The Comical Adventures of Twm Shon Catty Part 22

Sir John took a quick turn towards the door, but, stopping suddenly, said he would join the young men in the picture gallery, where, accompanied by Mr. Martyn, he went. With the younger Martyn, the Baronet was well enough acquainted; and now his aim was to chat with our hero.

Twm became a little agitated as he found himself in close contact with his father, and a something like an equality in society, since they were both friends in the same family. True, this was really owing to the accident of circ.u.mstances, but Twm was there fairly upon his own merits, and not by imposition. Sir John asked him particulars concerning his adventures on the highway, and Twm, throwing all his natural wit into the account, made a favourable impression on his father.

The Martyns, father and son, being summoned down stairs, the stately baronet was left alone with his humble and unknown son. Twm looked towards the walls, with some feelings of awkwardness. The old-fas.h.i.+oned gallery was hung with numerous paintings: portraits by Holbein and Vand.y.k.e, with interesting and humorous pieces by foreign masters. Sir John pointed out and warmly expatiated on the merits and peculiarities of the various schools, fixing his eyes more on our hero's face than on the paintings, to measure the extent of his taste and intellect by the effect they might produce on him; for the Baronet was quite an enthusiast in the fine arts, and would be quick in discovering whether or not he was throwing away his observations on a blockhead. He was not slow in observing the evidence of mind in his auditor, from the deep interest which he took in his details; but he especially remarked that his fancy was princ.i.p.ally taken by the drolleries and homeliness of the Dutch and Flemish pictures, in one of which Twm fancied he saw a resemblance to Carmarthen Jack, his aunt Juggy, of hump-backed peculiarity, and even a counterpart to the starveling Moses. Apologizing for the rusticity of his taste, he owned his admiration of the boors and the lowly damsels, as they reminded him of some such, the familiars of his childhood in Wales.

"And where might that be pa.s.sed?" enquired the Baronet, smilingly.

"In the humble town of Tregaron, in Cardigans.h.i.+re," replied Twm.

"Who are the princ.i.p.al gentry in that neighbourhood?" enquired the Baronet. When Twm mentioned Squire Gras.p.a.cre and his late lady, Sir John looked him hard in the face; then, silently fixing his eyes on the floor, he recollected a certain pa.s.sage in his life, that prevented him visiting Gras.p.a.cre-Hall, from the dread he entertained of the censures and lectures of his decorous and straight-laced sister, Mrs. Gras.p.a.cre.

"Did you know the lady you mentioned, Mrs. Gras.p.a.cre?" enquired the baronet. "Very well, Sir John," was Twm's reply, "I have great reason, for, to that lady's benevolence I am indebted for the little education I have received."

Now, Sir John knew very well that his sister was anything but benevolent, so that by this a.s.sertion our hero lost a little in his opinion, and he suspected him of a little cant.

"If she sent you to school, she had some motive; what was it?" "I am a natural son, Sir John, which, perhaps Mr. Martyn informed you of: the lady sent me to school, because one of her great relations was said to be my father," replied Twm, fixing his eyes on the baronet's face, which he had the satisfaction of seeing quail beneath his riveting gaze.

Recovering himself, however, he cast a severe look on our hero, and, in a harsh tone and manner, said, "Now must I doubt all your a.s.sertions, as one falsehood is apparent to me. The lady you named was my sister, and certain it is that no relation of hers could be your father."

Here the lion in our hero's heart was roused, and he indignantly repelled the charge of falsehood, saying that he expected neither truth nor honour from his father, since he was known to him.

"And what may be your father's name then?" asked the Baronet, biting his lip, to prevent the laughter that seemed ready to burst out. "Sir John Wynn of Gwydir!" exclaimed Twm in a dare-devil strain, that made the Baronet start at his vehemence. Admiring the fire that flashed in his eyes, his honest, fearless, and energetic behaviour, Sir John opened his arms, and received him in his embrace!

When Mr. Martyn came to announce the arrival of the bishop, he found our hero sobbing on his father's neck, who soothed him by promises, that the neglect of years should now be remedied, and that he was glad and proud of the original, which he found in Mr. Martyn's picture gallery.

The interview had ended very differently to what Twm and Mr. Martyn had expected, and our hero felt grateful to a protecting Providence which had so ordered events.

Sir John and Mr. Martyn descended, and our hero was left alone in the picture gallery. They joined the worthy Bishop at the table in the old-fas.h.i.+oned saloon, which, being overlooked from the rails of the gallery, Twm saw and heard all that pa.s.sed, by the particular invitation of his worthy host.

The Bishop commenced addressing Mr. Martyn:-

"We are here met to-day, Mr. Martyn," said he, "to submit to your arbitration, a matter in dispute between Sir John and myself. Sir John has expressed himself to you with reference to me, in an unfriendly manner, yet I have every confidence in your impartial judgment." Here Mr. Martyn bowed, and Sir John, coughing to keep down his choler, of which he had as good a share as ever fell to the lot of a Cambro Briton, flourished his laced cambric handkerchief about his face, as he added, "His lords.h.i.+p cannot be more glad of an unbia.s.sed umpire than I am myself, Mr. Martyn."

The Bishop continued:-"Sir John's request to me, was, that I would confirm a lease for three lives, upon the rectory of Llanrwst, at the yearly rent of fifty pounds; the same being worth one hundred and forty pounds, and is of my patronage. This request much perplexed my mind, for it grieved me to deny Sir John anything, yet my conscience cried aloud against such a grant, so prejudicial to the church itself, and especially to the next inc.u.mbent, whom I should have grievously wronged by beggaring the See, and injuring the living for future Clergymen."

Here the Bishop resumed his seat, and the Baronet with great a.s.sumption of stateliness, rose and spoke in a slow and acrimonious strain.

"The sower went out to sow; and some of his seed fell in stony ground, where it withered, because it took not root; the seed was good, but the land nought. I may justly say so by you, my lord. I have in all things showed myself a friend, my lord; inasmuch that if I had not pointed the way with my finger, whereof I have yet good testimony, your lords.h.i.+p would have been still humble vicar of Llaurhaiader."

The Bishop, without rising, mildly replied, "You have done me much kindness, Sir John, but no dishonest kindness; nor do I mean to deny you any of your fair requests."

"I am really much obliged to your lords.h.i.+p, for your present good opinion," replied the Baronet, with sneering courtesy, "more particularly that you express your opinion before Mr. Martyn. But the words you have just uttered agree only indifferently with others you have at various times used in reference to me."

"Good Sir John," replied the Bishop, "you do wrong me very much to say so."

Sir John replied with much warmth, "I have good proof, my lord, that you protested to your late servant, Thomas Vaughan, that all the good I ever did you, when vicar of Llaurhaiader, was to go to Llandda Church, and with my family add so much to your scanty congregation there; and, forsooth! that I had once on a time sent you a fat ox, on your installation in the See of Asaph; truly, my lord, this is to strain at a gnat, and swallow a camel."

The good Bishop's reply was mild and conciliating. "Good Sir John, you wrong yourself as much as me, to believe such idle sayings. If this were not a case of conscience, you should not need to ask me twice; remembering ancient kindness, your request is of great force to me."

"You plead conscience when you should give, and make no pains to receive courtesy of your friends," replied Sir John. Then, changing from the sarcastic tone in which this was uttered to one of vehemence, he proceeded. "But I appeal to Him who searches the consciences of all men, whether you have used me well; and whether conscience, which you have ever in your mouth, be the sole hindrance of my request. I will avow and justify it before the greatest divines in England, that has always been the usage, now is, and ever will be, that a man may with a safe conscience be a farmer of a living, paying in effect for the same as much as it is worth. I stand on your word, my lord of St. Asaph, your sacred word of promise, the confirmation of my lease and the advowson."

Temperate and patient still was the Prelate's reply. "I made no such promise; my words were 'that I would be very loath to confirm any lease upon any presentative benefice; that I would do as much, and more for you, than for any other; that if I would confirm any lease, yours would be the first.' In conclusion, I never did confirm any, nor do I mean so to do; therefore is such conditional promise void, and my honour and word sufficiently vindicated."

The Baronet tenaciously urged,-"It is well known that your Lords.h.i.+p has favoured others in such a matter."

"Not so," replied the Bishop, rather more impatiently; "you well know there is a difference between granting a lease of our own, and confirming the lease of another; between a presentative benefice and an impropriation; between a public usage and a private one: still you refuse to note these distinctions, and exclaim that I have confirmed the lease, and will not, according to my promise, confirm yours."

The last remark of the Bishop's appeared to be unanswerable, and Sir John seemed to think so too, as, instead of replying to the argument directly, he began to beg the question, and give way to the overbearing petulance of a spoiled child of fortune.

"It is not," replied he, "the loss of the thing that I regard a dobkin, but your unkind dealing; it shall lessen me hereafter to expect no sweet fruit from so sour a stock. But my lord of St. Asaph, you know my stand in the world. I never have been a man to make requests and be denied; therefore having never failed before in my requests, my grief is the greater."

"Pray Heaven, Sir John, that your grief of missing be not like Ahab's grief for Naboth's vineyard," was the Bishop's pithy and characteristic reply.

Here Sir John sprang to his feet, exclaiming almost fiercely, "My lord, my lord, I am not of a nature to put up with wrongs; for as I have studied for your good, and wrought the same, so be a.s.sured of me as bitter an enemy as ever I was a steadfast friend!"

"A fiery little father have I found to-day," thought Twm, as he noticed the vehemence of the baronet.

"I am ashamed of you," continued he, "almost forgetting the courtesy of a gentleman, and the firm, but mild and patriachal character of the Bishop.

I am ashamed for you, that you have hereby given cause to your enemies and mine to descant on the ingrate disposition. You have made use of gentlemen when they serve you, and afterwards discard them, on the pretence of conscience, forsooth! I laboured in your cause, my lord, as if it had been to save the life of one of my children."

These hard uncompromising words did not exasperate the venerable prelate, whose command of temper under trying circ.u.mstances, and unjust aspersions, was worthy of his reputation. He rose with dignified demeanour, and said, "Amongst other kindnesses, Sir John you gave good testimony of me; I pray you let me continue worthy of it; so many chips have been already hewed from the church, that it is ready to fall; you ought rather to help than to despoil it. Thus it stands with us, Sir John, which I pray you Mr. Martyn note. You ask of me certain leases-you ask me to injure my successor in my diocese, to benefit you! you urge the favours I have received at your hands, and claim from me rewards that are not mine to give. Were I to grant your desires I should prove myself a dishonest, unconscionable, irreligious man, a sacrilegious robber of the church, a perfidious spoiler of my diocese, and an unnatural foe to preachers and scholars. I do verily think it were better to rob on the highway than to do the thing you request. However hard you may take my denial, be it known to you, if the father and mother whom I loved and honoured were alive and made such requests, I should have the grace to say nay."

The Bishop took his seat, and began to repeat his regrets, when the Baronet started from the table, and in a furious mood began to pace the saloon to and fro; but stopping suddenly he exclaimed, "Your verbal love I esteem as nothing! I have ten sons-(eleven interrupted the Bishop, with quite jocoseness;) I say I have ten sons," repeated the Baronet; and "if ever they forget this,"-"Eleven sons and the last as good as the best;" interrupted the Bishop again. "But where is this gallant deliverer?"

Mr. Martyn beckoned our hero down, while Sir John suddenly resumed his seat at the table. On the good Prelate's pressing Twm to name in what manner he could reward his services, he at last replied, "By yielding to Sir John's request as far as your Lords.h.i.+p sees right."

The whole party stared with amazement at the unexpected reply. The Baronet was softened to tears, and but for compromising his dignity, would have embraced him before them all. The Bishop smiled, and shaking his hand very cordially replied, "The request is as graceful in you to make as in me, to deny; that question is disposed of. In a few days I will call again, when you may decide in what I can be of service to you."

He then took a courteous leave of Mr. Martyn and of our hero, with a ceremonious bow to Sir John, and departed. Right glad was Martyn to be relieved, by the temper of the Baronet, from the unpleasant office of an arbitrator of their differences.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

TWM meets one of his best friends from Wales. Death of Sir George Devereaux. Hopes and fears. Interruption of happy hours. Lady Devereaux's forced return to Wales. Twm follows her.

Our hero was now living amongst the _elite_ of the metropolis, and his daily communion with men of taste, feeling, and education, produced a quick and remarkable change for the better in his manners and personal appearance. His new-found father a.s.sisted him largely in his finances, and a handsome pecuniary present from the worthy bishop, accompanied with a complimentary letter, which was doubly gratifying to him, as emanating from so respectable a source.

When he had been eight months in London, he was sitting alone one morning in Mr. Martyn's picture gallery, intently pondering on his future plans of life, considering whether to return to his friends at Ystrad Feen, or seek employment in town. His reverie was disturbed by a servant's informing him that a gentleman was waiting to see him.

On his descent to the parlour, great and gratifying was his surprise to meet there his old friend Rhys. The cordiality of their mutual greetings but faintly echoed the ardour of their feelings. News from the country was our hero's first inquiry, and Rhys a.s.sured him he had an abundance to relate. Gwenny Cadwgan is married, and living with her husband and father on a fine farm at Kevencoer-c.u.mmer, near Merthyr. Walt the mole-catcher is transported, having narrowly escaped the gallows. Your mother and step-father are well. "So much for Tregaron news," said Rhys; "and now for Ystrad Feen and Llandovery. A singular coincidence,-in the same week we lost the venerable Vicar Prichard, and your friend Sir George Devereaux."

"The last is a climax indeed to your budget; but is it really a fact that Sir George is no more?" enquired Twm, looking hard in his friend's face.

"Fact as deeth! as the Scotchman says," replied Rhys; "He threw his life away in one of his foolish fox-hunting leaps."

"Well, well! I am truly sorry," exclaimed Twm, "for he was a kind being." "He was so; but tell me truly," said Rhys, looking archly in his friend's eyes, "is it for death, or his lady's being left so young a widow, that your sorrow is most intense?" Twm looked grave, but finally smiled, as Rhys, with great archness, added, "It somewhat strikes me that this is a sorrow which you will soon get over; and, if I mistake not, so will the widow too."