The Adventures of David Simple (1904)/Chapter 6
CHAPTER VI
which treats of variety of things, just as they fell out to the hero of our history
David was going up to his mistress' chamber, to desire her company to walk; when he came near the door, he fancied he heard the voice of a woman in affliction, which made him run in haste to know what was the matter; but as he was entering the room, being no longer in doubt whose voice it was, he stopped short, to consider whether he should break in so abruptly or no. In this interim, he heard the beginning of the foregoing dialogue; this raised such a curiosity in him, that he was resolved to attend the event. But what was his amazement, when he found that the woman he so tenderly loved, and who he thought had so well returned his affection, was in the highest perplexity to determine whether she should take him with a competency, or the monster before described with great riches. He could hardly persuade himself that he was not in a dream. He going to burst open the door, and tell her he had witness to the delicacy of her sentiments; but his tenderness for her, even in the midst of his passion, restrained him, and he could not bring himself to do anything to put her into confusion.
He went back to his own room, where love, rage, despair, and contempt, alternately took possession of his mind; he walked about, and raved like a madman; repeated all the satires he could remember on women, all suitable to his present thoughts, (which is no great wonder, as most probably they were writ by men in circumstances not very different from his). In short, the first sallies of his passion, his behaviour and thoughts, were so much like what is common on such occasions, that to dwell long upon them, would be only a repetition of what has been said a thousand times. The only difference between him and the generality of men in the same case, was, that instead of resolving to be her enemy, he could not help wishing her well: for as tenderness was always predominant in his mind, no anger, nor even a just cause of hatred could ever make him inveterate or revengeful: it cost him very little to be a Christian in that point; for it would have been more difficult for him to have kept up a resentment, than it was to forgive the highest injury, provided that injury was only to himself, and that his friends were no sufferers by it. As soon therefore as his rage was somewhat abated, and his passion a little subsided, he concluded to leave his mistress to the enjoyment of her beloved grandeur with the wretch already described, without saying or doing anything that might expose or any way hurt her.
When he had taken this resolution, he went down stairs into a little parlour, where he ccidentally met Miss Nanny alone. She, with her eyes swelled out of her head with crying, with fear and trembling told him her father's proposals. Her manner of speaking, and her looks, would have been to him the strongest proofs of her love, and given him the greatest joy, if he had not before known the secrets of her heart from her own mouth. The only revenge he took, or ever thought of taking, was by endeavouring to pique that vanity which was so greatly his enemy. He therefore put on a cold indifference, and said, he was very glad to hear she was likely to make so great a fortune; for his part, he was very easy about it, he thought indeed to have been happy with her as a wife; but since her father had otherwise disposed of her, he should advise her to be dutiful, and obey him.
He was very bad at acting an insincere part; but the present confusion of her mind was so great, she could not distinguish very clearly; and not knowing he was acquainted with what had passed between her and her confidante, his behaviour threw her into a great consternation, and had the desired effect of piquing her vanity. I verily believe, had his design been to have gained her, and could he have taken the pains to have turned about, and made a sudden transition in her mind, from the uneasiness his coldness gave her pride, to a triumph in a certain conquest of him, joined to the love which she really had for him, notwithstanding it was not her predominant passion, he might have carried her wherever he pleased. But as that was not his design, he durst not stay long with her; for he was several times tempted by her behaviour to think he was not in his senses, when he fancied he overheard her say anything that could be construed to her disadvantage. And certainly, if the longest experienced friend had told him what he heard himself, he would have suspected him of falsehood; and if, on being taxed with it, she had denied it, he would have believed her against the whole world. But as he was witness himself to what she had said, and was convinced that she could think of such a fellow as his rival, for the sake of money, he had just resolution enough to leave her, though he had a great struggle in his mind before he could compass it; and he has often said since, that if he had staid five minutes longer, his love would have vanquished his reason, and he should have become the fond lover again. Before he went, he took leave of her father and sister, with great civility, for he was resolved to avoid any bustle. He sent for a coach, put his clothes into it, and drove from the door.
Mr. Johnson asked no questions, for he heartily glad to get rid of him, and thought it was owing to his daughter's discharging him; he therefore again exulted in his own wisdom, in making her always obey him. He then went to look for her, in order to applaud her obedience; but how great was his surprise, when he found her, instead of being rejoiced at having done her duty, and being rid of a troublesome lover, walking about the room like a mad woman, crying and tearing her hair; calling out she was undone for ever; she had no refuge now; her misery must last as long as her life.
Her father had been in the room some time before she perceived him, and now she took no notice of him; but continued walking about in the same manner. As soon as he could recollect himself, he began to talk to her, and asked her what could be the cause of ail this uneasiness; said her lover was just gone from the door in a coach, and he was come to praise her dutiful behaviour. When she heard David was gone, it increased her agony, and she could hardly forbear reproaching her father, for being the cause of her losing such a man. For no sooner did she think him irretrievable, than she fancied in him she had lost everything truly valuable; and though that very day all her concern had been how to get rid of him; yet, now he was gone, she would have sacrificed (for the present) even her darling vanity, if she could have brought him back again. And when Mr. Johnson would have comforted her, by telling her of the rich husband she was to have, she flew into the greatest rage imaginable, and swore, if she could not see Mr. Simple again, she would lock herself up, and never converse with any living creature more; for, without him, she was undone and ruined.
Her father, who had no idea of a woman's being ruined any way but one, began to be startled at her repeating that word so often, and to fear, that the girl had been drawn in by her passion to sacrifice her honour; he was terrified, lest he should prove the dupe instead of Mr. Simple. He stood considering some time, and at last was going to burst into a rage with his daughter, resolving, if she was not virtuous, he would turn her out of doors: but, before he said anything in anger to her, a sudden thought came into his mind, which turned him into a milder temper. He considered, that as the thing was not publick, and Mr. Nokes was ignorant of it, it might be all hushed up. He wisely thought, that as she was not in that desperate condition in which some women who have been guilty of indiscretions of that kind are, he might justify himself in forgiving her. If, indeed, her reputation had been lost, and she had conversed long enough with a man to have worn out her youth and beauty, and had been left in poverty, and all kinds of distress, without any hopes of relief, her folly would have then been so glaring, he could by no means have owned her for his child. But as he did not at all doubt when the first sallies of her grief were over, she would consent to follow her interest, and marry the old man; and that then he should still have the pleasure of seeing her a fine lady, with her own equipage attending her; he condescended to speak to her in as kind a manner as if he had been sure Lucretia herself (whose chastity nothing but the fear of losing her reputation could possibly have conquered) had not excelled her in virtue. He desired her to be comforted; for if she had been led astray by the arts of a man she liked, if she would be a good girl, and follow his advice in concealing it from and marrying the man who liked her, he would not only forgive it, but never upbraid, or mention it to her more.
She was quite amazed at this speech; and the consideration, that even her own father could suspect her virtue, which was dearer to her than her life, did but aggravate her sorrows. At first she could not help frowning, and reproaching her father for such a suspicion, with some hints of her great wonder how it was possible there could be such creatures in the world; but, in a little time, her thoughts were all taken up again with Mr. Simple's leaving her. She told her father, nothing but his returning could make her happy, and she could not think how she had lost him; for she never told him she would prefer the other to him: though, indeed, she was very wavering in her own mind, yet she had not expressed it to him, and his indifference was what she could not bear. If he had but sighed, and been miserable for the loss of her, she could have married her old man without any great reluctance: but the thought that he had left her first was insupportable! At this rate did she run on for some time.
Mr. Johnson, who in his youth had been very well acquainted with women's ways, and knew the ebbs and flows of their passions, was very well satisfied that as there was a great mixture of vanity in the sorrow she expressed for the loss of her lover, the greater vanity would in the end conquer the less, and he should bring her to act for her own and his interest: he therefore left her, to go and follow his own affairs, and made no doubt of everything succeeding according to his wish. She spent some time in the deepest melancholy, and felt all the misery which attends a woman who has many things to wish, but knows not positively which she wishes most. Sometimes her imagination would represent Mr. Simple with all the softness of a lover, and then the love she had had for him would melt her into tenderness; then in a moment his indifference and neglect came into her head, her pride was piqued, and she was all rage and indignation; then succeeded in her thoughts the old man and his money: so that love, rage, and vanity, were in the greatest contention which should possess the largest share of her inclinations. It cannot be determined how long this agitation of mind would have lasted, had not her sister's marriage with the rich Jew put end to it; which being celebrated with great pomp and splendour, made Miss Nanny resolve she would not be outdone in grandeur: she therefore consented to give her hand to Mr. Nokes, and as he was ready to take her, it was soon concluded; and she now no longer made any difficulty of preferring gaiety and show to everything in the world. She thought herself ill-used by Mr. Simple, (not knowing the true cause of his leaving her in that abrupt manner;) so that her pride helped her to overcome any remains of passion, and she fancied herself in the possession of everything which could give happiness, namely, splendid equipages and glittering pomp. But she soon found herself greatly mistaken; her fine house, by constantly living in it, became as insipid as if it had been a cottage: a short time took away all the giddy pleasure which attends the first satisfaction of vanity.
Her husband, who was old, soon became full of diseases and infirmities, which turned his temper (naturally not very good) into moroseness and ill-nature: and as he had married a woman whom he thought very much obliged to him, on account of his superiority of fortune, he was convinced it was but reasonable she should comply with his peevish humours; so that she had not lived long with him, before the only comfort she had was in the hopes of outliving him.
She certainly would soon have broke her heart, had she known that all this misery, and the loss of the greatest happiness, in being tenderly used by a man of sense, who loved her, was her own fault; but, as she thought it his inconstancy, to his generosity in not telling her the truth, she owed the avoiding that painful reflection. The uneasy state of her mind made her peevish and cross to all around her; and she never had the pleasure of enjoying that fortune, which she had been so desirous of obtaining: her husband, notwithstanding his old age, died of I spotted fever; she caught the infection of him, and survived him but three days. But I think it is now full time to look after my hero.