say she is in love.”
“I believe nothing of it,” says the old gentlewoman.
“I don’t know,” says the eldest sister, “what to say to it; they have
made such a rout about her being so handsome, and so charming, and I
know not what, and that in her hearing too, that has turned the
creature’s head, I believe, and who knows what possessions may follow
such doings? For my part, I don’t know what to make of it.”
“Why, sister, you must acknowledge she is very handsome,” says the
elder brother.
“Ay, and a great deal handsomer than you, sister,” says Robin, “and
that’s your mortification.”
“Well, well, that is not the question,” says his sister; “that girl is
well enough, and she knows it well enough; she need not be told of it
to make her vain.”
“We are not talking of her being vain,” says the elder brother, “but of
her being in love; it may be she is in love with herself; it seems my
sisters think so.”
“I would she was in love with me,” says Robin; “I’d quickly put her out
of her pain.”
“What d’ye mean by that, son,” says the old lady; “how can you talk
so?”
“Why, madam,” says Robin, again, very honestly, “do you think I’d let
the poor girl die for love, and of one that is near at hand to be had,
too?”
“Fie, brother!”, says the second sister, “how can you talk so? Would
you take a creature that has not a groat in the world?”
“Prithee, child,” says Robin, “beauty’s a portion, and good-humour with
it is a double portion; I wish thou hadst half her stock of both for
thy portion.” So there was her mouth stopped.
“I find,” says the eldest sister, “if Betty is not in love, my brother
is. I wonder he has not broke his mind to Betty; I warrant she won’t
say No.”
“They that yield when they’re asked,” says Robin, “are one step before
them that were never asked to yield, sister, and two steps before them
that yield before they are asked; and that’s an answer to you, sister.”
This fired the sister, and she flew into a passion, and said, things
were come to that pass that it was time the wench, meaning me, was out
of the family; and but that she was not fit to be turned out, she hoped
her father and mother would consider of it as soon as she could be
removed.
Robin replied, that was business for the master and mistress of the
family, who where not to be taught by one that had so little judgment
as his eldest sister.
It ran up a great deal farther; the sister scolded, Robin rallied and
bantered, but poor Betty lost ground by it extremely in the family. I
heard of it, and I cried heartily, and the old lady came up to me,
somebody having told her that I was so much concerned about it. I
complained to her, that it was very hard the doctors should pass such a
censure upon me, for which they had no ground; and that it was still
harder, considering the circumstances I was under in the family; that I
hoped I had done nothing to lessen her esteem for me, or given any
occasion for the bickering between her sons and daughters, and I had
more need to think of a coffin than of being in love, and begged she
would not let me suffer in her opinion for anybody’s mistakes but my
own.
She was sensible of the justice of what I said, but told me, since
there had been such a clamour among them, and that her younger son
talked after such a rattling way as he did, she desired I would be so
faithful to her as to answer her but one question sincerely. I told her
I would, with all my heart, and with the utmost plainness and
sincerity. Why, then, the question was, whether there was anything
between her son Robert and me. I told her with all the protestations of
sincerity that I was able to make, and as I might well, do, that there
was not, nor ever had been; I told her that Mr. Robert had rattled and
jested, as she knew it was his way, and that I took it always, as I
supposed he meant it, to be a wild airy way of discourse that had no
signification in it; and again assured her, that there was not the
least tittle of what she understood by it between us; and that those
who had suggested it had done me a great deal of wrong, and Mr. Robert
no service at all.
The old lady was fully satisfied, and kissed me, spoke cheerfully to
me, and bid me take care of my health and want for nothing, and so took
her leave. But when she came down she found the brother and all his
sisters together by the ears; they were angry, even to passion, at his
upbraiding them with their being homely, and having never had any
sweethearts, never having been asked the question, and their being so
forward as almost to ask first. He rallied them upon the subject of
Mrs. Betty; how pretty, how good-humoured, how she sung better than
they did, and danced better, and how much handsomer she was; and in
doing this he omitted no ill-natured thing that could vex them, and
indeed, pushed too hard upon them. The old lady came down in the height
of it, and to put a stop it to, told them all the discourse she had had
with me, and how I answered, that there was nothing between Mr. Robert
and I.
“She’s wrong there,” says Robin, “for if there was not a great deal
between us, we should be closer together than we are. I told her I
loved her hugely,” says he, “but I could never make the jade believe I
was in earnest.” “I do not know how you should,” says his mother;
“nobody in their senses could believe you were in earnest, to talk so
to a poor girl, whose circumstances you know so well.
“But prithee, son,” adds she, “since you tell me that you could not
make her believe you were in earnest, what must we believe about it?
For you ramble so in your discourse, that nobody knows whether you are
in earnest or in jest; but as I find the girl, by your own confession,
has answered truly, I wish you would do so too, and tell me seriously,
so that I may depend upon it. Is there anything in it or no? Are you in
earnest or no? Are you distracted, indeed, or are you not? ’Tis a
weighty question, and I wish you would make us easy about it.”
“By my faith, madam,” says Robin, “’tis in vain to mince the matter or
tell any more lies about it; I am in earnest, as much as a man is
that’s going to be hanged. If Mrs. Betty would say she loved me, and
that she would marry me, I’d have her tomorrow morning fasting, and
say, ‘To have and to hold,’ instead of eating my breakfast.”
“Well,” says the mother, “then there’s one son lost”; and she said it
in a very mournful tone, as one greatly concerned at it.
“I hope not, madam,” says Robin; “no man is lost when a good wife has
found him.”
“Why, but, child,” says the old lady, “she is a beggar.”
“Why, then, madam, she has the more need of charity,” says Robin; “I’ll
take her off the hands of the parish, and she and I’ll beg together.”
“It’s bad jesting with such things,” says the mother.
“I don’t jest, madam,” says Robin. “We’ll come and beg your pardon,
madam; and your blessing, madam, and my father’s.”
“This is all out of the way, son,” says the mother. “If you are in
earnest you are undone.”
“I am afraid not,” says he, “for I am really afraid she won’t have me;
after all my sister’s huffing and blustering, I believe I shall never
be able to persuade her to it.”
“That’s a fine tale, indeed; she is not so far out of her senses
neither. Mrs. Betty is no fool,” says the younger sister. “Do you think
she has learnt to say No, any more than other people?”
“No, Mrs. Mirth-wit,” says Robin, “Mrs. Betty’s no fool; but Mrs. Betty
may be engaged some other way, and what then?”
“Nay,” says the eldest sister, “we can say nothing to that. Who must it
be to, then? She is never out of the doors; it must be between you.”
“I have nothing to say to that,” says Robin. “I have been examined
enough; there’s my brother. If it must be between us, go to work with
him.”
This stung the elder brother to the quick, and he concluded that Robin
had discovered something. However, he kept himself from appearing
disturbed. “Prithee,” says he, “don’t go to shame your stories off upon
me; I tell you, I deal in no such ware; I have nothing to say to Mrs.
Betty, nor to any of the Mrs. Bettys in the parish”; and with that he
rose up and brushed off.
“No,” says the eldest sister, “I dare answer for my brother; he knows
the world better.”
Thus the discourse ended, but it left the elder brother quite
confounded. He concluded his brother had made a full discovery, and he
began to doubt whether I had been concerned in it or not; but with all
his management he could not bring it about to get at me. At last he was
so perplexed that he was quite desperate, and resolved he would come
into my chamber and see me, whatever came of it. In order to do this,
he contrived it so, that one day after dinner, watching his eldest
sister till he could see her go upstairs, he runs after her. “Hark ye,
sister,” says he, “where is this sick woman? May not a body see her?”
“Yes,” says the sister, “I believe you may; but let me go first a
little, and I’ll tell you.” So she ran up to the door and gave me
notice, and presently called to him again. “Brother,” says she, “you
may come if you please.” So in he came, just in the same kind of rant.
“Well,” says he at the door as he came in, “where is this sick body
that’s in love? How do ye do, Mrs. Betty?” I would have got up out of
my chair, but was so weak I could not for a good while; and he saw it,
and his sister too, and she said, “Come, do not strive to stand up; my
brother desires no ceremony, especially now you are so weak.” “No, no,
Mrs. Betty, pray sit still,” says he, and so sits himself down in a
chair over against me, and appeared as if he was mighty merry.
He talked a lot of rambling stuff to his sister and to me, sometimes of
one thing, sometimes of another, on purpose to amuse his sister, and
every now and then would turn it upon the old story, directing it to
me. “Poor Mrs. Betty,” says he, “it is a sad thing to be in love; why,
it has reduced you sadly.” At last I spoke a little. “I am glad to see
you so merry, sir,” says I; “but I think the doctor might have found
something better to do than to make his game at his patients. If I had
been ill of no other distemper, I know the proverb too well to have let
him come to me.” “What proverb?” says he, “Oh! I remember it now. What—
“Where love is the case,
The doctor’s an ass.”
Is not that it, Mrs. Betty?” I smiled and said nothing. “Nay,” says he,
“I think the effect has proved it to be love, for it seems the doctor
has been able to do you but little service; you mend very slowly, they
say. I doubt there’s somewhat in it, Mrs. Betty; I doubt you are sick
of the incurables, and that is love.” I smiled and said, “No, indeed,
sir, that’s none of my distemper.”
We had a deal of such discourse, and sometimes others that signified as
little. By and by he asked me to sing them a song, at which I smiled,
and said my singing days were over. At last he asked me if he should
play upon his flute to me; his sister said she believe it would hurt
me, and that my head could not bear it. I bowed, and said, No, it would
not hurt me. “And, pray, madam,” said I, “do not hinder it; I love the
music of the flute very much.” Then his sister said, “Well, do, then,
brother.” With that he pulled out the key of his closet. “Dear sister,”
says he, “I am very lazy; do step to my closet and fetch my flute; it
lies in such a drawer,” naming a place where he was sure it was not,
that she might be a little while a-looking for it.
As soon as she was gone, he related the whole story to me of the
discourse his brother had about me, and of his pushing it at him, and
his concern about it, which was the reason of his contriving this visit
to me. I assured him I had never opened my mouth either to his brother
or to anybody else. I told him the dreadful exigence I was in; that my
love to him, and his offering to have me forget that affection and
remove it to another, had thrown me down; and that I had a thousand
times wished I might die rather than recover, and to have the same
circumstances to struggle with as I had before, and that his
backwardness to life had been the great reason of the slowness of my
recovering. I added that I foresaw that as soon as I was well, I must
quit the family, and that as for marrying his brother, I abhorred the
thoughts of it after what had been my case with him, and that he might
depend upon it I would never see his brother again upon that subject;
that if he would break all his vows and oaths and engagements with me,
be that between his conscience and his honour and himself; but he
should never be able to say that I, whom he had persuaded to call
myself his wife, and who had given him the liberty to use me as a wife,
was not as faithful to him as a wife ought to be, whatever he might be
to me.
He was going to reply, and had said that he was sorry I could not be
persuaded, and was a-going to say more, but he heard his sister
a-coming, and so did I; and yet I forced out these few words as a
reply, that I could never be persuaded to love one brother and marry
another. He shook his head and said, “Then I am ruined,” meaning
himself; and that moment his sister entered the room and told him she
could not find the flute. “Well,” says he merrily, “this laziness won’t
do”; so he gets up and goes himself to go to look for it, but comes
back without it too; not but that he could have found it, but because
his mind was a little disturbed, and he had no mind to play; and,
besides, the errand he sent his sister on was answered another way; for
he only wanted an opportunity to speak to me, which he gained, though
not much to his satisfaction.
I had, however, a great deal of satisfaction in having spoken my mind
to him with freedom, and with such an honest plainness, as I have
related; and though it did not at all work the way I desired, that is
to say, to oblige the person to me the more, yet it took from him all
possibility of quitting me but by a downright breach of honour, and
giving up all the faith of a gentleman to me, which he had so often
engaged by, never to abandon me, but to make me his wife as soon as he
came to his estate.
It was not many weeks after this before I was about the house again,
and began to grow well; but I continued melancholy, silent, dull, and
retired, which amazed the whole family, except he that knew the reason
of it; yet it was a great while before he took any notice of it, and I,
as backward to speak as he, carried respectfully to him, but never
offered to speak a word to him that was particular of any kind
whatsoever; and this continued for sixteen or seventeen weeks; so that,
as I expected every day to be dismissed the family, on account of what
distaste they had taken another way, in which I had no guilt, so I
expected to hear no more of this gentleman, after all his solemn vows
and protestations, but to be ruined and abandoned.
At last I broke the way myself in the family for my removing; for being
talking seriously with the old lady one day, about my own circumstances
in the world, and how my distemper had left a heaviness upon my
spirits, that I was not the same thing I was before, the old lady said,
“I am afraid, Betty, what I have said to you about my son has had some
influence upon you, and that you are melancholy on his account; pray,
will you let me know how the matter stands with you both, if it may not
be improper? For, as for Robin, he does nothing but rally and banter
when I speak of it to him.” “Why, truly, madam,” said I, “that matter
stands as I wish it did not, and I shall be very sincere with you in
it, whatever befalls me for it. Mr. Robert has several times proposed
marriage to me, which is what I had no reason to expect, my poor
circumstances considered; but I have always resisted him, and that
perhaps in terms more positive than became me, considering the regard
that I ought to have for every branch of your family; but,” said I,
“madam, I could never so far forget my obligation to you and all your
house, to offer to consent to a thing which I know must needs be
disobliging to you, and this I have made my argument to him, and have
positively told him that I would never entertain a thought of that kind
unless I had your consent, and his father’s also, to whom I was bound
by so many invincible obligations.”
“And is this possible, Mrs. Betty?” says the old lady. “Then you have
been much juster to us than we have been to you; for we have all looked
upon you as a kind of snare to my son, and I had a proposal to make to
you for your removing, for fear of it; but I had not yet mentioned it
to you, because I thought you were not thorough well, and I was afraid
of grieving you too much, lest it should throw you down again; for we
have all a respect for you still, though not so much as to have it be
the ruin of my son; but if it be as you say, we have all wronged you
very much.”
“As to the truth of what I say, madam,” said I, “refer you to your son
himself; if he will do me any justice, he must tell you the story just
as I have told it.”
Away goes the old lady to her daughters and tells them the whole story,
just as I had told it her; and they were surprised at it, you may be
sure, as I believed they would be. One said she could never have
thought it; another said Robin was a fool; a third said she would not
believe a word of it, and she would warrant that Robin would tell the
story another way. But the old gentlewoman, who was resolved to go to
the bottom of it before I could have the least opportunity of
acquainting her son with what had passed, resolved too that she would
talk with her son immediately, and to that purpose sent for him, for he
was gone but to a lawyer’s house in the town, upon some petty business
of his own, and upon her sending he returned immediately.
Upon his coming up to them, for they were all still together, “Sit
down, Robin,” says the old lady, “I must have some talk with you.”
“With all my heart, madam,” says Robin, looking very merry. “I hope it
is about a good wife, for I am at a great loss in that affair.” “How
can that be?” says his mother; “did not you say you resolved to have
Mrs. Betty?” “Ay, madam,” says Robin, “but there is one has forbid the
banns.” “Forbid, the banns!” says his mother; “who can that be?” “Even
Mrs. Betty herself,” says Robin. “How so?” says his mother. “Have you
asked her the question, then?” “Yes, indeed, madam,” says Robin. “I
have attacked her in form five times since she was sick, and am beaten
off; the jade is so stout she won’t capitulate nor yield upon any
terms, except such as I cannot effectually grant.” “Explain yourself,”
says the mother, “for I am surprised; I do not understand you. I hope
you are not in earnest.”
“Why, madam,” says he, “the case is plain enough upon me, it explains
itself; she won’t have me, she says; is not that plain enough? I think
’tis plain, and pretty rough too.” “Well, but,” says the mother, “you
talk of conditions that you cannot grant; what does she want—a
settlement? Her jointure ought to be according to her portion; but what
fortune does she bring you?” “Nay, as to fortune,” says Robin, “she is
rich enough; I am satisfied in that point; but ’tis I that am not able
to come up to her terms, and she is positive she will not have me
without.”
Here the sisters put in. “Madam,” says the second sister, “’tis
impossible to be serious with him; he will never give a direct answer
to anything; you had better let him alone, and talk no more of it to
him; you know how to dispose of her out of his way if you thought there
was anything in it.” Robin was a little warmed with his sister’s
rudeness, but he was even with her, and yet with good manners too.
“There are two sorts of people, madam,” says he, turning to his mother,
“that there is no contending with; that is, a wise body and a fool;
’tis a little hard I should engage with both of them together.”
The younger sister then put in. “We must be fools indeed,” says she,
“in my brother’s opinion, that he should think we can believe he has
seriously asked Mrs. Betty to marry him, and that she has refused him.”
“Answer, and answer not, say Solomon,” replied her brother. “When your
brother had said to your mother that he had asked her no less than five
times, and that it was so, that she positively denied him, methinks a
younger sister need not question the truth of it when her mother did
not.” “My mother, you see, did not understand it,” says the second
sister. “There’s some difference,” says Robin, “between desiring me to
explain it, and telling me she did not believe it.”
“Well, but, son,” says the old lady, “if you are disposed to let us
into the mystery of it, what were these hard conditions?” “Yes, madam,”
says Robin, “I had done it before now, if the teasers here had not
worried me by way of interruption. The conditions are, that I bring my
father and you to consent to it, and without that she protests she will
never see me more upon that head; and to these conditions, as I said, I
suppose I shall never be able to grant. I hope my warm sisters will be
answered now, and blush a little; if not, I have no more to say till I
hear further.”
This answer was surprising to them all, though less to the mother,
because of what I had said to her. As to the daughters, they stood mute
a great while; but the mother said with some passion, “Well, I had
heard this before, but I could not believe it; but if it is so, then we
have all done Betty wrong, and she has behaved better than I ever
expected.” “Nay,” says the eldest sister, “if it be so, she has acted
handsomely indeed.” “I confess,” says the mother, “it was none of her
fault, if he was fool enough to take a fancy to her; but to give such
an answer to him, shows more respect to your father and me than I can
tell how to express; I shall value the girl the better for it as long
as I know her.” “But I shall not,” says Robin, “unless you will give
your consent.” “I’ll consider of that a while,” says the mother; “I
assure you, if there were not some other objections in the way, this
conduct of hers would go a great way to bring me to consent.” “I wish
it would go quite through it,” says Robin; “if you had as much thought
about making me easy as you have about making me rich, you would soon
consent to it.”
“Why, Robin,” says the mother again, “are you really in earnest? Would
you so fain have her as you pretend?” “Really, madam,” says Robin, “I
think ’tis hard you should question me upon that head after all I have
said. I won’t say that I will have her; how can I resolve that point,
when you see I cannot have her without your consent? Besides, I am not
bound to marry at all. But this I will say, I am in earnest in, that I
will never have anybody else if I can help it; so you may determine for
me. Betty or nobody is the word, and the question which of the two
shall be in your breast to decide, madam, provided only, that my
good-humoured sisters here may have no vote in it.”
All this was dreadful to me, for the mother began to yield, and Robin
pressed her home on it. On the other hand, she advised with the eldest
son, and he used all the arguments in the world to persuade her to
consent; alleging his brother’s passionate love for me, and my generous
regard to the family, in refusing my own advantages upon such a nice
point of honour, and a thousand such things. And as to the father, he
was a man in a hurry of public affairs and getting money, seldom at
home, thoughtful of the main chance, but left all those things to his
wife.
You may easily believe, that when the plot was thus, as they thought,
broke out, and that every one thought they knew how things were
carried, it was not so difficult or so dangerous for the elder brother,
whom nobody suspected of anything, to have a freer access to me than
before; nay, the mother, which was just as he wished, proposed it to
him to talk with Mrs. Betty. “For it may be, son,” said she, “you may
see farther into the thing than I, and see if you think she has been so
positive as Robin says she has been, or no.” This was as well as he
could wish, and he, as it were, yielding to talk with me at his
mother’s request, she brought me to him into her own chamber, told me
her son had some business with me at her request, and desired me to be
very sincere with him, and then she left us together, and he went and
shut the door after her.
He came back to me and took me in his arms, and kissed me very
tenderly; but told me he had a long discourse to hold with me, and it
was not come to that crisis, that I should make myself happy or
miserable as long as I lived; that the thing was now gone so far, that
if I could not comply with his desire, we would both be ruined. Then he
told the whole story between Robin, as he called him, and his mother
and sisters and himself, as it is above. “And now, dear child,” says
he, “consider what it will be to marry a gentleman of a good family, in
good circumstances, and with the consent of the whole house, and to
enjoy all that the world can give you; and what, on the other hand, to
be sunk into the dark circumstances of a woman that has lost her
reputation; and that though I shall be a private friend to you while I
live, yet as I shall be suspected always, so you will be afraid to see
me, and I shall be afraid to own you.”
He gave me no time to reply, but went on with me thus: “What has
happened between us, child, so long as we both agree to do so, may be
buried and forgotten. I shall always be your sincere friend, without
any inclination to nearer intimacy, when you become my sister; and we
shall have all the honest part of conversation without any reproaches
between us of having done amiss. I beg of you to consider it, and to
not stand in the way of your own safety and prosperity; and to satisfy
you that I am sincere,” added he, “I here offer you £500 in money, to
make you some amends for the freedoms I have taken with you, which we
shall look upon as some of the follies of our lives, which ’tis hoped
we may repent of.”
He spoke this in so much more moving terms than it is possible for me
to express, and with so much greater force of argument than I can
repeat, that I only recommend it to those who read the story, to
suppose, that as he held me above an hour and a half in that discourse,
so he answered all my objections, and fortified his discourse with all
the arguments that human wit and art could devise.
I cannot say, however, that anything he said made impression enough
upon me so as to give me any thought of the matter, till he told me at
last very plainly, that if I refused, he was sorry to add that he could
never go on with me in that station as we stood before; that though he
loved me as well as ever, and that I was as agreeable to him as ever,
yet sense of virtue had not so far forsaken him as to suffer him to lie
with a woman that his brother courted to make his wife; and if he took
his leave of me, with a denial in this affair, whatever he might do for
me in the point of support, grounded on his first engagement of
maintaining me, yet he would not have me be surprised that he was
obliged to tell me he could not allow himself to see me any more; and
that, indeed, I could not expect it of him.
I received this last part with some token of surprise and disorder, and
had much ado to avoid sinking down, for indeed I loved him to an
extravagance not easy to imagine; but he perceived my disorder. He
entreated me to consider seriously of it; assured me that it was the
only way to preserve our mutual affection; that in this station we
might love as friends, with the utmost passion, and with a love of
relation untainted, free from our just reproaches, and free from other
people’s suspicions; that he should ever acknowledge his happiness
owing to me; that he would be debtor to me as long as he lived, and
would be paying that debt as long as he had breath. Thus he wrought me
up, in short, to a kind of hesitation in the matter; having the dangers
on one side represented in lively figures, and indeed, heightened by my
imagination of being turned out to the wide world a mere cast-off
whore, for it was no less, and perhaps exposed as such, with little to
provide for myself, with no friend, no acquaintance in the whole world,
out of that town, and there I could not pretend to stay. All this
terrified me to the last degree, and he took care upon all occasions to
lay it home to me in the worst colours that it could be possible to be
drawn in. On the other hand, he failed not to set forth the easy,
prosperous life which I was going to live.
He answered all that I could object from affection, and from former
engagements, with telling me the necessity that was before us of taking
other measures now; and as to his promises of marriage, the nature of
things, he said, had put an end to that, by the probability of my being
his brother’s wife, before the time to which his promises all referred.
Thus, in a word, I may say, he reasoned me out of my reason; he
conquered all my arguments, and I began to see a danger that I was in,
which I had not considered of before, and that was, of being dropped by
both of them and left alone in the world to shift for myself.
This, and his persuasion, at length prevailed with me to consent,
though with so much reluctance, that it was easy to see I should go to
church like a bear to the stake. I had some little apprehensions about
me, too, lest my new spouse, who, by the way, I had not the least
affection for, should be skillful enough to challenge me on another
account, upon our first coming to bed together. But whether he did it
with design or not, I know not, but his elder brother took care to make
him very much fuddled before he went to bed, so that I had the
satisfaction of a drunken bedfellow the first night. How he did it I
know not, but I concluded that he certainly contrived it, that his
brother might be able to make no judgment of the difference between a
maid and a married woman; nor did he ever entertain any notions of it,
or disturb his thoughts about it.
I should go back a little here to where I left off. The elder brother
having thus managed me, his next business was to manage his mother, and
he never left till he had brought her to acquiesce and be passive in
the thing, even without acquainting the father, other than by post
letters; so that she consented to our marrying privately, and leaving
her to manage the father afterwards.
Then he cajoled with his brother, and persuaded him what service he had
done him, and how he had brought his mother to consent, which, though
true, was not indeed done to serve him, but to serve himself; but thus
diligently did he cheat him, and had the thanks of a faithful friend
for shifting off his whore into his brother’s arms for a wife. So
certainly does interest banish all manner of affection, and so
naturally do men give up honour and justice, humanity, and even
Christianity, to secure themselves.
I must now come back to brother Robin, as we always called him, who
having got his mother’s consent, as above, came big with the news to
me, and told me the whole story of it, with a sincerity so visible,
that I must confess it grieved me that I must be the instrument to
abuse so honest a gentleman. But there was no remedy; he would have me,
and I was not obliged to tell him that I was his brother’s whore,
though I had no other way to put him off; so I came gradually into it,
to his satisfaction, and behold we were married.
Modesty forbids me to reveal the secrets of the marriage-bed, but
nothing could have happened more suitable to my circumstances than
that, as above, my husband was so fuddled when he came to bed, that he
could not remember in the morning whether he had had any conversation
with me or no, and I was obliged to tell him he had, though in reality
he had not, that I might be sure he could make to inquiry about
anything else.
It concerns the story in hand very little to enter into the further
particulars of the family, or of myself, for the five years that I
lived with this husband, only to observe that I had two children by
him, and that at the end of five years he died. He had been really a
very good husband to me, and we lived very agreeably together; but as
he had not received much from them, and had in the little time he lived
acquired no great matters, so my circumstances were not great, nor was
I much mended by the match. Indeed, I had preserved the elder brother’s
bonds to me, to pay £500, which he offered me for my consent to marry
his brother; and this, with what I had saved of the money he formerly
gave me, about as much more by my husband, left me a widow with about
£1200 in my pocket.
My two children were, indeed, taken happily off my hands by my
husband’s father and mother, and that, by the way, was all they got by
Mrs. Betty.
I confess I was not suitably affected with the loss of my husband, nor
indeed can I say that I ever loved him as I ought to have done, or as
was proportionable to the good usage I had from him, for he was a
tender, kind, good-humoured man as any woman could desire; but his
brother being so always in my sight, at least while we were in the
country, was a continual snare to me, and I never was in bed with my
husband but I wished myself in the arms of his brother; and though his
brother never offered me the least kindness that way after our
marriage, but carried it just as a brother ought to do, yet it was
impossible for me to do so to him; in short, I committed adultery and
incest with him every day in my desires, which, without doubt, was as
effectually criminal in the nature of the guilt as if I had actually
done it.
Before my husband died his elder brother was married, and we, being
then removed to London, were written to by the old lady to come and be
at the wedding. My husband went, but I pretended indisposition, and
that I could not possibly travel, so I stayed behind; for, in short, I
could not bear the sight of his being given to another woman, though I
knew I was never to have him myself.
I was now, as above, left loose to the world, and being still young and
handsome, as everybody said of me, and I assure you I thought myself
so, and with a tolerable fortune in my pocket, I put no small value
upon myself. I was courted by several very considerable tradesmen, and
particularly very warmly by one, a linen-draper, at whose house, after
my husband’s death, I took a lodging, his sister being my acquaintance.
Here I had all the liberty and all the opportunity to be gay and appear
in company that I could desire, my landlord’s sister being one of the
maddest, gayest things alive, and not so much mistress of her virtue as
I thought at first she had been. She brought me into a world of wild
company, and even brought home several persons, such as she liked well
enough to gratify, to see her pretty widow, so she was pleased to call
me, and that name I got in a little time in public. Now, as fame and
fools make an assembly, I was here wonderfully caressed, had abundance
of admirers, and such as called themselves lovers; but I found not one
fair proposal among them all. As for their common design, that I
understood too well to be drawn into any more snares of that kind. The
case was altered with me: I had money in my pocket, and had nothing to
say to them. I had been tricked once by that cheat called love, but the
game was over; I was resolved now to be married or nothing, and to be
well married or not at all.
I loved the company, indeed, of men of mirth and wit, men of gallantry
and figure, and was often entertained with such, as I was also with
others; but I found by just observation, that the brightest men came
upon the dullest errand—that is to say, the dullest as to what I aimed
at. On the other hand, those who came with the best proposals were the
dullest and most disagreeable part of the world. I was not averse to a
tradesman, but then I would have a tradesman, forsooth, that was
something of a gentleman too; that when my husband had a mind to carry
me to the court, or to the play, he might become a sword, and look as
like a gentleman as another man; and not be one that had the mark of
his apron-strings upon his coat, or the mark of his hat upon his
periwig; that should look as if he was set on to his sword, when his
sword was put on to him, and that carried his trade in his countenance.
Well, at last I found this amphibious creature, this land-water thing
called a gentleman-tradesman; and as a just plague upon my folly, I was
catched in the very snare which, as I might say, I laid for myself. I
said for myself, for I was not trepanned, I confess, but I betrayed
myself.
This was a draper, too, for though my comrade would have brought me to
a bargain with her brother, yet when it came to the point, it was, it
seems, for a mistress, not a wife; and I kept true to this notion, that
a woman should never be kept for a mistress that had money to keep
herself.
Thus my pride, not my principle, my money, not my virtue, kept me
honest; though, as it proved, I found I had much better have been sold
by my she-comrade to her brother, than have sold myself as I did to a
tradesman that was rake, gentleman, shopkeeper, and beggar, all
together.
But I was hurried on (by my fancy to a gentleman) to ruin myself in the
grossest manner that every woman did; for my new husband coming to a
lump of money at once, fell into such a profusion of expense, that all
I had, and all he had before, if he had anything worth mentioning,
would not have held it out above one year.
He was very fond of me for about a quarter of a year, and what I got by
that was, that I had the pleasure of seeing a great deal of my money
spent upon myself, and, as I may say, had some of the spending it too.
“Come, my dear,” says he to me one day, “shall we go and take a turn
into the country for about a week?” “Ay, my dear,” says I, “whither
would you go?” “I care not whither,” says he, “but I have a mind to
look like quality for a week. We’ll go to Oxford,” says he. “How,” says
I, “shall we go? I am no horsewoman, and ’tis too far for a coach.”
“Too far!” says he; “no place is too far for a coach-and-six. If I
carry you out, you shall travel like a duchess.” “Hum,” says I, “my
dear, ’tis a frolic; but if you have a mind to it, I don’t care.” Well,
the time was appointed, we had a rich coach, very good horses, a
coachman, postillion, and two footmen in very good liveries; a
gentleman on horseback, and a page with a feather in his hat upon
another horse. The servants all called him my lord, and the
inn-keepers, you may be sure, did the like, and I was her honour the
Countess, and thus we traveled to Oxford, and a very pleasant journey
we had; for, give him his due, not a beggar alive knew better how to be
a lord than my husband. We saw all the rarities at Oxford, talked with
two or three Fellows of colleges about putting out a young nephew, that
was left to his lordship’s care, to the University, and of their being
his tutors. We diverted ourselves with bantering several other poor
scholars, with hopes of being at least his lordship’s chaplains and
putting on a scarf; and thus having lived like quality indeed, as to
expense, we went away for Northampton, and, in a word, in about twelve
days’ ramble came home again, to the tune of about £93 expense.
Vanity is the perfection of a fop. My husband had this excellence, that
he valued nothing of expense; and as his history, you may be sure, has
very little weight in it, ’tis enough to tell you that in about two
years and a quarter he broke, and was not so happy to get over into the
Mint, but got into a sponging-house, being arrested in an action too
heavy from him to give bail to, so he sent for me to come to him.
It was no surprise to me, for I had foreseen some time that all was
going to wreck, and had been taking care to reserve something if I
could, though it was not much, for myself. But when he sent for me, he
behaved much better than I expected, and told me plainly he had played
the fool, and suffered himself to be surprised, which he might have
prevented; that now he foresaw he could not stand it, and therefore he
would have me go home, and in the night take away everything I had in
the house of any value, and secure it; and after that, he told me that
if I could get away one hundred or two hundred pounds in goods out of
the shop, I should do it; “only,” says he, “let me know nothing of it,
neither what you take nor whither you carry it; for as for me,” says
he, “I am resolved to get out of this house and be gone; and if you
never hear of me more, my dear,” says he, “I wish you well; I am only
sorry for the injury I have done you.” He said some very handsome
things to me indeed at parting; for I told you he was a gentleman, and
that was all the benefit I had of his being so; that he used me very
handsomely and with good manners upon all occasions, even to the last,
only spent all I had, and left me to rob the creditors for something to
subsist on.
However, I did as he bade me, that you may be sure; and having thus
taken my leave of him, I never saw him more, for he found means to
break out of the bailiff’s house that night or the next, and go over
into France, and for the rest of the creditors scrambled for it as well
as they could. How, I knew not, for I could come at no knowledge of
anything, more than this, that he came home about three o’clock in the
morning, caused the rest of his goods to be removed into the Mint, and
the shop to be shut up; and having raised what money he could get
together, he got over, as I said, to France, from whence I had one or
two letters from him, and no more. I did not see him when he came home,
for he having given me such instructions as above, and I having made
the best of my time, I had no more business back again at the house,
not knowing but I might have been stopped there by the creditors; for a
commission of bankrupt being soon after issued, they might have stopped
me by orders from the commissioners. But my husband, having so
dexterously got out of the bailiff’s house by letting himself down in a
most desperate manner from almost the top of the house to the top of
another building, and leaping from thence, which was almost two
storeys, and which was enough indeed to have broken his neck, he came
home and got away his goods before the creditors could come to seize;
that is to say, before they could get out the commission, and be ready
to send their officers to take possession.
My husband was so civil to me, for still I say he was much of a
gentleman, that in the first letter he wrote me from France, he let me
know where he had pawned twenty pieces of fine holland for £30, which
were really worth £90, and enclosed me the token and an order for the
taking them up, paying the money, which I did, and made in time above
£100 of them, having leisure to cut them and sell them, some and some,
to private families, as opportunity offered.
However, with all this, and all that I had secured before, I found,
upon casting things up, my case was very much altered, any my fortune
much lessened; for, including the hollands and a parcel of fine
muslins, which I carried off before, and some plate, and other things,
I found I could hardly muster up £500; and my condition was very odd,
for though I had no child (I had had one by my gentleman draper, but it
was buried), yet I was a widow bewitched; I had a husband and no
husband, and I could not pretend to marry again, though I knew well
enough my husband would never see England any more, if he lived fifty
years. Thus, I say, I was limited from marriage, what offer might
soever be made me; and I had not one friend to advise with in the
condition I was in, least not one I durst trust the secret of my
circumstances to, for if the commissioners were to have been informed
where I was, I should have been fetched up and examined upon oath, and
all I have saved be taken away from me.
Upon these apprehensions, the first thing I did was to go quite out of
my knowledge, and go by another name. This I did effectually, for I
went into the Mint too, took lodgings in a very private place, dressed
up in the habit of a widow, and called myself Mrs. Flanders.
Here, however, I concealed myself, and though my new acquaintances knew
nothing of me, yet I soon got a great deal of company about me; and
whether it be that women are scarce among the sorts of people that
generally are to be found there, or that some consolations in the
miseries of the place are more requisite than on other occasions, I
soon found an agreeable woman was exceedingly valuable among the sons
of affliction there, and that those that wanted money to pay half a
crown on the pound to their creditors, and that run in debt at the sign
of the Bull for their dinners, would yet find money for a supper, if
they liked the woman.
However, I kept myself safe yet, though I began, like my Lord
Rochester’s mistress, that loved his company, but would not admit him
farther, to have the scandal of a whore, without the joy; and upon this
score, tired with the place, and indeed with the company too, I began
to think of removing.
It was indeed a subject of strange reflection to me to see men who were
overwhelmed in perplexed circumstances, who were reduced some degrees
below being ruined, whose families were objects of their own terror and
other people’s charity, yet while a penny lasted, nay, even beyond it,
endeavouring to drown themselves, labouring to forget former things,
which now it was the proper time to remember, making more work for
repentance, and sinning on, as a remedy for sin past.
But it is none of my talent to preach; these men were too wicked, even
for me. There was something horrid and absurd in their way of sinning,
for it was all a force even upon themselves; they did not only act
against conscience, but against nature; they put a rape upon their
temper to drown the reflections, which their circumstances continually
gave them; and nothing was more easy than to see how sighs would
interrupt their songs, and paleness and anguish sit upon their brows,
in spite of the forced smiles they put on; nay, sometimes it would
break out at their very mouths when they had parted with their money
for a lewd treat or a wicked embrace. I have heard them, turning about,
fetch a deep sigh, and cry, “What a dog am I! Well, Betty, my dear,
I’ll drink thy health, though”; meaning the honest wife, that perhaps
had not a half-crown for herself and three or four children. The next
morning they are at their penitentials again; and perhaps the poor
weeping wife comes over to him, either brings him some account of what
his creditors are doing, and how she and the children are turned out of
doors, or some other dreadful news; and this adds to his
self-reproaches; but when he has thought and pored on it till he is
almost mad, having no principles to support him, nothing within him or
above him to comfort him, but finding it all darkness on every side, he
flies to the same relief again, viz. to drink it away, debauch it away,
and falling into company of men in just the same condition with
himself, he repeats the crime, and thus he goes every day one step
onward of his way to destruction.
I was not wicked enough for such fellows as these yet. On the contrary,
I began to consider here very seriously what I had to do; how things
stood with me, and what course I ought to take. I knew I had no
friends, no, not one friend or relation in the world; and that little I
had left apparently wasted, which when it was gone, I saw nothing but
misery and starving was before me. Upon these considerations, I say,
and filled with horror at the place I was in, and the dreadful objects
which I had always before me, I resolved to be gone.
I had made an acquaintance with a very sober, good sort of a woman, who
was a widow too, like me, but in better circumstances. Her husband had
been a captain of a merchant ship, and having had the misfortune to be
cast away coming home on a voyage from the West Indies, which would
have been very profitable if he had come safe, was so reduced by the
loss, that though he had saved his life then, it broke his heart, and
killed him afterwards; and his widow, being pursued by the creditors,
was forced to take shelter in the Mint. She soon made things up with
the help of friends, and was at liberty again; and finding that I
rather was there to be concealed, than by any particular prosecutions
and finding also that I agreed with her, or rather she with me, in a
just abhorrence of the place and of the company, she invited to go home
with her till I could put myself in some posture of settling in the
world to my mind; withal telling me, that it was ten to one but some
good captain of a ship might take a fancy to me, and court me, in that
part of the town where she lived.
I accepted her offer, and was with her half a year, and should have
been longer, but in that interval what she proposed to me happened to
herself, and she married very much to her advantage. But whose fortune
soever was upon the increase, mine seemed to be upon the wane, and I
found nothing present, except two or three boatswains, or such fellows,
but as for the commanders, they were generally of two sorts: 1. Such
as, having good business, that is to say, a good ship, resolved not to
marry but with advantage, that is, with a good fortune; 2. Such as,
being out of employ, wanted a wife to help them to a ship; I mean (1) a
wife who, having some money, could enable them to hold, as they call
it, a good part of a ship themselves, so to encourage owners to come
in; or (2) a wife who, if she had not money, had friends who were
concerned in shipping, and so could help to put the young man into a
good ship, which to them is as good as a portion; and neither of these
was my case, so I looked like one that was to lie on hand.
This knowledge I soon learned by experience, viz. that the state of
things was altered as to matrimony, and that I was not to expect at
London what I had found in the country: that marriages were here the
consequences of politic schemes for forming interests, and carrying on
business, and that Love had no share, or but very little, in the
matter.
That as my sister-in-law at Colchester had said, beauty, wit, manners,
sense, good humour, good behaviour, education, virtue, piety, or any
other qualification, whether of body or mind, had no power to
recommend; that money only made a woman agreeable; that men chose
mistresses indeed by the gust of their affection, and it was requisite
to a whore to be handsome, well-shaped, have a good mien and a graceful
behaviour; but that for a wife, no deformity would shock the fancy, no
ill qualities the judgment; the money was the thing; the portion was
neither crooked nor monstrous, but the money was always agreeable,
whatever the wife was.
On the other hand, as the market ran very unhappily on the men’s side,
I found the women had lost the privilege of saying No; that it was a
favour now for a woman to have the Question asked, and if any young
lady had so much arrogance as to counterfeit a negative, she never had
the opportunity given her of denying twice, much less of recovering
that false step, and accepting what she had but seemed to decline. The
men had such choice everywhere, that the case of the women was very
unhappy; for they seemed to ply at every door, and if the man was by
great chance refused at one house, he was sure to be received at the
next.
Besides this, I observed that the men made no scruple to set themselves
out, and to go a-fortunehunting, as they call it, when they had really
no fortune themselves to demand it, or merit to deserve it; and that
they carried it so high, that a woman was scarce allowed to inquire
after the character or estate of the person that pretended to her. This
I had an example of, in a young lady in the next house to me, and with
whom I had contracted an intimacy; she was courted by a young captain,
and though she had near £2000 to her fortune, she did but inquire of
some of his neighbours about his character, his morals, or substance,
and he took occasion at the next visit to let her know, truly, that he
took it very ill, and that he should not give her the trouble of his
visits any more. I heard of it, and I had begun my acquaintance with
her, I went to see her upon it. She entered into a close conversation
with me about it, and unbosomed herself very freely. I perceived
presently that though she thought herself very ill used, yet she had no
power to resent it, and was exceedingly piqued that she had lost him,
and particularly that another of less fortune had gained him.
I fortified her mind against such a meanness, as I called it; I told
her, that as low as I was in the world, I would have despised a man
that should think I ought to take him upon his own recommendation only,
without having the liberty to inform myself of his fortune and of his
character; also I told her, that as she had a good fortune, she had no
need to stoop to the disaster of the time; that it was enough that the
men could insult us that had but little money to recommend us, but if
she suffered such an affront to pass upon her without resenting it, she
would be rendered low-prized upon all occasions, and would be the
contempt of all the women in that part of the town; that a woman can
never want an opportunity to be revenged of a man that has used her
ill, and that there were ways enough to humble such a fellow as that,
or else certainly women were the most unhappy creatures in the world.
I found she was very well pleased with the discourse, and she told me
seriously that she would be very glad to make him sensible of her just
resentment, and either to bring him on again, or have the satisfaction
of her revenge being as public as possible.
I told her, that if she would take my advice, I would tell her how she
should obtain her wishes in both these things; and that I would engage
to bring the man to her door again, and make him beg to be let in. She
smiled at that, and plainly let me see, that if he came to her door,
her resentment was not so great as to give her leave to let him stand
long there.
However, she listened very willingly to my offer of advice; so I told
her that the first thing she ought to do was a piece of justice to
herself, namely, that whereas she had been told by several people that
he had reported among the ladies that he had left her, and pretended to
give the advantage of the negative to himself, she should take care to
have it well spread among the women—which she could not fail of an
opportunity to do in a neighbourhood so addicted to family news as that
she live in was—that she had inquired into his circumstances, and found
he was not the man as to estate he pretended to be. “Let them be told,
madam,” said I, “that you had been well informed that he was not the
man that you expected, and that you thought it was not safe to meddle
with him; that you heard he was of an ill temper, and that he boasted
how he had used the women ill upon many occasions, and that
particularly he was debauched in his morals”, etc. The last of which,
indeed, had some truth in it; but at the same time I did not find that
she seemed to like him much the worse for that part.
As I had put this into her head, she came most readily into it.
Immediately she went to work to find instruments, and she had very
little difficulty in the search, for telling her story in general to a
couple of gossips in the neighbourhood, it was the chat of the
tea-table all over that part of the town, and I met with it wherever I
visited; also, as it was known that I was acquainted with the young
lady herself, my opinion was asked very often, and I confirmed it with
all the necessary aggravations, and set out his character in the
blackest colours; but then as a piece of secret intelligence, I added,
as what the other gossips knew nothing of, viz. that I had heard he was
in very bad circumstances; that he was under a necessity of a fortune
to support his interest with the owners of the ship he commanded; that
his own part was not paid for, and if it was not paid quickly, his
owners would put him out of the ship, and his chief mate was likely to
command it, who offered to buy that part which the captain had promised
to take.
I added, for I confess I was heartily piqued at the rogue, as I called
him, that I had heard a rumour, too, that he had a wife alive at
Plymouth, and another in the West Indies, a thing which they all knew
was not very uncommon for such kind of gentlemen.
This worked as we both desire it, for presently the young lady next
door, who had a father and mother that governed both her and her
fortune, was shut up, and her father forbid him the house. Also in one
place more where he went, the woman had the courage, however strange it
was, to say No; and he could try nowhere but he was reproached with his
pride, and that he pretended not to give the women leave to inquire
into his character, and the like.
Well, by this time he began to be sensible of his mistake; and having
alarmed all the women on that side of the water, he went over to
Ratcliff, and got access to some of the ladies there; but though the
young women there too were, according to the fate of the day, pretty
willing to be asked, yet such was his ill-luck, that his character
followed him over the water and his good name was much the same there
as it was on our side; so that though he might have had wives enough,
yet it did not happen among the women that had good fortunes, which was
what he wanted.
But this was not all; she very ingeniously managed another thing
herself, for she got a young gentleman, who as a relation, and was
indeed a married man, to come and visit her two or three times a week
in a very fine chariot and good liveries, and her two agents, and I
also, presently spread a report all over, that this gentleman came to
court her; that he was a gentleman of a £1000 a year, and that he was
fallen in love with her, and that she was going to her aunt’s in the
city, because it was inconvenient for the gentleman to come to her with
his coach in Redriff, the streets being so narrow and difficult.
This took immediately. The captain was laughed at in all companies, and
was ready to hang himself. He tried all the ways possible to come at
her again, and wrote the most passionate letters to her in the world,
excusing his former rashness; and in short, by great application,
obtained leave to wait on her again, as he said, to clear his
reputation.
At this meeting she had her full revenge of him; for she told him she
wondered what he took her to be, that she should admit any man to a
treaty of so much consequence as that to marriage, without inquiring
very well into his circumstances; that if he thought she was to be
huffed into wedlock, and that she was in the same circumstances which
her neighbours might be in, viz. to take up with the first good
Christian that came, he was mistaken; that, in a word, his character
was really bad, or he was very ill beholden to his neighbours; and that
unless he could clear up some points, in which she had justly been
prejudiced, she had no more to say to him, but to do herself justice,
and give him the satisfaction of knowing that she was not afraid to say
No, either to him or any man else.
With that she told him what she had heard, or rather raised herself by
my means, of his character; his not having paid for the part he
pretended to own of the ship he commanded; of the resolution of his
owners to put him out of the command, and to put his mate in his stead;
and of the scandal raised on his morals; his having been reproached
with such-and-such women, and having a wife at Plymouth and in the West
Indies, and the like; and she asked him whether he could deny that she
had good reason, if these things were not cleared up, to refuse him,
and in the meantime to insist upon having satisfaction in points to
significant as they were.
He was so confounded at her discourse that he could not answer a word,
and she almost began to believe that all was true, by his disorder,
though at the same time she knew that she had been the raiser of all
those reports herself.
After some time he recovered himself a little, and from that time
became the most humble, the most modest, and most importunate man alive
in his courtship.
She carried her jest on a great way. She asked him, if he thought she
was so at her last shift that she could or ought to bear such
treatment, and if he did not see that she did not want those who
thought it worth their while to come farther to her than he did;
meaning the gentleman whom she had brought to visit her by way of sham.
She brought him by these tricks to submit to all possible measures to
satisfy her, as well of his circumstances as of his behaviour. He
brought her undeniable evidence of his having paid for his part of the
ship; he brought her certificates from his owners, that the report of
their intending to remove him from the command of the ship and put his
chief mate in was false and groundless; in short, he was quite the
reverse of what he was before.
Thus I convinced her, that if the men made their advantage of our sex
in the affair of marriage, upon the supposition of there being such
choice to be had, and of the women being so easy, it was only owing to
this, that the women wanted courage to maintain their ground and to
play their part; and that, according to my Lord Rochester,
“A woman’s ne’er so ruined but she can
Revenge herself on her undoer, Man.”
After these things this young lady played her part so well, that though
she resolved to have him, and that indeed having him was the main bent
of her design, yet she made his obtaining her be to him the most
difficult thing in the world; and this she did, not by a haughty
reserved carriage, but by a just policy, turning the tables upon him,
and playing back upon him his own game; for as he pretended, by a kind
of lofty carriage, to place himself above the occasion of a character,
and to make inquiring into his character a kind of an affront to him,
she broke with him upon that subject, and at the same time that she
make him submit to all possible inquiry after his affairs, she
apparently shut the door against his looking into her own.
It was enough to him to obtain her for a wife. As to what she had, she
told him plainly, that as he knew her circumstances, it was but just
she should know his; and though at the same time he had only known her
circumstances by common fame, yet he had made so many protestations of
his passion for her, that he could ask no more but her hand to his
grand request, and the like ramble according to the custom of lovers.
In short, he left himself no room to ask any more questions about her
estate, and she took the advantage of it like a prudent woman, for she
placed part of her fortune so in trustees, without letting him know
anything of it, that it was quite out of his reach, and made him be
very well content with the rest.
It is true she was pretty well besides, that is to say, she had about
£1400 in money, which she gave him; and the other, after some time, she
brought to light as a perquisite to herself, which he was to accept as
a mighty favour, seeing though it was not to be his, it might ease him
in the article of her particular expenses; and I must add, that by this
conduct the gentleman himself became not only the more humble in his
applications to her to obtain her, but also was much the more an
obliging husband to her when he had her. I cannot but remind the ladies
here how much they place themselves below the common station of a wife,
which, if I may be allowed not to be partial, is low enough already; I
say, they place themselves below their common station, and prepare
their own mortifications, by their submitting so to be insulted by the
men beforehand, which I confess I see no necessity of.
This relation may serve, therefore, to let the ladies see that the
advantage is not so much on the other side as the men think it is; and
though it may be true that the men have but too much choice among us,
and that some women may be found who will dishonour themselves, be
cheap, and easy to come at, and will scarce wait to be asked, yet if
they will have women, as I may say, worth having, they may find them as
uncomeatable as ever and that those that are otherwise are a sort of
people that have such deficiencies, when had, as rather recommend the
ladies that are difficult than encourage the men to go on with their
easy courtship, and expect wives equally valuable that will come at
first call.
Nothing is more certain than that the ladies always gain of the men by
keeping their ground, and letting their pretended lovers see they can
resent being slighted, and that they are not afraid of saying No. They,
I observe, insult us mightily with telling us of the number of women;
that the wars, and the sea, and trade, and other incidents have carried
the men so much away, that there is no proportion between the numbers
of the sexes, and therefore the women have the disadvantage; but I am
far from granting that the number of women is so great, or the number
of men so small; but if they will have me tell the truth, the
disadvantage of the women is a terrible scandal upon the men, and it
lies here, and here only; namely, that the age is so wicked, and the
sex so debauched, that, in short, the number of such men as an honest
woman ought to meddle with is small indeed, and it is but here and
there that a man is to be found who is fit for a woman to venture upon.
But the consequence even of that too amounts to no more than this, that
women ought to be the more nice; for how do we know the just character
of the man that makes the offer? To say that the woman should be the
more easy on this occasion, is to say we should be the forwarder to
venture because of the greatness of the danger, which, in my way of
reasoning, is very absurd.
On the contrary, the women have ten thousand times the more reason to
be wary and backward, by how much the hazard of being betrayed is the
greater; and would the ladies consider this, and act the wary part,
they would discover every cheat that offered; for, in short, the lives
of very few men nowadays will bear a character; and if the ladies do
but make a little inquiry, they will soon be able to distinguish the
men and deliver themselves. As for women that do not think their own
safety worth their thought, that, impatient of their perfect state,
resolve, as they call it, to take the first good Christian that comes,
that run into matrimony as a horse rushes into the battle, I can say
nothing to them but this, that they are a sort of ladies that are to be
prayed for among the rest of distempered people, and to me they look
like people that venture their whole estates in a lottery where there
is a hundred thousand blanks to one prize.
No man of common-sense will value a woman the less for not giving up
herself at the first attack, or for accepting his proposal without
inquiring into his person or character; on the contrary, he must think
her the weakest of all creatures in the world, as the rate of men now
goes. In short, he must have a very contemptible opinion of her
capacities, nay, every of her understanding, that, having but one case
of her life, shall call that life away at once, and make matrimony,
like death, be a leap in the dark.
I would fain have the conduct of my sex a little regulated in this
particular, which is the thing in which, of all the parts of life, I
think at this time we suffer most in; ’tis nothing but lack of courage,
the fear of not being married at all, and of that frightful state of
life called an old maid, of which I have a story to tell by itself.
This, I say, is the woman’s snare; but would the ladies once but get
above that fear and manage rightly, they would more certainly avoid it
by standing their ground, in a case so absolutely necessary to their
felicity, that by exposing themselves as they do; and if they did not
marry so soon as they may do otherwise, they would make themselves
amends by marrying safer. She is always married too soon who gets a bad
husband, and she is never married too late who gets a good one; in a
word, there is no woman, deformity or lost reputation excepted, but if
she manages well, may be married safely one time or other; but if she
precipitates herself, it is ten thousand to one but she is undone.
But I come now to my own case, in which there was at this time no
little nicety. The circumstances I was in made the offer of a good
husband the most necessary thing in the world to me, but I found soon
that to be made cheap and easy was not the way. It soon began to be
found that the widow had no fortune, and to say this was to say all
that was ill of me, for I began to be dropped in all the discourses of
matrimony. Being well-bred, handsome, witty, modest, and agreeable; all
which I had allowed to my character—whether justly or no is not the
purpose—I say, all these would not do without the dross, which was now
become more valuable than virtue itself. In short, the widow, they
said, had no money.
I resolved, therefore, as to the state of my present circumstances,
that it was absolutely necessary to change my station, and make a new
appearance in some other place where I was not known, and even to pass
by another name if I found occasion.
I communicated my thoughts to my intimate friend, the captain’s lady,
whom I had so faithfully served in her case with the captain, and who
was as ready to serve me in the same kind as I could desire. I made no
scruple to lay my circumstances open to her; my stock was but low, for
I had made but about £540 at the close of my last affair, and I had
wasted some of that; however, I had about £460 left, a great many very
rich clothes, a gold watch, and some jewels, though of no extraordinary
value, and about £30 or £40 left in linen not disposed of.
My dear and faithful friend, the captain’s wife, was so sensible of the
service I had done her in the affair above, that she was not only a
steady friend to me, but, knowing my circumstances, she frequently made
me presents as money came into her hands, such as fully amounted to a
maintenance, so that I spent none of my own; and at last she made this
unhappy proposal to me, viz. that as we had observed, as above, how the
men made no scruple to set themselves out as persons meriting a woman
of fortune, when they had really no fortune of their own, it was but
just to deal with them in their own way and, if it was possible, to
deceive the deceiver.
The captain’s lady, in short, put this project into my head, and told
me if I would be ruled by her I should certainly get a husband of
fortune, without leaving him any room to reproach me with want of my
own. I told her, as I had reason to do, that I would give up myself
wholly to her directions, and that I would have neither tongue to speak
nor feet to step in that affair but as she should direct me, depending
that she would extricate me out of every difficulty she brought me
into, which she said she would answer for.
The first step she put me upon was to call her cousin, and go to a
relation’s house of hers in the country, where she directed me, and
where she brought her husband to visit me; and calling me cousin, she
worked matters so about, that her husband and she together invited me
most passionately to come to town and be with them, for they now live
in a quite different place from where they were before. In the next
place, she tells her husband that I had at least £1500 fortune, and
that after some of my relations I was like to have a great deal more.
It was enough to tell her husband this; there needed nothing on my
side. I was but to sit still and wait the event, for it presently went
all over the neighbourhood that the young widow at Captain ——’s was a
fortune, that she had at least £1500, and perhaps a great deal more,
and that the captain said so; and if the captain was asked at any time
about me, he made no scruple to affirm it, though he knew not one word
of the matter, other than that his wife had told him so; and in this he
thought no harm, for he really believed it to be so, because he had it
from his wife: so slender a foundation will those fellows build upon,
if they do but think there is a fortune in the game. With the
reputation of this fortune, I presently found myself blessed with
admirers enough, and that I had my choice of men, as scarce as they
said they were, which, by the way, confirms what I was saying before.
This being my case, I, who had a subtle game to play, had nothing now
to do but to single out from them all the properest man that might be
for my purpose; that is to say, the man who was most likely to depend
upon the hearsay of a fortune, and not inquire too far into the
particulars; and unless I did this I did nothing, for my case would not
bear much inquiry.
I picked out my man without much difficulty, by the judgment I made of
his way of courting me. I had let him run on with his protestations and
oaths that he loved me above all the world; that if I would make him
happy, that was enough; all which I knew was upon supposition, nay, it
was upon a full satisfaction, that I was very rich, though I never told
him a word of it myself.
This was my man; but I was to try him to the bottom, and indeed in that
consisted my safety; for if he baulked, I knew I was undone, as surely
as he was undone if he took me; and if I did not make some scruple
about his fortune, it was the way to lead him to raise some about mine;
and first, therefore, I pretended on all occasions to doubt his
sincerity, and told him, perhaps he only courted me for my fortune. He
stopped my mouth in that part with the thunder of his protestations, as
above, but still I pretended to doubt.
One morning he pulls off his diamond ring, and writes upon the glass of
the sash in my chamber this line—
“You I love, and you alone.”
I read it, and asked him to lend me his ring, with which I wrote under
it, thus—
“And so in love says every one.”