From these considerations, one cannot but wonder at the observation, which is sometimes made even by Scotsmen of good taste, that the language of The Gentle Shepherd disgusts from its vulgarity. It is true, that in the present day, the Scotish dialect is heard only in the mouths of the lowest of the populace, in whom it is generally associated with vulgarity of sentiment; but those critics should recollect, that it was the language of the Scotish people, which was to be imitated, and that too of the people upwards of a century ago, if we carry our mind back to the epoch of the scene.
If Ramsay had made the shepherds of the Lowlands of Scotland, in the middle of the seventeenth century, speak correct English, how preposterous would have been such a composition! But, with perfect propriety, he gave them the language which belonged to them; and if the sentiments of the speakers be not reproachable with unnecessary vulgarity, we cannot with justice associate vulgarism with a dialect, which in itself is proper, and in its application is characteristic. After all, what is the language of Ramsay, but the common speech of Yorkshire during the last century?[40]
But, as associated ideas arise only where the connection is either in itself necessary, or the relation is so intimate, the two ideas are seldom found disunited; so of late years, that disunion has taken place in a twofold manner; for the language, even of the common people of Scotland, is gradually refining, and coming nearer to the English standard; and it has fortunately happened, that the Scotish dialect has lately been employed in compositions of transcendant merit, which have not only exhibited the finest strokes of the pathetic, but have attained even to a high pitch of the sublime. For the truth of this observation, we may appeal to The Cotter's Saturday Night, and The Vision of Burns. In these, the language, so far from conveying the idea of vulgarity, appears most eminently suited to the sentiment, which seems to derive, from its simplicity, additional tenderness, and superior elevation.
The Scots, and the English, languages are, indeed, nothing more than different dialects of the same radical tongue, namely, the Anglo-Saxon; and, setting prejudice apart, (which every preference, arising from such associations, as we have mentioned, must be,) it would not perhaps be difficult, on a fair investigation of the actual merits of both the dialects, to assert the superior advantages of the Scotish to the English, for many species of original composition. But a discussion of this kind would lead too far; and it is but incidentally connected with the proper subject of these remarks.[41] It is enough to say, that the merits of those very compositions, on which we are now to offer some remarks, are of themselves a sufficient demonstration of the powers of that language in which, chiefly, they are composed, for many, if not for all the purposes of poetry.
(Remarks on Ramsay's miscellaneous poems are here omitted.)
In the year 1725, Ramsay published his pastoral comedy of The Gentle Shepherd, the noblest and most permanent monument of his fame. A few years before, he had published, in a single sheet, A Pastoral Dialogue between Patie and Roger, which was reprinted in the first collection of his poems, in 1721. This composition being much admired, his literary friends urged him to extend his plan to a regular drama: and to this fortunate suggestion the literary world is indebted for one of the most perfect pastoral poems that has ever appeared.[42]
The pastoral drama is an invention of the moderns. The first who attempted this species of poetry was Agostino de Beccari, in his Sacrificio Favola Pastorale, printed in 1553. Tasso is supposed to have taken the hint from him; and is allowed, in his Aminta, published in 1573, to have far surpassed his master. Guarini followed, whose Pastor Fido contends for the palm with the Aminta, and, in the general opinion of the Italians, is judged to have obtained it. Tasso himself is said to have confessed the superior merit of his rival's work; but to have added, in his own defence, that had Guarini never seen his Aminta, he never would have surpassed it. Yet, I think, there is little doubt, that this preference is ill-founded. Both these compositions have resplendent beauties, with glaring defects and improprieties. I am, however, much mistaken, if the latter are not more abundant in the Pastor Fido, as the former are predominant in the Aminta. Both will ever be admired, for beauty of poetical expression, for rich imagery, and for detached sentiments of equal delicacy and tenderness: but the fable, both of the Aminta, and Pastor Fido, errs against all probability; and the general language and sentiments of the characters are utterly remote from nature. The fable of the Aminta is not dramatic; for it is such, that the principal incidents, on which the plot turns, are incapable of representation: the beautiful Silvia, stripped naked, and bound by her hair to a tree by a brutal satyr, and released by her lover Amyntas;—her flight from the wolves;—the precipitation of Amyntas from a high rock, who narrowly escapes being dashed in pieces, by having his fall broken by the stump of a tree;—are all incidents, incapable of being represented to the eye; and must therefore be thrown into narration. The whole of the last act is narrative, and is taken up entirely with the history of Amyntas's fall, and the happy change produced in the heart of the rigorous Silvia, when she found her lover thus miraculously preserved from the cruel death, to which her barbarity had prompted him to expose himself.
Yet, the fable of the Aminta, unnatural and undramatic, as it is, has the merit of simplicity. That of the Pastor Fido, equally unnatural and incredible, has the additional demerit of being complicated as well as absurd. The distress of Amyntas, arising from an adequate and natural cause—rejected love, excites our sympathy; but the distress in the Pastor Fido is altogether chimerical; we have no sympathy with the calamities arising from the indignation of Diana, or the supposed necessity of accomplishing the absurd and whimsical response of an oracle. We cannot be affected by the passions of fictitious beings. The love of a satyr has nothing in it but what is odious and disgusting.
The defects of these celebrated poems have arisen from the erroneous idea entertained by their authors, that the province of this species of poetry was not to imitate nature, but to paint that chimerical state of society, which is termed the golden age. Mr. Addison, who, in the Guardian, has treated the subject of pastoral poetry at considerable length, has drawn his critical rules from that absurd principle; for he lays it down as a maxim, that, to form a right judgment of pastoral poetry, it is necessary to cast back our eyes on the first ages of the world, and inquire into the manners of men, "before they were formed into large societies, cities built, or commerce established: a state," says he, "of ease, innocence, and contentment; where plenty begot pleasure, and pleasure begot singing, and singing begot poetry, and poetry begot singing again:" a description this, which is so fantastical, as would almost persuade us, that the writer meant to ridicule his own doctrine, if the general strain of his criticism did not convince us it was seriously delivered. Is it necessary to prove, that this notion of pastoral poetry, however founded, in the practice of celebrated writers, has no foundation in fact, no basis in reason, nor conformity to good sense? To a just taste, and unadulterated feelings, the natural beauties of the country, the simple manners, rustic occupations, and rural enjoyments of its inhabitants, brought into view by the medium of a well-contrived dramatic fable, must afford a much higher degree of pleasure, than any chimerical fiction, in which Arcadian nymphs and swains hold intercourse with Pan and his attendant fauns and satyrs. If the position be disputed, let the Gentle Shepherd be fairly compared with the Aminta, and, Pastor Fido.
The story of the Gentle Shepherd is fitted to excite the warmest interest, because the situations, into which the characters are thrown, are strongly affecting, whilst they are strictly consonant to nature and probability. The whole of the fable is authorized by the circumstances of the times, in which the action of the piece is laid. The era of Cromwell's usurpation, when many loyal subjects, sharing the misfortunes of their exiled sovereign, were stripped of their estates, and then left to the neglect and desolation of forfeiture; the necessity under which those unhappy sufferers often lay, of leaving their infant progeny under the charge of some humble but attached dependant, till better days should dawn upon their fortunes; the criminal advantages taken by false friends in usurping the rights of the sufferers, and securing themselves against future question by deeds of guilt; these circumstances, too well founded in truth, and nature, are sufficient to account for every particular in this most interesting drama, and give it perfect verisimilitude.