Chapter 74
the following
day—pride—thriving trade—tylwyth teg—about ellis wyn—sleeping bard—the
incalculable good—fearful agony—the tale
Peter and his wife did not proceed on any
expedition during the following day. The former strolled gloomily about the
fields, and the latter passed many hours in the farmhouse. Towards evening,
without saying a word to either, I departed with my vehicle, and finding my way
to a small town at some distance, I laid in a store of various articles, with
which I returned. It was night, and my two friends were seated beneath the oak;
they had just completed their frugal supper. 'We waited for thee some time,'
said Winifred, 'but, finding that thou didst not come, we began without thee;
but sit down, I pray thee, there is still enough for thee.' 'I will sit down,'
said I, 'but I require no supper, for I have eaten where I have been': nothing
more particular occurred at the time. Next morning the kind pair invited me to
share their breakfast. 'I will not share your breakfast,' said I. 'Wherefore
not?' said Winifred anxiously. 'Because,' said I, 'it is not proper that I be
beholden to you for meat and drink.' 'But we are beholden to other people,'
said Winifred. 'Yes,' said I, 'but you preach to them, and give them ghostly advice,
which considerably alters the matter; not that I would receive anything from
them, if I preached to them six times a day.' 'Thou art not fond of receiving
favours, then, young man,' said Winifred. 'I am not,' said I. 'And of
conferring favours?' 'Nothing affords me greater pleasure,' said I, 'than to
confer favours.' 'What a disposition,' said Winifred, holding up her hands;
'and this is pride, genuine pride—that feeling which the world agrees to call
so noble. Oh, how mean a thing is pride! never before did I see all the
meanness of what is called pride!'
'But how wilt thou live, friend,' said Peter;
'dost thou not intend to eat?' 'When I went out last night,' said I, 'I laid in
a provision.' 'Thou hast laid in a provision!' said Peter, 'pray let us see it.
Really, friend,' said he, after I had produced it, 'thou must drive a thriving
trade; here are provisions enough to last three people for several days. Here
are butter and eggs, here is tea, here is sugar, and there is a flitch. I hope
thou wilt let us partake of some of thy fare.' 'I should be very happy if you
would,' said I. 'Doubt not but we shall,' said Peter; 'Winifred shall have some
of thy flitch cooked for dinner. In the meantime, sit down, young man, and
breakfast at our expense—we will dine at thine.'
On the evening of that day, Peter and myself sat
alone beneath the oak. We fell into conversation; Peter was at first
melancholy, but he soon became more cheerful, fluent, and entertaining. I spoke
but little; but I observed that sometimes what I said surprised the good
Methodist. We had been silent some time. At length, lifting up my eyes to the
broad and leafy canopy of the trees, I said, having nothing better to remark,
'What a noble tree! I wonder if the fairies ever dance beneath it.'
'Fairies!' said Peter, 'fairies! how came you,
young man, to know anything about the fair family?'
'I am an Englishman,' said I, 'and of course know
something about fairies; England was once a famous place for them.'
'Was once, I grant you,' said Peter, 'but is so no
longer. I have travelled for years about England, and never heard them
mentioned before; the belief in them has died away, and even their name seems
to be forgotten. If you had said you were a Welshman, I should not have been
surprised. The Welsh have much to say of the Tylwyth Teg, or fair family, and
many believe in them.'
'And do you believe in them?' said I.
'I scarcely know what to say. Wise and good men
have been of opinion that they are nothing but devils, who, under the form of
pretty and amiable spirits, would fain allure poor human beings; I see nothing
irrational in the supposition.'
'Do you believe in devils, then?'
'Do I believe in devils, young man?' said Peter,
and his frame was shaken as if by convulsions. 'If I do not believe in devils,
why am I here at the present moment?'
'You know best,' said I; 'but I don't believe that
fairies are devils, and I don't wish to hear them insulted. What learned men
have said they are devils?'
'Many have said it, young man, and amongst others,
Master Ellis Wyn, in that wonderful book of his, the Bardd Cwsg.'
'The Bardd Cwsg,' said I; 'what kind of book is
that? I have never heard of that book before.'
'Heard of it before; I suppose not; how should you
have heard of it before? By the bye, can you read?'
'Very tolerably,' said I; 'so there are fairies in
this book. What do you call it—the Bardd Cwsg?'
'Yes, the Bardd Cwsg. You pronounce Welsh very
fairly; have you ever been in Wales?'
'Never,' said I.
'Not been in Wales; then, of course, you don't
understand Welsh; but we were talking of the Bardd Cwsg—yes, there are fairies
in the Bardd Cwsg,—the author of it, Master Ellis Wyn, was carried away in his
sleep by them over mountains and valleys, rivers and great waters, incurring
mighty perils at their hands, till he was rescued from them by an angel of the
Most High, who subsequently showed him many wonderful things.'
'I beg your pardon,' said I, 'but what were those
wonderful things?'
'I see, young man,' said Peter, smiling, 'that you
are not without curiosity; but I can easily pardon any one for being curious
about the wonders contained in the book of Master Ellis Wyn. The angel showed
him the course of this world, its pomps and vanities, its cruelty and its
pride, its crimes and deceits. On another occasion, the angel showed him Death
in his nether palace, surrounded by his grisly ministers, and by those who are
continually falling victims to his power. And, on a third occasion, the state
of the condemned in their place of everlasting torment.'
'But this was all in his sleep,' said I, 'was it
not?'
'Yes,' said Peter, 'in his sleep; and on that
account the book is called Gweledigaethau y Bardd Cwsg, or, Visions of the
Sleeping Bard.'
'I do not care for wonders which occur in sleep,'
said I. 'I prefer real ones; and perhaps, notwithstanding what he says, the man
had no visions at all—they are probably of his own invention.'
'They are substantially true, young man,' said
Peter; 'like the dreams of Bunyan, they are founded on three tremendous facts,
Sin, Death, and Hell; and like his they have done incalculable good, at least
in my own country, in the language of which they are written. Many a guilty
conscience has the Bardd Cwsg aroused with its dreadful sights, its strong
sighs, its puffs of smoke from the pit, and its showers of sparks from the mouth
of the yet lower gulf of Unknown—were it not for the Bardd Cwsg perhaps I might
not be here.'
'I would sooner hear your own tale,' said I, 'than
all the visions of the Bardd Cwsg.'
Peter shook, bent his form nearly double, and
covered his face with his hands. I sat still and motionless, with my eyes fixed
upon him. Presently Winifred descended the hill, and joined us. 'What is the
matter?' said she, looking at her husband, who still remained in the posture I
have described. He made no answer; whereupon, laying her hand gently on his
shoulder, she said, in the peculiar soft and tender tone which I had heard her
use on a former occasion, 'Take comfort, Peter; what has happened now to
afflict thee?' Peter removed his hand from his face. 'The old pain, the old
pain,' said he; 'I was talking with this young man, and he would fain know what
brought me here, he would fain hear my tale, Winifred—my sin: O pechod Ysprydd
Glan! O pechod Ysprydd Glan!' and the poor man fell into a more fearful agony
than before. Tears trickled down Winifred's face, I saw them trickling by the
moonlight, as she gazed upon the writhing form of her afflicted husband. I
arose from my seat. 'I am the cause of all this,' said I, 'by my folly and
imprudence, and it is thus I have returned your kindness and hospitality; I
will depart from you and wander my way.' I was retiring, but Peter sprang up
and detained me. 'Go not,' said he, 'you were not in fault; if there be any
fault in the case it was mine; if I suffer, I am but paying the penalty of my
own iniquity'; he then paused, and appeared to be considering: at length he
said, 'Many things which thou hast seen and heard connected with me require
explanation; thou wishest to know my tale, I will tell it thee, but not now,
not to-night; I am too much shaken.'
Two evenings later, when we were again seated
beneath the oak, Peter took the hand of his wife in his own, and then, in tones
broken and almost inarticulate, commenced telling me his tale—the tale of the
Pechod Ysprydd Glan.
Chapter 75
taking a cup—getting to
heaven—after breakfast—wooden gallery—mechanical habit—reserved and gloomy—last
words—a long time—from the clouds—momentary chill—pleasing anticipation
'I was born in the heart of North Wales, the son
of a respectable farmer, and am the youngest of seven brothers.
'My father was a member of the Church of England,
and was what is generally called a serious man. He went to church regularly,
and read the Bible every Sunday evening; in his moments of leisure he was fond of
holding religious discourse both with his family and his neighbours.
'One autumn afternoon, on a week day, my father
sat with one of his neighbours taking a cup of ale by the oak table in our
stone kitchen. I sat near them, and listened to their discourse. I was at that
time seven years of age. They were talking of religious matters. "It is a
hard matter to get to heaven," said my father. "Exceedingly so,"
said the other. "However, I don't despond; none need despair of getting to
heaven, save those who have committed the sin against the Holy Ghost."
'"Ah!" said my father, "thank God I
never committed that—how awful must be the state of a person who has committed
the sin against the Holy Ghost. I can scarcely think of it without my hair
standing on end"; and then my father and his friend began talking of the
nature of the sin against the Holy Ghost, and I heard them say what it was, as
I sat with greedy ears listening to their discourse.
'I lay awake the greater part of the night musing
upon what I had heard. I kept wondering to myself what must be the state of a
person who had committed the sin against the Holy Ghost, and how he must feel.
Once or twice I felt a strong inclination to commit it, a strange kind of fear,
however, prevented me; at last I determined not to commit it, and, having said
my prayers, I fell asleep.
'When I awoke in the morning the first thing I
thought of was the mysterious sin, and a voice within me seemed to say,
"Commit it"; and I felt a strong temptation to do so, even stronger
than in the night. I was just about to yield, when the same dread, of which I
have already spoken, came over me, and, springing out of bed, I went down on my
knees. I slept in a small room alone, to which I ascended by a wooden stair,
open to the sky. I have often thought since that it is not a good thing for
children to sleep alone.
'After breakfast I went to school, and endeavoured
to employ myself upon my tasks, but all in vain; I could think of nothing but
the sin against the Holy Ghost; my eyes, instead of being fixed upon my book,
wandered in vacancy. My master observed my inattention, and chid me. The time
came for saying my task, and I had not acquired it. My master reproached me,
and, yet more, he beat me; I felt shame and anger, and I went home with a full
determination to commit the sin against the Holy Ghost.
'But when I got home my father ordered me to do
something connected with the farm, so that I was compelled to exert myself; I
was occupied till night, and was so busy that I almost forgot the sin and my
late resolution. My work completed, I took my supper, and went to my room; I
began my prayers, and when they were ended, I thought of the sin, but the
temptation was slight, I felt very tired, and was presently asleep.
'Thus, you see, I had plenty of time allotted me
by a gracious and kind God to reflect on what I was about to do. He did not
permit the enemy of souls to take me by surprise, and to hurry me at once into
the commission of that which was to be my ruin here and hereafter. Whatever I
did was of my own free will, after I had had time to reflect. Thus God is
justified; He had no hand in my destruction, but, on the contrary, He did all
that was compatible with justice to prevent it. I hasten to the fatal moment.
Awaking in the night, I determined that nothing should prevent my committing
the sin. Arising from my bed, I went out upon the wooden gallery; and having
stood for a few moments looking at the stars, with which the heavens were
thickly strewn, I laid myself down, and supporting my face with my hand, I
murmured out words of horror, words not to be repeated, and in this manner I
committed the sin against the Holy Ghost.
'When the words were uttered I sat up upon the
topmost step of the gallery; for some time I felt stunned in somewhat the same
manner as I once subsequently felt after being stung by an adder. I soon arose,
however, and retired to my bed, where, notwithstanding what I had done, I was
not slow in falling asleep.
'I awoke several times during the night, each time
with the dim idea that something strange and monstrous had occurred, but I
presently fell asleep again; in the morning I awoke with the same vague
feeling, but presently recollection returned, and I remembered that I had
committed the sin against the Holy Ghost. I lay musing for some time on what I
had done, and I felt rather stunned, as before; at last I arose and got out of
bed, dressed myself, and then went down on my knees, and was about to pray from
the force of mechanical habit; before I said a word, however, I recollected
myself, and got up again. What was the use of praying? I thought; I had
committed the sin against the Holy Ghost.
'I went to school, but sat stupefied. I was again
chidden, again beaten, by my master. I felt no anger this time, and scarcely
heeded the strokes. I looked, however, at my master's face, and thought to
myself, you are beating me for being idle, as you suppose; poor man, what would
you do if you knew I had committed the sin against the Holy Ghost?
'Days and weeks passed by. I had once been
cheerful, and fond of the society of children of my own age; but I was now
reserved and gloomy. It seemed to me that a gulf separated me from all my
fellow-creatures. I used to look at my brothers and schoolfellows, and think
how different I was from them; they had not done what I had. I seemed, in my
own eyes, a lone monstrous being, and yet, strange to say, I felt a kind of
pride in being so. I was unhappy, but I frequently thought to myself, I have
done what no one else would dare to do; there was something grand in the idea;
I had yet to learn the horror of my condition.
'Time passed on, and I began to think less of what
I had done; I began once more to take pleasure in my childish sports; I was
active, and excelled at football and the like all the lads of my age. I
likewise began, what I had never done before, to take pleasure in the exercises
of the school. I made great progress in Welsh and English grammar, and learnt
to construe Latin. My master no longer chid or beat me, but one day told my
father that he had no doubt that one day I should be an honour to Wales.
'Shortly after this my father fell sick; the
progress of the disorder was rapid; feeling his end approaching, he called his
children before him. After tenderly embracing us, he said, "God bless you,
my children, I am going from you, but take comfort, I trust that we shall all
meet again in heaven."
'As he uttered these last words, horror took
entire possession of me. Meet my father in heaven,—how could I ever hope to
meet him there? I looked wildly at my brethren and at my mother; they were all
bathed in tears, but how I envied them. They might hope to meet my father in
heaven, but how different were they from me, they had never committed the
unpardonable sin.
'In a few days my father died; he left his family
in comfortable circumstances, at least such as would be considered so in Wales,
where the wants of the people are few. My elder brother carried on the farm for
the benefit of my mother and us all. In course of time my brothers were put out
to various trades. I still remained at school, but without being a source of
expense to my relations, as I was by this time able to assist my master in the
business of the school.
'I was diligent both in self-improvement and in
the instruction of others; nevertheless, a horrible weight pressed upon my breast;
I knew I was a lost being; that for me there was no hope; that, though all
others might be saved, I must of necessity be lost; I had committed the
unpardonable sin, for which I was doomed to eternal punishment, in the flaming
gulf, as soon as life was over!—and how long could I hope to live? perhaps
fifty years; at the end of which I must go to my place; and then I would count
the months and the days, nay, even the hours, which yet intervened between me
and my doom. Sometimes I would comfort myself with the idea that a long time
would elapse before my time would be out; but then again I thought that,
however long the term might be, it must be out at last; and then I would fall
into an agony, during which I would almost wish that the term were out, and that
I were in my place; the horrors of which I thought could scarcely be worse than
what I then endured.
'There was one thought about this time which
caused me unutterable grief and shame, perhaps more shame than grief. It was
that my father, who was gone to heaven, and was there daily holding communion
with his God, was by this time aware of my crime. I imagined him looking down
from the clouds upon his wretched son, with a countenance of inexpressible
horror. When this idea was upon me, I would often rush to some secret place to
hide myself; to some thicket, where I would cast myself on the ground, and
thrust my head into a thick bush, in order to escape from the horror-struck
glance of my father above in the clouds; and there I would continue groaning till
the agony had, in some degree, passed away.
'The wretchedness of my state increasing daily, it
at last became apparent to the master of the school, who questioned me
earnestly and affectionately. I, however, gave him no satisfactory answer,
being apprehensive that, if I unbosomed myself, I should become as much an
object of horror to him as I had long been to myself. At length he suspected
that I was unsettled in my intellects; and, fearing probably the ill effect of
my presence upon his scholars, he advised me to go home; which I was glad to
do, as I felt myself every day becoming less qualified for the duties of the
office which I had undertaken.
'So I returned home to my mother and my brother,
who received me with the greatest kindness and affection. I now determined to
devote myself to husbandry, and assist my brother in the business of the farm.
I was still, however, very much distressed. One fine morning, however, as I was
at work in the field, and the birds were carolling around me, a ray of hope
began to break upon my poor dark soul. I looked at the earth and looked at the
sky, and felt as I had not done for many a year; presently a delicious feeling
stole over me. I was beginning to enjoy existence. I shall never forget that
hour. I flung myself on the soil, and kissed it; then, springing up with a
sudden impulse, I rushed into the depths of a neighbouring wood, and, falling
upon my knees, did what I had not done for a long, long time—prayed to God.
'A change, an entire change, seemed to have come
over me. I was no longer gloomy and despairing, but gay and happy. My slumbers
were light and easy; not disturbed, as before, by frightful dreams. I arose
with the lark, and like him uttered a cheerful song of praise to God,
frequently and earnestly, and was particularly cautious not to do anything
which I considered might cause His displeasure.
'At church I was constant, and when there listened
with deepest attention to every word which proceeded from the mouth of the
minister. In a little time it appeared to me that I had become a good, very
good, young man. At times the recollection of the sin would return, and I would
feel a momentary chill; but the thought quickly vanished, and I again felt
happy and secure.
'One Sunday morning, after I had said my prayers,
I felt particularly joyous. I thought of the innocent and virtuous life I was
leading; and when the recollection of the sin intruded for a moment, I said,
"I am sure God will never utterly cast away so good a creature as
myself." I went to church, and was as usual attentive. The subject of the
sermon was on the duty of searching the Scriptures; all I knew of them was from
the liturgy. I now, however, determined to read them, and perfect the good work
which I had begun. My father's Bible was upon the shelf, and on that evening I
took it with me to my chamber. I placed it on the table, and sat down. My heart
was filled with pleasing anticipation. I opened the book at random, and began
to read; the first passage on which my eyes lighted was the following:—
'"He who committeth the sin against the Holy
Ghost shall not be forgiven, either in this world or the next. "'
Here Peter was seized with convulsive tremors.
Winifred sobbed violently. I got up, and went away. Returning in about a
quarter of an hour, I found him more calm; he motioned me to sit down; and,
after a short pause, continued his narration.
