# The Adventures of David Simple (1904)/Chapter 22

BOOK III
CHAPTER I
the continuation of the history of camilla
The next day, the first opportunity Camilla had of being alone with David, on his desire she proceeded as follows———
"Valentine was now all the comfort I had left me; his passions were either not so strong, or his resolutions stronger; for he bore up much better than I did, although I found his sentiments were the same with mine. We were always together, from which Livia possessed my father with an opinion that we were making parties in the house against them, I was so altered with the continual uneasiness of my mind, that no one would have known me. This, which was owing to my tender regret for the loss of a parent's love, was imputed I to rancour and malice; thus my very grief was turned to my disadvantage. My father, whose nature was open and generous, was, as it were, intoxicated by his passion for this woman; and grew, like her, suspicious of everything around him. She soon perceived the success of her pernicious designs, and omitted no pains, nor no falsehoods, to improve it. In short, was I to tell you all the little arts she used to make us miserable, to impose on the man who doated on her to distraction, and in the end to ruin herself, it would fill volumes, and tire your patience. Whenever she had laid any extravagant scheme to spend money, she never directly proposed it, but only gave a hint that it would be agreeable to her. If it happened to be a thing her husband thought very unreasonable, and he did not catch ​immediately at the least intimation of her pleasure, and speak of it as if it was his own desire, and in a manner force her to comply with it, in appearance, against her will; she then threw herself out of humour, and contrived all manner of ways to plague him; and when she saw him in agonies at her frowns, she often said things to him I really would not say to the greatest enemy I had in the world. But I must take shame to myself, and own a weakness which you perhaps will condemn me for; but I could not help being sometimes a little pleased at feeling my father teazed by the woman he himself suffered to be so great a curse to me and Valentine." Here David sighed, and looked down, not answering one word; for he could not approve, and he would not condemn her. Camilla observed him, and hastened to take him out of that perplexity she saw him in, by turning again to the brighter side of her own character; and went on as follows: "But then she carried this on to so great a degree, that the misery I saw my once fond father in, raised all my tenderness for him; the comparison between her behaviour, and that of my dear mother (who made it the business of her life to please him) and my own, who watched his very looks, and carefully obeyed their motions, with various senses which formerly had passed, rushed at once into my memory, and I often left the room with tears in my eyes.
"She knew so well the bent of his temper, and how far she might venture, that she would carry it exactly as far as he could bear. But when she found he began to grow warm, and retort her ill-nature, she could at once turn from a devil into an angel. This sudden change of the mind, from pain to pleasure, had always such an effect on him, that he in a moment forgot all she had said or done to hurt him, and thought of nothing but her present ​good-humour. The being reconciled was so great a heaven to him, he condemned himself for having offended such a charming creature, and was in raptures at her great goodness in forgiving him; would ask a thousand pardons, and be amazed at her condescension in granting them. His fondness was greater than before; for all violent passions, put a stop to but for a moment, increase on their return, as rivers flow faster after any interruption in their course. People who really love, will grant anything in the moment of reconcilation. My father would then think what he should do, to return all this softness and tenderness; and ten to one but he hit on the very thing which had been the cause of all her ill-humour; he would then intreat her to oblige him so much as to do what he knew she had most a mind to; which, after objections enough to shew him the obligations he owed her for complying, she consented to. Thus every thing fell into the right channel again; my father was the happiest man in the world, and had nothing to vex him but the enmity he was made believe his children had to him.
"Poor Valentine and I walked about the house forlorn and neglected; what I felt, (and I dare assert the same of him, at the alteration in our father's behaviour) I shall not attempt to describe, as I am very certain no words can express it so strongly as your own imagination will suggest it to you. But Livia was not yet contented, although we were made miserable: we were not utterly abandoned, although she had contrived to give my father an ill opinion of us; nay, unless she could even prevail on him to turn us out of doors, which, unless she could make us appear guilty of some monstrous villainy, she despaired of effecting.
"As the bringing us into absolute disgrace with my father was her greatest grief, so she constantly ​pretended it was her greatest fear: for all her power was owing to his blindness; and had she done anything to have opened his eyes, the goodness of his heart would have made him detest as much as now he loved her. She was obliged therefore to be cautious in what she did; for the way to bring things about with men who have no ill designs of their own, is to work underhand, by pretending our views are good.
"She had so long been our enemy, and endeavoured to impose us, as hers, on my father, that I really believe she imposed on herself, and thought we were so. She watched us about the house, as if she was afraid we should do some mischief: she did not concern herself much about Valentine; and thought, as we were looked on to love one another in such a manner, that what one did was always approved by the other, as I was the most passionate, and had least command of my temper, I was the properest person to work on. She therefore continually did all she could to provoke me into passions, and work me into madness, that I might not know what I said or did."
David could not forbear sighing at such a piece of barbarity, but would not interrupt Camilla's narration; only begged to know what could be the end of all these designs of her mother's and how far her father could be blinded by his passion.
"Alas, sir!" answered Camilla, "there is no knowing how far passion of that kind will carry people; they go lengths which they themselves at first would be perfectly startled at; and are guilty of actions, which, were they to hear of a third person, they would condemn, and think themselves utterly incapable of. Perhaps you will wonder to hear me say it, but I could never enough get the better of the opinion I had fixed of my father's goodness, not to think if his mind ​had been less great, his actions would have been better; for that tenderness and good-nature, which made him really love the object that gave him pleasure, was the cause of all his terrors. A man who looks upon a woman as a creature formed for his diversion, and who has neither compassion nor good- will towards her, can never be worked on by her arts to do himself or another an injury. Women have it in their power at once to please all the passions a man can be possessed of; he is flattered by her liking him, melted into tenderness (if he has any) by her softness, and easily drawn in to esteem her, if she thinks it worth her while to gain his friendship, because he finds she pleases him, and he would not willingly think he can be thus pleased with a creature unworthy his esteem. So that a man, in some measure, thinks it necessary, in order to prove his own judgment, to justify the woman he finds he cannot help being fond of. This is a passion I have always observed people of merit to be most liable to. If it happens to light on a woman who really deserves it, the man becomes a greater blessing to all his acquaintance; his thoughts are more refined; and, by continually being influenced by a person who has no other view but to promote his interest and honour, all the little carelessnesses of his temper are corrected, and he is visibly both happier and better than he was before. But if, on the contrary, as in the case of Livia and my father, the woman looks on her husband's love for her in no other light but as it gives her an opportunity to make a prey of his fortune, and to impose on his understanding; the latter will be destroyed as fast as the former is spent; his friends will drop from him; he will find a fault somewhere, and, from a desire not to impute it to the right cause, not know where to place it. He will awaken that suspicion which always sleeps at Wisdom's gate, and find ​he has roused a fury, which neither 'poppies, nor mandragora, nor all the drowsy syrups in the world, can medicine to sweet sleep again.'
"But I ask pardon, I am led into a subject I could for ever expatiate on, and forget, while I am indulging myself, you, sir, may be tired; I will therefore now bring myself back to the thread of my story, as well as I am able. This was the life the whole family led; my father was continually uneasy at feeling a disagreement between us and his wife. My mother spent her whole time in considering which way she should best carry on her pernicious schemes. Valentine walked about silent and discontented; and, as for my part, I was worked by my passions in such a manner, that I hardly knew one thing from another, nor can I think I was perfectly in my senses.
"I tell you, sir, everything without order, and hope you will be so good as to forgive the incoherence of my style. I remember once, when my mother's extravagance had drove her husband to great distress, and he knew not which way to turn himself, I asked no questions, but borrowed some money of an intimate friend of mine, and brought it to them. My father, who, though he was cajoled and deceived by his wife's cunning, yet in his heart was all goodness, could not help being pleased with this instance of my love and duty; and as he had no deceit in him, did not endeavour to conceal it. I saw Livia had rather have suffered anything than have given me an opportunity of acting what my father was pleased to esteem a generous part; however, she carried it off in such a manner, that her fond lover never perceived it gave her any disquiet, I declare, I did it sincerely to serve them, and had no other view in it. I had for some time had such a despair in my mind, of ever enjoying my self again, that ​even that despair really gave me some sort of ease; but this action of mine had revived my father's former tenderness just enough to bring to my remembrance all I had lost. The little while this continued, I was more miserable than when he quite neglected me; for now the want of those trifling instances of his affection I once enjoyed began to rise in my mind again, and I had all the pain my heart had felt at the loss of them to suffer afresh. I had spent a great deal of time in endeavouring to calm my mind, and insure it to bear ill-usage: but this little view of pleasure, this small return of hope, quite got the better of all my resolutions; for I am convinced, that to live with anybody we have once loved, and fancy we have, by any wisdom or philosophy of our own, put it out of their power to hurt us, is feeding ourselves with a vain chimera, and flattering our pride with being able to do more than is in the power of any mortal.
"Livia saw the agitations of mind I suffered, and was resolved to make them subservient to her purposes. She, therefore, one morning as I was musing and resolving in my mind the difference of my present situation from what it had formerly been, came into my room with all the appearance of good-humour, and sat and talked for some time of indifferent things; at last she fell into a discourse on our private affairs, in which she took an opportunity of saying all the most shocking things she could think of, although she kept up to the strictest rules of civility; for she valued herself much upon her politeness: and I have observed several people value themselves greatly on their own good breeding, whose politeness consists in nothing more than an art of hurting others, without making use of vulgar terms.
"When Livia had by these means worked me up to a rage, then she had her ends. She knew my ​father was reading in a room very near us; she therefore exalted her voice to such a pitch, that it was impossible for him not to hear her. This immediately brought him to know what was the matter: he found me endeavouring to speak, and yet, from the variety of passions working in my mind, unable to utter my words; for from what we had been talking of, the idea of all the torments I had suffered from the time I first observed a decline in my father's affections, rushed at once upon my thoughts, and quite overpowered me. Livia looked as pale as death; for, thus provoked, I could not help telling her what I thought of her behaviour. Her pride could not bear to think I knew her, so that I believe she was at last in as great a passion as she could be; but she never was carried so far as to forget her main view. My father looked wild at seeing us in this condition, and desired Livia to tell him, what could be the cause of of all this confusion; solemnly affirming, that no nearness of blood, or any tie whatever, should screen the person from his anger who could use her in such a way as to ruffle that sweetness of temper which he knew nothing but the highest provocation could so much get the better of, as to make her talk so loud, and look so discomposed. By this time she had enough recollected herself to think of an answer proper for her purpose; and told him, It was no matter now—it was over—she had recovered herself again; but I had been in a violent passion, only because she said and then she repeated some trifling thing, which however had two meanings; and the different manner she now spoke it in from what she had done before, gave it quite another turn; and you may be sure her husband took it in the most favourable sense. 'But,' said he, I must have been a stock or a stone, and have had no manner of feeling, if ​I had not been provoked at the answers she made.' On which she chose to repeat the most virulent expression I had made use of; and, I confess, I was quite unguarded, and said whatever I was prompted to by my rage. She concluded, by saying there should be an end of it; for now she was calm again. During the time she was speaking the poor unhappy deceived man stared with fury; his eye-balls rolled; and, like Othello, he bit his nether lip with fury. At last, he suddenly sprung forward, and struck me!"
While Camilla was relating this last transaction her voice faltered by degrees, till she was able to speak no more. She trembled with the agonies the remembrance of past afflictions threw her into, and at last fainted away. David catched her in his arms, but knew not what to do to bring her to life again, for he was almost in the same condition himself.
At this very instant Valentine entered the room; he was amazed at this scene, and knew not to what cause to ascribe it. However, his present thoughts were all employed in considerations how he could help his sister: he ran for water, and threw it in her face, which soon brought her to herself. The brother and David were both rejoiced to hear her speak again, but particularly David, for he really thought she had been dead. The rest of the evening passed in conversation on indifferent things. Valentine seemed more thoughtful than usual. Camilla observed it, and could not help being uneasy: she was terrified lest he should have met with some new vexation. However, as he did not mention anything, she would not ask him before a third person. When they retired to rest, Valentine followed her into her room, and seemed as if he had something to say to her which he was afraid to disclose, and yet was unable to conceal; for his love for Camilla ​was quite of a different kind from that of those brothers, who, by their fathers having more concern for the keeping up the grandeur of their names than for the welfare of their posterity, having got the possession of all the estate of the family, out of mere kindness and good-nature allow their sisters enough out of it to keep them from starving in some hole in the country, where their small subsistence just serves to sustain them the longer in their misery, and prevents them from appearing in the world to disgrace their brother by their poverty.
Valentine was afraid to say anything which could anywise be shocking to the person he would never have been ashamed of owning a friendship for, notwithstanding she was a woman, Camilla saw him in perplexity, and begged him to let her know what it was that grieved him; and if it was in her power, by any labour or pains, either to relieve or comfort him, assured him of her assistance. Valentine then made the following reply—"My dear Camilla, I am certain, wants no proof of my sincere affection, and I must confess all my present uneasiness is on your account: the condition I just now found you in, with the confusion in Mr. Simple's looks, raised fears in my breast lest you should be now going to suffer, if possible, more than you have already gone through; for in minds as generous as I know yours to be, the strongest affections are those which are first raised by obligations. I am not naturally suspicious; but the experience I have already had of mankind, and the beauty of your form, with the anxiety I am always in for your welfare, inclines me to fear the worst. You, of all womankind, should be most careful how you enter into any engagements of love; for that softness of disposition, and all that tenderness you are possessed of, will expose you to the utmost misery; and, unless you meet with a man whose temper is like your own, which ​will be no easy matter for you to do, you will be as unwise to throw away all the goodness you are mistress of on him, as a man would be who had a great stock-in-trade, to join it with another who not only was worth nothing of his own, but was a spend-thrift, and insensible of the great good he was doing him. I acknowledge this gentleman has behaved to us both in a manner which demands the return of all our most grateful sentiments; but if what he has done should be owing to the liking of your person, and he should be plotting your misery instead of your welfare, I had rather be in the condition he found us in than be relieved by any one who can have so mean, so despicable a way of thinking." Camilla hearkened with the utmost attention while Valentine was speaking; and, when he had finished, told him she thought she could never enough acknowledge his kindness in his concern for her; but she assured him, that by all she could observe in Mr. Simple's behaviour, and she had narrowly examined all his words and actions, she could not hut think he had as much honour as he made an outward profession of. That indeed she could not deny but that she thought he had some regard for her; but he seemed rather afraid to let her know it than solicitous to make an appearance of it, which she imputed to his delicacy, lest she should suspect he took any advantage of her unhappy circumstances, or thought what he had done for her ought to lay any restraint on her affections. She desired her brother not to be uneasy; told him that it was the repetition of what she could never remember without horror that had thrown her into the way he found her in; and assured him, if David mentioned anything of love to her, she would tell him of it, and conduct herself by his advice. After this promise, he took his leave of her and went to bed.
David could get but little sleep that night for the ​various reflections which crowded into his mind on the story he had heard that day. All the good qualities Camilla intimated her father was possessed of, and yet his being capable of acting in such a manner by such a daughter were melancholy indications to him that a perfect character was nowhere to be found. When he thought on Camilla's sufferings, his indignation was raised against him; then, when he remembered that all his faults were owing to being deceived by a woman of Livia's art, he could not help having a compassion for him. But from this scene, which he looked on with terror, there was a sudden transition in his mind to the idea of all Camilla's softness and goodness. On this he dwelt with the utmost rapture; but was often interrupted in this pleasing dream, though much against his will, by the remembrance of her owning she had sometimes been weak enough to triumph in her heart at seeing Livia tease her father; but then so many excuses immediately presented themselves to plead in his breast for Camilla, that had her frailties been much greater, they would not have prevented his thinking that in her he had met with all he wished. He longed for an opportunity of hearing the rest of her story; for he was now perfectly sure that he should hear nothing in it but what was to her advantage. And the next time Valentine was gone out of the way, Camilla, by his earnest desire, went on with her history in the following manner.