That Llangollen is not only geographically but socially in Wales is very evident, in the churchyard, in the names over the shops, and in the talk of the streets. Griffiths, Jones, Williams, Roberts, and Evans have it all their own way, and are repeated over and over again, recalling the humorous story of how the Welsh originally got their names. Llewelyn—was it?—had spent a long time in naming the clans, and at last, growing weary of the work, said: “Let all the rest be called Jones!”
As for the talk, the bridge over the Dee is the place to hear Welsh. That favourite lounging-place becomes on market-days as noisy as a parrot-house with the excited talk of Welshmen black-haired and Welshmen red. Who can shout like a Welshman, and who but a Taffy or Frenchman works himself up into such gesticulating rages on such trivial occasions? Feather-headed pride, conceit, insincerity, treachery, fickle enthusiasms, religiosity, falsehood, and superstition, have always characterised the Welsh in the pages of history; but the modern Welshman is not superstitious, and has no faith in the wild legends of his own land, nor belief in the diablerie that was part of his grandparents’ creed. He regularly attends the services of his hideous Calvinist-Methodist Chapel, and is as completely, religiously and politically, under the thumb of the Boanerges who ministers within as is the Irish peasant beneath the sway of the Romish priest. The Welshman clings fanatically to his nationality and his language, and is saturated with matter-of-fact Radicalism; but although he does not believe in the fairies, is careful not to speak ill of the little people, lest evil come of it; and although so pious, is commonly a shameless and resourceful liar. Untruthfulness has always been a characteristic of Taffy, and judges have quite recently commented upon the prevalence of perjury in Welsh courts of law.
Education is advancing by leaps and bounds in the Principality, and sometimes lights heavily on the shoulders of some decent farmer’s son, and constrains him thenceforth to walk the world an example of the perfect prig. Culture, in fact, brings all the acrid defects of the Cymric character into prominence, and impels those who have taken it badly towards political nostrums of unpatriotic bias, or social “movements” where the faddist shrieks and has his being.
XXXV
Llangollen was “discovered” in 1788 by those feminine Robinson Crusoes commonly called the “Ladies of Llangollen.” Their singular story and the alliterative title have gone forth to all the world, and are familiar where the achievements of many worthier persons are unknown. If eccentricity may rightly be considered a proper passport to fame, then the Ladies of Llangollen are justly celebrated, but if the extraordinary mental obliquity that shaped their wasted lives be looked upon pathologically, the consideration they received in their time and the tolerant interest in them in later years must seem highly mischievous.
When the Ladies first came to Llangollen, the place was but a village on the post-road to Holyhead. The newly established mail-coaches went a different route, and only one inn—the “Hand”—existed for the accommodation of travellers. But, although the road was rough, and the accommodation matched it, this was the route by which travellers between London and Ireland came and went; and so although the village was less than one-tenth the size of the Llangollen of to-day, it could not have afforded that “romantic retirement from the world” the two Ladies are said to have desired.
These eccentrics were by no means of that age or those social surroundings that might reasonably be expected to dispose them to renounce the world, its pleasures, and its duties. One of them was extremely youthful; both enjoyed the advantages of good birth and social position. Lady Eleanor Butler, the elder, by some twelve years, of the two, was twenty-nine years of age, and was the daughter of that John Butler, Member of Parliament for Kilkenny, who in 1791 obtained the reversal of the attainder which had many years before deprived his family of the Earldom of Ormonde and Ossory: the Honourable Miss Ponsonby belonged to the Bessborough family. A favourite explanation of the friendship of the two is that they were disappointed in love, and thereafter determined to live for each other, apart from the world. It is an explanation that at any rate, if quite unfounded, is evidence of a not unpleasing desire to seek romance in the most unlikely places. Lady Eleanor Butler was the originator and moving spirit in this eremitical enterprise. Tiny in stature, petite in figure, and overshadowed by the tall and commanding figure of her youthful friend, she at the same time possessed and retained during the whole of their career will-power for two. Several unsuccessful attempts to elope from their homes in the neighbourhood of Waterford took place before their relatives became unwillingly convinced that their eccentricity was quite unconquerable; but at last they were allowed to depart whither they would, their respective families doubtless expecting them back again so soon as the novelty of the escapade had worn off. In May, 1788, therefore, they left Waterford for Dublin, attended by their one servant, Mary Carryl, who shared their fortunes for upwards of forty years. Landing at Holyhead, they travelled for awhile in North Wales, seeking a suitable spot. That they did not readily find one seems to throw something of a sardonic side-light upon the scheme; for even nowadays, when the tourist plumbs the deepest valleys and scales peaks often thought inaccessible, solitude is not difficult to achieve in this part of the world. Robinson Crusoe’s island, or a solitary lighthouse, would not have suited their project, which, frankly, seems to have been the building up of a reputation for eccentricity in a spot where it could readily be observed. As well might one, in these times, attempt to set up a solitary cell on the platform of Willesden Junction, and escape observation, as in those days play the hermit at Llangollen. Why, it was a halting-place on the great road between two kingdoms; with kings and princes, lords-lieutenant, peers, members of Parliament, and the whole social circle to which those two humbugs belonged travelling constantly to and fro throughout the year, within hail of their windows.
On the hillside sloping down to the great road they found a modest cottage, which, with some adjoining land, they purchased and commenced to convert into the odd museum it is now. They called it “Plas Newydd,” and by that name it is now familiar to many thousands of summer visitors to Llangollen.
It was not long before the fame of this so-called “romantic” retreat spread to London; brought, doubtless, by some traveller whom the Ladies, as keenly alive to advertisement as any theatrical manager, had invited up from that not too comfortable hostelry, the “Hand.” From that time forward a constantly increasing stream of callers presented letters of introduction at Plas Newydd, on their passage along the great road. Every one who was any one found a welcome there. Rank, fashion, art and literature, politics, were all represented in their visitors-books. Artistic and literary visitors left sketches and sonnets, and presented autograph editions; rank and fashion gossipped and tittle-tattled and corresponded; and political and influential callers eventually made a Government pension possible to these precious “hermits.” It was in 1788 that Lord Mornington wrote them, somewhat mysteriously, about some “arrears” in that pension which “he will not fail to interest himself in despatching,” adding that “Mr. Pitt is acquainted with their situation and with the motive that so greatly recommends them to His Majesty’s favour.” What was that recommendation? What national service did the Ladies of Llangollen render that they should have received a Government subsidy? Is it possible that, in those palmy days of the Secret Service Fund, the Ladies were eavesdropping agents, gathering political gossip from Irish members travelling this road and reporting it to Downing Street?
In no real sense did these two friends retire from the world. Indeed, they visited all the best people within reach of a carriage-drive from Llangollen; but always, however far the distance, making it a point never to sleep away from home. Their costume was invariable, and strange. It consisted of riding-dress; with white stockings, shoes, beaver hats, stiff starched neckcloth, and short, powdered hair. Their coats were of decidedly masculine cut. Charles Mathews, who saw them occupying a box at the Oswestry Theatre when he was playing there in 1820, said they “looked exactly like two respectable superannuated old clergymen.” Their love of jewellery, however, was a distinctly feminine trait, and was carried an inordinate length. Lady Eleanor had the Cordon of the Order of St. Louis, presented by Louis XVIII.; and both wore a vulgar profusion of ribbons, brooches, and rings.