temple, Caliban.
CALIBAN [Rising.] Nay, will not!
DEATH None can say me Nay. I am The will to not be which denies all wills.
[Through the Cloudy Curtains—slowly—Prospero enters, in troubled meditation.]
CALIBAN And I am Caliban: [Pointing toward Prospero.] will be his servant.
DEATH Caliban, thou shalt fail. Thyself art failure, Setebos’ son.
CALIBAN Myself am done with Setebos: Wear now Miranda’s cloth.
DEATH Thou shalt wear mine. Behold!
CALIBAN [Looking at the gray cloak.] What’s that?
DEATH My cloak, where thou shalt hide To snare Miranda unto bondage. Hark!
[Far, cold, and thin a dirgeful choir sounds from the cell behind the figure of Death.]
THE DIRGE Gray—gray—gray: Joy be unholy and hidden; Wan be the rainbow of wonder, frozen the tide! Blind—blind—blind: Passion be pale and forbidden; Dumb be the lips of the soul to Beauty denied!
PROSPERO [Speaks to Ariel, who comes running from behind the Cloudy Curtains.] Blithe bird of mine, my heart is boding ill. Hast thou heard?
ARIEL Nay, Master, what?
PROSPERO His dirges.
ARIEL Whose?
PROSPERO Setebos’. Ha, ’tis not his lust I dread, Nay, nor his tiger tooth, nor belly on fire: ’Tis when his fever cools: when the gray ash Covers the life-flame, and the boiling senses Skim with thin ice, and the rank bloom wears hoar-frost: Not savage souls, ’tis dead souls that defeat us. Not red, but gray—gray.
[While Prospero and Ariel have spoken together above, Caliban, below, has been drawn half hypnotized by Death toward the cell.]
DEATH [To Caliban.] Follow me.
CALIBAN I follow!
DEATH [At the cell’s mouth, lifts the gray cloak to put upon Caliban.] Wear now my color.
CALIBAN [As Death touches him, springs back.] No, no; thy hand-touch freezeth. [Fearfully he leaps up the steps, crying aloud:] Prospero! I will serve thee.
DEATH [Disappearing within the cell.] Thou shalt fail.
CALIBAN [Bowing before Prospero.] Master, raise up thy servant.
PROSPERO Raise thyself.
CALIBAN [Slowly rising.] So—while thou lookest on me, I can rise.
PROSPERO Nay, look once more on what I now create For thee to rise by. ’Tis mine art, not me, Reigns as thy master. Master it, and go free.
[The Three move toward the throne, where they soon group themselves on the steps.]
CALIBAN What wilt thou show me now?
PROSPERO A mind distraught— Grasping at realms invisible—like thine, Poor groping dreamer. Ariel, from the scroll Of mine old Gothic meditations, bid Thy spirits blazon now a glimpse of Hamlet.
[He hands to Ariel his scroll.]
ARIEL Your will, great Master, we revere it.— Lo where, to meet his father’s spirit, Pale Hamlet watches now, before The parapets of Elsinore!
[Ariel raises the scroll; then, unrolling it, bends his looks upon it, while the Cloudy Curtains part, revealing the