The Moonstone

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.