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 LIFE'S A DREAM: 
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE 
 WORLD. 
 
 r
 
 LIFE'S A DREAM: QQ/( 
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE 
 WORLD. 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH OF CALDERON. 
 
 WITH AN ESSAY ON HIS LIFE AND GENIUS 
 
 BY 
 
 EICHAED CHENEVIX TEENCH. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JOHN W. PAEKEE & SON, WEST STEAND. 
 1856.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 SAV1LL AND EDWABDS, PE1NTEES, 
 CHANDOS-STBEZT.
 
 PEEFACE. 
 
 rpHESE translations have lain by me for 
 nearly twice the nine years during which 
 Horace recommended that a poem should re- 
 main in its author's power. They formed part 
 of a larger scheme long ago conceived; but 
 in the carrying out of which I presently dis- 
 covered inner difficulties; not to say that it 
 would have required, as I also soon was aware, a 
 far greater amount of time and labour than I 
 was either willing or had a right to bestow upon 
 it. The scheme was consequently laid aside. At 
 the same time I did not lay aside the hope of 
 rescuing a few portions of my work from the ab- 
 solute oblivion to which the remainder, written
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 and unwritten, was consigned ; and of preparing 
 these, if ever a convenient time should arrive, 
 for the press. The time was long in arriving. 
 It is, however, these portions which, with a few 
 later revisions, and here and there a gap filled 
 up, constitute the verse translations occupying 
 the latter half of this little volume. 
 
 A first sketch of the Essay prefixed to these 
 translations dates back to the same period. 
 I could not, however, let this go forth without 
 seeking to bring up at least its literary notices 
 to the present time; and in doing this, in sup- 
 plying what, as I passed it again under my eye, 
 seemed to me most lacking in it, and in modify- 
 ing earlier judgments, till they expressed more 
 exactly present convictions, I find that, without 
 having at all expected or desired this result, I 
 have re- written the greater portion of the Essay. 
 
 ITCHENSTOKE, April gth, 1856. 
 MR
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 ON THE LIFE AND GENIUS OF CALDERON. 
 
 PAGE 
 CHAP. I. THE LIFE OF CALDERON I 
 
 II. THE GENIUS OF CALDERON (his Plays) . . 31 
 ,, in. THE GENIUS OF CALDEEON (his AutOS) . . 79 
 ,, IV. CALDEKON IN ENGLAND 1 05 
 
 TRANSLATIONS FEOM CALDERON. 
 i. LIFE'S A DREAM 125 
 
 II. THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE WORLD . . . .175 
 APPENDIX 219
 
 ON THE LIFE AND GENIUS OF 
 CALDERON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE LIFE OP CALDERON. 
 
 rPHERE are few poets, who have been so dif- 
 - ferently judged, who have been set so high, 
 and so low, as Calderon ; few, who have been 
 made the objects, on one side, of such enthu- 
 siastic admiration and applause ; on the other, 
 of such extreme depreciation and contempt. 
 Consult the Schlegels, or any other of his chief 
 German admirers, and you would suppose that 
 in him Shakespeare had found his peer, that he 
 had attained unto " the first three," to Homer 
 and Dante and Shakespeare, and that he, a 
 fourth, occupied a throne of equal dignity with 
 theirs. For Sismondi, on the contrary, and for 
 others not a few, he is little better than a dex- 
 B
 
 2 THE LIFE OP CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 trous play-wright, an adroit master of stage- 
 effect; a prodigal squanderer of poetical gifts, 
 which, indeed, they do not deny to have been 
 eminent, on a Spanish populace, whose tastes 
 he flattered, and from whom he obtained that 
 meed of present popularity which was justly his 
 due, being now to seek for no other. 
 
 And perhaps there has been still greater 
 divergence and disagreement in the estimates 
 which have been formed of the ethical worth of 
 this poet. " In this great and divine master the 
 enigma of life is not merely expressed, but 
 solved ;" these are the words of Frederic Schlegel, 
 setting him in this above Shakespeare, who for 
 the most part is content, according to him, with 
 putting the riddle of life, without attempting to 
 resolve it. And again, " In every situation and 
 circumstance Calderon is, of all dramatic poets, 
 the most Christian." And Augustus Schlegel, 
 who had not his brother's Romanist sympathies 
 to affect his judgment, in a passage of rare elo- 
 quence in his Lectures on Dramatic Literature,* 
 characterizes the religious poetry of Calderon, as 
 one never-ending hymn of thanksgiving, ascend- 
 ing continually to the throne of God. Falling 
 
 * Lect. 29.
 
 I.] THE LIFE OF CALDERON. 3 
 
 in, too, with the very point of his brother's 
 praise, ' Blessed man !' he exclaims, ' he had 
 escaped from the wild labyrinths of doubt into 
 the stronghold of belief; from thence with un- 
 disturbed tranquillity of soul, he beheld and 
 portrayed the storms of the world ; to him 
 human life was no longer a dark riddle.' These 
 two set the example ; many followed in their 
 train. 
 
 Others, meanwhile, have not been wanting 
 who have been able to see nothing but what is 
 morally perverse and injurious in his poetry. 
 Thus Sain goes so far as to say that he can 
 never read Calderon without indignation, ac- 
 cuses him of having no other aims but to make 
 his genius subservient to the lowest prejudices 
 and superstitions of his countrymen. And 
 others in the same spirit describe him as the 
 poet of the Inquisition, (the phrase is Sismondi's,) 
 of Romanism in its deepest degradation, in 
 its most extravagant divorce of religion from 
 morality; what morality he has being utterly 
 perverted, the Spanish punctilio in its bloodiest 
 excess, with much more in the same strain. 
 
 Many, too, of those who abstain from passing 
 any such strong moral condemnation on the 
 Spanish poet, or looking at his writings from 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE LIFE OF CALDERON. [cH. 
 
 any such earnest ethical point of view, while they 
 give him credit for a certain amount of technical 
 dramatic skill, have no genuine sympathy with 
 him, no hearty admiration for his works. They 
 find everywhere more to blame than to praise ; 
 brilliant but cold conceits, oriental hyperboles, the 
 language of the fancy usurping the place of the 
 language of the heart; and when they praise 
 him the most, it is not as one of the stars shining 
 with a steady lustre in the poetical firmament, 
 but as an eccentric meteor, filling the mind of 
 the beholder with astonishment rather than with 
 admiration .Such a " frigid" character of him (it 
 is his own word) Hallam * has given, acknowledg- 
 ing at the same time the slightness of his ac- 
 quaintance both with Calderon himself, and 
 with the language in which he has written ; and 
 such the author [Southey 1 ? or Lockhart?] of an 
 able article in the Quarterly Review, 1 ^ with whose 
 judgment Hallam has consented in the main. 
 
 That my own judgment does not agree with 
 theirs who set him thus low in the scale of poeti- 
 cal merit, still less with theirs who charge him 
 with that profound moral perversity, J need 
 hardly aflBrm. For small and slight as this vo- 
 
 * Literature of Europe, vol. 3. pp. 32 541. 
 t Vol. 25. pp. i 24, The Spanish Drama.
 
 I.] THE LIFE OF CALDERON. 5 
 
 lume is, I should have been little tempted to 
 bestow the labour it has cost me on that which, 
 as poetry, seemed to me of little value ; and still 
 less disposed to set forward in any way the study 
 of a writer who, being what his earnest cen- 
 surers affirm, could only exert a mischievous in- 
 fluence, if he exerted any, on his readers. How 
 far my judgment approaches that of his enthu- 
 siastic admirers, what drawbacks it seems need- 
 ful to make on their praises as extravagant and 
 excessive, what real and substantial worth will 
 still, as I believe, remain, it will be my endeavour 
 to express this in the pages which follow. 
 
 But these considerations will be most fitly in- 
 troduced by a brief sketch of Calderon's life, and 
 of the circumstances of Spain before and during 
 the period when he flourished, so far as they may 
 be supposed to have affected him and his art. So 
 shall we be able better to understand, (and it is 
 not unworthy of study,) that great burst of dra- 
 matic invention, undoubtedly after the Greek and 
 English, the most glorious explosion of genius in 
 this kind which the world has ever beheld, and 
 which beginning some ten or fifteen years before 
 Calderon's birth, may be said to have expired 
 when he died. There are indeed only three great 
 original dramatic literatures in the world, and
 
 6 THE LIFE OF CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 this, in which Calderon is the central figure, 
 is one. Greece, England, and Spain are the only 
 three countries, in the western world at least, 
 which boast an independent drama, one going 
 its own way, growing out of its own roots, not 
 timidly asking what others have done before, 
 but boldly doing that which its own native 
 impulses urged it to do; the utterance of the 
 national heart and will, accepting no laws from 
 without, but only those which it has imposed on 
 itself, as laws of its true liberty, and not of 
 bondage. The Roman drama and the French 
 are avowedly imitations ; nor can all the vigour 
 and even originality in detail which the former 
 displays, vindicate for it an independent position ; 
 much less can the latter, which, at least in the 
 nobler region of tragedy, is altogether an artificial 
 production, claim this; indeed it does not seek 
 to do so, finding its glory in the renunciation 
 of any such claim. Germany has some fine plays ; 
 but no national dramatic literature; the same 
 must be said of Italy ; and the period has long 
 since past for both when it would have been 
 possible that this want should be supplied. 
 
 For us, who behold Spain only in the depth 
 of her present bankruptcy, literal and figurative,
 
 I.] THE LIFE OF CALDERON. 7 
 
 it is difficult to realize the lofty elevation of power 
 and dignity and honour at which she stood in 
 the sixteenth century, and, while as yet the secret 
 of her decadence was not divined, during a portion 
 of the seventeenth ; the extent to which the Spa- 
 niard was honoured with the fear, the admiration, 
 and the hatred of the rest of Europe. That six- 
 teenth had been for him a century of achievements 
 almost without parallel. At the close of the 
 century preceding, the Christians of Spain had 
 brought their long conflict with the infidel at 
 home to a triumphant close. But these eight 
 hundred years of strife had impressed their 
 stamp deeply on the national character. 'As iron 
 sharpeneth iron,' so had this long collision of 
 races and religions evoked many noble qualities 
 in the Spaniard, but others also most capable of 
 dangerous abuse. War with the infidel in one 
 shape or another had become almost a necessity 
 of the national mind. The Spanish cavalier 
 might not be moral, but religious, according to 
 that distinction between morality and religion 
 possible in Roman Catholic countries, he always 
 must be, by the same necessity that, to be a 
 gentleman, he must be well born and courteous 
 and brave. 
 
 The field for the exercise of this Christian chi-
 
 8 THE LIFE OF CALDERON". [CH. 
 
 valry at home was no sooner closed to him than 
 other and wider fields were opened. Granada was 
 taken in 1492 ; in the veiy same year Columbus 
 discovered a New World, to the conquering of 
 which the Spaniard advanced quite as much in 
 the spirit of a crusader as of a gold-seeker; and 
 we wrong him altogether, at least such men as 
 Cortez, if we believe that only the one passion 
 was real, while the other was assumed. All 
 exploits of fabled heroes of romance were out- 
 done by the actual deeds of these conquerors 
 deeds at the recital of which the world, so long 
 as it has admiration for heroic valour and en- 
 durance, or indignation for pitiless cruelty, will 
 shudder and wonder. But this valour was not 
 all to be lavished, nor these cruelties to be 
 practised, on a scene remote from European eyes. 
 The years during which Cortez was slowly 
 winning his way to the final conquest of the 
 Mexican Empire, were exactly the earliest years 
 of the Reformation in Europe (1518 1521). 
 This Reformation, adopted by the North of 
 Europe, repelled by the South, was by none so 
 energetically repelled as by the Spaniards, who 
 henceforward found a sphere wide as the whole 
 civilized world in which to make proof that they 
 were the most Christian of all Christian nations,
 
 L] THE LIFE OF CALDEROIf. 9 
 
 the most Catholic of all Catholic. Spain did 
 not shrink from her part as champion of the 
 perilled faith, but accepted eagerly the glories 
 and the sacrifices which this championship 
 entailed. Enriched by the boundless wealth of 
 the Western world, having passed in Philip the 
 Second's time from freedom into despotism, and 
 bringing the energies, nursed in freedom, to be 
 wielded with the unity which despotism pos- 
 sesses, she rose during the sixteenth century ever 
 higher and higher in power and consideration. 
 
 It was towards the end of that century, that 
 is, when Lope de Vega took possession of the 
 rude drama of his country, and with the in- 
 stincts of genius strengthened and enlarged, 
 without disturbing, the old foundations of it, 
 that the great epoch of her drama began. All 
 that went before was but as the attempts of Kid 
 and Peele, or at the utmost of Marlowe, in ours. 
 The time was favourable for his appearance. 
 Spain must, at this time, have been waiting for 
 her poet. The restless activity which had pushed 
 her forward in every quarter, the spirit of enter- 
 prize which had discovered and won an empire 
 in the New World, while it had attached to her 
 some of the fairest provinces and kingdoms of 
 the Old, was somewhat subsiding. She was
 
 10 THE LIFE OF CALDERON. [oil. 
 
 willing to repose upon her laurels. The wish 
 had risen up to enjoy the fruits of her long and 
 glorious toils ; to behold herself, and what was 
 best and highest in her national existence, those 
 ideals after which she had been striving, reflected 
 back upon her in the mirrors which art would 
 supply ; for she owed her drama to that proud 
 epoch of national histoiy which was just con- 
 cluding, as truly as Greece owed the great burst 
 of hers, all which has made it to live for 
 ever, to the Persian War, and to the elevation 
 consequent on its successful and glorious conclu- 
 sion. The dramatic poet found every thing 
 ready to his hand. Here was a nation proud of 
 itself, of its fidelity to the Catholic faith, of its 
 championship, at all sacrifices, of that faith, 
 possessing a splendid past history at home and 
 abroad, a history fall of incident, of passion, of 
 marvel, and of suffering ; much of that history 
 so recent as to be familiar to all, and much 
 which was not recent, yet familiar as well, 
 through ballad and romance which everywhere 
 lived on the lips of the people. Here was a 
 nation which had set before itself, and in no 
 idle pretence, the loftiest ideals of action ; full 
 of the punctilios of valour, of honour, of loyalty ; 
 a generation to whom life, their own life, or the
 
 I.] THK LIFE OF CALDERON. II 
 
 life of those dearest, was as dust in the balance 
 compared with the satisfying to the utmost tittle 
 the demands of these; so that one might 
 say, that what Sir Philip Sidney has so beau- 
 tifully called " the hate-spot ermeline," the 
 ermine that rather dies than sullies its white- 
 ness with one spot or stain, was the model 
 they had chosen. Here was a society which had 
 fashioned to itself a code of ethics, which, with 
 all of lofty and generous that was in it, was 
 yet often exaggerated, perverted, fantastic, in- 
 exorable, bloody ; but which claimed unquestion- 
 ing submission from all, and about obeying which, 
 110 hesitation of a moment might occur. What 
 materials for the dramatic poet were here ! 
 
 Nor may we leave out of sight that there were 
 circumstances, which modified and rendered less 
 fatal than we might have expected they would 
 prove, even those influences that were manifestly 
 hostile to the free development of genius in Spain. 
 Thus it is qiiite true that Spain may be said 
 finally to have passed from a land of constitu- 
 tional freedom into a despotism, with the crush- 
 ing by Philip the Second of the liberties of 
 Aragon. But for all this, the mighty impulses 
 of the free period which went before, did not im- 
 mediately fail. It is not for a generation or two
 
 12 THE LIFE OF CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 that despotism effectually accomplishes its work, 
 and shows its power in cramping, dwarfing, and 
 ultimately crushing the faculties of a people. 
 The nation lives for a while on what has been 
 gained in nobler epochs of its life ; and it is not 
 till this is exhausted, till the generation which 
 was reared in a better time has passed away, and 
 also the generation which they have formed and 
 moulded under the not yet extinct traditions of 
 freedom, that all the extent of the spiritual, 
 moral, and intellectual mischief becomes appa- 
 rent. Moreover, it must not be lost sight of 
 that the Spanish was not an antinational des- 
 potism, such as the English would have been, if 
 Charles the First had succeeded in his attempt 
 to govern without Parliaments. On the contrary 
 it was a despotism in which the nation gloried ; 
 which itself helped forward. It was consequently 
 one in which the nation did not feel that humi- 
 liation and depression, which are the results of 
 one running directly counter to the national 
 feeling, and being the permanent badge of un- 
 successful resistance to a detested yoke. 
 
 Even the hateful Inquisition itself, by dis- 
 couraging, and indeed absolutely repressing, all 
 activity of genius in every other direction 
 destined as it was absolutely to extinguish it in
 
 I.] THE LIFE OP CALDERON. 1 3 
 
 all yet for a season gave greater impulse to its 
 movements in one direction. There was one 
 province, that of poetry, and above all dramatic 
 poetry, over which it never seems to have ex- 
 tended that jealous and suspicious surveillance 
 with which it watched every other region of 
 human thought and activity. 
 
 Such are some features of the Spain in which 
 Lope de Vega, Calderon, and their peers grew 
 up ; under these influences they were formed. 
 At the time, indeed, when Calderon was born, 
 and much more when he was rising into man- 
 hood, the glory of his country was somewhat on 
 its decline. Grey hairs were upon her. She, 
 however, knew it not. Many glimpses of her 
 past glory gilded her yet. Many pledges and 
 evidences of her former greatness, not a few be- 
 quests of that heroic past, remained with her still. 
 The Netherlands were not yet hopelessly lost ; 
 Portugal was still an appanage of the Spanish 
 crown ; the youthful Conde" had not yet de- 
 stroyed at Rocroi the prestige of that hitherto 
 invincible infantry of Spain. She might still 
 believe herself rich, because the treasures of the 
 Indies flowed through her coffers; not knowing 
 that these were barren -making streams for her, 
 extinguishing in their passage her own industry
 
 14 THE LIFE OF CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 and manufactures, and then passing on to enrich 
 foreign or hostile soils. The secret of her decay 
 was concealed, in great part, not merely from 
 herself, but from others, from all but the most 
 understanding. It was to Spain that our first 
 James just at this period turned, when he sought 
 a wife for his only son, as counting that alliance 
 more desirable than any other in Europe.* And 
 when that marriage came to nothing, and the pros- 
 pects of a contest with Spain rapidly succeeded 
 those of ah alliance with her, how great she still 
 was in the judgment of the statesmen of Europe 
 may be seen from the very remarkable Consider- 
 ations touching a War with Spain, 1624, by 
 Lord Bacon. ' A war with Spain,' he there de- 
 clares, ' is a mighty work :' and this, even while 
 the keen-eyed statesman plainly saw that the 
 colossus was not so great in reality as in appear- 
 ance and reputation, and spied with a searching 
 eye its weaknesses ; and, most important of all, 
 
 * Calderon was resident in Madrid in the year of Prince 
 Charles' romantic visit to that city (1623) a young poet' 
 of rising fame, but as yet filling no such office as would 
 cause him to take any share in the shews and triumphs with 
 which that visit was celebrated. A few years later, aad 
 we should not probably have wanted some gorgeous mytho- 
 logical spectacle from his pen in which the alliance and 
 future nuptials would have been shadowed forth.
 
 I.] THE LIFE OF CALDERON. 15 
 
 did not fail to note that every day the relative 
 strength of the two states was changing in favour 
 of England, which was ever rising in strength as 
 Spain was falling. 
 
 Still the decadence of Spain was not openly 
 acknowledged as yet. Long after others had 
 divined, and even proclaimed, her own duteous 
 children would have refused to see it. They 
 certainly did not perceive it as yet. The near 
 future of their country's fall was hidden from 
 them. They saw not her who a little while 
 before was the chief and foremost among the 
 nations, already failing in the race, to fall 
 presently into the rear, nay to be thrown out 
 altogether from the great onward march of 
 European civilization. It was well, at least for 
 her poets and her painters, that to hide this 
 from their eyes was possible to them still. A 
 very little later, when the symptoms of her 
 rapid decay became more numerous and also 
 more palpable, so that even they could not have 
 missed them, it would have been impossible for 
 a great poet to have arisen in Spain. For a 
 great poet, without a great country, without a 
 great people for him to be proud of, and which 
 in return he feels shall be proud of him, without 
 this action and reaction, never has been, and
 
 1 6 THE LIFE OF CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 can never be. Elegant and even spirited lyrics, 
 graceful idyls, comedies of social life, with all 
 the small underwood of poetry, can very well 
 exist, as they often have existed, where there is 
 little or no national life or feeling; but its 
 grander and sublimer forms, epos and tragedy and 
 the loftier lyrics, can grow out of, and nourish 
 themselves from, no other soil than that of a 
 vigorous national existence. The names of 
 Calderon and of his great dramatic cotempo- 
 raries, of the most illustrious among the Spanish 
 painters, (the lives of Velazquez and Murillo run 
 pretty nearly parallel to his,) are evidences that 
 such a period was not yet overlived in Spain. 
 At the same time it must be owned that he 
 stood on its extremest verge. He who saw the 
 sun of his country's glory, if not indeed at its 
 zenith, yet still high in the heaven, saw it also 
 in its swift decline and descent; and had his 
 long life been extended only a little longer, he 
 would have seen it set altogether. 
 
 The most important source from which the 
 materials for Calderon's life are derived is a short 
 biography written by his friend, Vera Tassis. 
 This was prefixed by him to an edition of Cal- 
 deron's plays, the first volume of which was
 
 I.] THE LIFE OF CALDEKON. 17 
 
 published the year after his death.* Brief as 
 this record is, it contains even less than the first 
 aspect of its narrow limits would lead one to 
 expect ; for it is composed in the worst style of 
 affected eloquence ; however this may be partially 
 redeemed by the tone of true affection which 
 makes itself felt even through a medium so un- 
 favourable as this. Considering too the bio- 
 grapher's opportunities of knowledge, derived 
 from a sister of the poet who survived him, and 
 from other of his friends, as well as from personal 
 intercourse, (for he speaks of Calderon's death as 
 being to him the loss of a parent, a master, and a 
 friend,) its notices are very few and unsatisfactory. 
 The writer would indeed have deserved much 
 better of the after- world, if, instead of pompous 
 and turgid eulogiums, which would have fitted 
 almost equally well any great poet who had ever 
 lived, he had given a few characteristic details of 
 Calderon's life and habits; these unfortunately 
 are wanting altogether. 
 
 And even the information which he does 
 afford us is not altogether accurate; for he 
 stumbles at the very threshold, making the year 
 
 * This edition (Madrid, 1682 1691, 9 torn. 4to) is 
 naturally the first which contains his collected plays. 
 
 C
 
 1 8 THE LIFE OF CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 1 60 1 to have been that of Calderon's birth, a 
 mistake which has since propagated itself widely; 
 while an extract from his baptismal register, pre- 
 served in a very trustworthy work, called The 
 Sons of Madrid* and entitled, as documentary 
 evidence, to far greater weight, gives Feb. i4th, 
 1600, as the day of his baptism; not to say that 
 in another rare work,t published by a friend in 
 his honour, and written immediately after his 
 death, it is distinctly stated on the authority of 
 Calderon himself, that he was born Jan. i^th, 
 1600. Madrid had the honour of being his 
 birth-place. 
 
 His father, secretary to the Treasury Board 
 under Philip the Second and Philip the Third, 
 was of a good family of the Montana, a moun- 
 tainous district so called in the neighbourhood 
 of Burgos ; his mother of a noble Flemish family 
 long settled in Castile. His parents were, accord- 
 ing to The Sons of Madrid, " very Christian and 
 discreet persons, who gave their children an edu- 
 cation conformable to their illustrious lineage." 
 These children were four an eldest son, D. 
 Diego, who succeeded to the family estates and 
 
 * Lot Sijos de Madrid, t. 4. p. 218. 
 t Obdisco Funebre.
 
 I.] THE LIFE OP CALDERON. 1 9 
 
 honours; a daughter, who became a professed 
 nun of the order of St. Clare, and survived the 
 poet by a year ; D. Josef, who followed the career 
 of arms, and fell in battle in the year 1645 ; and 
 D. Pedro, the youngest, with whom we have to 
 do.* He received his first rudiments of educa- 
 tion in the Jesuit College at Madrid; and then 
 for five years studied philosophy and the scholastic 
 theology, (of which fact abundant traces appear 
 in his writings,) at the University of Salamanca. 
 Leaving it at nineteen, he spent the five or six 
 years that followed at the capital, having already 
 in his fourteenth year shown the bent of his 
 genius towards the stage by a drama, The 
 Chariot of Heaven, which has not come down 
 to us. 
 
 Like so many other of the most distinguished 
 authors of Spain, he began his active career as a 
 soldier; in his twenty-fifth year serving in the 
 Milanese, and afterwards in the Low Countries, 
 his biographer assuring us that his studies were 
 not through these his more active engagements 
 at all intermitted. Some have supposed that he 
 was present at the siege and taking of Breda by 
 
 * Los Hijos de Madrid, t. T. p. 305 ; t. i. p. 218 ; 
 t. 3. p. 24. 
 
 C 2
 
 20 THE LIFE OF CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 Spinola, the great Genoese captain in the service 
 of Spain (1625); inferring this from his singular 
 familiarity with all the details of this famous feat 
 of arms, as displayed in his play called The Siege 
 of Breda* How long his military career lasted 
 we are not told. We find him at a date some- 
 what later than this again at Madrid, whither 
 he had been summoned by the reigning monarch, 
 Philip the Fourth. In 1630 his fame was so 
 well established that Lope de Vega recognizes 
 him as his true and equal successor; while five 
 years later the death of Lope (1635) left him the 
 undisputed occupant of the highest place among 
 the poets of Spain, a preeminence which he held 
 without the challenge of a rival to the end of 
 his life. 
 
 It was observed just now that Calderon came 
 to Madrid in obedience to the summons of Philip 
 
 * The surrender of Breda was a subject which employed 
 the pencil of Velazquez as well as the pen of Calderon. The 
 picture bearing this name is a chief ornament of the Royal 
 Gallery at Madrid, and one of the greatest works of a great 
 master. (See Stirling, Velasquez and his Works, p. 148.) 
 The play, though spirited, is too much a mere chronicle of 
 the siege and capitulation. It was probably a mere piece 
 for the occasion. It is pleasant to notice the justice which 
 Calderon does to the gallantry of Morgan, an English cap- 
 tain, who with a small body of his countrymen, as we know 
 from other sources, assisted in the defence of the place.
 
 I.] THE LIFE OF CALDERON. 21 
 
 the Fourth. This monarch, himself an author, 
 and writing his own language with precision and 
 purity,* was passionately addicted to the drama. 
 Indeed some plays, said not to be without merit, 
 are ascribed, but on no sufficient evidence, to 
 him. Unfortunately he expended on his artistic 
 and literary pursuits a great portion of that 
 time and those energies, which would have been 
 far better bestowed on the fulfilment of the 
 kingly duties which were so greatly neglected by 
 him. There was much, however, in the character 
 of the youthful monarch, (he was five years 
 younger than the poet,) which was gracious, 
 amiable, and attractive ;t and a little anecdote 
 
 * Pellicer, a Spanish scholar of the last century, and 
 Librarian of the Royal Library at Madrid, states that in 
 that Library are preserved MS. translations by this king 
 of Francis Guicciardini's History of the Wars of Italy, and 
 also of his nephew's Description of the Low Countries ; to 
 the latter of which a graceful and sensible prologue has 
 been prefixed by the king. (Origen y Progresos de la 
 Comedia en Espafia, Madrid, 1804, t. i. p. 162.) 
 
 f- For a happy sketch of his character, see Stirling, 
 Velasquez and his Works, London, 1855, pp. 46 48. 
 Dunlop's Memoirs of Spain during the Reigns of Philip 
 the Fourth and Charles the Second, i voll. Edinburgh, 
 1834, are not very profound, and their idiom is occasionally 
 rather Scotch than English. They contain, however, enough 
 of information agreeably conveyed, and which is not very 
 easily found elsewhere, to occasion a regret that he never
 
 22 THE LIFE OP CALDEROST. [CH. 
 
 or two imply that the relations between the two 
 were easy and familiar. Director of the Court 
 theatre, which was the post that Calderon, 
 whether nominally or no, yet really occupied 
 now, does not appear a very promising, nor yet 
 a very dignified one, for a great poet to assume ; 
 yet one not very dissimilar Goethe was willing 
 for many years to sustain at Weimar ; and no 
 doubt, like so many other positions, it was very 
 much what the holder was willing to make it. 
 
 A member of the Military Order of Santiago, 
 (for in 1637 he had received this honour,) Cal- 
 deron had the opportunity of shewing in his 
 middle age that his martial ardour was not 
 quenched. On occasion of the revolt in Cata- 
 lonia in 1640 the members of the three Mili- 
 tary Orders were summoned to take the field. 
 His biographer tells us that it was only by a 
 device that Calderon was able to take that part in 
 the perils of the campaign, to which in duty and 
 
 carried out a purpose entertained by him (see vol. r. p. ix. ; 
 vol. 2. p. 415) of dedicating a third volume to the history of 
 dramatic art in Spain during the seventeenth century. As 
 it is, the intention of devoting an especial treatise to this 
 subject has caused him almost wholly to pass by a matter, 
 which in the life of such a monarch as Philip the Fourth 
 could else have hardly failed to occupy some prominence in 
 his book.
 
 I.] THE LIFE OF CALDERON. 23 
 
 honour he felt himself bound. The king wished 
 to detain the poet at his side. Garcilasso, the 
 author of the most elegant lyrics after the 
 Italian fashion which Spain had produced, had 
 perished quite in his youth at the storming of a 
 fortified mill, leaving only the first-fruits of his 
 graceful genius behind him. Philip may not 
 have been willing to expose a far greater light 
 to a like premature extinction. At any rate 
 he desired to hinder the poet from going; and 
 this he supposed that he had effectually done, 
 when he gave him a festal piece to prepare, 
 which according to the king's anticipation would 
 abundantly occupy him until after the expedition 
 had set out. Calderon however defeated his 
 purpose, bringing his appointed task with such 
 rapidity to a close, that he was able to follow 
 and join the army in time, as Vera Tassis tells 
 us, to share with it all its dangers until peace 
 was concluded. 
 
 Such is the account of his biographer; and 
 such conduct would be entirely in keeping with 
 the chivalrous character of Calderon; yet it is 
 not without its difficulties. In the first place the 
 king could only have expected by such an artifice 
 as this to detain him from the perils of the 
 campaign on the assumption that the war would
 
 24 THE LIFE OF CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 be over almost as soon as begun. A fleet which 
 had once set sail it might be impossible after- 
 wards to join; but infinite opportunities must 
 have offered of joining an army only two or three 
 provinces off; and between such and the capital 
 there must have been constant communication. 
 Perhaps such expectation of immediate success 
 may have prevailed at Madrid. As it proved, the 
 contest in Catalonia lasted for twelve years, the 
 revolt being only suppressed in 1652; which 
 makes another difficulty. Vera Tassis states that 
 Calderon remained with the army till peace was 
 concluded ; which would be for these twelve years. 
 It is quite certain that long before this he was 
 again in attendance on the Court. In 1649 he 
 took a prominent share in preparing the shows and 
 festivities which welcomed the arrival of Philip's 
 new queen, Anna Maria of Austria, to Madrid; 
 while in 1651, a year before the rebellion was 
 quelled, he had taken holy orders : for like so 
 many other of his countrymen, illustrious in war, 
 or statesmanship, or art, the career which he began 
 as a soldier, he concluded as a priest. 
 
 In a Church so richly endowed as the Spanish 
 was then, and one in which the monarch had been 
 so successful in keeping the richest endowments 
 in his own gift, it was not likely that Calderon
 
 I.] THE LIFE OP CALDEKON. 25 
 
 would long remain without preferment. The 
 favour of his royal patron speedily conferred more 
 than one preferment upon him ; and he continued, 
 from time to time, to receive new proofs of his 
 master's liberality, and of his wish to attach him 
 as closely as possible to his person. His high 
 court favour ended with the life of Philip. 
 The death of that monarch was doubtless to 
 Calderon not merely the loss of a patron, but 
 almost of a friend. This event took place in 
 1665, and with it the faint nimbus of glory, 
 which had until then continued, more or less, to 
 surround the Spanish monarchy, quite disap- 
 peared. A feeble minor, not less feeble in intel- 
 lect than in age, occupied the throne. The court 
 was the seat of miserable and disgraceful in- 
 trigues. From that empire, once so proud and 
 strong, cities and provinces were rent away by 
 the violence or fraud of Louis the Fourteenth, 
 almost as often as he chose to stretch out his 
 hand and take them. He was indeed only hin- 
 dered from tearing that empire piecemeal by the 
 hope that a descendant of his own should ere 
 long inherit it altogether. 
 
 Literature with everything else felt the 
 deeply depressing influence of the time. Calde- 
 ron, however, still sang on ; he belonged to a
 
 26 THE LIFE OF CALDERON. [cH. 
 
 better epoch, and brought the poetic energies of 
 that epoch into the evil days upon which he was 
 now fallen; though he too began about this time 
 to shew, in some degree, the effects of age, and, 
 it may be, of the sunken splendours of his native 
 land. To this later period of his life belongs a 
 very slight and transient glimpse which we ob- 
 tain of the poet, one however which, in default 
 of fuller information, must not be passed by. 
 Nor indeed is this little notice without a certain 
 point of its own; it is indeed impossible not to 
 admire the Frenchman's self-satisfied conviction 
 of his immeasurable superiority as a critic over 
 the benighted Spaniard, who was ignorant of the 
 unities. It is a French traveller, who in his 
 Diary of a Journey in Spain* thus writes : 
 "Yesterday came the Marquess of Eliche,t 
 
 * Boisel, Journal de Voyage d'Espagne, Paris, 1669, 
 p. 298. I have never been able to fall in with this book, 
 and the passage as given above is a translation of a transla- 
 tion ; and whether a perfectly accurate rendering of the 
 original I cannot be sure. 
 
 f This was he who a few years earlier (in 1662) set on 
 foot a small Gunpowder plot of his own, and nearly contrived 
 to blow up Philip the Fourth with the royal family at the 
 theatre of the Buen Retiro. He was pardoned for his 
 father's sake. His good conduct in the field seems to have 
 caused his treason to be forgotten ; and he rose in the succeed- 
 ing reign to the highest offices in the State.
 
 I.] THE LIFE OF CALDEKON. 27 
 
 eldest son of Don Luis de Haro, and Monsieur 
 de Barrie're, and took me to the theatre. The 
 play, which had been before brought forward, 
 but was newly revived, was naught, although it 
 had Don Pedro Calderon for author. At a later 
 hour I made a visit to this Calderon, who is held 
 the greatest poet and the most illustrious genius 
 in Spain at the present day. He is Knight 
 of the Order of Santiago, and Chaplain to the 
 Chapel of the Kings at Toledo ; but I gathered 
 from his conversation that his head-piece was 
 furnished poorly enough. We disputed a good 
 while on the rules of the drama, which in this 
 land are not recognized, and about which the 
 Spaniards make themselves merry." 
 
 Though no longer a foremost favourite of the 
 Court, Calderon's relations to it still continued, 
 and his services were put in requisition when- 
 ever the so-called fiestas, or dramatic spectacles 
 for peculiar occasions, were needed. With the 
 nation his popularity survived undiminished to 
 the close of his life. This life, which was one of 
 singular peace and outward prosperity, he brought 
 to an end on Whit-Sunday, May 25, 1681, his 
 years running exactly parallel to those of that 
 century of which he was so illustrious an orna- 
 ment. A little volume of funeral eulogies, pub-
 
 28 THE LIFE OF CALDERON. [ CH - 
 
 lished the same year by a gentleman belonging 
 to the household of his patron and friend, the 
 Duke of Yeraguas,* is almost utterly barren of 
 any historical notices about him of the slightest 
 value. The only two facts which can be gleaned 
 from it are these, the first, that poor Charles the 
 Second shed tears at the announcement of his 
 death, an act which the writer considers " not 
 merely pardonable but praiseworthy," and which, 
 whether true ,or only reported, seems to imply 
 that his genius was in a measure still recognized 
 even at the Court ; the other, that three thou- 
 sand persons with torches attended his funeral. 
 This, though it fell infinitely below the extraor- 
 dinary solemnity and magnificence with which 
 the obsequies of Lope de Yega were celebrated 
 half a century before, yet tells of no slight 
 honour in which the nation held its greatest, 
 as he was the last of its great, poets. He was 
 buried in the parish church of San Salvador, at 
 Madrid, and a magnificent monument, (so Yera 
 Tassis calls it,) surmounted with his portrait, was 
 raised over his remains.t 
 
 * Funebres Elogiog, Valencia, 1681. 
 f With some alterations which had taken place in this 
 Church about the middle of last century, a time probably 
 when Calderon's fame was at its nadir, all traces of the 
 exact place where his remains were deposited and of his 
 tomb itself had disappeared. However in 1840 in pulling
 
 I.] THE LIFE OF CALDERON. 2p 
 
 All notices which we have of Calderon from 
 cotemporaries are pleasant, and give us the im- 
 pression of one who was loved, and who was 
 worthy to be loved. In his old age he used to 
 collect his friends round him on his birthdays, 
 and tell them amusing stories of his earlier life.* 
 Vera Tassis recounts the noblest names of Spain 
 as in the list of his personal friends ; nor does 
 he fail to notice the signal absence of all gall from 
 his pen, the entire freedom of his spirit from all 
 sentiments of jealousy and envy. Calderon's 
 writings bear out this praise. All his allusions to 
 those who might be accounted his rivals and 
 competitors are honourable alike to him and to 
 them. There were but two great authors, be- 
 tween whom and himself any rivalry could exist ; 
 
 down the decayed cloister of St. Salvador a tomb was dis- 
 covered under the walls of the vestry, whose inscription 
 proved it to be his. His remains were transferred with con- 
 siderable pomp and solemnity to the Church of our Lady of 
 Atocha, which may be regarded as a kind of national Pan- 
 theon. (Foreign Quarterly Review, April, 1841, p. 227.) 
 It was I suppose upon this occasion that Zorrilla's Apotedsis 
 de Don Pedro Calderon de la Sarca, Madrid, 1840, was 
 published. I do not know anything of the other poems of 
 Zorrilla, esteemed the best poet of modern Spain ; but 
 this, though evidencing some -insight into the true character 
 of Calderon's genius, is on the whole poor and feeble. 
 
 * Prologue to the Obelisco Funebre. I have never seen 
 this rare volume, but take this and a former reference to it 
 from Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature.
 
 30 THE LIFE OF CALDEKON. [CH. I. 
 
 the one certainly of more genial humour, of 
 deeper and more universal gifts, Cervantes, who, 
 dying in 1617, had passed from life's scene as 
 Calderon was entering actively upon it ; the 
 other, Lope de Vega, probably on the whole his 
 inferior, but occupying then, by right of prior 
 possession, in the estimation of most, the highest 
 seat in the Spanish Parnassus. There exist 
 some pleasing lines of Calderon addressed to the 
 latter, and he never misses an opportunity of 
 paying a compliment to Cervantes. Indeed he 
 dramatized a portion of Don Quixote, although this 
 work has not come down to us. If he indulges 
 sometimes in a little playful raillery on the 
 writings of his brother dramatists, it is only of 
 the same kind which from time to time he be- 
 stows on his own. That his hand and heart 
 were largely open to the poorer and less successful 
 brethren of the poetical guild, his biographer very 
 distinctly assures us. But of a multitude of 
 other things which we should care to know he 
 has not informed us. If we would complete 
 our image of the poet, it must be from the 
 internal evidence of his writings. Of his outer 
 life we know almost nothing more than has here 
 been told.
 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 
 (HIS PLATS.) 
 
 rpHEY convey altogether a wrong impression 
 - of Calderon, who, willing to exalt and glo- 
 rify him the more, isolate him wholly from his 
 age, who pass over all its other worthies to 
 magnify him only, presenting him to us not as 
 one, the brightest indeed in a galaxy of lights, 
 but as the sole particular star in the firmament 
 of Spanish dramatic art. Those who derive their 
 impression from the Schlegels, especially from 
 Augustus, would conclude him to stand thus 
 alone; to stand, if one might venture to em- 
 ploy the allusion, a poetical Melchisedec, without 
 spiritual father, without spiritual mother, with 
 nothing round him to explain or account for the 
 circumstances of his greatness. But there are 
 no such appearances in literature ; great artists, 
 poets, or painters, or others, always cluster; the 
 conditions which produce one, produce many. 
 They are not strewn at nearly equable distances 
 through the life of a nation, but there are brief
 
 32 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 periods of great productiveness, with long inter- 
 vals of comparative barrenness between ; or it may 
 be, as indeed was the case with Spain, the aloe 
 tree of a nation's literature blossoms but once. 
 
 And if this is true in other regions of art, 
 above all will it be true in respect of the drama.* 
 In this, when it deserves the name, a nation is 
 uttering itself, what is nearest to its heart, what 
 it has conceived there of life and life's mystery, 
 and of a possible reconciliation between the 
 world which now is and that ideal world after 
 which it yearns ; and the conditions of a people, 
 which make a great outburst of the drama 
 possible, make it also inevitable that this will 
 utter itself not by a single voice but by many. 
 Even Shakespeare himself, towering as he does 
 immeasurably above all his compeers, is not 
 a single isolated peak, rising abruptly from 
 
 * Little more than a century covers the whole period 
 intervening between the birth of Jischylus, B.C. 525 and 
 the death of Euripides, B.C. 406. A period of almost 
 exactly the same duration includes the birth of Lope, 1562, 
 and the death of Calderon, 1681 ; while in our own drama 
 the birth of Marlowe, 1565, and the death of Shirley, 1666, 
 enclose a period considerably shorter, and one capable of a 
 still further abridgment of nearly thirty years ; for although 
 the last of the Elizabethan school of dramatists lived on 
 to 1666, the Elizabethan drama itself may be said to have 
 expired with the commencement of the Civil War, 1640.
 
 II.] THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 33 
 
 the level plain; but one of a chain and cluster 
 of mountain-summits; and his altitude, so far 
 from being dwarfed and diminished, can only be 
 rightly estimated, when it is regarded in relation 
 with theirs. And if this is true even of him, it 
 is much more so of Calderon ; who by no means 
 towers so pre-eminently, and out of the reach of 
 all rivalry and competition, above his fellows. 
 The greatest of all the Spanish dramatists, he is 
 yet equalled and excelled in this point and in 
 that by one and another; as by Lope in inven- 
 tion, by Tirso de Molina in exuberant and fes- 
 tive wit. Let us regard him then not as that 
 monster which some would present him to us; 
 but, with all his manifold gifts, still as the 
 orderly birth of his age and nation ; and regarding 
 him as such, proceed to consider what those gifts 
 were, and what he accomplished with them. 
 
 When we seek to form an estimate of Cal- 
 deron, it is, I think, in the first place impossible 
 not to admire the immense range of history and 
 fable which supplies him with the subject matter 
 for his art, and the entire ease and self-possession 
 with which he moves through every province of 
 his poetical domain ; and this, even where he is 
 not able to make perfectly good his claim to 
 every portion of it. Thus he has several dramas 
 
 D
 
 34 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. [cH. 
 
 of which the argument is drawn from the Old 
 Testament, The Locks of Absalom being perhaps 
 the noblest of these. Still more have to do 
 with the heroic martyrdoms and other legends of 
 Christian antiquity, the victories of the Cross of 
 Christ over all the fleshly and spiritual wicked- 
 nesses of the ancient heathen world. To this 
 theme, which is one almost undrawn upon in 
 our Elizabethan drama, Massinger's Virgin 
 Martyr is the only example I remember, he 
 returns continually, and he has elaborated these 
 plays with peculiar care. Of these The Wonder- 
 working Magician* is most celebrated; but 
 others, as Tlie Joseph of Women, The Two Lovers 
 of Heaven, quite deserve to be placed on a 
 level, if not indeed higher than it. A tender 
 pathetic grace is shed over this last, which gives 
 it a peculiar charm. Then too he has occupied 
 what one might venture to call the region of 
 sacred mythology, as in The Sibyl of the East, 
 in which the profound legends identifying the 
 Cross of Calvary and the Tree of Life ar~ 
 wrought up into a poem of surpassing beauty. 
 In other of these not the Christian, but the 
 Romish, poet is predominant, as in The Pur- 
 
 * See Immermann's Memorabilien, b. i. pp. 719 22Q.
 
 II.] THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 35, 
 
 gatory of St. Patrick, The Devotion of the Cross, 
 Daybreak in Copacabana* this last being the 
 story of the first dawn of the faith in Peru. 
 Whatever there may be in these of superstitious, 
 or, as in one of them there is, of ethically revolting, 
 none but a great poet could have composed them. 
 Then further, his historic drama reaches down 
 from the gray dawn of earliest story to the cele- 
 bration of events which happened in his own 
 day ; it extends from The Daughter of the Air,^ 
 being the legend of Semiramis, and in Goethe's 
 judgment his most glorious piece,J (Goethe 
 however seems only to have been familiar with 
 those which had been translated into German,) 
 down to The Siege of Breda, alluded to already. 
 Between these are dramas from Greek history; 
 and from Roman. Of these The Great Zenobia is 
 the best; The Arms of Beauty, on the story of 
 Coriolanus, and as poor as its name would indi- 
 cate, the worst. Others are from Jewish; and 
 a multitude from the history of modern Europe ; 
 thus two at least from English annals ; one, rather 
 
 * Translated by Schack, author of the admirable Ge- 
 schichte der dramatischen Literatur und Kunst in Spanien, 
 3 Bande, Berlin, 1845, ^46, to which I am often indebted. 
 + See Immermann's Afemorabilien, b. 2. pp. 247 271. 
 Das herrlichste von Calderon's Stiicken. 
 D 2
 
 36 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 a poor one, on the Institution of the Order of the 
 Garter; another, The Schism of England ; which 
 is his Henry the Eighth, and, as may be supposed, 
 written at a very different point of view from 
 Shakespeare's.* It is chiefly curious as shewing 
 what was the popular estimate in Spain of the 
 actors in our great religious reformation; and 
 displays throughout an evident desire to spare the 
 king, and to throw the guilt of his breach with 
 the Church on Anna Boleyn and Cardinal 
 Wolsey. But the great majority of Calderon's 
 historical dramas are drawn, as was to be ex- 
 pected in a poet so intensely national, and 
 appealing to so intensely national a feeling, 
 from the annals of his own country. These have 
 the immense advantage of being the embodi- 
 ment, for the most part, of events already 
 familiar to the popular mind. The heroes 
 of Spanish romance and of Spanish history 
 are here brought forward; and not the re- 
 moter names alone, but those of the century 
 
 * It need only be observed that his main authority here 
 is the book of Nicholas Sanders ("or Slanders rather," as 
 Fuller has it) De Origine ac Progressu Sckismatis Angli- 
 cani. A little essay on this drama (Ueber Die Kirclien- 
 trennung von England, Schauspiel des Don Pedro 
 Colder on, Berlin, 1819) has been written by F. \V. V. 
 Schmidt, and is worth reading.
 
 II.] THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 3? 
 
 preceding, Isabella of Castile, Charles the Fifth, 
 the Conquistadores, Philip the Second, Don 
 John of Austria, Alva, Figueroa, and even some 
 of those who were still living when he wrote. 
 It is not easy to measure the effect which in 
 their representation must have attended some 
 of these. The Steadfast Prince, of which how- 
 ever the hero is not Spanish but Portuguese, is 
 the most celebrated among them. 
 
 Leaving the region of history, and in a world 
 more purely and entirely ideal, Calderon has 
 some exquisite mythological pieces, in which he 
 does not, in Cowley's words, merely serve up 
 " the cold meats of the ancients, new heated and 
 new set forth ;" but the old classical story comes 
 forth new-born in the romantic poetry of the 
 modern world. So is it, for instance, in the 
 exquisitely graceful and fanciful poem, Echo 
 and Narcissus; but, above all, this is true, 
 where a Christian idea looks through the mytho- 
 logical symbolism, and informs it with its own 
 life; as in The Statue of Prometheus, and in 
 another founded on the well known legend of 
 Cupid and Psyche. In general, however, it must 
 be owned that these mythological are the weak- 
 est among his productions ; being many of them 
 evidently intended merely as vehicles for show
 
 38 THE GENIUS OP CALDERON. [CH 
 
 and scenic splendour. They are the works of 
 the poet of the Buen Retire, the director of the 
 Court entertainments. We pass from these to 
 romantic dramas, in which the poet occupies a 
 fable-land altogether of his own creation, as in 
 Llfes a Dream, an analysis of which, with large 
 translations, will be found in this volume, or 
 draws on the later Greek romances, as in 
 Theagenes and. C/iariclea, or on Boiardo and 
 Ariosto, or, it may be, on the prose tales of 
 chivalry, as in The Bridge of Mantible, on 
 which play Schlegel has bestowed the pains of 
 translation. These form a not inconsiderable 
 group. 
 
 Then further, among his Comedias, which is 
 the general title whereby all in Spain that is 
 not either on the one side farce, on the other 
 religious mystery, is called, he has many trage- 
 dies, which by their effectual working on the 
 springs of passion assert their right to this serious 
 name. Some of these might almost as fitly 
 have been enumerated among his historic com- 
 positions. The Spanish drama moves too freely, 
 too nearly resembles the free spontaneous growths 
 of nature, to admit of any very easy or very 
 rigorous classification. Like nature, it continu- 
 ally defies and breaks through all artificial ar- 
 rangements of its productions, and one must be
 
 II.] THE GENIUS OP CALDERON. 39 
 
 content to class those under one head, which 
 might as well, or nearly as well, be classed under 
 another. Still as in some of these compositions 
 the tragic, in others the historic element is pre- 
 dominant, they may be arranged, even while 
 they partake of both, according to this predo- 
 minance. Among the noblest in this kind is 
 Jealousy the Greatest Monster; it is the story of 
 Herod and Mariamne, and a genuine fate-drama, 
 of colossal grandeur both in the conception and 
 execution. The tragedies of a Spaniard writing 
 for Spaniards, which should turn on jealousy 
 might beforehand be expected to claim especial 
 notice; and indeed Calderon has three or four 
 others in this kind, of shuddering horror ; in which 
 the Spanish pundonor is pxished to its bloodiest 
 excess ; but the fearful power and immense effect 
 of which it is impossible not to acknowledge. 
 The Physician of his own Honowr is one of these ; 
 but less horrible, and perhaps therefore more 
 terrible, is another, noticeable likewise as a very 
 masterpiece of construction, For a Secret Wrong 
 a Secret Revenge, which is one of the very highest 
 efforts of his genius. Hallam, not denying, but 
 admitting freely, its singular efficiency and 
 power, has yet called it "an atrocious play;" 
 but he seems to me to have missed the point 
 which certainly mitigates its atrocity, namely that
 
 40 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. [c'H. 
 
 the murdered wife is so far guilty, that she is 
 only waiting the opportunity to be so.* 
 
 Another tragedy, but not of jealousy, Love 
 after Death, is connected with the hopeless rising 
 of the Moriscoes in the Alpuj arras (1568 
 1570), one of whom is its hero. It is for many 
 reasons worthy of note; among other as shew- 
 ing how far Calderon could rise above national 
 prejudices, and expend all the treasures of his 
 genius in glorifying the heroic devotedness of a 
 noble foe. La Nina de Gomez Arias is founded 
 on one of the most popular of Spanish ballads. 
 The scene in this where Gomez Arias sells to 
 the Moors the mistress of whom he has grown 
 weary, and who now stands in his way, despite 
 her entreaties and reproaches, I should accept 
 as alone sufficient to decide the question whether 
 the deepest springs of passion were his to open. 
 It is nothing strange to hear that on one occa- 
 sion a poor Spanish alguazil, who was serving 
 as guard of honour on the stage, drew his sword, 
 and rushed among the actors, determined that 
 the outrage should not go on before his eyes. 
 And seeing that Calderon's world seems some- 
 times to consist too exclusively of the higher 
 
 * It is translated into French by Damas Hinard, Chefs- 
 d'osuvre du Thtdtre Espagnol, t. 2. pp. 157 213.
 
 II.] THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 4! 
 
 classes, and just such of the lower as minister 
 immediately to their pleasures or necessities, 
 the hearty homeliness of England's greatest 
 poets, as of Chaucer and Shakespeare, being 
 only too rare in him, one must not pass over 
 his painful but noble tragedy of humble life, 
 The Mayor of Zalamea.* He has frequently 
 
 * We owe an admirable translation of this play to Mr. 
 Fitzgerald. I shall have occasion to speak more of his 
 translations hereafter. The speech of Isabella, the humble 
 Lucretia of this tragedy, as she mourns over her mighty 
 wrong, he characterizes as ' ' almost the most elevated and 
 purely beautiful piece of Calderon's poetry he knows ; a 
 speech (the beginning of it) worthy the Greek Antigone." 
 As I believe that my readers, even those who do not read 
 Spanish with facility, will yet be obliged for occasional 
 quotations from the original, I will cite so much of this 
 lament as probably Mr. F. alludes to : 
 
 Nunca amenezca a mis ojos 
 
 La luz hermosa del dia, 
 
 Porque a su nombre no tenga 
 
 Vergiienza yo de mi misma. 
 
 j tu, de tantas estrellas 
 
 Prirnavera fugitiva, 
 
 No des lugar a la aurora, 
 
 Que tu azul campafia pisa, 
 
 Para que con risa y llanto 
 
 Borre tu apacible vista ! 
 
 Y ya que ha de ser, que sea 
 
 Con llanto, mas no con risa. 
 
 j Detente, o mayor planeta, 
 
 Mas tiempo en la espuma fria
 
 42 THE GENIUS OP CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 been denied the faculty of drawing characters. 
 J^ow that his characters are sometimes deficient 
 in strong individual delineation is certainly 
 true ; but that it is not always so this tragedy 
 sufficiently attests. It is not here the peasant 
 judge alone who is distinctly marked; but 
 almost every other of the dramatis persons 
 as well. 
 
 To all these must be added his comedies in 
 our sense of the word, themselves a world of 
 infinite variety, but one in which I must not 
 linger. Ulrici indeed says that in comedy was 
 
 Del mar ! j Deja, que uua vez 
 Dilate la noche esquiva 
 Su tre"mulo imperio ; deja, 
 Que de tu deidad se diga, 
 Atenta a mis ruegos, que es 
 Voluntaria, y no precisa ! 
 j Para que quieres salir 
 A ver en la historia mia 
 La mas enorme maldad, 
 La mas fiera tirania, 
 Que en venganza de los hombres 
 Quiere el cielo que se escriba ? 
 Mas, ay de mi ! que parece 
 Que es crueldad tu tirania ; 
 Pues desde que te he rogado, 
 Que te detuvieses, miran 
 Mis ojos tu faz hermosa 
 Descollarse por encima 
 De los muntes.
 
 II.] THE GENIUS OP CALDERON. 43 
 
 Calderon's/brte; " therein first his truly poetical 
 genius unfolds its full strength."* I cannot 
 agree with him. These seem to me but the 
 lighter play, as contrasted with the earnest toil, 
 of his spirit. Moreover, while he was a master 
 in the comedy of situation, the vein of his comic 
 dialogue is often forced, and often flows scantily 
 enough. He does not deal always with humble 
 life in perfect good faith ; it is too often a sort of 
 parody of his high life, itself a high life below 
 stairs. Their charm consists in the ideal grace 
 and beauty in which they are steeped, the warm 
 atmosphere of poetry and romance which he 
 generally succeeds in diffusing over them. I 
 can only indicate a few of the most celebrated, 
 as The Fairy Lady, which, variously trans- 
 formed, has found a home in almost all lands ; 
 The Gaoler of Himself , a finished piece of comedy, 
 just playing on the verge of tragedy; The Loud 
 Secret, and The Scarf and the Flower. Finally, 
 we must add to these the Autos, or religious 
 mysteries, of which there will be occasion to 
 speak by and bye, for they claim a separate 
 consideration. Putting all together, we must 
 confess that the reach and compass of that 
 
 * Shakspeare und sein Verhaltniss zu Calderon und 
 Goethe, Halle, 1839, p. 533.
 
 44 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. [cH. 
 
 poetical world which Calderon sought to occupy, 
 was not small. 
 
 To speak now of some of the technical merits 
 of Calderon in dealing with his subject, after 
 which it may be time to consider other matters 
 which lie less on the surface. We observe then 
 in him the completest mastery of his material ; 
 all is laid out to the best advantage, all is calcu- 
 lated and weighed beforehand. There are no 
 after thoughts, no changes of plan as the compo- 
 sition was growing under his hand, out of which 
 the conclusion suits ill with the beginning; but 
 as one perceives on a second reading glimpses of 
 the last and preparations for it appear very often 
 from the very first. Vast as is the cycle of his 
 compositions, his dramas are more than one 
 hundred and twenty, his autos more than seventy, 
 being nearly two hundred in all, a number 
 which would appear vaster still, if there were 
 not Lope at hand with his fifteen hundred to 
 make Calderon's fertility appear almost like 
 barrenness, there are no where in them any 
 tokens of haste ; all parts are fully and in the 
 measure of their importance equably wrought 
 out. Inequalities of course there will be, for 
 every poet will at one time soar higher than at 
 another; but there are no where to be found
 
 II.] THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 45 
 
 the evidences of carelessness or haste. Several 
 of his dramas, like more than one of Shake- 
 speare's, have been laboriously recast and re- 
 written, so that we possess them in two shapes, 
 in their earlier and immaturer, in their later and 
 riper forms. 
 
 Nor, fruitful as his pen was, is it any thing 
 impossible that he should have bestowed on all 
 his works that careful elaboration for which I 
 have here given him credit. Almost all poets of 
 a first-rate excellence, dramatic poets above all, 
 have been nearly as remarkable for the quantity 
 as the quality of their compositions; nor has the 
 first injuriously affected the second. Witness 
 the seventy dramas of ^Eschylus, the more than 
 ninety of Euripides, the hundred and thirteen of 
 Sophocles. And if we consider the few years 
 during which Shakespeare wrote, his fruitfulness 
 is not less extraordinary. The vein has been a 
 large and a copious one, and has flowed freely 
 forth, keeping itself free and clear by the very act 
 of its constant ebullition. And the fact is very 
 explicable; it is not so much they that have 
 spoken, as their nation that has spoken by them. 
 
 And in the instance before us, we should not 
 leave out of sight to how great an age the 
 poet attained. His life, like that of Sophocles
 
 4 6 THE GENIUS OP CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 and of Goethe, was prolonged beyond his 
 eightieth year. Nor only was his life a long 
 one, but it was a life singularly free from all 
 outward disturbances ; in this most unlike those 
 of his great fellow-countrymen, Lope and Cer- 
 vantes. He did not write for his bread, as with 
 all his popularity did the former; he was no 
 shuttlecock of fortune, no wrestler with poverty 
 as with an armed man, and that for barest life, 
 as the immortal author of Don Quixote. It 
 might have been better for him, if he had known 
 some of these conflicts; or perhaps, with his 
 temperament, it might not. At all events such 
 were not assigned to him. The generosity of 
 the monarch whom he served, the large in- 
 comings of the preferments which he held, these, 
 even supposing that high literature was no better 
 rewarded in his case than in that of many others, 
 must have exempted him from all anxieties 
 about money; indeed he appears to have had 
 a considerable property to bequeath at his 
 death; and his whole life, with the exception of 
 his campaigns in the Milanese and in Flanders, 
 which cannot have been lost time to him even 
 in this respect, and his brief service in Catalonia, 
 may very well have been dedicated entirely to 
 the cultivation of his art.
 
 II.] THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 47 
 
 Neither did he make for himself, as do so 
 many to whom the perilous gifts of genius have 
 been allotted, those cares and disquietudes, from 
 which he had been graciously exempted from 
 without. No one can doubt that to him was 
 given a cheerful spirit, working joyously, and with 
 no doubts nor misgivings, in that sphere which it 
 found marked out for it. Doubtless that which 
 the Schlegels affirm was true in respect of him ; 
 the world's riddle was solved for him, and solved 
 in the light of faith. The answer which he had 
 found, and which he offers to others, may be 
 quite unsatisfying to them; it fully satisfied 
 him. No one can contemplate the noble por- 
 trait occasionally prefixed to his works, the 
 countenance so calm, so clear, so resolved, sur- 
 mounted with the dome-like expanse of that 
 meditative brow,* and not feel that to him, if to 
 any, were given " the serene temples of the wise." 
 And this lasted to the end; he was uot of those 
 too many poets, who only "do begin their lives in 
 gladness;" it was gladness with him to the end. 
 
 * In a poem published immediately after his death, his 
 eulogist celebrates, de su rostro grave lo capaz de la frente. 
 It is a countenance not without its resemblances to Shake- 
 speare's, but wanting, and how great a want, every indica- 
 tion of his humour.
 
 48 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. [cil. 
 
 It was with him as with those mountain sum- 
 mits, which ever as they rise the higher, thrust 
 themselves up into clearer and purer air; for 
 we may distinctly mark, as his years advance, an 
 increasing desire in him to withdraw himself 
 from secular themes, to dedicate his genius 
 wholly to the service of religion.* 
 
 Then further, in every estimate of Calderon's 
 merits his infinite dramatic tact and skill may 
 well claim to be prominently urged. To some 
 indeed he is only a play-wright; now play- 
 wright no doubt he was, the most finished and 
 accomplished probably that the world ever saw ; 
 understanding the mechanism of dramatic con- 
 struction better than it has ever been understood 
 by any other. It is no doubt in this sense, and 
 having this merit in view, that Schiller has said 
 of him, " This poet would have saved Goethe and 
 myself from many mistakes, if we had learned to 
 know him earlier." At the same time we should 
 entirely wrong Calderon, if we merely gave him 
 
 * In his epitaph these words occur, Quse summo plausu 
 vivens scripsit, moriens prasscribendo despexit. None of 
 his biographers that I am aware of, have taken any notice 
 of the words, or sought to measure how much they imply. 
 Did he denounce, or wish the suppression of, his secular 
 plays ?
 
 II. J THE GENIUS OP CALDEKON. 49 
 
 credit for a power of stage effect, and not for this 
 as subservient to the highest interest of art. 
 
 Let me illustrate by a single instance what I 
 mean. I have already mentioned his Locks of 
 Absalom as one of his finest plays founded on a 
 scriptural subject. There is nothing in its kind 
 grander than the scene in this, where Amnon is 
 slain at the command of his brother Absalom. 
 The marvellous skill with which this dreadful 
 deed is prepared and brought about deserves 
 the very highest admiration. With the in- 
 terval of long years which had elapsed be- 
 tween this murder and the crime which it 
 avenged, the utter absence of all suspicion 
 with which Amnon had accepted his brother's 
 invitation, an inferior artist might, indeed cer- 
 tainly would, have so brought about the cata- 
 strophe, as merely to have revolted the spectators 
 with what would have seemed a cold-blooded 
 fratricide. But Calderon with rare skill, and in 
 one of the noblest scenes which his theatre pos- 
 sesses, brings the spectator to the point at which 
 he still feels that it is indeed evil punishing evil, 
 the wicked being used as scourges of the wicked; 
 but he is not so far removed from all sympathy 
 with the deed as would altogether mar the effect. 
 
 The idyllic aspect of the whole scene of the 
 E
 
 50 THE GENIUS OP CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 sheep-shearing (2 Sam. xiii. 23), the pastoral 
 quietness, the groups of simple shepherds and 
 shepherdesses, form a contrast the most striking 
 with the act of a terrible revenge which is pre- 
 sently to stain that green turf with blood. 
 Tamar ever since her wrong has lived in deepest 
 seclusion in this country place of her brother's, 
 " desolate in her brother Absalom's house," and 
 moves like a dark shadow among the simple and 
 joyous shepherdesses of the land; for the sin of 
 Amnon shows itself also in this that it has 
 turned her whole soul, who was once gentle and 
 loving, to bitterness and hate and the lust of re- 
 venge. The royal youths are assembled; they 
 have brought with them the manners of the 
 court, its freedom and its license, and do not 
 fail to show that they have done so. Teuca, an 
 aged prophetess or hag, one hardly knows which, 
 but in the secret of the blow which is about to 
 fall, distributes different flowers to each to 
 Solomon, to Adonijah, to Absalom, to Amnon 
 to each with ambiguous words ; and in each case 
 the flower, with the words which accompany it, 
 and the answer which it calls out, have something 
 prophetic of the future fortunes of the receiver. 
 There is for each in all this an unconscious 
 prophecy of his own doom. The whole forms
 
 II.] THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 51 
 
 the most wonderful preparation for that which 
 is about to be. The words which seem spoken 
 at random, and which yet shall prove most lite- 
 rally true, the irony of fate which unconsciously 
 draws out of men's own lips the sentence of their 
 doom, the first mutterings of those divine judg- 
 ments which shall presently break in thunder 
 over their heads, are all here. 
 
 Presently the banquet is announced, and the 
 other guests go in. Amnon alone tarries 
 behind. The same that he was of old, wanton 
 and injurious, he has been taken with the shape 
 and grace of one of these veiled shepherdesses, 
 and will make nearer acquaintance with her. 
 Her replies to his advances are abrupt, yet full 
 of mysterious allusions to that which has been, 
 to that which shall so shortly be, to the past 
 outrage, to the coming revenge. Does she refuse 
 to unveil at his request? he will force her 
 thereto. He is very fond of force, she 
 answers. At last he does forcibly remove her 
 veil, and perceiving that it is Tamar, rushes out 
 as from a Medusa's face with horror and dismay. 
 " 111 beginning," he exclaims, " this banquet has 
 had." " But it shall have a worse ending," she 
 replies. How marvellous the art in this way to 
 reproduce the feeling of the original outrage in 
 E 2
 
 5 2 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 the spectators, to revive in its strength the in- 
 dignation against it which the long spaces of 
 intervening time might else have weakened in 
 great part. Amnon has scarcely gone out, 
 when one cry, and then another, is heard 
 within, for mercy from Amnon, of trium- 
 phant vengeance mingled with Tamar's name 
 from Absalom. It is but the work of a mo- 
 ment, for no one knows better than Calderon 
 when and where to precipitate the action, 
 and the scene opens; the injurious Amnon 
 lies dead across the tables with a bloody 
 napkin thrown over him ; Absalom stands 
 triumphing above him; his sister takes her 
 place by his side ; while of the other guests some 
 are flying, and others grouped in wildest con- 
 fusion around. She had said in the moment of 
 her agony, " I will cry to heaven." " Heaven 
 answers late," he had scornfully replied. This 
 was true, but though late it had answered 
 still. There are scenes in Calderon equal to 
 this; I know of none in which his genius shines 
 more gloriously forth. 
 
 When Calderon wrote, that noble Castilian 
 language, the stateliest of the daughters of the 
 Latin, not clipped and cut short like the 
 hungry French, which devours so many of its
 
 II.] THE GENIUS OP CALDEKON. 53 
 
 syllables, not emasculated, like tlie Italian, nor 
 eviscerated, like the Portuguese, was in its prime, 
 perhaps just beginning to decline from it. Of 
 this glorious tongue there is no greater maste^ 
 than he. There seems no bidding of his which 
 it does not wait to fulfil ; and he sometimes 
 loves to display his mastery in it by tours de 
 force, which are executed by him seemingly 
 with the most perfect ease, and which give no sign 
 of the difficulty which must have attended their 
 accomplishment. He did not indeed wield the 
 language at all periods of his life with equal 
 felicity. Rich, ornate, and decorated as his 
 diction always is, if only there is anything to 
 justify its being so, he did not in his youth 
 altogether escape the dulda vitia of the estilo 
 culto, which was the fashion then ; while in the 
 works of his old age there is a certain re -appear- 
 ance of early faults, and this without the fiery 
 vigour of youth to excuse or conceal them ; but 
 take him at his best, and none can justly deny 
 him this praise. 
 
 Let us seek in other matters to measure out 
 to him the praise or the blame which are fairly 
 his, to avoid the extravagances in either of 
 which not a few have been guilty. The wealth 
 and prodigality of Calderon's imagery has been
 
 54 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 often extolled and admired; and with justice ; 
 while yet, wealthy and prodigal as he appears to 
 be, and no doubt is, at the same time he is 
 not quite so wealthy, nor yet of quite so un- 
 bounded a prodigality, as might at first sight 
 appear. His almond-trees, his phoenixes, his 
 "flowers which are the the stars of earth," and 
 " stars which are the flowers of heaven," recur 
 somewhat too often. He squanders in the con- 
 fidence that what he scatters abroad will presently 
 come back again to his hands ; seeing that what 
 he has once used, he will not therefore feel the 
 slightest scruple in using a second time or a 
 hundredth. 
 
 Nor does his repetition of himself confine it- 
 self to these matters merely external. His inner 
 spiritual world, though a wide one, is not, like 
 Shakespeare's, an universal one. It does not 
 stretch itself in every direction, till it loses itself 
 in the infinite. On the contrary, it has limits, 
 and those very fixed and rigid ones, beyond 
 which it never extends. Certain factors, love, 
 honour, religion, never fail to produce the same 
 results, and this with so fixed a recurrence, that 
 one sometimes begins to be afraid lest the whole 
 matter should sink into a mechanical contrivance ; 
 being almost tempted in moments of displeasure
 
 II.] THE GENIUS OF CALDEKON. 55 
 
 to liken his poetry to the shifting combinations of 
 the kaleidoscope, which, ever as you turn it, 
 yields only what you had seen already, however 
 it may yield this, brought into new and sur- 
 prising combinations. Thus when Goethe likens 
 Calderon's plays to bullets or leaden soldiers cast 
 all in the same mould,* he expresses this parti- 
 cular fault, and by a comparison which at first 
 appears to be utterly contemptuous. It must 
 not however be so taken ; for Goethe had a sin- 
 cere admiration for Calderon, although always 
 with certain restrictions, and setting himself 
 against the extravagance of his German wor- 
 shippers ; of whom he complains that, instead of 
 drinking in the spirit of Calderon, and nourishing 
 themselves and their own art from his, they 
 merely appropriated and reproduced his forms ; 
 
 * Riemer (Mittheilungen uber Goethe, b. i . p. 648) : 
 Unendliche Productivitat des Calderon, und Leichtigkeit 
 des Gusses, wie werm Mann Bleisoldaten oder Kugeln 
 giesse. Compare a letter of Tieck's in Solger's Nachge- 
 lassene Schriften, b. i. p. 683 : Dieser Geist 1st eine der 
 sonderbarsten Erscheinungen : kaum eine Spur von der 
 grossen Vernunft, die den Shakspeare so himmlisch und 
 acht human macht ; nichts rnehr von jener grossen Naivetat, 
 die ich immer am Lope bewundern muss ; aber dafiir der 
 durchgearbeiteste Manierist (im guten Sinn), den ich kenne. 
 Compare p. 696 : Calderon ist ein vollendeter Manierist, 
 und in seiner Manier gross und unverbesserlich.
 
 56 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 or, as in another place he expresses it : " Unhap- 
 pily we Germans set his tender side in relation 
 with our weak. Of his true strength there 
 is little apprehension among us."* With 
 this agree other utterances of his, wherein 
 he shows, but always with full honour to 
 the poet, his jealousy of the Calderomania 
 which was the fashion in his time, and of the 
 questionable influence which it was exercising 
 on the dramatic art of his country, t Thus on 
 one occasion he does not hesitate to express him- 
 self in such language as the following : " How 
 much of false Shakespeare and still more Calderon 
 have brought upon us, the way in which these 
 two great lights in the poetic heaven have be- 
 come will o' the wisps for us, it will be for the 
 historian of literature in the future time to 
 record.";}: 
 
 But some, perhaps, who would allow to a poet 
 the right to borrow freely from himself, and to 
 
 * Riemer (Mittheilungen uber Goethe, b. i. p. 649) : 
 Leider werden wir Deutsche eben seine zarte Seite mit 
 unseren schwachen in Rapport setzen. Von seiner wahren 
 Starke ist noch wenig Begriff unter uns. 
 
 *t* On this matter see Gervinus, Gesch. der National 
 Literatur, b. 5. p. 604. 
 
 J Goethe, Sdmmtliche Werke, Paris, 1836, b. 5. p. 62. 
 In the same place he ascribes to the last, das bis zum 
 Unwahren gesteigerte Talent.
 
 II.] THE GENIUS OP CALDEKON/ 57 
 
 repeat himself, would deny him the same liberty 
 in respect of his neighbours. It must be con- 
 fessed that Calderon often lays hands upon his 
 neighbour's property ; making large use of their 
 labours who have gone before him, so large that 
 it has been sometimes urged as a diminution of 
 his own proper fame. But against how many 
 poets of the foremost rank might the same 
 charge be brought. Chaucer uses Gower as if 
 he had been a hewer of wood and drawer of 
 water for him. Whatever Shakespeare found 
 ready to his hand, and promising to serve his 
 turn, he entered upon it as his own rightful 
 possession. It is not the amount of his prede- 
 cessor's toils which a poet employs, but the pro- 
 portion which this holds to that which he has of 
 his own, by which we must judge whether his 
 position in the kingdom of art is affected thereby 
 or not. He who knows that, if need were, he 
 could produce as good, or better, of his own, 
 enters fearlessly and without diminution to his 
 own honours bn the stored treasures of those 
 who have gone before him. He has a great 
 work to do; and all that will save him labour 
 and time in the doing is welcome, not to his 
 indolence, nor to any desire in him to array 
 himself in other men's garments, and adorn
 
 58 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 himself with other men's plumes; but welcome 
 as giving him freer scope and larger room for his 
 own exertion. He is a plagiary, who has bor- 
 rowed but once, if that one borrowing consti- 
 tutes the whole of his wealth, and that which, 
 being withdrawn from him, would leave him 
 nothing. He is no plagiary, who has appro- 
 priated a thousand times, if these appropriations 
 are still in entire subordination to his own native 
 wealth. What free use was made, for example, 
 by Milton of all which he had ever read; but 
 yet it would not leave him perceptibly poorer, if 
 this all were recovered from him. In this 
 matter of entering upon other men's labours, the 
 liberty among poets is permitted to the rich, 
 which is denied to the poor. 
 
 But this is not all. In truly creative periods 
 of literature, when extensive regions are being 
 added day by day to its empire, it is ever ob- 
 servable that there are no such rigid and anxious 
 lines of demarcation between mine and thine, as 
 in more artificial and less genially productive 
 epochs. It is not then as when every poet and 
 poetaster counts that he has his own little domain 
 of reputation to defend, his own little credit for 
 originality to uphold. There is a large and 
 liberal giving and taking, and this with leave or
 
 II.] THE GEXIUS OF CALDERON. 5p 
 
 without leave, of which it is difficult at other 
 times to form a conception. Whatever has been, 
 already done is felt to be more the common pro- 
 perty of all, than the single possession of any 
 one. The individual author falls out of sight in 
 the general national mind of which he is the 
 utterance and the voice. In that mind and from 
 it he has found his inspiration, and whatever he 
 has uttered belongs more to all than to one. He 
 has thrown it into the common stock; and 
 henceforth it is there for others to employ, for 
 each who can j ustify his use, by improving upon 
 it while he uses. 
 
 In another matter Calderon is less to be de- 
 fended ; I mean in a certain excess of the intel- 
 lectual faculty in the disposition and carrying 
 out of his plots. They are calculated overmuch ; * 
 there is so accurate and premeditated a balancing 
 of part against part, so fine and curious a dove- 
 tailing, that, ingenious as it ever, marvellous as 
 it sometimes is, still there is felt in it too much 
 of calculation, too little of passion. It has de- 
 
 * It is impossible therefore that Voltaire could have 
 more entirely missed the mark than he has done, when 
 speaking of Calderon's drama, he has said, "C'est la 
 nature abandonnee a elle-meme." The words are adopted 
 in the article on Calderon in the Biographic Universelle.
 
 60 THE GENIUS OP CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 generated sometimes into that which almost 
 looks like trick. The symmetrical is attained, 
 but attained by means which lie too plainly on 
 the surface ; it is the symmetry of artifice, which 
 betrays itself at once as such ; and not the latent 
 symmetry, which, lying so much deeper, will 
 often look like confusion and disorder at the 
 first. Strange as it may sound, when compared to 
 a frequent estimate of his poetical character, 
 there are plays of Calderon which remind one of 
 nothing so much as of a Dutch garden, where 
 every alley has its alley corresponding, and every 
 tree is nodding to its brother. 
 
 It was not indeed possible for him, arriving as 
 he did at the latter end of a great burst of 
 poetry, to be other than a self-conscious poet. 
 This burst of poetry had now lasted so long, had 
 produced so many poetical masterpieces which 
 invited study, had enjoyed such ample time for 
 reflecting upon itself, and upon the means by 
 which its effects were brought about, that self- 
 consciousness had become inevitable. Of many 
 a great artist it is difficult to think that he 
 knew, however Ms genius may have known, the 
 methods by which he attained his glorious suc- 
 cesses. It is impossible to believe this for a 
 moment of Calderon. He knew them, and, as it
 
 II.] THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 6 1 
 
 sometimes seems to one, knew them only too 
 well. In fact he not merely concluded an era; 
 but it would not be too much to affirm of him, 
 that he hastened its conclusion ; leaving as he 
 did so little possible for those who came after. 
 Every device and resource of his art, moral and 
 material, had been pushed by him as far as it 
 would go, had attained its very utmost limits. 
 The rose of dramatic art in him was full blown, 
 so fully blown, so near being overblown, that 
 there remained nothing for its leaves b\it to fall. 
 It would be altogether unjust to him to affirm 
 that he corrupted the taste of his fellow-country- 
 men; but still he had accustomed them to such 
 rich and gorgeous gratification at once of eye 
 and ear, that those who came after found only 
 two alternatives before them, in each of which 
 the certainty of failure was for them equally 
 bound up. Either, conscious of the inferiority 
 of their genius, they might creep near the ground 
 with low and timid flight a course which the 
 high-raised expectation of their hearers would 
 not now endure ; or else they might emulate his 
 flight, when they became ridiculous, attempting 
 that which only such genius as his could justify 
 or carry through, their waxen wings miserably 
 failing them so soon as they endeavoured to soar
 
 62 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 into that empyrean region, where he had securely 
 held his way. They chose for the most part 
 this, the more ambitious course, but one in 
 which their failure was the more signal. It has 
 been well observed, "His popularity hastened 
 the fall of the drama, by quickening a vulgar 
 appetite for the pleasures of the eye, and his 
 example brought into vogue a class of pieces 
 written for scene-painters and machinists which 
 reached the height of absurdity in the pieces of 
 Salvo and Ocampo a few years afterwards. On 
 the whole the genius, modified by the fortune of 
 Calderon, has been truly said to have given the 
 drama the last advance of which it was capable, 
 but at the same time to have placed it, by the 
 means taken to this end, on a summit from 
 which nothing but descent was possible in any 
 direction."* "The poet stands," as Goethe has 
 excellently well observed, " on the threshold of 
 over-culture."t 
 
 Nor can it be denied that it is sometimes pos- 
 sible to trace in his works the influences of that 
 particular world in which he moved. We re- 
 cognize the court-poet, the poet of the Buen 
 
 * Athenaeum, Nov. 26, 1853. 
 t Der Dichter steht an der Schwelle der Uebercultur.
 
 II.] THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 63 
 
 Retire ; though not indeed to such an extent as 
 seriously to affect his popular, universal charac- 
 ter. He had strength enough to resist the 
 baneful influences, the narrowing tendencies which 
 such a position, and the necessity of often pre- 
 paring what would be acceptable to his royal and 
 courtly hearers there, might easily have exerted 
 upon "him j nor does he desert seriously, nor for 
 long, the broad popular basis on which alone a 
 national drama can repose. Still it must be 
 owned that he moves at times in an artificial, 
 merely conventional world ; and this his greatest 
 admirers ought not to refuse to confess.* 
 
 It is true that this same familiarity with 
 courts, and the life of courts, brought a certain 
 compensation with it. How complete the self- 
 possession of all his characters to which this ac- 
 complishment of self-possession would naturally 
 belong. With what graceful ease, with what 
 high-bred courtesy, they know ever how to say 
 the right thing at the right time. What perfect 
 
 * Goethe (Werke, Paris, 1836, b. 3. p. 316) : Eine vollige 
 Gleichstellung mit dem spanischen Theater kann ich 
 nirgends billigen. Der herrliche Calderon hat so viel Con- 
 ventionelles, dass einem redlichen Beobachter schwer wird, 
 das grosse Talent des Dichters durch die Theateretiquette 
 durchzuerkennen.
 
 64 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 gentlemen his youthful gallants are in their 
 friendships, their quarrels, and their love- 
 makings. Still Calderon was, beyond a doubt, 
 exposed to a danger on this side, and one which 
 he has not altogether escaped. 
 
 The injurious consequences of this position 
 which he occupied, are also manifested in the 
 occasional choice by him of subjects, which 
 evidently attracted him not on account of their 
 inward poetic worth, nor of any strong sympathy 
 of his genius with them, but only or chiefly be- 
 cause of the ample room and opportunity for 
 pompous spectacle and show which they afforded. 
 In search of these the poet sometimes a little 
 wanders out of the true paths of a severer art, 
 and consents to minister rather to the sense than 
 to the spirit. The court claimed splendid festal 
 pieces, giving room for startling effects, unlocked 
 for transformations, long-drawn processions, and 
 he did not refuse to produce them. Yet I fancy 
 that he sometimes laboured here with no willing 
 mind. In some of these, above all in some of his 
 gorgeous mythological pieces, it will be evident, 
 I think, to a close observer, that he felt his 
 bondage, and found vent for a latent displeasure 
 in a certain irony with which he treats his whole 
 argument. The assumption of this ironical posi-
 
 II.] THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 65 
 
 tion in respect of his theme, is at other times 
 wholly alien from him. 
 
 In these pompous shows Calderon had, and 
 plainly felt that he had, the resources of the 
 royal purse on which he might freely draw. 
 The lengthened stage directions which in two or 
 three cases accompany his grand spectacle plays, 
 involve the most complicated arrangements. A 
 famous Italian machinist especially presided over 
 this department ; and the demands which the 
 poet made upon him must have tasked his skill 
 to the uttermost. The cost of adequately pro- 
 ducing some of these scenic splendours must have 
 been enormous. But in truth the prodigal ex- 
 penditure of the court of Philip the Fourth upon 
 its pride and its pleasures seems to have known 
 no stint and no limits. One might suppose that 
 it would have sometimes been a little restrained 
 by a sense of shame. But no ; the whole ma- 
 chine of state might be in danger of standing 
 still, or breaking up, for lack of the most needful 
 funds ; armies in the Netherlands, long unpaid, 
 might be in actual revolt, threatening to turn, or 
 indeed turning, their arms against their em- 
 ployers ; but the magnificent and ruinous splen- 
 dours of the court appear never to have known 
 diminution or abatement. 
 F
 
 66 THE GENIUS OP CALD EROS'. [CH. 
 
 Now and then, too, in some of these courtly 
 pieces the poet glorifies his royal patron beyond 
 the warrant of the truth. Yet here it will be only 
 just to remember that in many accomplishments 
 Philip the Fourth was eminent. What his 
 merits as a poet were may be doubtful ; but he 
 certainly wrote his own language purely and 
 well ; he possessed considerable skill in painting ; 
 he was a graceful rider, was bold and fearless 
 in the chase. Thus a very long and gorgeous 
 passage occurs in The Scarf and the Flower, in 
 which, after a magnificent description of the 
 horse, the poet extols the horsemanship, of the 
 king, and claims for him the foremost honours 
 as the best and boldest rider of his time. This 
 might seem a piece of egregious flattery; but 
 when Calderon, anticipating this charge of adu- 
 lation, puts it at the same time somewhat proudly 
 from him, on the ground that in nothing he ex- 
 ceeded the truth,* he is quite borne out in this 
 by cotemporary authority. To appeal to the 
 many equestrian pictures of Philip by Velazquez, 
 in which he and his steed so well become one 
 another, might not indeed of itself be sufficient ; 
 
 Que como este afecto sea 
 Verdad en mi, y no lisonja, 
 No importa que lo parezca.
 
 II.] THE GEXIUS OF CALDEROX. 67 
 
 for the pencil of the painter might have flattered 
 as well as the pen of the poet ; but "we have it on 
 the authority of the great master of equitation, 
 the Duke of Newcastle, that he was absolutely 
 the best horseman in all Spain;"* while his 
 skill and daring in the chase are in like measure 
 raised above all doubt. 
 
 Calderon is, and probably will remain, the last 
 great poet of Romanism. Saying this, I would 
 not imply that there have not been since his time 
 poets of considerable mark, who have been 
 serious and earnest in their allegiance to the 
 Church of Rome; Filicaja and Manzoni would 
 refute me, if I made any assertion of the kind ; 
 nor yet that there may not be such again ; 
 but he is, I am persuaded, the last great poet 
 who will have found in the Roman Catholic 
 as distinguished from, and, alas! sometimes as 
 contrasted with, the universally Christian, any 
 portion of the motive powers of his poetry ; who 
 will so believe in and live by this, that he shall 
 be able in return to shed around it the glories 
 of his own art. There will be abundance of os- 
 
 * Stirling, Velazquez and his Works, p. 85, who refers 
 to the treatise of the Duke, A new Method to dress Horses, 
 &c., p. 8. 
 
 P 2
 
 68 THE GENIUS OF CALDEKON. [CH. 
 
 tentatiously Romanist art, poetical and other. 
 There will be many a scornful challenge " See 
 what we can believe how much more than you, 
 poor unbelieving Protestants; what sources of 
 inspiration are open to us, which are for ever 
 closed to you." But that which the challengers 
 produce will not for a moment impose on the 
 discerning ; and the artist, at bottom as incre- 
 dulous in respect of his legend or his miracle as 
 those whom he affects to despise, will be re- 
 warded with hearers or spectators as incredulous 
 as himself. But while I say this of Calderon, 
 it must not be understood as implying that his 
 inspirations were predominantly Romanist as 
 distinguished from Christian. Whatever is uni- 
 versally Christian in him or in any other is for 
 all time; and this, I am persuaded, despite of 
 all that Southey, Sismondi, and others have 
 affirmed to the contrary, so far in him exceeds 
 the distinctively Romanist, that he will hold his 
 ground and maintain his place in the august 
 synod of the great " heirs of memory," whose repu- 
 tation is for all time : nay, at each reconsideration 
 of his claims he is likely on the whole to take a 
 
 I 
 
 higher, and not a lower, place than that which 
 he occupied before. If on some points the orb of 
 his fame must decrease, it will increase on others.,
 
 II.] THE GENIUS OP CALDEROJf. 69 
 
 On some it is true it must decrease; he 
 already suffers, and as the great stream of faith 
 and passion recedes further from Rome, will 
 suffer still more, from having committed himself 
 so far to that, which will every day be more 
 plainly overlived; and will by more be aban- 
 doned. There will thus be the need in reading 
 him of large abatements and allowances. There 
 will be that in him wherein an ever larger 
 number of readers will sympathize coldly; there 
 will be that wherein they will sympathize not 
 at all; there will be that against which their 
 whole moral soul and being will protest and 
 revolt. Thus to say a word on this last point. 
 What were that " Pecca fortiter," even sup- 
 posing it meant, which it does not in the least, 
 " Sin strongly, that so grace may abound" what 
 were that, as compared with Calderon's theology 
 in his Devotion of tJie Cross despite of all its 
 perversity a wonderful and terrible drama, but 
 the very sublime of antinomianism ?* Its hero 
 Eusebio, after various disorders takes to the 
 mountains, becomes in the end a robber, a mur- 
 
 * With this Tirso de Molina's El Condenado por Des- 
 coiifiado deserves to be compared. There is an interesting 
 analysis of this very remarkable play in Schack's Gescli. d. 
 Dramat. Literatur in Spanien, b. 2. pp. 602 606.
 
 7O THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 derer, and a ravisher. He has never, however, 
 amid all his crimes renounced his devotion to 
 the Cross, nor yet his confidence that on the 
 ground of this he shall be ultimately saved, as 
 accordingly in the end he is.* 
 
 A thoughtful man must, I think, be often 
 deeply struck with the immeasurable advantage 
 for being the great poet of all humanity, of all 
 ages and all people, which Shakespeare possessed 
 in being a Protestant. At the first blush of the 
 matter there is a temptation to conclude other- 
 wise ; to think of him as at a disadvantage, shut 
 out, as he thus was, from the rich mythology, the 
 gorgeous symbolism, the manifold legend, and 
 from many other sources of interest which a 
 poet of the Roman Catholic Church would com- 
 mand. But whatever losses might thereby be 
 his, whatever springs and sources of poetry 
 might be closed to him on this account, all this 
 was countervailed by far greater gains. And if 
 the loftiest poetry is not merely passion and 
 imagination, but these moving in the sphere of 
 
 * It must not be supposed that Eusebios belong merely 
 to the region of imagination. Powell Buxton (see his 
 Memoirs, 1848, p. 488) visited in the prisons of Civita 
 Yecchia, a famous Italian bandit, Gasparoni, who, having 
 committed two hundred murders, had yet never committed 
 one upon a Friday.
 
 II.] THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 71 
 
 highest truth, it could not have been otherwise. 
 And these gains will every day be more evident. 
 For thus nothing in him through the course of 
 time becomes incredible, nothing is overlived. 
 The tide of human faith and passion, which 
 upbears so proudly the rich argosies that he has 
 launched upon it, will never ebb, and leave them 
 helplessly stranded on an abandoned shore, but 
 will rather mount higher and higher still. Assu- 
 redly it is a weakness in Schiller, and one fitly 
 rebuked in one of Mrs. Browning's noblest poems, 
 that he should wail over the vanished " Gods of 
 Hellas;" as though the extinction of faith in them 
 had closed any springs of inspiration for the 
 world, or left it poorer in the materials of poetry 
 than before. To regard the matter only from a 
 poet's point of view, what can be so poetical as 
 highest truth and reason? If poetry be anything 
 but a brainsick dream, to bewail the vanishing 
 of ought which, even while we bewail, we know 
 to have been wholly or partially untrue, is con- 
 tradictory and idle. Are we not bound by every 
 obligation to believe that, however appearances 
 may seem otherwise, however severe or stern or 
 even homely it may show for a while, the truest 
 will yet in the end prove the most beautiful, 
 and therefore the most poetical, of all 1
 
 72 THE GENIUS OF CALDEKON. [CH. 
 
 A comparison has been sometimes instituted 
 between Calderon and Shakespeare, by friends of 
 Calderon and by enemies the friends as injudi- 
 cious, as the enemies xinjust. Why cannot he be 
 taken for himself? Why thrust him into a com- 
 parison and competition from which he and 
 every man must suffer? Why cannot a rich 
 ornamental garden be beautiful, because a mag- 
 nificent landscape is more beautiful still ? With 
 what reason can be demanded from him that 
 which the clear unclouded south, which a Ro- 
 mance language, which the Roman Catholic 
 religion can never give ? Nationality, language, 
 faith, made him very different ; and the same 
 causes which have made the North of Europe 
 the seat of the Reformation, the seat also of all 
 the stronger thinking as well as the more earnest 
 doing of modern Europe, have contributed to 
 make our English poet far greater than the 
 Spanish ; our greatest far greater than theirs. 
 But set him beside any other of our Elizabethan 
 dramatists, and although his merits and theirs 
 are so disparate as scarcely to allow of compa- 
 rison, yet if such were made, he certainly would 
 not suffer by it. 
 
 In one thing I cannot help noting the immense 
 superiority of Calderon not merely over them,
 
 II.] THE GENIUS OP CALDERON. 73 
 
 but the advantage which he has even over 
 Shakespeare himself; who is an offender, though 
 a very slight one as compared with his cotempora- 
 ries, in the point to which I allude. It is the 
 entire absence of grossness, of indecency, of double 
 entendre from his plays. The morality which he 
 inculcates may sometimes be questionable or 
 more than questionable, but in this matter he is 
 nearly or quite without reproach. The wit of 
 his valets and waiting- worn en is sometimes forced 
 and insipid enough, but he never seeks to spice 
 it with indecency.* Speeches which, considering 
 who they are that utter them, what lovely and 
 pure-minded women, surprise us once or twice 
 in Shakespeare almost as much as the red mouse 
 leaping out of the fair girl's mouth surprised 
 Faust, no where occur in him. It is honorable 
 to a Spanish audience that they did not demand 
 this unworthy condiment, as is sufficiently at- 
 tested by Calderon's immense popularity ; that 
 they could bear it, the comedies of Tirso de 
 Molina abundantly prove. 
 
 It is only in consistency with the profounder 
 
 * See some excellent remarks on this subject in an able 
 article on Calderon in Blackwood's Magazine, Dec. 1839, 
 p. 729.
 
 74 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. [cH. 
 
 thoughtfulness, the more introverted eye of the 
 great English dramatist, that in him the action is 
 subservient to the character, while in Calderon 
 the character is subservient to the action. In 
 Shakespeare you are more concerned with what 
 his people are, in Calderon with what they do. Of 
 course this is not to be pushed on either side too 
 far ; Shakespeare often interests with his plots ; 
 to Calderon was by no means denied the power 
 of drawing characters. Of the drama of Shake- 
 speare it has been said, " The soul of man is the 
 subject of its delineation ; the action and the 
 circumstances of the piece are entirely subordi- 
 nate and subservient to the displaying of the 
 passions and affections of the persons repre- 
 sented. The interest of the piece, though some- 
 times most skilfully maintained, is nevertheless a 
 secondary object." When the same writer* goes 
 on to say, " In the Spanish theatre it is exactly the 
 reverse ; the interest is everything, the characters 
 comparatively are nothing," this, having its 
 truth, is yet too strongly put. 
 
 In Shakespeare, again, where everything is 
 wonderful, there is yet perhaps nothing more 
 wonderful than the way in which characters 
 
 Quarterly Rcvieic, vol. 25. p. 3, The Spanish Drama.
 
 II.] THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 75 
 
 grow before our eyes, as the action of the drama 
 proceeds. It is not merely that he gradually 
 shows us more fully and from more various points 
 of view what they are ; but with the advance of 
 the action his persons are different from what 
 they were when it commenced ; they are in pro- 
 cess of becoming. As in actual life no character 
 stands still, but all are changing, are either grow- 
 ing worse or better, so it is in the mimic life of 
 his stage. You note, for instance, in his plays 
 which have 1 to do with our civil wars, the Eng- 
 lish barons growing worse and worse, more un- 
 scrupulous, more cruel, more treacherous, more 
 vindictive at every step ; the poet thus unobtru- 
 sively showing the hideous moral effects of such 
 wars upon those who are engaged in them. Or 
 again you see in Margaret of Anjou the forward 
 flirt passing into the unfaithful wife, and the un- 
 faithful wife into the cursing hag. Calderon is 
 not wholly without this, but there is compara- 
 tively little of it in him, Goethe has observed 
 this ; in Calderon, he says, you have the hands 
 of the clock as they are seen upon the dial-plate, 
 but in Shakespeare all the inner works as well. 
 Or more exactly to this point he has observed, in 
 a piece of criticism on the Spanish poet, which, 
 brief as it is, is the profoundest and most satis-
 
 76 THE GENIUS OP CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 fying that has yet been written, In Calderon 
 you have the wine as the last artificial result of 
 the grape, but expressed into the goblet, highly 
 spiced and sweetened, and so given you to 
 drink; but in Shakespeare you have the whole 
 natural process of its ripening besides, and the 
 grapes themselves one by one for yoiir enjoyment 
 if you will.* 
 
 I must not leave the points of contact or op- 
 position between Shakespeare's drama and Cal- 
 deron' s, without a word or two on the names 
 which they severally have given to their plays. 
 It is not a great matter, nor yet altogether a 
 small one, by what names a poet designates his 
 productions ; and it cannot be but that many 
 must have admired the poetical, the witty, the 
 proverbial, the alliterative, the antithetic charac- 
 
 * Shakspeare reicht uns die Tolle reife Traube vom 
 Stock, wir mogen sie nun beliebig Beere fiir Beere geniessen, 
 sie auspressen, keltern, als Most, als gegohrnen Wein 
 kosten oder schliirfen, auf jede Weise sind wir erquickt. 
 Bei Calderon dagegen ist dem Zuschauer, dessen Wahl und 
 Wollen nichts xiberlassen ; wir empfangen abgezogenen, 
 hochst rectificirten Weingeist, mit manchen Spezereien 
 gescharft, mit Sussigkeiten gemildert ; wir miissen den 
 Trank einnehmen, wie er ist, als schmackhaftes kostliches 
 Reizmittel, oder ihn abweisen. Goethe is here reviewing a 
 German translation of The Daughter of the Air. (WfrJce, 
 Paris, 1836, b. 5. p. 61.)
 
 II.] THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 77 
 
 ter of the titles of so many among Shakespeare's 
 plays, no less than the music with which they 
 often haunt the ear ; thus, A Midsummer Night's 
 Dream All's Well t/iat ends Well Love's La- 
 bours Lost Measure for Measure the name 
 itself being no unworthy herald of that which is 
 to follow, and oftentimes summing it all up ; and 
 though not revealing beforehand, yet afterwards 
 clearly declaring the intentions of the poet. 
 Calderon also is singularly felicitous in his titles, 
 and in them, I think, often reminds one of Shake- 
 speare ; they almost always possess a point ; in 
 their narrow compass poetry and wit and proverb 
 and antithesis all by turns find room. They 
 attract the reader, and rouse his curiosity,* con- 
 taining oftentimes the true key to the poet's mean- 
 ing. Let me adduce the following in proof 
 Life's a Dream The Two Lovers of Heaven 
 The Fairy Lady The Loud Secret Weep, 
 Woman, and conquer Beware of still Waters 
 White Hands cannot hurt The Worst is not 
 always True Loved and Hated The Gaoler of 
 
 * On the titles of Calderon's plays, as well as on other 
 matters connected with the subject, there are some good 
 observations in a little essay by Heiberg, De Poeseos 
 dramatics genere Hispanico, prcesertim, de Calderone 
 Dissert. Inavguralis, Hafnias, 1817. p. 16.
 
 78 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. [CH. II. 
 
 Himself- Every one for Himself, and it is the 
 same with a vast number of others.* 
 
 * Let me adduce one other isolated point of contact in a 
 note. The shrewd, sensible, worldly, and yet from time to 
 time better than worldly, wisdom which Polonius bestows 
 on his son, now going out into life, is familiar to all. I do not 
 adduce what follows, spoken on exactly a like occasion, as 
 its match, yet none I think can read this without being 
 reminded of that, nor without acknowledging that this too 
 was well and worthily said. It is the peasant magistrate, 
 the Mayor of Zalamea, in Calderon's play of the same 
 name (see p. 41) who speaks ; I avail myself of Mr. 
 Fitzgerald's version : "By God's grace, boy, thou com'st 
 of honorable if of humble stock ; bear both in mind, so as 
 neither to be daunted from trying to rise, nor puffed up so 
 as to be sure to fall. How many have done away the 
 memory of a defect by carrying themselves modestly ; while 
 others again have gotten a blemish only by being too proud 
 of being born withou^ one. There is a just humility that 
 will maintain thine own dignity, and yet make thee in- 
 sensible to many a rub that galls the proud spirit. Be 
 courteous in thy manner, and liberal of thy purse ; for 'tis 
 the hand to the bonnet and in the pocket that make friends 
 in this world ; of which to gain one good, all the gold the 
 sun breeds in India, or the universal sea sucks down, were 
 a cheap purchase. Speak no evil of women ; I tell thee 
 the meanest of them deserves our respect ; for of women do 
 not we all come ? Quarrel with no one but with good 
 cause ; by the Lord, over and over again, when I see 
 masters and schools of arms among us I say to myself, 
 ' This is not the thing we want at all, How to fight, but 
 Why to fight, that is the lesson we want to learn. And I 
 verily believe if but one master of the Why to fight adver- 
 tised among us, he would carry off all the scholars.' "
 
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 
 
 (HIS AUTOS.) 
 
 HA YE spoken more than once of the admi- 
 ration of Augustus Schlegel for Calderori. 
 While he extends this admiration to all his 
 works, he has reserved his most enthusiastic 
 praise, the loftiest flights of his most passionate 
 eloquence, for the setting out of the glories of 
 his autos. In these he sees, and perhaps justly, 
 the most signal evidences of the poet's genius, his 
 truest title-deeds to immortality.* The passage, 
 
 * Martin Panzano, an Aragonese priest settled in Italy, 
 who about the middle of the last century -wrote a brief work 
 in defence of Spanish literature, which he thought unduly 
 depreciated abroad, has expressed himself in the same lan- 
 guage. Speaking of Calderon he says (De ffispanorum 
 Literaturd, Turin, 1758, p. 75) : Certe inter primi sub- 
 sellii poe'tas clarissimum hunc virum adnumerandum, nemo 
 unus qui ejus libros legerit inficiabitur ; prsesertim si acta 
 quse vulgo sacramentalia vocantur diligenter examinet ; in 
 quibus neque in inyeniendo acumen, nee in disponendo ratio, 
 neque in ornando aut venustas, aut nitor, aut majestas 
 desiderabitur.
 
 80 THE GENIUS OP CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 which occurs in the Dramatic Lectures, has been 
 often and justly admired ; although it must be 
 confessed that, despite of all the pomp and mag- 
 nificence of words which he casts over his 
 theme, the reader not otherwise instructed rises 
 up having learned exceedingly little of what 
 these are, or what in them deserves the praise 
 which sounds to him so extravagant. 
 
 Auto, or Act, was a name given at the first to 
 almost any kind of dramatic composition ; but 
 in the nourishing period of the Spanish drama 
 was restricted to religious compositions; nor 
 would it be given to all of these, but only to 
 representations in which allegorical persons 
 found place, and which were acted at certain 
 chief festivals of the Church. Like each other 
 form of drama which Calderon made his own, 
 it was already, when he arose, a national pro- 
 duction, and one deeply rooted in the affec- 
 tions of the nation, as a Christian, and still 
 more as a Roman Catholic, people. He only 
 carried to its highest perfection, and gave its 
 crowning development to, a form of composition 
 which had existed, though certainly in shapes 
 very different from those which it assumed 
 under his hands, almost as long as modern Spain 
 had any literature whatever. For with all its
 
 III.] THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 8 1 
 
 complex construction, it is yet legitimately de- 
 scended from the rude medieval mysteries ; sacred 
 shows, in which, on certain chief festivals of the 
 Church, it was sought to teach the people through 
 their eyes as well as through their ears the leading 
 facts of Scripture history, above all of the life of 
 Christ and of his saints. " Miracle plays" these 
 were commonly called with us, and sometimes 
 " mysteries" a name borrowed from the French, 
 and in modern times generally supposed, but 
 erroneously,* to have been given to them because 
 they set forth the great mysteries of the faith. 
 
 We have indeed in these rude religious enter- 
 tainments the germs of the modern drama; for, 
 strange as it may sound to some, it is yet certain 
 that the whole modern drama, not in Spain only, 
 but throughout all Europe, grew up under the 
 wing of the Church, and only gradually detached 
 itself from it.t Like the Greek drama, it was reli- 
 gious, and part of a religious service, at its com- 
 mencement. The process of this its detachment 
 is not very difficult to trace. At the first the 
 Church had availed herself gladly of that love of 
 
 * See p. 83. 
 
 J- On this matter see Alt, Theater und Kirche in ihrem 
 gegenseitigen VerTialtniss historiich dargestettt, 8vo, Berlin, 
 1846. 
 
 G
 
 82 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 dramatic representation, which is so marked a 
 characteristic of all nations at certain epochs of 
 their intellectual and social development ; until, 
 that is, it is killed, or rather its place supplied, by 
 the abundance of books, and the widely diffused 
 power of reading. With rude and ignorant 
 populations, needing to be instructed in the great 
 facts of sacred history, inaccessible through 
 books, craving excitements in the place of those 
 with which their heathen religions once supplied 
 them, needing to be weaned, if possible, from 
 profane feasts and songs and dances by better 
 entertainments, she did not disdain to avail 
 herself of the help which in this quarter she 
 found. The thing grew up indeed, almost before 
 she was aware, out of the desire vividly to set 
 forth the great truths by which she was ani- 
 mated, the great facts of which she was the 
 bearer. It is not too much to say that in the 
 responses and antiphonies of her service, in the 
 processions within the church and outside of it, 
 in the change of persons and dresses during the 
 service, in the alternation of the recitative (di- 
 cere), and the choir (cantare), in the scenic imita- 
 tions of the cradle and all its accompaniments at 
 Bethlehem, in this and much else of the same 
 kind, there lay already the germs of the drama.
 
 III.] THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 83 
 
 It is no place here to follow out the steps by 
 which these germs were gradually unfolded, 
 nor yet to trace the further steps by which, 
 as was inevitable, various scandals and 
 offences arose, which might well create a 
 misgiving in respect of the prudence of allow- 
 ing this to proceed any further. These sacred 
 representations, begun in good faith and in 
 simplicity, and as veritable Biblia Pauperum 
 for a rude and ignorant people, after a while de- 
 generated more and more into mere shows and 
 spectacles, no helpers but hinderers to devotion ; 
 they were attended with a thousand inconve- 
 niences and unseemlinesses, as in the fact that 
 the priests were at once the authors and actors,* 
 
 * Though the word mystery is spelt as though it were 
 connected with mysterium and pvffTripiov, there can be no 
 doubt that we derived the word from the French, and that in 
 the French it is more accurately spelt mistere than mystere, 
 being derived from ministerium, and having its name 
 because the ministri Ecclesise conducted it. When at a 
 later period these representations were employed, not 
 merely for setting out the facts of the sacred history, but 
 by aid of allegorical personages the mysteries of Christian 
 theology, nothing lay nearer than to make the name signi- 
 ficant of the intention, and to suppose that it was meant to 
 be so. It is the same process of modifying the spelling, or 
 even the shape, of a word under a wrongly assumed 
 etymology, which has occurred innumerable times, and is 
 one of the most potent forces in the transformation of words. 
 
 O 2
 
 84 THE GENIUS OP CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 the places of representation churches and cathe- 
 drals ; and no where were they more fruitful of 
 scandals than in Spain. Those who flocked to wit- 
 ness these spectacles after a while craved coarser 
 excitements, and there were found some who were 
 willing to provide for them these. Scurrile jests, 
 profane songs, low buffooneries, forced their way 
 into these compositions, and were often mixed 
 up in the strangest manner with the very most 
 sacred things of all. Thus in the evangelical 
 history itself the merchant who sold the spices 
 to the holy women, the gardener for whom our 
 blessed Lord was mistaken by the Magdalene, 
 the host of the inn at Emmaus, all became fixed 
 comic characters, and made untimely merriment 
 for the spectators. 
 
 Many Church rulers, among these Innocent 
 the Third deserves honorable mention, were 
 very much in earnest that these scandals should 
 cease. Council after Council took the matter in 
 hand; some absolutely prohibiting these spec- 
 tacles; others giving to them a limited tole- 
 ration, and attempting to define exactly what 
 kind of representations should be allowed within 
 the sacred walls, and what forbidden. These 
 limitations were eluded; things invariably re- 
 turned presently to their old course ; and thus
 
 III.] THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 85 
 
 toward the end of the sixteenth century, in 1565, 
 it was in Spain found necessary definitively to 
 prohibit clerks taking any share in these reli- 
 gious plays, or allowing them to go forward 
 within the sacred precincts. A way was found 
 however by which the people should not be 
 absolutely deprived of what they so eagerly 
 craved. A compromise was effected. The mys- 
 teries should still continue, but not any more 
 conducted by the officers of the Church, nor 
 within the sacred walls, nor as a part of divine 
 service ; while yet at the same time the Church 
 did not disown them altogether, nor quite cut off 
 their connexion with herself. These plays still 
 maintained their relation to certain great 
 festivals; they were still performed at the bid- 
 ding, and with the sanction of the ecclesiastical 
 authorities; these also defraying their cost. Of 
 the secular drama I am not speaking now ; that 
 went its own way; independent of the Church; 
 sometimes in opposition to, and opposed by it ; as 
 in Spain, where more than once all dramatic re- 
 presentations except directly religious were 
 suspended for a considerable period ; but of the 
 religious, which thus was still related,* though 
 
 * A curious result and evidence of this was that the 
 autos, though acted in the broad daylight, and indeed ia
 
 86 THE GENIUS OP CALDERON. [oil. 
 
 the bands which bound it were somewhat re- 
 laxed, to the Church. 
 
 Lope de Vega took possession of this, as he 
 did of every other form of national poetry, culti- 
 vating and carrying it far higher than he found 
 it. He did much for it, but he left much also 
 for his successors, Calderon above all, to do. 
 The auto, as managed by him, fell very short in 
 completeness, in depth and in beauty, of that 
 which in Calderon's hands it afterwards became. 
 This last found in the distinctly religious drama 
 that which met all the requirements of his soul. 
 His two vocations of dramatist and priest were 
 here at length reconciled in highest and most 
 harmonious atonement, and from the finished 
 excellence of these works in all their details he 
 appears to have dedicated to them his utmost 
 care, to have elaborated them with the diligence 
 
 the open air, were always accompanied in the representation 
 by an innumerable quantity of wax tapers. Thus in the 
 inimitable Travels into Spain, by the Countess D'Aulnoy, 
 which are for Spain in the latter half of the seventeenth 
 century what Ford and Barrow are for Spain in the nine- 
 teenth, describing her attendance at one of these, she says : 
 "It was an odd sight to see a prodigious number of 
 flamboys lighted, whilst the sunbeams were ready to scorch 
 you to death, and melted the very wax of which they 
 were made."
 
 III.] THE GENIUS OP CALDERQN. 87 
 
 of a peculiar love. It ought to be mentioned 
 that long before his time the mystery or miracle 
 play had in part given way to, had in part been 
 blended with, the " morality;" which arose later, 
 which had unfolded itself out of the mystery; 
 but which differed from it in this respect, that 
 while the other had always to do with actual 
 persons of sacred or legendary history, in the 
 morality allegorical persons, virtues, vices, and 
 the like, appear on the scene, sometimes min- 
 gling with actual historic persons, in which case 
 the composition shares in the nature of both, 
 sometimes to the entire exclusion of such, in 
 which case we have a morality pure and un- 
 mixed. 
 
 As a matter of art the morality was a con- 
 siderable advance on the miracle play. In the 
 latter the poet, if we may so call him, was 
 entirely subjected to his story, which he set out 
 exactly as he found it, in successive scenes, 
 having little or no connexion with one another; 
 but in the morality there was no such scheme 
 made ready to his hand; or rather, no such 
 power of doing without any scheme. He must 
 invent, he must combine, he must reflect. "With- 
 out this, it would be quite impossible for him to 
 bring ought to the birth, which would satisfy
 
 88 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 even the very moderate claims which the hearers 
 and spectators of the fifteenth century made upon 
 the author. 
 
 In Calderon's autos the morality very much 
 preponderates above the miracle play. In fact, 
 none of them are properly this last. If we look 
 among his compositions for the lineal descendants, 
 though in high artistic forms, of this, we must 
 find them in such comedias as The Purgatory of 
 St. Patrick, or The Wonder-working Magician, 
 mentioned already. There are on the other 
 hand many which are pure moralities, while per- 
 haps in more allegorical and historical personages 
 are mingled, though this mixture is not so re- 
 pugnant to true taste, nor yet so unmanageable, 
 as might at first sight appear seeing that even 
 the historic personages are for the most part 
 typical or symbolic, as Moses for instance of the 
 law, Adam of human nature, and thus with the 
 rest. 
 
 Enough has been already said to make the 
 reader understand that there can be nothing 
 easier than to give a description of the Spanish 
 autos, of Calderon's above all, which shall pre- 
 sent them as merely and supremely ridiculous 
 to as many as, except from the accounts thus 
 rendered, are entirely unacquainted with them ;
 
 III.] THE GENIUS OP CALDERON. 89 
 
 and who consequently are wholly at the beck 
 and mercy of the scorner. Thus the Countess 
 D'Aulnoy describes these autos as " certain 
 poor tragedies acted upon religious subjects ;" 
 pronounces one which she witnessed " the most 
 impertinent piece I ever saw of this kind in 
 all my life;" giving an outline of it, which, if 
 we knew no more, would abundantly justify 
 her judgment. She does not mention its name 
 or author, but from her account it may 
 perhaps have been The Military Orders of Cal- 
 deron. Southey also in his Omniana and 
 elsewhere* has not resisted the temptation of 
 setting them, which, as I have said, is so 
 easy, in a ridiculous light. He should not have 
 given way to the temptation. Critics like 
 Sismondi, who undertake to judge of poetry 
 with all insight into anything deeper than its 
 merest forms denied them, may give utterance 
 to such judgments about the autos, as that 
 which Sismondi has most naturally expressed; 
 and if he had studied the whole seventy-two, 
 
 * Commonplace Book, i nd Series, p. 253. Compare an 
 almost incredible account of an auto which he witnessed, 
 given by the Rev. Edward Clarke in Letters concerning the 
 Spanish Nation, written at Madrid during the years 1760 
 and 1761, pp. 103 105. London, 1763.
 
 go THE GENIUS OP CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 instead of the single one which with a certain 
 candour he allows is all that he actually has 
 perused, his judgment would not have been dif- 
 ferent, probably his indignation against them 
 would only have been roused to a higher pitch.* 
 But to Southey, himself a poet, and not without 
 audacities of his own, the beauty and grandeur 
 of these poems ought not to have been entirely 
 hidden. 
 
 Nothing, as I have said, is easier than to win 
 a laugh against them, and nothing slighter or 
 shallower than the laugh so won. One has 
 indeed for this only to enumerate the ordinary 
 personnel of these plays, which consists of such 
 allegorical or metaphysical persons as the follow- 
 ing, The World, Idolatry, Heresy, Apostasy, 
 The Will, Thought, Faith, Hope, Charity, The 
 Synagogue, The Four Elements, The Four Sea- 
 sons, The Five Senses, Innocence, Grace, The 
 Prince, The Man, Lucifer; with many more of 
 the same description, and certain Old Testament 
 characters, most often these, Noah, Isaac, 
 
 * Bouterwek (Hist, of Spanish Literature, p. 372, Ross' 
 translation,) is not so scornful, but more inaccurate, dis- 
 missing them in about a dozen lines, and mentioning by 
 name only one, The Devotion of the Cross, which is not an 
 auto at all.
 
 III.] THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 9 1 
 
 Joseph, Moses, Job, David, Solomon, Isaiah, 
 Daniel, Belshazzar; to these when we have 
 added Orpheus, Perseus, Andromeda, Medusa, 
 Psyche, the Sibyls, with other names of the 
 Greek mythology, we shall have the usual 
 dramatis personce of these religious plays. The 
 bare enumeration is alone sufficient to present 
 ample material of ridicule to one unable or 
 unwilling to plant himself in a region of art 
 altogether new, and alien from all those in which 
 he may hitherto have moved.* But one who is 
 able to plant himself there, and who cares to 
 make closer acquaintance with these poems, will 
 very soon be filled with quite other feelings, as 
 this acquaintance increases. 
 
 He will be filled, I fear not to say, with an 
 endless astonishment and admiration at the skill 
 of the poet in conquering the almost unconquer- 
 able difficulties of his theme, at the power with 
 which he masters and moulds the most hetero- 
 
 * I am not aware that any attempt has yet been made to 
 present a translation, or even an analysis with occasional 
 poetical renderings, of any one of the autos to the English 
 reader. Even the Germans, who have translated a multi- 
 tude of Calderon's other dramas, appear generally to have 
 shrunk from these. Ten of them, excellently rendered by 
 J. F. von Eichendorff, Stuttgart, 1846, 1853, are all that 
 ever I have heard of.
 
 92 THE GENIUS OP CALDEBON. [CH. 
 
 geneous materials, combining them and making 
 them subservient to the purposes of his art, at 
 the inexhaustible variety which he contrives by 
 aid of new combinations to impart to materials 
 which he may have been already compelled often 
 to employ, at the transparent intention of his 
 allegory, so that the inner spirit looks ever through 
 the symbol, informs it with its own life, and 
 leaves no doubt or hesitation about its meaning. 
 Add to these merits, the gorgeous poetic diction, 
 wherein he clothes the flights of an imagination, 
 for which nothing is too bold, which dares to 
 reach all worlds; while, greatest triumph of all, 
 he is able to impart even a dramatic interest to 
 that which, whatever other merits it might 
 acquire in its treatment, seemed in its very 
 nature incapable of this merit. But so it is; 
 he makes his reader to follow now, as no doubt 
 the spectator did once, with liveliest interest the 
 fortunes of his abstract persons. This he effects, 
 partly by his consummate skill, which has not 
 deserted him here, in preparing and bringing 
 about his situations, but chiefly because these 
 persons, abstract as they are, are yet representa- 
 tives of great and abiding interests for man. It 
 is in one shape or another man's struggle and 
 his temptations, his fall and his rise again, with
 
 III.] THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 93 
 
 the wonders of redeeming love, which are set 
 forth before our eyes. 
 
 For indeed it is the Christian poet, whom in 
 characterizing the aittos we are called primarily 
 to contemplate; one finding his inspiration in 
 the great mysteries of revelation and redemption. 
 But while I say this, I would not in the least 
 keep out of sight that Calderon, a zealous 
 Romanist, and that too after the Spanish fashion, 
 writes earnestly as such; sometimes therefore in 
 the interests of his Church as distinct from, and 
 opposite to, the interests of eternal truth. There 
 are of these autos some which are so shot through 
 with the threads of superstition and error that 
 these may be said to compose their main texture 
 and woof; for instance one, but even poetically 
 regarded a very poor one, The Protestation of the 
 Faith, on the reconciliation of Queen Christina 
 with the Church of Rome. These however, are 
 few. The springs of his inspiration are not, 
 more than any other man's, in the errors which 
 he holds, but in the truth. And it is not too 
 much to say of the greater number of these mar- 
 vellous compositions that they are hymns of 
 loftiest praise to redeeming Love, summonses to 
 all things which have breath to praise the Lord, 
 and he too that writes, writes as one that has
 
 94 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. [OH. 
 
 seen Satan fall like lightning from heaven, and 
 rejoices in spirit with his Lord.* 
 
 * Schack, in his admirable History of Dramatic Litera- 
 ture and Art in Spain, referred to already, keeps for the 
 most part in the cooler region of prose, yet now and then 
 puts on his singing robes, and soars into empyreal regions, 
 whither it is not easy to follow him ; he does so in the fol- 
 lowing passage, in which he characterizes generally the best 
 Spanish autos, but has evidently those of Calderon specially 
 in his eye (b. 2. p. 398) : " Wer zuerst in den Zauberkreis 
 dieser Dichtungen eintritt, der fiihlt sich von einem fremden 
 Geiste angeweht, und erblickt einen anderen Himmel, der 
 sich iiber eine andere Welt ausspannt. Es ist als ob 
 damonische Machte uns in finsteren Sturme davontriigen ; 
 Schwindelerregende Tiefen des Denkens thun sich auf, 
 wunderbar-rathselhafte Gestalten einsteigen der Finster- 
 niss, und die dunkelrothe Flamme der Mystik leuchtet in 
 den geheimnissvollen Born hinein, aus dem alle Dinge 
 entspringen. Aber die Nebel zertheilen sich und man 
 sieht sich iiber die Schranken des Irdischen hinaus, 
 jenseits von Kaum und Zeit, in das Reich des Unermesslichen 
 und Ewigen gerissen. Hier verstummen alle Misstb'ne ; 
 bis hierher steigen die Stimmen der Menschenwelt nur 
 wie feierliche Hymnen, von Orgelklangen getragen, 
 empor. Ein riesiger Dom von geistiger Architektur nimmt 
 uns auf, in dessen ehrfurchtgebietenden Hallen kein pro- 
 faner Ton laut zu werden wagt ; auf dem Altar thront, 
 von magischem Licht umflossen, das Mysterium der 
 Dreieinigkeit ; ein Strahlenglanz, wie ihn irdische Sinne 
 kaum zu ertragen vermogen, dringt hervor und um- 
 leuchtet die gewaltigen Saulenhallen mit einer wunder- 
 baren Glorie. Hier sind alle Wesen in die Anschauung des 
 Ewigen versenkt und blicken staunend in die unergrund- 
 lichen Tiefen der gottlichen Liebe. Die ganze Schopfung
 
 III.] THE GENIUS OP CALDERON. 95 
 
 There is nothing which Calderon loves better 
 to set forth in these autos than the manner in 
 which all creation served man in the time of his 
 innocence, but turns upon him directly he has 
 sinned; rebels against him, because he has re- 
 belled against his Lord; and will only return to 
 its obedience, when he has returned to his own, 
 which same is a very favourite thought with 
 Augustine. Thus in more than one of these 
 mysteries, the human nature appears as a royal 
 princess, all nature, represented, it may be, by 
 the Four Seasons, or the Four Elements, doing 
 her willing service, and rendering to her freely, 
 so long as she continues in her innocence and 
 
 stimmt in einen Jubelchor zur Verherrlichung des Urquells 
 alles Lebens zusammen ; selbst das Wesenlose redet und 
 empfindet ; das Todte gewinnt Sprache und den lebendigen 
 Ausdruck des Gedankens ; die Gestirne und Elemente, die 
 Steine und Pflanzen zeigen Seele und Selbstbewusstsein ; 
 die verborgensten Gedanken und Gefuhle der Menschen 
 springen an's Licht ; Himmel und Erde strahlen in symbo- 
 lischer Verklarung. Auch abgesehen von dem tiefen 
 inneren Gehalt dieser Dichtungen, muss der Glanz in der 
 Ausfuhrung des Einzelnen entziicken. Yielleicht in keinem 
 ihrer anderen Werke haben die spanischen Dichter den 
 poetischen Reichthum, iiber den sie, wie sonst Niemand, zu 
 gebieten batten, so concentrirt, wie hier. Es ist ein 
 Farbenschmelz, ein Bliithenduft und ein Zauber des 
 entzuckendsten Wohllauts, der alle Sinne berauscht. Cf. 
 b. 3. pp. 252 256. _
 
 96 THE GENIUS OP CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 first state of good, homage arid obedience ; laying 
 at her feet all the choicest offerings that they 
 have. So soon however as she has transgressed 
 the commandment, they all rise up against her; 
 or, attempting to console her, prove miserable 
 comforters, only afflicting the more. This is 
 very sublimely brought out in The Poison and 
 the Antidote, in The Cure and the Sickness, and 
 again in The Painter of his own Dishonour.* 
 
 The manner in which Calderon uses the Greek 
 mythology is exceedingly interesting. He was 
 gifted with an eye singularly open for the true 
 religious element which, however overlaid and 
 
 * A portion of this last passage, though inferior in beauty 
 to the other, may yet be detached with slighter loss from 
 its context. The Human Nature, which was glorying just 
 before in the homage of all creation, is describing the diffe- 
 rent and hostile bearing which everything now that she 
 sinned, puts on. 
 
 La Tierra tiembla, el Ayre me traspassa, 
 El Mar me anega, el Resplandor me abrasa. 
 
 Fatiga el Sol, al passo que lucia, 
 
 Media la Luna alumbra, que alumbraba, 
 
 El Ave me aflige, que me suspendia, 
 
 La Plor me hiere, que me lisonjeaba, 
 
 La Fiera, que obediente me seguia, 
 
 Me huye ligera, 6 me resiste brava ; 
 
 Y hasta esta Fuente, al venne fea, murmura 
 
 La poca edad que vive una hermosura.
 
 III.] THE GENIUS OP CALDERON. 97 
 
 debased, is yet to be detected in all inferior 
 forms of religion. These religions were to him 
 the vestibules through which the nations had 
 been guided, till they reached the temple of the 
 absolute religion, where God is worshipped in 
 Christ. The reaching out and feeling after an 
 unknown true, of which he detected something 
 even in the sun-worship of the Peruvians,* he re- 
 cognized far more distinctly in the more human, 
 and therefore more divine, mythology and religion 
 of ancient Greece. It may be that the genuine 
 Castilian alienation from the Jew, which was not 
 wanting in him, may in part have been at work 
 when he extols, as he so often loves to do, the 
 superior readiness of the Gentile world, as con- 
 trasted with the Jewish Church, to receive the 
 proffered salvation, its greater receptivity of the 
 truth. But whether this may have had any 
 share in the matter or not, it is a theme to 
 which he is constantly in these autos recurring, 
 and which he loves under the most various 
 aspects to present. And generally he took a 
 manifest delight in finding or making a deeper 
 meaning for the legends and tales of the classical 
 world, seeing in them the symbols and uncon- 
 
 * See Ms Daybreak in Copacabana, 
 H
 
 98 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 scious prophecies of Christian truth. He had 
 no misgivings, therefore, but that these would 
 yield themselves freely to be moulded by his 
 hands. He felt that in employing them he 
 would not be drawing down the sacred into the 
 region of the profane ; but elevating that which 
 had been profaned into its own proper region 
 and place. These legends of heathen antiquity 
 supply the allegorical substratum for several of 
 his autos* Now it is The True God Pan, 
 or Perseus rescuing Andromeda, or Theseus 
 destroying the Labyrinth, or Ulysses defying 
 the enchantments of Circe, or the exquisite 
 mythus of Cupid and Psyche. Each in turn 
 supplies him with some new poetical aspect 
 under which to contemplate the very highest 
 truth of all. 
 
 But while with the freedom and boldness 
 of a Christian poet, who feels that all things are 
 his, that the inheritance on which he enters is as 
 
 * There is an elaborate and interesting essay on this 
 subject, and generally on the use which Calderon makes of 
 the classical mythology, by Leopold Schmidt in the JRhein- 
 isckes Museum fur Philologie, 1855, pp. 315 317, 
 under this title, Ueber Calderon's ehandlung antiker 
 Mythen; interesting in itself; and also as showing that the 
 interest in Calderon is still lively in Germany, and includes 
 some of its classical scholars.
 
 III.] THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 99 
 
 wide as the world itself, lie does not shrink from 
 turning these to his purposes, but makes them 
 yield up their better meaning to him, his autos 
 rest more often upon directly sacred foundations, 
 very frequently on facts and personages of the 
 Old Testament which are typical of the New. 
 Tlie Brazen Serpent, Gideon's Fleece, TJie Sheaves 
 of Ruth, Belsfiazzar's Feast, The First and Second 
 Isaac, The Tree of the choicest Fruit, these are 
 the names of some, and names which will at 
 once suggest their several arguments. Some 
 again are the working out of New Testament 
 parables, such for instance as Tlie Vineyard of 
 the Lord, The Wheat and the Tares, The Hid 
 Treasure. Others are founded on legends of the 
 Church, as The Leprosy of Constantine; while 
 in others scriptural and ecclesiastical alike fall 
 into the back ground, as in T/te Great Tfieatre of 
 the World, The World's Great Fair, and he 
 choosey a more purely ethical treatment of his 
 subject. Several, again, are very curious, as 
 being doubles of secular dramas of his own, 
 generally with the same name which those bear, 
 and intended to furnish a key to their inner in. 
 tention. Thus, Life's a Dream, of which an ana- 
 lysis is given in this volume, has a duplicate 
 bearing the same name among the autos, supply- 
 
 H 2
 
 100 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. [CH. 
 
 ing many interesting points of comparison. It 
 is exactly the same with another, The Painter of 
 his own Dishonour; and Andromeda and Perseus 
 is in like manner a twice-told tale. There are 
 cases in which the name is different, but the ar- 
 gument is altogether the same ; only that in the 
 auto the treatment is directly religious, which 
 in the secular drama it was not; thus Love the 
 greatest Enchantment is the story of Ulysses and 
 Circe told in the one sense, The Sorceries of Sin 
 is the same told in the other, but with most inte- 
 resting and instructive cross-lights from the one 
 to the other. 
 
 Very worthy of note in not a few of these 
 plays is the skill with which Calderon turns to 
 account and makes poetry of that, which might 
 be supposed at first a material the most stub- 
 bornly resisting and opposing itself to any such 
 uses as doubtless for an ordinary genius it would 
 so prove I mean the scholastic theology, of the 
 Church. That it is not really such, that it can 
 supply stuff which the loftiest poetry can find 
 akin to and ministrant to itself, which it can 
 work up homogeneously into its own texture and 
 woof, this Dante had abundantly shown long 
 ago; to the understanding of whose Divine 
 Comedy no single book, after the Vulgate, has
 
 III.] THE GENIUS OP CALDERON. IOI 
 
 probably contributed gains so large as the Sum- 
 ma Theologies of Aquinas. Nor had Calderon 
 made his studies for nothing in the scholastic 
 theology at Salamanca. The subtleties of it are 
 sometimes not wanting in his worldly plays, 
 where their introduction cannot always be 
 justified ; in his religious there is no such appa- 
 rent unfitness, and he often makes admirable 
 use of this scholastic theology in them ; it does 
 him excellent service there. Thus when The 
 Man supposes that he can suffer one only of the 
 Virtues to withdraw from him, he all the while 
 retaining the rest, and that one gives its hand to 
 another, and that one to the next, until all for- 
 sake him who has willingly dismissed one, we 
 have here the great scriptural truth that obedi- 
 ence is of the whole man, that he who is guilty 
 of one is guilty of all, that to drop one link in 
 the golden chain of obedience is to leave it a 
 chain no longer; but we have this truth under 
 forms which that theology supplied. 
 
 In more than one of these autos, as in The 
 Sacred Tear of Madrid, he has a magnificent 
 scene in which man, the pilgrim, is forgetting 
 his pilgrim state, and would fain play the courtier 
 at the great court of this world. The seven 
 mortal Sins are arraying him and furnishing him
 
 102 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON". [CH. 
 
 forth, each with the several symbol of its entice- 
 ment Pride with hat and feathers Wanton- 
 ness with a looking-glass Avarice with a casket 
 of jewels Gluttony with a salver of fruits 
 Anger with a sword Envy with a cloak and 
 hood. Or again, as in The World's Great Fair, 
 an auto of rare depth and beauty, the man enters 
 as a trader with his entrusted talent on the 
 great market-place of the world, which is set out 
 with all its enticing wares, with its false and its 
 true, its shadows and its substances, its pebbles 
 and its jewels, its unattractive sackcloth, its 
 alluring purple; his Good and his Evil Genius, 
 ever as he passes through the fair, severally sug- 
 gesting to him that he should lay out his talent 
 in making these or those his own. 
 
 Or, again, some tale of the old mythology, as 
 that of Circe for instance, is used for illustrating 
 the enticements and allurements of sin, the deep 
 entanglements of the flesh ever indeed with 
 the most perfect purity ; the divine tact of the 
 poet shining out as gloriously here, as Milton's 
 in his Comus; while yet these flatteries and false- 
 hoods of the flesh have never been set forth 
 with a more wondrous art. In most cases, the 
 poems are triumphant hymns of a victory which
 
 III.] THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. 103 
 
 at the last is gained over the world and sin and 
 death. The man is saved; and even if he be 
 entangled for a -while, he is enabled by a better 
 strength than his own to break away at last. 
 And it is fit that it should most frequently be 
 so ; for these poems are intended to celebrate 
 the mysteries of redemption. Yet it is not so 
 always ; even as these purposes of redemption 
 are not always fulfilled, but sometimes baffled 
 and defeated by the pride and obstinacy of man. 
 Sometimes, as in that sublime auto, Belshazzar's 
 Feast, all the resources of divine love are ex- 
 hausted in vain, and the sinner perishes in 
 despite of them all. 
 
 While thus in so many, man and man's trial 
 and temptation occupy the foremost places of 
 the drama, the interest revolving around him and 
 turning on the final issues of his conflict, the 
 Divine Helper only coming in to assist and to 
 deliver, in others He is the protagonist, and as- 
 sumes the foremost place in the whole. Thus is 
 it when He as the Divine Orpheus, in the play 
 bearing this name, goes down to hell to bring 
 back his lost Eurydice; as Perseus slays the sea- 
 monster and unbinds the doomed Andromeda 
 from the rock on which she had been exposed ;
 
 104 THE GENIUS OF CALDERON. [CH. III. 
 
 or as Love delivers Psyche from all the conse- 
 quences of her fault, helps her to surmount 
 her trials, and at length is united to her for 
 ever.* 
 
 But I must not attempt to follow out any 
 farther this portion of the subject. It would 
 not be easy to exhaust all which on the matter 
 of these autos suggests itself to be said; and I 
 must be contented with offering to the reader, 
 not otherwise informed, this slight and imperfect 
 sketch of these strange and wonderful compo- 
 sitions, and with the intention to add to this the 
 rapid analysis of one among them, before this 
 volume is done. 
 
 * See an analysis of this last in Souther's Omniana 
 vol. i. p. 128.
 
 .^ CHAPTER IY. 
 
 CALDERON IN ENGLAND. 
 
 life of Calderon was so greatly prolonged 
 -*- that he touched, and was cotemporary with, 
 two entirely different periods of English dra- 
 matic literature. When he began to write, 
 Shakespeare indeed was just dead ; but Jonson, 
 Beaumont and Fletcher, Massinger, Ford and 
 Shirley, were in, or had not as yet attained, 
 their prime. All these, as indeed the whole 
 generation of the Elizabethan dramatists, with 
 the exception of Shirley, died out before our 
 Civil Wars began; but Calderon, overliving 
 these wars, lasted on into a wholly different 
 epoch, that of the artificial stilted tragedy, and of 
 the comedy, in all respects more discreditable 
 still, of the Restoration. 
 
 There is no evidence that during the first of 
 these periods any of Calderon's plays had found 
 their way to England, or were imitated by Eng- 
 lish writers, or that his name had been so much 
 as heard among us. The language indeed would
 
 106 CALDERON IN ENGLAND. [CH. 
 
 have proved no barrier; on the contrary a con- 
 siderable number of our dramatic compositions 
 belonging to this time are founded on Spanish 
 novels and romances; and there is abundant 
 evidence that Spanish was during the latter half 
 of the sixteenth and the first half of the seven- 
 teenth century very widely known in England ; 
 indeed far more familiar than it ever since has 
 been. The wars in the Low Countries, in which 
 so many of our countrymen served, the proba- 
 bilities at one period of a match with Spain, the 
 fact that Spanish was almost as serviceable, and 
 scarcely less indispensable, at Brussels, at Milan, 
 at Naples, and for a time at Vienna, not to speak 
 of Lima and Mexico, than at Madrid itself, the 
 many points of contact, friendly and hostile, of 
 England with Spain for well nigh a century, all 
 this had conduced to an extended knowledge of 
 Spanish in England.* It was popular at court. 
 
 * The number of Spanish words in English (I do not 
 mean to say they all belong to this period, yet certainly 
 many of them do) are a signal evidence of a lively inter- 
 course between the nations, and familiar acquaintance on 
 our part with the language. Such are ' alcove,' ' alligator,' 
 'armada,' 'armadillo,' 'barricade,' 'buffalo,' 'cambist,' 
 'caprice,' (the earlier spelling 'caprich' seems to indicate 
 that we got the word from Spain, not from France or Italy, ) 
 * carbonado,' 'cargo,' 'cigar,' 'creole,' 'don,' 'duenna,' 'em-
 
 IV.] CALDERON IN ENGLAND. 107 
 
 Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth were both ex- 
 cellent Spanish scholars. A passage in Howell's 
 Letters would imply that at the time of Charles 
 the First's visit to Madrid, his Spanish was im- 
 perfect; but at a later date, that is in 1635, a 
 Spanish play was acted by a Spanish company 
 before him.* The statesmen and scholars of the 
 time were rarely ignorant of the language. We 
 might confidently presume Ralegh's acquaint- 
 ance with it; but in his Discovery of Guiana 
 and other writings there is abundant proof of 
 this. We observe the same evidence of a fami- 
 liar knowledge of Spanish on Lord Bacon's part 
 in the Spanish proverbs which he quotes, and in 
 
 bargo,' 'flotilla,' 'gala,' 'grandee,' 'jennet,' 'mosquito,' 
 'mulatto,' 'negro,' 'olio,' 'palaver,' 'paragon,' 'platina,' 
 ' parroquet,' 'punctilio,' 'renegado,' 'savannah,' 'sherry,' 
 'strappado,' 'tornado,' 'vanilla,' 'verandah.' To these may 
 be added some which, having held their place awhile in the 
 language, have now disappeared from it again. Such are 
 ' quirpo' (cuerpo) a jacket fitting quite close to the body, 
 ' quellio' (cuello) a collar or ruff, 'flota,' the constant 
 name for the yearly fleet from the Indies, 'matachin,' a 
 sword-dance, 'privado,' a prince's favourite, one admitted 
 into his privacy; ' reformado,' an officer for the present out 
 of employment, but retaining his rank ; ' alferez,' an 
 ensign ; none of which are of unfrequent occurrence in our 
 literature of the seventeenth century. 
 
 * Collier, History of English Dramatic Poetry, 1831, 
 vol. 2. p. 69.
 
 I08 CALDERON IN ENGLAND. [CH. 
 
 the fine observation which occasionally he makes 
 on a Spanish word.* It was among the many 
 accomplishments of Archbishop Williams, who, 
 when the Spanish match was pending, caused the 
 English Liturgy to be translated under his own 
 eye into Spanish, f 
 
 The language therefore would have opposed 
 no barrier; yet it is not till after the Resto- 
 ration that any traces of acquaintance with Cal- 
 deron on the part of English writers appear. 
 Little or nothing however came of this acquaint- 
 ance then; as the genius was wanting on the part 
 of our playwrights to create poetry of their own, 
 so was it wanting to profit by the creations of 
 others. Elvira or The worst not always true, 
 by the Earl of Bristol, is a very poor recast of 
 Calderon's comedy of the same name;J one from 
 which all the grace and charm of the original has 
 departed. Another piece in Dodsley's Collection, 
 The Adventures of five Hours, which one Crown 
 translated at the desire of Charles the Second, is 
 
 * Thus on desenvoltura in his Essay On Fortune. 
 
 f" Hacket's Life of Archbishop Williams, part i. p. 
 127. For proofs of Ben Jonson's Spanish, if there needed 
 such, see The Alchemist, Act 4, Sc. i and 2. 
 
 J See Dodsley's Collection of Old Plays, vol. 12. pp. 
 127 2 12. Its date is 1667.
 
 IV.] CALDERON IN ENGLAND. 109 
 
 a Spanish piece, but is not Calderon's, as is 
 erroneously asserted in the preliminary remarks. 
 Dry den's Mock Astrologer, which appeared in 
 1668,* is drawn directly from Le Feint Astro- 
 logue of the younger Conieille, but not without 
 comparison on the English poet's part with 
 Corneille's original, El Astrologo Fingido of 
 Calderon. Dryden, in that same spirit of strange 
 delusion which, in respect of the worth of his 
 own and his cotemporaries' dramatic compo- 
 sitions, seemed always to possess him, ventures 
 on the following assertion, " I will be so vain to 
 say, it has lost nothing in my hands." (p. 229.) 
 Never was poet more mistaken; it has lost the 
 elegance, the fancy, everything which was worth 
 retaining; its gains being only in ribaldry, 
 double entendre, and that sort of coarse impurity 
 in which unhappily Dryden so much delighted ; 
 a sort which fortunately in great part defeats 
 itself, being very much more calculated to turn 
 the stomach than to kindle the passions. His 
 plays are indeed, as a German critic has styled 
 them, "incredibly bad," their moral tone and 
 their art being about on an equality of badness, 
 so that they appear, I confess, to me quite un- 
 
 * Works, (Sir Walter Scott's edit.) vol. 3, p. 207, sqq.
 
 110 CALDERON IN ENGLAND. [CH. 
 
 deserving that toleration, and sometimes much 
 more than toleration, which Sir Walter Scott 
 has extended to them. 
 
 During the eighteenth century Calderon's 
 name is, I should suppose, hardly mentioned, or 
 only mentioned in the slightest and most inaccu- 
 rate way, in English books. One comedy I am 
 aware of which the author announces as a trans- 
 lation* from him; but of no other point of con- 
 tact between him and our English literature 
 during the century. In fact, for a long period 
 Don Quixote was supposed to be Spanish litera- 
 ture ; and, as we esteemed, we had here not the 
 man unius libri, but in a somewhat different 
 sense, the nation. The Schlegels were the 
 earliest to waken up any new interest about 
 him. This they did first in Germany, and the 
 same has since extended, though very faintly 
 indeed, to England. They effected this, Augustus 
 William by his Spanish Theatre, which in fact is 
 a translation of five plays of Calderon;t by his 
 Lectures on Dramatic Art and Literature;* and 
 Frederic by his History of Ancient and Modern 
 
 * 'TiswelliCs no worse, London, 1770, from Calderon's 
 El Escondido y la Tapada. 
 
 f Berlin, 1803 1809. 
 J Heidelberg, 1809 1811.
 
 IV.] CALDERON IN ENGLAND. Ill 
 
 Literature* One of the first in England whose 
 attention was attracted to Calderon was Shelley, 
 who in one of his letters, with date Dec. 1819, 
 preserved to us in Leigh Hunt's Lord Byron 
 and his Cotemporaries, expresses himself thus: 
 " Some of the ideal dramas of Calderon with 
 which I have lately, and with inexpressible 
 wonder and delight become acquainted, are per- 
 petually tempting me to throw over their perfect 
 and glowing forms the grey veil of my own 
 words." 
 
 Various articles have since appeared from 
 time to time in our leading periodicals,t either 
 seeking to take the measure of Calderon's genius, 
 or presenting actual specimens of it, in more 
 than one case entire dramas : and in this way, or 
 in independent volumes, a considerable number 
 of his plays have been made accessible to the 
 English reader, who however has never been 
 persuaded to take any lively interest in the 
 literature thus brought within his reach. The 
 
 * Vienna, 1815. 
 
 j* As one in the Quarterly Review, April, 1821. This, 
 with another in Blackwood, Dec. 1839, an< ^ a third in tne 
 Westminster and Foreign Qiiarterly, Jan. 1851, are, with 
 one exception of which I shall speak presently, the best 
 general articles on Calderon of which I know ; although 
 none of them can be considered wholly satisfactory.
 
 112 CALDERON IN ENGLAND. [CH. 
 
 deeper reasons of this indifference, the causes 
 which will always hinder his finding any 
 very cordial reception in England, I will not 
 attempt to enter upon. They lie deep ; and the 
 best explanation of them I know is to be found 
 in two masterly articles in The Atkenceum on 
 Calderon,* written with a more intimate know- 
 ledge of their subject than anything else with 
 which in English I am acquainted. 
 
 Other difficulties which will hinder his ob- 
 taining a home among us, or admiration from 
 those who do not read him in his own language, 
 are more external, yet they are not less real. 
 They respect the forms which translations from 
 the Spanish theatre must assume, and involve 
 practical questions which do not receive an easy 
 solution. While one or two metres predominate 
 in the Spanish drama, it claims for itself the 
 right of unlimited variety; and there is, I believe, 
 no metre which the language in other compo- 
 sitions has allowed and adopted, which does not 
 find its occasional place here; even the sonnet 
 itself is not excluded. At the same time the 
 main staple and woof of the dialogue is the 
 trochaic line of seven or eight syllables, in which 
 
 Nov. 19, and Nov. 26, 1853.
 
 IV.] CALDERON IN ENGLAND. 113 
 
 the Spanish romances are written, and which 
 may be called pre-eminently the national metre. 
 This is constructed on a scheme altogether 
 strange to our ears. One rhyme will run through 
 the whole of a Spanish romance, or through some 
 hundred lines of a Spanish play, recurring in 
 every alternate line. But then this rhyme is 
 not a full one, like ours, where consonants and 
 vowels must rhyme alike; but so long as the 
 vowels rhyme, the consonants are free. Thus 
 the assonants, as in Spanish they are called, to 
 distinguish them from full or consonant rhymes, 
 such as crwzan, jwntas, wna, would be considered 
 to rhyme with one another for the sake of the 
 vowels u a recurring in each word. It is as 
 though we should allow ' raiment,' ' angel,' 
 ' greater,' to rhyme on the ground of the recur- 
 ring a e ; or ' fire,' ' mine,' ' right,' (for the 
 rhymes are not always double,) for the sake 
 of the long i in each.* 
 
 For one who is deeply convinced of the inti- 
 mate coherence between a poem's form and its 
 spirit, and that one cannot be altered without at 
 the same time most seriously affecting the other, 
 
 * See a good account of the Spanish assonants and their 
 origin in Lord Holland's Lope de Vega, vol. ?.. pp. 215 
 222. 
 
 I
 
 JI4 CALDERON IN ENGLAND. [CH. 
 
 the metrical form of a great poem being not the 
 garment which it wears, and which as a garment 
 may be exchanged for another of a somewhat 
 different pattern, but the flesh and blood which 
 the inner soul of it has woven for itself, and 
 which is a part of its own life for ever, for him 
 there is no choice left in translating Calderon, 
 but to endeavour to render the Spanish trochaic 
 assonants into English lines of exactly the same 
 construction. No English translator has hitherto 
 attempted this. Yet seeming as it does to me 
 one of the necessary conditions of a successful 
 fulfilling of the task which he undertakes, I have 
 not shrunk from the attempt. The thing itself 
 is indeed not very difficult; at least it presents 
 no difficulties which a fair amount of patience 
 and labour, with a reasonable command over the 
 resources of the language, will hot overcome. 
 But unfortunately when the task is accomplished, 
 at least with any such skill as I could command, 
 the assonant, however it may sound in the 
 Spanish, makes in English no satisfying music or 
 melody to the ear. 
 
 No doubt the verses are better for this ghost 
 and shadow of a rhyme than they would have 
 been without it; and in the long run and in the 
 total impression which a passage leaves behind
 
 IV.] CALDERON IN ENGLAND. 115 
 
 it, the assonant certainly makes itself felt. Still 
 there is a poverty about the English vowel 
 rhyme to the English ear ; which has not been 
 trained to watch for it, and which for a long 
 while fails to detect it. Add to this that so 
 many English vowels being shut, while Spanish 
 are mostly open, there is much less to mark the 
 rhyme in English than in Spanish; not to say 
 further that in every case of the double or femi- 
 nine rhyme, the second vowel in English must be 
 e, that is, the vowel with the slightest sound of all ; 
 words in a a, as agate and palace, or o o, as 
 concord and foremost, or in any other combi- 
 nation but a e, e e, i e, o e, or u e, being 
 too unfrequent to allow of those assonants being 
 chosen. Still it must be done in this metre 
 or not at all; and because it is so difficult to do 
 it in this so as sufficiently to gratify the ear, 
 therefore, I believe, the attempt to render any 
 Spanish drama in English can never be more 
 than partially successful.* 
 
 * Schlegel, Gries, and Malsburg, Schack, Eichendorff, 
 and all who have attempted to transfer the southern poets 
 into the language of Germany, have invariably employed the 
 assonant where they have found it in the originals. It is 
 not quite so strange with them as with us, seeing that, 
 although quite a modern invention, it has been occasionally 
 
 I 2
 
 Il6 CALDERON IN ENGLAND. [CH. 
 
 Many translators, however, have not seen this 
 necessity as I have seen it, and forsaking wholly or 
 in part the metres of the original, have cast their 
 translations into other metrical forms ; it may be 
 into our usual dramatic blank verse, or it may be 
 into some form which shall be a compromise 
 between this and that which they have not ven- 
 tured to follow. They have thus bound themselves 
 as I cannot but consider it, to a certain failure, 
 abandoning the only principle of all true trans- 
 lation, which demands adherence to the form as 
 well as to the essence of the original. They have 
 generally fallen back on blank verse. But what 
 could be more unlike one another than the slow 
 and somewhat stately movement of our long 
 dramatic iambic, and the quick lyric flow of the 
 Spanish assonants, short trochaics of seven or 
 eight syllables in length? while the portions 
 of Calderon's plays written in full consonant 
 
 used by German poets in compositions of their own, as by 
 Frederic ScbJegel in his Alarms, and by Tieck in his 
 Octavian. Yet there also it has found earnest resistance ; 
 the same charges have been brought against it to which it 
 is evidently exposed with us; and it is very doubtful 
 whether it has really established itself, whether it is there 
 more than an exotic ; not adopted, but only tolerated as a 
 matter of necessity, in the rendering of Spanish or Portuguese 
 poetry.
 
 IV.] CALDERON IN ENGLAND. Il'J 
 
 rhymes, and they are very considerable, appear 
 still less like themselves when stripped of their 
 rich recurrence of similar sounds, their often 
 curiously interlaced rhymes; when clothed 
 throughout in this same uniform dress, with all 
 the rhythmical distinctions between one part and 
 another obliterated wholly. Shelley feltso strongly 
 the fatal consequences of rendering those parts 
 of his original which are thus steeped in the 
 music of their rhymes into our blank verse, 
 his poetic sense so far revolted against it, that, 
 however he may have rendered the assonants in 
 this, those parts at least he clothes in rhyme, 
 irregular indeed, while the utmost regularity 
 reigns in the original, but yet of a rare grace 
 and beauty. For the most part, however, those 
 who employ the blank verse employ it through- 
 out; it passes like a heavy roller over all, level- 
 ling all, and often crushing all. It is almost im- 
 possible to conceive any greater transformation 
 than that which Calderon thus undergoes, even 
 where a translation fulfils in other respects all 
 the conditions of such. 
 
 Other translators feeling this, have sought to 
 evade the difficulty in another way. They have 
 dealt with the full rhymed portions of the origi- 
 nal as Shelley has done; this was obvious; but
 
 Il8 CALDERON IN ENGLAND. [CH. 
 
 in respect of the Spanish assonants they have 
 taken a middle course; not rendering them into 
 our blank verse, nor yet into English assonants ; 
 rather by a compromise they have thrown them 
 into lines of equivalent length and accent, at the 
 same time without attempting to reproduce the 
 assonant or vowel rhyme. 1 cannot consider the 
 scheme otherwise than as wholly unsuccessful. 
 Slight and faintly distinguished by the English 
 ear as the assonant is, it is yet that which alone 
 gives form and frame to these verses ; and the 
 short blank trochaics, deprived of this, can 
 scarcely be said to be held in by any of those 
 bonds and restraints which are the essence of 
 verse, and in fact have neither the merits of 
 verse nor of prose. 
 
 I see here not the entire, but quite a sufficient, 
 explanation of the little popularity which Cal- 
 deron has ever obtained in England, of the little 
 which he is ever likely to obtain. The trans- 
 lator is in a manner shut in to failure ; and this, 
 even supposing him to be in other respects suffi- 
 ciently equipped for the task which he has un- 
 dertaken. Of course it will have happened with 
 these translators, as with any other body of verse- 
 writers, that some will have mistaken their 
 powers, and will have manifestly been inade-
 
 IV.] CALDERON IN ENGLAND, lip 
 
 quately furnished with the technical skill which 
 their task demanded; and their deficiency here 
 has been itself quite enough to account for their 
 ill-success, without seeking the causes of it 
 further. Yet this by no means has been the 
 case with all. Many have displayed abundant 
 grace and poetry and feeling, with mastery of 
 their own language and of that from which they 
 were translating, even where they have not 
 taken, as it seems to me, the best course in 
 respect of the difficulties before them. Thus 
 many years ago there was a series of well written 
 analyses of plays of Calderon, with large passages 
 translated, in Blackwood? s Magazine. Others are 
 scattered up and down in our periodical litera- 
 ture ; thus a solid and scholarly, though not very 
 poetical, translation of Life 8 a Dream appeared 
 in The Monthly Magazine, 1842, Nos. 549 551, 
 and an analysis more recently in Frasers Ma- 
 gazine, Aug. 1849, of The Three greatest Pro- 
 digies. 
 
 Probably the noble but unfinished fragments 
 of The Wonder-working Magician, first pub- 
 lished by Mrs. Shelley in the Posthumous Poems 
 of her husband, which show that he did yield 
 himself to the charm of these dramas, are that 
 by which Calderon is known the best to the
 
 I2O CALDERON IN ENGLAND. [cH. 
 
 English reader.* They are however too few and 
 too fragmentary to afford more than a glimpse of 
 that poet about whom Shelley spoke with so 
 passionate an enthusiasm ; and probably, had 
 they received the last touch of his hand, they 
 would not have appeared altogether in their 
 present shape. It may be permitted also to 
 doubt whether Shelley was a very accurate 
 Spanish scholar. Justina, by J. H., 1848,13 another . 
 rendering of the same play. The writer appears 
 unaware of Shelley's previous version of some of 
 its scenes, and did not possess that command of 
 the resources of the English language, which 
 none more than Calderon requires. Six Dramas 
 of Calderon freely translated, by Edward Fitzge- 
 rald, 1853, are far the most important and 
 worthiest contribution to the knowledge of the 
 Spanish poet which we have yet received. But, 
 written as they are in English of an exquisite 
 purity and vigour, and dealing with poetry in a 
 
 * That we have here a poet translating a poet is plain : 
 witness these lines describing a wreck : 
 " As in contempt of the elemental rage 
 A man comes forth in safety, while the ship's 
 Great form is in a watery eclipse 
 Obliterated from the ocean's page, 
 And round its wreck the huge sea-monsters sit, 
 A horrid conclave, and the whistling wave 
 Is heaped over its carcase, like a grave. "
 
 IV.] CALDERON IN ENGLAND. 121 
 
 poet's spirit, they yet suffer, as it seems to me, 
 tinder serious drawbacks. Mr. Fitzgerald has 
 chosen, and avows that he has chosen, plays 
 which, with the exception of the noble Mayor of 
 Zcdamea, can hardly be said to rank among 
 Calderon's greatest, being rather effective melo- 
 dramas than works of highest art. He does this 
 with the observation, " Such plays as the Ma- 
 gico Prodigioso and the Vida es Sueno require 
 another translator and, I think, form of transla- 
 tion." In respect of "form of translation " I am 
 compelled to agree with him, his version being for 
 the most part in English blank verse; but how 
 little likely Calderon is to obtain a more gifted 
 translator, and how much his modest choice of 
 plays on which to exercise his skill, which are not 
 among his author's best, is to be regretted, I 
 think the reader will own. after a single quo- 
 tation from this volume : 
 
 " He who far off beholds another dancing, 
 Even one who dances best, and all the time 
 Hears not the music that he dances to, 
 Thinks him a madman, apprehending not 
 The law which moves his else eccentric action. 
 So he that's in himself insensible 
 Of love's sweet influence, misjudges him 
 "Who moves according to love's melody :
 
 122 CALDERON IN ENGLAND. [CH. IV. 
 
 And knowing not that all these sighs and tears, 
 
 Ejaculations and impatiences 
 
 Are necessary changes of a measure 
 
 Which the divine musician plays, may call 
 
 The lover crazy, which he would not do, 
 
 Did he within his own heart hear the tune 
 
 Played by the great musician of the world." p. 15. 
 
 There followed this in the same year another 
 selection under the title, Dramas of Calderon 
 translated from the Spanish, by Denis Florence 
 M'Carthy. The preface contains some very ser- 
 viceable literary notices in respect of what has been 
 already done for Calderon in England. The trans- 
 lations themselves are sometimes meritorious, yet 
 I cannot consider them generally successful. In 
 regard of the metrical scheme on which they 
 rest, they furnish an example of that compro- 
 mise between the demands of the original metre, 
 and the convenience of the translator with which 
 just now I found fault. The short trochaic is 
 for the most part preserved, but stripped of its 
 assonants. 
 
 Thus far a critic of other men's attempts, I 
 must now in turn expose to criticism my own.
 
 TRANSLATIONS 
 FROM CALDERON.
 
 I. 
 
 LIFE'S A DKEAM. 
 
 ~J~ IFE'S a Dream was first published in the 
 year 1635. In that year the brother of 
 the poet published, of course with his sanction, 
 a volume containing nine of his dramas, being 
 the earliest authorized edition of any of his 
 works ; and this occupies the foremost place 
 among them. If we suppose it to have been 
 written not very long before, and it is certainly 
 not one of his youthful attempts, it will then 
 pertain to that period of his life when his imagi- 
 native and creative faculties were at the highest ; 
 his deepest devotional feelings belong to a later 
 period ; it will also represent his diction at its 
 best. 
 
 The inner meaning of this drama, and that 
 which, elevating it above a mere tale of adven- 
 tures, gives to it a higher significance, will hardly 
 escape the thoughtful reader. Indeed the very 
 name which it bears will put at once " the key
 
 126 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 of knowledge " into his hands. The solemn sense 
 of the nothingness of this life, as contrasted with 
 the awful reality of eternity, has often found its 
 utterance under the image which this name at 
 once suggests. That this life is only a dream, 
 and eternity the waking, this has been often the 
 theme of the earnest religious teacher ; and 
 many noble passages from Christian, and not 
 Christian only, but heathen moralists, are the 
 utterance of this truest thought. In this play 
 of Calderon's we have the same thought finding 
 its embodiment in the free region of art; its 
 moral, although that is not forced upon the 
 reader, being that this present life of ours, how- 
 ever it may be only such a dream, is yet one 
 which it lies in our power to dream well or ill, 
 and that, as our choice is for the one or for the 
 other, even so will our awaking be : 
 
 " Sogno della mia vita e il corso intero ; 
 Deh tu, Signer, quando a destarmi arrive, 
 Fa, ch'io trovi riposo in sen del Vero." 
 This truth, which in art has been often brought 
 out on its comic, has been much seldomer on its 
 more earnest side. The framework in which 
 Shakespeare has set his Taming of the Shrew is, 
 as is familiar to all, such a comic transfer of a 
 drunken tinker in his sleep to a nobleman's
 
 LIFES A DREAM. 127 
 
 palace ; with doubtless the intention, which the 
 poet has omitted to carry out, of bearing him 
 back again to his rags and his alehouse so soon 
 as the sport was exhausted, and suffering him to 
 believe that all which he had seen and lived 
 was only a dream ; the play itself being subordi- 
 nated to this scheme, and properly only an inter- 
 lude acted before him. There is a still earlier 
 drama printed in the Six Old Plays dealing with 
 the same subject ; one also, as I have under- 
 stood, Jeppe paa Bierge, by Holberg, the chief 
 dramatic poet of Denmark. This drama of 
 Calderon's, which deals with the more serious 
 and solemn aspect of the same subject, has 
 been a great favourite in Germany since the 
 re-awakened interest in Calderon. It has been 
 acted with remarkable success ; and three or 
 four times translated into German. I am only 
 acquainted with one of these translations,* that 
 of Gries, which appears to me admirably done. 
 As regards any English forerunners in my task, 
 I have already alluded to a solid and vigorous 
 translation of this play into English blank verse, 
 
 * I do not count among these Das Leben als ein Traum, 
 von D. F. H. \V. M., Strassburg, 1750 ; the author of which 
 does not seem to be aware that the play was originally 
 Spanish. He has translated from an Italian translation,
 
 128 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 which appeared in The Monthly Magazine, Nos. 
 549, 551, 1842, by John Oxenford ; its metrical 
 form however would not allow it to attain any 
 great success. Some passages also from Life's a 
 Dream appeared in a small anonymous volume 
 published in Edinburgh 1830, but by one evi- 
 dently little accustomed to overcome the tech- 
 nical difficulties of verse. I know not whether any 
 other attempts have been made to introduce it to 
 the English reader ; save indeed that Mr. Hallam* 
 has given a rapid account of the play ; extending 
 a certain toleration to it, and even bestowing 
 upon it a qualified measure of approval. 
 
 The scene opens in a wild and savage region of 
 Poland. Rosaura, in man's attire, appears 
 descending from the heights above. She is fol- 
 lowing to the court of Poland Astolfo, Duke of 
 
 and the work, considering the double alembic which, it has 
 passed through, is not ill done ; nor yet Das menschliche 
 Leben ist Traum, von M. T. F. Scharfenstein, 1760 ; which 
 also is an imitation at second hand. Neither is a play in 
 Dutch, Sigismundws f 'rinse van Polen, of Het Leeven is een 
 Droom, Amsterdam, 1705, a translation, though certainly 
 founded upon Calderon. The same may be said of Sigismond, 
 due de Varsau, by Gillet de la Tissonerie, Paris, 1646. 
 Boissy's La vie est tin Songe, Paris, 1732, I know only by 
 name. Damas Hinard has a faithful prose translation, in 
 his Chefs-d?ceuvre du Tfiedtre Espagnol, t. T. pp. 318 374. 
 * Hist, of Literatv/re, vol. 3. pp. 534 537.
 
 LIFES A DREAM. 1 29 
 
 Muscovy ; \Vho, being engaged to her, and she 
 only too far to him, is now seeking to wed 
 Estrella his cousin, the niece, as he is the nephew, 
 of Basilius, king of Poland. The king has no 
 direct heir, and their .rival claims being in this 
 way reconciled, they will together succeed to his 
 throne. She has lost her way in the mountain ; 
 her horse has broken from her, and she with 
 her servant Clarin, the gracioso of the play, are 
 wandering at random, when they are attracted 
 by a light glimmering in a cavern ; drawing closer 
 they hear voices of lamentation with the clank 
 of chains. Having advanced too far to retreat, 
 they are compelled to overhear one who mourns 
 over a captivity which has reached back to the 
 hour of his birth. But to begin where Rosaura 
 first catches a glimpse of the light Mr. Hal lam 
 himself observes of these opening scenes that 
 " they are impressive and full of beauty, even 
 now that we are become accustomed in excess to 
 these theatrical wonders." 
 
 Ros. Did ever any such adventures meet ! 
 Yet if mine eyesight suffers no deceit, 
 "Which fancy plays on me, 
 By that faint glimmer day retains I see, 
 As I must needs believe, 
 A dwelling place.
 
 130 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 Clar. Me too my hopes deceive, 
 
 Or I discern the same. 
 Ros. Amid these naked rocks the rugged frame 
 
 Peers of a lowly shed, 
 
 Timidly rearing towards the sun its head. 
 
 In such a rustic style 
 
 Shows the rude masonry of this wild pile, 
 
 That, at the bottom set 
 
 Of these tall mountainous summits which have 
 met 
 
 The sun's great orb of light, 
 
 It seems a loosened crag, rolled from the upper 
 
 height. 
 Clar. Let us approach it then ; 
 
 For long enough we have gazed upon it, when 
 
 'Twere better we should try 
 
 If the good folk within would generously 
 
 Admit us. 
 Ros. Lo ! the door, 
 
 (Funereal jaws were name to suit it more) 
 
 Yawns, and the night forlorn 
 
 Thence issues, as in that deep centre born. 
 
 \_A clank of chains is heard. 
 Clar. Hark ! what is that I hear ? 
 Ros. I am rooted to the spot, congealed with fear. 
 Clar. Is't not the clank of chains P
 
 LIFES A DREAM. 13! 
 
 Sure, we have here a galley-slave in pains ! 
 
 Well did my fears say so. 
 
 [Sigiamund is discovered within, clothed in skins. 
 Siff. (within). Ah miserable me ! ah, woe, woe, woe ! 
 Jios. List, what a doleful cry ! 
 
 Clarin. 
 
 Clar. What would you, Lady ? 
 
 Ros. Let us fly 
 
 The terrors strange of this enchanted tower. 
 Clar. Nay, when it comes to this, I want the power. 
 Eos. Say, is not that a taper, 
 
 That feeble star, that weak and tremulous vapor, 
 
 Which with its pale rays crowned, 
 
 And shedding ineffectual ardors round, 
 
 Makes with a dubious light 
 
 Yet darker this dark dwelling place of night ? 
 
 Yes ; for by that faint gleam 
 
 I can distinguish dimly what would seem 
 
 A prison-house obscure, 
 
 Which of a living corpse is sepulture : 
 
 And. to enhance my fear, 
 
 In skins of beasts a man doth there appear, 
 
 With fetters fastly tied, 
 
 And only by that light accompanied. 
 
 Since flight would not avail, 
 
 Let us from this listen to his sad tale, 
 
 And all his story know. 
 
 E 2
 
 133 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 Siff. Ah miserable me, ah woe, woe, woe! 
 Heavens, why make ye me to mourn, 
 More than all men else forlorn ? 
 If my birth has been my sin, 
 Yet what sinned I more herein 
 Than others, who were also born ? 
 Born the bird was, yet with gay 
 Gala vesture, beauty's dower, 
 Scarce it is a wingdd flower, 
 Or a richly-plumaged spray, 
 Ere the aerial halls of day 
 It divideth rapidly, 
 And no more will debtor be 
 To the nest it hastes to quit, 
 But with more of soul than it, 
 I am grudged its liberty. 
 And the beast was born, whose skin 
 Scarce those beauteous spots and bars, 
 Like to constellated stars, 
 Doth from its great Painter win, 
 Ere the instinct doth begin 
 Of its fierceness and its pride, 
 And its lair on every side 
 It has measured far and nigh, 
 While with better instinct I 
 Am its liberty denied. 
 Born the mute fish was also,
 
 LIFES A DREAM. 133 
 
 Child of ooze and ocean weed ; 
 Scarce a finny bark of speed 
 To the surface brought, and lo! 
 In vast circuits to and fro 
 Measures it on every side 
 All the waste of ocean wide, 
 Its illimitable home ; 
 While with greater will to roam 
 I that freedom am denied. 
 Born the streamlet was, a snake, 
 Which unwinds the flowers among, 
 Silver serpent, that not long 
 May to them sweet music make, 
 Ere it quits the flow'ry brake, 
 Onward hastening to the sea 
 With majestic course and free, 
 Which the open plains supply ; 
 While with more life gifted, I 
 Am denied its liberty.* 
 
 Those acquainted with the construction of Cal- 
 
 * Calderon is so fond of introducing into his dramas 
 persons who have been brought up in absolute solitude, and 
 then are suddenly cast upon the world, and of dealing with 
 the effects which are thus produced upon them, that it is 
 not to be wondered at, that several passages nearly re- 
 sembling this, variations in fact upon it, are to be found 
 in his other dramas one for example, and a very beau- 
 tiful one, in the first act of Echo and Narcissus.
 
 134 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 deron's dramas will observe that lie is here true 
 to his ordinary plan of beginning with a scene 
 which shall rouse curiosity; and only when he 
 may have thus hoped to have secured the 
 spectators' attention, does he proceed to the 
 orderly unfolding of his plot. An involuntary ex- 
 clamation of Rosaura's makes the captive aware 
 of the two that are so close to him. His first 
 impulse, when he discovers that he has been 
 overheard in the hour of his weakness, is to de- 
 stroy the listeners, however unintentional and 
 unavoidable their listening may have been. 
 Rosaura casts herself at his feet, and obtains 
 his grace. But this is hardly so, when they 
 are interrupted by the entrance of Clotaldo, 
 the most trusted servant of the Polish king, 
 and the only person acquainted with the secret 
 of this prisoner's condition, or with the causes 
 of his life-long captivity. Clotaldo summons 
 the guards of the tower, and the intruders are 
 borne away, despite of Sigismund's furious re- 
 monstrance and the passionate outbreaks of his 
 rage. They have incurred the penalty of death, 
 pronounced against any who should approach the 
 place where this prisoner was confined. 
 
 We have in the next scene the court of the 
 king of Poland. The aged monarch, in solemn 
 assembly of the chief estates of the realm, declares
 
 LIFE'S A DREAM. 135 
 
 to Astolfo and to Estrella the conditions under 
 which, the inheritance of the kingdom may de- 
 volve on them. He narrates at length his 
 addiction in former years to the science of 
 astrology ; and how he had dived deeply into 
 the mysteries of the future. Though counted 
 childless, he too had once a son ; but reading at 
 his birth his horoscope, he learned that this son 
 should be fierce and ungovernable and cruel, and 
 that he should himself one day lie prostrate at 
 his feet. This son, whom he has feared to ac- 
 knowledge, still lives brought up in a remote 
 tower, with only Clotaldo conscious of the secret. 
 But now the father is touched with remorse, and 
 repents of the cruelty with which he has sought 
 to defeat the possible violence of his son. He 
 will bring him forth, and make proof of his dis- 
 position. These prophecies of the stars do but 
 announce the inclination ; they cannot impair 
 the free will. Sigismund, for of course he and 
 the captive of the first scene are the same, may 
 overcome all the malignant influences of his 
 stars; for men are not servile to their circum- 
 stances or their instincts, but it is their higher 
 task to mould and fashion and conquer these. 
 If he bear himself well in this trial, he shall be 
 acknowledged as the heir ; if otherwise, he shall 
 be sent back to his dungeon, and Astolfo and
 
 136 TRANSLATIONS FKOM CALDERON. 
 
 Estrella shall inherit the kingdom. As now the 
 secret is a secret no longer, and no motive for 
 further concealment exists, the prisoners are 
 easily pardoned ; and Rosaura, who has resumed 
 female attire, is taken into the train of Estrella. 
 There is an underplot by which the latter be- 
 comes acquainted with Astolfo's previous en- 
 gagement to Rosaura, which, graceful as it is, 
 I yet shall not touch, as my purpose is only 
 with the more earnest side of this drama. It 
 has its bearing on the ultimate issue, as in 
 consequence of the discovery, Estrella breaks off 
 her engagement with the duke. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 In the first scene of this act Clotaldo de- 
 clares to the king the manner in which he 
 has carried out his purpose. In mercy to the 
 young prince it has been determined by his 
 father that he shall be brought to the palace 
 while under the influence of a sleeping potion ; 
 so that, should he prove unworthy, being borne 
 back to his dungeon under the power of ano- 
 ther, he may be persuaded that all the pomp 
 and glory with which he was surrounded for a 
 brief moment was indeed only a dream which he 
 dreamed. There is something fine in Clotaldo's
 
 LIFE'S A DREAM. 137 
 
 account of the manner in which he carried out 
 this part of his monarch's plans. The passage is 
 in assonants in the original, and therefore in the 
 translation. The assonants employed are e e, 
 the weakest unfortunately of all our vowels ; but 
 the nearest possible approach which the language 
 allows to the e a of the original. 
 Clo. All, as thou commanded'st it, 
 
 Has been happily effected. 
 King. Say, Clotaldo, how it passed. 
 Clo. In this manner it succeeded. 
 
 "With that mildly soothing draught, 
 Which thou badest should be tempered 
 "With confections, mingling there 
 Of some herbs the influences, 
 Whose tyrannic strength and power, 
 And whose force that works in secret, 
 So the reason and discourse 
 Alienateth and suspendeth, 
 That it leaves the man who quaffs it 
 Than a human corpse no better, 
 And in deep sleep casting him 
 Hobs him of his powers and senses 
 With that potion in effect, 
 Where all opiates met together 
 In one draught, to Sigismund'a 
 Narrow dungeon I descended.
 
 138 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 There I spoke with him awhile 
 Of the human arts and letters, 
 Which the still and silent aspect 
 Of the mountains and the heavens 
 Him have taught that school divine, 
 Where he has been long a learner, 
 And the voices of the birds 
 And the beasts has apprehended. 
 Then, that I might better raise 
 And exalt his spirit's temper 
 To the enterprize you aim at, 
 For my theme I took the fleetness 
 Of a soaring eagle proud, 
 Which, an overbold contemner 
 Of the lower paths of air, 
 To the sphere of fire ascended, 
 And like winged lightning there 
 Showed, or comet fiery-tresse'd. 
 Then I hailed its lofty flight, 
 Saying, " Thou in truth art empress 
 Of the birds, 'tis therefore just 
 That thou be o'er all preferred." 
 But there was no need of more, 
 For if one of empire speaketh 
 But a word, with high-raised pride 
 Straightway he discourses ever ; 
 For in truth his blood excites him,
 
 LIFES A DREAM. 139 
 
 That he fain would be the attempter 
 Of great things and he exclaimed, 
 " In yon free and open heaven 
 Are there any then so base 
 That to serve they have consented ? 
 This when I consider, then 
 My misfortunes solace yield me : 
 For at least if I am subject, 
 Such I am by force, not freely, 
 Since I never to another 
 Of freewill myself would render." 
 When I saw him maddened thus 
 "With these thoughts, the theme for ever 
 Of his griefs, I pledged him then 
 With the drugged cup ; from the vessel 
 Scarcely did the potion pass 
 To his bosom, ere he rendered 
 All his senses up to sleep 
 Thro' his veins and all his members 
 Running such an icy sweat, 
 That had I not known the secret 
 Of his feigned death, for his life 
 I in verity had trembled. 
 
 In this lethargy he has been borne to the 
 palace, like those whom Marco Polo tells of, 
 that in a like condition were carried into the 
 gardens of the Old Man of the Mountain ; he has
 
 140 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 been placed amid all the splendour and magni- 
 ficence of his father's royal apartments ; and 
 now they are only waiting the moment of his 
 awaking. There are tokens that this has 
 arrived, and that he is approaching: the king 
 and Clotaldo retire. Hardly have they done 
 so, before Sigismund enters : servants are 
 ministering to him, and he is full of wonder 
 and admiration at the inexplicable change which 
 has come over him; but, as will be seen pre- 
 sently, justifying all the previsions in respect 
 of him ; as indeed the king his father had taken 
 effectual means that they should be fulfilled. 
 The scene, which is a long one, is yet full of 
 dramatic spirit and vigour, and I will give its 
 chiefest part. 
 
 Siff. Help me, heaven, what do I see ? 
 
 Help me, heaven, what things are here ? 
 
 Filling me with little fear, 
 
 But with much perplexity P 
 
 I in sumptuous palaces, 
 
 Costliest hangings round me spread, 
 
 I with servants compassed, 
 
 Gay and glittering as these ! 
 
 On a couch so rich and rare 
 
 I to waken suddenly, 
 
 With this retinue to me
 
 IIFES A DREAM. 14! 
 
 Offering royal robes to wear ! 
 
 Dream to call it, were deceit, 
 
 For myself awake I know ; 
 
 I am Sigismund even so. 
 
 Heavens, let no delusion cheat 
 
 Me, but say what this may be, 
 
 That has overcome me, while 
 
 Sleep my senses did beguile : 
 
 Is it truth or phantasy ? 
 
 But what profit to debate, 
 
 And this idle coil to keep H 
 
 Best the present joy to reap, 
 
 And the future leave to fate. 
 ist Ser. What of sadness veils his brow ! 
 2nd Ser. "Who were not distraught, to whom 
 
 Should arrive such change of doom?. 
 Clar. I for one. 
 
 2nd Ser. Speak to him now. 
 
 ist Ser. "VVouldst thou they should sing again ? 
 Sig. No, their singing pleases not. 
 2nd Ser. As thou wert so wrapped in thought, 
 
 We had hoped to ease thy pain. 
 Sig. Not with melodies like these 
 
 I my sadness can assuage ; 
 
 Nothing did mine ear engage 
 
 But those martial harmonies. 
 Enter Clotaldo.
 
 142 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 Clo. Let your Highness, mighty Lord, 
 First give me your hand to kiss : 
 I must not the honour miss 
 First this homage to afford. 
 
 Siff. 'Tis Clotaldo ! he who used 
 In my tower to treat me so; 
 Doth he now this homage show P 
 I am utterly confused ! 
 
 Clo. With the strange perplexity 
 Growing from thy new estate, 
 Unto many doubts and great 
 Reason might exposed be ; 
 But I gladly thee would spare, 
 If I might, them all and so ' 
 I would give thee, Sir, to know 
 Thou a prince art, Poland's heir. 
 And if until now thy state 
 Has been hidden and retired, 
 'Twas that it was thus required 
 By the menaces of fate, 
 Which pronounced a thousand woes 
 To this empire, if in it 
 Should the sovran laurel sit 
 Crowning thy imperial brows. 
 But relying on thine heed, 
 That thou wilt the stars o'ercome, 
 For not servile to his doom
 
 LIFE'S A DREAM. 143 
 
 Lives the valiant man indeed, 
 
 Thee from that thy cell forlorn, 
 
 While the might of deep sleep all 
 
 Thy wrapt senses did enthral, 
 
 They have to this palace borne. 
 
 But thy sire, the king my lord, 
 
 Will be here anon, and he 
 
 What is more will tell to thee. 
 Sig. But thou villain, wretch abhorred, 
 
 If I do mine own self know, 
 
 Know I not enough ? what more 
 
 Need I to be told, my power 
 
 And my pride of place to show ? 
 
 How did'st thou to Poland dare 
 
 Act such treason, in despite 
 
 Of all reason and all right, 
 
 To me never to declare 
 
 What my birth was? woe is thee ! 
 
 Thus thou did'st the state betray, 
 
 Flatterer to thy monarch play, 
 
 Cruel tyrant unto me. 
 
 Thus for wrongs so strange and rare 
 
 Thee the state, the king, and I 
 
 Each and all condemn to die 
 
 By my hands. 
 2nd Ser. ' . Sir 
 Sig. Let none dare
 
 144 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 Hindrance in my way to throw : 
 
 "Tis in vain : by heaven, I say, 
 
 If thou standest in my way, 
 
 From the window shalt thou go 
 2nd Ser. Fly, Clotaldo. 
 Clo. Woe is thee ! 
 
 Sigismund, what pride thou showest, 
 
 Nor that thou art dreaming knowest. 
 
 \_Clotaldoflies. 
 2nd. Ser. He did but 
 Sig. No words with me. 
 
 2nd Ser. With the king's commands comply. 
 Sig. But in an unrighteous thing 
 
 He should not obey the king ; 
 
 And besides, his prince am I. 
 Astolfo enters to pay his compliments in a set 
 speech to the prince. Sigismund however cuts 
 him short, and gives him so haughty and insult- 
 ing a reception that after some few angry words 
 he withdraws. Estrella enters on the same 
 errand, whose hand he seizes, and to whom he 
 pays such violent compliments, that the same 
 servant who was so forward before, and who 
 knows that Astolfo is looking on at a little dis- 
 tance, interferes, and reminds Sigismund that it 
 is not right so to behave to the affianced bride 
 of another.
 
 LIFE'S A DREAM. 145 
 
 Sig. All this causes me disgust ; 
 Nothing appears right to me, 
 Being against my phantasy*. 
 2nd Ser. But alone in what is just 
 By thyself I heard it said 
 It was fitting to obey. 
 Sig. And you also heard me say 
 Who in me displeasure bred, 
 From the balcony should go. 
 2nd Ser. But that feat with such an one 
 
 As myself were scarcely done. 
 Sig. That we very soon will know. 
 
 [Seizes him, and they go out struggling ; 
 
 the rest follow. Enter Astolfo. 
 Ast. What do I to see arrive P 
 Est. Haste, if you his life can save. 
 Sig. (within) There, the sea may be his grave. 
 
 [He re-enters. 
 I could do it, as I live. 
 
 Enter the King. 
 
 King. What has been P 
 
 Sig. Not any thing. 
 
 A fellow that was vexing me 
 
 I tumbled from that balcony. 
 da. Be aware ; it is the king. 
 L
 
 146 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 King. From thy coming, O my son, 
 Must a death so soon ensue ? 
 
 Sig. But he said I could not do 
 That which I have fairly done. 
 
 King. Prince, it brings me sorrow great, 
 When I hither did repair, 
 Thinking to have found thee ware, 
 Triumphing o'er stars and fate, 
 There has been such savage pride 
 Thus in thy demeanour seen, 
 That thy foremost act has been 
 A most grievous homicide. 
 With what feeling can I now 
 Hound thy neck mine arms entwine, 
 Knowing the proud folds of tliine 
 Have been taught so lately how 
 To give death ? Who, drawing near, 
 Sees a dagger on the ground 
 Bare, that gave a mortal wound, 
 And can keep from feeling fear ? 
 Or who sees the bloody spot 
 Where they slew another man, 
 And to nature's instinct can 
 Help replying, shuddering not ? 
 I then, who in thine arms see 
 Of this death the instrument,
 
 LIFES A DREAM. 147 
 
 And the spot see, blood-besprent, 
 
 From thine arms am fain to flee, 
 
 And although I purposed 
 
 For thy neck a fond embrace, 
 
 Will without it leave this place, 
 
 Having of thine arms just dread. 
 Sig. Well I can without it fare, 
 
 As I have fared until now. 
 
 For a father who to show 
 
 Harshness such as this could bear, 
 
 Me has like a wild beast bred, 
 
 Driven me wholly from his side, 
 
 And all nurture has denied, 
 
 Would have gladly seen me dead, 
 
 It import but little can 
 
 That he will not now bestow 
 
 His embrace, who robbed me so 
 
 Of my being as a man. 
 King, Oh that Heaven had thought it good 
 
 I had ne'er given that to thee ! 
 
 Then thy pride I should not see, 
 
 Should not mourn thy savage mood. 
 Sig. I should not of thee complain, 
 
 Hadst thou never given me it, 
 
 But that given, thou didst think fit 
 
 To resume thy gift again : 
 L 2
 
 148 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 For though giving is well named 
 Deed that honour high doth bring, 
 Yet to give is meanest thing, 
 When the gift again is claimed. 
 
 King. These then are thy thanks to me, 
 That of poor and wretched thrall 
 Thou a prince art P 
 
 Sig. What at all 
 
 Owe I here of thanks to thee, 
 O thou cruel tyrant hoar ? 
 If thou old and doting art, 
 Dying, what dost thou impart ? 
 Aught that was not mine before ? 
 Thou my father art and king ; 
 Then doth nature's law to me 
 All this pomp and majesty 
 By its ordinances bring. 
 Though I am then in this case, 
 Owe I nothing to thine hand ; 
 Rather might account demand 
 For the freedom and due place 
 Thou hast robbed me of till now. 
 Therefore rather thank thou me, 
 That I reckon not with thee, 
 While my debtor provest thou. 
 
 King. Arrogant and bold thou art ; 
 To its word heaven sets its seal :
 
 LIFES A DREAM. 149 
 
 To the same heaven I appeal, 
 Oh thou proud and swoln of heart. 
 Though thyself thou now dost know, 
 Counting no delusion near, 
 Though thou dost in place appear 
 Where as foremost thou dost show, 
 Yet from me this counsel take 
 That thou act a gentler part, 
 For perchance thou dreaming art, 
 Though thou seemest thus awake. 
 
 {.Exit. 
 
 Sig. That perhaps I dream, although 
 I unto myself may seem 
 Waking ; but I do not dream, 
 What I was and am I know ; 
 And howe'er thou may'st repent, 
 Little help that yields thee now : 
 Know I now myself, and thou 
 With thy sorrow and lament 
 Canst not this annul, that I 
 Born am heir to Poland's crown. 
 If before time I bowed down 
 To my dungeon's misery, 
 'Twas that knowledge I had none 
 Of my state ; but now I know 
 This, and mine own self also, 
 Man and beast combined in one.
 
 150 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 Presently Rosaura enters in search, of her mis- 
 tress, and finds herself unawares in Sigismund's 
 presence. They recognize one another with a 
 mutual perplexity ; he is taken with her beauty, 
 and in this language expresses his admiration. 
 I need hardly observe for the understanding the 
 first compliment of the prince that estrella in 
 Spanish is star. 
 
 Siff. Fair woman, who art thou ? 
 Ros. I must remain 
 
 To him unknown ; Sir, in Estrella's train 
 
 A most unhappy maid. 
 S/ff. Not so the sun say rather, by whose aid 
 
 That star continues bright, 
 
 Since from thy rays it ever draws its light. 
 
 I in the kingdom sweet, 
 
 Where the fair squadrons of the garden meet, 
 
 The goddess rose have seen 
 
 Elected as the loveliest for their queen. 
 
 And 'mid the jewels fine, 
 
 The rich assemblage sparkling in the mine, 
 
 The diamond ruled as lord, 
 
 To whom, as brightest, empire all accord. 
 
 And in heaven's brilliant court, 
 
 Whither the senate of the stars resort, 
 
 I saw that Hesper owned 
 
 The chiefest station, royally enthroned.
 
 LIFE'S A DREAM. 151 
 
 And at the great sun's call 
 
 When the bright planets are assembled all, 
 
 He over all had sway, 
 
 And reigned the lordliest oracle of day. 
 
 Then how, if ever the most beauteous owns 
 
 First place 'mid planets, flowers, and stars, and 
 
 stones, 
 
 Hast thou obeyed the less , 
 Who art in thy transcendant loveliness, 
 And shewing fairest far, 
 At once sun, planet, diamond, rose and star ? 
 
 In a little however Sigismund, leaving these 
 high-flown compliments, detains her so rudely, 
 that Clotaldo, who has anxiously followed her 
 into the prince's presence, is obliged to come 
 forward and interfere for her release. The 
 prince, enraged at the interruption, flings him 
 at his feet, and a second time attempts his life. 
 Rosaura runs out, crying for help, and Astolfo, 
 summoned by her cries, seeks to protect the old 
 man, when Sigismund turns upon him, and 
 Astolfo is obliged to draw also to protect his 
 life. The king attracted by the tumult enters, 
 and again expostulates with his son. He 
 answers upbraiding with upbraiding. Why 
 should he have respect to the grey hairs of
 
 \ 
 
 152 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 Clotaldo, when those of his father shall lie one 
 day at his feet 1 With this defiance Sigismund 
 goes out. It is now acknowledged by all that 
 nothing can be done with him, but to replace 
 him in his former dungeon once more. At the 
 earliest opportunity, that is, when next he desires 
 to drink, the second sleeping potion shall be 
 given him. Yet here let me pause to observe 
 that we should entirely miss the true point of 
 view from which it was the poet's intention that 
 we should regard his work, if all our sympathies 
 were with the father, and against Sigismund. 
 His resentment on account of his deprivation of 
 all that humanizing culture which was his right 
 as a man was neither unnatural nor unjust, little 
 as he can be justified in his manner of displaying it. 
 Feuerbach, not the atheist, but his father, and 
 an eminent writer on criminal jurisprudence, 
 has composed a memoir on Gaspar Hauser, whose 
 actual history so much resembled that which 
 Calderon has here imagined,* with this title, 
 Kaspar Hauser, Beispiel eines Verbrechens am 
 
 * That is, supposing the whole account which he gave of 
 himself was not an imposture, and the wound of which he 
 died inflicted by his own hand. Feuerbach however, a man 
 little likely to be imposed on, was convinced of the truth 
 of his story.
 
 LIFE'S A DREAM. 153 
 
 Seelenleben. Such an offence against the higher 
 life had been here also committed, and it was 
 only just that it should be avenged. 
 
 We must conclude that what had been agreed 
 on has been done ; for in the next scene Sigis- 
 mund is again in his tower, clothed with skins 
 and fastened with a chain as before. The scene 
 is a noble one ; I can only hope that its beauty, 
 especially that of its concluding soliloquy, has 
 not wholly evaporated in the process of empty- 
 ing from vessel to vessel. Clotaldo and sei'- 
 
 O 
 
 vants, among whom is Clarin, have brought 
 him thither. 
 
 Clo. Lay your burden on this floor, 
 
 For to-day must end his pride, 
 
 "Where it started 
 Ser. I have tied 
 
 His fetter as it was before. 
 Clar. Never, never any more 
 
 Waken, Sigismund, to see 
 
 Thy reverse of destiny : 
 
 Like a shadow with no stay, 
 
 Like a flame that dies away, 
 
 Vanishing thy majesty ! 
 Clo. One who such moralities 
 
 Makes, should never lack a place 
 
 Where he may have ample space
 
 1 54 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 And leisure to discourse at ease : 
 This is he whom ye must seize, 
 Let him here continue bound. 
 Clar. But me wherefore ? 
 Clo. When are found 
 
 Secrets grave to clarion known, 
 We guard it safe, lest they be blown, 
 If the clarion once should sound. 
 Clar. But me wherefore bind me thus ? 
 jit my father's life did I 
 Aim P or from that balcony 
 Did I, fierce and tyrannous, 
 Fling that little Icarus ? 
 
 [They take him away. Enter the King 
 
 disguised. 
 King. ClotaldoP, 
 Clo. Does your majesty 
 
 Thus in this disguise appear ? 
 King. Foolish yearnings draw me here, 
 And a mournful wish to see 
 How it fares (ah woe is me !) 
 With my son. 
 
 Clo. Behold him shorn. 
 
 Of his glory, and forlorn, 
 In his woful first estate. 
 King. Prince, alas, unfortunate, 
 Under stars malignant born
 
 LIFE'S A DREAM. 155 
 
 Rouse him from his lethargy, 
 
 Now that all his strength has sunk 
 
 With the opiate that he drunk. 
 Clo. He is slumbering restlessly, 
 
 And he speaks. 
 King. What dreameth he ? 
 
 Let us listen. 
 Sig. [speaking in Ms sleepJ] What is this ? 
 
 He a righteous ruler is, 
 
 Who the tyrants doth chastise. 
 
 By my hand Clotaldo dies, 
 
 And my feet my sire shall kiss. 
 Clo. With my death he threatens me. 
 King. Me with outrage and with wrong. 
 Clo. He means my life shall not be long. 
 King. Me at his feet he means to see. 
 Sig. Let my valour proud and free 
 
 On the world's broad stage be found 
 
 With a peerless glory crowned : 
 
 That my vengeance full may be, 
 
 O'er his sire let all men see 
 
 Triumphing king Sigismund. [He wakens. 
 
 But alas ! where am I, where ? 
 King. Me he must not look upon : 
 
 Thou wilt do what needs be done, 
 
 While I yonder will repair. 
 
 [The King retires.
 
 156 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 Sig. Can it be then I that bear 
 
 Prisoned here, this fetter's weight ? 
 I in this forlorn estate ? 
 Yea, and is not this dark room, 
 Help me, heaven ! my former tomb ? 
 I have dreamed strange things of late. 
 
 Clo. I must now my station take, 
 
 And my part allotted play. [Aside. 
 It is time to wake, I say. 
 
 Sig. Yea, time is it to awake. 
 
 Clo, Wilt thou not this whole day break 
 Thy deep slumber ? Is it so 
 That since I that eagle's slow 
 Flight pursued and path sublime, 
 Leaving you, that all this time 
 You have never wakened ? 
 
 Sig. No, 
 
 Nor yet now awake am I ; 
 .For, Clotaldo, as it seems 
 I am still involved in dreams ; 
 Nor this deem I erringly, 
 For if that I did espy 
 Sure and certain, was a dream, 
 That I now see doth but seem. ' 
 
 Clo. What your dream was might I know ? 
 
 Sig. I awoke from sleep, and lo !
 
 LIFE'S A DREAM. 157 
 
 'Twas upon a gorgeous bed 
 
 With bright colours pictured, 
 
 (Oh the cruel flattery,) 
 
 Bich as that flowered tapestry 
 
 Which on earth the spring has spread. 
 
 Many nobles in my sight 
 
 Humbly bending, gave me name 
 
 Of their prince, to serve me came 
 
 With rich jewels, vestments bright, 
 
 Till thou changed'st to delight 
 
 That suspense which held me bound, 
 
 Uttering the joyful sound, 
 
 That though now I this way fare, 
 ' I was Poland's rightful heir. 
 do. Welcome good I must have found. 
 Sig. None so good I drew my sword, 
 Thee a traitor fiercely named, 
 Twice to take thy life I aimed. 
 Clo. How should I be so abhorred ? 
 Siff. I was then of all the lord, 
 And revenge on all I sought. 
 Only a woman in me wrought 
 Love, which was no dream I trowi 
 For all else has ended now, 
 This alone has ended not. 
 
 {The King goes out.
 
 158 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 Clo. He has moved the king to weep, 
 
 Who has from his post retired. [Aside. 
 
 Thou wert by our talk inspired 
 
 Of that eagle ; thus thy sleep 
 
 Did the same lordly current keep : 
 
 Yet in dreams it were well done, 
 
 Sigismund, to honour one 
 
 Who has watched and loved thee so, 
 
 Since good does not perish, though 
 
 It be wrought in dream alone. [Exit. 
 
 Sig. Truth and let us then restrain 
 
 This the fierceness of our pride, 
 
 Lay this wilfulness aside, 
 
 Lest perchance we dream again : 
 
 And we. shall so, who remain 
 
 In a world of wonder thrown, 
 
 Where to live and dream are one. 
 
 For experience tells me this, 
 
 Each is dreaming what he is, 
 
 Till the time his dream is done. 
 
 The king dreams himself a king, 
 
 And in this conceit he lives, 
 
 Lords it, high commandment gives, 
 
 Till his lent applause takes wing, 
 
 Death on light winds scattering, 
 
 Or converting (oh sad fate !)
 
 LIFE'S A DREAM. 159 
 
 Into ashes all his state : 
 
 How can men so lust to reign, 
 
 When to waken them again 
 
 From their false dream death doth wait ? 
 
 And the rich man dreams no less 
 
 'Mid his wealth which brings more cares, 
 
 And the poor man dreams he bears 
 
 All his want and wretchedness ; 
 
 Dreams, whom anxious thoughts oppress, 
 
 Dreams, who for high place contends, 
 
 Dreams, who injures and offends ; 
 
 And though none are rightly ware, 
 
 All are dreaming that they are 
 
 In this life, until death ends. 
 
 I am dreaming I lie here, 
 
 Laden with this fetter's weight, 
 
 And I dreamed that I of late 
 
 Did in fairer sort appear. 
 
 "What is life ? a frenzy mere ; 
 
 What is life ? e'en that we deem ; 
 
 A conceit, a shadow all, 
 
 And the greatest good is small, 
 
 Nothing is, but all doth seem, 
 
 Dreams within dreams, still we dream. 
 
 The Scene closes.
 
 l6o TRANSLATIONS FKOM CALDERON. 
 ACT III. 
 
 We have reached the third and concluding 
 act. Sooner, perhaps, than Sigismund expected, 
 he is to dream again. A great part of the 
 army and the people, learning that there is a 
 rightful heir to the throne, rise in insurrection 
 against an arrangement which should give the 
 crown to any other. They care nothing for the 
 prophecy of the stars ; and, finding their way 
 to the place of Sigismund's confinement, burst 
 into his dungeon, and demand that he should 
 place himself at their head, and conquer for 
 himself a throne. His perplexity at this new 
 dream which he is summoned to dream is 
 finely drawn but Clotaldo's word of warning, 
 that he have respect to the awakening, and the 
 discipline which he has undergone, have not 
 been wholly thrown away. To their loud and 
 tumultuous homage, 
 
 Long live Sigismund our king, 
 he answers 
 
 Must I dream again of glories 
 
 (Is your pleasure so, high heavens,) 
 
 Oh how soon to be dissolved ? 
 
 Will you that again encompassed 
 
 With those phantom shapes to mock me,
 
 LIFE'S A DREAM. 161 
 
 I behold my kingly state 
 Of the wind dispersed and broken ? 
 Must I my sad lesson learn 
 Once again ? again discover 
 To what perils mortal power 
 Lives its whole life long exposed ? 
 No, it shall not, shall not be : 
 To my destiny behold me 
 Subject now ; and having learned 
 That this life a dream is wholly, 
 Hence I say, vain shapes, pretending 
 To possess a voice and body, 
 Cheating my dull sense, and having 
 In good truth nor one nor other. 
 I desire not borrowed greatness,* 
 
 * These twelve lines which follow are so graceful in the 
 original that I must needs add them in a note. 
 Que no quiero magestades 
 Fingidas, pompas no quiero 
 Fantasticas, illusiones, 
 Que al soplo menos ligero 
 Del aura han de deshacerse, 
 Bien como el florido almendro, 
 Que por madrugar sus flores 
 Sin aviso y sin consejo, 
 Al primer soplo se apagan, 
 Marchitando y desluciendo 
 De sus rosados capillos 
 Belleza, luz y ornamento. 
 
 X
 
 1 62 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 Nor imaginary glories, 
 
 Pomps fantastical, illusions, 
 
 With the faintest breath that bloweth 
 
 Of the light wind perishing : 
 
 As the buds and bloom disclosed 
 
 By the flow 'ring almond tree, 
 
 With such timeless haste unfolded, 
 
 That the first breath dims their brightness, 
 
 Tarnishing and staining wholly 
 
 All the light and loveliness 
 
 Which its roseate tresses boasted. 
 
 Now I know, I know ye now, 
 
 And I know there falls no other 
 
 Lot to every one that dreams ; 
 
 Cheats avail with me no longer ; 
 
 Undeceived now know I surely 
 
 That our life a dream is only. 
 Sold. If thou thinkest we deceive thee, 
 
 Turn thine eyes that way, to yonder 
 
 Proud acclivity, and see 
 
 Multitudes that wait to offer 
 
 Homage unto thee. 
 Siff. Already 
 
 I the same things have beholden 
 
 Just as clearly and distinctly 
 
 As at this time I behold them, 
 
 Yet was it a dream.
 
 LIFE'S A DREAM. 163 
 
 Sold. Sir, ever 
 
 Great events have sent before them 
 Their announcements : dreamt you this, 
 It was surely such an omen. 
 
 Siff. Tis well said ; such omen was it. 
 Yet since life so quickly closes, 
 Let us, even though this as false is, 
 Dream once more this not forgotten, 
 That we must at fittest hour 
 Wake again, this brief joy over; 
 For that known, the undeception 
 Will not prove so sad nor costly. 
 Then, premising only this, 
 That this power, if true, belongeth 
 Not to us, but merely lent is, 
 To return unto its Owner, 
 Let us venture upon all. 
 Vassals, my best thanks acknowledge 
 Your true fealty. Lo ! in me 
 One whose valour and whose boldness 
 From a foreign yoke shall free you. 
 Sound to arms, and in brief moment 
 Ye my courage high shall witness ; 
 I against my father boldly 
 Wage this battle, and the word 
 Will make true, which heaven has spoken, 
 
 M 2
 
 164 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 At my feet beholding him. 
 
 But lest this my dream be over, 
 
 That not done, best hold my peace, 
 
 Lest I prove an empty boaster. 
 All. Long live Sigismund, our king. 
 
 Enter Clotaldo. 
 
 Clo. Ha ! what noise ? my life is forfeit. 
 Siff. You, Clotaldo P 
 Clo. Sire ? on me 
 
 "Will his whole wrath fall. 
 Clar. I wonder 
 
 If he'll fling him down the rocks. 
 Clo. At your royal feet behold me, 
 
 That it is to die I know. 
 Siff. Eise, my father kneel no longer, 
 
 Eise to be the guide and pole-star 
 
 By the which I shape my projects ; 
 
 For by your great loyalty 
 
 Was my helpless childhood fostered. 
 
 Give me your embrace. 
 Clo. What say you ? 
 
 Siff. That I dream, and would act nobly, 
 
 Since well doing is not lost 
 
 Though it be in dreams done only. 
 Clo. Then, sir, if it be your blazon 
 
 To do well, that I with boldness
 
 LIFE'S A DREAM. 165 
 
 Crave of you the same permission, 
 
 Cannot for a fault be noted. 
 
 Arms you wield against your sire, 
 
 I can neither counsel offer, 
 
 Nor lend aid against my king. 
 
 See me prostrated before thee. 
 
 Kill me, if thou wilt. 
 Sig. Ha, villain ! 
 
 Ingrate ! but 'tis need I govern 
 
 And in meekness rule my soul, 
 
 For his true estate who knoweth ? 
 
 To your loyalty, Clotaldo, 
 
 Owe I envy, praise and wonder ; 
 
 Go and serve your lord and king, 
 
 We shall meet in battle shortly. 
 
 But for you, now sound to arms. 
 Clot. My best thanks this grace acknowledge. 
 
 {Exit. 
 Sig. Destiny, we go to reign ; 
 
 "Wake I, let not sleep come o'er me ; 
 
 Sleep I, do not waken me. 
 
 But well doing most imports me, 
 
 Be it thus or thus if truth, 
 
 For the truth's sake; if the other, 
 
 To win friends against the time 
 When this fleeting dream is over. 
 
 \They go out, sounding alarums.
 
 1 66 TRANSLATIONS FKOM CALDERON. 
 
 Presently comes another struggle with tempt- 
 ation. Sigismund is advancing against the 
 capital of his father, and Rosaura, at his ap- 
 proach, flees to him as her champion, who shall 
 compel her faithless lover to do her right. 
 Along with the temptation there goes also a 
 new and deeper confusion, for she was one of 
 the persons of his former dream. He discourses 
 thus : 
 
 Help me, heaven, that I may learn 
 
 From these doubts to issue wholly, 
 
 Or not muse on them at all. 
 
 Who has known such doubtful torments ? 
 
 If I dreamt that majesty 
 
 Whereof lately I was owner, 
 
 How doth now this woman give me 
 
 Of that time such certain tokens P 
 
 Then it was a truth, no dream ; 
 
 But if truth, which is another 
 
 And no less perplexity, 
 
 How do my life's following courses 
 
 Name it dream ? then so resembling 
 
 Unto dreams are this world's glories, 
 
 It will happen many times 
 
 That the true for false are holden, 
 
 And the false accounted true
 
 LIFE'S A DREAM. 167 
 
 These so little from those other 
 
 Differing, that 'tis hard to know 
 
 If what felt is and beholden 
 
 Be a falsehood, be a truth : 
 
 To the original the copy 
 
 So resembles, that a question 
 
 Which the true is rises often. 
 
 Then if this be thus, and all 
 
 Of our majesty and glory, 
 
 Of our pomp and pride and greatness, 
 
 Must in shadows vanish wholly, 
 
 Let us hasten to improve 
 
 What is ours, this present moment. 
 
 Let us snatch a present joy, 
 
 While a dream no future knoweth. 
 
 In my power Rosaura is, 
 
 And my soul her charms adoreth. : 
 
 Let me seize then this occasion 
 
 Which unto my feet has borne her. 
 
 This a dream is ; then delights 
 
 Let us dream of for the moment, 
 
 Pain will track them swiftly after. 
 
 But I do confute mine own self 
 
 With the reasons I advance. 
 
 If a dream, an empty glory. 
 
 Who for empty glory here
 
 1 68 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDEROX. 
 
 Would an heavenly glory forfeit ? 
 What past good is not a dream P 
 Who has tasted blisses lofty, 
 And gays not, whenever these are 
 In his memory revolved, 
 Doubtless I have dreamed it all, 
 Which I saw : but if my knowledge 
 Tells me this, and if desire 
 Is a flame that brightly gloweth, 
 Yet is turned to dead cold ashes 
 By the wind that breathes the softest, 
 Let us then the eternal aim at, 
 Fame that no decreases offers, 
 Blisses that not ever slumber, 
 Majesty that ne'er reposes. 
 
 He breaks off the dangerous interview, and 
 bids sound to arms. Presently the armies join 
 battle, and the old king is overthrown, and his 
 routed army scattered in confused flight. The 
 poor gracioso, Clarin, has now a tragic part 
 assigned to him, and one very characteristic 
 of Calderon's skill in making all parts of his 
 drama work together for one effect. He con- 
 ceals himself among the rocks, in a place, as he 
 boasts, of such entire security, that no danger 
 can possibly find him out. The king presently
 
 LIFE'S A DREAM. 169 
 
 appears, with Astolfo and others, also flying; 
 shots are fired from behind, and the poor clown 
 drops from his place of concealment, mortally 
 wounded, at the king's feet. To the question, 
 Who is he 1 ? he has strength to reply that he is 
 one who, seeking to avoid death, has found it; 
 who has fulfilled in himself that destiny which 
 he thought most certainly to defeat, and this by 
 the very means which he took to defeat it. 
 The lesson is not thrown away upon the king. 
 The pursuers are upon him and his company; 
 they enter, Sigismund and his troops. After a 
 momentary attempt at concealment, the king 
 comes forth from his hiding-place, throws him- 
 self at his son's feet, and the menace of the 
 stars is accomplished here also, by the very 
 means employed to defeat it. Let us see how 
 Calderon manages this concluding scene : 
 
 Sold. In this intricate wilderness, 
 
 Somewhere in its thickest tangles 
 
 The king hides himself. 
 Siff. Pursue him, 
 
 Till not one bush has remained 
 
 Which you have not throughly searched, 
 
 All its trunks and all its branches. 
 Clo. Fly, Sir.
 
 1 70 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 King. Wherefore should I fly ? 
 
 Ast. Sire, what mean you? 
 
 King. Prince, unhand me. 
 
 Clo. What, Sir, would you ? 
 
 King. Use, Clotaldo, 
 
 That sole help which yet avails me. 
 Prince, if thou art seeking me, 
 At thy feet behold me fallen. 
 Let the snow of these white hairs 
 Serve unto thee as a carpet ; 
 Set thy foot upon my neck, 
 On my crown, my glory trample. 
 Serve thyself of me thy captive, 
 And all cares and cautions baffled, 
 Let the stars fulfil their threat'nings, 
 Heaven accomplish what is fated. 
 
 Sig. Princes, nobles, Court of Poland, 
 Who of these unequalled marvels 
 Are the witnesses, your prince 
 Speaks unto you therefore hearken. 
 That which is of heaven determined, 
 That which on its azure tablets 
 God has with his finger written,! 
 Who those broad and skiey pages, 
 Pranked with all their golden cyphers, 
 Makes his solemn scroll and parchment,
 
 LIFE'S A DREAM. 171 
 
 That doth never falsely play : 
 
 It is he alone plays falsely, 
 
 Who injuriously to use them, 
 
 Their hid mysteries unravels. 
 
 Thus my father, who is here, 
 
 That he might escape the madness 
 
 Of my nature, did for this 
 
 In man's shape a wild beast make me, 
 
 In such fashion that when I, 
 
 By the gentle blood that races 
 
 In my veins, my noble state, 
 
 By such nurture as became me, 
 
 Might, of good hope, have approved me 
 
 Mild and docile ; yet that manner 
 
 Of my wild and savage rearing 
 
 Was alone sufficient amply 
 
 To have brutalized my soul. 
 
 Oh fair way to shun the danger ! 
 
 "Were it to a man fore-uttered, 
 
 Some inhuman beast will slay thee, 
 
 Would he choose, such prophecy 
 
 That he might defeat, to waken 
 
 Beasts that he perchance found sleeping. 
 
 Were it said, the sword thou bearest 
 
 Sheathed, shall prove the very one 
 
 Which shall be thy death, oh vainest
 
 172 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 Method to annul the threat, 
 From that hour to bear it naked, 
 With its point against his bosom. 
 Were it said, the gulfs of water, 
 Building silver tombs above thee, 
 For thy sepulchre are fated, 
 'Twere ill done to brave the wild waves, 
 When the indignant sea in anger 
 Lifted hills of snowy foam, 
 Mountainous heights of crystal raisM. 
 With my sire the same thing fortuned, 
 As with one who should awaken 
 The wild beast that threatened him ; 
 As with one who bared the dagger 
 He most feared, or to sea-tomb 
 Doomed, the stormiest oceans challenged. 
 When my fury might have proved 
 Like a sleeping beast, (now hearken) 
 And my fierceness a sheathed sword, 
 And my pride a tranquil calmness, 
 Yet no destiny by wrong 
 Or unrighteousness is baffled, 
 Rather these do more provoke it : 
 So that he who means to master 
 Fate, with gentleness must do it, 
 With meek wisdom, not with harshness.
 
 LIFE'S A DREAM. 173 
 
 Let for an example serve 
 
 Tliis rare spectacle, this strangest 
 
 Prodigy, most wonderful 
 
 Sight of all ; for -what were stranger 
 
 Than to have arrived to see, 
 
 After such preventions taken, 
 
 At my feet a father prostrate, 
 
 In the dust a monarch fallen ? 
 
 'Twas the sentence of high heaven, 
 
 Which for all he strove to baffle, 
 
 Yet he could not ; and could I, 
 
 Less in all things, hope to master, 
 
 Less in valour, and in years, 
 
 And in wisdom ? O my father, 
 
 Thy hand reach me ; Sire, arise ; 
 
 Now that heaven this way has made thee 
 
 See thou erred'st in the mode 
 
 Of o'ercoming it, I place me 
 
 Here, awaiting thy revenge : 
 
 On my neck thy feet be planted. 
 
 He throws himself at his father's feet, having 
 now, indeed, conquered; for he has conquered 
 himself. All else is arranged in a few lines. 
 Astolfo fulfils his pledge to Rosaura, the prince 
 affectionately embraces the faithful Clotaldo, 
 gives his own hand to Estrella, and, when all
 
 174 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 are wondering at his wisdom and moderation, 
 forbids them to restrain their admiration, 
 even if he should not waken to find himself in 
 his narrow dungeon again, yet Life itself is a 
 dream, which he would fain dream well, that so 
 a blessed awakening may follow.
 
 II. 
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE 
 WORLD. 
 
 "VTO Auto of Calderon has yet been translated 
 -L^ into English either in whole or in part. 
 Ticknor has presented in his History of Spanish 
 Literature, an account of one, The Divine Or- 
 pheus* but wholly in prose ; and in prose also The 
 Rambler, Dec. 1855, has given a very fair analysis 
 of TJie Poison and the Antidote. While I am 
 fully conscious of the difficulty of the attempt, 
 and the danger of utter and ridiculous failure, I 
 venture here to offer an analysis of one of them, 
 with sufficient verse quotations to give a some- 
 what clearer conception of what they are than 
 could in any other way be gained. I might 
 perhaps have chosen autos of Calderon in which 
 he soars xipon loftier wing ; but this also seems 
 to me to be admirably conceived and carried out, 
 
 * Vol. 2. p. 323.
 
 176 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 and is not quite so strange and startling as some 
 perhaps might appear. The title which it bears, 
 Tlie Great Theatre of the World, will sufficiently 
 indicate its subject. The observation that 
 
 " All the world's a stage, 
 And all the men and women merely players," 
 
 has now become a commonplace, yet is one con- 
 taining in it so deep a moral significance, so pro- 
 found a truth, that it can never grow old or out 
 of date. It is one to which Calderon recurred 
 again and again. Thus in his very noble play To 
 know good and evil, he says : 
 
 En el teatro del mundo 
 
 Todos son representantes. 
 
 Cual hace un Key soberano, 
 
 Cual un Principe, b un grande, 
 
 A quien obedecen todos ; 
 
 Y aquel punto, aquel instante 
 
 Que dura el papel, es dueno 
 
 De todas las voluntades. 
 
 Acabose la comedia, 
 
 Y como el papel se acaba, 
 
 La muerte en el vestuario 
 
 A todos los deja iguales. 
 
 Nor is he content with making such passing 
 allusions to it ; but in the auto, of which I am
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OP THE WORLD. 177 
 
 about to present some specimens, this thought 
 furnishes, as will be seen, the idea on which he 
 has wrought throughout. 
 
 Before going further let me say to the reader, 
 above all in respect of the opening scene, that 
 what was not intended profanely or even over- 
 boldly, but in strong religious earnestness and 
 reverence, must be taken in no other sense by 
 him ; or, if he is unable so to take it, he will do 
 best in not proceeding any further. In the first 
 scene then the Author appears with a mantle 
 spangled with stars, and the triple rays of light 
 (potencias) on his forehead. He summons the 
 World, which describes itself as being shaped 
 and moulded under his creative word ; and in- 
 forms it of his purpose to set out upon it a great 
 pageant and representation for the display of his 
 power and glory. Men are to be his company. 
 He bids the World that it do not fail to provide 
 richly all things needful to enable the several 
 players to enact their allotted parts. The World 
 in one of the long speeches for which Calderon 
 was famous (the present exceeds two hundred 
 lines) promises obedience; that the properties 
 and furniture shall not be wanting, and so 
 withdraws. And now the Author summons his 
 future company the Rich Man, the Beggar, the 
 
 K
 
 178 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 King, the Husbandman,* the Lady or Beauty, 
 the Recluse or Discretion, the Infant, as by a 
 necessary prolepsis they are called, and distri- 
 butes to them their several parts. The passage 
 may well remind one of the distribution by 
 Lachesis of the lots t to souls in The Republic 
 of Plato. The parts are received with different 
 feelings. Some are well pleased ; others disap- 
 pointed. The Beggar for instance, seeing what 
 his part must be, ventures a remonstrance : 
 
 Why must I be acting so 
 Beggar in this comedy ? 
 'Twill be tragedy for me, 
 Albeit for the others no* 
 When on me you did bestow 
 This same part, bestowed you not 
 Equal soul and equal thought 
 As on him who king will be ? 
 Why then unto him and me 
 Such unequal parts allot ? 
 Were I made of other clay, 
 
 * The English word gives exactly the force of the Spanish 
 labrador ; he is no day-labourer in our sense ; for though 
 he labours with his own hands, it is also on his own 
 ground. 
 
 f" KXjjpovc Kai jStwv Tr
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE WORLD. 179 
 
 Or were fewer senses mine, 
 Or a spirit less divine, 
 Did my blood less freely play, 
 Cause sufficient, one might say, 
 Of this dealing would be shown : 
 But it seems too harshly done, 
 That I say not cruelly, 
 When no better man than I 
 So much better part has won. 
 Auth. In the play you act he will 
 As securely win my praise, 
 Who the part of beggar plays 
 With true diligence and skill, 
 As who may the king's fulfil : 
 Equal too they prove, the one 
 And other, when the play is done. 
 Well fulfil thy part, and trust 
 I shall in award be just ; 
 I will know of difference none ; 
 Nor because more pain is laid 
 Upon thee who beggar art, 
 Is the king's a better part 
 Than the beggar's, if well played. 
 One and other shall be paid 
 Freely all their salary, 
 When it once deserved shall be ; 
 N 2
 
 l8o TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 And with any part it can 
 Be so earned, the life of man 
 Being all one comedy. 
 Beau. Wilt thou, Sir, declare abroad 
 Of this comedy, what name 
 Bears it on the tongue of fame P 
 
 AutTl. ACT YOUB BEST, FOE GOD IS GoD. 
 
 King. Of all errors 'twere the worst 
 
 In this so mysterious play 
 
 To mistake. 
 Rich M. Then every way 
 
 Need is, we rehearse it first. 
 Disc. But how can it be rehearsed, 
 
 If without all power we be, 
 
 Soul to know, or light to see, 
 
 Till the time arrives to play ? 
 Begg. But without rehearsing, say 
 
 Can we act the comedy P 
 
 In the oldest, oftenest played, 
 
 If it be not re-essayed, 
 
 Blunders always will ensue : 
 
 Then, unless we prove this new, 
 
 Some sad errors will be made. 
 
 However life is a play which must be acted 
 without rehearsing, and they must accept its 
 necessary conditions. Again, one of the company
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE WORLD. l8l 
 
 asks how they are to know the times of their 
 entrances and exits. This also, they are answered, 
 it needs not for them to know beforehand; let 
 them be ready at any moment to close their 
 parts. He will summon them when it has 
 reached its end. But how if at any time they 
 are out in their parts, have forgotten or erred ? 
 The Law of Grace will act as prompter to set 
 them right. Hereupon they are going off to 
 the theatre, when the World meets and detains 
 them. 
 World. All things now provided stand 
 
 To the end the comedy 
 
 May be acted worthily 
 
 Which for mortal men is planned. 
 King. Crown and purple I demand. 
 World. Why must crown and robe be thine ? 
 King. Even because this part is mine. 
 World. 'Tis already furnished here. 
 
 [Gives him crown and purple, and he goes out. 
 Beau. Unto me hues bright and clear, 
 
 Jasmine, rose, and pink assign. 
 
 Leaf by leaf, and ray by ray, 
 
 Emulously let disclose 
 
 Day whatever lights he knows, 
 
 And whatever flowers the May ; 
 
 Let with envy pine away
 
 1 82 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 The great sun to look on me ; 
 
 And as his huge disk to see, 
 
 Evermore the sun-flower turns 
 
 Flower that for my brightness yearns, 
 
 Let the sun my sun-flower be. 
 World. But how play'st thou part so vain, 
 
 Vaunting to the World thy pride ? 
 Beau. By this paper justified. 
 World. Which? 
 
 Beau. I beauty's part obtain. 
 
 World. Let all tints of costliest grain, 
 
 Deepest vermeil, snowiest white, 
 
 Vary for thee dark and light. 
 
 \_Cf-ives her a chaplet of flowers. 
 Beau. Hound me richest hues I shed ; 
 
 Founts, for me your mirrors spread, 
 
 Flowers, forme your carpets bright. [Goes out. 
 Rich M. Give felicities to me, 
 
 Wealth and all that wealth can bring ; 
 
 For to taste each pleasant thing 
 
 I am come the World to see. 
 World. I will burst my breast for thee, 
 
 And draw forth to upper air 
 
 All the hidden treasures rare, 
 
 All the silver and the gold 
 
 Which my centre doth enfold, 
 
 Covetously hoarded there. [Gives him jewels.
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE WORLD. 1 83 
 
 Rich M. Proud, elate, and glorious I 
 
 "With such treasure go my way. [Goes out. 
 Disc. Place to live in I to-day 
 
 From thy hands to seek am fain. 
 World. And what part dost thou sustain ? 
 Disc. Cloistered Wisdom I must be. 
 World. Cloistered Wisdom, take from me 
 
 Sackcloth, discipline and prayer, 
 
 [Gives her a scourge and sackcloth. 
 Disc. I this Wisdom never were, 
 
 Did I more accept from thee. [Goes out. 
 
 World. Hast thou then no part to play, 
 
 That thou cravest nought of mine? 
 Infant. No, I need not aught of thine 
 
 For the little while I stay. 
 
 I shall never see the day, 
 
 Nor with thee shall I abide 
 
 Longer time than while I glide 
 
 From one dark and prison room 
 
 To another ; and a tomb 
 
 Cannot be of thee denied. [Goes out. 
 
 World. What dost thou seek, fellow, say ? 
 Husb. What I gladly would forego. 
 World. Pray, no more ; your paper show. 
 Husb. What if I should answer, Nay ? 
 World. From your mien infer I may
 
 184 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 That as rude and clownish hind 
 
 You your bread shall seek and find. 
 Husb, Yes, that is my misery. 
 World. Take this spade then. 
 Jusb. Legacy 
 
 Adam has to us consigned ! 
 
 \_TaTces the spade and goes out. 
 Begg. Now that thou hast unto those 
 
 Joys allotted, glories, gains, 
 
 For my portion give me pains, 
 
 Give me sufferings and woes : 
 
 For my paper nothing knows 
 
 Of that kingly majesty ; 
 
 Those bright hues come not to me ; 
 
 Gold nor jewels I demand, 
 
 But rags only at thy hand. 
 World. But what part may thy part be ? 
 Begg. It is utter wretchedness, 
 
 Want and weariness and ill, 
 
 'Tis to bear and suffer still, 
 
 It is anguish and distress, 
 
 All calamities to know, 
 
 To make trial of all woe ; 
 
 Importuning, oh harsh task ! 
 
 Always to have all to ask, 
 
 Nothing ever to bestow. 
 
 'Tis contempt and wrong and scorn,
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE WORLD. 185 
 
 It is mockery and blame, 
 
 It is insult, it is shame, 
 
 It is every thing forlorn ; 
 
 Grief that ever one was born, 
 
 It is squalor, infamy, 
 
 Tatters, filth, and beggary, 
 
 Want of all things, and no less 
 
 Hunger, cold, and nakedness ; 
 
 For all this is poverty. 
 World. But I will not give thee aught ; 
 
 For who beggar plays with me, 
 
 Him I nothing give in fee ; 
 
 And it rather is my thought 
 
 Of these rags to leave thee nought 
 
 On thy back ; for so I will, 
 
 Being world, my charge fulfil. 
 
 [Strips Mm. 
 Begg. So this base world evermore 
 
 Clothes him that was clothed before, 
 
 But the bare makes barer still. [ Goes out. 
 World. Since the stage is now supplied 
 
 "With its motley company, 
 
 For I there a monarch see 
 
 With his kingdoms broad and wide, 
 
 And a beauty that with pride 
 
 Of her charms all senses awes, 
 
 Great men having great applause,
 
 1 86 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 Clownish hinds and beggars bare, 
 Or who in still cloisters fare, 
 All brought forward for this cause 
 That the persons they may play 
 Of this present comedy, 
 To whom I a stage supply, 
 Fit adornments and array, 
 Robes or rags, as suit it may, 
 Oh look forth, the pageant see, 
 Divine Author, which to Thee 
 Mortals play ; this earthly ball 
 Let unfold, for there of all 
 That is done, the scene must be. 
 
 Two globes open with music at the same time; 
 in the one shall be a glorious throne, and on 
 it the Author sitting; in the other the repre- 
 sentation shall take place; this last must 
 have two doors; on the one a cradle painted, 
 on the other a coffin. 
 
 Auth. Since I have devised this play, 
 That my greatness may be shown, 
 I here seated on my throne, 
 Where it is eternal day, 
 Will my company survey. 
 Mortals, who your entrance due 
 By a cradle find, and who
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE WORLD. 187 
 
 By a tomb your exit make, 
 
 Pains in all your acting take, 
 
 Your great Author watches you. 
 Enter Discretion, with an instrument, and 
 sings. 
 
 Let praise the mighty Lord of earth and sky, 
 
 Sun, moon, and host of heaven ; 
 
 To Him be praises given 
 
 From the fair flowers, the earth's emblazonry : 
 
 Let light and fire their praises lift on high, 
 
 And ice and frost and dew, 
 
 Summer and winter too, 
 
 And all that under this blue veil doth lie, 
 
 Whence He looks down, who still 
 
 Is Arbiter and Judge of good and ill. 
 Auth. Me no sound can more engage 
 
 Than the faithful canticle 
 
 On man's lips, which Daniel 
 
 Sang, that so he might assuage 
 
 The Chaldsean monarch's rage. 
 The Law of Grace acts as prompter, to re- 
 mind each of his part should he forget it, 
 and to correct the mistakes which any may 
 make, and thus the play within the play 
 begins.
 
 1 88 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 Enter Beauty and Discretion by the door of the 
 Cradle. 
 
 Beau. Come, and let us hand in band 
 
 Through these pleasant meadows roam, 
 
 "Which are May's delightful birth-place, 
 
 "Which the sun wooes evermore. 
 Disc. That to quit my cell I never 
 
 Wish, thou hast already known, 
 
 Never from the pleasant bondage 
 
 Of my cloister breaking forth. 
 Beau. And with thee must all things always 
 
 This austere aspect put on ? 
 
 Not a day of pleasure ever ! 
 
 Tell me for what end did God 
 
 The flowers fashion, if the smell 
 
 Never shall the richness know 
 
 Of their fragrant censers swinging ? 
 
 And the birds why made He more, 
 
 That with their delicious music 
 
 Float like winged harps of gold, 
 
 If the ear is not to hear them ? 
 
 "Why all tissues smooth and soft, 
 
 If the touch is not to crush them 
 
 With a free delight and bold ? 
 
 Wherefore the delicious fruits, 
 
 If it were not to afford
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE WORLD. 1 89 
 
 With, their seasonings to the taste 
 
 Gates of savors manifold ? 
 
 Why in short has God created 
 
 Mountains, valleys, sun, or moon, 
 
 If the eye is not to see them ? 
 
 Nay, with reason just I hold 
 
 We are thankless, not enjoying 
 
 All the rare gifts God bestows. 
 Disc. To enjoy by admiration 
 
 That may lawfully be done, 
 
 Thanking Him the while for all ; 
 
 To enjoy their beauties no, 
 
 When we use, indeed misuse, them, 
 
 He their Giver quite forgot. 
 
 I abandon not my cloister, 
 
 Having this religion chose 
 
 To entomb my life, and thus 
 
 That I am Discretion show. 
 Beau. I that I am Beauty, while 
 
 To be seen and see I go. [They part. 
 
 World. Beauty and Discretion have not 
 
 Fellowship maintained for long. 
 Disc. How shall I my talent best 
 
 Turn to profit ? 
 Beau. Make the most 
 
 Of my beauty how shall I ? 
 L. of Gr. Act your best ; for God is God.
 
 I go TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 World. Only one has heard, the other 
 Missed the words the prompter spoke. 
 
 Others enter, the Rich Man, the Husbandman 
 everything is characteristic, and managed with 
 infinite variety and resource on the part of the 
 poet ; but we must pass over much. Presently 
 the Beggar enters. 
 
 Begg. Who among all living men 
 
 May a direr misery know 
 
 Than is mine ? this rugged soil 
 
 Is the softest bed I own 
 
 And the best ; which if all heaven 
 
 For a canopy it boasts, 
 
 Lies unsheltered, unprotected 
 
 From the heat and from the cold. 
 
 Hunger me and thirst torment ; 
 
 Give me patience, O my God. 
 Rich M. How shall I make ostentation 
 
 Best of all my wealth ? 
 Begg. My woe 
 
 How shall I the best endure ? 
 L. of Gr. Doing well ; for God is God. 
 Sick M. Oh how that voice wearies me. 
 Begg. Oh how that voice me consoles. 
 Disc. To these gardens comes the king.
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE WORLD. 
 
 Rich M. How it grieves my haughty soul 
 
 To do homage here. 
 Beau. Myself 
 
 I will place the king before, 
 To make trial if my beauty 
 Him may in its nets enfold. 
 Husb. I will place myself behind him, 
 Lest he see me, and impose 
 Some new tax upon the peasant : 
 I expect no favour more. 
 
 Enter the King. 
 
 King. Of whate'er the sun illumines, 
 Of whate'er the sea enfolds, 
 I am master absolute, 
 I am the undoubted lord. 
 Vassals of my sceptre all 
 Bow themselves where'er I go. 
 What do I need in the world ? 
 L. of Gr. To do well; for God is God. 
 World. She to each and all in turn 
 
 Still the best suggests and prompts. 
 Begg. From my depth of desolation 
 I unhappy must behold 
 Blisses, which are all for others. 
 Thus the king, the supreme lord, 
 Glories in his regal state, 
 Nor the want remembers once
 
 1 92 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 That I feel : thus too the lady, 
 On her charms attent alone, 
 Knows not, guesses not if anguish 
 In the world is, want or woe. 
 The recluse, who unto prayer 
 Is addicted evermore, 
 If she serve God well, at least 
 With some comfort serveth God. 
 Nay, the husbandman, when weary 
 He returns from labour home, 
 Finds a decent board prepared him, 
 If it be no sumptuous board. 
 To the rich man all abounds ; 
 And in all the world alone 
 Must I stand in need of all. 
 Therefore I to all approach, 
 For without me they can well 
 Live, but I without them no. 
 Of the lady I will venture 
 First to ask ; for love of God 
 Give an alms. 
 
 Beau. Ye crystal streams, 
 
 Which my mirrors are, report 
 What adornments best become me, 
 How my tresses seemliest flow. 
 
 Begg. Dost thou not perceive me ? 
 
 World. Fool !
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE WORLD. 193 
 
 Seest thou not thy pains are lost ? 
 
 How should she remember thee, 
 
 Who her own self has forgot ? 
 Begg. Since thy wealth exceeds all measure, 
 
 On my needs an alms bestow. 
 Rich M. Are there then no gates to knock at ? 
 
 Enterest thou my presence so ? 
 
 But thou might's t at least have called, 
 
 Fellow, at the outer door, 
 
 Nor have pushed in boldly here. 
 Begg. Do not so much harshness show. 
 Rich M. You are troublesome ; away. 
 Begg. "Will he not one alms afford, 
 
 Who so much has prodigally 
 
 On his pleasures lavished ? 
 Rich M. No. 
 
 World. Dives here and Lazarus 
 
 Of the parable behold. 
 Begg. Since my want and extreme need 
 
 No respect nor reason own, 
 
 I will sue the king himself ; 
 
 Sire, on me an alms bestow. 
 Sing. A. lord-almoner for this 
 
 I have named. What can I more ? 
 World. With his ministers the king 
 
 Lulls his conscience to repose. 
 o
 
 1 94 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 Begg. Husbandman, since thou receivest, 
 Through, the blessing of the Lord, 
 For each grain to earth committed 
 Such an increase manifold, 
 My necessity from thee 
 Craves an alms. 
 
 Hush. 'Tis at the cost 
 
 Of good sowing, ploughing, sweating, 
 If I such receive of God. 
 Tell me, are you not ashamed, 
 A huge fellow, tall and strong, 
 This way begging ? Work, I say, 
 Live not idle like a rogue ; 
 If indeed to eat you have not, 
 Take this mattock then and go, 
 You may earn your bread with it. 
 
 Begg. In the play we act belongs 
 Unto me the poor man's part, 
 But the husbandman's not so. 
 
 Susb. Friend, be thy part what it may, 
 Thee the Author never told 
 To enact the sturdy beggar. 
 Toil and sweat and labour strong 
 These the poor man's proper part are. 
 
 Begg. Be it for the love of God ; 
 You are rigorous, my brother. 
 
 Husb. Shameless you and overbold.
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE WORLD. 1 95 
 
 Segg. Give me thou some consolation. 
 Disc. Pardon that it is not more. 
 
 We pass over a little in which the different 
 parts are further brought out, and resume. The 
 King makes a suggestion. 
 
 Seeing that this life of ours 
 
 Is a play and nothing more, 
 
 And that we are all together 
 
 Travelling the self-same road, 
 
 Let its present smoothness lead us 
 
 Fellowship in talk to hold. 
 Disc. World this were not, if it did not 
 
 So much fellowship afford. 
 Rich M. Let each tell by turns a story. 
 Disc. That were wearisome and long ; 
 
 It were better each in order 
 
 Should his inmost thought unfold. 
 King. I gaze upon my kingdoms far and nigh, 
 
 The pomp, the pride, the glory that I own; 
 
 In whose variety has nature shown 
 
 Her patience and her prodigality. 
 
 Towers I possess built up unto the sky, 
 
 And beauty is a vassal at my feet ; 
 
 Alike before me as my servants meet 
 
 Whatever is elsewhere of low or high, 
 o 2
 
 196 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 A monster of so many necks, so strong, 
 
 So violent that I may wiselier rule, 
 
 Grant me what lore to monarehs should belong, 
 
 Lead and instructme, Heavens, in wisdom's school ; 
 
 For never with one yoke, to all applied, 
 
 May be subdued so many necks of pride. 
 World. He that he may govern rightly 
 
 Wisdom asks, like Solomon. 
 
 A sad Voice from within sings, on the side at 
 which is the door of the coffin. 
 
 Monarch of this fleeting realm, 
 
 Grive thy pomp, thy glory o'er ; 
 
 For on this world's theatre 
 
 Thou shalt play the king no more. 
 King. Speaks a sad voice in mine ear 
 
 That the part I play is o'er, 
 
 Voice which leaves me at the hearing 
 
 Without reason or discourse. 
 
 Then will I, my part concluded, 
 
 Quit the scene. But whither go ? 
 
 For to that first portal, where 
 
 I my cradle did behold, 
 
 Thither ah ! return I cannot. 
 
 Woe is us ! oh rigorous doom ! 
 
 That we cannot tow'rd the cradle 
 
 Make one step, but tow'rd the tomb 
 
 Each must bring us nearer, nearer ; 
 
 That the river, ocean-born,
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE WORLD. 197 
 
 From the sea drawn up, returning 
 
 Thither, may be sea once more ; 
 
 That the rivulet, derived 
 
 From the river, may restore 
 
 What it drew from thence, again 
 
 Being what it was before; 
 
 But that man what once he has been 
 
 Never can be any more. 
 
 If my part has reached its ending, 
 
 Mighty Author, sovereign Lord, 
 
 Its innumerable errors 
 
 Pardon, which at heart I mourn. 
 
 He goes out at the door of the coffin, as do 
 
 all the others in their turn. 
 World. Well the king his part has ended 
 
 With repentance at the close. 
 Beau. From the circle of his vassals, 
 
 Pomp and glory of his court, 
 
 Fails the king. 
 Husb. So spring showers fail not 
 
 At the due time for our corn, 
 
 With good crops and without king 
 
 We shall not have much to mourn. 
 Disc. Yet withal it is great pity ; 
 Beau. And a matter to deplore. 
 
 What shall we do now ?
 
 ipo TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 MicJi M. Return. 
 
 To the talk we held before. 
 Say what in thy thought is passing, 
 
 Sean. This is passing in my thought 
 
 World. But the living for the dead 
 Take not long to be consoled. 
 
 Husb. And above all, when the dead 
 Leave behind them ample store. 
 
 Beau. I gaze upon my beauty bright and pure, 
 
 Nor grudge the king, nor to his pomps in- 
 cline ; 
 
 For a more glorious empery is mine, 
 Even that which beauty doth to me assure ; 
 For if the king the bondage may secure 
 Of bodies, I of souls. I then define 
 With right my kingdom as the most divine, 
 Since souls can beauty to her sway allure. 
 A little world by sages man has been 
 Called ; but dominion if o'er him I claim, 
 Since every world contains an earth and heaven, 
 I may presume, nor thus should overween, 
 Who gave to man of little world the name, 
 Of little heaven to woman would have given. 
 
 World. She remembers not the saying 
 Of Ezekiel, when he showed 
 How through pride was perfect beauty 
 To corruption foul resolved.
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE WORLD. 1 99 
 
 Tlie Voice sings. 
 All the beauty of the world 
 Is a flower of hastiest doom ; 
 Let it fail then ; for the night 
 Of its little day is come. 
 Beau. Let all earthly beauty fail, 
 So has sung a mournful song : 
 Let it fail not, but returning 
 Wear the grace that first it wore. 
 But ah me ! there is, alas ! 
 Neither white nor ruddy rose, 
 Which has to the flattering day 
 And the wooing sun unrolled 
 The rich beauty of its leaflets, 
 But must wither ; there is known 
 Never one to hide itself 
 In its green bud any more.* 
 But what matters that the flower, 
 Short-lived glory of the morn, 
 
 * I must quote these eight lines in the original for their 
 exquisite beauty : 
 
 Mas ay de ml ! que no hay rosa 
 De bianco 6 roxo color, 
 Que & las lisonjas del dia, 
 Que a los alhagos del sol 
 Saque a deshojar sus hojas, 
 Que no caduque, pues no 
 Vuelve ninguna a cubrirse 
 Dentro del verde boton.
 
 200 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 Fade and fail beneath, the kisses 
 
 Of the great and golden orb ? 
 
 What comparison with me 
 
 Can perchance a brief flower hold, 
 
 In whose being life and death, 
 
 Scarcely sundered, dwell next door? 
 
 None, for that fair flower am I, 
 
 Destined to endure so long 
 
 That the sun who saw my rising 
 
 Shall my setting ne'er behold ? 
 
 If eternal, how can I 
 
 Ever fail ? O voice, resolve. 
 The Voice sings. 
 
 Mortal flower in body thou, 
 
 Though eternal in the soul. 
 Sean. There is no reply to render 
 
 Unto this distinction more. 
 
 Forth from yonder cradle came I, 
 
 And toward this tomb I go. 
 
 Much it grieves me that my part 
 
 Has no better been performed. 
 
 [ Goes out. 
 World. She her part has finished well 
 
 With repentance at the close. 
 Rich M. From amid her gala pride, 
 
 Ornaments and glorious shows-, 
 
 Beauty fails. 
 JIusb. So bread and wine
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE WORLD. 2OI 
 
 Fail not, nor our Easter pork, 
 
 Beauty without very much 
 
 Of regret from me may go. 
 Disc. Yet 'tis a sad thought withal ; 
 Begg. And it well might make us mourn. 
 
 What shall we do now ? 
 Rich M. Eeturn 
 
 To the talk we held Before. 
 Husl. When I mark the care immense 
 
 Which I give my business here, 
 
 While nor summer's heat I fear, 
 
 Nor the winter's cold intense, 
 
 And then mark the negligence 
 
 In the soul's work by me shown, 
 
 O'er this lukewarmness I groan, 
 
 This ingratitude bemoan, 
 
 Rendering thanks unto the field, 
 
 Which the crop doth only yield, 
 
 But to God who sent it, none. 
 World. He is near to gratitude, 
 
 Who himself a debtor owns. 
 Begg. To this labourer I incline, 
 
 Though he chided me before. 
 The Voice sings. 
 
 Husbandman, of all thy toil 
 
 Has arrived the fatal close ; 
 
 Thou must till another soil, 
 
 What that is, God only kno\vs.
 
 202 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 Susb. If my part fulfilled I have not 
 
 With the care and pains I owed, 
 
 I am grieved that I am grieved not 
 
 That my sorrow is not more. 
 
 [Goes out. 
 Rich M. From among his ploughs and mattocks, 
 
 Sweat and dust and labour, lo ! 
 . Disappears the husbandman. 
 Begg. And has left us here to mourn. 
 Disc. What shall we do now P 
 Rich M. Return 
 
 To the talk we held before. 
 
 I then, in the rear of others, 
 
 What is in my mind will show. 
 
 Who that lives were not dismayed 
 
 To observe our life a flower, 
 
 Springing with the morning hour, 
 
 Drooping with the evening shade ? 
 
 If it then so soon must fade, 
 
 Let us enjoy merrily 
 
 The brief moments as they fly, 
 
 Let us eat and drink to-day, 
 
 All our appetites obey, 
 
 Since to-morrow we must die. 
 World. That the proposition is, 
 
 Which the Gentiles have put forth ; 
 
 As Isaiah gaith.
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE WORLD. 203 
 
 My turn 
 
 Follows now, my mind to show. 
 
 Would the day might perish quite, 
 
 Day when me my mother bore, 
 
 Perish utterly the night, 
 
 When I was conceived before 
 
 For this woe and undelight. 
 
 Never let the daylight pure 
 
 Bid that darkness to have done ; 
 
 Ever let that night endure, 
 
 Let it look for light, and none 
 
 Find of moon or stars or sun. 
 
 Lord, if I in this way mourn, 
 
 'Tis no utterance of despair 
 
 At my sad estate forlorn, 
 
 But my lamentations are 
 
 That in sin I have been born. 
 World. Semblance of despair his passion 
 
 Wears, but yet it means not so : 
 
 He his birthday cursing, curses 
 
 His birth-sin, as Job before. 
 The Voice sings. 
 
 Its appointed time had joy, 
 
 Sorrow its appointed close ; 
 
 To your reckoning come alike, 
 
 From those blisses, and these woes. 
 Rich M. Woe is me !
 
 204 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 Begg. What joyful tidings ! 
 
 Rich M. And dost thou no shudderings own 
 At that voice which called thee P 
 
 Begg. Yes. 
 
 Rich M. Think'st thou not to flee then ? 
 
 Begg. No. 
 
 That I shudder at this summons 
 Was but natural to the soul 
 Of a man, who being man, 
 Must have awful thoughts of God. 
 But why flee, when flight avails not ? 
 For if power found no resource 
 Fleeing to its haughty fortress, 
 Nor yet beauty to her boasts, 
 Where should poverty escape ? 
 Rather thousand thauks I owe, 
 For if now my life has ending, 
 With my life will end my woes. 
 
 Rich M. But to quit the theatre 
 How is it thou dost not mourn P 
 
 Begg. While I leave no good thing in it ; 
 Of my own free will I go. 
 
 Rich M. Most reluctant I, whose heart 
 Tarries with its worldly store. 
 
 Begg. What delight ! 
 
 Rich M. What misery ! 
 
 Begg. What sweet comfort !
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE WORLD. 205 
 
 Rich M. What sharp woe ! [They go out . 
 
 World. In their deaths how different 
 
 Have the rich and poor man showed. 
 Disc. In effect upon the stage 
 
 I am tarrying now alone. 
 World. That which longest with me tarries 
 
 Is religion evermore. 
 Disc. Though she cannot have an end, 
 
 Yet can I, who her am not 
 
 In her essence, but one rather 
 
 Who this better portion chose. 
 
 And or e'er the summons finds me, 
 
 I the summons go before 
 
 Of the grave, who in my life 
 
 Have entombed myself, and so 
 
 Give an end to this day's play. 
 
 You who may the errors note 
 
 Of to-day, have care to mend them, 
 
 When arrives to-morrow's show. 
 
 The stage is left empty; the brief play of life 
 has ended ; and now the World enters to recover 
 from each the properties with which he furnished 
 them during the period of their acting, but which 
 now are theirs no longer. The scene which follows, 
 and which strikes me as a very fine one, will re- 
 mind the classical scholar of one of Lucian's 
 Dialogues of the Dead, greatly as the Christian
 
 206 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 poet excels the scoffer of Samosata not merely 
 in moral earnestness, which is of course, but also 
 in all his subordinate details as well. The otlava 
 rima in which it is composed, is not of unfre- 
 quent use in the statelier and more solemn parts 
 of Calderon's plays. 
 World. The play was short but what time with 
 
 the play 
 
 Of this life did it otherwise befall, 
 Which in. an entrance and an exit may, 
 Rightly considered, be included all ? 
 Now from the stage are turning all away, 
 Their form, and all which they their own 
 
 did call, 
 
 Being brought back to its materials just : 
 Dust they shall quit me, as they entered dust. 
 From all I will recover now with care 
 The toys I lent them, furnishing each one, 
 While they their parts on life's stageacting were, 
 Theirs only till the comedy was done. 
 Here to this portal will I now repair, 
 And overpass my threshold there shall none, 
 Till he restore the things he had in trust ; 
 Dust they shall quit me, as they entered dust. 
 
 Enter the King. 
 
 Say what the part that was sustained by thec, 
 Being the first who to my hands art brought ?
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE WORLD. 2OJ 
 
 King. But lias the world so soon forgotten me ? 
 World. Of what has been the world remembers 
 
 nought. 
 King. I am that one who held all realms in fee, 
 
 That of the sun a golden light have caught 
 
 From his first waking in the lap of morn, 
 
 Till in the arms of night he sinks forlorn. 
 
 I ruled, I judged, I guided many a land ; 
 
 I found, I won, I left a glorious name ; 
 
 Great cares I entertained, great projects 
 planned ; 
 
 I fought, and victory to my banners came ; 
 
 I lifted whom I would to high command ; 
 
 Hare matter I bequeathed for after fame ; 
 
 And under gorgeous canopies I sate, 
 
 And thrones and crowns were mine and sceptred 
 
 state. 
 World. Well, leave, let go, and put this crown aside ; 
 
 Strip off, renounce, forget that dignity ; 
 
 Let thy poor person unaccompanied 
 
 Make from life's farce its exit nakedly. 
 
 The purple which thou boastest of in pride 
 
 Soon by another shall invested be, 
 
 For from my harsh grasp thou wilt seek in vain 
 
 Crown, sceptre, laurel, purple to detain. 
 King. Didst thou not give me that loved ornament, 
 
 Then what thou gavest wilt thou take away ?
 
 208 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 World. Aye, for it was not given, but merely lent, 
 And for the time thou hadst a part to play. 
 Thy trappings, to another to present, 
 I now require, and all thy rich array. 
 
 King. But how of wealthy seekest thou the name, 
 With nought to give, but what thou first must 
 
 claim ? 
 
 What profit shall I after all have won 
 That to the world I have enacted king ? 
 
 World. According as 'twas well or badly done, 
 
 'Twill praise or blame from the great Author 
 
 bring. 
 
 Me it concerns not, knowledge take I none 
 What pains were thine, thy part accomplishing : 
 My task is only this array to claim, 
 For naked they must go, who naked came. 
 
 Enter Beauty. 
 And what was thy part ? 
 
 Beau. Beauty's perfect bloom. 
 
 World. What lent I thee? 
 
 Beau. A faultless loveliness. 
 
 World. Where is it then ? 
 
 Beau. Behind me in the tomb. 
 
 World. Here nature cannot her sharp grief re- 
 press, 
 
 Seeing how short is beauty's earthly doom, 
 Still growing worse than what it was and less :
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE WORLD. 2Op 
 
 I seeking to reclaim it, seek in vain ; 
 Thou tak'st it not, nor I with it remain. 
 The king has left his majesty with me, 
 Greatness with me will leave its proud attire, 
 Beauty alone recovered cannot be, 
 Since beauty with its owner doth expire. 
 Look in this glass. 
 
 Beau. Myself therein I see. 
 
 World. "Where is the fair face all did once admire ? 
 That which I lent thee do thou now return. 
 
 Beau. It all has mouldered in the funeral urn. 
 There left I all sweet colours and bright hues, 
 Jasmines and corals I abandoned there, 
 There did I all my flowers, my roses lose, 
 And crystals there and ivory shattered were ; 
 And that did all clear pourtraitures confuse, 
 And tarnished all clear lines and features fair ; 
 There was eclipsed the brightness of my light ; 
 There you will meet but darkness, dust, and night. 
 Enter the Husbandman. 
 
 World. You, villain, what did you play ? 
 
 Husb. I was fain 
 
 To play the villain start not at the name ; 
 How should I else, seeing your fashion vain 
 Must for the husbandman this title frame P 
 He am I, whom the courtier with disdain 
 P
 
 210 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 Treats evermore, with words of scorn and shame; 
 
 He am I, though this little grieves me now, 
 
 For whom the world had still its " thee" and 
 
 " thott." 
 
 World. Quit what I gave thee. 
 
 Husb. What was that, I pray ? 
 
 World. A. spade I gave thee. 
 Husb. Oh fine implement ! 
 
 World. Well, good or bad, with that you paid your 
 
 way. 
 Husb. Whose heart were not for very anger rent ? 
 
 Why what a cursed world is this, I say ; 
 
 Of all which avarice is on hoarding bent, 
 
 A mattock, instrument of wholesome toil, 
 
 One cannot rescue from the general spoil. 
 
 Enter the Rich Man and the Beggar. 
 World. Who passes ? 
 Rich M. One who wishes he might ne'er 
 
 Have left thee. 
 Begg. One who panted every day 
 
 To leave thee. 
 World. But whence springs this difference rare ? 
 
 One grieves to quit me, one had grieved to stay. 
 Rich M. Because that I was rich and mighty there. 
 Begg. Because I had the beggar's part to play. 
 World. Let go these toys.
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OP THE WORLD. 211 
 
 Lo ! what good cause was mine, 
 Leaving the world to mourn not, nor repine ! 
 
 Enter the Infant. 
 
 World. To you a part at first the Author gave ; 
 That you appeared not, how did it befall ? 
 Infant. My life you re-demanded in a grave ; 
 
 What you had given me, there returned I all. 
 
 Enter Discretion. 
 World. You, what did you for your adornment crave, 
 
 When you did at the gates of being call ? 
 Disc. I asked for a strict vow, obedience, 
 
 A scourge, a cord, and rigid abstinence. 
 World. Well, leave them in my hands, that none 
 
 may say 
 
 They have delivered anything from me. 
 Disc. I will not ; prayers and good works do not stay 
 In this world, cannot here detained be; 
 And with me I must carry them away, 
 That something may survive thyself in thee. 
 Thou, if thy mind is, to resume them strive. 
 World. Thee of thy good deeds I cannot deprive : 
 These only from the world have rescued been. 
 King. Who would not now no realms have called his 
 
 own! 
 
 Sean. Who would not now have ne'er been 
 beauty's queen! 
 
 P 2
 
 212 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 Rich M. Who would not fain have no such riches 
 known ! 
 
 Begg. Who would not willingly more griefs have 
 seen! 
 
 Susb. Who would not more of toil have under- 
 gone ! 
 
 World. It is too late for after death in vain 
 You seek to blot out sins, or merits gain. 
 But now that I have marred the beauteous brow, 
 And the lent trappings mine again have made, 
 That I have caused all haughtiness to bow, 
 That I have equalled sceptre and rude spade, 
 Unto the stage of truth I send you now ; 
 On this one only fictions have been played. 
 
 King. But why dost thou so rudely us dismiss, 
 
 Who greeted'st us so fair ? 
 World. The cause is this. 
 
 What time a man doth anything expect, 
 Waiting the gift his hands he places so ; 
 Which thing when he would scornfully reject, 
 With hands in this wise he will from him throw, 
 Even thus the cradle for a man is decked 
 With mouth above ; reverse its mouth, and lo ! 
 You have his tomb : even thus I gave you room 
 As cradle then, but now dismiss as tomb. 
 
 Let me take the opportunity which these last
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE WORLD. 213 
 
 words suggest of adding something here, which 
 will not be altogether out of its place. There is 
 no surer mark of genius than the recognition of 
 the mystery which so often lies in the common 
 and the familiar. Only genius pierces or lifts the 
 veil which custom and use have for most men so 
 effectually thrown over these, that the most 
 wonderful and most pregnant with meaning has 
 come to have no meaning at all, if only its 
 lesson has been constantly repeated ; according 
 to that proverb, " What is ever seen is never 
 seen." Only genius detects in the humblest 
 very often a significant symbolism of the 
 highest, and finds the ever new in that which is 
 the oldest of all. Calderon will endure excel- 
 lently well to be tried by this test of genius. 
 The mystery of the common, the symbolic cha- 
 racter of many of Our most ordinary actions and 
 customs, is precious to him ; and he constantly 
 seeks to interpret it to others, and not to suffer 
 it to pass by them unobserved. The ever recur- 
 ring mystery of sleep and waking as the daily 
 rehearsal of death and resurrection;* the dews 
 
 Thus in Behhazzar's Feast : 
 
 Descanso del suefto hace 
 
 El hombre, ay Dios ! sin que advierta, 
 
 Que quando duerme, y despieru. r
 
 214 TRANSLATIONS FROM CALDERON. 
 
 and sunshine of earth, corresponding to the 
 tears and laughter of those that are its dwellers,* 
 or, as here, the likeness of the tomb to a cradle 
 reversed which has cast out its inmate,t all 
 
 Cada dia muere, y nace. 
 Que vivo cadaver yace 
 Cada dia, pues rendida 
 La vida a una breve homicida, 
 Que es su deseanso no advierte 
 Una leccion, que la muerte 
 Le va estudiando a la vida. 
 * Al tiempo que ya la salva 
 Del sol estos monies dora 
 Sale riendo la aurora, 
 Y sale llorando el alba ; 
 Risa y lagrimas envia 
 El dia al amanecer, 
 Para darnos a entender 
 Que amenece cada dia 
 Entre lirios y azucenas, 
 Entre rosas y jazmines, 
 Para dos contraries fines 
 De contentos y de penas. 
 f This re-appears in The Steadfast Prince ; 
 Bien s6 al fin, que soy mortal, 
 Y que no hay hora segura 
 Y por eso dio una forma 
 Con una materia en una 
 Semejanza la razon 
 Al ataud y a la cuna. 
 Accion nuestra es natural, 
 Cuando recibir procura 
 Algo un hombre, alzar las manos 
 En esta manera juntas:
 
 THE GKEAT THEATRE OF THE WORLD. 215 
 
 these have their meaning and lesson for Mm; 
 and to this meaning and lesson he recurs 
 again and again. But to return to our own 
 matter, which is now rapidly drawing to its end ; 
 but yet does not close without some further 
 characteristic touches. 
 
 Begg. Since the world in this rude fashion 
 
 From its bosom thrusts us naked, 
 
 Let us seek that splendid feast, 
 
 Which has been prepared, the banquet 
 
 "Which shall recompense our toils. 
 King. Wilt thou too affront my greatness, 
 
 Daring thus to pass before me? 
 
 Has it from thy memory faded, 
 
 Mas cuando quiere arrojarlo, 
 De aquella misma action usa, 
 Pues las vuelve boca abajo, 
 Porque asi las desocupa. 
 El mundo, cuando nacemos, 
 En senal de que nos busca, 
 En la cuna nos recibe, 
 Y en ella nos asegura 
 Boca arriba ; pero cuando, 
 O con desden, 6 con furia, 
 Quiere arrojarnos de si, 
 Vuelve las manos que junta, 
 Y aquel instrumento mismo 
 Forma esta materia muda ; 
 Pues fue cuna boca arriba 
 Lo que boca abajo es tumba.
 
 2l6 TRANSLATIONS FBOM CALDEKON. 
 
 Wretched mendicant, already 
 
 That them wast my slave so lately P 
 Begg. Now that thy part is concluded, 
 
 We are equal, slave and master, 
 
 In this vestry of the tomb. 
 
 What thou liast been, little matters. 
 King. How forgettest thou that alms 
 
 Yesterday of me thou craves.t ? 
 Begg. How forgettest thou that such 
 
 Thou refused'st ? 
 Beau. So soon failest 
 
 Thou in the respect thou owest 
 
 Unto me as richer, fairer ? 
 Disc. All of us are equal now, 
 
 Having laid aside our garments ; 
 
 For in this poor winding sheet 
 
 No distinction more remaineth. 
 Hick M. Do you go before me, villain ? 
 Husb. Leave this foolish dream of greatness ; 
 
 For, once dead, thou art the shadow 
 
 Of the sun which thou wast lately. 
 Hick M. Some strange fear in me the prospect 
 
 Of the Author's presence wakens. 
 Begg. Author of the earth and heaven, 
 
 All thy company, the players, 
 
 Who that briefest comedy
 
 THE GREAT THEATRE OP THE WOKLD. 217 
 
 Played of human life so lately, 
 Are arrived, of that thy promise 
 Mindful, of that noble banquet. 
 Let the curtains be drawn back, 
 And thy glorious seat unveiled. 
 
 "With music the celestial globe opens once 
 more; but the little which remains may without 
 difficulty be guessed ; at all events it is too 
 serious and solemn to be followed into its details, 
 at least with our feelings and associations 
 seriously and solemnly although this, as all the 
 rest, is both intended and carried out by the 
 great Christian Poet, my brief specimens of 
 whom have now come to their conclusion.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 A PERSIAN proverb says, " You may bring 
 a nosegay to the town; but you cannot 
 bring the garden." This is true, and " Beauties 
 of Shakespeare," or " Beauties" of any one else 
 who is indeed beautiful, abundantly attest the 
 truth of the adage. For these "beauties" are 
 in the first place but gatliered flowers, instead of 
 growing flowers; and then besides, they form 
 generally the most insignificant portion of the 
 wealth, whereof they are presented as specimens 
 and- representatives. Still, if they are only 
 offered and accepted at what they are worth, 
 there is no reason why they should not be 
 made; nor should I object to "Beauties of 
 Calderon," if any one were to bring them 
 together. At the same time, the few extracts 
 from him which form the present appendix, are 
 not presented in this sense, or under this aspect ; 
 but rather to give the reader, who may know of 
 him only through this little volume, some 
 further examples besides the few which the
 
 220 APPENDIX. 
 
 notes have offered, of his metres, his diction, his 
 skill in wielding and calling out the powers of 
 his native tongue. I have of course sought out 
 and selected passages of beauty, as being those 
 by which he would be most justly represented. 
 
 I. It has been mentioned already that asso- 
 nants constitute the staple of his verse. Here is 
 a rich and poetical description in this metre of a 
 great armament at sea, as it appeared to one 
 who beheld it slowly advancing from a distance. 
 It occurs in The, Steadfast Prince. 
 
 Yo lo se, porque en el mar 
 Una manana, a la hora 
 Que medio dormido el sol, 
 Atropellando las sombras 
 Del ocaso, desmarana 
 Sobre jasmines y rosas 
 Rubios cabellos, que enjuga 
 Con panos de oro a la aurora 
 Lagrimas de fuego y nieve, 
 Que el sol convirtio en aljofar, 
 Que a largo trecho del agua 
 Venia una gruesa tropa 
 De naves ; si bien entonces 
 ISTo pudo la vista absorta 
 Determinate a deoir 
 Si erannaos, 6 si eran rocas ; 
 Porque como en los matices 
 Sutiles pinceles lograri 
 Unos visos, unos lejos,
 
 APPENDIX. 221 
 
 Que en perspective dudosa 
 Parecen montes tal vez, 
 Y tal ciudades famosas, 
 Porque la distancia siempre 
 Monstruos imposibles forma, 
 Asi en paises azules 
 Hicieron luces y sombras, 
 Confundiendo mar y cielo 
 Con las nubes y las ondas, 
 Mil enganos a la vista ; 
 Pues ella entonces curiosa, 
 Solo percibio los bultos, 
 Y no distinguio las formas. 
 Primero nos parecio, 
 Viendorpe sus puntos tocan 
 Con el cielo, que eran nubes, 
 De las que a la mar se arrojan 
 A concebir en zafir 
 Lluvias, que en cristal abortan ; 
 Y fue bien pensado, pties 
 Esta innumerable copia 
 Parecio que pretendia 
 Sorberse el mar gota a gota 
 Luego de marines monstruos 
 Nos parecio errante copia, 
 Que a acompauar a Neptuno 
 Salian de sus alcobas ; 
 Pues sacudiendo las velas, 
 Que son del viento lisonja, 
 Pensamos que sacudian
 
 222 APPENDIX. 
 
 Las alas sobre las olas. 
 
 Ya parecia mas cerca 
 
 Una inmensa Babilonia, 
 
 De quien los p6nsiles fueron 
 
 Flamulas, que el viento azotan. 
 
 Aqui ya desenganada 
 
 La vista, mejor se informa 
 
 De que era armada, pues vio 
 
 A los sulcos de las proas, 
 
 Cuando batidas espumas 
 
 Ya se encrespan, ya se entorckan, 
 
 Bizarse montes de plata, 
 
 De cristal cuajarse rocas. 
 
 In TJie Great Zenobia, the captive queen 
 answers Aurelian, her boastful conqueror, in the 
 following language. 
 
 Aureliano, las venganzas 
 De la fortuna son estas, 
 Que ni son grandezas tuyas, 
 !Ni culpas mias. Pues llegas 
 A conocer sus mudanzas, 
 Valor finge, animo muestra ; 
 Que mafiana es otro dia, 
 Y a una breve facil vuelta 
 Si truecan las monarquias, 
 Y los imperios se truecan. 
 Vence y calla ; pues yo sufro 
 Y espero ; para que veas,
 
 APPENDIX. 223 
 
 Que, pues yo no desconfio, 
 
 Sera razon que tti temas. 
 
 No la ambicion te levante 
 
 Tanto, que midiendo esferas 
 
 De tu misma vanidad, 
 
 La altura te desvanezca. 
 
 Sale el alba coronada 
 
 De rayos, y el sol despliega 
 
 Al mundo cendales de oro, 
 
 Que enjuguen llanto de perlas ; 
 
 Sube hasta el zenit ; mas luego 
 
 Declina, y la nocke negra 
 
 Por las exequias del sol 
 
 Doseles de luto cuelga. 
 
 Impelida de los vientos 
 
 Con alas de lino vuela 
 
 Alta nave, presumiendo 
 
 Todo el mar pequena esfera ; 
 
 Y en un punto, en un instante 
 
 Brama el viento, el mar se altera, 
 
 Que parece que sus ondas 
 
 Van a apagar las estrellas. 
 
 El dia teme la noche, 
 
 La serenidad espera 
 
 La borrasea, el gusto vive 
 
 A espaldas de la tristeza. 
 
 II. Little fables, or other narratives, com- 
 positions perfectly rounded and complete in 
 themselves, occur not unfrequently in Calderon's
 
 224 APPENDIX. 
 
 plays. Here is a beautiful example, drawn from 
 his comedy, The Poor Man is all Plots. 
 
 Estaba un almendro ufano 
 
 De ver, que su pompa era 
 
 Alba de la primavera, 
 
 Y manana del verano ; 
 
 Y viendo su sombra vana, 
 
 Que el viento en penaclios mueve 
 
 Hojas de piirpura y nieve, 
 
 Aves de carmin y grana, 
 
 Tanto se desvanecio, 
 
 Que, Narciso de las flores, 
 
 Empezo a decirse amores ; 
 
 Cuando un lirio humilde vio, 
 
 A quien vauo dijo asi : 
 
 Flor, que magestad no quieres, 
 
 <j No te desmayas y mueres 
 
 De invidia de verme a mi ? 
 
 Soplo en esto el austro fiero, 
 
 Y desvanecio cruel 
 
 Toda la pompa, que a el 
 
 Le desvanecio primero. 
 
 Vio, que caduco y helado 
 
 Diluvios de hojas derrama, 
 
 Seco tronco, inutil rama, 
 
 Yerto cadaver del prado. 
 
 Volvid al lirio, que guardaba 
 
 Aquel verdor que tenia, 
 
 Y contra la tirania 
 
 Del tiempo se conservaba,
 
 APPENDIX. 225 
 
 Y dijole : venturoso 
 Tu, que en uno estado estas 
 Permaneciente, jamas 
 Envidiado, ni envidioso. 
 Tu vivir solo es vivir, 
 No llegues a florecer, 
 Porque tener que perder, 
 Solo es tener que sentir. 
 
 Again, of what exquisite lyric beauty, of what 
 perfect finish and completeness in itself, is the 
 following address to the Cross, in the play called 
 The Devotion of the Cross, which has been 
 referred to already. 
 
 Arbol, donde el cielo quiso 
 Dar el fruto verdadero 
 Contra el bocado primero, 
 Flor del nuevo paraiso, 
 Arco de luz, cuyo aviso 
 En pielago raas profundo 
 La paz publico del mundo, 
 Planta hermosa, frtil vid, 
 Harpa del nuevo David, 
 Tabla del Moises segundo : 
 Pecador soy, tus favores 
 Pido por justicia yo, 
 Pues Dios en ti padecio 
 Solo por los pecadores, 
 A mi me debes tus loores, 
 Q
 
 226 APPENDIX. 
 
 Que por mi solo muriera 
 
 Dios, si mas mundo no hubiera.* 
 
 III. A considerable number of sonnets are 
 scattered up and down through Calderon's 
 plays. Some of these are among the best which 
 the literature of Spain possesses. This, it is 
 true, is not in itself very high commendation; 
 for Spanish poetry, while it possesses an almost 
 innumerable multitude of sonnets, yet can boast 
 of very few which are of first-rate excellence, 
 which will at all bear comparison with the 
 great Italian or English poems in this kind. 
 Calderon's sonnets are sometimes found in pairs, 
 set one over against the other, and correspond- 
 
 * They may be rendered thus : 
 
 Tree, which heaven has willed to dower 
 
 With that true fruit whence we live, 
 
 As that other, death did give ; 
 
 Of new Eden loveliest flower ; 
 
 Bow of light, that in worst hour 
 
 Of the worst flood signal true 
 
 O'er the world, of mercy threw ; 
 
 Fair plant, yielding sweetest wine ; 
 
 Of our David harp divine ; 
 
 Of our Moses tables new ; 
 
 Sinner am I, therefore I 
 
 Claim upon thy mercies make, 
 
 Since alone for sinners' sake 
 
 God on thee endured to die ; 
 
 And for me would God have died 
 
 Had there been no world beside.
 
 APPENDIX. 227 
 
 ing to, or mutually completing each other, as 
 these two, beautiful in themselves, hut deriving 
 added heauty from the circumstances of those 
 that speak them. 
 
 Estas, que fueron pompa y alegria, 
 Despertando al albor de la manana, 
 A la tarde seran lastima vana, 
 Durmiendo en hrazos de la noche fria. 
 Este matiz, que al eielo desafia, 
 Iris listado de oro, nieve y grana, 
 Sera esearmiento de la vida humana, 
 Tanto se emprende en termino de un dia. 
 
 A florecer las rosas madrugaron, 
 Y para envejeeerse florecieron, 
 Cuna y sepulcro en un boton hallaron. 
 Tales los hombres sus fortunas vieron, 
 En un dia nacieron y espiraron, 
 Que pasados los siglos, horas fueron. 
 
 This, which laments the brevity of the life of the 
 flowers, finds its counterpart in the twin sonnet, 
 which mourns over that of the stars as briefer 
 still. 
 
 Esos rasgos de luz, esas centellas, 
 Que cobran con amagos superiores 
 Alimentos del sol en resplandores, 
 Aquello viven, que se duelen dellas, 
 Flores nocturnas son, aunque tan bellas, 
 Efimeras padecen sus ardores ;
 
 228 APPENDIX. 
 
 Pues si un dia es el siglo de las Sores, 
 Una noclie es la edad de las estrellas. 
 De esa pues primarera fugitiva 
 Ya nuestro mal, ya nuestro bien se infiere, 
 Registro es nuestro, 6 muera el sol, 6 viva. 
 <i Qu6 duracion habra que el hombre espere P 
 i O qu6 mudanza habra, que no reciba 
 De astro, que cada noche nace y muere ? 
 
 And the following is good : 
 
 Apenas el invierno helado y cano 
 Este monte de nieves encanece, 
 Cuando la primavera le floreee, 
 T el que helado se vio, se mira ufano. 
 Pasa la primavera, y el verano 
 Los rigores del sol sufre y padece. 
 Llega el fertil otono, y enriquece 
 El monte de verdor, de fruta el llano. 
 Todo vive sujeto a la mudanza ; 
 De un dia y otro dia los enganos 
 Cumplen un afio, y este al otro alcanza. 
 Con esperanza sufre desenganos 
 Un monte, que, faltarle la esperanza, 
 Ya se rindiera al peso de los anos. 
 
 IY. Nothing can be more exquisite than the 
 little fragments of song, tiny drops of melody, 
 which yet sometimes reflect a whole world of 
 thought and feeling, which are scattered through 
 his plays. Here are a few ; what depth as well 
 as beauty is in the second !
 
 APPENDIX. 229 
 
 I. 
 
 Las flores del romero, 
 Nina Isabel, 
 Hoy son flores azules, 
 Y manana seran miel. 
 
 2. 
 
 Es el engailo traidor, 
 Y el desengano leal ; 
 El uno dolor sin mal, 
 Y el otro mal sin dolor. 
 
 3- 
 
 Aprended, flores, de mi 
 Lo que va de ayer a hoy ; 
 Que ayer maravilla fui, 
 Y hoy sombra mia aun no soy. 
 
 4- 
 
 Ruisenor, que volando vas, 
 Cantando finezas, cantando favores, 
 O quanta pena y envidia me das ; 
 Pero no ; que si hoy cantas amores, 
 Tu tendras zelos, y tu Uoraras. 
 
 5- 
 
 No es menester que digais 
 Cuyas sois, mis alegrias ; 
 Que bien se ve, que sois mias, 
 En lo poco que durais. 
 
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