The Fortunate Mistress (Parts 1 and 2) by Daniel Defoe
said I, "but he may find himself mistaken too in such athing as that." "Why, madam," says Amy, "I hope you won't deny him if heshould offer it."
"What d'ye mean by that, hussy?" said I. "No, I'd starve first."
"I hope not, madam, I hope you would be wiser; I'm sure if he will setyou up, as he talks of, you ought to deny him nothing; and you willstarve if you do not consent, that's certain."
"What! consent to lie with him for bread? Amy," said I, "how can youtalk so!"
"Nay, madam," says Amy, "I don't think you would for anything else; itwould not be lawful for anything else, but for bread, madam; why, nobodycan starve, there's no bearing that, I'm sure."
"Ay," says I, "but if he would give me an estate to live on, he shouldnot lie with me, I assure you."
"Why, look you, madam; if he would but give you enough to live easyupon, he should lie with me for it with all my heart."
"That's a token, Amy, of inimitable kindness to me," said I, "and I knowhow to value it; but there's more friendship than honesty in it, Amy."
"Oh, madam," says Amy, "I'd do anything to get you out of this sadcondition; as to honesty, I think honesty is out of the question whenstarving is the case. Are not we almost starved to death?"
"I am indeed," said I, "and thou art for my sake; but to be a whore,Amy!" and there I stopped.
"Dear madam," says Amy, "if I will starve for your sake, I will be awhore or anything for your sake; why, I would die for you if I were putto it."
"Why, that's an excess of affection, Amy," said I, "I never met withbefore; I wish I may be ever in condition to make you some returnssuitable. But, however, Amy, you shall not be a whore to him, to obligehim to be kind to me; no, Amy, nor I won't be a whore to him, if hewould give me much more than he is able to give me or do for me."
"Why, madam," says Amy, "I don't say I will go and ask him; but I say,if he should promise to do so and so for you, and the condition was suchthat he would not serve you unless I would let him lie with me, heshould lie with me as often as he would, rather than you should not havehis assistance. But this is but talk, madam; I don't see any need ofsuch discourse, and you are of opinion that there will be no need ofit."
"Indeed so I am, Amy; but," said I, "if there was, I tell you again, I'ddie before I would consent, or before you should consent for my sake."
Hitherto I had not only preserved the virtue itself, but the virtuousinclination and resolution; and had I kept myself there I had beenhappy, though I had perished of mere hunger; for, without question, awoman ought rather to die than to prostitute her virtue and honour, letthe temptation be what it will.
But to return to my story; he walked about the garden, which was,indeed, all in disorder, and overrun with weeds, because I had not beenable to hire a gardener to do anything to it, no, not so much as to digup ground enough to sow a few turnips and carrots for family use. Afterhe had viewed it, he came in, and sent Amy to fetch a poor man, agardener, that used to help our man-servant, and carried him into thegarden, and ordered him to do several things in it, to put it into alittle order; and this took him up near an hour.
By this time I had dressed me as well as I could; for though I had goodlinen left still, yet I had but a poor head-dress, and no knots, but oldfragments; no necklace, no earrings; all those things were gone long agofor mere bread.
However, I was tight and clean, and in better plight than he had seen mein a great while, and he looked extremely pleased to see me so; for, hesaid, I looked so disconsolate and so afflicted before, that it grievedhim to see me; and he bade me pluck up a good heart, for he hoped to putme in a condition to live in the world, and be beholden to nobody.
I told him that was impossible, for I must be beholden to him for it,for all the friends I had in the world would not or could not do so muchfor me as that he spoke of "Well, widow," says he (so he called me, andso indeed I was in the worst sense that desolate word could be usedin), "if you are beholden to me, you shall be beholden to nobody else."
By this time dinner was ready, and Amy came in to lay the cloth, andindeed it was happy there was none to dine but he and I, for I had butsix plates left in the house, and but two dishes; however, he knew howthings were, and bade me make no scruple about bringing out what I had.He hoped to see me in a better plight. He did not come, he said, to beentertained, but to entertain me, and comfort and encourage me. Thus hewent on, speaking so cheerfully to me, and such cheerful things, that itwas a cordial to my very soul to hear him speak.
Well, we went to dinner. I'm sure I had not ate a good meal hardly in atwelvemonth, at least not of such a joint of meat as the loin of vealwas. I ate, indeed, very heartily, and so did he, and he made me drinkthree or four glasses of wine; so that, in short, my spirits were liftedup to a degree I had not been used to, and I was not only cheerful, butmerry; and so he pressed me to be.
I told him I had a great deal of reason to be merry, seeing he had beenso kind to me, and had given me hopes of recovering me from the worstcircumstances that ever woman of any sort of fortune was sunk into; thathe could not but believe that what he had said to me was like life fromthe dead; that it was like recovering one sick from the brink of thegrave; how I should ever make him a return any way suitable was what Ihad not yet had time to think of; I could only say that I should neverforget it while I had life, and should be always ready to acknowledgeit.
He said that was all he desired of me; that his reward would be thesatisfaction of having rescued me from misery; that he found he wasobliging one that knew what gratitude meant; that he would make it hisbusiness to make me completely easy, first or last, if it lay in hispower; and in the meantime he bade me consider of anything that Ithought he might do for me, for my advantage, and in order to make meperfectly easy.
After we had talked thus, he bade me be cheerful. "Come," says he, "layaside these melancholy things, and let us be merry." Amy waited at thetable, and she smiled and laughed, and was so merry she could hardlycontain it, for the girl loved me to an excess hardly to be described;and it was such an unexpected thing to hear any one talk to hermistress, that the wench was beside herself almost, and, as soon asdinner was over, Amy went upstairs, and put on her best clothes too, andcame down dressed like a gentlewoman.
We sat together talking of a thousand things--of what had been, and whatwas to be--all the rest of the day, and in the evening he took hisleave of me, with a thousand expressions of kindness and tenderness andtrue affection to me, but offered not the least of what my maid Amy hadsuggested.
At his going away he took me in his arms, protested an honest kindnessto me; said a thousand kind things to me, which I cannot now recollect;and, after kissing me twenty times or thereabouts, put a guinea into myhand, which, he said, was for my present supply, and told me that hewould see me again before it was out; also he gave Amy half-a-crown.
When he was gone, "Well, Amy," said I, "are you convinced now that he isan honest as well as a true friend, and that there has been nothing, notthe least appearance of anything, of what you imagined in hisbehaviour?" "Yes," says Amy, "I am, but I admire at it. He is such afriend as the world, sure, has not abundance of to show."
"I am sure," says I, "he is such a friend as I have long wanted, and asI have as much need of as any creature in the world has or ever had."And, in short, I was so overcome with the comfort of it that I sat downand cried for joy a good while, as I had formerly cried for sorrow. Amyand I went to bed that night (for Amy lay with me) pretty early, but laychatting almost all night about it, and the girl was so transported thatshe got up two or three times in the night and danced about the room inher shift; in short, the girl was half distracted with the joy of it; atestimony still of her violent affection for her mistress, in which noservant ever went beyond her.
We heard no more of him for two days, but the third day he came again;then he told me, with the same kindness, that he had ordered me a supplyof household goods for the furnishing the house; that, in particular, hehad sent me back all the goods that he had
seized for rent, whichconsisted, indeed, of the best of my former furniture. "And now," sayshe, "I'll tell you what I have had in my head for you for your presentsupply, and that is," says he, "that the house being well furnished, youshall let it out to lodgings for the summer gentry," says he, "by whichyou will easily get a good comfortable subsistence, especially seeingyou shall pay me no rent for two years, nor after neither, unless youcan afford it."
This was the first view I had of living comfortably indeed, and it was avery probable way, I must confess, seeing we had very good conveniences,six rooms on a floor, and three stories high. While
"What d'ye mean by that, hussy?" said I. "No, I'd starve first."
"I hope not, madam, I hope you would be wiser; I'm sure if he will setyou up, as he talks of, you ought to deny him nothing; and you willstarve if you do not consent, that's certain."
"What! consent to lie with him for bread? Amy," said I, "how can youtalk so!"
"Nay, madam," says Amy, "I don't think you would for anything else; itwould not be lawful for anything else, but for bread, madam; why, nobodycan starve, there's no bearing that, I'm sure."
"Ay," says I, "but if he would give me an estate to live on, he shouldnot lie with me, I assure you."
"Why, look you, madam; if he would but give you enough to live easyupon, he should lie with me for it with all my heart."
"That's a token, Amy, of inimitable kindness to me," said I, "and I knowhow to value it; but there's more friendship than honesty in it, Amy."
"Oh, madam," says Amy, "I'd do anything to get you out of this sadcondition; as to honesty, I think honesty is out of the question whenstarving is the case. Are not we almost starved to death?"
"I am indeed," said I, "and thou art for my sake; but to be a whore,Amy!" and there I stopped.
"Dear madam," says Amy, "if I will starve for your sake, I will be awhore or anything for your sake; why, I would die for you if I were putto it."
"Why, that's an excess of affection, Amy," said I, "I never met withbefore; I wish I may be ever in condition to make you some returnssuitable. But, however, Amy, you shall not be a whore to him, to obligehim to be kind to me; no, Amy, nor I won't be a whore to him, if hewould give me much more than he is able to give me or do for me."
"Why, madam," says Amy, "I don't say I will go and ask him; but I say,if he should promise to do so and so for you, and the condition was suchthat he would not serve you unless I would let him lie with me, heshould lie with me as often as he would, rather than you should not havehis assistance. But this is but talk, madam; I don't see any need ofsuch discourse, and you are of opinion that there will be no need ofit."
"Indeed so I am, Amy; but," said I, "if there was, I tell you again, I'ddie before I would consent, or before you should consent for my sake."
Hitherto I had not only preserved the virtue itself, but the virtuousinclination and resolution; and had I kept myself there I had beenhappy, though I had perished of mere hunger; for, without question, awoman ought rather to die than to prostitute her virtue and honour, letthe temptation be what it will.
But to return to my story; he walked about the garden, which was,indeed, all in disorder, and overrun with weeds, because I had not beenable to hire a gardener to do anything to it, no, not so much as to digup ground enough to sow a few turnips and carrots for family use. Afterhe had viewed it, he came in, and sent Amy to fetch a poor man, agardener, that used to help our man-servant, and carried him into thegarden, and ordered him to do several things in it, to put it into alittle order; and this took him up near an hour.
By this time I had dressed me as well as I could; for though I had goodlinen left still, yet I had but a poor head-dress, and no knots, but oldfragments; no necklace, no earrings; all those things were gone long agofor mere bread.
However, I was tight and clean, and in better plight than he had seen mein a great while, and he looked extremely pleased to see me so; for, hesaid, I looked so disconsolate and so afflicted before, that it grievedhim to see me; and he bade me pluck up a good heart, for he hoped to putme in a condition to live in the world, and be beholden to nobody.
I told him that was impossible, for I must be beholden to him for it,for all the friends I had in the world would not or could not do so muchfor me as that he spoke of "Well, widow," says he (so he called me, andso indeed I was in the worst sense that desolate word could be usedin), "if you are beholden to me, you shall be beholden to nobody else."
By this time dinner was ready, and Amy came in to lay the cloth, andindeed it was happy there was none to dine but he and I, for I had butsix plates left in the house, and but two dishes; however, he knew howthings were, and bade me make no scruple about bringing out what I had.He hoped to see me in a better plight. He did not come, he said, to beentertained, but to entertain me, and comfort and encourage me. Thus hewent on, speaking so cheerfully to me, and such cheerful things, that itwas a cordial to my very soul to hear him speak.
Well, we went to dinner. I'm sure I had not ate a good meal hardly in atwelvemonth, at least not of such a joint of meat as the loin of vealwas. I ate, indeed, very heartily, and so did he, and he made me drinkthree or four glasses of wine; so that, in short, my spirits were liftedup to a degree I had not been used to, and I was not only cheerful, butmerry; and so he pressed me to be.
I told him I had a great deal of reason to be merry, seeing he had beenso kind to me, and had given me hopes of recovering me from the worstcircumstances that ever woman of any sort of fortune was sunk into; thathe could not but believe that what he had said to me was like life fromthe dead; that it was like recovering one sick from the brink of thegrave; how I should ever make him a return any way suitable was what Ihad not yet had time to think of; I could only say that I should neverforget it while I had life, and should be always ready to acknowledgeit.
He said that was all he desired of me; that his reward would be thesatisfaction of having rescued me from misery; that he found he wasobliging one that knew what gratitude meant; that he would make it hisbusiness to make me completely easy, first or last, if it lay in hispower; and in the meantime he bade me consider of anything that Ithought he might do for me, for my advantage, and in order to make meperfectly easy.
After we had talked thus, he bade me be cheerful. "Come," says he, "layaside these melancholy things, and let us be merry." Amy waited at thetable, and she smiled and laughed, and was so merry she could hardlycontain it, for the girl loved me to an excess hardly to be described;and it was such an unexpected thing to hear any one talk to hermistress, that the wench was beside herself almost, and, as soon asdinner was over, Amy went upstairs, and put on her best clothes too, andcame down dressed like a gentlewoman.
We sat together talking of a thousand things--of what had been, and whatwas to be--all the rest of the day, and in the evening he took hisleave of me, with a thousand expressions of kindness and tenderness andtrue affection to me, but offered not the least of what my maid Amy hadsuggested.
At his going away he took me in his arms, protested an honest kindnessto me; said a thousand kind things to me, which I cannot now recollect;and, after kissing me twenty times or thereabouts, put a guinea into myhand, which, he said, was for my present supply, and told me that hewould see me again before it was out; also he gave Amy half-a-crown.
When he was gone, "Well, Amy," said I, "are you convinced now that he isan honest as well as a true friend, and that there has been nothing, notthe least appearance of anything, of what you imagined in hisbehaviour?" "Yes," says Amy, "I am, but I admire at it. He is such afriend as the world, sure, has not abundance of to show."
"I am sure," says I, "he is such a friend as I have long wanted, and asI have as much need of as any creature in the world has or ever had."And, in short, I was so overcome with the comfort of it that I sat downand cried for joy a good while, as I had formerly cried for sorrow. Amyand I went to bed that night (for Amy lay with me) pretty early, but laychatting almost all night about it, and the girl was so transported thatshe got up two or three times in the night and danced about the room inher shift; in short, the girl was half distracted with the joy of it; atestimony still of her violent affection for her mistress, in which noservant ever went beyond her.
We heard no more of him for two days, but the third day he came again;then he told me, with the same kindness, that he had ordered me a supplyof household goods for the furnishing the house; that, in particular, hehad sent me back all the goods that he had
This was the first view I had of living comfortably indeed, and it was avery probable way, I must confess, seeing we had very good conveniences,six rooms on a floor, and three stories high. While