Roxana by Daniel Defoe
7. See Two Discourses Concerning the Souls of Brutes (1683), pp. 201–2; and Michael V. DePorte, Nightmares and Hobbyhorses (The Huntington Library, 1974), p. 7.
A NOTE ON THE TEXT
This edition has been prepared from a copy preserved in the McMaster University Library of the first edition (1724), the only one printed during Defoe’s life. The long ‘s’ has been eliminated and a few obvious errors of the press, such as transposed or omitted letters, corrected. I have not, however, attempted to bring the text into conformity with modern usage by altering the spelling, punctuation, capitalization, or italicization, preferring to retain as much of the texture of Defoe’s prose as possible. The long sentences, punctuated casually, more often for rhetorical emphasis than for syntactical clarity, and the verbal inconsistencies, such as the sudden switches from the past to the present tense (and vice versa), are highly appropriate to Roxana’s discursive, sometimes agitated, recollection of her life. In a few cases where punctuation or misspelling (e.g., Quaerk for Quaker) might confuse the reader, I have silently adjusted the text. And I have occasionally supplied a missing word in brackets (pp. 163, 208, 277, 288, 299 and 363) where the text appears deficient.
A CHRONOLOGY OF DANIEL DEFOE
1660
Born in London, son of James Foe, a tallow-chandler.
1662
The Act of Uniformity. The Foe family left the Church of England to become Presbyterian dissenters.
1665–6
The Plague and the Great Fire of London.
c. 1671–9
Attended the Rev. James Fisher’s school at Dorking, Surrey, and then the Rev. Charles Morton’s dissenting academy at Newington Green (north of London) to prepare for the Presbyterian ministry.
c. 1682
Decided not to become a Presbyterian minister.
c. 1683
Became a hosiery merchant in Cornhill, near the Royal Exchange.
1684
Married Mary Tuffley; received a dowry of £3,700.
1685
Fought (briefly) in the Duke of Mon-mouth’s Rebellion.
1685–92
Well-established as a merchant dealing in hosiery, wine, tobacco, and other goods; travelled widely in England and on the Continent (probably in France, Holland, Spain, and Italy).
1688
Published his first extant political tract (against James II); supported the ‘Glorious’ Revolution of 1688; and joined the forces of William of Orange en route to London.
1692
First bankruptcy, for £17,000
1695
Began to call himself De Foe.
1697–1701
Agent for William III in England and Scotland.
1701
Published his first important work, a best-selling poem, The True-Born Englishman.
1702
The Shortest Way with the Dissenters, a satire on High-Church extremism.
1703
Arrested for The Shortest Way; committed to Newgate and made to stand in the pillory. Consequent failure of his brick and tile factory. Released through the intervention of Robert Harley, the moderate Tory minister.
1703–14
Served as secret agent and political journalist for Harley and other ministers; travelled in England and Scotland, actively promoting the union of the two countries.
1703–13
Wrote The Review, a pro-government newspaper appearing as often as three times a week.
1707
The Union of England and Scotland.
1713–14
Arrested several times for debt and for political writings, but released on each occasion through government influence.
1714
Accession of George I; fall of Harley. Defoe served Whig ministries until 1730.
1715
The Family Instructor, the first of Defoe’s conduct books.
1719
Robinson Crusoe.
1720
Captain Singleton:
1722
Moll Flanders; Religious Courtship; A Journal of the Plague Year; and Colonel Jack.
1724
The Fortunate Mistress [Roxana]; the first volume of A Tour thro’ the Whole Island of Great Britain (second and third volumes in 1725 and 1726).
1725
The Complete English Tradesman (second volume, 1727).
1726
The Political History of the Devil.
1727
Conjugal Lewdness; and An Essay on the History and Reality of Apparitions.
1729
Wrote The Compleat English Gentleman (published in 1890).
1731
Died 24 April, and buried in the dissenters’ burial grounds, Bunhill Fields, London.
SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY OF CRITICAL STUDIES
Books
Works with significant discussions of Roxana are indicated by an asterisk.
*Paul Alkon, Defoe and Fictional Time, Athens, Georgia, University of Georgia Press, 1979.
*David Blewett, Defoe’s Art of Fiction, Toronto, University of Toronto Press, 1979.
Alan Dugald McKillop, The Early Masters of English Fiction, Laurence, Kansas, University of Kansas Press, 1968.
*Maximillian E. Novak, Economics and the Fiction of Daniel Defoe, Berkeley-and Los Angeles, University of California Press, 1962; * Defoe and the Nature of Man, London, Oxford University Press, 1963.
*John J. Richetti, Defoe’s Narratives: Situations and Structures, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1975.
*G. A. Starr, Defoe and Spiritual Autobiography, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1965; * Defoe and Casuistry, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1971.
*James Sutherland, Daniel Defoe: A Critical Study, Cambridge, Massachusetts, Harvard University Press, 1971.
Ian Watt, The Rise of the Novel, Harmondsworth, Middlesex, Penguin Books, 1963 (first published 1957).
*Everett Zimmerman, Defoe and the Novel, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1975.
Articles
Benjamin Boyce, ‘The Question of Emotion in Defoe’, Studies in Philology, 50 (1953), 45–58.
Terry J. Castle, ‘“Amy, Who Knew My Disease”: A Psychosexual Pattern in Defoe’s Roxana’, ELH, 46 (1979), 81–96.
Robert D. Hume, ‘The Conclusion of Defoe’s Roxana: Fiasco or Tour de Force?’, Eighteenth-Century Studies, 3 (1970), 475–9O.
Wallace Jackson, ‘Roxana and the Development of Defoe’s Fiction’, Studies in the Novel, 7 (1975), 181–94.
Ralph E. Jenkins, ‘The Structure of Roxana’, Studies in the Novel, 2 (1970), 145-58.
Maximillian E. Novak, ‘Crime and Punishment in Defoe’s Roxana’, Journal of English and German Philology, 65 (1966), 445-65.
Spiro Peterson, ‘The Matrimonial Theme of Defoe’s Roxana’, PMLA, 70 (1955), 166-91.
G. A. Starr, ‘Sympathy v. Judgement in Roxana’s First Liaison’, in The Augustan Milieu: Essays Presented to Louis Landa, ed. Henry Knight Miller et al., Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1970.
Raymond Stephanson, ‘Defoe’s “Malade Imaginaire”: The Historical. Foundation of Mental Illness in Roxana’, Huntington Library Quarterly 45 (1982), 99-118.
Facsimile of title-page of first edition (1724)
THE PREFACE.
The History of this Beautiful Lady, is to speak for itself: If it is not as Beautiful as the Lady herself is reported to be; if it is not as diverting as the Reader can desire, and much more than he can reasonably expect; and if all the most diverting Parts of it are not adapted to the Instruction and Improvement of the Reader, the Relator says, it must be from the Defect of his Performance; dressing up the Story in worse Cloaths than the Lady, whose Words he speaks, prepared it for the World.
He takes the Liberty to say, That this Story differs from most of the Modern Performances of this Kind, tho’ some of them have met with a very good Reception in the World: I say, It differs from them in this Great and Essential Article, Namely, That the Foundation of This is laid in Truth of F
The Scene is laid so near the Place where the Main Part of it was transacted, that it was necessary to conceal Names and Persons; lest what cannot be yet entirely forgot in that Part of the Town, shou’d be remember’d, and the Facts trac’d back too plainly, by the many People yet living, who wou’d know the Persons by the Particulars.
It is not always necessary that the Names of Persons shou’d be discover’d,2 tho’ the History may be many Ways useful; and if we shou’d be always oblig’d to name the Persons, or not to relate the Story, the Consequence might be only this, That many a pleasant and delightful History wou’d be Buried in the Dark, and the World be depriv’d both of the Pleasure and the Profit of it.
The Writer says, He was particularly acquainted with this Lady’s First Husband, the Brewer, and with his Father; and also, with his Bad Circumstances; and knows that first Part of the Story to be Truth.
This may, he hopes, be a Pledge for the Credit of the rest, tho’ the Latter Part of her History lay Abroad, and cou’d not so well be vouch’d as the First; yet, as she has told it herself, we have the less Reason to question the Truth of that Part also.
In the Manner she has told the Story, it is evident she does not insist upon her Justification in any one Part of it; much less does she recommend her Conduct, or indeed, any Part of it, except her Repentance to our Imitation: On the contrary, she makes frequent Excursions,3 in a just censuring and condemning her own Practice: How often does she reproach herself in the most passionate Manner; and guide us to just Reflections in the like Cases?
It is true, She met with unexpected Success in all her wicked Courses; but even in the highest Elevations of her Prosperity, she makes frequent Acknowledgments, That the Pleasure of her Wickedness was not worth the Repentance; and that all the Satisfaction she had, all the Joy in the View of her Prosperity, no, nor all the Wealth she rowl’d in; the Gayety of her Appearance; the Equipages,4 and the Honours, she was attended with, cou’d quiet her Mind, abate the Reproaches of her Conscience, or procure her an Hour’s Sleep, when just Reflections kept her waking.
The Noble Inferences that are drawn from this one Part, are worth all the rest of the Story; and abundantly justifie (as they are the profess’d Design of) the Publication.
If there are Parts in her Story, which being oblig’d to relate a. wicked Action, seem to describe it too plainly, the Writer says, all imaginable Care has been taken to keep clear of Indecencies, and immodest Expressions; and ‘tis hop’d you will find nothing to prompt a vicious Mind, but every-where much to discourage and expose it.
Scenes of Crime can scarce be represented in such a Manner, but some may make a Criminal Use of them; but when Vice is painted in its Low-priz’d Colours, ‘tis not to make People in love with it, but to expose it; and if the Reader makes a wrong Use of the Figures, the Wickedness is his own.
In the mean time, the Advantages of the present Work are so great, and the Virtuous Reader has room for so much Improvement, that we make no Question, the Story, however meanly told, will find a Passage to his best Hours; and be read both with Profit and Delight.5
THE
FORTUNATE MISTRESS:
OR,
A HISTORY
OF
THE LIFE, &C.
I Was BORN, as my Friends told me, at the City of POICTIERS, in the Province, or County of POICTOU, in France, from whence I was brought to England by my Parents, who fled for their Religion about the Year 1683, when the Protestants were Banish’d from France1 by the Cruelty of their Persecutors.
I, who knew little or nothing of what I was brought over hither for, was well-enough pleas’d with being here; London, a large and gay City took with me mighty well, who, from my being a Child, lov’d a Crowd, and to see a great-many fine Folks.
I retain’d nothing of France, but the Language: My Father and Mother being People of better Fashion, than ordinarily the People call’d REFUGEES at that Time were; and having fled early, while it was easie to secure their Effects, had, before their coming over, remitted considerable Sums of Money, or, as I remember, a considerable Value in French Brandy, Paper, and other Goods; and these selling very much to Advantage here, my Father was in very good Circumstances at his coming over, so that he was far from applying to the rest of our Nation that were here, for Countenance and Relief: On the contrary, he had his Door continually throng’d with miserable Objects of the poor starving Creatures, who at that Time fled hither for Shelter, on Account of Conscience, or something else.2
I have indeed, heard my Father say, That he was pester’d with a great-many of those, who, for any Religion they had, might e’en have stay’d where they were, but who flock’d over hither in Droves, for what they call in English, a Livelihood; hearing with what Open Arms the REFUGEES were receiv’d in England, and how they fell readily into Business, being, by the charitable Assistance of the People in London, encourag’d to Work in their Manufactures, in Spittle-Fields,3 Canterbury, 4 and other Places; and that they had a much better Price for their Work, than in France, and the like.
My Father, I say, told me, That he was more pester’d with the Clamours of these People, than by those who were truly REFUGEES, and fled in Distress, merely5 for Conscience.
I was about ten Years old when I was brought over hither, where, as I have said, my Father liv’d in very good Circumstances, and died in about eleven Years more; in which time, as I had accomplish’d myself for the sociable Part of the World, so I had acquainted myself with some of our English Neighbours, as is the Custom in London; and as, while I was Young, I had pick’d-up three or four Play-Fellows and Companions, suitable to my Years; so as we grew bigger; we learnt to call one-another Intimates and Friends; and this forwarded very much the finishing me for Conversation6, and the World.
I went to English Schools, and being young, I learnt the English Tongue perfectly well, with all the Customs of the English Young-Women; so that I retain’d nothing of the French, but the Speech; nor did I so much as keep any Remains of the French Language tagg’d to my Way of Speaking, as most Foreigners do, but spoke what we call Natural English, as if I had been born here.
Being to give my own Character, I must be excus’d to give it as impartially as possible, and as if I was speaking of another-body; and the Sequel will lead you to judge whether I flatter myself or no.
I was (speaking of myself as about Fourteen Years of Age) tall, and very well made; sharp as a Hawk in Matters of common Knowledge; quick and smart in Discourse; apt to be Satyrical; full of Repartee, and a little too forward in Conversation; or, as we call it in English, BOLD, tho’ perfectly Modest in my Behaviour. Being French Born, I danc’d, as some say, naturally, lov’d it extremely, and sung well also, and so well, that, as you will hear, it was afterwards some Advantage to me: With all these Things, I wanted neither Wit, Beauty, or Money. In this Manner I set out into the World, having all the Advantages that any Young Woman cou’d desire, to recommend me to others, and form a Prospect of happy Living to myself.
At about Fifteen Years of Age, my Father gave me, as he called it in French, 25000 Livres,7 that is to say, two Thousand Pounds Portion,8 and married me to an Eminent Brewer in the City; pardon me if I conceal his Name, for tho’ he was the Foundation of my Ruin, I cannot take so severe a Revenge upon him.
With this Thing call’d a Husband, I liv’d eight Years in good Fashion, and for some Part of the Time, kept a Coach, that is to say, a kind of Mock-Coach; for all the Week the Horses were kept at Work in the Dray-Carts, but on Sunday I had the Privilege to go Abroad in my Chariot, either to Church, or otherways, as my Husband and I cou’d agree about it;9 which, by the way, was not very often: But of that hereafter.
Before I proceed in the History of the Marry’d Part of my Life, you must allow me to give as impartial an Account of my Husband, as I have done of myself: He was a jolly, handsome Fellow, as any Woman need wish for a Companion; tall, and well made; rather a little too large, but not so as
After I have told you that he was a Handsome Man, and a good Sportsman, I have, indeed, said all; and unhappy was I, like other young People of our Sex, I chose him for being a handsome, jolly Fellow, as I have said; for he was otherwise a weak, empty-headed, untaught Creature, as any Woman could ever desire to be coupled with: And here I must take the Liberty, whatever I have to reproach myself with in my after-Conduct, to turn to my Fellow-Creatures, the Young Ladies of this Country, and speak to them, by way of Precaution, If you have any Regard to your future Happiness; any View of living comfortably with a Husband; any Hope of preserving your Fortunes, or restoring them after any Disaster; Never, Ladies, marry a Fool;12 any Husband rather than a Fool; with some other Husbands you may be unhappy, but with a Fool you will be miserable; with another Husband you may, I say, be unhappy, but with a Fool you must; nay, if he wou’d, he cannot make you easie; every thing he does is so awkward, every thing he says is so empty, a Woman of any Sence cannot but be surfeited, and sick of him twenty times a-Day: What is more shocking, than for a Woman to bring a handsome, comely Fellow of a Husband, into Company, and then be oblig’d to Blush for him every time she hears him speak? To hear other Gentlemen talk Sence, and he able to say nothing? And so look like a Fool, or, which is worse, hear him talk Nonsence, and be laugh’d at for a Fool.