The Adventures of David Simple (1904)/Chapter 25
CHAPTER IV
Three gentlemen were her fellow travellers: it was dark when they set out, and the various thoughts in Cynthia's mind prevented her entering into any conversation, or even so much as hearing what her companions said; till at the dawn of day a grave gentleman, who sat opposite to her, broke forth in so fine an exclamation on the beauties of the creation, and made such observations on seeing the rising sun, as awakened all her attention, and gave her hopes of meeting with improvement and pleasure in her journey. The two other gentlemen employed themselves, the one in groaning out a disapprobation, and the other in yawning from a weariness at every word the third spoke. At last, he who yawned, from a desire of putting an end to what he undoubtedly thought the dullest stuff he ever heard, turned about to Cynthia, and swearing he never studied any other beauties of nature but those by the fair sex, offered to take her by the hand; but she knew enough of the world to repulse such impertinence, without any great difficulty; and, by her behaviour, made that spark very civil to her the remainder of the time she was obliged to be with him.
The very looks and dresses of the three men were sufficient to let her into their different characters: the grave man, whose discourse she had been so pleased with, was dressed in the plainest, though in the neatest manner; and, by the cheerfulness of his countenance, plainly showed a mind filled with tranquillity and pleasure. The gentleman who sat next him was as dirty as if he had sat up two or three nights together in the same clothes he then had on; one side of his face was beaten black and blue by falls he had had in his drink and skirmishes he had met with by rambling about. In short, everything without was an indication of the confusion within, and he was a perfect object of horror. The spark who admired nothing but the ladies had his hair pinned up in blue papers, a laced waistcoat, and everything which is necessary to show an attention to adorn the person, and yet at the same time with an appearance of carelessness.
The first stage they alighted at to breakfast, the two last-mentioned gentlemen made it their business to find out who the third was; and, as he was very well known in that country, heving lived there some years, they soon discovered he was a clergyman. For the future, therefore, I shall distinguish these three persons by the names of the clergyman, the atheist, and the butterfly; for, as the latter had neither profession nor characteristic, I know not what other name to give him.
As soon as they got into the coach again, the atheist having recruited his spirits with his usual morning draught, accosted the clergyman in the following abrupt and rude manner—"Come on, Mr. Parson, now I am for you; I was not able to speak this morning, when you fancied you were going on with all that eloquence, to prove there must be an infinite wisdom concerned in this creation." As he spoke these words, there happened to be so violent a jolt of the coach, they could hardly keep their feet. "Ay! there," continued he with a sort of triumph in his countenance, "an accident has proved to my hand that chance is the cause of everything, otherwise I would fain know how the roads should become so very rugged, that one cannot go from one place to another without being almost dislocated." Indeed, to have judged by his looks, any one would have thought the least motion would have shook him to pieces. "For my part," said he, "considering the numberless evils there are in the world, it is amazing to me how any one can have the assurance to talk of a deity; especially when I consider those very men, who thus want to persuade us out of our senses, at the same time take our money, and are paid for talking in that manner. I am sure now, whilst I am speaking, I feel such pains in my head, and such disorders all over me, as is a sufficient proof that there was no wisdom concerned in the forming us. It is true, indeed, that I have sat up whole nights, and drank very hard lately; but if a good being, who really loved his creatures, had been the cause of our coming into this world, undoubtedly we should have been made in such a manner that we should neither have had temptations, nor power to injure ourselves. The whole thing appears to me absurd; for, notwithstanding all our boasting of superior reason to the rest of the creation, in my opinion we are such low grovelling creatures, that I can easily conceive we were made by chance. It is certainly the clergy's interest to endeavour to govern us; but I am resolved I will never be priest-rid, whatever other folly I give in to." In this style he went on a great while; and when he thought it time to conclude, that is, when the spirit of the liquor he had drunk was evaporated, he stared the clergyman full in the face, with a resolution, as he saw he was a modest man, that if he could not get the better of him by his arguments, he would put him out of countenance by his impudence.
The butterfly, who had been silent, and hearkened with the utmost attention while the other was speaking, now began to open his mouth; he was full as irreligious as the atheist, although the cause of it was very different; for as the latter, from a natural propensity to vice, and a resolution to suffer all the consequences of it rather than deny himself anything he liked, drove all serious thoughts as much as possible from his mind, and endeavoured to make use of all the fallacies he could think on to impose on his understanding; so the former, who was naturally disposed to lead a regular life, and whose inclinations prompted him to nothing which he might not have been allowed in any religion whatever, put on all the appearance of viciousness he could, because he was silly enough to imagine it proved his sense. And, as he could not think deep enough to consult on which side truth lay, he never considered further than what would give him the best opportunity of displaying his wit. He openly professed himself a great lover of ridicule, and thought no subject so fit to exercise it on as religion and the clergy: he, therefore, as soon as the other had done speaking, ran through all the trite things which had been ever said on that head; such as the pride of priests, their being greedy after the tithes, etc. This he spoke with an air which at once proved his folly, and the strong opinion he had of his own wisdom.
The clergyman heard all the atheist's arguments, and the butterfly's jests, without once offering to interrupt them; and, had they talked such nonsense on any other subject, he would not have taken the pains to answer them; but he thought the duty of his profession in this case called upon him to endeavour, at least, to convince them of the error. His good sense easily saw that to go too deep would be only talking what they did not understand, and consequently throwing away his own labour; he therefore kept on the surface of things, and to the atheist only proved that the unevenness of the roads, or a man's having the headache after a debauch (which were the two points he had insisted on) were no arguments against the existence of a deity; and then had good-nature enough to try to bring him off from the course of life he saw he was in, by showing him how easy it would be for him to attain health and ease, if he would only do what was in his own power (i.e. lead a regular life) for the sake of enjoying those benefits; and that then be would find as much cause to be thankful to the Author of his being as he now fancied he had to complain of Him.
To the butterfly (whose disposition was not hard for a man who knew the world to find out) he did nothing more than show him how very little wit there was in a repetition of what had been said a hundred times before; and, for his encouragement to alter his way of thinking (or rather of talking), assured him that he might learn much more real wit on the other side of the question, and repeat it with less danger of having the theft found out.
Every word this gentleman spoke, and his manner of speaking, convinced Cynthia he was not endeavouring to show his own parts, but acting from the true Christian principle of desiring to do good. She was perfectly silent the whole time he was speaking; but, when he had concluded, could not forbear rallying the butterfly on his strong desire of having wit; and told him she knew several subjects he could talk on so much better than religion, that she would advise him to leave that entirely off, and take up with those he was much fitter for, such as gallantry—gaming—dressing—etc. This drew loud laughter from both the atheist and butterfly. The latter replied, "Ay! ay! I warrant you, I never knew an instance where the parsons did not get the women on their side!" with several coarse jests not worth repeating. And now they had nothing to do, but to roar and make a noise; resolving, if they could not confute their adversaries, to persecute them by putting their ears on the rack; in hopes, by that means, for the sake of quietness, to extort a confession from them of whatever they pleased. In this confusion of noise and nonsense Cynthia and the clergyman were obliged to continue, till they arrived at the inn in the evening; when, on pretence of being weary and indisposed, they left their fellow travellers, and retired to their separate rooms.
The atheist had been forming a scheme in his mind, from the time he first saw Cynthia, in what manner he should address her; for, as he had persuaded himself there was no such thing as any one virtue in the world, he was under no apprehension of being disappointed in his hopes. Cynthia's contempt of the butterfly was a convincing proof to him of her understanding, and consequently encouraged him to believe that she must be pleased with himself. The only difficulty that he feared he should meet with was the finding an opportunity of speaking to her alone; but while he was perplexing his brains how he should accomplish his designs, accident threw that in his way which he knew not how to bring about for himself.
It was a fine moonlight night; and, as the various things labouring in Cynthia's mind inclined her to be pensive and melancholy, when she fancied the two gentlemen were safe at their bottle for that evening, she went down a pair of back stairs into a little garden belonging to the house, in which was an arbour. Here she sat down, wandering in her own fancy through all the past scenes of her life. The usage she had met with from almost all her acquaintance, and their different behaviour, according to her different circumstances, gave her but an uneasy sensation; but by giving way to the bent of her mind, at length all unpleasing thoughts were exhausted, and her imagination began to indulge her with more agreeable ideas. But, as if it had been impossible for her to enjoy one moment's pleasure, no sooner had her thoughts taken this turn, than she saw the atheist, who, softly and unperceived by her (so fixed was she in her templations), was come near enough to sit down her. He had drank his companion to sleep; and, as it was not his usual time of going to bed (which he seldom did till four or five in the morning), accidentally roved into the garden. Cynthia at first was startled, but endeavoured as much as possible to conceal her fear, thinking that the appearance of courage and resolution was the best means she could make use of in her present situation.
He began at first with talking to her of indifferent things, but soon fell on the subject of his own happiness in thus meeting with her alone. She immediately rose up, and would have left him; but he swore she should hear him out; and promised her, if she would but attend with patience to what he had to say, she should be at liberty to do as she pleased. He then began to compliment her on her understanding, insisted that it was impossible for a woman of her sense to be tied down by the common forms of custom, which were only complied with by fools; then ran through all the arguments he could think of to prove that pleasure is pleasure, and that it is better to be pleased than displeased. Talked of Epicurus' saying, "Pleasure is the chief good;" from which he very wisely concluded, "That vice is the greatest pleasure." In short, his head naturally not being very clear, and being always confused with liquor when it came to be night, he made such a medley between pleasure and pain, virtue and vice, that it was impossible to distinguish I what he had a mind to prove.
Cynthia could not help smiling to see a man endeavouring to persuade her that she might follow her inclinations without a crime, while she knew that nothing could so much oppose her gratifying him as her pleasing herself. However, she thought it her wisest way to be civil to him; for although she was not far from the house, yet nothing could have shocked her more than to have been obliged to make a noise. She therefore told him she did not doubt but what he had said might be very reasonable, but she had not time now to consider of it, being very ill, and therefore begged she might go in for that night, and she would talk more to him the next day. The atheist was so much pleased to think she gave any attention to what he said, that for fear of disobliging her, he left her at liberty to retire, which she did with the utmost joy.