by Daniel Defoe
He took the Thought, and sometimes told me afterwards, that it made a deeper Impression on him, than he discover’d to me at that time; but for the present, he put it off, with telling me, these things cou’d not be help’d; that they serv’d for a Spur to the Spirits of brave Men; inspir’d them with the Principles of Gallantry, and prompted them to brave Actions; that tho’ it might be true, that the mention of Illegitimacy might attend the Name, yet that Personal Virtue plac’d a Man of Honour above the Reproach of his Birth; that as he had no Share in the Offence, he would have no Concern at the Blot; when having by his own Merit plac’d himself out of the reach of Scandal, his Fame shou’d drown the Memory of his Beginning.
That as it was usual for Men of Quality to make such little Escapes,99 so the Number of their Natural Children were so great, and they generally took such good Care of their Education, that some of the greatest Men in the World had a Bend in their Coats of Arms, and that it was of no Consequence to them, especially when their Fame began to rise upon the Basis of their acquir’d Merit; and upon this, he began to reckon up to me some of the greatest Families in France, and in England also.
This carry’d off our Discourse for a time; but I went farther with him once, removing the Discourse from the Part attending our Children, to the Reproach which those Children would be apt to throw upon us, their Originals; and when speaking a little too feelingly on the Subject, he began to receive the Impression a little deeper than I wish’d he had done; at last he told me, I had almost acted the Confessor to him; that I might, perhaps, preach a more dangerous Doctrine to him, than we shou’d either of us like, or than I was aware of; for, my Dear, says he, if once we come to talk of Repentance, we must talk of parting.
If Tears were in my Eyes before, they flow’d too fast now to be restrain’d, and I gave him but too much Satisfaction by my Looks, that I had yet no Reflections upon my Mind, strong enough to go that Length, and that I could no more think of Parting, than he could.
He said a great many kind things, which were Great, like himself, and extenuating our Crime, intimated to me, that he cou’d no more part with me, than I cou’d with him; so we both, as I may say, even against our Light, and against our Conviction, concluded to SIN ON; in deed, his Affection to the Child, was one great Tye to him, for he was extremely fond of it.
This Child liv’d to be a considerable Man: He was first, an Officer of the Guard du Corps of France; 100 and afterwards Colonel of a Regiment of Dragoons, in Italy; and on many extraordinary Occasions, shew’d, that he was not unworthy such a Father, but many ways deserving a legitimate Birth, and a better Mother: Of which hereafter.
I think I may say now, that I liv’d indeed like a Queen; or if you will have me confess, that my Condition had still the Reproach of a Whore, I may say, I was sure, the Queen of Whores; for no Woman was ever more valued, or more caress’d by a Person of such Quality, only in the Station of a Mistress; I had, indeed, one Deficiency, which Women in such Circumstances seldom are chargeable with; namely, I crav’d nothing of him; I never ask’d him for any thing in my Life; nor suffer’d myself to be made use of, as is too much the Custom of Mistresses, to ask Favours for others; his Bounty always prevented me in the first, and my strict concealing myself, in the last; which was no less to my Convenience, than his.
The only Favour I ever ask’d of him, was, for his Gentleman, who he had all along intrusted with the Secret of our Affair, and who had once so much offended him, by some Omissions in his Duty, that he found it very hard to make his Peace; he came and laid his Case before my Woman, Amy, and begg’d her to speak to me, to interceed for him; which I did, and on my Account, he was receiv’d again, and pardon’d; for which, the grateful Dog requited me, by getting to-Bed to his Benefactress, Amy; at which I was very angry; but Amy generously acknowledg’d, that it was her Fault as much as his; that she lov’d the Fellow so much, that she believ’d, if he had not ask’d her, she should have ask’d him; I say, this pacify’d me, and I only obtain’d of her, that she should not let him know, that I knew it.
I might have interspers’d this Part of my Story with a great many pleasant Parts,101 and Discourses, which happen’d between my Maid Amy, and I; but I omit them, on account of my own Story, which has been so extraordinary: However, I must mention something, as to Amy, and her Gentleman; I enquir’d of Amy, upon what Terms they came to be so intimate; but Amy seem’d backward to explain herself; I did not care to press her upon a Question of that Nature, knowing that she might have answer’d my Question with a Question, and have said, Why, how did I and the Prince come to be so intimate? so I left off farther inquiring into it, till after some time, she told it me all freely; of her own Accord, which, to cut it short, amounted to no more than this, that like Mistress, like Maid; as they had many leisure Hours together below, while they waited respectively, when his Lord and I were together above; I say, they could hardly avoid the usual Question one to another, namely, Why might not they do the same thing below, that we did above?
On that Account, indeed, as I said above, I could not find in my Heart to be angry with Amy; I was indeed, afraid the Girl would have been with-Child too, but that did not happen, and so there was no Hurt done; for Amy had been hansell’d102 before, as well as her Mistress, and by the same Party too, as you have heard.
After I was up again, and my Child provided with a good Nurse, and withal, Winter coming on, it was proper to think of coming to Paris again, which I did; but as I had now a Coach and Horses, and some Servants to attend me, by my Lord’s Allowance, I took the Liberty to have them come to Paris sometimes, and so to take a Tour into the Garden of the Thuilleries, and the other pleasant Places of the City: It happen’d one Day, that my Prince (if I may call him so) had a-Mind to give me some Diversion, and to take the Air with me; but that he might do it, and not be publickly known, he comes to me in a Coach of the Count de —, a great Officer of the Court, attended by his Liveries also; so that, in a word, it was impossible to guess by the Equipage, who I was, or who I belong’d to; also, that I might be the more effectually conceal’d, he order’d me to be taken up at a Mantua-Maker’s103 House, where he sometimes came, whether upon other Amours, or not, was no Business of mine to enquire: I knew nothing whither he intended to carry me; but when he was in the Coach with me, he told me, he had order’d his Servants to go to Court with me, and he would shew me some of the Beau Monde; I told him, I car’d not where I went, while I had the Honour to have him with me; so he carried me to the fine Palace of Meudon,104 where the Dauphine105 then was, and where he had some particular Intimacy with one of the Dauphine’s Domesticks, who procur’d a Retreat for me in his Lodgings, while we stay’d there; which was three or four Days.
While I was there, the KING happen’d to come thither, from Versailles, and making but a short Stay, visited Madam the Dauphiness, who was then living:106 The Prince was here Incognito, only because of his being with me; and therefore, when he heard, that the KING was in the Gardens, he kept close with in the Lodgings; but the Gentleman, in whose Lodgings we were, with his Lady, and several others, went out to see the KING, and I had the Honour to be ask’d to go with them.
After we had seen the KING, who did not stay long in the Gardens, we walk’d up the Broad Terrass, and crossing the Hall, towards the Great Stair-Case, I had a Sight, which confounded me at once, as, I doubt not, it wou’d have done to any Woman in the World: The Horse-Guards, or what they call there the Gensd’arms, had upon some Occasion, been either upon Duty, or been Review’d, or something (I did not understand that Part) was the Matter, that occasion’d their being there, I know not what; but walking in the Guard-Chamber, and with his Jack-Boots on, and the whole Habit of the Troop, as it is worn; when our Horse-Guards are upon Duty, as they call it, at St. James’s-Park; I say, there, to my inexpressible Confusion, I saw Mr. —, my first Husband, the Brewer.
I cou’d not be deceiv’d; I pass’d so near him, that I almost brush’d him with my Cloaths, and look’d him full in the Face,
but having my Fan before my Face, so that he cou’d not know me; however, I knew him perfectly well, and I heard him speak, which was a second Way of knowing him; besides, being, you may be sure, astonish’d and surpriz’d at such a Sight, I turn’d about after I had pass’d him some Steps, and pretending to ask the Lady that was with me, some Questions, I stood as if I had view’d the Great Hall, the outer Guard-Chamber, and some other things; but I did it, to take a full View of his Dress, that I might farther inform myself.
While I stood thus amusing the Lady that was with me, with Questions, he walk’d, talking with another Man of the same Cloth, back again, just by me; and to my particular Satisfaction, or Dissatisfaction, take it which way you will, I heard him speak English, the other being, it seems, an Englishman.
I then ask’d the Lady some other Questions; Pray, Madam, says I, what are these Troopers, here? are they the KING’S Guards? No, says she, they are the Gensd’arms; a small Detachment of them, I suppose, attended the KING to-Day, but they are not his Majesty’s ordinary Guard; another Lady that was with her, said, No, Madam, it seems that is not the Case; for I heard them saying, the Gensd’arms were here to-day by special Order, some of them being to march towards the Rhine, and these attend for Orders; but they go back to-Morrow to Orleans, where they are expected.
This satisfied me in Part, but I found Means after this, to enquire, whose particular Troop it was that the Gentlemen that were here, belong’d to; and with that, I heard, they would all be at Paris the Week after.
Two Days after this, we return’d for Paris, when I took Occasion to speak to my Lord, that I heard the Gens d’arms were to be in the City the next Week, and that I should be charm’d with seeing them March, if they came in a Body: He was so obliging in such things, that I need but just name a thing of that Kind, and it was done; so he order’d his Gentleman (I shou’d now call him Amy’s Gentleman,) to get me a Place in a certain House, where I might see them March.
As he did not appear with me on this Occasion, so I had the Liberty of taking my Woman, Amy, with me; and stood where we were very well accommodated for the Observation which I was to make: I told Amy what I had seen, and she was as forward to make the Discovery, as I was to have her, and almost as much surpriz’d at the thing itself; in a Word, the Gensd’arms enter’d the City, as was expected, and made a most glorious Show indeed, being new-cloath’d and arm’d, and being to have their Standards bless’d by the Archbishop of Paris; on this Occasion, they indeed, look’d very gay; and as they march’d very leisurely, I had time to take as critical a View, and make as nice a Search among them, as I pleas’d: Here, in a particular Rank, eminent for one monstrous siz’d Man on the Right; here, I say, I saw my Gentleman again, and a very handsome jolly Fellow he was, as any in the Troop, tho’ not so monstrous large as that great one I speak of, who it seems was, however, a Gentleman of a good Family in Gascogne, and was call’d the Giant of Gascogne.
It was a kind of a good Fortune to us, among the other Circumstances of it, that something caus’d the Troops to Halt in their March, a little before that particular Rank came right-against that Window which I stood in, so that then we had Occasion to take our full View of him, at a small Distance, and so, as not to doubt of his being the same Person.
Amy, who thought she might, on many Accounts, venture with more Safety to be particular, than I cou’d, ask’d her Gentleman, how a particular Man, who she saw there, among the Gensd’arms, might be enquir’d after, and found out; she having seen an Englishman riding there, which was suppos’d to be dead in England for several Years before she came out of London, and that his Wife had marry’d again: It was a Question the Gentleman did not well understand how to answer; but another Person, that stood by, told her, if she wou’d tell him the Gentleman’s Name, he wou’d endeavour to find him out for her, and ask’d jestingly, if he was her Lover? Amy put that off with a Laugh, but still continued her Enquiry, and in such a Manner, as the Gentleman easily perceiv’d she was in earnest; so he left bantering, and ask’d her in what Part of the Troop he rode; she foolishly told him his Name, which she shou’d not have done; and pointing to the Cornet that Troop carried, which was not then quite out of Sight, she let him easily know whereabouts he rode, only she cou’d not name the Captain; however, he gave her such Directions afterwards, that, in short, Amy, who was an indefatigable Girl, found him out; it seems he had not chang’d his Name, not supposing any Enquiry would be made after him here; but, I say, Amy found him out, and went boldly to his Quarters, ask’d for him, and he came out to her immediately.
I believe I was not more confounded at my first seeing him at Meudon, than he was at seeing Amy; he started, and turn’d pale as Death; Amy believ’d, if he had seen her at first, in any convenient Place for sovillainous a Purpose, he would have murther’d her.
But he started, as I say above, and ask’d in English, with an Admiration,107 What are you! Sir, says she, don’t you know me? Yes, says he, I knew you when you were alive, but what you are now, whether Ghost or Substance, I know not: Be not afraid, Sir, of that, says Amy, I am the same Amy that I was in your Service, and do not speak to you now for any Hurt, but that I saw you accidentally, Yesterday, ride among the Soldiers, I thought you might be glad to hear from your Friends at London: Well, Amy, says he, then, having a little recover’d himself, How does every-body do? What, is your Mistress here? Thus they begun.
Amy. My Mistress, Sir, alass! not the Mistress you mean, poor Gentlewoman, you left her in a sad Condition.
Gent. Why, that’s true, Amy, but it cou’d not be help’d; I was in a sad Condition myself.
Amy. I believe so, indeed, Sir, or else you had not gone away as you did; for it was a very terrible Condition you left them all in, that I must say.
Gent. What did they do, after I was gone?
Amy. Do, Sir! very miserably, you may be sure; how could it be otherwise?
Gent. Well, that’s true indeed; but you may tell me, Amy, what became of them, if you please; for tho’ I went so away, it was not because I did not love them all very well, but because I could not bear to see the Poverty that was coming upon them, and which it was not in my Power to help; what could I do?
Amy. Nay, I believe so, indeed, and I have heard my Mistress say, many times, she did not doubt but your Affliction was as great as hers, almost, wherever you were.
Gent. Why, did she believe I was alive then?
Amy. Yes, Sir, she always said, she believ’d you were alive; because she thought she should have heard something of you, if you had been dead.
Gent. Ay, ay, my Perplexity was very great, indeed, or else I had never gone away.
Amy. It was very cruel tho’, to the poor Lady, Sir, my Mistress; she almost broke her Heart for you at first, for fear of what might befal you, and at last, because she cou’d not hear from you.
Gent. Alas, Amy! what cou’d I do? things were driven to the last Extremity before I went; I cou’d have done nothing, but help starve them all, if I had stay’d; and besides, I cou’d not bear to see it.
Amy. You know, Sir, I can say little to what pass’d before, but I am a melancholly Witness to the sad Distresses of my poor Mistress, as long as I stay’d with her, and which would grieve your Heart to *hear them.
Gent. Well, Amy, I have heard enough so far; what did she do afterwards?
Amy. I can’t give you any farther Account, Sir; my Mistress would not let me stay with her any longer; she said, she could neither pay me, or subsist me; I told her, I wou’d serve her without any Wages, but I cou’d not live without Victuals, you know; so I was forc’d to leave her, poor Lady, sore against my Will, and I heard afterwards, that the Landlord seiz’d her Goods, so she was, I suppose, turn’d out of Doors; for as I went by the Door, about a Month after, I saw the House shut up; and about a Fortnight after that, I found there were Workmen at work, fitting it up, as I suppose, for a new Tennant; but none of the Neighbours could tell me what was become of my poor Mistress, only that they said, she was so poor
, that it was next to begging; that some of the neighbouring Gentlefolks had reliev’d her, or that else she must have starv’d; then she went on, and told him, that after that, they never heard any more of [me] her Mistress; but that she had been seen once or twice in the City, very shabby, and poor in Cloaths, and it was thought she work’d with her Needle, for her Bread: All this, the Jade said with so much Cunning, and manag’d and humour’d it so well, and wip’d her Eyes, and cry’d so artificially, 108 that he took it all as it was intended he should, and once or twice she saw Tears in his Eyes too: He told her, it was a moving, melancholly Story, and it had almost broke his Heart at first; but that he was driven to the last Extremity, and cou’d do nothing, but stay and see ’em all starve, which he cou’d not bear the Thoughts of, but shou’d have Pistol’d himself, if any such thing had happen’d while he was there; that he left [me] his Wife, all the Money he had in the World, but 25 l. which was as little as he could take with him, to seek his Fortune in the World; he cou’d not doubt but that his Relations, seeing they were all Rich, wou’d have taken the poor Children off, and not let them come to the Parish; and that his Wife was young and handsome, and, he thought, might Marry again, perhaps; to her Advantage; and for that very Reason, he never wrote to her, or let her know he was alive, that she might, in a reasonable Term of Years, marry, and perhaps, mend her Fortunes: That he resolv’d never to claim her, because he should rejoice to hear, that she had settled to her Mind; and that he wish’d there had been a Law made, to empower a Woman to marry, if her Husband was not heard of in so long time; which time, he thought, shou’d not be above four Year,109 which was long enough to send Word in, to a Wife or Family, from any Part of the World.
