Roxana

  If it had been possible to conceal my Disorder from my Friend, the QUAKER, I would have done it, but I found she was too well acquainted with such things, not to take the Hint; dost Thou understand Dutch? said she; Why? said I; Why, says she, ’tis easie to suppose that Thou art a little concern’d at somewhat those Men say; I suppose they are talking of Thee: Indeed my good Friend, said I, thou art mistaken this time, for I know very well what they are talking of, but ’tis all about Ships, and Trading Affairs: Well, says she, then one of them is a Man-Friend of Thine, or somewhat is the Case; for tho’ thy Tongue will not confess it, thy Face does.

  I was going to have told a bold Lye, and said, I knew nothing of them, but I found it was impossible to conceal it, so I said, indeed, I think I know the farthest of them; but I have neither spoken to him, or so much as seen him for above 11 Years: Well then, says she, Thou hast seen him with more than common Eyes, when thou did’st see him; or else seeing him now would not be such a Surprize to Thee; Indeed, said I, ’tis true I am a little surpriz’d at seeing him just now, for I thought he had been in quite another Part of the World; and I can assure you, I never saw him in England in my Life: Well then, ’tis the more likely he is come over now on purpose to seek Thee: No, no, said I, Knight-Errantry is over, Women are not so hard to come at, that Men should not be able to please themselves without running from one Kingdom to another: Well, well, says she, I would have him see Thee for-all that, as plainly as Thou hast seen him; No, but he shan’t, says I, for I am sure he don’t know me in this Dress, and I’ll take Care he shan’t see my Face, if I can help it; so I held up my Fan before my Face, and she saw me resolute in that, so she press’d me no farther.

  We had several Discourses upon the Subject, but still I let her know I was resolv’d he should not know me; but, at last, I confess’d so much, that tho’ I would not let him know who I was, or where I liv’d, I did not care if I knew where he liv’d, and how I might enquire about him: She took the Hint immediately, and her Servant being behind the Coach, she call’d him to the Coach-side, and bade him keep his Eye upon that Gentleman, and as soon as the Coach came to the End of White-Chappel, he should get down, and follow him closely, so as to see where he put up his Horse, and then to go into the Inn, and enquire, if he could, who he was, and where he liv’d.

  The Fellow follow’d diligently to the Gate of an Inn in Bishopsgate-Street, and seeing him go in, made no doubt but he had him fast, but was confounded, when upon Enquiry he found the Inn was a Thorowfare into another Street, and that the two Gentlemen had only rode thorow the Inn, as the Way to the Street where they were going, and so, in short, came back no wiser than he went.

  My kind QUAKER was more vex’d at the Disappointment, at least apparently so, than I was; and asking the Fellow, if he was sure he knew the Gentleman again if he saw him; the Fellow said, he had follow’d him so close, and took so much Notice of him, in order to do his Errand as it ought to be done, that he was very sure he should know him again; and that besides, he was sure he should know his Horse.

  This Part was, indeed, likely enough; and the kind QUAKER, without telling me any-thing of the Matter, caus’d her Man to place himself just at the corner of Whitechappel-Church-Wall237 every Saturday in the Afternoon, that being the Day when the Citizens chiefly ride Abroad to take the Air; and there to watch all the Afternoon, and look for him.

  It was not till the fifth Saturday, that her Man came, with a great deal of Joy, and gave her an Account, that he had found out the Gentleman; that he was a Dutchman, but a French Merchant; that he came from Roan, and his Name was —; and that he lodg’d at Mr. — on Lawrence Pountney’s-Hill:238 I was surpriz’d, you may be sure, when she came and told me one Evening, all the Particulars, except that of having set her Man to watch: I have found out thy Dutch Friend, says she, and can tell THEE how to find him too; I colour’d again as red as Fire: Then THOU hast dealt with the Evil One, Friend, said I very gravely: No, no, says she, I have no Familiar;239 but I tell Thee, I have found him for Thee, and his Name is so and so; and he lives as above recited.

  I was surpriz’d again at this, not being able to imagine how she shou’d come to know all this: However, to put me out of Pain, she told me what she had done; well, said I, Thou art very kind, but this is not worth thy Pains; for now I know it, ’tis only to satisfie my Curiosity, for I shall not send to him upon any Account: Be that as thou wilt, says she; besides, added she, Thou art in the right to say so to me; for, why shou’d I be trusted with it? tho’ if I were, I assure thee, I shou’d not betray thee: That is very kind, said I, and I believe thee; and assure Thy-self, if I do send to him, Thou shalt know it, and be trusted with it too.

  During this Interval of five Weeks, I suffer’d a hundred Thousand Perplexities of Mind; I was thorowly convinc’d I was right as to the Person, that it was the Man; I knew him so well, and saw him so plain, I cou’d not be deceiv’d: I drove out again in the Coach, (on Pretence of Air) almost every-Day, in hopes of seeing him again, but was never so lucky as to see him; and now I had made the Discovery, I was as far to seek what Measures to take, as I was before.

  To send to him, or speak to him first, if I shou’d see him, so as to be known to him, that I resolv’d not to do, if I dy’d for it; to watch him about his Lodging, that was as much below my Spirit as the other; so that, in a word, I was at a perfect Loss how to act, or what to do.

  At length came Amy’s Letter, with the last Account which she had at Roan, from the Dutch Skipper, which confirming the other, left me out of Doubt that this was my Man; but still, no humane240 Invention cou’d bring me to the Speech of him, in such a manner as wou’d suit with my Resolutions; for, after all, how did I know what his Circumstances were? whether marry’d or single? and if he had a Wife, I know he was so honest a Man, he wou’d not so much as converse with me, or so much as know me, if he met me in the Street.

  In the next Place, as he had entirely neglected me, which, in short, is the worst Way of slighting a Woman, and had given no Answer to my Letters, I did not know but he might be the same Man still; so I resolv’d, that I cou’d do nothing in it, unless some fairer Opportunity presented, which might make my Way clearer to me; for I was determin’d he shou’d have no room to put any more Slights upon me.

  In these Thoughts I pass’d away near three Months; till at last, (being impatient) I resolv’d to send for Amy to come Over, and tell her how things stood, and that I wou’d do nothing till she came; Amy in Answer sen me word, she wou’d come away with all speed, but begg’d of me, that I wou’d enter into no Engagement with him, or any-body, till she arriv’d; but still keeping me in the dark, as to the thing itself, which she had to say, at which I was heartily vex’d, for many Reasons.

  But while all these things were transacting, and Letters and Answers pass’d between Amy and I a little slower than usual, at which I was not so well pleas’d as I us’d to be with Amy’s Dispatch; I say, in this time the following Scene open’d.

  It was one Afternoon, about four a-Clock, my Friendly QUAKER and I sitting in her Chamber up-stairs, and very chearful, chatting together, (for she was the best Company in the World) when somebody ringing hastily at the Door, and no Servant just then in the way, she ran down herself, to the Door; when a Gentleman appears with a Footman attending, and making some Apologies, which she did not thorowly understand, he speaking but broken English; he ask’d to speak with me, by the very same Name that I went by in her House; which, by the way, was not the Name that he had known me by.

  She, with very civil Language, in her way, brought him into a very handsome Parlour below-stairs, and said, she wou’d go and see whether the Person who lodg’d in her House own’d that Name, and he shou’d hear farther.

  I was a little surpriz’d, even before I knew anything of who it was, my Mind foreboding the thing as it happen’d; (whence that arises, let the Naturalists241 explain to us) but I was frighted, and ready to die, when my QUAKER came up all gay, and crowing; There, says she, is the Dutch Fren
ch Merchant come to see Thee: I cou’d not speak one Word to her, nor stir off of my Chair, but sat as motionless as a Statue: She talk’d a thousand pleasant things to me, but they made no Impression on me; at last she pull’d me, and teiz’d me, Come, come, says she, be thy self, and rouze up, I must go down again to him; what shall I say to him? say, said I, that you have no such-body in the House: That I cannot do, says she, because it is not the Truth; besides, I have own’d Thou art above; Come, come, go down with me; not for a thousand Guineas, said I, well, says she, I’ll go and tell him Thou wilt come quickly; so, without giving me Time to answer her, away she goes.

  A Million of Thoughts circulated in my Head while she was gone, and what to do I cou’d not tell; I saw no Remedy but I must speak with him, but wou’d have given 500 l. to have shun’d it; yet, had I shun’d it, perhaps then, I wou’d have given 500 l. again, that I had seen him: Thus fluctuating, and unconcluding, were my Thoughts; what I so earnestly desir’d, I declin’d when it offer’d itself; and what now I pretended to decline, was nothing but what I had been at the Expense of 40 or 50 l. to send Amy to France for; and even without any View, or indeed, any rational Expectation of bringing it to pass; and what, for half a Year before, I was so un-easie about, that I cou’d not be quiet Night or Day, till Amy propos’d to go over to enquire after him: In short, my Thoughts were all confus’d, and in the utmost Disorder; I had once refus’d and rejected him, and I repented it heartily; then I had taken ill his Silence, and in my Mind rejected him again, but had repented that too: Now I had stoop’d so low as to send after him into France, which if he had known, perhaps, he had never come after me; and shou’d I reject him a third time! On the other-hand, he had repented too in his Turn, perhaps, and not knowing how I had acted, either in stooping to send in Search after him, or in the wickeder Part of my Life, was come over hither to seek me again; and I might take him perhaps, with the same Advantages as I might have done before, and wou’d I now be backward to see him! Well, while I was in this Hurry, my Friend the QUAKER, comes up again, and perceiving the Confusion I was in, she runs to her Closet, and fetch’d me a little pleasant Cordial, but I wou’d not taste it: O says she, I understand Thee, be not uneasie, I’ll give thee something shall take off all the Smell of it; if he kisses Thee a thousand times, he shall be no wiser, I thought with myself, Thou art perfectly acquainted with Affairs of this Nature, I think you must govern me now, so I began to incline to go down with her; upon that, I took the Cordial, and she gave me a kind of spicey Preserve after it, whose Flavour was so strong, and yet so deliciously pleasant, that it wou’d cheat the nicest Smelling, and it left not the least taint of the Cordial on the Breath.

  Well, after this, (tho’ with some Hesitation still) I went down a Pair of Back-stairs with her, and into a Dining-Room, next to the Parlour in which he was; but there I halted, and desir’d she wou’d let me consider of it a little: Well, do so, says she, and left me with more readiness than she did before; do, consider, and I’ll come to Thee again.

  Tho’ I hung back with an awkwardness that was really unfeign’d, yet when she so readily left me, I thought it was not so kind, and I began to think she should have press’d me still on to it; so foolishly backward are we, to the thing, which of all the World we most desire; mocking ourselves with a feign’d Reluctance, when the Negative wou’d be Death to us; but she was too cunning for me, for while I, as it were, blam’d her in my Mind, for not carrying me to him, tho’ at the same time I appear’d backward to see him; on a sudden she unlocks the Folding-Doors, which look’d into the next Parlour, and throwing them open, There, says she, (ushering him in) is the Person who, I suppose, thou enquirest for, and the same Moment, with a kind Decency she retir’d, and that so swift, that she wou’d not give us leave, hardly, to know which Way she went.

  I stood up, but was confounded with a sudden Enquiry in my Thoughts, how I shou’d receive him? and with a Resolution as swift as Lightning, in Answer to it, said to myself, It shall be COLDLY; so, on a sudden, I put on an Air of Stiffness and Ceremony, and held it for about two Minutes; but it was with great Difficulty.

  He restrain’d himself too, on the other-hand, came towards me gravely, and saluted me in Form;242 but it was, it seems, upon his supposing the QUAKER was behind him, whereas she, as I said, understood things too well, and had retir’d, as if she had vanish’d, that we might have full Freedom; for, as she said afterwards, she suppos’d we had seen one-another before, tho’ it might have been a great-while ago.

  Whatever Stiffness I had put on my Behaviour to him, I was surpriz’d in my Mind, and angry at his, and began to wonder what kind of a ceremonious Meeting it was to be: However, after he perceiv’d the Woman was gone, he made a kind of a Hesitation, looking a little round him; Indeed, said he, I thought the Gentlewoman was not withdrawn, and with that, he took me in his Arms, and kiss’d me three or four times; but I that was prejudic’d to the last Degree, with the coldness of his first Salutes, when I did not know the Cause of it, cou’d not be thorowly clear’d of the Prejudice, tho’ I did know the Cause; and thought that even his return, and taking me in his Arms, did not seem to have the same Ardour with which he us’d to receive me, and this made me behave to him awkwardly, and I know not how, for a good-while; but this by the way.

  He began with a kind of an Extasie upon the Subject of his finding me out; how it was possible that he shou’d have been four Years in England, and had us’d all the Ways imaginable, and cou’d never so much as have the least Intimation of me, or of any-one like me; and that it was now above two Years that he had despair’d of it, and had given over all Enquiry; and that now he shou’d chop upon243 me, as it were, unlook’d and unsought-for.

  I cou’d easily have accounted for his not finding me, if I had but set down the Detail of my real Retirement; but I gave it a new, and indeed, a truly hypocritical Turn; I told him, that any-one that knew the manner of Life I led, might account for his not finding me; that the Retreat I had taken up, wou’d have render’d it a hundred Thousand to one odds that he ever found me at-all; that as I had abandon’d all Conversation;244 taken up another Name; liv’d remote from London, and had not preserv’d one Acquaintance in it; it was no wonder he had not met with me; that even my Dress wou’d let him see, that I did not desire to be known by any-body.

  Then he ask’d if I had not receiv’d some Letters from him? I told him, No, he had not thought fit to give me the Civility of an Answer to the last I wrote to him; and he cou’d not suppose I shou’d expect a Return, after a Silence in a Case where I had laid myself so low, and expos’d myself in a Manner I had never been us’d to; that indeed, I had never sent for any Letters after that, to the Place where I had order’d his to be directed; and that being so justly, as I thought, punish’d for my Weakness, I had nothing to do, but to repent of being a Fool, after I had strictly adher’d to a just Principle before: That however, as what I did was rather from Motions of Gratitude, than from real Weakness, however it might be construed by him, I had the Satisfaction in myself of having fully discharg’d the Debt: I added, that I had not wanted Occasions of all the seeming Advancements which the pretended Felicity of a Marriage-Life was usually set-off with, and might have been what I desir’d not to name; but that, however low I had stoop’d to him, I had maintain’d the Dignity of Female Liberty, against all the Attacks, either of Pride or Avarice; and that I had been infinitely oblig’d to him for giving me an Opportunity to discharge the only Obligation that endanger’d me, without subjecting me to the Consequence; and that I hop’d he was satisfied I had paid the Debt, by offering myself to be chain’d; but was infinitely Debtor to him another way, for letting me remain free.

  He was so confounded at this Discourse, that he knew not what to say, and for a good-while he stood mute indeed; but recovering himself a little, he said, I run-out into a Discourse he hop’d was over, and forgotten, and he did not intend to revive it; that he knew I had not had his Letters, for that, when he first came to England, he had been at
the Place to which they were directed, and found them all lying there, but one; and that the People had not known how to deliver them; that he thought to have had a Direction there, how to find me, but had the Mortification to be told, that they did not so much as know who I was; that he was under a great Disappointment, and that I ought to know, in Answer to all my Resentments, that he had done a long, and (he hop’d) a sufficient Pennance for the Slight that I had suppos’d he had put upon me; that it was true, (and I cou’d not suppose any other) that upon the Repulse I had given him in a Case so circumstanc’d as his was, and after such earnest Entreaties, and such Offers as he had made me, he went away with a Mind heartily griev’d, and full of Resentment; that he had look’d back on the Crime he had committed, with some Regret, but on the Cruelty of my Treatment of the poor Infant I went with at that time, with the utmost Detestation; and that this made him unable to send an agreeable Answer to me; for which Reason he had sent none at-all for some time; but that in about six or seven Months those Resentments wearing off by the return of his Affection to me, and his Concern in the poor Child – there he stopp’d, and indeed, Tears stood in his Eyes, while in a Parenthesis, he only added, and to this Minute he did not know whether it was dead or alive; he then went on, those Resentments wearing off, he sent me several Letters, I think he said, seven or eight, but receiv’d no Answer; that then his Business obliging him to go to Holland, he came to England, as in his Way, but found, as above, that his Letters had not been call’d for, but that he left them at the House after paying the Postage of them; and going then back to France, he was yet uneasie, and cou’d not refrain the Knight-Errantry of coming to England again to seek me, tho’ he knew neither where, or of who, to enquire for me, being disappointed in all his Enquiries before: That he had yet taken up his Residence here, firmly believing, that one-time or other he shou’d meet me, or hear of me, and that some kind Chance wou’d at last throw him in my Way; that he had liv’d thus above four Years, and tho’ this Hopes were vanish’d, yet he had not any Thoughts of removing any more in the World, unless it shou’d be at last, as it is with other old Men, he might have some Inclination to go Home, to die in his own Country; but that he had not thought of it yet; that if I wou’d consider all these Steps, I wou’d find some Reasons to forget his first Resentments, and to think that Pennance, as he call’d it, which he had undergone in search of me, an Amende Honorable,245 in Reparation of the Affront given to the Kindness of my Letter of Invitation; and that we might at last make ourselves some Satisfaction on both sides, for the Mortifications past.