the place of matrimony.
Well, we strained some compliments upon those points, not worthrepeating; and I added, I supposed when he got to bed to me he thoughthimself sure of me; and, indeed, in the ordinary course of things, afterhe had lain with me he ought to think so, but that, upon the same footof argument which I had discoursed with him upon, it was just thecontrary; and when a woman had been weak enough to yield up the lastpoint before wedlock, it would be adding one weakness to another to takethe man afterwards, to pin down the shame of it upon herself all thedays of her life, and bind herself to live all her time with the onlyman that could upbraid her with it; that in yielding at first, she mustbe a fool, but to take the man is to be sure to be called fool; that toresist a man is to act with courage and vigour, and to cast off thereproach, which, in the course of things, drops out of knowledge anddies. The man goes one way and the woman another, as fate and thecircumstances of living direct; and if they keep one another's counsel,the folly is heard no more of. "But to take the man," says I, "is themost preposterous thing in nature, and (saving your presence) is tobefoul one's self, and live always in the smell of it. No, no," added I;"after a man has lain with me as a mistress, he ought never to lie withme as a wife. That's not only preserving the crime in memory, but it isrecording it in the family. If the woman marries the man afterwards, shebears the reproach of it to the last hour. If her husband is not a manof a hundred thousand, he some time or other upbraids her with it. If hehas children, they fail not one way or other to hear of it. If thechildren are virtuous, they do their mother the justice to hate her forit; if they are wicked, they give her the mortification of doing thelike, and giving her for the example. On the other hand, if the man andthe woman part, there is an end of the crime and an end of the clamour;time wears out the memory of it, or a woman may remove but a fewstreets, and she soon outlives it, and hears no more of it."
He was confounded at this discourse, and told me he could not say but Iwas right in the main. That as to that part relating to managingestates, it was arguing _a la cavalier_; it was in some sense right, ifthe women were able to carry it on so, but that in general the sex werenot capable of it; their heads were not turned for it, and they hadbetter choose a person capable and honest, that knew how to do themjustice as women, as well as to love them; and that then the trouble wasall taken off of their hands.
I told him it was a dear way of purchasing their ease, for very oftenwhen the trouble was taken off of their hands, so was their money too;and that I thought it was far safer for the sex not to be afraid of thetrouble, but to be really afraid of their money; that if nobody wastrusted, nobody would be deceived, and the staff in their own hands wasthe best security in the world.
He replied, that I had started a new thing in the world; that however Imight support it by subtle reasoning, yet it was a way of arguing thatwas contrary to the general practice, and that he confessed he was muchdisappointed in it; that, had he known I would have made such a use ofit, he would never have attempted what he did, which he had no wickeddesign in, resolving to make me reparation, and that he was very sorryhe had been so unhappy; that he was very sure he should never upbraid mewith it hereafter, and had so good an opinion of me as to believe I didnot suspect him; but seeing I was positive in refusing him,notwithstanding what had passed, he had nothing to do but secure me fromreproach by going back again to Paris, that so, according to my own wayof arguing, it might die out of memory, and I might never meet with itagain to my disadvantage.
I was not pleased with this part at all, for I had no mind to let him goneither, and yet I had no mind to give him such hold of me as he wouldhave had; and thus I was in a kind of suspense, irresolute, and doubtfulwhat course to take.
I was in the house with him, as I have observed, and I saw evidentlythat he was preparing to go back to Paris; and particularly I found hewas remitting money to Paris, which was, as I understood afterwards, topay for some wines which he had given order to have bought for him atTroyes, in Champagne, and I knew not what course to take; and, besidesthat, I was very loth to part with him. I found also that I was withchild by him, which was what I had not yet told him of, and sometimes Ithought not to tell him of it at all; but I was in a strange place, andhad no acquaintance, though I had a great deal of substance, whichindeed, having no friends there, was the more dangerous to me.
This obliged me to take him one morning when I saw him, as I thought, alittle anxious about his going, and irresolute. Says I to him, "I fancyyou can hardly find in your heart to leave me now." "The more unkind isit in you," said he, "severely unkind, to refuse a man that knows nothow to part with you."
"I am so far from being unkind to you," said I, "that I will go over allthe world with you if you desire me to, except to Paris, where you knowI can't go."
"It is a pity so much love," said he, "on both sides should everseparate."
"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 toParis."
He was very loth to go anywhere, he said, without me, but he must go toParis or the East Indies.
I told him I did not use to court, but I durst venture myself to theEast Indies with him, if there was a necessity of his going.
He told me, God be thanked he was in no necessity of going anywhere, butthat he had a tempting invitation to go to the Indies.
I answered, I would say nothing to that, but that I desired he would goanywhere but to Paris, because there he knew I must not go.
He said he had no remedy but to go where I could not go, for he couldnot bear to see me if he must not have me.
I told him that was the unkindest thing he could say of me, and that Iought to take it very ill, seeing I knew how very well to oblige him tostay, without yielding to what he knew I could not yield to.
This amazed him, and he told me I was pleased to be mysterious, but thathe was sure it was in nobody's power to hinder him going, if heresolved upon it, except me, who had influence enough upon him to makehim do anything.
Yes, I told him, I could hinder him, because I knew he could no more doan unkind thing by me than he could do an unjust one; and to put him outof his pain, I told him I was with child.
He came to me, and taking me in his arms and kissing me a thousand timesalmost, said, why would I be so unkind not to tell him that before?
I told him 'twas hard, that to have him stay, I should be forced to doas criminals do to avoid the gallows, plead my belly; and that I thoughtI had given him testimonies enough of an affection equal to that of awife, if I had not only lain with him, been with child by him, shownmyself unwilling to part with him, but offered to go to the East Indieswith him; and except one thing that I could not grant, what could he askmore?
He stood mute a good while, but afterwards told me he had a great dealmore to say if I could assure him that I would not take ill whateverfreedom he might use with me in his discourse.
I told him he might use any freedom in words with me; for a woman whohad given leave to such other freedoms as I had done had left herself noroom to take anything ill, let it be what it would.
"Why, then," he said, "I hope you believe, madam, I was born aChristian, and that I have some sense of sacred things upon my mind.When I first broke in upon my own virtue and assaulted yours; when Isurprised and, as it were, forced you to that which neither you intendedor I designed but a few hours before, it was upon a presumption that youwould certainly marry me, if once I could go that length with you, andit was with an honest resolution to make you my wife.
"But I have been surprised with such a denial that no woman in suchcircumstances ever gave to a man; for certainly it was never known thatany woman refused to marry a man that had first lain with her, much lessa man that had gotten her with child. But you go upon different notionsfrom all the world, and though you reason upon it so strongly that a manknows hardly what to answer, yet I must own there is something in itsh
ocking to nature, and something very unkind to yourself. But, aboveall, 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 ruinedbefore it is born; must bear the eternal reproach of what it is notguilty of; must be branded from its cradle with a mark of infamy, beloaded with the crimes and follies of its parents, and suffer for sinsthat it never committed. This I take to be very hard, and, indeed, cruelto the poor infant not yet born, who you cannot think of with anypatience, if you have the common affection of a mother, and not do thatfor it which should at once place it on a level with the rest of theworld, and not leave it to curse its parents for what also we ought tobe ashamed of. I cannot, therefore," says he, "but beg and entreat you,as you are a Christian and a mother, not to let the innocent lamb you gowith be ruined before it is