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 pass 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 manuscript 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 settinarî 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 Godds, 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 passe 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 circumstances of the composition of the piece an illustration 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 circumstance. 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 desío 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 illustrative passages 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 passion into Amarillis' confession of love: