"What was his name?" said he.
"His name was Joost Van Vondel," I replied.
"I never heard of him before," said Morgan.
"Very probably," said I: "he was born, bred, and died in Holland."
"Has he been dead long?" said Morgan.
"About two hundred years," said I.
"That's a long time," said Morgan, "and maybe is the reason that I
never heard of him. So he was a great man?"
"He was indeed," said I. "He was not only the greatest man that
ever sprang up amongst the Baptists, but the greatest, and by far
the greatest, that Holland ever produced, though Holland has
produced a great many illustrious men."
"Oh I daresay he was a great man if he was a Baptist," said Morgan.
"Well, it's strange I never read of him. I thought I had read the
lives of all the eminent people who lived and died in our
communion."
"He did not die in the Baptist communion," said I.
"Oh, he didn't die in it," said Morgan; "What, did he go over to
the Church of England? a pretty fellow!"
"He did not go over to the Church of England," said I, "for the
Church of England does not exist in Holland; he went over to the
Church of Rome."
"Well, that's not quite so bad," said Morgan; "however, it's bad
enough. I daresay he was a pretty blackguard."
"No," said I: "he was a pure virtuous character, and perhaps the
only pure and virtuous character that ever went over to Rome. The
only wonder is that so good a man could ever have gone over to so
detestable a church; but he appears to have been deluded."
"Deluded indeed!" said Morgan. "However, I suppose he went over
for advancement's sake."
"No," said I; "he lost every prospect of advancement by going over
to Rome: nine-tenths of his countrymen were of the reformed
religion, and he endured much poverty and contempt by the step he
took."
"How did he support himself?" said Morgan.
"He obtained a livelihood," said I, "by writing poems and plays,
some of which are wonderfully fine."
"What," said Morgan, "a writer of Interludes? One of Twm o'r
Nant's gang! I thought he would turn out a pretty fellow." I told
him that the person in question certainly did write Interludes, for
example Noah, and Joseph at Goshen, but that he was a highly
respectable, nay venerable character.
"If he was a writer of Interludes," said Morgan, "he was a
blackguard; there never yet was a writer of Interludes, or a person
who went about playing them, that was not a scamp. He might be a
clever man, I don't say he was not. Who was a cleverer man than
Twm o'r Nant with his Pleasure and Care, and Riches and Poverty,
but where was there a greater blackguard? Why, not in all Wales.
And if you knew this other fellow - what's his name - Fondle's
history, you would find that he was not a bit more respectable than
Twm o'r Nant, and not half so clever. As for his leaving the
Baptists I don't believe a word of it; he was turned out of the
connection, and then went about the country saying he left it. No
Baptist connection would ever have a writer of Interludes in it,
not Twm o'r Nant himself, unless he left his ales and Interludes
and wanton hussies, for the three things are sure to go together.
You say he went over to the Church of Rome; of course he did, if
the Church of England were not at hand to receive him, where should
he go but to Rome? No respectable church like the Methodist or the
Independent would have received him. There are only two churches
in the world that will take in anybody without asking questions,
and will never turn them out however bad they may behave; the one
is the Church of Rome, and the other the Church of Canterbury; and
if you look into the matter you will find that every rogue, rascal
and hanged person since the world began, has belonged to one or
other of those communions."
In the evening I took a walk with my wife and daughter past the
Plas Newydd. Coming to the little mill called the Melyn Bac, at
the bottom of the gorge, we went into the yard to observe the
water-wheel. We found that it was turned by a very little water,
which was conveyed to it by artificial means. Seeing the miller's
man, a short dusty figure, standing in the yard, I entered into
conversation with him, and found to my great surprise that he had a
considerable acquaintance with the ancient language. On my
repeating to him verses from Taliesin he understood them, and to
show me that he did, translated some of the lines into English.
Two or three respectable-looking lads, probably the miller's sons,
came out, and listened to us. One of them said we were both good
Welshmen. After a little time the man asked me if I had heard of
Huw Morris, I told him that I was well acquainted with his
writings, and enquired whether the place in which he had lived was
not somewhere in the neighbourhood. He said it was; and that it
was over the mountains not far from Llan Sanfraid. I asked whether
it was not called Pont y Meibion. He answered in the affirmative,
and added that he had himself been there, and had sat in Huw
Morris's stone chair which was still to be seen by the road's side.
I told him that I hoped to visit the place in a few days. He
replied that I should be quite right in doing so, and that no one
should come to these parts without visiting Pont y Meibion, for
that Huw Morris was one of the columns of the Cumry.
