The Adventures of David Simple (1904)/Chapter 38
CHAPTER VIII
The dinner passed in observations on the atheist's story; but as soon as the company thought the clergyman had recruited his spirits enough to make it agreeable to him to relate what remained, they desired him to proceed, which he immediately complied with.
"The atheist waked very light-headed, and raved on nothing but his brother; talked of his having concealed from them the main part of his story, only from shame. But the apothecary, by applying proper remedies, at last brought him to his senses; and then begged him, if there was anything lay on his conscience which he had not yet disclosed, he would do it. On which he desired him to send for the clergyman again, and as soon as he came, he told him he could not be easy in his mind till he had discovered to them the most wicked part of his life, which, from some small hopes of recovering, he had not yet disclosed. 'But,' continued he 'since I find it is impossible for me to live, I will no longer conceal it from you.
"'Know then, although I was never told it, I am sensible the relief I told you I often received in my greatest distresses was owing to the best of brothers; but I, instead of having my mind overflowing with gratitude for his goodness, in my own thoughts only despised his folly; for when we were young, from a desire of engrossing to myself all my father was worth, I contrived, while he lay on his death-bed, to burn his real will, and forge a new one in my own favour, in order to cheat my fond good brother of his share of his father's patrimony.'"
Whilst the clergyman was repeating this last incident, David, by degrees, was worked up into so great an agony, and so often changed colour, that the whole company fixed their eyes on him; and Valentine begged to know what it was could have caused so sudden an alteration in him. "Alas, Sir!" replied David, with a faltering voice, and trembling all over, "the poor wretch whose story I have just heard, I know, by some circumstances, was my own brother. I once fondly loved him; and, notwithstanding his behaviour, cannot hear of his misery without the greatest affliction. I did, indeed, support him underhand; and was in hopes to have heard, while he was yet living, that he was brought to a sense of his own misconduct; but had I known, at last, that he had repented of his past life, I would have flown to have seen and forgiven him before he died. I cannot forbear paying some tears to his memory." In saying this, he clapped his handkerchief before his eyes.
Camilla, who was charmed with David's goodness to such a brother, and yet torn to pieces by seeing him so affected, had not power to speak; but turned so very pale, that Cynthia desired Valentine to run for a glass of water, for she was afraid his sister would faint away. These words roused David, and he immediately lost all thoughts but for Camilla. His seeming to recover, and the water he gave her, prevented her fainting. Cynthia and Valentine did all they could to comfort David; and the clergyman was very much grieved that he had accidentally been the occasion of all this confusion.
Whilst they were in this situation, a servant came up, and told Camilla there was an old gentleman below who begged to speak with her. She ran downstairs with such precipitation as amazed them all; but they were much more surprised when they heard her scream out, as if some terrible accident had happened to her. They did not lose a moment before they flew to her relief; they met an old gentleman bringing her up in his arms, and crying out, "Oh! give me way! for in finding my child I have for ever lost her; but, dead or alive, I will hold her in my arms, and never part with her more."
Cynthia and Valentine presently knew him to be their father; and what he said convinced David it could be no other. They conducted him into a chamber, where he gently laid Camilla on the bed. Their present thoughts were all taken up in bringing her to herself; but the moment she opened her eyes, she fixed them on her father for some time, without being able to utter her words. At last she burst into a flood of tears, which gave her some relief, and enabled her to say, "Am I then, at last, so happy that my father thinks me worthy his regard? And could you be so good, sir, to come to look for me?"
Valentine took hold of the first opportunity to throw himself at his father's feet, and begged he would condescend to look on him. He tenderly raised him; and embracing him, said, "Oh! my son I nothing but the condition I saw your sister in could have prevented my speaking to you before!" He then flew from him to Camilla, and then back to him again, which he repeated alternately for the space of some minutes. At last, in his ecstasy, he fell on his knees, and said—"My dearest children, if you can forgive me (for guilt has rendered me unworthy of such a son and daughter), every minute of my future life shall be employed to promote your pleasure and happiness." They both, almost by force, got him up from the ground, and assured him, if he would be so good to restore them to his love, having whole worlds at their command could not afford them half the comfort. In short, to describe this scene, and all the grief which the poor old gentleman (who had no fault but that of having been misled by a too violent passion) and his children felt, requires a Shakespeare's pen; therefore I am willing to close it as soon as possible, being quite unequal to the task. David and Cynthia felt all the tenderness and pleasure of their friends; and the clergyman rejoiced in having found a company where so much goodness reigned. He took his leave for the present, thinking at this juncture he might be troublesome, with a promise of returning again in a day or two to see them.
The poor old gentleman was so much overcome by the violent agitation of his spirits that he could hardly bring himself that evening to speak one coherent sentence. All they could get from him was that Livia was dead, and a promise to tell them all another time. But his children's goodness, and the joy of seeing them after so long a separation, was more than lie could bear, and almost deprived him of the power of speech. To say the truth, this good man was so entirely overcome with ecstasy at the sight and behaviour of his children, that he was that night incapable of inquiring what methods they had taken to procure subsistence from the time he had lost them. But, by the little he could gather, his heart was inflamed with the warmest gratitude to David.
Camilla, seeing how much her father was affected, prevailed on him to retire to rest. David was now resolved, as Camilla had found her only surviving parent, that very night to obtain her consent to his asking her father's approbation of his love; and desired the liberty of entertaining her one hour alone.
I shall not dwell minutely on this part of my hero's life, as I have too much regard for my readers to make them third persons to lovers; and shall only inform the curious that Camilla, on the consideration that she had already received such strong proofs of David's sincere affection, thought proper to abate something of the ceremonies prescribed to lovers, before they can find out whether their mistresses like them or no and as she was convinced every word of hers was capable of giving him either the greatest pleasure or the utmost pain, her tenderness and softness prevented her making use of any of that coquetry which is very prevalent in some part of her sex. She was not ashamed to own she loved him; and that, if her father consented, the greatest happiness she could propose in this world was to employ that life he had so generously saved in endeavouring to make blm happy.
And now, reader, if you are inclined to have an adequate idea of David's raptures on that confession, think what pretty miss feels when her parents wisely prefer her, in their applause, to all her brothers and sisters; observe her yet a little older, when she is pinning on her first manteau and petticoat; then follow her to the ball, and view her eyes sparkle, and the convulsive tosses of her person on the first compliment she receives: but don't lose sight of her till you place her in a room full of company, where she hears her rival condemned for indiscretion, and exults in her loss of reputation. No matter whether she rivals her in my Lord ———, or Captain ———, or Squire, etc., etc., for as she is equally desirous of engrossing the admiration of all, her enmity is equal towards the woman who deprives her of such great blessings, whichever she robs her of. Imagine the joys of an ambitious man who has just supplanted his enemy, and is got into his place; imagine what a young lawyer feels the first cause he has gained, or a young officer the first time he mounts guard. But imagine what you will, unless you have experienced what it is to be both a sincere and successful lover, you never can imagine anything equal to what David felt.
The conversation between him and Camilla was of the delicatest, tenderest kind; and he told her with the greatest joy that she had delivered him from the utmost despair of ever meeting with any happiness in this world; for that, when he had the good fortune to meet with her, his condition was so unhappy that he began seriously to think of getting into some corner of the earth where he might never see the face of a human creature; for to be always in the midst of people who, by their behaviour, forced him to despise them, was to him the greatest of all curses. "To you, therefore, madam," said he, "I owe that delicate pleasure of having my taste approved by my judgment. You know I made an offer to Cynthia, for I never desired to conceal anything from you. I thought, indeed, that in her I had met with what I was in search of, a woman I could esteem. This made me admire her; but you alone truly touched my heart."
Camilla exulted as much in having gained so generous, so good a man as David, and had now no further thoughts of his love for Cynthia; but the mentioning her put her in mind of Valentine; and as she was not amongst that number of people who can be very happy themselves, though their friends be at the same time ever so miserable, she could not help sighing at the reflection how difficult it would be for Valentine to bring about a marriage with Cynthia.
David immediately guessed the cause of her suddenly growing melancholy; and told her he should not deserve the good opinion she had expressed of him if he could enjoy any one pleasure in life while her brother was unhappy; that the death of the poor creature whose story the clergyman had related added something to his income, and he thought he had enough to make her and her family easy in a private retired way of life; and, as to his part, that was all he desired. Camilla was every minute more and more charmed with his goodness; and as she was certain he delighted in no other expense but assisting his friends, and that she herself could be contented in any way of life, provided every one she lived with was easy; she thought it more greatness of mind to let David fully satisfy his darling passion of doing good, and to live lower herself in order to serve her brother than to refuse her lover's offer under the pretence of thinking she ought not to burden him only that she might have more opportunities of indulging herself.
They went together to see for Valentine and Cynthia, and found them both sitting in the most pensive manner, as if they were quite uneasy; and, upon inquiry, found that Cynthia had fixed a resolution (on Valentine's begging her leave, now he had found his father, to ask his consent to marry her) of leaving them the next day; for she insisted on it that she would not come into a family to be any disadvantage to it. She owned, if she had a fortune, she should think herself happy in giving it to Valentine, for that from her youth he was the only man she had ever thought on; but in her present circumstances she could have no other prospect but to be a burden to him as long as she lived; and was resolved she would suffer anything rather than that should ever be the case.
David begged her to consider that in Valentine's happiness she would increase, instead of diminish, that of the whole family: in short, they all used so many arguments with her, that at last she found her resolution began to stagger; and therefore got up and insisted on going to bed, saying she would consider further of it. Valentine could not but approve of Cynthia's conduct, and the very method she took took to prevail on him to get the better of his inclination only increased it so much the more. David and Camilla sat up with him some time, for he was so uneasy he could not presently compose himself to rest. His passion for Cynthia had got so much the better of him, that it was not in his power to command it; and yet he could not help condemning the thoughts of indulging himself at the expense of so great and good a friend as David.
The next morning, as soon as Valentine and Camilla heard their father was awake, they went to pay their duty to him. Excessive was the joy they felt at thus having an opportunity of again renewing what had been their greatest pleasure from their infancy. The poor old gentleman, even the day he was married to his beloved Livia, never experienced half the raptures the sight of his long-lost children gave him. As soon as he was up, and they had all breakfasted together, Camilla begged her father, if it would not be troublesome to him, to relate how Livia died, and what had happened since their unfortunate separation; saying, he might speak anything before all that company, for that Cynthia was no stranger to him, and she was sure the man who by his goodness had saved both hers and her brother's life, and been their only support, would be always esteemed by him as his friend. Her father, who was now restored again to his former self, followed his usual method of not delaying a moment before he complied with what she desired, and began as follows—
"I must take shame to myself, that at my age, and having two such children to be my comfort, I suffered an unreasonable passion to overcome me to their disadvantage. Which way shall I be able to thank the man who has preserved them to bless me again with their sight? From the time you left me, and I was persuaded of your infamy, I was every day more and more taken up with my admiration of Livia. She turned and wound me just according to her own inclination; my thoughts were almost all swallowed up in the contemplation of her charms, and my desires wholly centred in her happiness; and yet, in spite of all my fondness, a sigh would sometimes steal from my breast when the idea of my children forced itself on my fancy. I made no scruple of disclosing whatever I felt to Livia; but whenever I spoke of you, she constantly grew melancholy, took care to drop expressions (and they appeared to flow from the height of her love) as if no behaviour of hers could fix my whole affections; but that she found even undutifulness to me, and the most abandoned actions, could not erase from my mind the persons I loved so much better than her. In short, it is impossible to describe half the arts she made use of that I might never mention or think of you. Fits, tears, and good humour were played upon me, each in their turn, till I was almost out of my senses; but if ever her behaviour provoked me to be the least suspicious of her, the next moment her smiles threw my soul into raptures, and every other thought gave way to the delight and joy she inspired me with.
"All the money I could get she spent in her extravagance; till at last I found I could support it no longer, and was obliged to keep in my own house for fear of my creditors. I durst not so much as mention you, for fear of shocking Livia; and all this I was blind enough to impute to her great tenderness for me. But poverty, the continual fear of seeing her miserable, and the horrible thought which sometimes forced itself upon me of what could become of my children, had such an effect on me that it threw me into violent disorders and made me quite unhealthy. I was in the utmost despair how to support her or myself.
"Whilst I was in this unhappy situation Livia's brother died; and as he had before lost his wife and children, and Livia was his nearest relation, in consideration of my kindness to her, and knowing her extravagant temper, he left me in full possession of all his fortune, which amounted to twenty thousand pounds. This was a very seasonable relief to me; but yet it was some time before I could in the least recover my constitution; during which time she nursed me with all the assiduity of the most tender wife in the world, in hopes of getting this new fortune from me. She sat up with me whole nights; and as she was always with me, her flattery at last got such an ascendant over me, that I was besotted to her love, and forgot I had ever been a father. Thus getting rid of my most painful thought, and in possession of a plentiful fortune, I soon grew well and strong again. But Livia's dissimulation cost her her life, for the delicacy of her frame could not support the fatigue she had undergone during my illness, and she fell into a nervous fever, of which she died.
"That distemper naturally inclines people to all manner of horrible thoughts; and as her crimes were such as greatly heightened all the terrors of it, she was at last, by the perturbation of her own mind, forced to confess to me all the arts she had used to make me have an ill opinion of you while you lived with me; and that she had afterwards falsely accused you of a crime she had no reason to suspect you of, in order to prevent any means of a reconciliation between us.
"Imagine now, my dear children, what I felt when the consideration of this woman's perfidiousness brought back to my memory all your goodness; and when 1 considered what miseries you must have been exposed to in being abandoned to the wide world without any support, I thought I should have gone distracted. I asked her what could have tempted her thus to ruin the man who doted on her, and whose every wish was centred in her happiness. All the reason I could get from her was that she thought her interest and yours was incompatible, for the more I did for you, the less she could have for herself; that she soon perceived your discontent at the alteration of my behaviour to you; and as she was your enemy, she concluded you must be hers. This, she said, made her go greater lengths than she at first intended. Soon after this confession she died, and left me in a condition impossible to express. And as I am now convinced of your love and tenderness for me, I will not shock you with the repetition of it.
"The next day, while I was revolving in my mind what method I should take to find you again, my Lord ——— came to see me. At first my servant denied me, and said I saw no company; he insisted on coming up, saying he had something of the greatest consequence to impart to me. The moment he entered the room he informed me that by accident he had met with you and Valentine. This sudden transport of joy almost deprived me of my senses. I asked him a thousand questions before I gave him time to answer one: at last as soon as he could speak, he told me he was convinced by your behaviour you was entirely innocent; and if I would send for you home, and clear up your reputation, he should be very glad to receive you as his wife. I was quite astonished at this discourse; but, however, would not stay with him a minute longer than to thank him for his good news and kind offer, took a direction where to find you. and flew once more to have the happiness of anbracing my dear children.
"I have but ten thousand pounds left: divide it between you; and, for the rest of my life, all I desire is to see you both happy." And then addressing himself to David, he said, "Are there any words, sir, capable of expressing the gratitude I owe you for your supporting so generously these two young creatures?"
David, who had trembled from the time he had mentioned my Lord ———, now thought he had an opportunity to speak; and immediately replied, "If, sir, you think you have any obligations to me, which I assure you I do not, as I am fully paid by having served persons of such worth as Valentine and Camilla, it is in your power to give me all my soul holds dear. Consent to my having a title to call you father, by being joined for ever to Camilla, and the world cannot produce a man so happy as myself." Camilla added that it was what she wished, and related in what manner she had already refused my Lord ———. On which the old gentleman immediately joined their hands, assuring David he had rather see his daughter married to the man whose actions had so strongly proved his real love for her than to any estate or title in Europe.
Camilla saw Valentine was afraid to speak, as Cynthia had not yet given him permission; and therefore undertook it herself, as she was resolved to make her own happiness complete by adding that of her brother to it. She told her father that, to complete the general joy, there was yet wanting his consent to her brother's taking Cynthia for a wife. On this Valentine fell on his knees, and said his sister had asked the only thing which could make him happy. His desires were no sooner known than complied with by his now once more father.
Cynthia, on hearing that he might be able to with her in a decent though plain way, thought she had now no longer any reason to refuse him happiness of being her support and protector, and inwardly enjoyed the thought of the pleasure a man of his temper must have in finding it in his power to be so. David insisted that what fortune was amongst them might be shared in common; and they all joined in intreating the good old gentleman to spend the rest of his days with them, assuring him his will should be a law to them all. And now I believe it is impossible for the most lively imagination to form an idea of greater happiness than was enjoyed by this whole company. That very evening the clergyman before mentioned came to see them; and although he really liked Cynthia, yet had he so little selfishness in him, he heartily congratulated them all on their happiness; and the next morning was appointed, by the consent of all parties, for the performing the ceremony.