Roxana

by Daniel Defoe

  It is with a just Reproach to myself, that I must repeat it again, that I had not the same Concern for it, tho’ it was the Child of my own Body; nor had I ever the hearty affectionate Love to the Child, that he had; what the reason of it was, I cannot tell; and indeed, I had shown a general Neglect of the Child, thro’ all the gay Years of my London Revels; except that I sent Amy to look upon it now and then, and to pay for its Nursing; as for me, I scarce saw it four times in the first four Years of its Life, and often wish’d it wou’d go quietly out of the World; whereas a Son which I had by the Jeweller, I took a different Care of, and shew’d a differing Concern for, tho’ I did not let him know me; for I provided very well for him; had him put out very well to School; and when he came to Years fit for it, let him go over with a Person of Honesty and good Business, to the Indies; and after he had liv’d there some time, and began to act for himself, sent him over the Value of 2000 l. at several times, with which he traded, and grew rich; and, as ’tis to be hop’d, may at last come over again with forty or fifty Thousand Pounds in his Pocket, as many do who have not such Encouragement at their Beginning.

  I also sent him over a Wife; a beautiful young Lady, well-bred, an exceeding good-natur’d pleasant Creature; but the nice young Fellow did not like her, and had the Impudence to write to me, that is, to the Person I employ’d to correspond with him, to send him another; and promis’d, that he wou’d marry her I had sent him, to a Friend of his, who lik’d her better than he did; but I took it so ill, that I wou’d not send him another, and withal, stopp’d another Article of 1000 l. which I had appointed to send him: He consider’d of it afterwards, and offer’d to take her; but then truly she took so ill the first Affront he put upon her, that she wou’d not have him, and I sent him word, I thought she was very much in the right: However, after courting her two Years, and some Friends interposing, she took him, and made him an excellent Wife, as I knew she wou’d; but I never sent him the thousand Pound Cargo, so that he lost that Money for misusing me, and took the Lady at last without it.

  My new Spouse and I, liv’d a very regular contemplative Life, and in itself certainly a Life fill’d with all humane Felicity: But if I look’d upon my present Situation with Satisfaction, as I certainly did, so in Proportion I on all Occasions look’d back on former things with Detestation, and with the utmost Affliction; and now indeed, and not till now, those Reflections began to prey upon my Comforts, and lessen the Sweets of my other Enjoyments: They might be said to have gnaw’d a Hole in my Heart before; but now they made a Hole quite thro’ it; now they eat into all my pleasant things; made bitter every Sweet, and mix’d my Sighs with every Smile.

  Not all the Affluence of a plentiful Fortune; not a hundred Thousand Pounds Estate; (for between us we had little less) not Honour and Titles, Attendants and Equipages; in a word, not all the things we call Pleasure, cou’d give me any relish, or sweeten the Taste of things to me; at least, not so much, but I grew sad, heavy, pensive, and melancholly;306 slept little, and eat little; dream’d continually of the most frightful and terrible things imaginable: Nothing but Apparitions of Devils and Monsters; falling into Gulphs, and off from steep and high Precipices, and the like; so that in the Morning, when I shou’d rise, and be refresh’d with the Blessing of Rest, I was Hagridden with Frights, and terrible things, form’d meerly in the Imagination; and was either tir’d, and wanted Sleep, or over-run with Vapours,307 and not fit for conversing with my Family or any-one else.

  My Husband, the tenderest Creature in the World, and particularly so to me, was in great Concern for me, and did every-thing that lay in his Power, to comfort and restore me; strove to reason me out of it; then tried all the Ways possible to divert me; but it was all to no purpose, or to but very little.

  My only Relief was, sometimes to unbosom myself to poor Amy, when she and I was alone; and she did all she cou’d to comfort me, but all was to little Effect there; for tho’ Amy was the better Penitent before, when we had been in the Storm; Amy was just where she us’d to be, now, a wild, gay, loose Wretch, and not much the graver for her Age; for Amy was between forty and fifty by this time too.

  But to go on with my own Story; as I had no Comforter, so I had no Counsellor; it was well, as I often thought, that I was not a Roman-Catholick; for what a piece of Work shou’d I have made, to have gone to a Priest with such a History as I had to tell him? and what Pennance wou’d any Father-Confessor have oblig’d me to perform? especially if he had been honest and true to his Office.

  However, as I had none of the recourse, so I had none of the Absolution, by which the Criminal confessing, goes away comforted; but I went about with a Heart loaded with Crime, and altogether in the dark, as to what I was to do; and in this Condition I languish’d near two Years; I may well call it languishing, for if Providence had not reliev’d me, I shou’d have died in little time: But of that hereafter.

  I must now go back to another Scene, and join it to this End of my Story, which will compleat all my Concern with England, at least, all that I shall bring into this Account. I have hinted at large, what I had done for my two Sons, one at Messina, and the other in the Indies.

  But I have not gone thorow the Story of my two Daughters: I was so in danger of being known by one of them, that I durst not see her, so as to let her know who I was; and for the other, I cou’d not well know how to see her, and own her, and let her see me, because she must then know that I wou’d not let her Sister know me, which wou’d look strange; so that upon the whole, I resolv’d to see neither of them at-all, but Amy manag’d all that for me; and when she had made Gentlewomen of them both, by giving them a good tho’ late Education, she had like to have blown up the whole Case, and herself and me too, by an unhappy Discovery of herself to the last of them, that is, to her who was our Cookmaid, and who, as I said before, Amy had been oblig’d to turn away, for fear of the very Discovery which now happen’d: I have observ’d already in what Manner Amy manag’d her by a third Person; and how the Girl, when she was set up for a Lady, as above, came and visited Amy at my Lodgings; after which, Amy going, as was her Custom, to see the Girl’s Brother, (my Son) at the honest Man’s House in Spittle-Fields; both the Girls were there, meerly by accident, at the same time, and the other Girl unawares discover’d the Secret; namely, that this was the Lady that had done all this for them.

  Amy was greatly surpriz’d at it, but as she saw there was no Remedy, she made a Jest of it; and so after that, convers’d openly, being still satisfied that neither of them cou’d make much of it, as long as they knew nothing of me: So she took them together one time, and told them the History, as she call’d it, of their Mother, beginning at the miserable carrying them to their Aunt’s; she own’d she was not their Mother, herself, but describ’d her to them: However, when she said she was not their Mother, one of them express’d herself very much surpriz’d, for the Girl had taken up a strong Fancy that Amy was really her Mother; and that she had for some particular Reasons, conceal’d it from her; and therefore when she told her frankly that she was not her Mother, the Girl fell a-crying, and Amy had much ado to keep Life in her: This was the Girl who was at first my Cook-maid in the Pall-mall; when Amy had brought her to again a little, and she had recover’d her first Disorder, Amy ask’d what ail’d her? the poor Girl hung about her, and kiss’d her, and was in such a Passion still, tho’ she was a great Wench of Nineteen or Twenty Years old, that she cou’d not be brought to speak a great-while; at last, having recover’d her Speech, she said still, But O do not say you a’n’t my Mother! I’m sure you are my Mother, and then the Girl cry’d again like to kill herself: Amy cou’d not tell what to do with her a good-while; she was loth to say again, she was not her Mother, because she wou’d not throw her into a Fit of crying again; but she went round about a little with her: Why Child, says she, why wou’d you have me be your Mother? If it be because I am so kind to you, be easie, my Dear, says Amy, I’ll be as kind to you still, as if I was your Mother.

  Ay but, says
the Girl, I am sure you are my Mother too; and what have I done that you won’t own me, and that you will not be call’d my Mother? tho’ I am poor, you have made me a Gentlewoman, says she, and I won’t do any-thing to disgrace you; besides, adds she, I can keep a Secret too, especially for my own Mother, sure; then she calls Amy her Dear Mother, and hung about her Neck again, crying still vehemently.

  This last Part of the Girl’s Words alarm’d Amy, and, as she told me, frighted her terribly; nay, she was so confounded with it, that she was not able to govern herself, or to conceal her Disorder from the Girl herself, as you shall hear: Amy was at a full Stop, and confus’d to the last Degree; and the Girl, a sharp Jade, turn’d it upon her: My dear Mother, says she, do not be uneasie about it; I know it all; but do not be uneasie, I won’t let my Sister know a word of it, or my Brother either, without you give me leave; but don’t disown me now you have found me; don’t hide yourself from me any longer; I can’t bear that, says she, it will break my Heart.

  I think the Girl’s mad, says Amy; why Child, I tell thee, if I was thy Mother I wou’d not disown thee; don’t you see I am as kind to you as if I was your Mother? Amy might as well have sung a Song to a Kettle-Drum, as talk to her: Yes, says the Girl, you are very good to me indeed; and that was enough to make any-body believe she was her Mother too; but however, that was not the Case, she had other Reasons to believe, and to know that she was her Mother; and it was a sad thing she wou’d not let her call her Mother, who was her own Child.

  Amy was so Heart-full with the Disturbance of it, that she did not enter farther with her into the Enquiry, as she wou’d otherwise have done; I mean, as to what made the Girl so positive, but comes away, and tells me the whole Story.

  I was Thunder-struck with the Story at first, and much more afterwards, as you shall hear, but, I say, I was Thunder-struck at first, and amaz’d, and said to Amy, There must be something or other in it more than we know of; but having examin’d farther into it, I found the Girl had no Notion of any-body, but of Amy; and glad I was that I was not concern’d in the Pretence, and that the Girl had no Notion of me in it: But even this Easiness did not continue long, for the next time Amy went to see her, she was the same thing, and rather more violent with Amy than she was before: Amy endeavour’d to pacifie her by all the Ways imaginable; first, she told her, she took it ill that she wou’d not believe her; and told her, if she wou’d not give over such a foolish Whimsie, she wou’d leave her to the wide World, as she found her.

  This put the Girl into Fits, and she cry’d ready to kill herself, and hung about Amy again, like a Child: Why, says Amy, why can you not be easie with me then, and compose yourself, and let me go on to do you good, and show you Kindness, as I wou’d do, and as I intend to do? Can you think that if I was your Mother, I would not tell you so? What Whimsie is this that possesses your Mind? says Amy: Well, the Girl told her in a few Words, but those few such as frighted Amy out of her Wits, and me too: That she knew well enough how it was; I know, says she, when you left —, naming the Village, where I liv’d when my Father went away from us all, that you went over to France, I know that too, and who you went with, says the Girl; did not my Lady Roxana come back again with you? I know it all well enough, tho’ I was but a Child, I have heard it all. – And thus she run on with such Discourse, as put Amy out of all Temper again; and she rav’d at her like a Bedlam,308 and told her, she wou’d never come near her any more; she might go a-begging again if she wou’d; she’d have nothing to do with her: The Girl, a passionate Wench, told her, she knew the worst of it, she cou’d go to Service again, and if she wou’d not own her own Child, she must do as she pleas’d; then she fell into a Passion of crying again, as if she wou’d kill herself.

  In short, this Girl’s Conduct terrify’d Amy to the last Degree, and me too, and was it not that we knew the Girl was quite wrong in some things, she was yet so right in some other, that it gave me a great-deal of Perplexity; but that which put Amy the most to it, was, that the Girl (my Daughter) told her, that she (meaning me her Mother) had gone away with the Jeweller, and into France too; she did not call him the Jeweller, but with the Landlord of the House; who, after her Mother fell into Distress, and that Amy had taken all the Children from her, made much of her, and afterwards marry’d her.

  In short, it was plain the Girl had but a broken Account of things, but yet, that she had receiv’d some Accounts that had a reallity in the Bottom of them; so that it seems our first Measures, and the Amour with the Jeweller, were not so conceal’d as I thought they had been; and it seems, came in a broken manner to my Sister-in-Law, who Amy carry’d the Children to, and she made some Bustle it seems, about it; but as good-luck was, it was too late, and I was remov’d, and gone, none knew whither; or else she wou’d have sent all the Children home to me again, to be sure.

  This we pick’d out of the Girl’s Discourse, that is to say, Amy did, at several times; but it all consisted of broken Fragments of Stories, such as the Girl herself had heard so long ago, that she herself cou’d make very little of it; only that in the main, that her Mother had play’d the Whore; had gone away with the Gentleman that was Landlord of the House; that he married her; that she went into France; and as she had learn’d in my Family, where she was a Servant, that Mrs. Amy and her Lady Roxana had been in France together; so she put all these things together, and joining them with the great Kindness that Amy now shew’d her, possess’d the Creature that Amy was really her Mother; nor was it possible for Amy to conquer it for a long time.

  But this, after I had search’d into it as far as by Amy’s relation, I cou’d get an Account of it, did not disquiet me half so much, as that the young Slut had got the Name of Roxana by the end; and that she knew who her Lady Roxana was, and the like; tho’ this neither, did not hang together, for then she wou’d not have fix’d upon Amy for her Mother: But some time after, when Amy had almost perswaded her out of it, and that the Girl began to be so confounded in her Discourses of it, that they made neither Head nor Tail; at last, the passionate Creature flew out in a kind of Rage, and said to Amy, That if she was not her Mother, Madam Roxana was her Mother then, for one of them, she was sure, was her Mother; and then all this that Amy had done for her, was by Madam Roxana’s Order; and I am sure, says she, it was my Lady Roxana’s Coach that brought the Gentlewoman (whoever it was) to my Uncle’s in Spittle-Fields; for the Coachman told me so; Amy fell a-laughing at her aloud, as was her usual way; but as Amy told me, it was but on one side of her Mouth; for she was so confounded at her Discourse, that she was ready to sink into the Ground; and so was I too, when she told it me.

  However, Amy brazen’d her out of it all; told her, Well, since you think you are so high-born, as to be my Lady Roxana’s Daughter, you may go to her and claim your Kindred, can’t you? I suppose, says Amy, you know where to find her? She said, she did not question to find her, for she knew where she was gone to live privately; but tho’ she might be remov’d again, for I know how it is, says she, with a kind of a Smile, or a Grin; I know how it all is, well enough.

  Amy was so provok’d, that she told me, in short, she began to think it wou’d be absolutely necessary to murther her: That Expression fill’d me with Horror; all my Blood ran chill in my Veins, and a Fit of trembling seiz’d me, that I cou’d not speak a good-while; at last, What is the Devil in you, Amy, said I? Nay, nay, says she, let it be the Devil, or not the Devil, if I thought she knew one tittle of your History, I wou’d dispatch her if she were my own Daughter a thousand times; and I, says I in a Rage, as well as I love you, wou’d be the first that shou’d put the Halter about your Neck, and see you hang’d, with more Satisfaction than ever I saw you in my Life; nay, says I, you wou’d not live to be hang’d, I believe, I shou’d cut your Throat with my own Hand; I am almost ready to do it, said I, as ’tis, for your but naming the thing; with that, I call’d her cursed Devil, and bade her get out of the Room.

  I think it was the first time that ever I was angry with Amy in all my Life; and
when all was done, tho’ she was a devilish Jade in having such a Thought, yet it was all of it the Effect of her Excess of Affection and Fidelity to me.

  But this thing gave me a terrible Shock, for it happen’d just after I was marry’d, and serv’d to hasten my going over to Holland; for I wou’d not have been seen, so as to be known by the Name of Roxana, no, not for ten Thousand Pounds; it wou’d have been enough to have ruin’d me to all Intents and Purposes with my Husband, and everybody else too; I might as well have been the German Princess.309

  Well, I set Amy to-work; and give Amy her due, she set all her Wits to-work, to find out which way this Girl had her Knowledge; but more particularly, how much Knowledge she had, that is to say, what she really knew, and what she did not know; for this was the main thing with me; how she cou’d say she knew who Madam Roxana was, and what Notions she had of that Affair was very mysterious to me; for ’twas certain she cou’d not have a right Notion of me, because she wou’d have it be, that Amy was her Mother.

  I scolded heartily at Amy, for letting the Girl ever know her, that is to say, know her in this Affair; for that she knew her, cou’d not be hid, because she, as I might say, serv’d Amy, or rather under Amy, in my Family, as is said before; but she (Amy) talk’d with her at first by another Person, and not by herself; and that Secret came out by an Accident, as I have said above.