#1. La vida es sueño – Pedro Calderón de la Barca Comedias Vol. II Primera parte (1636)
London: Gregg Internacional Publisher Limited, 1973 - Republished
By D.W. Cruickshank and J.E. Varey
Segunda Jornada (escena final). Pg. 18.
Segismundo:
Es verdad, pues reprimamos
Esta fiera condición,
Esta furia, esta ambición,
Por si alguna vez soñamos,
Y si haremos, pues estamos
En mundo tan singular,
Que el vivir solo es soñar,
Y la experiencia me enseña,
Que el hombre que vive sueña,
Lo que es hasta despertar.
Sueña el Rey, que es Rey, y vive
Con este engaño mandando,
Disponiendo, y gobernando,
Y este aplauso que recibe
Prestado, en el viento se escribe,
Y en cenizas le convierte
La muerte (desdicha fuerte!)
Que ay quien intente Reinar
Viendo que ha de despertar
En el sueño de la muerte.
Sueña el rico en su riqueza,
Que mas cuidados le ofrece
Sueña el pobre que padece
Su miseria y su pobreza,
Sueña el que a medrar empieza,
Sueña el que afana y pretende,
Sueña el que agravia y ofende:
Y en el mundo en conclusión,
Todos sueñan lo que son,
Aunque ninguno lo entiende.
Yo sueño, que estoy aquí
Destas prisiones cargado,
Y soñé, que en otro estado
Mas lisonjero me vi.
Que es la vida? Un frenesí,
Que es la vida? Una ilusión,
Una sombra, una ficción,
Y el mayor bien es pequeño;
Que toda la vida es sueño,
Y los sueños, sueños son.
#2. La vida es sueño
http://w3.coh.arizona.edu/projects/comedia/calderon/vidsue2c.html
Vern G. Williamsen Ed. (1982)
Act II. Last scene.
SEGISMUNDO:
Es verdad; pues reprimamos
esta fiera condición,
esta furia, esta ambición,
por si alguna vez soñamos;
y sí haremos, pues estamos
en mundo tan singular,
que el vivir sólo es soñar;
y la experiencia me enseña
que el hombre que vive, sueña
lo que es, hasta despertar.
Sueña el rey que es rey, y vive
con este engaño mandando,
disponiendo y gobernando;
y este aplauso, que recibe
prestado, en el viento escribe,
y en cenizas le convierte
la muerte, ¡desdicha fuerte!
¿Que hay quien intente reinar,
viendo que ha de despertar
en el sueño de la muerte!
Sueña el rico en su riqueza,
que más cuidados le ofrece;
sueña el pobre que padece
su miseria y su pobreza;
sueña el que a medrar empieza,
sueña el que afana y pretende,
sueña el que agravia y ofende,
y en el mundo, en conclusión,
todos sueñan lo que son,
aunque ninguno lo entiende.
Yo sueño que estoy aquí
de estas prisiones cargado,
y soñé que en otro estado
más lisonjero me vi.
¿Qué es la vida? Un frenesí.
¿Qué es la vida? Una ilusión,
una sombra, una ficción,
y el mayor bien es pequeño;
que toda la vida es sueño,
y los sueños, sueños son.
#3. Life is a Dream
Translated by Gegory J. Racz (2006)
Act II. Scene xix. Lines 2148-2187
Sigismund:
How very true! Then let’s suppress
The fury of our savage state,
The vile ambition and the hate,
So when we dream we won’t transgress.
For dream we will, though we possess
No sense of where it is we thrive
And dreaming just means being alive.
The insight life’s experience gives
Is that, until man wakes, he lives
A life that only dreams contrive.
The king dreams he is king and reigns
Deluded in his full command,
Imposing order in his land.
The borrowed plaudits he obtains
Blow scattered through the wind’s domains
As death – man’s life is so unjust! –
Transmutes them into ash and dust.
Oh, who on earth could wish to wield
Such might when waking means to yield
It all to death’s dream, as we must?
The rich man dreams his riches great,
Which makes his wealth more burdensome.
The poor man dreams that he’ll succumb
To misery in his beggared state.
He also dreams who prospers late.
The striver and aspirer do,
The mocker and offender, too.
In fact, all mortal souls on earth
Dream their conditions from their birth,
Though no one knows this to be true.
I’m dreaming now that darker days
Await me, chained, in this dark cell
As I’d dreamt I’d been treated well
Of late in some strange coddled phase.
What’s life? A frenzied, blurry haze.
What’s life? Not anything it seems.
A shadow. Fiction filling reams.
All we possess on earth means nil,
For life’s a dream, think what you will,
And even all our dreams are dreams.
#4. LIFE IS A DREAM
By Pedro Calderon De La Barca
Translated by Edward Fitzgerald
ACT III. SCENE I.--The Tower.
CLOTALDO.
So sleep; sleep fast: and sleep away those two
Night-potions, and the waking dream between
Which dream thou must believe; and, if to see
Again, poor Segismund! that dream must be.-And yet, and yet, in these our ghostly lives,
Half night, half day, half sleeping, half awake,
How if our waking life, like that of sleep,
Be all a dream in that eternal life
To which we wake not till we sleep in death?
How if, I say, the senses we now trust
For date of sensible comparison,-Ay, ev'n the Reason's self that dates with them,
Should be in essence or intensity
Hereafter so transcended, and awake
To a perceptive subtlety so keen
As to confess themselves befool'd before,
In all that now they will avouch for most?
One man--like this--but only so much longer
As life is longer than a summer's day,
Believed himself a king upon his throne,
And play'd at hazard with his fellows' lives,
Who cheaply dream'd away their lives to him.
The sailor dream'd of tossing on the flood:
The soldier of his laurels grown in blood:
The lover of the beauty that he knew
Must yet dissolve to dusty residue:
The merchant and the miser of his bags
Of finger'd gold; the beggar of his rags:
And all this stage of earth on which we seem
Such busy actors, and the parts we play'd,
Substantial as the shadow of a shade,
And Dreaming but a dream within a dream!
#5. Title: Life Is A Dream
Author: Pedro Calderon de la Barca
Translated by Denis Florence MacCarthy
ACT THE SECOND. SCENE XVIII.
SIGISMUND. That is true: then let's restrain
This wild rage, this fierce condition
Of the mind, this proud ambition,
Should we ever dream again:
And we'll do so, since 'tis plain,
In this world's uncertain gleam,
That to live is but to dream:
Man dreams what he is, and wakes
Only when upon him breaks
Death's mysterious morning beam.
The king dreams he is a king,
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?
And the rich man dreams of gold,
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.
'Tis a dream that I in sadness
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.