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Some of them may, indeed, be concealed under other titles, as, for instance, the piece, which Calderon himself calls, El Tuzani de la Alpujarra, is named in the collection, Amar despues de la Muerte. Others are unquestionably omitted, for instance, a Don Quixote, which I should be particularly desirous of seeing. We may infer from many circumstances that Calderon had a great respect for Cervantes.
FitzGerald. These, as we find from inspection of the works themselves, are as follows: 1. Polonius: A Collection of Wise Saws and Modern Instances, 1852; 3. Six Dramas of Calderon, 1853. These dramas are translations, in prose and verse, of The Painter of his Own Dishonor, Keep your Own Secret, Gil Perez the Gallician, Three Judgments at a Blow, The Mayor of Zalamea, and Beware of Smooth Water.
I am not sufficiently versed in the earlier literature of the Italian opera to be able to speak with accuracy, but I suspect that here also Quinault laboured more after Spanish than Italian models; and more particularly, that he derived from the Fiestas of Calderon the general form of his operas, and their frequently allegorical preludes which are often to be found in them.
While the war continued to rage in 1575, the licentiate Calderon arrived in Chili from Spain, with a commission to examine and regulate the government of that kingdom.
The letters are too technical, though very interesting, to be quoted here, but the eminent names of the writers will be a proof of the importance attached to the subject. I find those of Sir Frederick Leighton, Sir John Gilbert, Watts, Holman Hunt, Samuel Palmer, Calderon, Wyld, Dobson, Davis, Storey, etc., etc., in the notes still in my possession.
But when the old soldier died, rumours went abroad that he had confessed on his death-bed that he was not in any way related to Calderon; that he had submitted to an imposture which secured to his old age so respectable and luxurious an asylum; and that he knew not for what end Calderon had forced upon him the honours of spurious parentship.
At successive intervals, Ariosto, Tasso, Shakespeare, Spenser, Calderon, Rousseau, and the great writers of our own age, have celebrated the dominion of love, planting as it were trophies in the human mind of that sublimest victory over sensuality and force.
"No," said Calderon, coldly; "I am bad enough, but I am still human. Besides, gratitude is my policy. I have always found that it is a good way to get on in the world to serve those who serve us." "But the duke?" "Fear not; I have an oil that will smooth all the billows on that surface. As for the letter, I say, leave it with me; I will show it to the queen. Let me see you again tomorrow."
The effect on the stage is with Calderon the first and last thing; but this consideration, which is generally felt by others as a restraint, is with him a positive end. I know of no dramatist equally skilled in converting effect into poetry, who is at once so sensibly vigorous and so ethereal.
All, however, that was produced in that period is but an echo of previous productions, and nothing new and truly peculiar appeared such as deserves to be named after Calderon. After him a great barrenness is perceptible. Now and then attempts were made to produce regular tragedies, that is to say, after the French model. Even the declamatory drama of Diderot found imitators.
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