Читать книгу The Pedestrian's Guide through North Wales - G. J. Bennett - Страница 13

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Mary Griffith was a tall, raw-boned, bouncing girl, whose skin had felt the influence of nineteen summers: with red ropy hair, which fell in mop-like luxuriance about her face and back, partially hiding two gooseberry eyes, that looked, or seemed to look, in opposite directions. Roger ap Morgan was a stout, sturdy, hard-working peasant: and once, while under the influence of his master’s strong harvest ale, bestowed on Mary such tender melting words, as had never before been addressed to her beauty, and which her unaccustomed ear drank with astonishment and delight. She greedily banqueted on the honey of his tongue, and in short was never so pleased in her life before.

It was remarked, that from this night Mary and Roger were more intimate than ever; and they were therefore looked upon as a couple shortly to be united in the bands of matrimony.

Mary’s charms, however, were not of a nature to be unappreciated by others; and Roger’s friends were exceedingly forward in praising her various perfections, and more especially the beauty of her eyes and face, and the silky softness of her auburn hair, three fibres of which were sufficient to have made an exceeding good twine of tolerable strength.

Roger bore all these bursts of admiration without the slightest tinge of jealousy, and even sometimes, with a good humoured laugh, joined in the jests of his companions. But there is such a thing as over fondness in adoring woman: and Roger began to discover, that if Mary would only love him half as much as she did, he might perhaps have a far greater liking for her than he had; but unfortunately Mary knew no measure in her love. She vowed he should marry her; Roger swore heartily he would not. At length, it became apparent that Mary had yielded up not only her heart but her honour, also, to the too insidious and fascinating Roger. His ingratitude, in refusing to keep his word, and make an honest woman of her, sank deep into her heart. She resolved, however, not to let him off so easily; and determined, if he persisted in denying his person, she would at least have some of his goods and chattels.

At this period, a number of baronial laws, although dormant, might still be enforced on occasion, and amongst them was one which furnished Mary with a promising prospect of recompense. It decreed, that in cases of seduction, the injured fair, on making application to the presiding magistrate, was entitled to remuneration by submitting to the following ordeal:—The tail of a three years old bull, the property of the seducer, being well shaven, greased and introduced through a wicker door, if the applicant could, by so treacherous a handle, detain the animal for a certain period with both hands, while two men goaded it to escape, it became hers, by right of conquest, in satisfaction for her lost virtue; and, in case of failure, she forfeited all further claim, and was rewarded for her attempt with so much of the grease and soap as remained in her hands.

Women know no medium in the master-passion: “Where most they love, there most they hate when slighted:”—and so with Molly. All nature seemed to change: the beautiful valley no longer heard the soft murmurings of Roger’s “love breathed vows;” the waters of the Ceriog flowed on without a rival sound; and Molly vowed vengeance amid their peaceful banks, where once she swore eternal love and constancy.

One morning after a long expostulation, with her inconstant, she summoned him before the magistrate of the district, and, accompanied by her friends, demanded the ordeal, which was the right, from time immemorial, of the victims of seduction and desertion. The magistrate, being a lover of old laws and customs, and also somewhat of a humorist, readily acceded to her wishes, and the following morning was appointed for the accomplishment of her vengeance, verifying the Welsh proverb—“Gnawd rhygas wedi rhysere.” Common is extreme hate after extreme fondness.

This was woful intelligence for Roger, whose farming stock consisted of an only cow, which was sentenced to be substituted for the bull, which the original act specified should be liable to confiscation. This cow was the chief source of his livelihood; her butter furnished him with the means of procuring clothes, and other necessaries, and the skimmed milk, a pleasant beverage to wash down his vegetable fare—for animal food was a stranger to the table of Roger, as it was indeed to almost all the peasantry of the country, except upon days of rejoicing, viz. marriages and funerals, when friends and relations clubbed together to furnish a sumptuous meal for the assembled guests. Still, however, he resolved to hazard this severe loss, rather than be encumbered with a wife, whose industry and affection were but a poor compensation for the defects of her person and conversation.

On the following day, the peaceful inhabitants of this lovely spot were startled from their various occupations by a loud shout which issued from the thick woods of the vale, and then

“There rose so wild a yell

From out yon dark and hollow dell,

As all the fiends from heaven that fell

Had pealed the banner cry of hell.”

The clamour was raised by the revilings of Roger’s friends against Mary, and Mary’s friends against Roger, as the object of interest (Roger’s cow) approached the dwelling of the deceived and neglected fair one, who mounted astride upon its back, turned her fierce glances or benignant smiles, upon her enemies or friends, as they alternately hooted and hurrahed her.

Mary’s mother, an ancient gammer, whose sun-tanned skin seemed, as Shakspeare has it, capable of

“Keeping out water a long while,”

armed with a branch of tough ash, was urging the progress of the beast, and at every push she made, a yell of indignation burst from the opposite party, which was answered by a shout of exultation from the friends of Mary. At length the barber, one Gryffyd, was called on to lend his aid, which he did, in a masterly manner by lathering, and shaving the beast’s tail of every hair that adorned it, from the insertion to the tuft, and afterwards greasing and soaping it thoroughly. Mary eyed it, meanwhile, as though she longed to convert it into soup.

These preparations being completed, Mary addressed her false-hearted swain, and even then, generously offered to give up the chance if he would repent and make her an honest woman. This noble proposition excited murmurs of applause. But all in vain,—Roger remained inexorable.

“Then may I never be married,” cried she, “if ever you take your cow home again!”

“That’s yet to be tried,” cried Roger.

Molly then bared her brawny arms, and held up her ten fingers—as much as to say, “Let her escape my grip if she can!”—and, with a countenance flashing anger and resolution, she took her station at the wicket, “screwed up to the sticking point,” and resolved to “stand the hazard of the die.”

With the grasp of a vice, she seized the pendant ornament; and now it was pull cow, pull Molly!—for the two sturdy brothers of Roger belaboured the animal most unmercifully.

“Hold your own!” shrieked Mary’s mother.

“Go it, you old devil!” cried the brothers of Roger, as they thrashed and goaded the poor cow. Still with heroic firmness Mary kept her hold.

“But who can rule the uncertain chance of war?”

The period of detention had nearly arrived;—half a minute more, and Mary would be victorious—her vengeance complete—and Roger quite undone!—when lo! the tortured animal leaped suddenly from the wicket—and Mary, wretched Mary!—fell upon her brawny back, with the cow’s tail extended in her hands!—’Twas all the spoil her valiant attempt had left her!—Twisting and capering, the beast was seen speeding its way to Roger’s well known home;—and

“Thus was she (poor Molly)!

Of cow, of virtue, everything, bereft.”

It was rumoured that foul play had been committed by Roger’s brothers; and that a stick, with a sharp instrument at the end of it, had caused the catastrophe;—but, as there was no means of ascertaining the fact, the affair dropped.

A rustic bard, who had been hospitably received in Mary’s dwelling, presented to her the following Lament, which he composed, in gratitude, for her consolation.

LAMENT.

Oh mournful day! oh mournful day!

Base Roger’s cow has run away,

And left poor Molly to bewail

The sorrows she cannot re-tail.

The grateful cabbage, greens, and leek

Her hands have reared, could they but speak,

Would thus hold converse with the ground,

Which daily her attention found.

“Oh mother earth, how hard you get,

Since Molly’s left to pine and fret;

You drain our tops, our bottoms pinch,

We cannot grow another inch!

“Your bed, so lately soft and warm,

To stony hardness you transform;

If ’tis for Molly this you do,

Oh think of leek and cabbage too!”

“My children,” then said mother earth,

“I ever loved ye from your birth;

But know that I, as well as you,

Am doomed to pine and suffer too.

“And if your bottoms feel uneasy,

’Tis not from want of will to please ye;

And if your green tops droop and pine,

’Tis not from any fault of mine.

“For I am thirsting for a sup,

And Molly never stirs me up.

Forsaken love hath made her sore—

She cultivates the ground no more!”

Oh mournful day! oh mournful day!

Base Roger’s cow has run away,

And left poor Molly to bewail

The sorrows she cannot re-tail!

After proceeding about a mile and a half on the Llangollen road, we turned off, to the left, up a lane, which led us to the noble domain of Mrs. Middleton Biddulph.