Bab Bab 35 · 第35章

So I resolved to unbosom myself to her. I told her the history of my

Lancashire marriage, and how both of us had been disappointed; how we

came together, and how we parted; how he absolutely discharged me, as

far as lay in him, free liberty to marry again, protesting that if he

knew it he would never claim me, or disturb or expose me; that I

thought I was free, but was dreadfully afraid to venture, for fear of

the consequences that might follow in case of a discovery.

Then I told her what a good offer I had; showed her my friend’s two

last letters, inviting me to come to London, and let her see with what

affection and earnestness they were written, but blotted out the name,

and also the story about the disaster of his wife, only that she was

dead.

She fell a-laughing at my scruples about marrying, and told me the

other was no marriage, but a cheat on both sides; and that, as we were

parted by mutual consent, the nature of the contract was destroyed, and

the obligation was mutually discharged. She had arguments for this at

the tip of her tongue; and, in short, reasoned me out of my reason; not

but that it was too by the help of my own inclination.

But then came the great and main difficulty, and that was the child;

this, she told me in so many words, must be removed, and that so as

that it should never be possible for any one to discover it. I knew

there was no marrying without entirely concealing that I had had a

child, for he would soon have discovered by the age of it that it was

born, nay, and gotten too, since my parley with him, and that would

have destroyed all the affair.

But it touched my heart so forcibly to think of parting entirely with

the child, and, for aught I knew, of having it murdered, or starved by

neglect and ill-usage (which was much the same), that I could not think

of it without horror. I wish all those women who consent to the

disposing their children out of the way, as it is called, for decency

sake, would consider that ’tis only a contrived method for murder; that

is to say, a-killing their children with safety.

It is manifest to all that understand anything of children, that we are

born into the world helpless, and incapable either to supply our own

wants or so much as make them known; and that without help we must

perish; and this help requires not only an assisting hand, whether of

the mother or somebody else, but there are two things necessary in that

assisting hand, that is, care and skill; without both which, half the

children that are born would die, nay, though they were not to be

denied food; and one half more of those that remained would be cripples

or fools, lose their limbs, and perhaps their sense. I question not but

that these are partly the reasons why affection was placed by nature in

the hearts of mothers to their children; without which they would never

be able to give themselves up, as ’tis necessary they should, to the

care and waking pains needful to the support of their children.

Since this care is needful to the life of children, to neglect them is

to murder them; again, to give them up to be managed by those people

who have none of that needful affection placed by nature in them, is to

neglect them in the highest degree; nay, in some it goes farther, and

is a neglect in order to their being lost; so that ’tis even an

intentional murder, whether the child lives or dies.

All those things represented themselves to my view, and that is the

blackest and most frightful form: and as I was very free with my

governess, whom I had now learned to call mother, I represented to her

all the dark thoughts which I had upon me about it, and told her what

distress I was in. She seemed graver by much at this part than at the

other; but as she was hardened in these things beyond all possibility

of being touched with the religious part, and the scruples about the

murder, so she was equally impenetrable in that part which related to

affection. She asked me if she had not been careful and tender to me in

my lying in, as if I had been her own child. I told her I owned she

had. “Well, my dear,” says she, “and when you are gone, what are you to

me? And what would it be to me if you were to be hanged? Do you think

there are not women who, as it is their trade and they get their bread

by it, value themselves upon their being as careful of children as

their own mothers can be, and understand it rather better? Yes, yes,

child,” says she, “fear it not; how were we nursed ourselves? Are you

sure you was nursed up by your own mother? and yet you look fat and

fair, child,” says the old beldam; and with that she stroked me over

the face. “Never be concerned, child,” says she, going on in her

drolling way; “I have no murderers about me; I employ the best and the

honestest nurses that can be had, and have as few children miscarry

under their hands as there would if they were all nursed by mothers; we

want neither care nor skill.”

She touched me to the quick when she asked if I was sure that I was

nursed by my own mother; on the contrary I was sure I was not; and I

trembled, and looked pale at the very expression. “Sure,” said I to

myself, “this creature cannot be a witch, or have any conversation with

a spirit, that can inform her what was done with me before I was able

to know it myself”; and I looked at her as if I had been frightened;

but reflecting that it could not be possible for her to know anything

about me, that disorder went off, and I began to be easy, but it was

not presently.

She perceived the disorder I was in, but did not know the meaning of

it; so she ran on in her wild talk upon the weakness of my supposing

that children were murdered because they were not all nursed by the

mother, and to persuade me that the children she disposed of were as

well used as if the mothers had the nursing of them themselves.

“It may be true, mother,” says I, “for aught I know, but my doubts are

very strongly grounded indeed.” “Come, then,” says she, “let’s hear

some of them.” “Why, first,” says I, “you give a piece of money to

these people to take the child off the parent’s hands, and to take care

of it as long as it lives. Now we know, mother,” said I, “that those

are poor people, and their gain consists in being quit of the charge as

soon as they can; how can I doubt but that, as it is best for them to

have the child die, they are not over solicitous about life?”

“This is all vapours and fancy,” says the old woman; “I tell you their

credit depends upon the child’s life, and they are as careful as any

mother of you all.”

“O mother,” says I, “if I was but sure my little baby would be

carefully looked to, and have justice done it, I should be happy

indeed; but it is impossible I can be satisfied in that point unless I

saw it, and to see it would be ruin and destruction to me, as now my

case stands; so what to do I know not.”

“A fine story!” says the governess. “You would see the child, and you

would not see the child; you would be concealed and discovered both

together. These are things impossible, my dear; so you must e’en do as

other conscientious mothers have done before you, and be contented with

things as they must be, though they are not as you wish them to be.”

I understood what she meant by conscientious mothers; she would have

said conscientious whores, but she was not willing to disoblige me, for

really in this case I was not a whore, because legally married, the

force of former marriage excepted.

However, let me be what I would, I was not come up to that pitch of

hardness common to the profession; I mean, to be unnatural, and

regardless of the safety of my child; and I preserved this honest

affection so long, that I was upon the point of giving up my friend at

the bank, who lay so hard at me to come to him and marry him, that, in

short, there was hardly any room to deny him.

At last my old governess came to me, with her usual assurance. “Come,

my dear,” says she, “I have found out a way how you shall be at a

certainty that your child shall be used well, and yet the people that

take care of it shall never know you, or who the mother of the child

is.”

“Oh mother,” says I, “if you can do so, you will engage me to you for

ever.” “Well,” says she, “are you willing to be a some small annual

expense, more than what we usually give to the people we contract

with?” “Ay,” says I, “with all my heart, provided I may be concealed.”

“As to that,” says the governess, “you shall be secure, for the nurse

shall never so much as dare to inquire about you, and you shall once or

twice a year go with me and see your child, and see how ’tis used, and

be satisfied that it is in good hands, nobody knowing who you are.”

“Why,” said I, “do you think, mother, that when I come to see my child,

I shall be able to conceal my being the mother of it? Do you think that

possible?”

“Well, well,” says my governess, “if you discover it, the nurse shall

be never the wiser; for she shall be forbid to ask any questions about

you, or to take any notice. If she offers it, she shall lose the money

which you are suppose to give her, and the child shall be taken from

her too.”

I was very well pleased with this. So the next week a countrywoman was

brought from Hertford, or thereabouts, who was to take the child off

our hands entirely for £10 in money. But if I would allow £5 a year

more of her, she would be obliged to bring the child to my governess’s

house as often as we desired, or we should come down and look at it,

and see how well she used it.

The woman was very wholesome-looking, a likely woman, a cottager’s

wife, but she had very good clothes and linen, and everything well

about her; and with a heavy heart and many a tear, I let her have my

child. I had been down at Hertford, and looked at her and at her

dwelling, which I liked well enough; and I promised her great things if

she would be kind to the child, so she knew at first word that I was

the child’s mother. But she seemed to be so much out of the way, and to

have no room to inquire after me, that I thought I was safe enough. So,

in short, I consented to let her have the child, and I gave her £10;

that is to say, I gave it to my governess, who gave it the poor woman

before my face, she agreeing never to return the child back to me, or

to claim anything more for its keeping or bringing up; only that I

promised, if she took a great deal of care of it, I would give her

something more as often as I came to see it; so that I was not bound to

pay the £5, only that I promised my governess I would do it. And thus

my great care was over, after a manner, which though it did not at all

satisfy my mind, yet was the most convenient for me, as my affairs then

stood, of any that could be thought of at that time.