Даниэль Дефо – Moll Flanders (страница 8)

He pacified me as well as he could with this, but I found he was very thoughtful, and that though he was very kind to me, and kissed me a thousand times, and more I believe, and gave me money too, yet he offered no more all the while we were together, which was above two hours, and which I much wondered at, considering how it used to be, and what opportunity we had.

His brother did not come from London for five or six days, and it was two days before he got an opportunity to talk with him; but then getting him by himself, he talked very close to him about it; and the same evening found means (for we had a long conference together) to repeat all their discourse to me, which as near as I can remember, was to the purpose following:

He told him he heard strange news of him since he went, viz., that he had made love to Mrs. Betty.

“Well,” says his brother, a little angrily, “and what then? What has anybody to do with that?”

“Nay,” says his brother, “don’t be angry, Robin, I don’t pretend to have anything to do with it; but I find they do concern themselves about it, and that they have used the poor girl ill about it, which I should take as done to myself.”

“Who do you mean by they?” says Robin.

“I mean my mother and the girls,” says the elder brother.

“But hark ye,” says his brother, “are you in earnest, do you really love the girl?”

“Why then,” says Robin, “I will be free with you, I do love her above all the women in the world, and I will have her, let them say and do what they will, I believe the girl will not deny me.”

It stuck me to the heart when he told me this, for though it was most rational to think I would not deny him, yet I knew in my own conscience, I must, and I saw my ruin in my being obliged to do so; but I knew it was my business to talk otherwise then, so I interrupted him in his story thus:

“Ay!” said I, “does he think I cannot deny him? but he shall find I can deny him for all that.”

“Well, my dear,” says he, “but let me give you the whole story as it went on between us, and then say what you will.”

Then he went on and told me, that he replied thus:

“But, brother, you know she has nothing, and you may have several ladies with good fortunes.”

“‘Tis no matter for that,” said Robin, “I love the girl; and I will never please my pocket in marrying, and not please my fancy.”

“And so, my dear,” adds he, “there is no opposing him.”

“Yes, yes,” says I, “I can oppose him, I have learnt to say ‘No,’ now, though I had not learnt it before; if the best lord in the land offered me marriage now, I could very cheerfully say ‘No’ to him.”

“Well, but, my dear,” says he, “what can you say to him? You know, as you said before, he will ask you many questions about it, and all the house will wonder what the meaning of it should be.”

“Why,” says I, smiling, “I can stop all their mouths at one clap, by telling him and them too, that I am married already to his elder brother.”

He smiled a little too at the word, but I could see it startled him, and he could not hide the disorder it put him into: however, he returned, “Why though that may be true, in some sense, yet I suppose you are but in jest, when you talk of giving such an answer as that, it may not be convenient on many accounts.”

“No, no,” says I pleasantly, “I am not so fond of letting that secret come out, without your consent.”

“But what then can you say to them,” says he, “when they find you positive against a match which would be apparently so much to your advantage?”

“Why,” says I, “should I be at a loss? First, I am not obliged to give them any reason: on the other hand, I may tell them I am married already, and stop there, and that will be a full stop too to him, for he can have no reason to ask one question after it.”

“Ay,” says he, “but the whole house will tease you about that, and if you deny them positively, they will be disobliged at you, and suspicious besides.”

“Why,” says I, “what can I do? What would you have me do? I was in strait enough before, as I told you, and acquainted you with the circumstances, that I might have your advice.”

“My dear,” says he, “I have been considering very much upon it, you may be sure, and though the advice has many mortifications in it to me, and may at first seem strange to you, yet all things considered, I see no better way for you, than to let him go on; and if you find him hearty and in earnest, marry him.”

I gave him a look full of horror at those words, and turning pale as death, was at the very point of sinking down out of the chair I sat in: when giving a start, “My dear,” says he aloud, “what’s the matter with you? Where are you agoing?”—and a great many such things; and with jogging and calling to me, fetched me a little to myself, though it was a good while before I fully recovered my senses, and was not able to speak for several minutes.

When I was fully recovered, he began again: “My dear,” says he, “I would have you consider seriously of it: you may see plainly how the family stand in this case, and they would be stark mad if it was my case, as it is my brother’s, and for ought I see, it would be my ruin and yours too.”

“Ay!” says I, still speaking angrily; “are all your protestations and vows to be shaken by the dislike of the family? Did I not always object that to you, and you made a light thing of it, as what you were above, and would not value; and is it come to this now? Is this your faith and honour, your love, and the solidity of your promises?”

He continued perfectly calm, notwithstanding all my reproaches, and I was not sparing of them at all; but he replied at last, “My dear, I have not broken one promise with you yet; I did tell you I would marry you when I was come to my estate; but you see my father is a hail, healthy man, and may live these thirty years still, and not be older than several are round us in the town; and you never proposed my marrying you sooner, because you know it might be my ruin; and as to the rest, I have not failed you in anything.”

I could not deny a word of this. “But why then,” says I, “can you persuade me to such a horrid step, as leaving you, since you have not left me? Will you allow no affection, no love on my side, where there has been so much on your side? Have I made you no returns?

Have I given no testimony of my sincerity, and of my passion? Are the sacrifices I have made of honour and modesty to you, no proof of my being tied to you in bonds too strong to be broken?”

“But here, my dear,” says he, “you may come into a safe station, and appear with honour, and the remembrance of what we have done may be wrapped up in an eternal silence, as if it had never happened; you shall always have my sincere affection, only then it shall be honest, and perfectly just to my brother; you shall be my dear sister, as now you are my dear—” and there he stopped.

“Your dear whore,” says I, “you would have said, and you might as well have said it; but I understand you: however, I desire you to remember the long discourses you have had with me, and the many hours’ pains you have taken to persuade me to believe myself an honest woman; that I was your wife intentionally, and that it was as effectual a marriage that had passed between us, as if we had been publicly wedded by the parson of the parish; you know these have been your own words to me.”

I found this was a little too close upon him, but I made it up in what follows; he stood stock still for a while, and said nothing, and I went on thus:

“You cannot,” says I, “without the highest injustice believe that I yielded upon all these persuasions without a love not to be questioned, not to be shaken again by anything that could happen afterward. If you have such dishonourable thoughts of me, I must ask you what foundation have I given for such a suggestion. If then I have yielded to the importunities of my affection, and if I have been persuaded to believe that I am really your wife, shall I now give the lie to all those arguments, and call myself your whore, or mistress, which is the same thing? And will you transfer me to your brother? Can you transfer my affection? Can you bid me cease loving you, and bid me love him? Is it in my power, think you, to make such a change at demand? No, sir,” said I, “depend upon it, it is impossible, and whatever the change on your side may be, I will ever be true; and I had much rather, since it is come that unhappy length, be your whore than your brother’s wife.”

He appeared pleased and touched with the impression of this last discourse, and told me that he stood where he did before; that he had not been unfaithful to me in any one promise he had ever made yet, but that there were so many terrible things presented themselves to his view in the affair before me, that he had thought of the other as a remedy, only that he thought this would not be an entire parting us, but we might love as friends all our days, and perhaps with more satisfaction than we should in the station we were now in. That he durst say, I could not apprehend anything from him, as to betraying a secret, which could not but be the destruction of us both if it came out: that he had but one question to ask of me, that could lie in the way of it, and if that question was answered, he could not but think still it was the only step I could take.