The Adventures of David Simple (1904)/Chapter 27
CHAPTER VI
containing an account of several extraordinary transactions
The morning after David had informed Valentine and his sister of what he knew concerning Cynthia, he perceived a melancholy in them both; which, althoug he imputed Camilla's thoughfulness to het love for her brother, and was not ignorant whence his concern arose, sat so heavy on his mind as gave him great uneasiness; for he felt all the pains of his friends to a much greater degree than be did his own. He therefore did all he could to comfort Valentine; told him he did not doubt but Cynthia would immediately answer Camilla's letter; with some hints that he himself might be the cause of her refusing all offers; and assured him, if his fortune could any way conduce to his happiness, whatever share of it was necessary for him should be entirely at his service.
Valentine was struck dumb with this generosity. Tenderness and gratitude for such uncommon benevolence was to be answered no other way but by flowing tears. David saw his confusion, and begged him not to fancy he was under any obligation to him, for that he should think his life and fortune well spent in the service of a man whom both nature and goodness had so nearly allied to Camilla. Valentine at last with much difficulty found a vent for his words, and swore no passion of his should ever make him a greater burden than he already was to such a friend. Camilla, between the concern for her brother and the pleasure David's words gave her, was quite overcome. But as tenderness, when it is come to the height, is not to be described, I shall pass over the rest of this scene in silence.
Valentine's impatience increased every day to hear from Cynthia; a week passed over, and no news of her: at last, one day as David was walking through Westminster, he heard a voice which called him by his name; and when he looked up, he saw Cynthia looking out at an upper window. He immediately ran into the house, and great were his raptures at the thoughts of the pleasure he should carry home to his friends. When he was seated, he began to tell Cynthia that he had met with Camilla and Valentine. He had no sooner mentioned their names than she asked him a thousand questions concerning them, which quite puzzled him, and he knew not what to answer. This confusion she imputed to his having heard the story of their running away together in an infamous manner, which she had been told at her first arrival in town with my Lady ———, but had never spoke of it to David, as she was unwilling to spread the report. At last she cried out, "Sir, I beg, if you have any compassion for me, tell me what you know of my Camilla" (she spoke not a word of Valentine); "for there is nothing I so much long to know as whether she is innocent of what she is accused of; for if she is, how hard is her fate, and what must she have suffered by lying under such an imputation!"
David desired her to have a little patience, and he would tell her all: he had not time then to repeat all Camilla's story, but said enough to clear her innocence. Cynthia knew so much of the world, she easily observed, by his manner of talking of her, that he was in love with her. This gave her the greatest pleasure she could have received, as it was the strongest proof he could not think her guilty. And when she was further informed in what manner they kuved together, and David (who was also contriving methods to give pleasure) invited her to go home with him, and told her there was room for her in the same house, it is impossible to describe her raptures: she immediately paid her lodgings, put her things into a hackney coach, and then they set out together, to find all which either of them valued in this world.
Valentine's joy was greater than he could bear, and almost overcame his senses. The ecstasy thus suddenly viewing Cynthia before him threw him into, almost made him forget the respect he had always paid her; and it was as much as he could do to forbear flying and catching her in his arms. Camilla, although she could no ways blame Cynthia for her behaviour, and really loved her with a sincere affection, yet such is human frailty, that the first sight of her struck her with the idea of David's having liked her; and this thought, in spite of herself, was a great damp to the pleasure of meeting with her friend. But Cynthia's thoughts were so much employed, she did not perceive it: she ran and embraced, and expressed the utmost joy to see her. This she really felt without that alloy which the least mixture of rivalship or jealousy gives to friendship in either sex. While they were together, she addressed most of her conversation to Camilla, but her eyes spontaneously rolled towards Valentine; for though she often endeavoured to remove them, they instantly returned to the object which principally attracted them.
That evening, and all the ensuing day, they spent in informing each other of every accident which had befallen them since their separation; and on the day following, Cynthia proposed at breakfast the taking a coach, and riding through all the parts of this great metropolis, to view the various countenances of the different sorts of people who inhabit it. David said nothing could be more agreeable to him, if Camilla approved of it; for, as he had travelled through it in a more attentive manner than what was proposed at present, he should be the better judge of people's thoughts by their manners and faces, Valentine had no objection to anything proposed by Cynthia; on which they called a coach, and this agreeahis party (and such another I believe is not easily to be found) got into it.
They had no occasion to make the coach heavy by loading it with provisions, there being many hospitable houses by the way open for their entertainment: though I did once see a coach which set out from the Tower, stop in the middle of St. James's Street, and the company that were in it take a small repast of ham and cold chicken; but that perhaps was owing to a weakness in some of the stomachs of the passengers, which disabled them from fasting above an hour at a time.
As David and his company passed through the polite parts of the town early in the morning, they saw but few people worthy their observation; all there was hushed and still, as at the dead of night; but when they came to the more trading part of the town, the hurry was equal to the stillness they had before observed.
As they drove through Covent Garden, they saw a company of men reeling along, as if they in a manner had lost the use of their legs; each of them had something in his right hand, which he had picked up in the market—some had flowers, others cabbages, and some chose for nosegays a bunch of onions or garlic; but all their hands shook, as if it was with difficulty they could hold anything in them. As soon as they saw the coach, they ran, or rather tumbled up to it, with the utmost speed their condition would admit them, and stammered out a desire that the ladies would accept of their garlands.
Poor Camilla was frighted; but Cynthia, who had seen more of the world, and perceived they were gentlemen (though they had, as Shakespeare says, "put that into their mouths which had stolen away their brains"), took a bunch of flowers from a very young fellow who was foremost, and thanked him for her garland; after which they all staggered away again, huzzaing her for her good-humour.
David called to a man who was passing by, and asked him if he knew any of those gentlemen; for that he thought it pity somebody should not take care of them home, for fear they should come to any mischief. "Alack! sir," replied the man, "there is no danger of them; drunken men and children—you know the proverb. I have kept a shop in that street these twenty years; and it is very few mornings, unless it be very bitter cold weather, but that a parcel of them pass by. That young gentleman who went first, I am told, would make a very fine gentleman if he did not drink so hard; and I had it from very good hands, for I am acquainted with his mother's chambermaid, and she must know, to be sure. And then that hatchet-faced man who came next, I think he had better take care of his wife and children than run about spending his money in such a manner; he owes me a bill of one pound three shillings and two-pence; but no wonder he can't pay his debts, while he leads such a sort of life. That short man who walks by his side, to my certain knowledge was arrested last week; and I was told, if some of his rakish companions had not bailed him, he would have found it a difficult matter to have got out of the bailiff's hands; for, faith and troth, master, if once they lay hold on any one, it is not an easy matter to get from them again. He is but poor; I don't believe he is much richer than one of we that do keep shops to get our livelihood; and yet, they say, his elder brother rides in his coach and six. I think he might relieve him when he is in distress; indeed, it is nothing to me, and I never trouble my head about other folks' business. There is a man lives in that house yonder; he pretends to set up for a gentleman, and yet I don't hear he has any estate; forsooth, he must have servants, though he can't tell where to get money to pay them; but they serve him as he deserves—they won't overwork themselves, I warrant them! But it is time for me to go home, for I have enough to do; besides, I hate gossiping, and never talk of my neighbours." He spoke all this so fast, he would not give himself time to breathe; and kept his hand on the coach door the whole time, as if he was afraid it would drive away from him. When he ceased speaking, Cynthia applauded him for minding his own business, and not troubling himself about other people; on which he was going to begin again, but Valentine bid the coachman drive on, and so left him.
They went on for some time musing, without speaking one word; till at last Cynthia said she should be glad to know what they were all so thoughtful about, and fancied it would be no ill entertainment if every one of them were to tell their thoughts to the rest of the company. They all liked the proposal, and desired Cynthia to begin first.
She said she was considering, amongst the variety of shops she saw, how very few of them dealt in things which were really necessary to preserve life or health, and yet that those things which appeared most useless contributed to the general welfare; for whilst there was such a thing as property in the world, unless it could be equally distributed, those people who have little or no share of it must find out methods of getting what they want from those whose lot it is to have more than is necessary for them; and, except all the world was so generous as to be willing to part with what they think they have a right to, only for the pleasure of helping others, the way to obtain anything from them is to apply to their passions. As, for instance, when a woman of fashion goes home with her coach loaded with jewels and trinkets, which from custom she is brought to think she cannot do without, and is indulging her vanity with the thoughts of outshining some other lady at the next ball, the tradesman who receives her money in exchange for those things which appear so trifling, to that vanity perhaps owes his own and his family's support. Here Cynthia ceased, and called on Camilla to tell what it was her mind was so earnestly fixed on.
She said she did not know whether she ought not to be ashamed to own her present reflections, for she was not sure they did not arise from ill-nature; for she was thinking, in all that number of houses they passed, how many miserable creatures there were tearing one another to pieces from envy and folly; how many mothers-in-law working underhand with their husbands, to make them turn their children out of doors to beggary and misery: she could not but own the pleasing sensations she felt, for being delivered herself from those misfortunes, more than overbalanced her sorrow for her fellow-creatures; and she desired David to tell her his sentiments, whether this was not in some measure triumphing over them. I should have trembled in some companies at such a question, for fear the eagerness to decide it should prevent the hearing any one person's speaking at a time for half an hour together; but here it was otherwise; and David, after a little consideration, replied—
"Nothing can be more worthy of admiration than to observe a young woman thus fearful of giving way to any frailty; but what you now express, I believe, has been felt by every mortal. To rejoice, indeed, at the sufferings of any individual, would be a sign of great malignity; or to see another in misery, and be insensible of it, would be a proof of the want of that tenderness I so much admire; but to comfort ourselves in any affliction by the consideration that it is only the common fate of men, and that we are not marked out as the peculiar objects of our Creator's displeasure, is certainly very reasonable. This is what Shakespeare calls 'Bearing our own misfortunes on the back of such as have before endured the like.' On the other hand, to rejoice with thankfullness when we escape any misery which generally attends our species, with a mixture of compassion for their sufferings, is rather laudable than blamable." Camilla was happy to find David did not condemn her thoughts, and then desired him to tell what his were.
"I was musing," said he, "on the scene we saw, and what that man told us in Covent Garden, with the oddness of his character; he seemed to take such a pleasure in telling us the faults of his neighbours, and yet looked with such a good-humoured countenance, as if railing would be the last thing he could delight in." Cynthia replied, it was very likely he was a good man, but that there is in some natures a prodigious love of talking; and, from a want of any ideas of their own, they are obliged to fall on the actions of their neighbours; and as it is to be feared they often find more ill than good in their acquaintance, that love of talking naturally leads them into scandal. She then turned to Valentine, and desired to know what bad taken up his thoughts in such manner as to make him so silent. Valentine answered, he was revolving in his thoughts the miserable situation the man was in who was in love with a woman whom his circumstances in life debarred him from all hopes of its ever being reasonable for him to acquaint with his passion. While he spoke this, he fixed his eyes steadfastly on Cynthia; she observing it, blushed, and made him no answer.
While they were discoursing in this manner, David observed a woman behind a counter in a little shop, sobbing and crying as if her heart would break; he had a curiosity to know what was the matter with her, and proposed the going in, under the pretence of buying something in the shop, and by that means inquiring into the cause of all this terrible grief. The woman did not seem at all shy of talking to them of her misfortunes; but said, her husband was the most barbarous man in the world. They all began to pity her, and asked if he had beaten or abused her, "No, no," she said, "much worse than that;" she could sooner have forgiven some blows than the cruelty he had been guilty of towards her. At last, with the interruption of many tears, it came out, that all this complaining was for nothing more than that her husband, having received a sum of money, had chosen to pay his debts with it, instead of buying her and her daughter some new clothes, "And sure," said she, "there is neighbour such a one," pointing to a very handsome young woman who sat in a shop opposite to her, "can have everything new as often as she pleases; and I am sure her husband is more in debt than mine. I think a man ought to take care of his own wife and children before he pays his money to strangers," Cynthia could not forbear bursting into a loud laughter when she heard the cause of this tragedy. The woman seeing that, fancied she made sport of her, and turned her melancholy tone into a scolding one. She was not very young, and the wrinkles in her face were filled with drops of water which had fallen from her eyes; which, with the yellowness of her complexion, made a figure not unlike a field in the decline of the year, when harvest is gathered in, and a smart shower of rain has filled the furrows with water. Her voice was so shrill that they all jumped into the coach as fast as they could, and drove from the door.
Cynthia and Valentine talked of this accident in a ridiculous light; but David, in his usual way, was for inquiring into the cause of this woman's passions; and wondered how it was possible for such trifles to discompose any one in such a manner. Camilla had lately, I do not pretend to say from what motive, been very apt to enter into David's way of conversation, and looked very grave.
Cynthia said she was at no loss to find out the reason of the scene they had just now been witnesses of; for she knew the common cause of most evils, i.e. envy was at the bottom of it. The old woman would have been contented with her old clothes had not her handsome neighbour had new ones; for she, no doubt, had observed this young woman was taken most notice of; and from a strong resolution not to impute it to her own age, or any defect in her person, flattered herself it was owing to the other's being better dressed. "For I have known," continued Cynthia, "something very like this in people of a much higher station. I remember once I was with a lady who was trying on her gown; her shape was but indifferent, for she was something awry: she scolded at her mantuamaker two hours, because she did not look so straight and genteel as another lady of her acquaintance, who had one of the finest shapes that ever was seen. And yet this woman in other things did not want sense; but she would not see any defect in her own person, and consequently resolved to throw the blame on any other thing which came first in her way."
This little set of company passed the remainder of that day in amusing themselves with their observations on every incident which happened; and as they were all disposed in their own minds to be pleased, every trifle was an addition to their pleasure. When they returned home in the evening, they were weary with their jaunt; and finding themselves inclined to rest, retired to bed: where I will leave them to their repose, and keep the next day's adventure for a subsequent chapter.