by Daniel Defoe
two guineas and a half for her share.
She went on, and told them how many servants there was, and how theywere ordered; but, she said, there was one Mrs. Amy who was over themall; and that she, being the lady's favourite, got a great deal. She didnot know, she said, whether Amy was her Christian name or her surname,but she supposed it was her surname; that they were told she gotthreescore pieces of gold at one time, being the same night that therest of the servants had the twenty guineas divided among them.
I put in at that word, and said it was a vast deal to give away. "Why,"says I, "it was a portion for a servant." "O madam!" says she, "it wasnothing to what she got afterwards; we that were servants hated herheartily for it; that is to say, we wished it had been our lot in herstead." Then I said again, "Why, it was enough to get her a goodhusband, and settle her for the world, if she had sense to manage it.""So it might, to be sure, madam," says she, "for we were told she laidup above L500; but, I suppose, Mrs. Amy was too sensible that hercharacter would require a good portion to put her off."
"Oh," said I, "if that was the case it was another thing."
"Nay," says she, "I don't know, but they talked very much of a younglord that was very great with her."
"And pray what came of her at last?" said I, for I was willing to hear alittle (seeing she would talk of it) what she had to say, as well of Amyas of myself.
"I don't know, madam," said she, "I never heard of her for severalyears, till t'other day I happened to see her."
"Did you indeed?" says I (and made mighty strange of it); "what! and inrags, it may be," said I; "that's often the end of such creatures."
"Just the contrary, madam," says she. "She came to visit an acquaintanceof mine, little thinking, I suppose, to see me, and, I assure you, shecame in her coach."
"In her coach!" said I; "upon my word, she had made her market then; Isuppose she made hay while the sun shone. Was she married, pray?"
"I believe she had been married, madam," says she, "but it seems she hadbeen at the East Indies; and if she was married, it was there, to besure. I think she said she had good luck in the Indies."
"That is, I suppose," said I, "had buried her husband there."
"I understood it so, madam," says she, "and that she had got hisestate."
"Was that her good luck?" said I; "it might be good to her, as to themoney indeed, but it was but the part of a jade to call it good luck."
Thus far our discourse of Mrs. Amy went, and no farther, for she knew nomore of her; but then the Quaker unhappily, though undesignedly, put ina question, which the honest good-humoured creature would have been farfrom doing if she had known that I had carried on the discourse of Amyon purpose to drop Roxana out of the conversation.
But I was not to be made easy too soon. The Quaker put in, "But I thinkthou saidst something was behind of thy mistress; what didst thou callher? Roxana, was it not? Pray, what became of her?"
"Ay, ay, Roxana," says the captain's wife; "pray, sister, let's hear thestory of Roxana; it will divert my lady, I'm sure."
"That's a damned lie," said I to myself; "if you knew how little 'twould divert me, you would have too much advantage over me." Well, I sawno remedy, but the story must come on, so I prepared to hear the worstof it.
"Roxana!" says she, "I know not what to say of her; she was so muchabove us, and so seldom seen, that we could know little of her but byreport; but we did sometimes see her too; she was a charming womanindeed, and the footmen used to say that she was to be sent for tocourt."
"To court!" said I; "why, she was at court, wasn't she? the Pall Mall isnot far from Whitehall."
"Yes, madam," says she, "but I mean another way."
"I understand thee," says the Quaker; "thou meanest, I suppose, to bemistress to the king."
"Yes, madam," said she.
I cannot help confessing what a reserve of pride still was left in me;and though I dreaded the sequel of the story, yet when she talked howhandsome and how fine a lady this Roxana was, I could not help beingpleased and tickled with it, and put in questions two or three times ofhow handsome she was; and was she really so fine a woman as they talkedof; and the like, on purpose to hear her repeat what the people'sopinion of me was, and how I had behaved.
"Indeed," says she, at last, "she was a most beautiful creature as everI saw in my life." "But then," said I, "you never had the opportunity tosee her but when she was set out to the best advantage."
"Yes, yes, madam," says she, "I have seen her several times in her_deshabille_. And I can assure you, she was a very fine woman; and thatwhich was more still, everybody said she did not paint."
This was still agreeable to me one way; but there was a devilish stingin the tail of it all, and this last article was one; wherein she saidshe had seen me several times in my _deshabille_. This put me in mindthat then she must certainly know me, and it would come out at last;which was death to me but to think of.
"Well, but, sister," says the captain's wife, "tell my lady about theball; that's the best of all the story; and of Roxana's dancing in afine outlandish dress."
"That's one of the brightest parts of her story indeed," says the girl."The case was this: we had balls and meetings in her ladyship'sapartments every week almost; but one time my lady invited all thenobles to come such a time, and she would give them a ball; and therewas a vast crowd indeed," says she.
"I think you said the king was there, sister, didn't you?"
"No, madam," says she, "that was the second time, when they said theking had heard how finely the Turkish lady danced, and that he wasthere to see her; but the king, if his Majesty was there, camedisguised."
"That is, what they call incog.," says my friend the Quaker; "thou canstnot think the king would disguise himself." "Yes," says the girl, "itwas so; he did not come in public with his guards, but we all knew whichwas the king well enough, that is to say, which they said was the king."
"Well," says the captain's wife, "about the Turkish dress; pray let ushear that." "Why," says she, "my lady sat in a fine little drawing-room,which opened into the great room, and where she received the complimentsof the company; and when the dancing began, a great lord," says she, "Iforget who they called him (but he was a very great lord or duke, Idon't know which), took her out, and danced with her; but after a while,my lady on a sudden shut the drawing-room, and ran upstairs with herwoman, Mrs. Amy; and though she did not stay long (for I suppose she hadcontrived it all beforehand), she came down dressed in the strangestfigure that ever I saw in my life; but it was exceeding fine."
Here she went on to describe the dress, as I have done already; but didit so exactly, that I was surprised at the manner of her telling it;there was not a circumstance of it left out.
I was now under a new perplexity, for this young slut gave so completean account of everything in the dress, that my friend the Quakercoloured at it, and looked two or three times at me, to see if I did notdo so too; for (as she told me afterwards) she immediately perceived itwas the same dress that she had seen me have on, as I have said before.However, as she saw I took no notice of it, she kept her thought privateto herself; and I did so too, as well as I could.
I put in two or three times, that she had a good memory, that could beso particular in every part of such a thing.
"Oh, madam!" says she, "we that were servants, stood by ourselves in acorner, but so as we could see more than some strangers; besides," saysshe, "it was all our conversation for several days in the family, andwhat one did not observe another did." "Why," says I to her, "this wasno Persian dress; only, I suppose your lady was some French comedian,that is to say, a stage Amazon, that put on a counterfeit dress toplease the company, such as they used in the play of Tamerlane at Paris,or some such."
"No, indeed, madam," says she, "I assure you my lady was no actress; shewas a fine modest lady, fit to be a princess; everybody said if she wasa mistress, she was fit to be a mistress to none but the king; and theytalked her up for the king as if it had really been so. Besides, m
adam,"says she, "my lady danced a Turkish dance; all the lords and gentry saidit was so; and one of them swore he had seen it danced in Turkeyhimself, so that it could not come from the theatre at Paris; and thenthe name Roxana," says she, "was a Turkish name."
"Well," said I, "but that was not your lady's name, I suppose?"
"No, no, madam," said she, "I know that. I know my lady's name andfamily very well; Roxana was not her name, that's true, indeed."
Here she run me aground again, for I durst not ask her what was Roxana'sreal name, lest she had really dealt with the devil, and had boldlygiven my own name in for answer; so that I was still more and moreafraid that the girl had really gotten the secret somewhere or other;though I could not imagine neither how that could be.
In a word, I was sick of the discourse, and endeavoured many ways to putan end to it, but it was impossible; for the captain's wife, who calledher sister, prompted her, and pressed her to tell it, most ignorantlythinking that it would be a pleasant tale to all of us.
Two or three times the Quaker put in, that this Lady Roxana had a goodstock of assurance; and that it was likely, if she had been in Turkey,she had lived with, or been kept by, some great bashaw there. But stillshe would break in upon all such discourse, and fly out into the mostextravagant praises of her mistress, the famed Roxana. I run her down assome scandalous woman; that it was not possible to be otherwise; but shewould not hear of it; her lady was a person of such and suchqualifications that nothing but an angel was like her, to be sure; andyet, after all she could say, her own account brought her down to this,that, in short, her lady kept little less than a gaming ordinary; or, asit would be called in the times since that, an assembly for gallantryand play.
All this while I was very uneasy, as I said before, and yet the wholestory went off again without any discovery, only that I seemed a littleconcerned that she should liken me to this gay lady, whose character Ipretended to run down very much, even upon the foot of her own relation.
But I was not at the end of my mortifications yet, neither, for now myinnocent Quaker threw out an unhappy expression, which put me upon thetenters again. Says she to me, "This lady's habit, I fancy, is just sucha one as thine, by the description of it;" and then turning to thecaptain's wife, says she, "I fancy my friend has a finer Turkish orPersian dress, a great deal." "Oh," says the girl, "'tis impossible tobe finer; my lady's," says she, "was all covered with gold and diamonds;her hair and head-dress, I forget the name they gave it," said she,"shone like the stars, there were so many jewels in it."
I never wished my good friend the Quaker out of my company before now;but, indeed, I would have given some guineas to have been rid of herjust now; for beginning to be curious in the comparing the two dresses,she innocently began a description of mine; and nothing terrified me somuch as the apprehension lest she should importune me to show it, whichI was resolved I would never agree to. But before it came to this, shepressed my girl to describe the tyhaia, or head-dress, which she did socleverly that the Quaker could not help saying mine was just such a one;and after several other similitudes, all very vexatious to me, out comesthe kind motion to me to let the ladies see my dress; and they joinedtheir eager desires of it, even to importunity.
I desired to be excused, though I had little to say at first why Ideclined it; but at last it came into my head to say it was packed upwith my other clothes that I had least occasion for, in order to be senton board the captain's ship; but that if we lived to come to Hollandtogether (which, by the way, I resolved should never happen), then, Itold them, at unpacking my clothes, they should see me dressed in it;but they must not expect I should dance in it, like the Lady Roxana inall her fine things.
This carried it off pretty well; and getting over this, got over most ofthe rest, and I began to be easy again; and, in a word, that I maydismiss the story too, as soon as may be, I got rid at last of myvisitors, who I had wished gone two hours sooner than they intended it.
As soon as they were gone, I ran up to Amy, and gave vent to my passionsby telling her the whole story, and letting her see what mischiefs onefalse step of hers had like, unluckily, to have involved us all in;more, perhaps, than we could ever have lived to get through. Amy wassensible of it enough, and was just giving her wrath a vent another way,viz., by calling the poor girl all the damned jades and fools (andsometimes worse names) that she could think of, in the middle of whichup comes my honest, good Quaker, and put an end to our discourse. TheQuaker came in smiling (for she was always soberly cheerful). "Well,"says she, "thou art delivered at last; I come to joy thee of it; Iperceived thou wert tired grievously of thy visitors."
"Indeed," says I, "so I was; that foolish young girl held us all in aCanterbury story; I thought she would never have done with it." "Why,truly, I thought she was very careful to let thee know she was but acook-maid." "Ay," says I, "and at a gaming-house, or gaming-ordinary,and at t'other end of the town too; all which (by the way) she mightknow would add very little to her good name among us citizens."
"I can't think," says the Quaker, "but she had some other drift in thatlong discourse; there's something else in her head," says she, "I amsatisfied of that." Thought I, "Are you satisfied of it? I am sure I amthe less satisfied for that; at least 'tis but small satisfaction to meto hear you say so. What can this be?" says I; "and when will myuneasiness have an end?" But this was silent, and to myself, you may besure. But in answer to my friend the Quaker, I returned by asking her aquestion or two about it; as what she thought was in it, and why shethought there was anything in it. "For," says I, "she can have nothingin it relating to me."
"Nay," says the kind Quaker, "if she had any view towards thee, that'sno business of mine; and I should be far from desiring thee to informme."
This alarmed me again; not that I feared trusting the good-humouredcreature with it, if there had been anything of just suspicion in her;but this affair was a secret I cared not to communicate to anybody.However, I say, this alarmed me a little; for as I had concealedeverything from her, I was willing to do so still; but as she could notbut gather up abundance of things from the girl's discourse, whichlooked towards me, so she was too penetrating to be put off with suchanswers as might stop another's mouth. Only there was this doublefelicity in it, first, that she was not inquisitive to know or findanything out, and not dangerous if she had known the whole story. But,as I say, she could not but gather up several circumstances from thegirl's discourse, as particularly the name of Amy, and the severaldescriptions of the Turkish dress which my friend the Quaker had seen,and taken so much notice of, as I have said above.
As for that, I might have turned it off by jesting with Amy, and askingher who she lived with before she came to live with me. But that wouldnot do, for we had unhappily anticipated that way of talking, by havingoften talked how long Amy had lived with me; and, which was still worse,by having owned formerly that I had had lodgings in the Pall Mall; sothat all those things corresponded too well. There was only one thingthat helped me out with the Quaker, and that was the girl's havingreported how rich Mrs. Amy was grown, and that she kept her coach. Now,as there might be many more Mrs. Amys besides mine, so it was not likelyto be my Amy, because she was far from such a figure as keeping hercoach; and this carried it off from the suspicions which the goodfriendly Quaker might have in her head.
But as to what she imagined the girl had in her head, there lay morereal difficulty in that part a great deal, and I was alarmed at it verymuch, for my friend the Quaker told me that she observed the girl was ina great passion when she talked of the habit, and more when I had beenimportuned to show her mine, but declined it. She said she several timesperceived her to be in disorder, and to restrain herself with greatdifficulty; and once or twice she muttered to herself that she had foundit out, or that she would find it out, she could not tell whether; andthat she often saw tears in her eyes; that when I said my suit ofTurkish clothes was put up, but that she should see it when we arrivedin Holland, she heard her say softly she would g
o over on purpose then.
After she had ended her observations, I added: "I observed, too, thatthe girl talked and looked oddly, and that she was mighty inquisitive,but I could not imagine what it was she aimed at." "Aimed at," says theQuaker, "'tis plain to me what she aims at. She believes thou art thesame Lady Roxana that danced in the Turkish vest, but she is notcertain." "Does she believe so?" says I; "if I had thought that, I wouldhave put her out of her pain." "Believe so!" says the Quaker; "yes, andI began to think so too, and should have believed so still, if thouhad'st not satisfied me to the contrary by thy taking no notice of it,and by what thou hast said since." "Should you have believed so?" said Iwarmly; "I am very sorry for that. Why, would you have taken me for anactress, or a French stage-player?" "No," says the good kind creature,"thou carriest it too far; as soon as thou madest thy reflections uponher, I knew it could not be; but who could think any other when
