Roxana

Roxana

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

clothes than the lady whose words he speaks, prepared for the world.

He takes the liberty to say that this story differs from most of the

modern performances of this kind, though 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 fact; and so the work is not a story, but a history.

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 should be

remembered, and the facts traced back too plainly by the many people

yet living, who would know the persons by the particulars.

It is not always necessary that the names of persons should be

discovered, though the history may be many ways useful; and if we should

be always obliged to name the persons, or not to relate the story, the

consequence might be only this--that many a pleasant and delightful

history would be buried in the dark, and the world deprived 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, though the

latter part of her history lay abroad, and could not be so well vouched

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, 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 rolled in, the gaiety

of her appearance, the equipages and the honours she was attended with,

could quiet her mind, abate the reproaches of her conscience, or procure

her an hour's sleep when just reflection kept her waking.

The noble inferences that are drawn from this one part are worth all the

rest of the story, and abundantly justify, as they are the professed

design of, the publication.

If there are any parts in her story which, being obliged 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 it is hoped you will find nothing to prompt a vicious

mind, but everywhere much to discourage and expose it.

Scenes of crime can scarce be represented in such a manner but some may

I was born, as my friends told me, at the city of Poitiers, in the

province or county of Poitou, 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 banished from France by the cruelty of their

persecutors.

I, who knew little or nothing of what I was brought over hither for, was

well enough pleased with being here. London, a large and gay city, took

with me mighty well, who, from my being a child, loved a crowd, and to

see a great many fine folks.

I retained nothing of France but the language, my father and mother

being people of better fashion than ordinarily the people called

refugees at that time were; and having fled early, while it was easy 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 thronged with miserable objects of the poor starving

creatures who at that time fled hither for shelter on account of

conscience, or something else.

I have indeed heard my father say that he was pestered with a great many

of those who, for any religion they had, might e'en have stayed where

they were, but who flocked over hither in droves, for what they call in

English a livelihood; hearing with what open arms the refugees were

received in England, and how they fell readily into business, being, by

the charitable assistance of the people in London, encouraged to work in

their manufactories in Spitalfields, Canterbury, 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 pestered with the clamours of

these people than of those who were truly refugees, and fled in distress

merely for conscience.

I was about ten years old when I was brought over hither, where, as I

have said, my father lived in very good circumstances, and died in about

eleven years more; in which time, as I had accomplished 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 picked up three or four playfellows and companions suitable

to my years, so, as we grew bigger, we learned to call one another

intimates and friends; and this forwarded very much the finishing me for

conversation and the world.

I went to English schools, and being young, I learned the English tongue

perfectly well, with all the customs of the English young women; so that

I retained nothing of the French but the speech; nor did I so much as

keep any remains of the French language tagged 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 excused 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 at 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 satirical; full of repartee; and a little

too forward in conversation, or, as we call it in English, bold, though

perfectly modest in my behaviour. Being French born, I danced, as some