Moll Flanders Moll Flanders Moll Flanders by Daniel Defoe

  Here I also soon understood that he was at the last extremity, which made me almost at the last extremity too, to have a true account. One night I had the curiosity to disguise myself like a servant-maid, in a round cap and straw hat, and went to the door, as sent by a lady of his neighbourhood where he lived before, and giving master and mistress’s service, I said I was sent to know how Mr. —— did and how he had rested that night. In delivering this message I got the opportunity I desired; for, speaking with one of the maids, I held a long gossip’s tale with her and had all the particulars of his illness, which I found was a pleurisy, attended with a cough and fever. She told me also who was in the house and how his wife was, who, by her relation, they were in some hopes might recover her understanding; but as to the gentleman himself, the doctors said there was very little hopes of him, that in the morning they thought he had been dying, and that he was but little better then, for they did not expect that he could live over the next night.

  This was heavy news for me, and I began now to see an end of my prosperity and to see that it was well I had played the good housewife and saved something while he was alive, for now I had no view of my own living before me.

  It lay very heavy upon my mind, too, that I had a son, a fine, lovely boy, about five years old, and no provision made for it, at least that I knew of. With these considerations and a sad heart, I went home that evening and began to cast with myself how I should live and in what manner to bestow myself for the residue of my life.

  You may be sure I could not rest without inquiring again very quickly what was become of him; and not venturing to go myself, I sent several sham messengers, till after a fortnight’s waiting longer, I found that there was hopes of his life though he was still very ill; then I abated my sending to the house, and in some time after, I learnt in the neighbourhood that he was about house and then that he was abroad again.

  I made no doubt then but that I should soon hear of him and began to comfort myself with my circumstances being, as I thought, recovered. I waited a week, and two weeks, and with much surprise near two months, and heard nothing but that, being recovered, he was gone into the country for the air after his distemper. After this it was yet two months more, and then I understood he was come to his city-house again, but still I heard nothing from him.

  I had written several letters for him and directed them as usual, and found two or three of them had been called for, but not the rest. I wrote again in a more pressing manner than ever, and in one of them let him know that I must be forced to wait on him myself, representing my circumstances, the rent of lodgings to pay, and the provision for the child wanting, and my own deplorable condition, destitute of subsistence after his most solemn engagement to take care of and provide for me. I took a copy of this letter, and finding it lay at the house near a month and was not called for, I found means to have the copy of it put into his hands at a coffee-house where I found he had used to go.

  This letter forced an answer from him, by which though I found I was to be abandoned, yet I found he had sent a letter to me some time before, desiring me to go down to the Bath again. Its contents I shall come to presently.

  It is true that sick-beds are the times when such correspondences as this are looked on with different countenances and seen with other eyes than we saw them with before: my lover had been at the gates of death and at the very brink of eternity, and, it seems, struck with a due remorse and with sad reflections upon his past life of gallantry and levity; and among the rest, his criminal correspondence with me, which was indeed neither more or less than a long-continued life of adultery, had represented itself as it really was, not as it had been formerly thought by him to be, and he looked upon it now with a just abhorrence.

  I cannot but observe also, and leave it for the direction of my sex in such cases of pleasure, that whenever sincere repentance succeeds such a crime as this, there never fails to attend a hatred of the object; and the more the affection might seem to be before, the hatred will be more in proportion. It will always be so; indeed it cannot be otherwise; for there cannot be a true and sincere abhorrence of the offence and the love to the cause of it remain; there will with an abhorrence of the sin be found a detestation of the fellow-sinner; you can expect no other.

  I found it so here, though good manners and justice in this gentleman kept him from carrying it on to any extreme; but the short history of his part in this affair was thus; he perceived by my last letter and by the rest, which he went for after, that I was not gone to the Bath and that his first letter had not come to my hand, upon which he writes me this following:

  Madam:

  I am surprised that my letter, dated the 8th of last month, did not come to your hand; I give you my word it was delivered at your lodgings and to the hands of your maid.

  I need not acquaint you with what has been my condition for some time past; and how, having been at the edge of the grave, I am, by the unexpected and undeserved mercy of Heaven, restored again. In the condition I have been in it cannot be strange to you that our unhappy correspondence has not been the least of the burthens which lay upon my conscience. I need say no more; those things that must be repented of must be also reformed.

  I wish you would think of going back to the Bath. I enclose you here a bill for £50 for clearing yourself at your lodgings and carrying you down, and hope it will be no surprise to you to add that on this account only, and not for any offence given me on your side, I can see you no more. I will take due care of the child; leave him where he is or take him with you, as you please. I wish you the like reflections and that they may be to your advantage. I am, etc.

  I was struck with this letter as with a thousand wounds; the reproaches of my own conscience were such as I cannot express, for I was not blind to my own crime; and I reflected that I might with less offence have continued with my brother, since there was no crime in our marriage on that score, neither of us knowing it.

  But I never once reflected that I was all this while a married woman, a wife to Mr. ——, the linen-draper, who, though he had left me by the necessity of his circumstances, had no power to discharge me from the marriage contract which was between us or to give me a legal liberty to marry again; so that I had been no less than a whore and an adulteress all this while. I then reproached myself with the liberties I had taken, and how I had been a snare to this gentleman, and that indeed I was principal in the crime; that now he was mercifully snatched out of the gulf by a convincing work upon his mind, but that I was left as if I was abandoned by Heaven to a continuing in my wickedness.

  Under these reflections I continued very pensive and sad for near a month and did not go down to the Bath, having no inclination to be with the woman who I was with before lest, as I thought, she should prompt me to some wicked course of life again, as she had done; and besides, I was loath she should know I was cast off as above.

  And now I was greatly perplexed about my little boy. It was death to me to part with the child, and yet when I considered the danger of being one time or other left with him to keep without being able to support him, I then resolved to leave him; but then I concluded to be near him myself too, that I might have the satisfaction of seeing him without the care of providing for him. So I sent my gentleman a short letter that I had obeyed his orders in all things but that of going back to the Bath; that however parting from him was a wound to me that I could never recover, yet that I was fully satisfied his reflections were just and would be very far from desiring to obstruct his reformation.

  Then I represented my own circumstances to him in the most moving terms. I told him that those unhappy distresses which first moved him to a generous friendship for me would, I hope, move him to a little concern for me now, though the criminal part of our correspondence, which I believe neither of us intended to fall into at that time, was broken off; that I desired to repent as sincerely as he had done, but entreated him to put me in some condition that I might not be exposed to temptations from the frightf
ul prospect of poverty and distress; and if he had the least apprehensions of my being troublesome to him, I begged he would put me in a posture to go back to my mother in Virginia, from whence he knew I came, and that would put an end to all his fears on that account. I concluded that if he would send me £50 more to facilitate my going away, I would send him back a general release and would promise never to disturb him more with any importunities unless it were to hear of the well-doing of the child, who, if I found my mother living and my circumstances able, I would send for and take him also off of his hands.

  This was indeed all a cheat thus far, viz., that I had no intention to go to Virginia, as the account of my former affairs there may convince anybody of; but the business was to get this last £50 of him if possible, knowing well enough it would be the last penny I was ever to expect.

  However, the argument I used, namely, of giving him a general release and never troubling him any more, prevailed effectually, and he sent me a bill for the money by a person who brought with him a general release for me to sign and which I frankly signed; and thus, though full sore against my will, a final end was put to this affair.

  And here I cannot but reflect upon the unhappy consequence of too great freedoms between persons stated as we were, upon the pretence of innocent intentions, love of friendship, and the like; for the flesh has generally so great a share in those friendships that it is great odds but inclination prevails at last over the most solemn resolutions and that vice breaks in at the breaches of decency, which really innocent friendship ought to preserve with the greatest strictness. But I leave the readers of these things to their own just reflections, which they will be more able to make effectual than I, who so soon forgot myself and am therefore but a very indifferent monitor.

  I was now a single person again, as I may call myself; I was loosed from all the obligations either of wedlock or mistress-ship in the world, except my husband the linen-draper, who I having not now heard from in almost fifteen years nobody could blame me for thinking myself entirely freed from; seeing also he had at his going away told me that if I did not hear frequently from him, I should conclude he was dead, and I might freely marry again to whom I pleased.

  I now began to cast up my accounts. I had by many letters and much importunity, and with the intercession of my mother too, had a second return of some goods from my brother, as I now call him, in Virginia, to make up the damage of the cargo I brought away with me, and this too was upon the condition of my sealing a general release to him, which, though I thought hard, but yet I was obliged to promise. I managed so well in this case that I got my goods away before the release was signed, and then I always found something or other to say to evade the thing and to put off the signing it at all; till at length I pretended I must write to my brother before I could do it.

  Including this recruit and before I got the last £50, I found my strength to amount, put all together, to about £400, so that with that I had above £450. I had saved £100 more, but I met with a disaster with that, which was this—that a goldsmith in whose hands I had trusted it broke; so I lost £70 of my money, the man’s composition not making above £30 out of his £100. I had a little plate, but not much, and was well enough stocked with clothes and linen.

  With this stock I had the world to begin again; but you are to consider that I was not now the same woman as when I lived at Rotherhithe; for, first of all, I was near twenty years older, and did not look the better for my age nor for my rambles to Virginia and back again; and though I omitted nothing that might set me out to advantage except painting, for that I never stooped to, yet there would always be some difference seen between five-and-twenty and two-and-forty.

  I cast about innumerable ways for my future state of life and began to consider very seriously what I should do, but nothing offered. I took care to make the world take me for something more than I was, and had it given out that I was a fortune, and that my estate was in my own hands; the last of which was very true, the first of it was as above. I had no acquaintance, which was one of my worst misfortunes, and the consequence of that was I had no adviser and, above all, I had nobody to whom I could in confidence commit the secret of my circumstances to; and I found by experience that to be friendless is the worst condition, next to being in want, that a woman can be reduced to; I say a woman because ’tis evident men can be their own advisers and their own directors, and know how to work themselves out of difficulties and into business better than women; but if a woman has no friend to communicate her affairs to and to advise and assist her, ’tis ten to one but she is undone; nay, and the more money she has, the more danger she is in of being wronged and deceived; and this was my case in the affair of the £100 which I left in the hand of the goldsmith, as above, whose credit, it seems, was upon the ebb before, but I, that had nobody to consult with, knew nothing of it and so lost my money.

  When a woman is thus left desolate and void of counsel, she is just like a bag of money or a jewel dropped on the highway, which is a prey to the next comer; if a man of virtue and upright principles happens to find it, he will have it cried and the owner may come to hear of it again; but how many times shall such a thing fall into hands that will make no scruple of seizing it for their own, to once that it shall come into good hands?

  This was evidently my case, for I was now a loose, unguided creature and had no help, no assistance, no guide for my conduct; I knew what I aimed at and what I wanted, but knew nothing how to pursue the end by direct means. I wanted to be placed in a settled state of living, and had I happened to meet with a sober, good husband, I should have been as true a wife to him as virtue itself could have formed. If I had been otherwise, the vice came in always at the door of necessity, not at the door of inclination; and I understood too well, by the want of it, what the value of a settled life was to do anything to forfeit the felicity of it; nay, I should have made the better wife for all the difficulties I had passed through by a great deal; nor did I in any of the times that I had been a wife give my husbands the least uneasiness on account of my behaviour.

  But all this was nothing; I found no encouraging prospect. I waited; I lived regularly and with as much frugality as became my circumstances; but nothing offered, nothing presented, and the main stock wasted apace. What to do I knew not; the terror of approaching poverty lay hard upon my spirits. I had some money, but where to place it I knew not, nor would the interest of it maintain me, at least not in London.

  At length a new scene opened. There was in the house where I lodged a north-country gentlewoman, and nothing was more frequent in her discourse than her account of the cheapness of provisions and the easy way of living in her country, how plentiful and how cheap everything was, what good company they kept, and the like; till at last I told her she almost tempted me to go and live in her country; for I that was a widow, though I had sufficient to live on, yet had no way of increasing it; and that London was an extravagant place; that I found I could not live here under £100 a year unless I kept no company, no servant, made no appearance, and buried myself in privacy, as if I was obliged to it by necessity.

  I should have observed that she was always made to believe, as everybody else was, that I was a great fortune, or at least that I had three or four thousand pounds, if not more, and all in my own hands; and she was mighty sweet upon me when she thought me inclined in the least to go into her country. She said she had a sister lived near Liverpool; that her brother was a considerable gentleman there and had a great estate also in Ireland; that she would go down there in about two months, and if I would give her my company thither, I should be as welcome as herself for a month or more as I pleased, till I should see how I liked the country; and if I thought fit to live there, she would undertake they would take care; though they did not entertain lodgers themselves, they would recommend me to some agreeable family, where I should be placed to my content.

  If this woman had known my real circumstances, she would never have laid so many snares and taken so man
y weary steps to catch a poor, desolate creature that was good for little when it was caught; and indeed I, whose case was almost desperate, and thought I could not be much worse, was not very anxious about what might befall me, provided they did me no personal injury; so I suffered myself, though not without a great deal of invitation and great professions of sincere friendship and real kindness—I say, I suffered myself to be prevailed upon to go with her, and accordingly I put myself in a posture for a journey, though I did not absolutely know whither I was to go.

  And now I found myself in great distress; what little I had in the world was all in money except, as before, a little plate, some linen, and my clothes; as for household stuff, I had little or none, for I had lived always in lodgings; but I had not one friend in the world with whom to trust that little I had or to direct me how to dispose of it. I thought of the bank and of the other companies in London, but I had no friend to commit the management of it to; and to keep and carry about me bank-bills, tallies, orders, and such things, I looked upon as unsafe; that if they were lost, my money was lost, and then I was undone; and, on the other hand, I might be robbed and perhaps murdered in a strange place for them; and what to do I knew not.

  It came into my thoughts one morning that I would go to the bank myself, where I had often been to receive the interest of some bills I had, and where I had found the clerk, to whom I applied myself, very honest to me, and particularly so fair one time that when I had mistold my money and taken less than my due and was coming away, he set me to rights and gave me the rest, which he might have put into his own pocket.

  I went to him and asked if he would trouble himself to be my adviser, who was a poor, friendless widow and knew not what to do. He told me if I desired his opinion of anything within the reach of his business, he would do his endeavour that I should not be wronged, but that he would also help me to a good, sober person of his acquaintance, who was a clerk in such business too, though not in their house, whose judgement was good and whose honesty I might depend upon; “for,” added he, “I will answer for him and for every step he takes; if he wrongs you, madam, of one farthing, it shall lie at my door; and he delights to assist people in such cases—he does it as an act of charity.”