Twm improves in the curate’s school. His wit saves him from a flogging.
THE great success of Catti’s school excited the ill will of Parson Evans,
although he had far more scholars than he could possibly attend to. His
indignation at his wife’s fall from her horse into the well, while
passing his humble rival’s seminary, together with the humiliating
consideration that many of the most juvenile deserted _his_ rule, to
submit to _her’s_, wounded this consequential personage to the quick.
With an awkward attempt at a smile, he feigned to consider the seceders
as a good riddance, and that it was not worth his while to teach babies
to walk as well as to instruct them in their letters; this in fact, ought
to have been the case, but it was not; for Evans, “like the turk, could
bear no rival near the throne.” This new arrangement respecting Twm,
they thought could not but be vexatious to Catti, and therefore Mistress
Evans felt herself avenged for the tittering that she heard in her
school, on her fall into the well as before mentioned. But far different
was the case, from what they anticipated, for Catti no sooner heard the
order, than in the simple sincerity of her heart, she exclaimed, “Thank
God! the boy will learn something from the parson, but I could teach him
nothing.”
Little Twm was now in his seventh year, and as refractory a pupil as ever
was spoiled by a dawdling mother. Kept aloof from his dear duck-ponds
and puddles, and compelled to explore the mysteries of the horn-book,
this first change in his life was acutely felt. Self-willed and
stubborn, he conceived the utmost abhorrence of horn-books, cross
curates, and birch-rods; he wept and sulked, struck the boys who mocked
him, stayed away from school, and was flogged so often, that at length he
found it much easier to learn his book, than endure the consequence of
neglecting it. Once arrived to this happy mood, and being one day
praised by his master, a new spirit possessed the boy; emulation was
kindled, and he resolved to revenge himself on those youths who formerly
had made him their butt of ridicule, by getting the start of them in
learning. The horn-book was shortly thrown by; the reading-made-easy and
spelling book soon shared a similar fate; and the pride of his young
heart sparkled in his eyes when his great lady aunt, on hearing a good
account of him from his master, presented him with a bible, on the inside
of the cover of which was the following couplet,—
“Take this Holy Bible book,
God give thee grace therein to look.”
These lines were not only written by her own fair hand, but actually of
her own composition; and as poor Catti shewed the book to all her friends
and neighbours as a proud proof of the good footing on which her son
stood at Graspacre Hall, the great lady’s lines procured her the general
fame of being a great poetess.
Notwithstanding his rapid advancement in book learning, Parson Evans was
far from being satisfied with his pupil, nor was his main end answered in
having brought him to his school. Twm loved his mother, and felt no
great affection for his master, nor gratitude for the floggings which had
enforced so much learning into his head; and never could the generous boy
be brought to tell any tales to her disadvantage. The curate’s severity
increased, and no longer praised or encouraged, Twm became not only
indifferent to his tasks, but wanton and unjust severity had the effect
of blunting his feelings and making him stubborn and revengeful; and at
length he arrived at such an extremity of youthful recklessness as to
study tricks for the annoyance of his master and fellow scholars.
In the eleventh year of his age some decisive shoots of character made
their appearance; a taste for sharp sayings, and skilful trickery in
outwitting his opponents, appear to have been his striking peculiarities,
as well as boldness and resolution on the play ground, where none could
surpass him in robustuous or violent exercises. Wat the mole-catcher,
his constant instructor when out of school, among other accomplishments
had taught him to play at cudgels, and not a boy in the school could
stand before him at the quarter staff. His pre-eminence in this ancient
and national art was often exemplified by the loud cries and broken heads
of his defeated schoolfellows. A catastrophe of that kind one day, even
in school time, brought the enraged master out, who severely asked Twm
what he meant by such conduct; “Why sir,” cried the little rogue, “you
always say that you never can beat anything into that boy’s head, so I
tried what I could do with the cudgel, that’s all!” A few days after,
his master sent him from the school to his house, for a book which he
wanted. Twm found the mistress and maid were out, the first at the hall,
and the last had made a present of her little leisure to her sweetheart,
Wat the mole-catcher. On entering the parlour he saw there a fine bunch
of grapes, which his great lady aunt had sent his master; as this was a
fruit hitherto unknown to him, he deliberately tasted two or three, to
discover whether they were eatable. Having diminished the bunch by a
repetition of this experiment, he found a difficulty in quitting while
any remained, so resolved to finish it, and lay the blame on the cat, if
charged with the theft; as to dividing the spoil, and leaving a portion
for the owner, the scheme was impracticable, so he decided to abide by
his master’s maxim, “that it was not decent for two to eat from the same
dish.” So lifting up the remains of the luscious bunch with affected
ceremony, he exclaimed in a lofty tone, mimicking his master, “I publish
the banns of marriage between my mouth and this bunch of grapes; if any
one knows just cause or impediment why they should not be joined
together, let him now declare it, or hereafter forever hold his peace!”
and as no dissentient voice intervened, he abruptly cried “silence gives
consent,” and hastily consummated the delicious union. No sooner had he
gulped the grapes than his master made his appearance—suspecting the
cause of his delay, he had followed after, and witnessing the imposing
ritual, he stood, rod in hand, surrounded by his scholars, whom he had
called; when all was in readiness he exclaimed, “I publish the banns of
marriage between my rod and your breech; if any one knows just cause or
impediment why they may not be lawfully joined together in hot wedlock,
let him now declare it.”
“I forbid the banns!” roared Twm Shôn Catti; “For what reason?” cries the
awful pedant, flourishing his rod in eager preparation; “Because,” cries
the waggish urchin, “the parties are not yet agreed.” Although Evans was
generally too crabbed and selfish to enjoy and estimate a witty reply in
any one except his superiors, who seldom possessed a legitimate claim to
his applause, it is but justice to him to record, that this unexpected
and ingenious answer procured Twm a remission of his flogging, when on
the very brink of execution.