Pastoral Poetry & Pastoral Drama Part 21

Weak love is held by shame, but love grows bold As strong, what is it then can it with-hold: She as though in her ey's she did contain Fountains of tears, did with such plenty rain Them on his cheeks, and they such vertue had, That it reviv'd again the breathlesse lad;...

Aminta thought 'twas more then heav'nly charms, That thus enclasp'd him in his Silvia's armes; He that loves servant is, perhaps may guesse Their blisse; but none there is can it expresse[234]. (V. i.)

As was to be expected, the attention of translators was early directed to the _Pastor fido_. The original was printed in England, together with the _Aminta_, the year after its first appearance in Italy, that is in 1591, and bore the imprint of John Wolfe, 'a spese di Giacopo Castelvetri'; the first translation saw the light in 1602. This version was published anonymously, and in spite of the confident a.s.sertions and ingenious conjectures of certain bibliographers, anonymous it must for the present remain; all that can with certainty be affirmed is that it claims to be the work of a kinsman of Sir Edward Dymocke[235]. Most modern writers who have had occasion to mention it have shown a praiseworthy deference to the authority of one of the most venerable figures of English criticism by each in turn repeating that the translation, 'in spite of Daniel's commendatory sonnet, is a very bad one.' And indeed, when we have stated the very simple facts concerning the authors.h.i.+p as distinct from the very elaborate conjectures, there remains little to add to Dyce's words. With the exception of the omission of the prologue the version keeps pretty faithfully to its original, but it does no more than emphasize the tedious artificiality of the Italian, while whatever charm and perhaps over-elaborated grace of language Guarini infused into his verse has entirely evaporated in the process of translation. No less a poet and critic than Daniel, regarding the work doubtless with the undiscriminating eye of friends.h.i.+p, a.s.serted that it might even to Guarini himself have vindicated the poetic laurels of England, and yet from the whole long poem it is hardly possible to extract any pa.s.sage which would do credit to the pen of an average schoolboy. We turn in vain to the contest of kisses among the Megarean maidens, to the game of blind man's buff, to Amarillis'

secret confession of love, and to her trembling appeal when confronted by a death of shame, for any evidence of poetie feeling. The girl's speech in the last-mentioned scene, 'Se la miseria mia fosse mia colpa,' is thus rendered:

If that my fault did cause my wretchednesse, Or that my thoughts were wicked, as thou thinkst My deed, lesse grievous would my death be then: For it were just my blood should wash the spots Of my defiled soule, heavens rage appease, And humane justice justly satisfie, Then could I quiet my afflicted sprights, And with a just remorse of well-deserved death, My senses mortifie, and come to death: And with a quiet blow pa.s.s forth perhaps Unto a life of more tranquilitie: But too too much, Nicander, too much griev'd I am, in so young years, Fortune so hie, An Innocent, I should be doom'd to die. (IV. v.)

The next translation we meet with never got into print. It is preserved in a ma.n.u.script at the British Museum[236], and bears the heading: 'Il Pastor Fido, or The Faithfull Sheapheard. An Excellent Pastorall Written In Italian by Battista Guarinj And translated into English By Jonathan Sidnam Esq, Anno 1630.' The prologue is again omitted, and the translation is distinguished from its contemporaries by an endeavour to reproduce to some extent the freer metrical structure of the Italian. This was not a particularly happy experiment, since it ignored the fact that the character of a metre may differ considerably in different languages. The Italian _endecasillabi sciolti_ are far less flexible than our own blank verse, and it is only when freely interspersed with the shorter _settinari_ that they can attempt to rival the range of effect possible to the English metre in the hands of a skilful artist. Thus the imitation of the irregular measures of Guarini was a confession of the translator's inability adequately to handle the dramatic verse of his own tongue. As a specimen we may take the rendering of Amarillis' speech already quoted from the 'Dymocke' version:

If my mischance had come by mine own fault, Nicander, or had beene as thou beleevst The foule effect of base and wicked thoughts, Or, as it now appeares, a deed of Sinn, It had beene then lesse greevous to endure Death as a punishment for such a fault, And just it had beene with my blood to wash My impure Soule, to mitigate the wrath And angar of the G.o.dds, and satisfie The right of humane justice, Then could I quiett my afflicted Soule And with an inward feeling of my just Deserved death, subdue my outward Sence, And fawne uppon my end, and happelie With a more settled countenance pa.s.se from hence Into a better world: But now, Nicander, ah! tis too much greefe In soe yong yeares, in such a happie state, To die so suddenlie, and which is more, Die innocent. (IV. v.)

It was not until the civil war was at its height, namely in 1647, that English literature was enriched with a translation in any way worthy of Guarini's masterpiece. It is easy to strain the interpretation of such facts, but there is certainly a strong temptation to see in the occasion and circ.u.mstances of the composition of the piece an ill.u.s.tration of a critical law already noticed, namely the constant tendency of literature to negative as well as to reproduce the life of actuality, and furthermore of the special liability of pastoral to take birth from a desire to escape from the imminence and pressure of surrounding circ.u.mstance. Like Reynolds' _Aminta_, Richard Fanshawe's _Pastor fido_ is better appreciated as a whole than in quotation, though, thanks partly to its own greater maturity of poetic attainment, partly to the less ethereal perfection of the original, it suffers far less than the earlier work by comparison with the Italian. For the same reasons it is by far the most satisfactory of any of the early translations of the Italian pastoral drama. One noticeable feature is the constant reminiscence of Shakespeare, whole lines from his works being sometimes introduced with no small skill. For instance, where Guarini, describing how love wins entrance to a maiden's heart, writes:

E se vergogna il cela, O temenza l' affrena, La misera tacendo Per soverchio desio tutta si strugge; (I. iv.)

Fanshawe renders the last two lines by:

Poor soul! Concealment like a worm i' th' bud, Lies in her Damask cheek sucking the bloud.

A few ill.u.s.trative pa.s.sages will suffice to give an idea of Fanshawe's style. He stands alone in having succeeded in recrystallizing in his own tongue some at least of the charm of the kissing match, and is even fairly successful in the following dangerous conceit:

With one voice Of peerlesse Amarillis they made choice.

She sweetly bending her fair eyes.

Her cheeks in modest blushes dyes, To shew through her transparent skin That she is no lesse fair within Then shee's without; or else her countenance Envying the honour done her mouth perchance, Puts on her scarlet robes as who Should say: 'And am not I fair too?' (II. i.)

So again he alone among the translators has infused any semblance of pa.s.sion into Amarillis' confession of love:

Mirtillo, O Mirtillo! couldst thou see That heart which thou condemn'st of cruelty, Soul of my soul, thou unto it wouldst show That pity which thou begg'st from it I know.

O ill starr'd Lovers! what avails it me To have thy love? T' have mine, what boots it thee?

(III. iv.)

In a lighter vein the following variation on the theme of fading beauty by Corisca also does justice to its original:

Let us use it whilst wee may; s.n.a.t.c.h those joyes that haste away.

Earth her winter-coat may cast, And renew her beauty past; But, our winter come, in vain We sollicite spring again: And when our furrows snow shall cover, Love may return, but never Lover. (III. v.)

When it is borne in mind that not only is the rendering graceful in itself, but that as a rule it represents its original if not literally at any rate adequately, it will be realized that Fanshawe's qualifications as a translator are not small. His version, which is considerably the best in the language, is happily easily accessible owing to its early popularity.

It first appeared in 1647 in the form of a handsomely printed quarto with portrait and frontispiece engraved after the Ciotti edition of 1602, the remaining copies being re-issued with additional matter the following year; it went through two editions between the restoration and the end of the century, and was again reprinted together with the original, and with alterations in 1736[237]. In the meantime, however, the translation had been adapted to the stage by Elkanah Settle. In a dedication to Lady Elizabeth Delaval, the adapter ingenuously disclaims all knowledge of Italian, and when he speaks of 'the Translated _Pastor Fido_' every reader would no doubt be expected to know that he was referring to Fanshawe's work. He left his readers, however, to discover for themselves that, while he considerably altered, and of course condensed, the original, for whatever poetic merit his scenes possess he is entirely indebted to his predecessor. The adaptation was licensed by L'Estrange in 1676, and printed the following year, while reprints dated 1689 and 1694 seem to indicate that it achieved some success at the Duke's Theatre. It was presumably of this version that Pepys notices a performance on February 25, 1668.[238]

Besides these English translations there is also extant one in Latin, a ma.n.u.script of which is preserved in the University Library at Cambridge.[239] The name of the translater does not appear, but the heading runs: 'Il pastor fido, di signor Guarini ... recitata in Collegio Regali Cantabrigiae.' The t.i.tle is so scrawled over that it would be impossible to say for certain whether the note of performance referred to the present play, were it not for an allusion casually dropped by the anonymous recorder of a royal visit to Oxford, which not only substantiates the inference to be drawn from the ma.n.u.script, but also supplies us with a downward limit of August, 1605.[240] In this translation a dialogue between the characters 'Prologus' and 'Argumentum'

takes the place of Guarini's long topical prologue, and a short conventional 'Epilogus' is added at the end.

It was not till 1655 that _the Filli di Sciro_ of Bonarelli, which has usually been thought to hold the third place among Italian pastorals, appeared in English dress. The translation published in that year is ascribed on the t.i.tle-page to 'J. S. Gent.,' an ascription which has given rise to a good deal of conjecture. And yet a very little investigation might have settled the matter. Prefixed to the translation are some commendatory verses signed 'I. H.', in a marginal note to which we read: 'This Comedy was Translated long ago by M. _I. S._ and layd by, as also was _Pastor Fido_, which was since Translated and set forth by Mr. Rich.

Fanshaw.' Another note,[241] to some verses to the reader, tells us that both translations were made 'neer twenty years agone,' and, as we should expect, the _Pastor fido_ first; and further, that the latter remained in ma.n.u.script owing to the appearance of Fanshawe's version, which is spoken of in terms of warm admiration. Now the only ma.n.u.script translation of Guarini's play extant in English is that of Jonathan Sidnam, whose name gives us the very initials which appear upon the t.i.tle-page of the printed play.[242] Since the preliminary verses may have been written any time between 1647 and 1655, the vague allusion to the date of composition will quite well fit 1630, the year given in the ma.n.u.script. When, furthermore, we find J. S.'s work characterized by precisely the same use of short lines as we noted above in the case of Sidnam's, the identification becomes a practical certainty. The version, though, as the author was himself aware, it will not stand comparison with Fanshawe's work, is not without merit, and is perhaps as good as the rather tedious original deserves. As a specimen we may take a pa.s.sage in which the author deliberately followed Ta.s.so, Celia's narration of her adventure with the centaur:

There, to a st.u.r.dy Oak, he bound me fast And re-enforct his base inhumane bonds With the then danglinst Tresses of my hair; Ingrateful hair, ill-nurtur'd wicked Locks!

The cruel wretch then took up from the foot Both my loose tender garments, and at once Rent them from end to end: Imagine then Whether my crimson red, through shame was chang'd Into a pale wan tincture, yea or no.

I that was looking toward Heaven then, And with my cries imploring ayd from thence, Upon a suddain to the Earth let fall My shamefac'd eyes, and shut them close, as if Under mine eye-lids, I could cover all My naked Members. (I. iii.)

Of the various unfounded conjectures as to the author of this version, among which s.h.i.+rley's name has of course not failed to appear, certainly the most ingenious is that which has seen in it the work of Sir Edward Sherburne. The suggestion appears to have been originally made by c.o.xeter, on what grounds I do not know. 'There is no doubt of the authors.h.i.+p of this play,' writes Professer Gollancz in his notes to Lamb's _Specimens_, '"J. S." is certainly an error for "E. S." I have found in a MS. in the British Museum Sir E. Sherburne's preface to this play.' Professer Gollancz deserves credit for having unearthed the interesting doc.u.ment referred to,[243] but an examination of it at once destroys his theory. It is a preface 'To the Reader' intended for a translation of the _Filli_, and another copy also is extant,[244] both being found among the papers of Sir Edward Sherburne, though in neither does his name actually occur. In the course of the preface the writer quotes 'the Censure of my sometime highly valued, and most Ingenious friend S'r. John Denham, to whom (some years before the happy Restauration of King Charles the 2^{d} being then at Paris) I communicated Some Part of this my Translation. Who was not only pleasd to encourage my undertaking, but gave me likewise this Character of the Original. "I will not say It is a Better Poem then Pastor Fido, but to speak my Mind freely, I think it a Better Drama."' From this it is clear that the preface was penned after 1660, and we may furthermore infer that the version was as yet unfinished when the writer was in Paris, apparently at some time during the Commonwealth. It is therefore impossible that the preface should be intended for a translation which was printed in 1655, and which was then distinctly stated to have been composed not later than 1635. Furthermore, I question whether either the preface or the version mentioned therein were by Sherburne at all. There is a translation extant in a British Museum ma.n.u.script[245] purporting to be the work of Sir George Talbot, who is said to have been a friend of Sir Edward's, into whose hands some of his papers may have come. The translation is headed: 'Fillis of Scirus, a Pastorall Written in Italian, by Count Guidubaldo de' Bonarelli, and Translated into English by S'r. G: Talbot,' and there follows 'The Epistle Dedicatory To his sacred Ma'ty.

Charles 2'd. &c. prophetically written at Paris, an: 57.' The opening is not wanting in grace:

The dawning light breaks forth; I heare, aloofe, The whistling ayre, the Saints bell of the Heav'n, Wherewith each morne it call's the drowsy Birds To offer up theyre Hymnes to th' new-borne day.

But who ere saw, from night's dark bosome, spring A morne soe fayre and beautifull? Observe With what imperceptible hand, it steales The starres from Heav'n, and deck's the earth with flow'rs: Haile, lovely fields, your flow'rs in this array Fournish a kind of star-light to the day.

Or take again Celia's encounter with the centaur. And in this connexion it is worth while mentioning that, when revising his translation and introducing a number of verbal changes, in most cases distinctly for the better, Sir George appears to have been struck by the absurdity of this machinery, and throughout replaced the centaur by a 'wild man.' After telling how she was seized and carried to 'the middle of a desart wood,'

Celia proceeds:

There, to a st.u.r.dy oake, he bound me fast, Doubling my bonds with knots of mine own hayre; Ungratefull hayre, thou ill returnst my care.

The Tyrant then my mantle took in hand And with one rash tore it from head to foote.

Consider whether shame my trembling pale Did now convert into Vermillion: up I cast my eyes to Heav'n, and with lowd cryes Implor'd it's ayd; then lookt downe tow'rd the earth, And phancy'd my dejected eyebrows hung Like a chast mantle ore my naked limbs. (I. iii.)

A comparison of this and the preceding renderings with the original will show that while Talbot's is by far the more fiowing and imaginative, Sidnam's is on the whole rather more literal, except where he appears to have misunderstood the original. No other English translation, I believe, exists.

Lastly, as in the case of the _Pastor fido_, record has to be made of a Latin version acted at Cambridge. It was the work of a Dr. Brooke of Trinity[246], and purports to have been performed, no doubt at that College, before Prince Charles and the Count Palatine, on March 30, 1612[247]. The t.i.tle is 'Scyros, Fabula Pastoralis,' which has. .h.i.therto prevented its being identified as a translation of Bonarelli's play, and it is preserved in ma.n.u.scripts at the University Library[248], Trinity and Emmanuel. At the beginning is a note to the effect that in the place of the prologue--Marino's _Notte_--was to be presented a triumph over the death of the centaur. The cast is given, and includes three undergraduates, five bachelors, and five masters.

III

After translation the next process in logical sequence is direct imitation. Although it is true that the influence of Ta.s.so and Guarini may be traced either directly or indirectly in the great majority of the English pastorals composed during the first half of the seventeenth century, there are nevertheless two plays only in which that influence can be regarded as completely paramount, and to which the term 'imitation' can be with full justification applied. These are the two pastorals by Samuel Daniel, historian and court-laureate, namely the _Queen's Arcadia_, 'A Pastorall Trage-comedie presented to her Majestie and her Ladies, by the Universitie of Oxford in Christs Church, in August last. 1605[249],' and _Hymen's Triumph_, which formed part of the Queen's 'magnificent intertainement of the Kings most excellent Majestie' on the occasion of the marriage in 1614 of Robert Ker, Earl of Roxburgh, and Mistress Jean Drummond, sister of the Earl of Perth[250].

The earlier of these pieces displays alike the greater dependence on Italian models and the less intrinsic merit, whether from a poetic or dramatic point of view. It is, indeed, in its apparent carelessness of the most elementary necessities of dramatic construction, distinctly retrograde as compared with these models themselves. In the first scene we are introduced to two old Arcadians who hold long discourse concerning the degeneracy of the age. The simple manners of earlier times are forsaken, constant quarrels occur, faith is no longer untarnished nor modesty secure. In the hope of probing to the root of the evil the two determine to hide close at hand and so overhear the conversations of the younger swains and shepherdesses. The fact is that Arcadia has recently been invaded by a gang of rascally adventurers from Corinth and elsewhere: Techne, 'a subtle wench,' who under pretence of introducing the latest fas.h.i.+ons of the towns corrupts the nymphs; Colax, whose courtier-airs find an easy prey in the hearts of the country-wenches; Alcon, a quacksalver, who introduces tobacco to ruin the const.i.tutions of the shepherds; Lincus, 'a petty-fogger,' who breeds litigation among the simple folk; and lastly Pistophanax, who seeks to undermine the wors.h.i.+p of Pan. Colax has, it appears, already abused the love of Daphne, and won that of Dorinda from her swain Mirtillus; Techne has sown jealousy between the lovers Palaemon and Silvia; while Lincus has set Monta.n.u.s and Acrysius by the ears over the possession of a bit of land. Ail the plotting is overheard by the two concealed shepherds, who when the crisis is reached come forward, call together the Arcadians, expose the machinations of the evil-doers, and procure their banishment from the country. Such an automatic solution is obviously incompatible with the smallest dramatic interest in the plot; it is not a _denoument_ at all, properly speaking, but a severing of the skein after Alexander's manner, and it is impossible to feel any emotion at the tragic complications when all the while the sword lies ready for the operation.

The main amorous action centres round Cloris, beloved of Amyntas and Carinus, the latter of whom is in his turn loved by Amarillis. Carinus'

hopes are founded on the fact that, in imitation of Ta.s.so's Aminta, he has rescued Cloris from the hands of a satyr, while Amyntas bases his upon certain signs of favour shown him. Colax, however, also falls in love with the nymph, and induces Techne to give her tryst in a cave, where he may then have an opportunity of finding her alone. Techne, hereupon, in the hope of winning Amyntas' affection for herself if she can make him think Cloris unworthy, directs him to the spot where she has promised to meet the unsuspecting maiden. This is obviously borrowed from the _Pastor fido_; indeed, Techne is none other than Corisca under a new name, and it was no doubt she who suggested to Daniel the introduction of the other agents of civilization. Amyntas, on seeing Cloris emerge from the cave in company with Colax, at once concludes her guilt, and in spite of all Techne's efforts to restrain him rushes off with the intention of putting an end to his life. Techne, perceiving the ill-success of her plot, tells Cloris of Amyntas' resolve. We here return to the imitation of Ta.s.so: Cloris, like that poet's Silvia, begins by pretending incredulity and indifference, but being at length convinced agrees to accompany Techne in search of the desperate swain. Daniel has produced what is little better than a parody of the scene in his model. Not content with placing in the girl's mouth the preposterous excuse:

If it be done my help will come too late, And I may stay, and save that labour here, (IV. iv.[251])

he has spun out the dialogue, already over-long in the original, to an altogether inordinate and ludicrous extent. When the pair at last come upon the unhappy lover they find him lying insensible, a horn of poison by him. The necessary sequel is reported by Mirtillus:

For we perceiv'd how Love and Modestie With sev'rall Ensignes, strove within her cheekes Which should be Lord that day, and charged hard Upon each other, with their fresh supplies Of different colours, that still came, and went, And much disturb'd her, but at length dissolv'd Into affection, downe she casts her selfe Upon his senselesse body, where she saw The mercy she had brought was come too late: And to him calls: 'O deare Amyntas, speake, Look on me, sweete Amyntas, it is I That calles thee, I it is, that holds thee here, Within those armes thou haste esteem'd so deare.' (V. ii.)

Amyntas' subsequent recovery is reported in the same strain. The reader will remember the lines in which Ta.s.so described a similar scene. And yet, in spite of the ident.i.ty of the situations and even of the close similarity of the language, the tone and atmosphere of the two pa.s.sages are essentially different; for if Daniel's treatment of the scene, which is typical of a good deal of his work, has the power to call a tear to the eye of sensibility, his sentiment, divested as it is of the Italian's subtle sensuousness, appears perfectly innocuous and at times not a little ridiculous.

Cloris and Amyntas are now safe enough, and Carinus has the despised but faithful Amarillis to console him. The other pairs of lovers need not detain us further than to note that their adventures are equally borrowed from Ta.s.so and Guarini. Silvia relates how, wounded by her 'cruelty,'

Palaemon sought to imitate Aminta by throwing himself from a cliff, but was prevented by her timely relenting. Amarillis fondles Carinus's dog, and is roughly upbraided by its master in the same manner as her prototype Dorinda in the _Pastor fido_.

Amid much that is commonplace in the verse occur not a few graceful pa.s.sages, while Daniel is at times rather happy in the introduction of certain sententious utterances in keeping with the conventionality of the pastoral form. Thus a caustic swain remarks of a girl's gift:

Poore withred favours, they might teach thee know, That shee esteemes thee, and thy love as light As those dead flowers, shee wore but for a show, The day before, and cast away at night;

and to a lover:

When such as you, poore, credulous, devout, And humble soules, make all things miracles Your faith conceives, and vainely doe convert All shadowes to the figure of your hopes. (I. ii.)