Allan Ramsay Part 8

'I'd hate my rising fortune, should it move The fair foundation of our faithfu' love.

If at my feet were crowns and sceptres laid To bribe my soul frae thee, delightful maid, For thee I'd soon leave these inferior things To sic as have the patience to be kings.'

As a pastoral poet, Ramsay excels in painting all those homely virtues that befit the station to which most of his characters belonged. A fault, and a serious one, it was among the writers of conventional pastoral, to make their shepherds and shepherdesses talk like philosophers, and reason upon all the mysteries of life, death, and futurity. What reader of Sir Philip Sidney's _Arcadia_, but must have smiled over the shepherds in that delicious romance discussing love, and treating of its metaphysical causes and effects, as profoundly as any

----'clerke of Oxenforde also Who unto logik hadde long y-go.'

The extravagances of conventional pastoral had been keenly satirised by Gay, who made his Lobbin Clouts and Cloddipoles, his Blowzalinds and Bowzabees and b.u.mkinets, in the _Shepherd's Week_, 'talk the language that is spoken neither by country maiden nor courtly dame; nay, not only such as in the present time is not uttered, but never was in times past, and, if I judge aright, will never be uttered in times future.' But by Ramsay the silliness of the prevailing mode, both of British and French pastoral, was more aptly satirised, by presenting, as a contrast, a picture of rural life absolutely truthful in all its details, and thus slaying falsehood by the sword of truth.

Of _The Gentle Shepherd_, the plot is simplicity itself. It describes the love of a young Pentland shepherd named Patie for a country maiden named Peggy. The pastoral drama, the time of whose action is all embraced within four-and-twenty hours, thus preserving one, at least, of the Greek dramatic unities as defined by the French critics, opens at early morning with the two young shepherds, Patie and Roger, feeding their flocks on the hills, and discussing the progress of their love-suits. The scene is charmingly realistic and natural. Patie is happy in his love for Peggy who reciprocates it; Roger, in despair over his ill-success with 'dorty Jenny.' His friend, however, raises his spirits by telling him how he once served Peggy when she had a fit of tantrums, by feigning indifference to her, a course which soon brought the fair one to reason. He exhorts Roger to adopt the same line, conveying his counsel in the following terms, that contain excellent advice to young lovers, and might have given a hint to Burns for his song, 'Duncan Gray'--

'Dear Roger, when your jo puts on her gloom, Do ye sae too, and never fash your thumb; Seem to forsake her, soon she'll change her mood; Gae woo anither, and she'll gang clean wood.'

Roger agrees to take the advice, and the scene concludes with a delightful picture of a shepherd's meal--

'But first we'll tak a turn up to the height, And see gif all our flocks be feeding right; By that time, bannocks and a shave of cheese Will make a breakfast that a laird might please,-- Might please the daintiest gabs, were they sae wise To season meat with health instead of spice.

When we have ta'en the grace-drink at this well, I'll whistle syne'--

The second scene opens with an exquisite description of

'A flowrie howm between twa verdant braes, Where la.s.ses use to wash and spread their claes; A trottin' burnie wimpling through the ground, Its channel, pebbles, s.h.i.+ning, smooth and round.

Here view twa barefoot beauties, clean and clear.'

These are Peggy and Jenny. The latter proposes to begin their work on the 'howm' or green in question, but Peggy entreats her to

Gae farer up the burn to Habbie's How, Where a' that's sweet in spring and simmer grow; Between twa birks out o'er a little linn The water fa's, and makes a singin' din; A pool breast-deep, beneath as clear as gla.s.s, Kisses wi' easy whirles the bordering gra.s.s.

We'll end our was.h.i.+ng while the morning's cool, And when the day grows het we'll to the pool, There wash oursels; 'tis healthfu' now in May, And sweetly cauler on sae warm a day.'

The girls then enter on a discussion regarding Jenny's cruel indifference to Roger. The maiden, who by the way is a bit of a prude, affects to despise love and marriage, but in the end, overcome by Peggy's beautiful description of conjugal happiness, is obliged to confess her love for Roger. What more delightful picture of maternal yearning over the young have we in all English literature, than Peggy's splendid defence of motherhood?--

'Yes, it's a heartsome thing to be a wife, When round the ingle-edge young sprouts are rife.

Gif I'm sae happy, I shall have delight To hear their little plaints, and keep them right.

Wow, Jenny! can there greater pleasure be, Than see sic wee tots toolying at your knee; When a' they ettle at,--their greatest wish, Is to be made of and obtain a kiss?

Can there be toil in tenting day and night The like of them, when love makes care delight?'

The first scene of the Second Act opens with a picture of a peasant farmer's 'onstead'; to wit, his dwelling and outhouses--

'A snug thack-house; before the door a green; Hens on the midden, ducks in dubs are seen; On this side stands a barn, on that a byre: A peat stack joins, and forms a rural square.'

Here the neighbours, Glaud and Symon, meet. The latter has been into Edinburgh to sell his 'crummock and her ba.s.sened quey,' and over their pipes he informs his friend that their landlord, Sir William Worthy, who, as a Royalist, had been compelled to go into exile during the Commonwealth, would now, owing to the Restoration, be able to return home again, when all would be well. Symon has heard the news from the laird's servant, 'Habbie,' after whom the 'How' or _house_ is named.

Glaud is so overjoyed at the news that he seeks to persuade Symon to remain and dine with him, offering, for it was before the age of good roads and carts,

'To yoke my sled, and send to the neist town And bring a draught o' ale baith stout and brown.'

But Symon wishes to exercise hospitality himself, and insists upon Glaud, his sister Madge, his daughter Jenny, and his niece Peggy, all dining with him, in honour of the day. This they are to do. We have here presented a graphic picture of rural fare on fete-days--

'For here yestreen I brewed a bow of maut, Yestreen I slew twa wethers prime and fat.

A furlet of good cakes, my Elspa beuk, And a large ham hangs reesting in the neuk.

I saw mysel', or I cam o'er the loan, Our muckle pot that scads the whey, put on, A mutton-bouk to boil, and ane we'll roast; And on the haggies Elspa spares nae cost.

Small are they shorn, and she can mix fu' nice The gusty ingans wi' a curn of spice; Fat are the puddings,--heads and feet weel sung.'

The second scene introduces a new element into the drama. Another shepherd, Bauldy (Archibald) by name, has also been smitten with Peggy's charms--and it affords an excellent idea of the simplicity of these rural districts in Scotland, when he repairs to a poor old woman named Mause, whom the district reputes to be a witch, to entreat her aid in turning Peggy's heart towards himself. Bauldy's picture of Peggy, in his soliloquy, is beautiful in its very simplicity--

'O Peggy! sweeter than the dawning day, Sweeter than gowany glens or new-mawn hay; Blyther than lambs that frisk out o'er the knowes, Straighter than aught that in the forest grows.

Her een the clearest blob of dew out-s.h.i.+nes, The lily in her breast its beauty tines; Her legs, her arms, her cheeks, her mouth, her een, Will be my deid'--

The existence of superst.i.tion among the Scottish peasantry, a state of things lasting until well on into last century, is also well brought out in Bauldy's soliloquy, when he refers to Mausy, 'a witch that for sma'

price, can cast her cantrips, and gie me advice.' Mause, meaning to read the faithless lover of Neps a lesson, consents to help him. The fourth scene of the Second Act is undoubtedly one of the finest in the drama--the meeting of the lovers, Patie and Peggy. The two great const.i.tuents of a successful piece, strength and pathos, are both present in rich measure. To test her lover's fidelity, the maiden, with coy coquetry, affects to think that he might alter his mind and deceive her if she trusted him too implicitly. To this Patie replies that she deeply wrongs him in doubting his fidelity, and that he would be dull and blind

'Gif I could fancy aught's sae sweet and fair As my sweet Meg, or worthy of my care.

Thy breath is sweeter than the sweetest brier, Thy cheek and breast the finest flowers appear, Thy words excel the maist delightfu' notes That warble through the merle or mavis' throats; With thee I tent nae flowers that busk the field, Or ripest berries that our mountains yield; The sweetest fruits that hing upon the tree Are far inferior to a kiss frae thee.'

With all a loving woman's sweet perversity, however, Peggy still affects to doubt, only to be indulged in the delicious bliss of hearing her lover's vows anew--

'Sooner a mother shall her fondness drap, And wrang the bairn sits smiling in her lap; The sun shall change, the moon to change shall cease; The gaits to climb, the sheep to yield the fleece; Ere aught by me be either said or done Shall do thee wrang;--I swear by all aboon.'

In no scene does Ramsay exhibit his wonderful knowledge of the human heart to such advantage as in the one before us. Peggy and Patie then sing a duet, taking alternate verses, into which are introduced many of the old Scots songs,--'The Broom o' Cowdenknowes,' 'Milking the Ewes,'

'Jenny Nettles,' 'Thro' the Wood, Laddie,' 'The Boatman,' 'Maggie Lauder,' 'The La.s.s o' Patie's Mill,' and the curtain falls over one of the most delightful scenes ill.u.s.trative of pure affection, in modern drama.

The Third Act sees the return of Sir William Worthy, who, in the disguise of a wizard, introduces himself into the company, merry-making at Symon's. Here he tells Patie's fortune, and the surprising discovery is ere long made that the youth is Sir William's only son, placed under Symon's care when the knight had to go into exile on the execution of Charles I. The description of the little festivity at Symon's is well wrought out. The third scene contains the love-making of Jenny and Roger, where the faithful swain's happiness is rendered complete. With great gusto Ramsay paints this episode, as well as with consummate fidelity to nature,--a fact becoming increasingly apparent when one notes the marked difference between the love-scene wherein Patie and Peggy take part, and that wherein Jenny declares her love for Roger. The latter scene is more decidedly tinged with rusticity than the former. In the fourth scene Sir William reveals himself to Symon, and inquires eagerly about the progress made by his son during his years of absence.

Symon praises the youth's devotion to letters, and then hints at his love for Peggy, which Sir William declares must be forgotten.

The first scene of the Fourth Act relieves, by the introduction of humorous episodes, the sentimentality whereinto the drama at this stage shows signs of lapsing. Mause, Madge, and Bauldy have an interview, at which the two last named come to blows; and when Bauldy has taken himself off, the two women perfect their plans for playing on the foolish fellow's superst.i.tious fears. The remainder of the Fourth Act deals with Patie's sorrow and Peggy's anguish when Sir William's decision is made known. Of course, they vow everlasting fidelity to each other. The scene between the lovers is a very powerful one, wherein Ramsay evinced his sway over the subtler emotions. Yet here, as elsewhere, his simplicity const.i.tutes his strength. He never attempts to depict any complex interaction of human pa.s.sions. Like aeschylus, he contents himself with the representation of one elemental emotion at a time, and he thoroughly exhausts the one '_moment_' before he pa.s.ses on to another. Few pa.s.sages are there in literature more genuinely pathetic, yet keeping more rigidly within the modesty of nature, than that wherein poor Peggy, after dwelling on the golden past, tries to picture the dull grey round of duty in the future when Patie shall have been taken from her--

'Speak on, speak ever thus, and still my grief; But short, I dare to hope the fond relief.

New thoughts a gentler face will soon inspire, That with nice airs swims round in silk attire; Then I, poor me! with sighs may ban my fate, When the young laird's nae mair my heartsome Pate.

Nae mair again to hear sweet tales expresst By the blyth shepherd that excelled the rest,-- Nae mair be envied by the tattling gang When Patie kissed me when I danced or sang; Nae mair, alake! we'll on the meadows play, And rin half-breathless round the rucks of hay, As aft-times I have fled from thee right fain, And fa'n on purpose, that I might be tane.'--

But Patie reiterates his vows to her, and Peggy, comforted, declares she will set herself to learn 'gentler charms, through ilka school where I may manners learn.' Patie applauds her resolution, but declares that

----'without a' the little helps of art Thy native sweets might gain a prince's heart, Yet now, lest in our station we offend, We must learn modes to innocence unken'd.'

The scene closes with Peggy's vows of fidelity. In this scene Ramsay touched the high-water mark of his genius, and for the elements of simplicity, strength, and propriety of the sentiments expressed by each character with the root-idea of that character, it is rivalled by very few scenes of its kind in the literature of our land.

The first scene of the last Act opens with Bauldy's fright. He had gone to fulfil his engagement to meet Mause, the pretended witch, who was to turn Peggy's heart to him. But as he had insulted Madge, Peggy's aunt, in the fore part of the day, the latter, to punish him by taking advantage of his dread of ghosts, meets him at the dead hour of the night when he is repairing to Mause's cottage. She is draped in a white sheet, and utters ghastly groans. Bauldy, having sunk terror-stricken to the ground, is soundly cuffed and trounced by the two women. As soon, therefore, as daylight breaks, he seeks an interview with Sir William to entreat redress. The latter, who had been pa.s.sing the night in Symon's house, enters fully into the spirit of the joke, and orders Mause to be brought before him.

The second scene exhibits Glaud's 'onstead' again, and the family preparing to go down to Symon's to take their leave of Patie. Peggy is very sad,--so much so that her sharp-tongued aunt cannot refrain from jeering at it--

'Poor Meg!--Look, Jenny, was the like e'er seen?

How bleared and red wi' greetin' look her een!

This day her brankan wooer taks his horse To strut a gentle spark at Edinburgh Cross.

But Meg, poor Meg! maun wi' the shepherds stay, And tak what G.o.d will send in hodden gray.'

To this ill-timed speech Peggy makes a pathetic reply, that must have caused a pang of remorse to her aunt. But when Glaud ventures to warn her against being too free with Patie, seeing he could not marry her now, she replies with gentle reproach--

'Sir William's virtuous, and of gentle blood; And may not Patrick too, like him, be good?'

Glaud's answer exhibits the simple faith of the rural inhabitants of the district in a striking light--

'That's true and mony gentry mae than he, As they are wiser, better are than we; But thinner sawn: they're sae pufft up wi' pride, There's mony o' them mocks ilk haly guide That shows the gate to heav'n. I've heard mysel Some of them laugh at doomsday, sin, and h.e.l.l.'