European literature -- Renaissance, 1450-1600 -- History and criticism; Renaissance; Spanish literature -- History and criticism
Yet with his limitations Calderon was a considerable poet, and a very
skilful master of the machinery of the Spanish comedy. When not misled
into Góngorism he wrote magnificently, and there are lyric choral
passages in the _autos_ which Mr Ticknor rightly praised as worthy of
Ben Jonson’s masques. Indeed not a little of his work is identical
in purpose with the masque, though different in form. As a Court poet
he was called upon to write for the entertainment of the king and the
courtiers, and to supply theatrical shows at royal marriages, births
of princes, and so forth. There was no intrinsic novelty here, for
Calderon did but give the high-bred Spaniard of the Court a finer
poetic version of the dances, songs, and bright short pieces under
various, names, which delighted the humbler Spaniard in the _patios_.
The intensely national sentiment which he expresses may strike us at
times as a little empty, but is high and shining, and lends itself to a
certain stately treatment which he could give. The romantic sentiment
was strong in Calderon, and even in the most purely Spanish trappings
that is not remote from us. A poet who dealt not inadequately with
great passions could hardly help sometimes piercing through the merely
national to the universal, though it must be acknowledged that his
characters rarely utter the individual human saying, and that he was
far too fond of long casuistical amplifications, which are almost
always frigidly pedantic, and not rarely bombastical. The most quoted
passage in all his work, the lines which close the second act of _La
Vida es Sueño_, gain by being taken apart from their context:
“Que es la vida? Un frenesi:
Que es la vida? Una ilusion,
Una sombra, una ficcion
Y el mayor bien es pequeño
Que toda la vida es sueño
Y los sueños sueño son.”
“We are such stuff
As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.”
It is a fine poetic reflection, well fitted to stand beside the yet
more beautiful lines of the _Tempest_, but it is not wise to approach
the play in the hope that all of it will be found at the same level.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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