Day 148: Segismundo's Soliloquy
Next Thursday I have an exam, and it’s a really tough one—mainly because the notes are in German. I have to translate them into Spanish just to understand them, and then study them in English, since that’s the language of the exam. That’s why I don’t have time to write on the blog (or even reply to emails). I’m really sorry, but the truth is that each post takes me ages to write.
I’d love to write about the nightmare of finding a seat in the library now that everyone (the Germans included) is in exam season, or about the latest heated political debates, or about the good news regarding the World Cup—but I just don’t have the time.
This past Christmas I copied down a bunch of passages I really love from books I strongly recommend you read. I saved them in case I ever ran out of words or didn’t have time to write. Today I’m sharing a text by Calderón de la Barca, from his play Life Is a Dream. This passage is known as Segismundo’s Soliloquy. Poor Segismundo is locked away by his father, King Basilio (I can’t even remember if he was supposed to be king of Poland…), who makes him believe he’s asleep and living in a dream. Unsure whether he’s awake or still dreaming, Segismundo reflects:
And in this delusive way
Lives and rules with sovereign sway;
All the cheers that round him ring,
Born of air, on air take wing.
And in ashes (mournful fate!)
Death dissolves his pride and state:
Who would wish a crown to take,
Seeing that he must awake
In the dream beyond death's gate?
Gilding cares it scarce conceals,
And the poor man dreams he feels
Want and misery and cold.
Dreams he too who rank would hold,
Dreams who bears toil's rough-ribbed hands,
Dreams who wrong for wrong demands,
And in fine, throughout the earth,
All men dream, whate'er their birth,
And yet no one understands.
Here am bound, the scorn of fate;
'Twas a dream that once a state
I enjoyed of light and gladness.
What is life? 'Tis but a madness.
What is life? A thing that seems,
A mirage that falsely gleams,
Phantom joy, delusive rest,
Since is life a dream at best,
And even dreams themselves are dreams.
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