This oblig’d me to take him one Morning, when I saw him, as I thought, a little anxious about his going, and irresolute; says I to him, I fancy you can hardly find in your Heart to leave me now: The more unkind is it in you, said he, severely unkind, to refuse a Man that knows not how to part with you.
I am so far from being unkind to you, said I, that I will go all over the World with you, if you desir’d me, except to Paris, where you know I can’t go.
It is pity so much Love, said he, on both Sides, shou’d ever separate.
Why then, said I, do you go away from me?
Because, said he, you won’t take me.
But if I won’t take you, said I, you may take me, anywhere, but to Paris.
He was very loth to go any-where, he said, without me; but he must go to Paris, or to the East-Indies.
I told him I did not use to court,164 but I durst venture myself to the East-Indies with him, if there was a Necessity of his going.
He told me, God be thank’d, he was in no Necessity of going any-where, but that he had a tempting Invitation to go to the Indies.
I answer’d, I wou’d say nothing to that; but that I desir’d he wou’d go any-where but to Paris; because there he knew I must not go.
He said he had no Remedy, but to go where I cou’d not go; for he cou’d not bear to see me, if he must not have me.
I told him, that was the unkindest thing he cou’d say of me, and that I ought to take it very ill, seeing I knew how very well to oblige him to stay, without yielding to what he knew I cou’d not yield to.
This amaz’d him, and he told me, I was pleas’d to be mysterious; but, that he was sure it was in no-body’s Power to hinder him going, if he resolv’d upon it, except me; who had Influence enough upon him to make him do any-thing.
Yes, I told him, I cou’d hinder him, because I knew he cou’d no more do an unkind thing by me, than he cou’d do an unjust one; and to put him out of his Pain, I told him I was with-Child.
He came to me, and taking me in his Arms, and kissing me a Thousand times almost, said, Why wou’d I be so unkind, not to tell him that before?
I told him, ’twas hard, that, to have him stay, I shou’d be forc’d to do as Criminals do to avoid the Gallows, plead my Belly; and that I thought I had given him Testimonies enough of an Affection equal to that of a Wife; if I had not only lain with him; been with-Child by him; shewn myself unwilling to part with him; but offer’d to go to the East-Indies with him; and except One Thing that I cou’d not grant, what cou’d he ask more?
He stood mute a good-while; but afterwards told me, he had a great-deal more to say, if I cou’d assure him, that I wou’d not take ill whatever Freedom he might use with me in his Discourse.
I told him, he might use any Freedom in Words with me; for a Woman who had given Leave to such other Freedoms, as I had done, had left herself no room to take any-thing ill, let it be what it wou’d.
Why then, he said, I hope you believe, Madam, I was born a Christian, and that I have some Sence of Sacred Things upon my Mind; when I first broke-in upon my own Virtue, and assaulted yours; when I surpriz’d, and, as it were, forc’d you to that which neither you intended, or I design’d, but a few Hours before, it was upon a Presumption that you wou’d certainly marry me, if once I cou’d go that Length with you; and it was with an honest Resolution to make you my Wife.
But I have been surpriz’d with such a Denial, that no Woman in such Circumstances ever gave to a Man; for certainly it was never known, that any Woman refus’d to marry a Man that had first lain with her, much less a Man that had gotten her with-Child; but you go upon different Notions from all the World; and tho’ you reason upon it so strongly, that a Man knows hardly what to answer, yet I must own, there is something in it shocking to Nature, and something very unkind to yourself; but above all, it is unkind to the Child that is yet unborn; who, if we marry, will come into the World with Advantage enough, but if not, is ruin’d before it is born; must bear the eternal Reproach of what it is not guilty of; must be branded from its Cradle with a Mark of Infamy; be loaded with the Crimes and Follies of its Parents, and suffer for Sins that it never committed: This I take to be very hard, and indeed cruel to the poor Infant not yet born, who you cannot think of, with any Patience, if you have the common Affection of a Mother, and not do that for it, which shou’d at once place it on a Level with the rest of the World; and not leave it to curse its Parents for what also we ought to be asham’d of: I cannot, therefore, says he, but beg and intreat you, as you are a Christian, and a Mother, not to let the innocent Lamb you go with, be ruin’d before it is born, and leave it to curse and reproach us hereafter, for what may be so easily avoided.
Then, dear Madam, said he, with a World of Tenderness, (and I thought I saw Tears in his Eyes) allow me to repeat it, that I am a Christian, and consequently I do not allow what I have rashly, and without due Consideration, done; I say, I do not approve of it as lawful; and therefore tho’ I did, with a View I have mention’d, one unjustifiable Action, I cannot say, that I cou’d satisfie myself to live in a continual Practice of what, in Judgement, we must both condemn; and tho’ I love you above all the Women in the World, and have done enough to convince you of it, by resolving to marry you after what has pass’d between us, and by offering to quit all Pretensions to any Part of your Estate, so that I shou’d, as it were, take a Wife after I had lain with her, and without a Farthing Portion; which, as my Circumstances are, I need not do; I say, notwithstanding my Affection to you, which is inexpressible, yet I cannot give up Soul as well as Body, the Interest of this World, and the Hopes of another; and you cannot call this my Disrespect to you.
If ever any Man in the World was truly valuable for the strictest honesty of Intention, this was the Man; and if ever Woman in her Senses rejected a Man of Merit, on so trivial and frivolous a Pretence, I was the Woman; but surely it was the most preposterous thing that ever Woman did.
He would have taken me as a Wife, but would not entertain me as a Whore; was ever Woman angry with any Gentleman on that head? and was ever Woman so stupid to choose to be a Whore, where she might have been an honest Wife? But Infatuations are next to being possess’d of the Devil; I was inflexible, and pretended165 to argue upon the Point of a Woman’s Liberty, as before; but he took me short, and with more Warmth than he had yet us’d with me, tho’ with the utmost Respect; reply’d, Dear Madam, you argue for Liberty at the same time that you restrain yourself from that Liberty, which God and Nature has directed you to take; and to supply the Deficiency, propose a vicious Liberty, which is neither honourable or religious; will you propose Liberty at the Expence of Modesty?
I return’d, that he mistook me; I did not propose it; I only said, that those that cou’d not be content without concerning the Sexes in that Affair, might do so indeed; might entertain a Man as Men do a Mistress, if they thought fit, but he did not hear me say I wou’d do so; and tho’, by what had pass’d, he might well censure me in that Part, yet he should find, for the future, that I should freely converse with him without any Inclination that way.
He told me, he cou’d not promise that for himself, and thought he ought not to trust himself with the Opportunity; for that, as he had fail’d already, he was loth to lead himself into the Temptation of offending again; and that this was the true Reason of his resolving to go back to Paris; not that he cou’d willingly leave me, and would be very far from wanting my Invitation; but if he could not stay upon Terms that became him, either as an honest Man, or a Christian, what cou’d he do? and he hop’d, he said, I cou’d not blame him, that he was unwilling any thing that was to call him Father, shou’d upbraid him with leaving him in the World, to be call’d Bastard; adding, that he was astonish’d to think how I could satisfie myself to be so cruel to an innocent Infant, not yet born; profess’d he cou’d neither bear the Thoughts of it, much less bear to see it, and hop’d I wou’d not take it ill that he cou’d not stay to see me Deliver’d, for that very Reason.
> I saw he spoke this with a disturb’d Mind, and that it was with some Difficulty that he restrain’d his Passion; so I declin’d any farther Discourse upon it; only said, I hop’d he.wou’d consider of it: O Madam! says he, Do not bid me consider, ’tis for you to consider; and with that he went out of the Room, in a strange kind of Confusion, as was easie to be seen in his Countenance.
If I had not been one of the foolishest, as well as wickedest Creatures upon Earth, I cou’d never have acted thus; I had one of the honestest compleatest Gentlemen upon Earth, at my hand; he had in one Sence sav’d my Life, but he had sav’d that Life from Ruin in a most remarkable Manner; he lov’d me even to Distraction, and had come from Paris to Rotterdam, on purpose to seek me; he had offer’d me Marriage, even after I was with-Child by him, and had offer’d to quit all his Pretensions to my Estate, and give it up to my own Management, having a plentiful Estate of his own: Here I might have settled myself out of the reach even of Disaster itself; his Estate and mine, wou’d have purchas’d even then above two Thousand Pounds a Year, and I might have liv’d like a Queen, nay, far more happy than a Queen; and which was above all, I had now an Opportunity to have quitted a Life of Crime and Debauchery, which I had been given up to for several Years, and to have sat down quiet in Plenty and Honour, and to have set myself apart to the Great Work, which I have since seen so much Necessity of and Occasion for; I mean that of Repentance.
But my Measure of Wickedness was not yet full;166 I continued obstinate against Matrimony, and yet I cou’d not bear the Thoughts of his going away neither; as to the Child, I was not very anxious about it; I told him, I wou’d promise him that it shou’d never come to him to upbraid him with its being illegitimate; that if it was a Boy, I wou’d breed it up like the Son of a Gentleman, and use it well for his sake; and after a little more such Talk as this, and seeing him resolv’d to go I retir’d, but cou’d not help letting him see the Tears run down my Cheeks; he came to me, and kiss’d me, entreated me, conjur’d me by the Kindness he had shewn me in my Distress; by the Justice he had done me in my Bills and Money-Affairs; by the Respect which made him refuse a Thousand Pistoles from me for his Expences with that Traytor, the Jew; by the Pledge of our Misfortunes, so he call’d it, which I carry’d with me; and by all that the sincerest Affection cou’d propose to do, that I wou’d not drive him away.
But it wou’d not do; I was stupid and senceless, deaf to all his Importunities, and continued so to the last; so we parted, only desiring me to promise that I would write him word when I was Deliver’d, and how he might give me an Answer; and this I engag’d my Word I would do; and upon his desiring to be inform’d which Way I intended to dispose of myself, I told him, I resolv’d to go directly to England, and to London, where I propos’d to Lye-in; but since he resolv’d to leave me, I told him, I suppos’d it wou’d be of no Consequence to him, what became of me.
He lay in his Lodgings that Night, but went away early in the Morning, leaving me a Letter, in which he repeated all he had said, recommended the Care of the Child, and desir’d of me, that as he had remitted to me the Offer of a Thousand Pistoles, which I wou’d have given him for the Recompence of his Charges and Trouble with the Jew, and had given it me back; so he desir’d I wou’d allow him to oblige me to set apart that Thousand Pistoles, with its Improvement, for the Child, and for its Education; earnestly pressing me to secure that little Portion for the abandon’d Orphan, when I shou’d think fit, as he was sure I wou’d, to throw away the rest upon something as worthless as my sincere Friend at Paris; he concluded with moving me to reflect with the same Regret as he did, on our Follies we had committed together; ask’d me Forgiveness for being the Agressor in the Fact; and forgave me every-thing, he said, but the Cruelty of refusing him, which he own’d he cou’d not forgive me so heartily as he shou’d do, because he was satisfied it was an Injury to myself; would be an Introduction to my Ruin; and that I wou’d seriously repent of it; he foretold some fatal things, which, he said, he was well assur’d I shou’d fall into; and that, at last I wou’d be ruin’d by a bad Husband; bid me be the more wary, that I might render him a False Prophet; but to remember, that if ever I came into Distress, I had a fast-Friend at Paris, who wou’d not upbraid me with the unkind things past, but wou’d be always ready to return me Good for Evil.
This Letter stunn’d me; I cou’d not think it possible for any-one, that had not dealt with the Devil, to write such a Letter; for he spoke of some particular things which afterwards were to befal me, with such an Assurance, that it frighted me before-hand; and when those things did come to pass, I was perswaded he had some more than humane Knowledge; in a word, his Advices to me to repent, were very affectionate; his Warnings of Evil to happen to me, were very kind; and his Promise of Assistance, if I wanted him, were so generous, that I have seldom seen the like; and tho’ I did not at first set much by that Part, because I look’d upon them as what might not happen, and as what was improbable to happen at that time; yet all the rest of his Letter was so moving, that it left me very melancholly, and I cry’d four and twenty Hours after, almost, with out ceasing, about it; and yet, even all this while, whatever it was that bewitch’d me, I had not one serious Wish that I had taken him; I wish’d heartily indeed, that I cou’d have kept him with me; but I had mortal Aversion to marrying him, or indeed, any-body else; but form’d a thousand wild Notions in my Head, that I was yet gay enough, and young, and handsome enough to please a Man of Quality; and that I wou’d try my Fortune at London, come of it what wou’d.
Thus blinded by my own Vanity, I threw away the only Opportunity I then had, to have effectually settl’d my Fortunes, and secur’d them for this World; and I am a Memorial to all that shall read my Story; a standing Monument of the Madness and Distraction which Pride and Infatuations from Hell runs us into; how ill our Passions guide us; and how dangerously we act, when we follow the Dictates of an ambitious Mind.
I was rich, beautiful, and agreeable, and not yet old; I had known something of the Influence I had had upon the Fancies of Men, even of the highest Rank; I never forgot that the Prince de — had said with an Extasie, that I was the finest Woman in France; I knew I cou’d make a Figure at London, and how well I cou’d grace that Figure; I was not at a Loss how to behave, and having already been ador’d by Princes, I thought of nothing less than of being Mistress to the King himself: But I go back to my immediate Circumstances at that time.
I got over the Absence of my honest Merchant but slowly at first; it was with infinite Regret that I let him go at-all; and when I read the Letter he left, I was quite confounded; as soon as he was out of Call, and irrecoverable, I woul’d have given half I had in the World, for him back again; my Notions of things chang’d in an Instant, and I call’d myself a thousand Fools, for casting myself upon a Life of Scandal and Hazard; when after the Shipwreck of Virtue, Honour, and Principle, and failing at the utmost Risque in the stormy Seas of Crime, and abominable Levity, I had a safe Harbour presented, and no Heart to cast-Anchor in it.
His Predictions terrify’d me; his Promises of Kindness if I came to Distress, melted me into Tears, but frighted me with the Apprehensions of ever coming into such Distress, and fill’d my Head with a thousand Anxieties and Thoughts, how it shou’d be possible for me, who had now such a Fortune, to sink again into Misery.
Then the dreadful Scene of my Life, when I was left with my five Children, &c. as I have related, represented itself again to me, and I sat considering what Measures I might take to bring myself to such a State of Desolation again, and how I shou’d act to avoid it.
But these things wore off gradually; as to my Friend, the Merchant, he was gone, and gone irrecoverably, for I durst not follow him to Paris, for the Reasons mention’d above; again, I was afraid to write to him to return, lest he shou’d have refus’d, as I verily believ’d he wou’d; so I sat and cry’d intollerably, for some Days, nay, I may say, for some Weeks; but I say, it wore off gradually; and as I had a pretty deal of Business for man
aging my Effects, the Hurry of that particular Part, serv’d to divert my Thoughts, and in part to wear out the Impressions which had been made upon my Mind.
I had sold my Jewels, all but the fine Diamond Ring, which my Gentleman, the Jeweller, us’d to wear; and this, at proper times, I wore myself; as also the Diamond Necklace, which the Prince had given me, and a Pair of extraordinary Ear-Rings, worth about 600 Pistoles; the other, which was a fine Casket, he left with me at his going to Versailles, and a Small Case with some Rubies and Emeralds, &c. I say, I sold them at the Hague for 7600 Pistoles; I had receiv’d all the Bills which the Merchant had help’d me to at Paris, and with the Money I brought with me, they made up 13900 Pistoles more; so that I had in Ready-Money, and in Account in the Bank at Amsterdam,167 above One and twenty Thousand Pistoles,168 besides Jewels; and how to get this Treasure to England, was my next Care.
The Business I had had now with a great many People, for receiving such large Sums, and selling Jewels of such considerable Value, gave me Opportunity to know and converse with several of the best Merchants of the Place; so that I wanted no Direction now, how to get my Money remitted to England; applying therefore, to several Merchants, that I might neither risque it all on the Credit of one Merchant, nor suffer any single Man to know the Quantity of Money I had; I say, applying myself to several Merchants, I got Bills of Exchange, payable in London; for all my Money; the first Bills I took with me; the second Bills169 I left in Trust, (in case of any Disaster at Sea) in the Hands of the first Merchant, him to whom I was recommended by my Friend from Paris.