We two are such; not here in fight we close We come to serve, not trespass in His sight, ing chains, for the gratification of Phoenix, the king's daughter. After their dismissal her father enters to prepare her for her intended marriage with the King of Morocco, whose portrait he places in her unwilling hand; her heart being secretly given already to Muley, the general of her father's army. That devoted lover, entering to make his report to the king on the proposed expedition against Ceuta, surprises the princess with the portrait in her hand. He stifles his jealousy till he has announced that the Portuguese have Disappointment swallows up these high themselves taken the initiative, and in- hopes. All indeed goes well in the first stead of merely preparing to defend encounter with the Moors: their general, Ceuta, are about to attack Tangiers. Muley, is taken prisoner by Ferdinand, Their leaders are the King of Portugal's though set free with romantic generosity, brothers, Henry and Ferdinand, Grand when his captor beholds him weeping for Master of the Order of Avis. The King his absent and perhaps faithless ladye. of Fez receives this news with defiant But the small Christian army is surprised pride, and declares his purpose to keep after its advance to Tangiers, by the comTangiers and storm Ceuta, in spite of any bined forces of the kings of Fez and Momasters and princes in the world. He rocco: hopelessly outnumbered, it gives goes away; and then Muley's jealousy way in spite of prodigies of valour perovercomes his respect for his princess, formed by its leaders—one of whom, and he asks her angrily whose the por- Don Ferdinand, instead of dying for the trait is. Phoenix at first replies that faith as he had wished, is constrained to though she has condescended to allow yield his sword to the King of Fez. That Muley to love, yet she has given him no monarch has a parley with Prince Henry, permission to insult her. Presently, how-in which he bids him go to Portugal and ever she enters on a further explanation, and then asks Mu. At least thou couldst have died: I would gladly die for thee. return with full power to effect Ferdinand's release. Ceuta (so he bids him tell his royal brother) is the only ransom which will be accepted for the captive prince. "Tell him," says the prisoner significantly, "to see that he act in this calamity as a Christian king should." The full sense of these words appears later on. The tears by which they are accompanied, reveal in them to the discerning spectators Ferdinand's last farewell to freedom and to life. In the second act, we are again at Fez, where the king treats his captive with The scene changes. For a time we great respect, and permits him the diverleave the Moorish palace for the Chris- sion of the chase. The Christian pristian army, and witness the disembarka-oners gather round him as their consolation of the Portuguese princes on the tion and their hope, since they know of African coast. Prince Henry falls as he his intention to stipulate for their Aberty takes his first step on land, and other along with his own. But dark forebodprevious evil omens combine to dismay ings oppress Ferdinand's mind as he his mind. Ferdinand, whom these in awaits his brother's return; and he studtruth concern, bids him be of good cour-ies, as he says, in the captives' sorrows age. Like Hector, and like Hamlet, the young champion of the Cross defies auguries; and alas! as we shall see, with the same evil result, as far as temporal success goes. He says how to bear those misfortunes which he may one day feel himself. At length the expected ship approaches its sails are black, and Prince Henry lands, himself in mourning weeds, and announces his royal brother's death; hastened by grief for his army's defeat and for Ferdinand's capture. His last thoughts have been directed to his brother's release; and waking, Henry bears a mandate for the surrender These which, at early dawn's first brightness Arose a gladness and an exultation, tion, Shall teach us much in one day's brief duration trace. There are still gleams of hope. Muley, grateful for Ferdinand's former kindness to him, wishes to plot his escape. But the generous prince refuses to expose him to his master's vengeance, and goes on suffering patiently. indignation; "shall the king abandon to the Moors the city which he gained with his own blood? Is it an action fit for a Portuguese, a Catholic, a Christian, to let the Crescent eclipse in its churches the light of the true Sun? to suffer those temples which have been so solemnly consecrated to Christ to be turned once more into mosques? How can we answer for the souls of those Christian inhabitants of the place, who, with their children, may be perverted from the truth? Why sacrifice so many to one? And to whom? To a prince? That name perished when I was taken captive. A slave (and such I now am) has no rights beyond other men. I am civilly dead then why destroy the living for my sake? When the third act begins (Calderon's Let me tear the paper which authorizes plays only consist of three), that suffering such a deed. Let not the world even is nearly at at end. Hunger, weariness, know that a Portuguese king and nobles and ill-treatment have broken the had ever such a purpose.” With these strength, but not the spirit, of the Steadwords the prince destroys the warrant for fast Prince. We hear how he lies, like the surrender of Ceuta, and bids his Lazarus at the rich man's gates, before the brother go home to report that he has left king's palace, dying of a mortal disease; him buried in Africa. The captives have still attended, in spite of the king's progained a fresh companion in sorrow; the hibition, by two faithful friends. Like King of Fez another slave. "Do you Sophocles in his "Philoctetes," Calderon call yourself my slave, and yet refuse me dwells more here on the physical details obedience in the thing on which my heart of his hero's sufferings, which render him is set?" rejoins the king; "then as a an object at once of horror and compasslave will I treat you. Do you despise sion to the beholders, than modern taste death-nay, even desire it? then live a approves of. There is, however, this imlife than death more bitter." He gives portant difference, that whereas Philocthe order, and the prince is clothed in a tetes shrieks forth his own complaints, slave's common dress, loaded with fet- Ferdinand endures his anguish in silence. ters, and set to work among the other The lips of others report it to the king, (now hopeless) captives; while his in the vain hope of moving him to pity. brother is scornfully bidden to return to He has just listened to the sad tale, and Portugal, and there tell the state in which rejected his own daughter's entreaties for he has seen him. Don Henry mournfully the noble prisoner's relief, when an amdeparts, intending to come back in arms bassador is announced, who offers a rich for Ferdinand's deliverance. But mean- ransom in gold, in place of the town which while the noble captive's sufferings grow has been refused, for Ferdinand's liberty. daily more intense. He bears them with- "Ceuta, or nothing," is the king's anout a murmur, grieving chiefly for the swer; and the ambassador, who is in sorrows which he has added to those of truth the prisoner's nephew, Alphonso, his companions in misfortune. One day the new King of Portugal, disguised as as he labours in the king's gardens, the | his own messenger, retires to hasten on princess bids him gather her some flowers, the advance of his troops. which he presents to her as symbols of his own fast approaching fate, with these words, which form one of the sonnets Occasionally scattered by Calderon among his dramas: On the morning after his departure, the poor captives discharge their usual kind office of bearing Ferdinand forth into the sunshine from the wretched place where he has passed the night, before they hasten to their daily toil. Reduced to the last degree of weakness, he sees Ferd. Lay me in this place reclining The captives leave him, much against their will, to perform their daily labour; his faithful friend, Juan, goes to look for food for him, now hardly to be obtained; Muley, the only person who dared to provide it in spite of the king's edict to the contrary, having been despatched to prepare an escort for the princess on her way to her intended marriage. Soon after the king is seen approaching with his train to feast his eyes on his victim's anguish; perhaps, too, with a lingering hope that it may at last have subdued his resolution. The contrast between the two reminds us of those which Sophocles loved to depict. The mighty king is powerless to shake his prisoner's steadfast will; the weak grasp of the dying man is strong enough to resist his tyrant's utmost efforts to wrest the Christian city from his hold. Only over this picture of antique heroism play lights from the eternal world. Ferdinand is not merely a brave man, withstanding injustice to the end. He is this because he is also a servant of God, who, having been appointed to glorify his Master by suffering rather than by acting for Him, has learned to rejoice in the task. To him has come that sacred thirst for martyrdom which led Ignatius of old to pant for the fierce wild beasts of the arena; he will ask for food because he knows that he has no right to abridge his own sufferings by a single moment; he will implore the king to let him have the honour of actually shedding his last drops of blood for the faith; and then, when both requests are denied him, thankfully stretch out his hand for the last bitter cup,-ready even to kiss the cruel hand which presents it to him, as the unintentional opener of the gate of heaven. The KING, after contemplating FERDINAND is Faith retained in this sad state, Grieves, insults me more than all. Brito. The King doth call. Ferd. Me? thou sure dost err; of late But the corpse of both am I, The King. If not Prince nor Master, here Ferd. At that summons I appear, The King. Ferd. Thus I show To my master as his slave. At this point the structure of the verse changes; the linked sweetness of its peculiar rhyme is replaced by the ordinary Spanish ballad measure, the groundwork of Calderon's plays, as the choric ode is of those of Sophocles. With a bold disregard of probability, near two hundred lines are assigned to the dying man's speech: its earnest petition for death is prefaced by reflections on its certainty, which to us sound commonplace, and by a repetition of one truth under different and boldly imaginative metaphors, to appreciate which at all duly we must remember that they are not addressed to a matter-of-fact European mind, but to a semi-barbarian African despot. Ferdinand conjures the king to grant him the favour which he is about to implore, by the sacredness of that kingly office which can impart a certain consecration even to an unbaptized head. Kingship, he says, makes even brute creatures magnanimous. The lion will not tear an unresisting prey, the dolphin has rescued the shipwrecked, the eagle has been known to hinder the traveller from drinking of a poisoned spring, the pomegran thine injuries; ate (queen of fruits) will not let itself be | Rend with mighty roar thy foeman, thus avenge made the vehicle for mischief without giving warning, the diamond (sovereign of the mineral kingdom) shivers at treason. He then proceeds: reversed to mould, Since what, upward turned, was cradle, downward turned becomes a tomb. Close as this we live to death, even thus near our last strait room To our cradle lies from birth-hour. Who hears this? what waits he for? What shall he who knows this seek for? Past a doubt, for life no more; Death, 'tis death for which I ask thee, that heaven so may gratify My desire, long dearly cherished, for our Holy Faith to die: Not despairing or life-wearied, nay, but longing life to give As a righteous champion fighting for that faith by which we live. And to yield both life and soul up unto God, an offering meet: Thus my motive makes it blameless if for death I now entreat. And if pity cannot bend thee, then let rigour. Lion, rise, Eagle, with thy beak and talon, me, thy nest's despoiler, tear; Dolphin of the world's sea, tempest to the seaman rash declare; Royal tree, with branches leafless, show of God in storm the ire; Diamond, turned to dust, burn in me, raging with envenomed fire: Vainly all, for I, though greater torments suffering, greater pain, Though more anguish, though more miseries yet to call my tears remain, Though I bear more evil fortunes, greater hunger yet endure, Clothed in rags, on dunghill seated, yet my faith I hold secure; Faith, the sun which lights and guides me,— faith,.my crown of laurel pure. Ride in triumph, proud, insulting, o'er the Church that shalt thou never; Over me, if so it likes thee, triumph on, but not for ever; God, my cause, one day, uprising, shall, most surely, take in hand, Since, though weak, His cause defending to my latest breath, I stand. The king's answer is natural enough, from his own point of view. He replies: Canst thou boast, and consolation With these words the king departs. The court follow him, pitying, horrified, but not daring to give help. When they are gone Juan enters, bringing to his friend the bread which it has cost him cruel blows from the Moors to obtain. And each footstep that he takes Should the king from wrath relent my last; [They bear him out. The next scene sets before us the disembarkation of Alphonso's army, ready to accomplish this last desire. But as yet they hope to save the living, not to bury the dead. Their first encounter is with the troops of the King of Morocco, and a mystic form appears to cheer them on. The new-made martyr is suffered, as a distinguished sign of heaven's approbation, to do for his native troops all that S. Iago was wont to do for the Spanish hosts. The more experienced Henry is striving to dissuade his nephew from too rash an advance against the Moors. Pr. H. Do not forget that night, The gloomy-shadowed, has day's chariot bright In darkness hidden from our eyes away. K. Al. Then in the dark begin the affray; No force, no season shall my heart appal. The glory His, the honour mine to be. K. Al. Heard'st thou a muffled cry Piercing the winds which sad and swift sweep by? Pr. H. Yes. And I likewise heard Trumpets, that to an instant onset stirred. Calderon's poetic feeling here guides him to an alteration in the structure of his verse, well qualified to express martial resolution, and to prepare the mind for the solemn awe of the coming apparition. K. Al. Let us set on them, Henry, undismayed, Not doubting of Heaven's help. FERDINAND (appears in the mantle of his order, holding a torch.) Yes: Heaven will aid. For God's high favour gained By zeal, devotion, and by faith unstained, To set me free from chains He succour sends, My many churches with one church repays: I with this torch am sent Clear-shining, lit at fountain orient, Ever to march before And light thine army till the strife is o'er, Victorious to thy wish, and reach thy hand Not where the sun-rise glows to crown thy head, But thence to free the ashes of the dead. Thus encouraged, the Portuguese army attack and defeat the enemy. Meantime, within the walls of Fez, to which they swiftly advance, Don Juan bears the dead prince in his open comma into the old king's presence, who, enraged at the final loss of Ceuta, takes such vengeance as he can by sentencing the corpse to remain unrestored, unburied, and exposed to the insults of the passers-by. But scarcely has he proclaimed this barbarous determination, when the approach of the Christian soldiers is announced by their drums; and the King of Fez, summoned to a parley, beholds with horror from his battlements his daughter and his intended son-in-law in the power of the victorious army. Just before the king's appearance, the mystic form, whose saintly protection has led the army swiftly and surely to its desired end, disappears from sight as the sun rises, with these words:FERDINAND (torch in hand). I have guided thee in safety [Vanishes. Uncertain as to the vision's meaning, Alphonso proposes an exchange of pris if it is refused. Her father answers sadly oners, threatening the princess with death that it is no longer practicable: the noble hostage for his daughter's life is dead. and he must prepare to see her blood flow to revenge him. The Christian king's reply is worthy of his great kinsman : |