\"Cristóbal Suárez de Figueroa and Isabel Correa: Competing Translators of Battista Guarini’s Il Pastor Fido\"

YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY CRISTÓBAL SUÁREZ DE FIGUEROA AND ISABEL CORREA: COMPETING TRANSLATORS OF BATTISTA GUARINI’S IL PASTOR FIDO ROSILIE HERNÁNDEZ-PECORARO

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IN 1609 Cristóbal Suárez de Figueroa, a soldier and nobleman at the court of Phillip III, published a translation of Battista Guarini’s Il Pastor Fido that, in its poetic economy and classical style, aimed to be a definitive translation of the Italian pastoral drama. Very popular and well received, Figueroa’s translation is highly praised in Part II of the Quixote, “[pues] felizmente pone en duda cuál es la traducción o cuál el original” (2: 519-20). Eighty five years later, in 1694, Isabel Correa, a Jewish exconversa living in Amsterdam, published a second Spanish translation of Guarini’s masterpiece, an effort that she intended would fully surpass the source text as well as Figueroa’s translation. Correa’s text poses a challenge to Guarini’s and Figueroa’s canonical works in several important ways. The dedication and prologue, full of wit and rhetorical inventiveness, openly question the supremacy of Figueroa’s translation. These preliminary texts present Correa’s feminine perspective as an advantage that allows the author to trump all previous efforts. Moreover, Correa’s translation is imbued with Baroque linguistic exuberance and agudeza, which together with numerous reflexiones or meditations added to the text, notably transform the experience of reading El pastor Fido. From Amsterdam and as a Jewish woman writer, Correa asked the Spanish literary community, both in Amsterdam and in Spain, to regard her El pastor Fido as a new jewel in the pastoral genre. It is my intent in this note to give credence to Correa’s claim and briefly compare the politics and mechanics of these two competing translations.1 1

In a separate article titled “Isabel Correa’s Transformative Translation of Guarini’s 97

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In spite of the popularity of Il Pastor Fido throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, modern critical attention to both Figueroa’s and Correa’s translation has been slight. Figueroa’s translation has elicited little interest, taking a back seat to his pastoral novel, La constante Amarilis, and his social and political commentary in El pasajero. Even worse, on the rare previous occasions in which Correa’s work has received critical consideration, her translation has routinely been derided. Correa’s gender, social circumstance, and the lack of deference for Figueroa in her prologue loom as negative factors in the assessment of her work. For instance, J.P. Wickersham Crawford’s study of Figueroa’s translation is revealing in its quick dismissal of Correa. Regarding Figueroa, the critic asserts: The superiority of Figueroa’s version […] has never been questioned. His translation […] preserves the rapid movement, the wealth of colour and poetic imagery, and the keen sense for the beautiful, which characterize the original. Especially in the lyric passages, we feel that the Pastor Fido loses little of its charm in its Castilian dress, and that it is worthy of an honoured place among the best translations in the Spanish language. (28)

He then dutifully adds a footnote informing the reader of Correa’s subsequent translation, with the place and dates of publication, adding: “She even boasted of having improved upon the original in some parts, but her own high opinion of her work has not been shared by posterity” (fn. 2, 28). Given the context of this comment, a footnote in a groundbreaking study of Figueroa’s life and works, perhaps its tone should not surprise. Nevertheless, two aspects of this apparently definitive review of Figueroa and Correa remain troublesome. First, Crawford does not reveal who, beyond himself, belongs to this “posterity” that so authoritatively has proven Correa wrong. Second, in a later section of his study the critic paradoxically retracts the above-cited opinion with the following unenthusiastic review of Figueroa’s poetic facility: “His verse, while correct and carefully polished, is cold and artificial, and rarely do we find the true note of poetry. His love poems lack feeling and passion, and we feel that he merely considered them literary exercises, for lyric inspiration is rarely present” (73). Even though Figueroa’s verse in El El pastor fido” I examine Correa’s prologue and the translation as a “recontextualization of the concepts of pastoral love, desire, and female agency in the bower from a woman’s point of view” (4).

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pastor Fido is assumed to reproduce the excellence of its source, Crawford’s initial claim is nonetheless severely undercut and Figueroa’s supposed superiority over Correa is put into question. Perhaps the most telling comparison between Figueroa and Correa is made by Manuel Serrano y Sanz in his seminal Apuntes para una biblioteca de escritoras españolas in which he asserts that, “Las versiones de Figueroa son más fáciles y elegantes que las de doña Isabel, quien sigue con más fidelidad el texto original” (643). As proof, Sanz goes so far as to publish side by side a full-page of Figueroa’s and Correa’s texts. Lacking any further critical analysis or commentary, Sanz’s demonstration of Figueroa’s superiority is posited as obvious and unquestionable. This is the only occasion in Sanz’s Apuntes where a woman author is explicitly compared to a male counterpart. Regrettably, the opinion is not only detrimental to Correa, but also conditions the reception and evaluation of Figueroa’s and Correa’s work for years to come. Most recently, López Estrada has produced a contradictory examination of Correa’s work. Even though he has published a number of important articles that carefully examine and praise the rhetorical strategies and linguistic flare of Correa’s dedication and prologue, the translation itself is described as second rate. Although López Estrada never explicitly declares Figueroa’s superiority, it is obvious that the critic only considers the literary qualities and social issues that can be ascertained from the preliminary texts as worthy of study. Ironically, López Estrada’s exclusive interest in the prologue discourages serious study of Correa’s translation.2 In what follows, I revisit Figueroa’s and Correa’s translations and reevaluate Correa’s attempt to upstage the poetic skill of both the source poet and his Spanish translator. I first briefly look at Figueroa’s and Correa’s authorial postures and their politics of translation as made manifest in the prologues to their texts. I then compare one scene in the first act

2 López Estrada has published a number of important articles on Correa: “Isabel Correa, escritora sefardí del Amsterdam barroco,” which I cite in this note, as well as “Poética barroca: Edición y estudio de los preliminares de El Pastor Fido de Guarini, traducido por Isabel Correa (1694)” [Hommage à Robert Jammes, I-III. Ed. Francis Cerdan. Toulouse: PU du Mirail, 1994. 739-53]. Most recently he contributed a chapter on Correa to the following book: La creatividad femenina en el mundo barroco hispánico: María de Zayas, Isabel Rebeca Correa, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz [Eds. Monika Bosse, Barbara Potthast, and André Stoll. Kassel. Germany: Edition Reichenberger, 1999].

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of Guarini’s Il Pastor Fido with Figueroa’s and Correa’s translations, and examine in some detail the varied ways in which Correa manipulates and transforms her sources. Written to “relieve the disappointment which he felt with life at Court” (Crawford 27), Figueroa’s translation derives from the author’s nostalgia for his years in Italy and reflects his incipient desire to introduce himself to the literary circles at the Spanish Court: “[Q]ue siempre resonante, siempre entera, mi lyra compitió con la extrangera” (qtd. in Crawford: 27). By dedicating his work to the Duke of Mantua, friend of and patron to Guarini, Figueroa overtly portrays himself as the Spanish Guarini. Despite the fact that Figueroa’s El pastor Fido is his first literary effort, the prologue does not invoke the customary topos of humility. There are none of the obligatory apologies for the author’s lack of experience and skill. Instead Figueroa calls attention to Guarini’s association with the Spanish court. The Italian poet originally wrote Il Pastor Fido in honor of the wedding of Catalina Micaela of Austria, daughter of Phillip II, to the Duke of Savoy. With this important political connection established, Figueroa portrays his own translation as a perfect reflection of the artistry and elegance of the source text. Figueroa presents himself as a Spanish Guarini, one who shares with the original author a patron, ties (in the case of Figueroa merely desired) to the Habsburg court, and poetic ability. Regarding this last element, Figueroa stresses the way in which he is completely faithful to the original: “He deseado lisonjear a nuestra lengua, con hazerle propia tan buenas razones, siguendo las pisadas de su original, no sólo en el género de verso, sino también en el de la Ortografía” (folio A, 3). Following exactly in Guarini’s footsteps, Figueroa employs Italian meter and does not amplify his source in any way. It is in the exactness of his translation that Figueroa stakes the recognition of his work. Moreover, Figueroa assumes Guarini’s voice in an effusive praise of the translation: “[L]o importante es, inclines los oydos a este modo de dezir, ponderando la alteza de estilo, y la felicidad de ingenio que el Guarini descubre en la disposición desta obra” (folio A, 3). As made clear by these rhetorical and translation strategies, Figueroa fully expects that his identification with Guarini will produce a favorable and profitable reception among his readers at the Habsburg court. Like Figueroa’s, Correa’s translation is framed by a dedication to her patron Manuel de Belmonte and a lengthy prologue to the general reader.

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Correa’s aim, as López Estrada notes, resides in her desire for personal recognition and the “[elevación] [d]el tono de la literatura sefardí al nivel europeo” (132). In contrast to Figueroa’s insistence on exactitude, Correa’s goal is achieved through an overt transformation of the source text. This is undertaken, moreover, by a woman writer, a point of contention that Correa does not ignore and that she presents, through wit, logic, and irony, as an added asset to her translating and poetic ability.3 When we compare Figueroa’s and Correa’s El pastor Fido, what immediately becomes evident is the difference in the artistic strategies made by both authors and how their choices reflect their differing politics of translation. To illustrate, I concentrate on one passage in Act I, where Linco, an elderly counselor to the young Silvio, discusses the shepherd’s disdain of a young woman and preference for the hunt. A key episode in the development of the plot, Linco’s speech describes Amarilis metaphorically, comparing her to a morning rose and a swan, and condemns Silvio, the reluctant shepherd, for disdaining such beauty when so many others admire and love her. It is an opportunity for both Figueroa and Correa to demonstrate early on the finesse and skill, as well as the expressive and poetic power, of their translations. Figueroa repeats exactly Guarini’s metaphors and faithfully reproduces the sense of urgency and frustration in Linco’s plea. In fact, the power of Figueroa’s text resides precisely in his ability to transparently replicate his source. When, for example, Guarini describes Amarilis as “e più molle e più candida del cigno” (60), Figueroa mirrors the meter and rhythm of the verse with, “y más blanda y más cándida que Cisne” (folio A, 3). Only towards the end of the passage, when Linco expresses profound displeasure with Silvio’s attitude, does Figueroa’s composition slightly veer away from its source. The difference is most notable in the break that Figueroa forces with a semicolon between Silvio’s potential embrace of Amarilis and his effective flight from her presence. If in Guarini’s text the two movements are part of one action, “aver la puoi / ne le tue braccia, e tu la fuggi, Silvio” (60), in Figueroa’s Silvio’s flight acquires a more substantive quality, a rejection posited in relation to all

3 See Nieves Barranda’s article “Por ser de mano feminil la rima: De la mujer escritora a sus lectores” for an extensive discussion of the different strategies used in dedications and prologues by women writers of the Golden Age (Bulletin Hispanique 100:2 (1998): 449-73).

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that Amarilis represents: “tenerla puedes en tus braços; Silvio / y della huyes tú? Tú la desprecias?” (folio A, 4). While Guarini emphasizes the fleeting violence of a frustrated embrace, Figueroa seems to prefer a more far-reaching depiction of Silvio’s rejection of Amarilis, forcing a series of rhetorical questions that capture the rashness and unwarranted nature of the shepherd’s disdain. In the last two verses of Linco’s accusation, Guarini’s text stresses the duality of Silvio’s monstrous yet cold temperament and thus calls into question his humanity: “E non dirò che ‘l core/ abbi di fèra, anzi di ferro il peto?” (60). In this instance Figueroa again manipulates the punctuation of the verse, this time by separating with another semicolon the “Y no diré” from the accusation “de fieras tienes hecho/ el corazón, antes de hiero el pecho?” (folio A, 4). In Figueroa’s text, the apparent juxtaposition between the image of a monstrous heart and a cold breast is thus fully collapsed, the two qualities joined in an apparent continuum. Because Silvio’s heart is monstrous, cruel, and obsessed with the never-ending hunt, he is cold to Amarilis’s love. As we have here seen, even when Figueroa does take some liberty with Guarini’s composition the intent seems to be to accentuate the emotional charge of a verse as already found in the source. Correa’s translation, in contrast to Figueroa’s economy and careful handling of meaning, is an exercise in lyrical transformation and creative excess. If for Figueroa Amarilis’s beauty can be precisely translated as “más fresca, y alagueña que matutina rosa” (folio A, 3), for Correa the symbol of the morning rose becomes a web of images that broaden its impact: “Cuya venusta cara por risueña, / El aura de su abril sopla alagueña, /Tinéndola agradable, más hermosa; /Que se abre al alba algofarada rosa” (folio B, 21). Likewise, Correa deepens the expression of Linco’s final disillusionment with Silvio, amplifying the scorn expressed by the counselor: O mil vezes, y más indignamente, Venturoso Pastor tiernos abrazos, Qual olmo, y vid, en amorosos lazos, La huyes de manera, Con desprecio mortal con ansia fiera, Que ya en razón del trato, Injustamente ingrato, No diré más que tienes en tal yerro, De fiera el corazón, sino de hyerro. (folio B, 23-4)

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In Correa’s translation, Silvio’s disdain is fatal, and he is “injustamente ingrato,” a counterpart to Amarilis’s “vid,” and “amorosos lazos.” Forcefully expressed in the verses, “No diré más que tienes en tal yerro, /De fiera el corazón, sino de hyerro,” the contrast between “fiera” and “hierro” is pushed to its limit, with Linco regretfully preferring what he used to call Silvio’s monstrous heart to the absolute coldness and apathy of its present iron counterpart. In the end, the sense urgency and disappointment conveyed by Guarini is reflected in Correa’s text, but extended and creatively rearticulated by the author. Similarly, Correa’s inserts a reflexión that, by explicitly expanding upon the original, exacerbates the rhetorical and interpretative tensions involved in the translation process.4 Clearly marked as an addition to the text, this meditation demonstrates Correa’s intent to make Il Pastor Fido her own. Inserted for the sake of more description and profundity, the passage aims to elevate the lyrical potency of the source. Through the use of an extended culterano style hyperbaton describing Amarilis’s hair, Correa confidently displays her poetic affiliations as well as her capacity for innovation: Quisiera nuevo Apeles pincelarte, De aquel todo una parte: De belleza de modo, Que apetecieras por la parte el todo. Aurífero su pelo desperdicia, Lo que avarienta guarda la codicia, Pues pródigo el metal descolorido, Gasta largo y tendido, Si bien por vanidad de su decoro, Pues hasta las Cadenas son de oro, Con que tray por Tropheo aprisionado, En cada rizo, un corazón flechado. (folio B, 21)

The reflexión focuses upon Amarilis’s sensuality and the yearning it provokes, made palpable in Linco’s wish to elicit Silvio’s desire through his extended depiction of Amarilis’s body: “Que apetecieras por la parte el

4 Correa explicitly marks her reflexiones in the text so that the reader fully can appreciate the newness of the material at hand. In other occasions, such as that discussed in the previous paragraph, she simply amplifies the source text by liberally translating its meaning and tone.

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todo” (my emphasis). Painstakingly describing Amarilis’s forehead, eyes, cheeks, nose, mouth, teeth, neck, and hands, the meditation concludes with a tantalizing suggestion. Recato, or modesty, characterized through the oxymoron of a “tácita eloquencia,” does not allow the poet-painter to name those forbidden regions, which nonetheless can be seen and thus relished: Lo demás se omite del retrato, Sólo puede el recato, Expréselo con tácita elocuencia, Su divina presencia, Con logros de beldad en tal conquista, Ofreze desempeños a tu vista, Por que siempre eficaz en el sentido Más persuade la vista, que el oído. (folio B, 23)

The tension between what can be said and what can only be silently contemplated when viewing Amarilis’s “divina presencia” is foregrounded by Linco’s embarrassment when he catches himself enthusiastically describing the beloved’s figure down to her waist: “Su talle tan gracioso, / Es: mas qué digo? El juizio en apretura, / Se me entala en llegando a la cintura” (folio B, 23). The allure of Amarilis’s body is here simultaneously made bare and avoided. Ultimately, both Linco and Silvio can satisfy their desire only with their sight: “Más persuade la vista, que el oído.” Correa’s reflexión thus contains a sexual charge absent in both the source and Figueroa’s translation. Correa’s Amarilis is an object of contemplative beauty and an object of lust, making Silvio’s rejection of her the more inexplicable to Linco. Although limited in this present article to one speech, the above comparison reveals the authorial strategies and textual politics that condition and motivate both translations. While Figueroa showcases his talent by producing a precise and subtly manipulated copy of Guarini’s source text, Correa displays her artistic ability by way of an explicit amplification and transformation of Il Pastor Fido. Moreover, and more importantly, the comparison reveals a complex and remarkable literary text in Correa’s translation. A reevaluation of Correa’s work in its entirety not only presents us with a fascinating historical document but with a highly skilled female Jewish writer whose El pastor Fido deserves our full critical consideration and inclusion in the early modern Spanish pastoral canon. UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS AT CHICAGO

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WORKS CITED

Cervantes, Miguel de. El ingenioso hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha. Ed. Luis Murillo. Madrid: Clásicos Castalia, 1978. Guarini, Battista. Il Pastor Fido. Ed. J.H. Whitfield. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1976. ––––––. El pastor Fido. Trans. Cristóbal Suárez de Figueroa. Valencia, 1609. ––––––. El pastor Fido. Trans. Isabel Correa. Amsterdam, 1694. Hernández-Pecoraro, Rosilie. “Isabel Correa’s Transformative Translation of Guarini’s Il Pastor Fido.” Disciplines on the Line: Feminist Research on Spanish, Latin American, and U.S. Latina Women. Eds. Anne J. Cruz, Rosilie Hernández-Pecoraro, and Joyce Tolliver. Newark, Delaware: Juan de la Cuesta, 2003. 125-44. López Estrada, Francisco. “Isabel Correa, escritora sefardí del Amsterdam barroco.” La Torre VII.26 (1993): 123-146. Serrano y Sanz, Manuel. Biblioteca de autores españoles: Apuntes para una biblioteca de escritoras españolas. Madrid: Colección Rivadeneira, Real Academia Española, 1975. 643-4. Wickersham Crawford, J.P. The life and works of Christóbal Suárez de Figueroa. Philadelphia: Publications of the University of Pennsylvania: Series in Romanic languages and literatures, no. 1, 1907.