# The Adventures of David Simple (1904)/Chapter 13

CHAPTER II
which contains a conversation, in which is proved, how high taste may be carried by people who have fixed resolutions of being criticks
When David was alone, he began to reflect with himself, what could be the meaning that Mr. Spatter seemed to take such delight in abusing people; and yet, as he observed, no one was more willing to oblige any person who stood in need of his assistance: he concluded that he must be good at the bottom, and that perhaps it was only his love of mankind, which made him have such a hatred and detestation of their vices, as caused him to be eager in reproaching them; he therefore resolved to go on with him till he knew more of his disposition.
The next day they went to visit a lady, who was reputed to have a great deal of wit, and was so generous as to let all her acquaintance partake of it, by omitting no opportunity of displaying it. There they found assembled a large company of ladies, and two or three gentlemen; they were all busy in discourse, but they rose, up, paid the usual compliments, and then proceeded as follows———
First Lady. Indeed, madam, I think you are quite in the right, as to your opinion of Othello; for nothing provokes me so much, as to see fools pity a fellow who could murder his wife. For my part, I cannot help having some compassion for her, though she does not deserve it, because she was such a fool as to marry a filthy black. Pray, did you ever hear anything like what my Lady True-wit said the other night, that the part of the play which chiefly affected her, was that which inspired an apprehension of what that odious wretch must feel, when he found out that Desdemona was innocent; ​as if he could suffer too much, after being guilty of so barbarous an action.
Second Lady. Indeed, I am not at all surprised at anything that Lady True-wit says; for I have heard her assert the most preposterous things in the world: nay, she affirms, a man may be very fond of a woman, notwithstanding he is jealous of her, and dares suspect her virtue.
Third Lady. That lady once said, that one of the most beautiful incidents in all King Lear, was that the impertinence of his daughter's servant, was the first thing that made him uneasy; and after that, I think one can wonder at nothing: for certainly it was a great oversight in the poet, when he was writing the character of a king, to take notice of the behaviour of such vulgar wretches; as if what they did was anything to the purpose. But some people are very fond of turning the greatest faults into beauties, that they may be thought to have found out something extraordinary; and then they must admire everything in Shakespeare, as they think, to prove their own judgment; but, for my part, I am not afraid to give my opinion freely of the greatest men that ever wrote.
Fourth Lady. There is nothing so surprising to me as the absurdity of almost everybody I meet with; they can't even laugh or cry in the right place. Perhaps it will be hardly believed, but I really saw people in the boxes last night, at the tragedy of Cato, sit with dry eyes, and show no kind of emotion, when that great man fell on his sword; nor was it at all owing to any firmness of mind, that made them incapable of crying neither, for that I should have admired; but I have known those very people shed tears at George Barnwell.
A good many Ladies speak at one time. Oh, intolerable! cry for an odious apprentice-boy, who murdered his uncle, at the instigation too of a ​common woman, and yet be unmoved, when even Cato bled for his country.
Old Lady. That is no wonder, I assure you, ladies, for I once heard my Lady Know-all, positively affirm George Barnwell to be one of the best things that ever was wrote; for that nature is nature in whatever station it is placed; and that she could be as much affected with the distress of a man in low life, as if he was a lord or a duke. And what is yet more amazing is, that the time she chooses to weep most, is just as he has killed the man who prays for him in the agonies of death; and then only, because he whines over him, and seems sensible of what he has done, she must shed tears for a wretch whom everybody of either sense or goodness, would wish to crush, and make ten times more miserable than he is.
A lady who had been silent, and was a particular friend of Lady Known-all's, speaks. Indeed that lady is the most affected creature that ever I knew, she and Lady True-wit think no one can equal them; they have taken a fancy to set up the author of George Barnwell for a writer, though certainly he writes the worst language in the world: there is a little thing of his, called, The Fatal Curiosity, which, for my part, I know not what to make of; and they run about crying it up, as if Shakespeare himself might have wrote it. Certainly that fellow must be something very low, for his distresses always arise from poverty; and then he brings his wicked wretches, who are to be tempted for money to some monstrous action, which he would have his audience pity them for.
She would have talked on more in this strain, but was interrupted by another lady, who assured the company she had the most ridiculous thing to tell them of the two ladies they were talking of, in the world: "For," continued she, "I was once at Don ​Sebastian with them, which is a favourite play of theirs; and they make a great noise about the scene between Dorax and Sebastian, in the fourth act, I observed them more than the play, to see in what manner they behaved: and what do you think they did? Why, truly, all the time the two friends were quarrelling, they sat indeed with great attention, although they were quite calm; but the moment they were reconciled, and embraced each other, they both burst into a flood of tears, which they seemed unable to restrain. They certainly must have something very odd in their heads, and the author is very much obliged to them for grieving most when his hero, Don Sebastian, had most reason to be pleased, in finding a true friend in the man he thought his enemy."
Here the whole company fell into a violent fit of laughter, and the word ridiculous was the only sound heard for some time; and then they fell back again to their discourse on authors, in which they were all so desirous to prove their own judgment, that they would not give one another leave to speak.
And now, reader, if ever you have lived in the country, and heard the cackling of geese, or the gobbling of turkeys, you may have an idea something adequate to this scene; but if the town has been mostly your place of abode, and you are a stranger to every rural scene, what will give you the best idea of this conversation, is the 'Change at noon, where every one has a particular business of his own, but a spectator would find it a very difficult matter to comprehend anything distinctly. Addison, Prior, Otway, Congreve, Dryden, Pope, Shakespeare, Tom Dursey, etc., etc., etc, were names all heard between whiles, though no one could tell who spoke them, or whether they were mentioned with approbation or dislike. The words genius, and no genius; invention, poetry, fine things, bad ​language, no style, charming writing, imagery, and diction, with many more expressions which swim on the surface of criticism, seemed to have been caught by those fishers for the reputation of wit, though they were entirely ignorant what use to make of them, or how to apply them properly; but as soon as the noise grew loud, and the whole company were engaged in admiring their own sentiments so much that they observed nothing else, David made a sign to his companion, and they left the room, and went home; but were, for some time, in the condition of men just escaped from a shipwreck, which, though they rejoice in their safety, yet there is such an impression left on them by the bellowing of the waves, cursing and swearing of some of the sailors, the crying and praying of others, with the roaring of the winds, that it is some time before they can come to their senses. But as soon as David could recover himself enough to speak coherently, he told the gentleman, he had now shewn him what had surprised him more than anything he ever saw before; for he could comprehend what it was people pursued who spent their time in gaming, but he could not find out what were the schemes of this last set of company, nor what could possibly make so many people eager about nothing; for what was it to them who writ best or worst, or how could they make any dispute about it, since the only way of writing well was to draw all the characters from nature, and to affect the passions in such a manner, as that the distresses of the good should move compassion, and the amiableness of their actions incite men to imitate them; while the vices of the bad stirred up indignation and rage, and made men fly their footsteps: that this was the only kind of writing useful to mankind, though there might be embellishments, and flights of imaginatin, to amuse and divert the reader. His ​companion was quite peevish with him (which was no hard matter for him to be) to find him always going on with his goodness, usefulness, and morality. However, at last he fell a-laughing, and told him, he was much mistaken, if he thought any of them troubled their heads at all about the authors, or ever took the least pleasure in reading them; nay, half of them had not read the books they talked of. "But they are," said he, "a set of people, who place their whole happiness in the reputation of wit and sense, and consequently all their conversation turns on what they think will establish that character; and they are the most inveterate enemies to any person they imagine has more reputation that way than themselves."
David had no longer patience, but cried out, "What hopes can I ever have of meeting with a man who deserves my esteem, if mankind can be so furious against each other for things which are of no manner of consequence, and which are only to be valued according to the use that is made of them, while they despise what is in every one's power of attaining; namely, the consciousness of acting with honour and integrity? But I observed one young lady who showed by her silence, the contempt for the company they deserved. Pray, sir, do you know her? I should be glad to be acquainted with her."—"I know no more of her," replied Spatter, "than that she is daughter to one of the ladies who was there; but her silence is no proof of anything but that she is unmarried; for you must know, that it is reckoned a very ill-bred thing for women to say any more than just to answer the questions asked them, while they are single. I cannot tell the meaning of it, unless it is a plot laid by parents to make their daughters willing to accept any match they provide for them, that they may have the privilege of speaking. But if you are not tired ​with criticism, I will carry you to-morrow where you shall hear some of a quite different kind; for there are three sorts of criticks, the one I have already shewn you, who arrogantly set up their own opinions, though they know nothing, and would be ashamed of taking anything from another; and, as they cannot engage attention by the solidity of their sentiments, endeavour to procure it by the loudness of their voice, and to shun those they cannot confute. The second sort are a degree above them; have fixed in their minds that it is necessary for them to know everything; but, as they have something more sense than the former, they find out that they have no opinions of their own, and therefore make it their whole study to get into company with people of real understanding, and to pick up everything they hear among them. Of this treasure they are so generous, that they vent it in every company they go into, without distinction, by which means they impose on the undiscerning, and make them wonder at their knowledge and judgment; but there is an awkwardness and want of propriety in their way of speaking, which soon discover them to the discerning eye: for borrowed wit becomes the mouth as ill as borrowed clothes the body; and whoever has no delicate sentiments, nor refined thoughts of his own, makes as ill a figure in speaking them, as the most awkward country girl can do, dressed up in all the finery of a court lady. I remember a man of that sort, whom I once heard run through most of the famous authors, without committing any error, at least in my opinion; and yet there was something so preposterous in his delivery, something so like a schoolboy saying his lesson, it struck me with laughter and contempt, rather than with that admiration which he proposed to gain by it; but he has stuck himself on to a man of sense, whom he takes so ​much pains to oblige, that as he is not ill-natured, he does not know how to throw him off; by which means, he has laboriously gathered together all he says. I'll say no more of him; he will be to-morrow evening where I propose to carry you; and, I dare say, you will be very well entertained with him; only mention books, and he will immediately display his learning." David said, he should be glad to accompany him. On which they separated for that evening.