The Adventures of David Simple (1904)/Chapter 7
CHAPTER VII
containing a remarkable contention between three sisters
Poor David's heart was ready to burst. He ordered his coach to drive into Fleet Street, where he presently took a lodging; and now being at some distance from the cause of his torment, and at liberty to reflect on what had passed, he found it was much harder to conquer passion than to raise it; for notwithstanding the great contempt he had for his mistress' conduct, and his aversion to the very thought of a mercenary woman, yet would his fancy set before him all those scenes of pleasure he once imagined he should enjoy with the object of his love. With those thoughts returned all his fondness: then came his reason spitefully to awake him from the pleasing dream, and represented to him, he ought to forget it was ever in the power of a person, who so highly deserved to be despised, to have contributed to his pleasure. But all the pains he could take to overcome his inclination for her could not make him perfectly easy; sometimes he would weep, to think that vanity should prevent such a creature from being perfect; then would he reflect on the opinion he once had of her, and from thence conclude, if she could have such faults, no woman was ever truly good; and that nature had certainly thrown in some vices to women's minds, lest good men should have more happiness than they are able to bear. On this consideration, he thought it would be in vain to search the world round, for he was sure he could meet with nothing better than what he had already seen; and he fancied he might certainly justify himself in going back to her, who had no faults, but what nature, for some wise purpose, had given to all creatures of the same kind: he began to flatter himself, that time and conversation with him would get the better of those small frailties (for such he soon began to think them) which, perhaps, might be only owing to youth, and the want of a good education. With these reflections he was ready to go back to throw himself at her feet and ask ten thousand pardons for believing his own senses; to confess himself highly to blame, and unworthy her favour, for having left her. However, he had just sense enough left to send a spy first to enquire into her conduct concerning the old man, who came just as she was married. This news assisted him to get the better of his love; and he never enquired for her more, though he was often thoughtful on her account.
Now was David in the same condition as when he discovered his brother's treachery. The world was to begin again with him; for he could find no pleasure in it, unless he could meet with a companion who deserved his esteem; he had been used ill by both the man and the woman he had loved. This gave him but a melancholy prospect, and sometimes he was in perfect despair; but then his own mind was a proof to him, that generosity, good-nature, and a capacity for real friendship, were to be found in the world. Besides, he saw the shadow of those virtues in so many minds, that he did not in the least doubt but that the substances must exist in some place or other. He resolved, therefore, to go in his search; for he was sure, if ever he could find a valuable friend, in either man or woman, he should be doubly paid for all the pains and difficulties he could possibly go through.
He took a new lodging every week, and always the first thing he did was to enquire of his landlady the reputation of all the neighboorhood: but be never could hear one good character from any of them: only every one separately gave very broad hints of their own goodness, and what pity it was they should be obliged to live amongst such a set of people. As he was not quite so credulous to take their words, he generally, in two or three days, had some reason to believe they were not totally exempt from partiality to themselves. He went from house to house for some time, without meeting with any adventure worth relating. He found all the women tearing one another to pieces from envy, and the men sacrificing each other for every trifling interest. Every shop be went into, be heard men swear they could not afford their goods under such a price one minute, and take a great deal less the next; which even his charity could not impute to the desire of serving the buyer. In short, the generality of scenes he saw he could never mention without a sigh, or think of without a tear.
In one of the houses where he lodged, the master of the family died while he was there. This man bad three daughters, every one of whom attended him with the utmost duty and care during bis illness, and at the approach of bis last moments showed such agonies of grief and tender sorrow, as give our hero great pleasure. He reflected how much happier the world would be, if all parents would sustain the helpless infancy of their children with that tenderness and care, which would be thought natural by every good mind, unexperienced in the world, for all creatures to have towards everything immediately placed under their protection; and as they grew older, form their minds, and instruct them with that gentleness and affection which would plainly prove everything they said or did was for their good, instead of commanding them with an arbitrary power. He thought that children thus educated, with grateful minds would return that care and love to their parents, when old age and infirmities rendered them objects of compassion, and made it necessary for them to be attended with more assiduity than is generally met with in those people who only serve them for their money.
The three daughters above-mentioned never ceased crying and lamenting, till their father was buried, in all which time Mr. Simple did all he could to comfort them; but as soon as the funeral was over, they dried up their tears, and seemed quite recovered. The next morning, as David was musing by himself, he was startled by a sudden noise he knew not what to make of. At first he fancied it was the chattering of magpies; then he recollected, that some young female neighbours of his, fearing lest there should be too much silence in their house, kept two or three parrots to entertain themselves with. At last, he thought he heard something like the sound of human voices, but so confused and intermixed, three or four together, that nothing could be distinguished. He got up, and went towards the room the noise seemed to come from: but how great was his amazement, when he threw open the door, and saw the three dutiful daughters (whom he had so much applauded in his own mind) looking one pale as death, the other red as scarlet, according as their different constitutions or complexions were worked on by violent passions; each of them holding a corner of a most beautiful carpet in her hand! The moment they saw David, they ran to him, got hold of him, and began to tell their story all at a time. They were agitated by their rage to such a degree, that not one of them could speak plain enough to be understood; so that he stood as if he had been surrounded by the three furies for a considerable time, before he could have any comprehension what they would be at. At last, with great intreaties that one of them would speak at a time, he so far prevailed, that the eldest told him the story, though it was not without several interruptions and many disputes.
Their father had left all he had to be equally divided amongst them; and when they came to examine his effects (which they did very early in the morning after the funeral) they found this carpet, which was a present to him from a merchant, and was one of the finest that ever was seen. The moment they set eyes on it, they every one resolved to have it for themselves, on which arose a most violent quarrel; and, as none of them would give it up, the most resolute of them took up a pair of scissors, and cut it into three parts, They were all vexed to have it spoiled, yet each was better pleased than if either of the sisters had had it whole. But still the difference was not decided, for in one of the pieces was a more remarkably fine flower than the rest, and this they had every one fixed on as their own. When David had heard all this, he could not express his astonishment, but stood staring at them, like one who has seen, or fancies he has seen, a ghost, desired them to let go their hold, for he could not possibly be a judge in a dispute of so nice a nature, which they all cried out, they would have the flower divided; for they had rather see it cut in a thousand pieces, than that anybody should have it but themselves.
As soon as David could free himself from them, he ran downstairs, got as far out of their hearing as he could, and left the house that very night.
The behaviour of these sisters to each other, and that lately shown to their father, may appear perhaps very inconsistent, and difficult to be reconciled. But it must be considered, that as the old man had always preferred all the power in in his own hands, they had been used implicitly to obey his commands, and wait on him; and as to their grief at his death, there is to most people a terror and melancholy in death itself, which strikes them with horror at the sight of it: and it being usual for families to cry and mourn for their relations till they are buried, there is such a prevalency in custom, that it is not uncommon to see a whole house in tears for the death of those very people they have hated and abused while living, though their grief ceases with their funerals. But these three sisters had an inveterate hatred to each other; for the eldest being much older than the others, had, during their childhood, usurped so unreasonable an authority over them, as they could never forgive; and as they were handsomer when they grew up than she was, they were more liked by the rest of the world, and consequently more disliked and hated by her. The other two, as they were nearer of an age, in all appearance might have agreed better; but they had met with one of those fine gentlemen who make love to every woman they chance to be in company with. Each of these two sisters fancied he was in love with her; they therefore grew jealous rivals, and never after could endure one another: yet notwithstanding all this, I make no doubt, but on the death of either, the others could have performed the ceremony of crying with as good a grace as if they had loved one another ever so well. Nay, and what is yet more surprising, this grief might not have been altogether affectation; for when any person is in so low a state of body, mind, or fortune, as makes it impossible for them to be the objects of envy, if there is the least grain of compassion or good-nature in the human mind, it has full power to exert itself, and the thought of being about for ever to lose anybody we are used to converse with, like a charm, suddenly banishes from our thoughts all the bad which former piques and quarrels ever suggested to us they had in them, and immediately brings to our remembrance all the good qualities they possessed.
Poor Mr. Simple began now utterly to despair that he should ever meet with any persons who would give him leave to have a good opinion of them a week together; for he found such a mixture of bad in all those he had yet met with, that as soon as he began to think well of any one, they were sure to do something to shock him, and overthrow his esteem: he was in doubt in his own mind, whether he should not go to some remote comer of the earth, lead the life of a hermit, and never see a human face again; but as he was naturally of a social temper, he could not bear the thoughts of such a life. He therefore concluded he would proceed in his scheme, till he had gone through all degrees of people; and, if he continued still unsuccessful, he could but retire at last.