TWM finds that his father-in-law is as churlish as ever, but Carmarthen
Jack comes to grief in consequence. The Squire turns reformer. His
children arrive at the hall. A tender Devonian. Twm satirizes the cook.
Thrashes the young squire, and then “disappears.” Calls upon Cadwgan and
Rhys. An adventure on the hills.
Twm reached his mother’s at Tregaron about one o’clock in the morning,
and alarmed her greatly by the account he gave of his flight from the
squire’s, and the cause which led to it. Jack consoled poor Catty by
assuring her that her son would go to the devil, and that ruin would come
upon them through his tricks, to a certainty. Number one again, as the
reader will see, with very little affection for his wife’s offspring. It
is a selfish world, and Jack did as Rome did, none the less eagerly
because it always suited his own convenience. He concluded by saying
that they ought to turn poor Twm adrift, and leave him to himself in
order to conciliate the squire. While Jack beneath the bed-clothes, was
grunting these suggestions of worldly wisdom, Catty half-dressed, was
sitting dejectedly in the chimney corner.
Having caught the drift of his father-in-law’s mutterings, he rose
abruptly, snatched up his hat, and while striding to the door, cried,
“Good night, mother.” Alarmed at his precipitate movement, and the tone
in which he spoke,—“Where are you going, Twm?” said Catty. Turning
around, while he held the door in his left hand, he replied, “Anywhere
mother—the world is wide—and I’ll go headlong to the devil, rather than
stay here, where I am not welcome.” With that he closed the door, and
was in a moment out of sight, notwithstanding the cries and entreaties of
his mother, who ran after, and earnestly sought to bring him back.
Catty, with a bitter conscience, now found that her son had a
step-father, and she a husband, who was a rude and churlish tyrant. To
give him his due, Jack was far from being regardless of her sorrow, but
showed the tenderness of a husband in comforting her, in a manner most
natural to himself. “What signifies crying for such an imp of a devil as
that?” said this kind step-father: “if he starves in the field by being
out to-night, it will save him from dying at the gallows, where he would
be sure to come some day or other.”
This tender-hearted speech had the unexpected effect of immediately
curing Catty’s grief, which turned to a desperate fit of rage, and
without a word to signify the transition wrought by his oratory, she
snatched up a stout broom-stick from the floor, and be-laboured him with
all her strength, as he lay beneath the bed-clothes, till he roared like
a baited bull. When the strength of her arm failed, the energy of her
tongue commenced; and after rating him soundly, she concluded her
harangue with eloquent pithiness, hoping that she had left him a shirtful
of bones; and expressing a devout hope that he would eventually arrive at
that elevated position in society which he had described as the probable
fate of her darling son. After which exertion and speechifying, she
thought proper to disappear.
Jack, although he received some hard blows, by dodging under the
bed-clothes, escaped better than his help-mate intended he should; he
soon rose, dressed himself and went to his master’s sauntering sullenly
about the outhouses till daylight, when a servant informed him, after
narrating Twm’s trick on his master, that he was to take Cadwgan’s ass
home.
Squire Graspacre, since the death of his wife, gave such free range to
his licentious pleasures, as placed him, especially at his years, in a
most unseemly light. His only son had been two years at Oxford,
returning only occasionally during the vacations; while his two daughters
on the death of their mother, were sent to a boarding-school at Exeter.
Thus in his own family he had no witnesses of his vices and follies. He
soon found, however, that in Wales, his offences against religion and
morality were not to be committed with impunity. The respect in which he
was formerly held by the country people gradually declined, while those
who had daughters became extremely shy, and sent their female inmates out
of the way whenever he approached.
The squire was not slow to discover these changes, and all the pride of
his nature, that pride which loved ambition and power, which demanded
implicit obedience, and loved to sway the sceptre of power, had aroused
him within; determined to subdue the glaring insolence, as he deemed it,
of his neighbours. Never deficient in penetration, he was not long in
discovering this change in the bearings of his tenants and neighbours,
which to a mind like his, proud, fond of domineering, and being looked up
to as the superior—the grand central luminary of his sphere, round which
all others moved as silent and respectful satellites—was a very hell.
The minds of men, however, are not to be overruled, and with a wisdom
rare as effective, he immediately resolved, as the only mode of
re-establishing his credit and happiness, to retrace his steps—to which
end he sent for his daughters home, at a time when his son was about to
return from Oxford—and thus, by the presence of his children, place a
restrictive guard upon his future conduct. With this change in his
ideas, it will be no wonder that Twm Shon Catty was again taken into
favour, and replaced in his former situation.
At length the merry bells of Tregaron announced the arrival of the heir,
and the young ladies of Graspacre Hall, which mansion soon became a scene
of festivity. The meeting of the squire with his daughters was ardently
affectionate; but his son Marmaduke had nothing of cordiality in his
nature. His figure was tall and thin, with loose joints and ill-knit
bones, while his countenance indicated both phlegm, and a fidgetty,
nervous peevishness. He bore the marks of late and dissipated hours upon
his countenance. His face was sallow, and his eyes sunken; he had the
unmistakable air and _tout ensemble_ of a rouè and a libertine.
He was by no means prepossessing, whilst his pride and self-sufficiency
made him an object of dislike to all who approached him. He scrupled not
to say openly that he hated Wales and Welshmen. He condescended,
however, to say, that until he could get a clever English servant, in the
place of the last, who ran away from him, he must put up with one of the
Welsh savages. Accordingly, our hero was appointed to be his temporary
valet, and ordered to attend exclusively on the young squire.
With the ladies came their aunt, the squire’s younger sister, a very
affected fantastical spinster from Exeter; who gave every fashion its
Devonshire latitude in her conformation to it, carrying the mode to an
extreme that left London absurdity far in the back-ground. The Misses
Graspacre were neither imitators nor very ardent admirers of their aunt,
whose silly affectation of excessive delicacy became their standing-point
of ridicule, which they put in practice on the evening of their arrival.
The hearty girls wanted something substantial for their supper, after
travelling their long journey; but their aunt intimated her desire to
have something that would be light upon the stomach. The poet expresses
the old lady’s opinion when he wrote in homely phrases:—
Sup on dainty calf-foot jelly,
Never sleep with well-filled belly;
Sup upon the lightest food,
Rice; or anything that’s good.
Mind you never eat cold meat!
If you’d sleep, that is no treat!
The nightmare black you’ll have, be sure!
But suppers light are just the cure.
But great was the aunt’s dismay on finding a duck and green peas brought
to the table. She resolved, however, even on this fare, to show her
superior Devonshire breeding; and while the young ladies lifted their
peas from their plates to their mouths in half-dozens or more at a time,
she, delicate soul, cut every pea in four, and swallowed a quarter at a
time!
Another circumstance of note happened at this supper, which, as it
relates to our hero, must be told. It seems that during Twm’s disgrace,
and consequent absence from the hall, the servants there indulged
themselves in making remarks on his conduct, and its probable
consequence. This discussion displayed their various dispositions. Some
spoke of him with charity, and dwelt upon his rare qualities of good
nature and cheerfulness; while others took a malignant pleasure in
speaking of his satirical and mischievous propensities. Among the latter
was the cook. Twm, on his return, heard of her _kindness_, and
determined to take the first opportunity of showing his sense of the
obligations she had laid him under. On the removal of the remains of the
duck and its accompaniments, the company having just been helped round
with tart or pie, their attention was suddenly arrested by the voice of
Twm in the passage, who loudly sung the following distich:—
“Apple pie is very rich,
And so is venison pasty;
But then our cook has got the itch,
And that is very nasty.”
Ye gods! what sounds for ears polite! The young ladies laughed
immoderately on perceiving the distress of their aunt, who showed a
wry-faced consciousness of having partaken food prepared by unclean
hands; her countenance underwent various contortions, and she mentally
thought of the old proverb about the obligatory rule set down upon each
member of humanity, that we must all eat a peck of dirt in our lifetime,
but she devoutly hoped that all her share was not to be eaten at one
meal. Those awful thoughts had a tragic ending, for they terminated in
the grand climax of a shriek and a fit. The squire’s anger was instantly
kindled against Twm, probably from an unquenched spark of his former
resentment, which he evinced by telling his son to “give that rascal a
good thrashing.”
Proud of his commission, out ran Marmaduke; and finding Twm in the hall,
ran up and struck him a blow in the face; but great was the amazement of
the servants to see the young man turn upon him like a lion, and with the
most dexterous management of his fists overpowering their young master in
an instant, whom he left groaning with pain, and covered with bruises,
and then made a precipitate retreat.
While walking to Tregaron, it occurred to Twm, that for that night at
least, he should be favoured with a lodging by his constant friend, Rhys,
the curate. Thither he went, and found the worthy man by the parlour
fire, with a book in his hand, and papers before him, busily employed in
preparing for the press a new edition of his Welsh Grammar. He was
received by him with his usual kindness; and when Twm told him his tale,
with the important addition that he must leave his native place for ever,
and that immediately, he showed the goodness of his heart by assuring him
of a retreat for the present, and a little pecuniary aid on his
departure. He however gave him a friendly lecture on the impropriety of
his conduct; observing that if he must be satirical, he ought to choose
the subject for his lash from the famous among the great and wealthy, and
not the puny and defenceless, to attack whom, he said, evinced a paltry
and most dastardly spirit; concluding with the pithy injunction, “while
you live, whatever your state while on earth, act the generous and manly
part; and never, never, either manually, or with the lash of satire, war
with the weak.”
These words formed in a great measure the leading rule in Twm’s after
life. He never forgot them, and all the more because they came from the
lips of one whom he revered and loved; and however reprehensible the
after vagaries of Twm’s life may have been, their harsher features were
considerably modified by the remembrance of the words, “War not against
the weak!” Our hero was heartily pleased with his preceptor, inasmuch,
that amidst all his observations and lectures he imputed to him but
slight blame for his retaliation on young Graspacre; but when he vowed
further vengeance, should he ever meet him alone in the mountains
remonstrated with him on the risk he ran, urged the necessity of
self-preservation, and advised him not to endanger himself needlessly.
The next morning Rhys assured Twm that he had reflected on the
peculiarity of his case, and found it by no means so bad as he had
imagined. “As to leaving this place,” said he, “I see no necessity;
merely keep out of the way awhile, and in due time make your submissions
to the squire; as he is by no means a hard man, I have no doubt but all
will speedily be well again.” Twm adopted this idea, though he
ill-stomached the thought of submission, or of asking pardon for an act
of manliness which he would on a similar case of aggravation repeat.
Thus matters rested for the present; and in the dusk of the evening he
crossed the hills towards Cadwgan’s, and soon had the grateful
satisfaction of seeing once more his beauteous mistress, sitting by her
father before a cheerful fire. Her mild kind face was unusually pale,
but brightened on his approach; and when he related his new mishap, and
that he thought of immediately quitting the country in consequence, her
cheek assumed an ashy paleness, and she nearly fainted in her father’s
arms. Cadwgan dissuaded him from the thought of quitting his native
place for such a trifle, and advised him by all means to follow up the
worthy curate’s suggestion; and when the fair Gwenny repeated her
father’s wishes as her own, Twm at once acquiesced, and resolved not to
quit.
Thus time passed on pleasantly, for some days, when our hero said he
longed exceedingly for a day’s coursing on the neighbouring mountains.
Cadwgan remarked that the squire had shown no desire to pursue him, as he
had heard at Tregaron and he conceived there would be no danger; and so
in accordance with his opinion, he lent him his dog and gun, both great
favourites, and never before entrusted to any one breathing. He advised
him to confine his excursion to a certain remote hill called Twyn Du
(_Black Hill_) which being rugged of ascent and marshy, seldom invited
the steps of the sons of pleasure in the character of sportsmen.
Thus with dog and gun, and accoutred with a shot-belt, our hero felt
himself another and superior being to what he had ever been before,
especially as Gwenny assured him that the sportsman’s paraphernalia
became him exceedingly. He shook Cadwgan’s hand, kissed the lips of his
fair mistress, and gallantly sallied forth. Having gone a few yards, he
turned his face back to assure them, that he should return and well
loaded with game.
Twm enjoyed himself thoroughly. There was a complete sense of freedom
and independence in his sport which more than pleased him; with light
heart, cool head, and steady aim, he brought down bird after bird,
filling his bag, and carolling old Welsh airs the while. He had been on
Twyn Du about an hour and a half, and in that time had killed several
birds, when the report of his gun attracted others to the spot. He could
hear several persons on the hill contiguous, and saw one well mounted,
descending into the deep dingle that, like a gulf, yawned between the two
hills, and making his way up the steep side of Twyn Du.
He now felt a presentiment that this visit portended him no good; but
scorning an ignominious flight, he carelessly paced the brow of the hill
till the sportsman approached, when, to his great amazement, who should
present himself before him but his inveterate foe, Marmaduke Graspacre.
He approached Twm with the fury of a demoniac, asking how he dared fire a
gun on those grounds, and after a few harsh words of abuse, which our
hero returned with interest, he took an aim at Cadwgan’s pointer, and
instantly shot him on the spot.
This butcherly, cowardly act, aroused the indignation of our hero. He
felt his Welsh blood course madly through his veins. The thought too,
that this was Cadwgan’s dog, his favourite pointer, the animal petted and
nursed by his own sweet Gwenny, drove Twm furious, and he was further
aggravated by the young squire demanding his gun, and laughing the while
at his distress and rage. The youth was not formed of stuff so tame as
to endure his insolent triumph. Snatching up his loaded gun with
desperate rapidity, he in a moment lodged the contents in the head of the
squire’s fine hunter, on which his enemy sat taunting him. No sooner had
Marmaduke reached the ground, disengaged himself from his fallen horse,
and stood up, than Twm flew at him, and disregarding his threats, with
his dexterous fists inflicted the most perfect chastisement; leaving him
in a far worse predicament than after their first encounter.
By this time the men who attended the young squire, hearing the report of
the guns, and fearing that their young master had fallen in with
poachers, made best of their way down across the dingle, and up the sides
of Twyn Du.
Roused by their shouts, Twm left his vanquished foe groaning on the
ground by the side of the dead hunter, and darting down the opposite side
he made a safe retreat. This was an adventure which constituted the
turning point of our hero’s life. The magnitude of the consequences it
involved, he scarcely dreamt of at that moment.