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Of all Welsh interlude composers Twm O'r Nant or Tom of the Dingle was the most famous. Here follows the promised analysis of his "Riches and Poverty." The entire title of the interlude is to this effect. The two prime opponents Riches and Poverty.
I did not refuse his services, but let him go on, and to reward him as I thought, spoke kindly to him, asking him various questions. "Are you a carter?" said I. No answer. "One of Twm O'r Nant's people?" No answer. "Famous fellow that Twm O'r Nant, wasn't he? Did you ever hear how he got the great tree in at Carmarthen Gate? What is wood per foot at present? Whom do you cart for?
Even then the matter was not satisfactorily settled, for, years afterwards, on the decease of Tom's father, the lawyer seized upon the property, which by law descended to Tom O'r Nant, and turned his poor old mother out upon the cold mountain's side.
"You never had a prydydd like Huw Morris in South Wales," said he; "nor Twm o'r Nant either." "South Wales has produced good poets," said I. "No, it hasn't," said the old fellow; "it never produced one. If it had, you wouldn't have needed to come here to see the grave of a poet; you would have found one at home." As he said these words he got up, took his stick, and seemed about to depart.
That Tom was about five feet eight inches high, lusty, and very strongly built; that he had something the matter with his right eye; that he was very satirical and very clever; that his wife was a very clever woman and satirical; his two daughters both clever and satirical, and his servant-maid remarkably satirical and clever, and that it was impossible to live with Twm O'r Nant without learning to be clever and satirical; that he always appeared to be occupied with something, and that he had heard him say there was something in him that would never let him be idle; that he would walk fifteen miles to a place where he was to play an interlude, and that as soon as he got there he would begin playing it at once, however tired he might be.
Lying and unfaithfull; w'd doe things on purpose in contradiction and vexation to her mistress; lye out of the house anights and have contrivances w'th fellows that have been stealing from o'r estate and gett drink out of ye cellar for them; saucy and impudent, as when we have taken her to task for her wickedness she has gone away to complain of cruell usage.
"Oh, I like that part best where he gets the ship into the water at Abermarlais." "You have a good judgment," said I; "his life is better than his interludes, and the best part of his life is where he describes his getting the ship into the water. But do the Methodists about here in general read Twm O'r Nant?" "I don't know," said be; "I am no Methodist." "Do you belong to the Church?" "I do."
I take great risks, gentlemen but wish to give you a taste, as I think the sound of some lines from the original may, and doubt any translation can, of the old and haughty sense of mystery and grandeur embodied in the poem; because it is this feeling, perhaps the last echo of the Western Mysteries, that is so characteristic of the literature that claims to come down to us from this age: Afallen beren, bren ailwyddfa, Cwn coed cylch ei gwraidd dywasgodfa; A mi ddysgoganaf dyddiau etwa Medrawd ac Arthus modur tyrfa; Camlan darwerthin difiau yna; Namyn saith ni ddyraith o'r cymanfa.
That night I sat up very late reading the life of Twm O'r Nant, written by himself in choice Welsh, and his interlude which was styled "Cyfoeth a Thylody; or, Riches and Poverty." The life I had read in my boyhood in an old Welsh magazine, and I now read it again with great zest, and no wonder, as it is probably the most remarkable autobiography ever penned.
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.
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