Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest: Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee.— [Calling aloud.] Boy, Lucius! Romans, Romans! Awake—awake!
THE CLOUDY CURTAINS CLOSE
[Instantly, in the semi-darkness without, Caliban—with a great cry—springs among the Muses, snatches from Miranda the staff, and rushes with it to the centre of the middle stage, shouting aloud:]
CALIBAN Awake, Romans, awake! [Low thunders growl, and sharp flashes glimmer about him.]
MIRANDA [Cries out, appalled.] The staff! His staff! Touch not its power, lest thou lay waste the world!
CALIBAN [Grasping the staff, staggers and sways wildly with it, as though being shocked by an invisible force.] Rome! Now do I hold the roof-beam o’ the world. Now am I lord of lightnings: Lo, mine art Shaketh the throne of Prospero. [He strides upon the throne, raising the staff.] Awake, Imperial Rome! Return, ye snake-bright women Of Troy and Egypt! Stain these yellow sands Wine-red with spillings of your wreathèd bowls, And let the orgied priests of revel reign.— Caligula, be crowned by Setebos! Caligula! Caligula! Caligula!
[While he cries aloud, the Powers of Setebos come forth from the cell beneath, clad as Roman men, women, and slaves and, joined by the Roman Interlude Pageant on the ground-circle, raise the Emperor on a palanquin upon their shoulders, and bear him up the steps to the middle stage, shouting “Caligula!”
Here a scene of mingled riot and orgy follows:
Women dancers with golden bowls, slaves shackled and driven with whips, rabble groups scrambling for bread loaves flung them by heralds, armed soldiery, and gorgeous patrician lords: these swarm in a sordid saturnalia, from the midst of which the masked form of Caligula rises dominant in splendor. At his gesture, slaves tear the Muses from their shrine, and give them over to the revellers.
High above all, clutching the staff, his huge limbs rioting grotesque from his silken garments, Caliban dances on the throne of Prospero.