THE DISCOVERY OF THE TRUTH (1848-1849) The events related in several narratives.
In that happy bygone time, I was taught to keep my hair tidy at all
hours of the day and night, and to fold up every article of my clothing
carefully, in the same order, on the same chair, in the same place at
the foot of the bed, before retiring to rest. An entry of the day's
events in my little diary invariably preceded the folding up. The
"Evening Hymn" (repeated in bed) invariably followed the folding up. And
the sweet sleep of childhood invariably followed the "Evening Hymn."
In later life (alas!) the Hymn has been succeeded by sad and bitter
meditations; and the sweet sleep has been but ill exchanged for the
broken slumbers which haunt the uneasy pillow of care. On the other
hand, I have continued to fold my clothes, and to keep my little diary.
The former habit links me to my happy childhood--before papa was ruined.
The latter habit--hitherto mainly useful in helping me to discipline the
fallen nature which we all inherit from Adam--has unexpectedly proved
important to my humble interests in quite another way. It has enabled
poor Me to serve the caprice of a wealthy member of the family into
which my late uncle married. I am fortunate enough to be useful to Mr.
Franklin Blake.
I have been cut off from all news of my relatives by marriage for
some time past. When we are isolated and poor, we are not infrequently
forgotten. I am now living, for economy's sake, in a little town in
Brittany, inhabited by a select circle of serious English friends, and
possessed of the inestimable advantages of a Protestant clergyman and a
cheap market.
In this retirement--a Patmos amid the howling ocean of popery that
surrounds us--a letter from England has reached me at last. I find my
insignificant existence suddenly remembered by Mr. Franklin Blake.
My wealthy relative--would that I could add my spiritually-wealthy
relative!--writes, without even an attempt at disguising that he wants
something of me. The whim has seized him to stir up the deplorable
scandal of the Moonstone: and I am to help him by writing the account
of what I myself witnessed while visiting at Aunt Verinder's house
in London. Pecuniary remuneration is offered to me--with the want of
feeling peculiar to the rich. I am to re-open wounds that Time
has barely closed; I am to recall the most intensely painful
remembrances--and this done, I am to feel myself compensated by a new
laceration, in the shape of Mr. Blake's cheque. My nature is weak. It
cost me a hard struggle, before Christian humility conquered sinful
pride, and self-denial accepted the cheque.