Carmarthen Jack’s churlishness to Twm. His mishap in consequence.
Squire Graspacre reforms his conduct. Sends for his son and daughters
home. A delicate Devonshire lady, Twm’s satire on the cook. Gives the
young squire a thrashing, and runs away. Visits Rhys and Cadwgan. About
to be married to Gwenny. A dreadful adventure on the hills that ruins
all his prospects.
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 made the best of the
affair, in his own manner, by assuring his wife that her son had been the
absolute ruin of both himself and her, unless they did their utmost to
conciliate the squire by turning Twm adrift, and refusing him a temporary
shelter. While Jack beneath the bedclothes was grunting these
suggestions of worldly wisdom, Catti, half-drest, was making up a bed for
her son, who, the while, 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 towards the door,
cried, “Good night mother.” Alarmed at his precipitate movement, and the
tone with which he spoke, “Where are you going Twm?” said Catti. Turning
round, while he held the door in his left hand, he replied, “Any where
mother—the world is wide—and I’ll go headlong to the devil rather than
stay here, when 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.
Catti, with a bitter consciousness, now found that her son had a
stepfather, and she a husband, who was a rude and churlish tyrant. The
severity of this reflection preyed heavily on her mind; nor could she be
persuaded to go to bed again, but sitting at the fireless hearth she
loudly wept and lamented her hard fate. To give him his due, Jack was
far from being regardless of her sorrow, but shewed the tenderness of a
husband in comforting her, in the manner most natural to himself. “What
signifies crying for such an imp of the devil as that,” said this kind
stepfather, “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 Catti’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 bedclothes,
till he roared like a baited bull: had she taken a wager for thrashing a
given quantity of corn in a certain number of minutes, she could not have
laid on her blows more briskly or vigorously. When the strength of her
arms 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 broken bones; after which exertion she
thought proper to disappear.
Jack although he received some hard blows, by dodging under the
bedclothes, 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 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. 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, his knowledge of
mankind told him, were not to be over-ruled, 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 Shôn Catti was again taken into favor, 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 spare, with loose joints and ill-knit
bones, while his countenance indicated both phlegm and a fidgetty,
nervous peevishness. A curious eye might also discover in it decisive
marks of late hours and dissipated habits. Proud, rash, and
self-sufficient, his dislike of Wales and Welshmen surpassed his father’s
partiality for them. 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
full 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 very 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 on he stomach: but great was her
dismay on finding a duck and green pease brought to the table. She
resolved however, even on this fare, to shew her superior Devonshire
breeding; and while the young ladies lifted their pease 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! This display of
refinement excited stares of wonder from the squire and some of his
friends, whom he had invited on the occasion, but in her nieces, nothing
but smothered laughter.
Another circumstance of note happened at this supper, which, as it
relates to our hero, must be here told. It seems that during Twm’s
disgrace, and consequent absence from the hall, the servants there
indulged themselves and one another 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 shewing 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,
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 shewed a
wry-faced consciousness of having partaken of food prepared by unclean
hands; her countenance underwent various contortions, which 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 the 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 might be favored with a lodging by his constant friend, Rhys
the curate. Thither he went, and found the worthy man by his 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 had told him his
tale, with the important addition that he must leave his native place for
ever, and immediately, he shewed 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 subjects for his lash from the infamous 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 were never forgotten by Twm, and however
reprehensible his erratic courses in after life, they were much less so
from his reception of this noble sentiment, which became his standing
rule of conduct. Had it been Twm’s lot to have lived in a loftier sphere
and in the days of chivalry, he would doubtless have had inscribed on his
shield those words so deeply written on his memory “War not with the
weak.” Our hero was heartily pleased with his preceptor, inasmuch, that
amidst all its 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, and as he is by no means a hard man, I have no doubt but
all will speedily be well again.” Twm in a manner adopted this idea,
though he ill stomached the thought of submission, or 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 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.
Cadwgan daily witnessed the affection of the young pair, and at length
thus addressed the young man. “You are a brave and generous lad; you
love my daughter—” “In my heart and soul I do,” said he,
enthusiastically interrupting him; “And I am sure my Gwenny is not behind
hand with you in affection: are you my girl?” Poor Gwenny blushed
deeply, then shed tears, and sobbed heavily, in the midst of which, she
gave her hand to her lover, which he pressed, shed tears upon, and kissed
ardently. Cadwgan continued “And therefore my boy, as nobody deserves
her so well, you shall have her before the best in the county; and you
know how many sweethearts she has refused for you.” Twm grasped his hand
in silence, and before an hour had expired since the commencement of this
discourse, the wedding day became the subject of discussion, but which
could not be fixed until Twm had made his peace with the squire. Thus
time passed on pleasantly, for some days, when our hero, who was
constitutionally formed for active life, felt the effect of being immured
day and night within doors, and said he longed exceedingly for a day’s
coursing on the neighbouring mountains. Cadwgan remarked that as the
squire had shown no desire to seek or pursue him, as he had heard at
Tregaron, he conceived there would be no danger; and in accordance with
his opinion, he lent him his dog and gun, both great favorites, 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. Flattered with the joint encomiums of the father
and daughter, and with a consciousness that they were not without good
foundation, in full health and high spirits, with an eye sparkling with
happiness, 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, as they looked anxiously after him, that he should
soon return, and well loaded with game.
While the buoyancy of youth uplifted his gay heart, and dazzled his
perception with bright dreams of the future, little thought he of the
sorrows so soon to overtake him, or that the sombre hill of Twyn Du was
to colour with its gloom the closing scene of his innocent hopes, and
form the most important epoch of his life.
Twm 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 see several persons on the hill contiguous, and 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.
Aware of the regard in which Cadwgan held his excellent dog, this outrage
drove Twm furious, and he was further aggravated by the young squire’s
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 the 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 the best of their way down across the dingle, and up the
sides of Twyn Du.
Roused by their shouts, he 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.