# The Adventures of David Simple (1904)/Chapter 2

CHAPTER II
in which are seen the terrible consequences which attend envy and selfishness
It will perhaps surprise the reader as much as it did poor David, to find that Daniel, notwithstanding the appearance of friendship he had all along kept up with his brother, was in reality one of those wretches, whose only happiness centres in themselves; and that his conversation with his companions had never any other view, but in some shape or other to promote his own interest. To this was owing his endeavour to keep David from being imposed on, lest his generosity should lead him to let others share his money as well as himself: from this alone arose his character of wisdom; for he could easily find out an ill-disposed mind in another, by comparing it with what passed in his own bosom. While he found it for his benefit to pretend to the same delicate way of thinking and sincere love which David had for him, he did not want art enough to affect it; but as soon as he ​thought it his interest to break with his brother, he threw off the mask, and took no pains to conceal the baseness of his heart.
From the time they came from school, during the old gentleman's illness, Daniel's only study was how he should throw his brother out of his share of his father's patrimony, and engross it wholly to himself. The anxious thoughts he appeared continually in, on this account, were imputed by his good-natured friend to a tender concern for a parent's suffering; a consideration which much increased his love for him. His mother had a maid, whom Mr, Daniel had a great fancy for; but she being a virtuous woman (and besides having a sweet-heart in her fellow-servant, whom she liked much better) resisted all his solicitations, and would have nothing to say to him. But yet he found she could not refuse any little presents he made her; which convinced him she was very mercenary, and made him think of a scheme to make her serve his designs of another kind, since she would not be subservient to his pleasures. He knew his father had given a sealed paper to his brother, which he told him was his will, with strict orders not to open it till after his death; and as he was not ignorant where David had put it, he formed a scheme to steal away the real will, and to put a forged one in its place. But then he was greatly puzzled what he should do for witnesses; which, as he had slily pumped out of an ingenious young gentleman his acquaintance, who was a clerk to an attorney, were necessary to the signing a will. He therefore thought, if he could bribe this girl and her sweetheart for this purpose, he should accomplish all he desired; for, as the same learned lawyer had told him, two witnesses were sufficient, where the estate was only personal, as that of his father's was. This young woman was one of those sort of ​people who had been bred up to get her living by hard work; she had been taught never to keep company with any man, but him she intended to marry; nor to get drunk, or steal; for if she gave way to those things (besides that they were great sins), she would certainly come to be hanged; which, as she had an utter aversion to, she went on in an honest way, and never intended to depart from it.
Our spark, when first he thought of making use of her, was very much afraid, lest she should refuse, and betray him. But when he reflected how impossible it would be for him to refuse anything he thought valuable, though he was to be guilty of ever so much treachery to obtain it, he resolved boldly to venture on the trial. When he first spoke to her about it, he offered her fifty pounds, but she was so frightened at the thoughts of being accessory to a forgery, that she declared she would not do it for the whole world; for that she had more value for her precious soul than for anything he could give her; that as to him, he was a schollard, and might think of some way of saving himself; but as she could neither write nor read, she must surely be d——d. This way of talking so thoroughly convinced Daniel of her folly that he made no doubt of soon gaining her to his purpose. He, therefore, made use of all the most persuasive arguments he could think of; and, amongst the rest, he told her that by this means she might marry the man she liked, and live with him in a very comfortable manner. He immediately perceived this staggered all her resolutions; and as soon as he saw she could moved did not fear succeeding. He pulled out his pocket a purse with a hundred guineas, and told them out before her (for the sight of money is much more prevalent than the idea of it), and assured her, that he would be better than he had promised her; for if she would comply with his ​request, the whole sum she had seen should be hers, and that she and her lover by this means would be enabled to live in a manner much above all the maids she used to converse with. The thoughts of being set above her acquaintance quite overcame her; and, as she had never been mistress of above forty shillings at a time, a hundred guineas appeared such an immense sum, that she easily conceived she could live very well, without being obliged to work any more. This prospect so charmed her, that she promised to do whatever he would have her. She did not doubt but she could make her sweetheart comply, for he had never refused her anything since their acquaintance began. This made Daniel quite happy, for everything else was plain before him. He had no scruple on the fellow's account; for, once get the consent of a woman, and that of a man (who is vulgarly called in love with her) consequently follows; for though a man's disposition is not naturally bad, yet it is not quite certain he will have resolution enough to resist a woman's continual importunities.
Daniel took the first opportunity (which quickly offered, everything being common between him and his brother) of stealing the will. As it was in his father's hand, he could easily forge it, for he wrote very like him; when he had done this, he had it witnessed in form, placed it in the room of the other, and then went away quite satisfied in the success of his scheme.
The real affliction of David, on the old gentleman's death, prevented his immediate thinking of his will. And Daniel was forced to counterfeit what he did not feel, not daring to be eager for the opening it, lest when the contents were known the truth should be suspected. But as soon as the first grief was a little abated, and the family began to be calmed, David desired his mother and brother to walk ​upstairs; then went to his bureau, and took out the will; and read it before them. The contents were as follows: Daniel was left sole executor; that out of £11,000 which was the sum left, he should pay his mother £60 per annum, and that David should have £500 for his fortune. They all stood speechless for some time, staring at each other. At last David broke silence, and embracing Daniel, said, "I hope my dear brother will not impute my amazement to any concern I have, that he has so much the largest share of my father's fortune. No, I do assure you, the only cause of my uneasiness is fearing I have done anything to disoblige my father, who always behaved with so much good nature to me, and made us both so equal in his care and love, that I think he must have had some reason for this last action of leaving me so small a matter, especially as I am the eldest."
Here Daniel interrupted him, and began to swear and bluster. He said that his father must have been told some wicked lies of his brother, and he was resolved to find out the vile incendiary. But David begged him to be pacified, and assured him he thought of it without concern; for he knew him too well to suspect any alteration in his behaviour, and did not doubt that everything would be in common amongst them as usual: nay, so tenderly and affectionately did he love Daniel, that he reflected with pleasure how extremely happy his life must be in continually sharing with his best friend the fortune his father had left him. Thus would he have acted, and his honest heart never doubted but that his brother's mind was like his own. Daniel answered him with asseverations of his always commanding everything equally with himself. The good old woman blessed herself for having two such sons, and they all went downstairs in very good humour.
​Daniel had two reasons for allotting his mother something; one was that nothing but a jointure could have barred her coming in for thirds the other was, that if no notice had been taken of her in the will, it might have been a strong motive for suspicion; not that he had any great reason for caution, as nothing less than seeing him do it could have made David {such confidence had he in him) even suspect he could be guilty of such an action.
The man and maid were soon married; and as they had long lived in the family, David gave them something to set up with. This was thought very lucky by the brother, as it might prevent any suspicions how they came by money. Thus everything succeeded to Daniel's mind, and he had compassed all his designs without any fear of a discovery.
The two brothers agreed on leaving off their father's business, as they had enough to keep them; and as their acquaintance lay chiefly in that neighbourhood, they took a little house there. The old gentlewoman, whose ill-health would not suffer her to live in London, retired into the country, and lived with her sister.
David was very happy in the proofs he thought he had of his brother's love; and as it was his nature to be easily contented, he gave very little trouble or expense to the family. Daniel hugged himself in his ingenuity, and in the thoughts how impossible it would have been for him to have been so imposed on. His pride (of which he had no small share) was greatly gratified in thinking his brother was a dependant on him; but then he was resolved it should not be long before he felt that dependance, for otherwise the greatest part of his pleasure must be lost. One thing quite stung him to the quick, viz., that David's amiable behaviour, joined to a very good understanding, with a great knowledge which he had attained by books, made all their ​acquaintance give him the preference: and as envy was very predominant in Daniel's mind, this made him take an utter aversion to his brother, which all the other's goodness could not get the better of, for as his actions were such as he could not but approve, they were still greater food for his hatred; and the reflection that others approved them also, was what he could not bear. The first thing in which David discovered an alteration in his brother, was in the behaviour of the servants; for as they are always very inquisitive, they soon found out by some means or other, that Daniel was in possession of all the money, and was not obliged to let his brother share it with him. They watched their master's motions, and as soon as they found that slackening in their respect to David would not be displeasing to the other, it may easily be believed they were not long in doubt whether they should follow their own interest: so that at last, when David called them, they were always going to do something for their master—truly, while he wanted them, they could not wait on any body else! Daniel took notice of their behaviour, and was inwardly pleased at it. David knew not what to make of it: he would not mention it to his brother, till it grew to such a height he could bear it no longer; and when he spoke of it to Daniel, it was only by way of consulting with him how to turn them away. But how great was his surprize, when Daniel, instead of talking in his usual style, said, that for his part he saw no fault in any of his servants! that they did their duty very well, and that he should not part with his own conveniencies for anybody's whims! If he accused any of them of a fault, he would call them up, and try if they could not justify themselves. David was at first struck dumb with amazement; he thought he was not awake, that it was impossible it could be his brother's voice which uttered these ​words: but at last he recollected himself enough to say, "What, is it come to this? Am I brought to a trial with your servants, (as you are pleased to call them?) I thought we had lived on different terms. Oh! recall those words, and don't provoke me to say what perhaps I shall afterwards repent!" Daniel knew, that although his brother was far from being passionate for trifles, yet that his whole frame would be so shaken from any ill usage from him, he would not be able to command himself: he resolved, therefore, to take this opportunity of aggravating his passion, till it was raised to an height, which, to the unthinking world, would make him appear in the wrong; he therefore very calmly answered, "You may do as you please, brother; but what you utter appears to me to be quite madness; I don't perceive but you are used in my house as well as I am myself, and cannot guess what you complain of. If you are not contented, you best know how to find a remedy; many a brother, in your case, I believe, would think himself very happy to meet with the usage you have, without wanting to make mischief in families." This had the desired effect, and threw David into that inconsistent behaviour, which must always be produced in a mind torn at once by tenderness and rage. That sincere love and friendship he had always felt for his brother made his resentment the higher, and he alternately fired into reproaches, and melted into softness; till at last he swore he would go out of the house, and never more visit the place, which was in the possession of so unnatural a wretch.
Daniel had now all he wanted; from the moment the other's passion grew loud, he had set open the door, that the servants might hear how he used him, and be witnesses he was not in fault. He behaved with the utmost calmness; which was very ​easy for him to do, as he felt nothing. He said, his brother should be always welcome to live in his house, provided he could be quiet, and contented with what was reasonable; and not be so mad as to think, while he insisted only on the management of his own family, he departed from that romantic love he so often talked of. Indeed, it must be confessed, that if David would have been satisfied to have lived in his brother's house in a state of dependency; to have walked about in a rusty coat, and an old tye-wig, like a decayed gentleman, thinking it a favour to have bread, while every visitor at the house should be extolling the goodness of his brother for keeping him; I say, could he have been contented with this sort of behaviour, he might have stayed there as long as he pleased. But Daniel was resolved he should not be on a level with him, who had taken so much pains to get a superior fortune; he therefore behaved in this manner, with design either to get rid of him, or make him submit to his terms. This latter it was impossible ever to accomplish: for David's pride would not have prevented his taking that usage from a stranger, but his love could by no means suffer him to bear it from his brother. Therefore, as soon as the variety of passions he struggled with would give him leave, he told him, that since he was so very different from what he had always thought him, and capable of what he esteemed the greatest villainy, he would sooner starve than have anything more to say to him. On which he left him and went up to his own chamber, with a fixed resolution to leave the house that very day, and never return to it any more.
It would be impossible to describe what he felt when he was alone: all the scenes of pleasure he had ever enjoyed in his brother's company rushed at once into his memory; and when he reflected on ​what had just happened, he could not account for such a difference in one man's conduct. He was sometimes ready to blame himself, and thought he must have been guilty of something in his passion (for he hardly remembered what he had said) to provoke his brother to such a behaviour: he was then going to seek him to be reconciled to him. But when he considered the beginning of the quarrel, and what Daniel had said to him concerning the servants, he concluded he must be tired of his company, and from some motive or other had altered his affection. Then several little slights came into his head, which he had overlooked at the time of their happening; and from all these reflections, he concluded he could have no further hopes from his brother. However, he resolved to stay in his room till the evening, to see if there yet remained tenderness enough in Daniel to induce him to endeavour the removing his present torment. What he felt during that interval, is not to be expressed or understood, but by the few who are capable of real tenderness; every moment seemed an age. Sometimes, in the confusion of his thoughts, the joy of being again well with his brother appeared so strong to his imagination, he could hardly refrain going to him; but when he found it grew late, and no notice was taken of him, not even so much as a summons to dinner, he was then certain any condescension on his side would only expose him to be again insulted; he therefore resolved to stay there no longer.
When he went downstairs, he asked where his brother was, and was told, he went out to dinner with Mr. ———, and had not been at home since. He was so struck with the thought that Daniel could have so little concern for him, as to go into company and leave him in such misery, he had hardly strength enough left to go any farther; ​however, he got out of the house as fast as he was able, without considering whither he was going, or what he should do; for his mind was so taken up, and tortured with his brother's brutality, that all other thoughts quite forsook him. He wandered up and down till he was quite weary and faint, not knowing whither to direct his steps. When he first set out, he had but half-a-crown in his pocket, a shilling of which he gave away in his walk to a beggar, who told him a story of having been turned out of doors by an unnatural brother: so that now he had but one shilling and sixpence left, with which he went into a public house, and got something to recruit his worn-out spirits. In his situation, anything that would barely support nature, was equal to the greatest dainties; for his mind was in so much anxiety it was impossible for him to spend one thought on any thing but the cause of his grief. So true is that observation of Shakespeare's, "When the mind is free, the body is delicate"; that those people know very little of real misery (however the sorrow for their own sufferings may make them imagine no one ever endured the like) who can be very solicitous of what becomes of them. But this was far from being our hero's case, for when he found himself too weak to travel farther, he was obliged to go into a public house; for being far from home, and an utter stranger, no private house would have admitted him. As soon as he got into a room, he threw himself into a chair, and could scarce speak. The landlord asked him, what he would please to drink; but he not knowing what he said, made answer, he did not choose any thing. Upon which he was answered in a surly manner, if he did not care for drinking, he could have no great business there, and would be very welcome to walk out again. This treatment just roused him enough to make ​him recollect where he was, and that he must call for something; therefore he ordered a pint of beer to be brought, which he immediately drank off, for he was very dry, though his griefs were so fixed in his mind, he could not feel even hunger or thirst. But nature must be refreshed by proper nourishment, and he found himself now not so faint, and seemed inclined to sleep; he therefore enquired for a bed; which his kind landlord (on his producing money enough to pay for it) immediately procured for him; and being perfectly overcome with fatigue and trouble, he insensibly sunk to rest.
In the morning when he waked, all the transactions of the preceding day came fresh into his mind; he knew not which way to turn himself, but lay in the greatest perplexity for some time; at last, it came into his head he had an uncle, who, when he was a boy, used to be very kind to him; he therefore had some hopes he would receive and take care of him. He got up, and walked as well as he was able to his uncle's house. The good old man was quite frightened at the sight of him; for the one day's extreme misery he had suffered, had altered him as much as if he had been ill a twelve-month, His uncle begged to know what was the matter with him; but he would give him no other answer, but that his brother and he had had a few words (for he would not complain); and he desired he would be so kind to let him stay with him a little while, till matters could be brought about again. His uncle told him, he should be very welcome. And there for some time I will leave him to his own private sufferings— lest it should be thought I am so ignorant of the world, as not to know the proper time of forsaking people.