Chapter One
First Period the loss of the diamond (1848) The Events related by Gabriel
Betteredge, House-Steward in the service of Julia, Lady Verinder
In the first part of Robinson Crusoe, at page one
hundred and twenty-nine, you will find it thus written:
“Now I saw, though too late, the Folly of beginning a Work before we count
the Cost, and before we judge rightly of our own Strength to go through with
it.”
Only yesterday, I opened my Robinson Crusoe at that place. Only this morning
(May twenty-first, Eighteen hundred and fifty), came my lady’s nephew, Mr.
Franklin Blake, and held a short conversation with me, as follows:—
“Betteredge,” says Mr. Franklin, “I have been to the
lawyer’s about some family matters; and, among other things, we have been
talking of the loss of the Indian Diamond, in my aunt’s house in
Yorkshire, two years since. Mr. Bruff thinks, as I think, that the whole story
ought, in the interests of truth, to be placed on record in writing—and
the sooner the better.”
Not perceiving his drift yet, and thinking it always desirable for the sake of
peace and quietness to be on the lawyer’s side, I said I thought so too.
Mr. Franklin went on.
“In this matter of the Diamond,” he said, “the characters of
innocent people have suffered under suspicion already—as you know. The
memories of innocent people may suffer, hereafter, for want of a record of the
facts to which those who come after us can appeal. There can be no doubt that
this strange family story of ours ought to be told. And I think, Betteredge, Mr.
Bruff and I together have hit on the right way of telling it.”
Very satisfactory to both of them, no doubt. But I failed to see what I myself
had to do with it, so far.
“We have certain events to relate,” Mr. Franklin proceeded;
“and we have certain persons concerned in those events who are capable of
relating them. Starting from these plain facts, the idea is that we should all
write the story of the Moonstone in turn—as far as our own personal
experience extends, and no farther. We must begin by showing how the Diamond
first fell into the hands of my uncle Herncastle, when he was serving in India
fifty years since. This prefatory narrative I have already got by me in the form
of an old family paper, which relates the necessary particulars on the authority
of an eye-witness. The next thing to do is to tell how the Diamond found its way
into my aunt’s house in Yorkshire, two years ago, and how it came to be
lost in little more than twelve hours afterwards. Nobody knows as much as you
do, Betteredge, about what went on in the house at that time. So you must take
the pen in hand, and start the story.”
In those terms I was informed of what my personal concern was with the matter of
the Diamond. If you are curious to know what course I took under the
circumstances, I beg to inform you that I did what you would probably have done
in my place. I modestly declared myself to be quite unequal to the task imposed
upon me—and I privately felt, all the time, that I was quite clever enough
to perform it, if I only gave my own abilities a fair chance. Mr. Franklin, I
imagine, must have seen my private sentiments in my face. He declined to believe
in my modesty; and he insisted on giving my abilities a fair chance.
Two hours have passed since Mr. Franklin left me. As soon as his back was
turned, I went to my writing-desk to start the story. There I have sat helpless
(in spite of my abilities) ever since; seeing what Robinson Crusoe saw, as
quoted above—namely, the folly of beginning a work before we count the
cost, and before we judge rightly of our own strength to go through with it.
Please to remember, I opened the book by accident, at that bit, only the day
before I rashly undertook the business now in hand; and, allow me to
ask—if that isn’t prophecy, what is?
I am not superstitious; I have read a heap of books in my time; I am a scholar
in my own way. Though turned seventy, I possess an active memory, and legs to
correspond. You are not to take it, if you please, as the saying of an ignorant
man, when I express my opinion that such a book as Robinson Crusoe never was
written, and never will be written again. I have tried that book for
years—generally in combination with a pipe of tobacco—and I have
found it my friend in need in all the necessities of this mortal life. When my
spirits are bad—Robinson Crusoe. When I want advice—Robinson Crusoe.
In past times, when my wife plagued me; in present times, when I have had a drop
too much—Robinson Crusoe. I have worn out six stout Robinson Crusoes with
hard work in my service. On my lady’s last birthday she gave me a seventh.
I took a drop too much on the strength of it; and Robinson Crusoe put me right
again. Price four shillings and sixpence, bound in blue, with a picture into the
bargain.
Still, this don’t look much like starting the story of the
Diamond—does it? I seem to be wandering off in search of Lord knows what,
Lord knows where. We will take a new sheet of paper, if you please, and begin
over again, with my best respects to you.
Continues...
Excerpted from The Moonstone
by Wilkie Collins
Copyright © 2002 by Wilkie Collins.
Excerpted by permission.
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Copyright © 2002
Wilkie Collins
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