Roxana

by Daniel Defoe

  Amy put us to-Bed, and my new Friend, I cannot call him Husband, was so well pleas’d with Amy, for her Fidelity and Kindness to me, that he paid her all the Arrear of her Wages that I ow’d her, and gave her five Guineas over, and had it gone no farther, Amy had richly deserv’d what she had, for never was a Maid so true to a Mistress in such dreadful Circumstances as I was in; nor was what follow’d more her own Fault than mine, who led her almost into it at first, and quite into it at last; and this may be a farther Testimony what a hardness of Crime I was now arriv’d to, which was owing to the Conviction that was from the beginning, upon me, that I was a Whore, not a Wife; nor cou’d I ever frame my Mouth to call him Husband, or to say my Husband, when I was speaking of him.

  We liv’d, surely, the most agreeable Life, the grand Exception only excepted, that ever Two liv’d together; he was the most obliging Gentlemanly Man, and the most tender of me, that ever Woman gave herself up to; nor was there ever the least Interruption to our mutual Kindness, no, not to the last Day of his Life: But I must bring Amy’s Disaster in at once, that I may have done with her.

  Amy was dressing me one Morning, for now I had two Maids, and Amy was my Chamber-Maid; Dear Madam, says Amy, what, a’n’t you with-Child yet? No, Amy, says I, nor any Sign of it: Law, Madam, says Amy, what have you been doing? why you have been Marry’d a Year and a half, I warrant you, Master wou’d have got me with-Child twice in that time: It may be so, Amy, says I, let him try, can’t you: No, says Amy, you’ll forbid it now; before I told you he shou’d with all my Heart, but I won’t now, now he’s all your own: O, says I, Amy, I’ll freely give you my Consent, it will be nothing at-all to me; nay, I’ll put you to-Bed to him myself one Night or other, if you are willing: No, Madam, no, says Amy, not now he’s yours.

  Why you Fool you, says I, don’t I tell you I’ll put you to Bed to him myself.

  Nay, nay; says Amy if you put me to-Bed to him, that’s another Case; I believe I shall not rise again very soon.

  I’ll venture that, Amy, says I.

  After Supper, that Night, and before we were risen from Table, I said to him, Amy being by, Hark ye, Mr. —, Do you know that you are to lye with Amy to-Night? No, not I, says he; but turns to Amy, Is it so, Amy, says he? No, Sir, says she; Nay, don’t say no, you Fool; Did not I promise to put you to-Bed to him? But the Girl said No still, and it pass’d off.

  At Night, when we came to go to-Bed, Amy came into the Chamber to undress me, and her Master slipt into Bed first; then I began, and told him all that Amy had said about my not being with-Child, and of her being with-Child twice in that time: Ay, Mrs. Amy, says he, I believe so too, Come hither, and we’ll try; but Amy did not go: Go, you Fool, says I, can’t you, I freely give you both Leave; but Amy wou’d not go: Nay, you Whore, says I, you said, if I wou’d put you to-Bed, you wou’d with all your Heart: and with that, I sat her down, pull’d off her Stockings and Shoes, and all her Cloaths, Piece by Piece, and led her to the Bed to him: Here, says I, try what you can do with your Maid Amy: She pull’d back a little, would not let me pull off her Cloaths at first, but it was hot Weather, and she had not many Cloaths on, and particularly, no Stays on; and at last, when she see I was in earnest, she let me do what I wou’d; so I fairly stript her, and then I threw open the Bed, and thrust her in.

  I need say no more; this is enough to convince anybody that I did not think him my Husband, and that I had cast off all Principle, and all Modesty, and had effectually stifled Conscience.

  Amy, I dare say, began now to repent, and wou’d fain have got out of Bed again; but he said to her, Nay, Amy, you see your Mistress has put you to-Bed, ’tis all her doing, you must blame her; so he held her fast, and the Wench being naked in the Bed with him, ’twas too late to look back, so she lay still, and let him do what he wou’d with her.

  Had I look’d upon myself as a Wife, you cannot suppose I would have been willing to have let my Husband lye with my Maid, much less, before my Face, for I stood-by all the while; but as I thought myself a Whore, I cannot say but that it was something design’d in my Thoughts, that my Maid should be a Whore too, and should not reproach me with it.

  Amy, however, less vicious than I, was grievously out of Sorts the next Morning, and cry’d, and took-on most vehemently; that she was ruin’d and undone, and there was no pacifying her; she was a Whore, a Slut, and she was undone! undone! and cry’d almost all Day; I did all I could to pacify her: A Whore! says I, well, and am not I a Whore as well as you? No, no, says Amy, no, you are not, for you are Marry’d; not I, Amy, says I, I do not pretend to it; he may Marry you to-Morrow if he will, for any thing I cou’d do to hinder it, I am not Marry’d, I do not look upon it as any thing: Well, all did not pacify Amy, but she cry’d two or three Days about it; but it wore off by Degrees.

  But the Case differ’d between Amy and her Master, exceedingly; for Amy retain’d the same kind Temper she always had; but on the contrary, he was quite alter’d, for he hated her heartily, and could, I believe, have kill’d her after it, and he told me so, for he thought this a vile Action; whereas what he and I had done, he was perfectly easie in, thought it just, and esteem’d me as much his Wife as if we had been Marry’d from our Youth, and had neither of us known any other; nay, he lov’d me, I believe, as entirely, as if I had been the Wife of his Youth; nay, he told me, it was true, in one Sence, that he had two Wives, but that I was the Wife of his Affection, the other, the Wife of his Aversion.

  I was extremely concern’d at the Aversion he had taken to my Maid Amy, and us’d my utmost Skill to get it alter’d; for tho’ he had, indeed, debauch’d the Wench, I knew that I was the principal Occasion of it; and as he was the best humour’d Man in the World, I never gave him over till I prevail’d with him to be easie with her, and as I was now become the Devil’s Agent, to make others as wicked as myself, I brought him to lye with her again several times after that, till at last, as the poor Girl said, so it happen’d, and she was really with-Child.

  She was terribly concern’d at it, and so was he too: Come, my Dear, says I, when Rachael put her Handmaid to-Bed to Jacob, she took the Children as her own; don’t be uneasie, I’ll take the Child as my own; had not I a hand in the Frolick of putting her to-Bed to you? It was my Fault as much as yours; so I call’d Amy, and en courag’d her too, and told her, that I wou’d take Care of the Child and her too, and added the same Argument to her; for, says I, Amy, it was all my Fault; did not I drag your Cloaths off of your Back, and put you to-Bed to him: Thus I that had, indeed, been the Cause of all the Wickedness between them, encourag’d them both, when they had any Remorse about it, and rather prompted them to go on with it, than to repent of it.

  When Amy grew Big, she went to a Place I had provided for her, and the Neighbours knew nothing but that Amy and I was parted; she had a fine Child indeed, a Daughter, and we had it nurs’d, and Amy came again in about half a Year, to live with her old Mistress; but neither my Gentleman, or Amy either, car’d for playing that Game over again; for as he said, the Jade might bring him a House-full of Children to keep.

  We liv’d as merrily, and as happily, after this, as cou’d be expected, considering our Circumstances; I mean as to the pretended Marriage, &.c. and as to that, my Gentleman had not the least Concern about him for it; but as much as I was harden’d, and that was as much, as I believe, ever any wicked Creature was, yet I could not help it; there was, and would be, Hours of Intervals, and of dark Reflections which came involuntarily in, and thrust in Sighs into the middle of all my Songs; and there would be, sometimes, a heaviness of Heart, which intermingl’d itself with all my Joy, and which would often fetch a Tear from my Eye; and let others pretend what they will, I believe it impossible to be otherwise with any-body; there can be no substantial Satisfaction in a Life of known Wickedness; Conscience will, and does, often break in upon them at particular times, let them do what they can to prevent it.

  But I am not to preach, but to relate, and whatever loose Reflections were, and how often soever
those dark Intervals came on, I did my utmost to conceal them from him; ay, and to suppress and smother them too in myself, and to outward Appearance we liv’d as chearfully, and as agreeably, as it was possible for any Couple in the World to live.

  After I had thus liv’d with him something above two Year, truly, I found my-self with-Child too; my Gentleman was mightily pleas’d at it, and nothing could be kinder than he was in the Preparations he made for me, and for my Lying-in, which was, however, very private, because I car’d for as little Company as possible; nor had I kept up my neighbourly Acquaintance; so that I had nobody to invite upon such an Occasion.

  I was brought to-Bed very well, (of a Daughter too, as well as Amy) but the Child died at about six Weeks old, so all that Work was to do over again, that is to say, the Charge, the Expence, the Travel51, &c.

  The next Year I made him amends, and brought him a Son, to his great Satisfaction; it was a charming Child, and did very well: After this, my Husband, as he call’d himself, came to me one Evening, and told me, he had a very difficult Thing happen’d to him, which he knew not what to do in, or how to resolve about, unless I would make him easie; this was, that his Occasions requir’d him to go over to France for about two Months.

  Well, my Dear, says I, and how shall I make you easie?

  Why, by consenting to let me go, says he, upon which Condition, I’ll tell you the Occasion of my going, that you may judge of the Necessity there is for it on my Side; then to make me easie in his going, he told me, he would make his Will before he went, which should be to my full Satisfaction.

  I told him, the last Part was so kind, that I could not decline the first Part, unless he would give me Leave to add, that if it was not for putting him to an extraordinary Expence, I would go over along with him.

  He was so pleas’d with this Offer, that he told me, he would give me full Satisfaction for it, and accept of it too; so he took me to London with him the next Day, and there he made his WILL, and shew’d it to me, and seal’d it before proper Witnesses, and then gave it to me to keep: In this WILL he gave a thousand Pounds to a Person that we both knew very well, in Trust, to pay it, with the Interest from the Time of his Decease, to me, or my Assigns; then he Will’d the Payment of my Jointure;52 as he call’d it, viz. his Bond of a Hundred Pounds, after his Death; also he gave me all my Houshold-Stuff, Plate, &c.

  This was a most engaging thing for a Man to do to one under my Circumstances; and it would have been hard, as I told him, to deny him any thing, or to refuse to go with him any where; so we settled every thing as well as we cou’d; left Amy in Charge with the House; and for his other Business, which was in Jewels, he had two Men he entrusted, who he had good Security for, and who manag’d for him, and corresponded with him.

  Things being thus concerted, we went away to France, arriv’d safe at Calais, and by easie Journeys, came in eight Days more to Paris, where we lodg’d in the House of an English Merchant of his Acquaintance, and was very courteously entertain’d.

  My Gentleman’s Business was with some Persons of the First Rank, and to whom he had sold some Jewels of very good Value, and receiv’d a great Sum of Money in Specie, and, as he told me privately, he gain’d 3000 Pistoles53 by his Bargain, but would not suffer the most intimate Friend he had there, to know what he had receiv’d; for it is not so safe a thing in Paris, to have a great Sum of Money in keeping, as it might be in London.

  We made this Journey much longer than we intended; and my Gentleman sent for one of his Managers in London, to come over to us to Paris with some Diamonds, and sent him back to London again, to fetch more; then other Business fell into his Hands so unexpectedly, that I began to think we should take up our constant Residence there, which I was not very averse to it, being my Native Country, and I spoke the Language perfectly well; so we took a good House in Paris, and liv’d very well there; and I sent for Amy to come over to me, for I liv’d gallantly, and my Gentleman was, two or three times, going to keep me a Coach, but I declin’d it, especially at Paris; but as they have those Conveniences54 by the Day there, at a certain Rate, I had an Equipage provided for me whenever I pleas’d, and I liv’d here in a very good Figure,55 and might have liv’d higher if I pleas’d.

  But in the middle of all this Felicity, a dreadful Disaster befel me, which entirely unhing’d all my Affairs, and threw me back into the same state of Life that I was in before; with this one happy Exception however, that whereas before I was Poor, even to Misery, now I was not only provided for, but very Rich.

  My Gentleman had the Name in Paris, for a very rich Man, and indeed, he was so, tho’ not so immensely rich as People imagin’d; but that which was fatal to him, was, that he generally carried a shagreen56 Case in his Pocket, especially when he went to Court, or to the Houses of any of the Princes of the Blood, in which he had Jewels of very great Value.

  It happened one Day, that being57 to go to Versailles, to wait upon the Prince of —, he came up into my Chamber in the Morning, and laid out58 his Jewel-Case, because he was not going to show any Jewels, but to get a Foreign Bill accepted, which he had receiv’d from Amsterdam;, so when he gave me the Case, he said, My Dear, I think I need not carry this with me, because, it may be, I may not come back till Night, and it is too much to venture; I return’d, then My Dear, you sha’n’t go; Why? says he; because as they are too much for you, so you are too much for me to venture; and you shall not go, unless you will promise me not to stay so as to come back in the Night.

  I hope there’s no Danger, said he, seeing I have nothing about me of any Value; and therefore, lest I should, take that too, says he, and gives me his Gold Watch, and a rich Diamond, which he had in a Ring, and always wore on his Finger.

  Well, but my Dear, says I, you make me more uneasie now, than before; for if you apprehend no Danger, why do use this Caution? and if you apprehend there is Danger, why do you go at all?

  There is no Danger, says he, if I do not stay late, and I do not design to do so.

  Well, but promise me then, that you won’t, says I, or else I cannot let you go.

  I wont, indeed, my Dear, says he, unless I am oblig’d to it; I assure you I do not intend it; but if I shou’d, I am not worth robbing now; for I have nothing about me, but about six Pistoles in my little Purse, and that little Ring, showing me a small Diamond Ring, worth about ten or twelve Pistoles, which he put upon his Finger, in the room of the rich one he usually wore.

  I still press’d him not to stay late, and he said he wou’d not; but if I am kept late, says he, beyond my Expectation, I’ll stay all Night, and come next Morning: This seem’d a very good Caution; but still my Mind was very uneasie about him, and I told him so, and entreated him not to go; I told him, I did not know what might be the reason, but that I had a strange Terror upon my Mind, about his going, and that, if he did go, I was perswaded some Harm wou’d attend him; he smil’d, and return’d, Well, my Dear, if it should be so, you are now richly provided for; all that I have here, I give to you; and with that, he takes up the Casket, or Case, Here, says he, hold your Hand, there is a good Estate for you, in this Case; if any thing happens to me, ’tis all your own; I give it you for yourself; and with that, he put the Casket, the fine Ring, and his Gold Watch, all into my Hands, and the Key of his Scrutore59 besides, adding, and in my Scrutore there is some Money, ’tis all your own.

  I star’d at him, as if I was frighted, for I thought all his Face look’d like a Death’s-Head; and then, immediately, I thought I perceiv’d his Head all Bloody; and then his Cloaths look’d Bloody too; and immediately it all went off, and he look’d as he really did; immediately I fell a-crying, and hung about him, My Dear said I, I am frighted to Death; you shall not go, depend upon it, some Mischief will befal you; I did not tell him how my vapourish Fancy60 had represented him to me, that I thought was not proper; besides he wou’d only have laugh’d at me, and wou’d have gone away with a Jest about it: But I press’d him seriously not to go that Day, or if he did, to promise me to come Home t
o Paris again by Day-light: He look’d a little graver then, than he did before; told me, he was not apprehensive of the least Danger; but if there was, he wou’d either take Care to come in the Day, or, as he had said before, wou’d stay all Night.

  But all these Promises came to nothing; for he was set upon in the open Day, and robb’d, by three Men on Horseback, mask’d, as he went; and one of them, who, it seems, rifled him, while the rest stood to stop the Coach, stabb’d him into the Body with a Sword, so that he died immediately: He had a Footman behind the Coach, who they knock’d down with the Stock, or But-end of a Carabine: They were suppos’d to kill him, because of the Disappointment they met with, in not getting his Case, or Casket of Diamonds, which they knew he carry’d about him; and this was suppos’d, because after they had kill’d him, they made the Coachman drive out of the Road, a long-Way over the Heath, till they came to a convenient Place, where they pull’d him out of the Coach, and search’d his Cloaths more narrowly, than they cou’d do while he was alive.

  But they found nothing but his little Ring, six Pistoles, and the Value of about seven Livres in small Moneys.

  This was a dreadful Blow to me; tho’ I cannot say I was so surpriz’d as I should otherwise have been; for all the while he was gone, my Mind was oppress’d with the Weight of my own Thoughts; and I was as sure that I should never see him any more, that I think nothing could be like it; the Impression was so strong, that, I think, nothing could make so deep a Wound, that was imaginary; and I was so dejected, and disconsolate, that when I receiv’d the News of his Disaster, there was no room for any extraordinary Alteration in me: I had cry’d all that Day, eat nothing, and only waited, as I might say, to receive the dismal News, which I had brought to me about Five a-Clock in the Afternoon.