The Secret Diaries Of Miss Anne Lister

by Helena Whitbread

  Thursday 21 August [Halifax]

  From 11¼ to 6, writing 2½ letter-paper pp., very small & close, of rough draft of the remainder of my journal book. I only meant to have written a few lines of rough draft but thoughtlessly got into the midst of the thing & could not, did not like to, stop till I had done it, for if I once break the thread of my ideas I can never get on so well afterwards. Just before breakfast I thought of M— till the tears stood in my eyes. Alas! said I, she has everything to hope from my regard & everything to fear from my reflection. I feel better tonight. Writing my journal has composed & done me good; so it always does.

  Friday 22 August [Halifax]

  A letter this morning from M—… [She] will go to Scarbro’… on Saturday. Would like me to go next Wednesday week. ‘I have settled with my mother to give her three guineas a week & she will find all except wine.’ Only this sum for us all, herself & me & the servants. It is little enough. M— has the following, beginning at the fifth line of her first page, relative to our meeting on Tuesday. ‘You know, my Fred, I love you very dearly; too dearly for either time or circumstances to make any change & tho’ the tongue may sometimes, at unawares, speak unpalatable truths, this heart never wrongs you. Do you not believe this? I was really distressed on reflection at what I had said on our first meeting, but absolutely I feel jealous for you of everyone’s good opinion & I would not have you excite wonder, even in a postboy.’ ‘Really distressed on reflection!’ I wonder if she & Lou had any conversation on the subject. Lou owned I had had a trial of temper… Perhaps she might give M— some useful hint that sharpened up reflection. It was a luckless moment for the tongue to have the mastery of the heart. (Second Kings. ten: fifteen) – ‘Was thine heart right, as mine heart was with thy heart.’ Then thy heart had been king, & no subservient member has had power to rebel. It is ‘at unawares’ the door of thought is best thrown open; it is ‘at unawares’ that thoughts peep out in their own natural order, & outermost & uppermost come 1st to view. ‘Jealous for you of everyone’s good opinion!’ Is she herself deceived? And does this web of sophistry ensnare its weaver? O world, I know thee well! Thou art a subtle creature full of thine own littleness; fawning in our prosperity, faithless in our adversity; braggart in victory, dastard in defeat! Thou pointest thy finger at the speck affection’s beam would melt away; thou makest the heart turn coward to itself & shrink, at thy capricious nod, with shame from that it loves! Thou sorcerer! Thou dealer in false words! ‘Jealous for you of everyone’s good opinion!’ Nay! Speak the ‘unpalatable truth’ out plainly. Teach her the import of her own feelings and bid her say, ashamed for you of the fear of everyone’s disparagement. Mary! Your friend had other things to think of than a postboy’s wonder; & is surely, in the esteem of others, neither so poor as to need, nor so niggard as to desire your jealousy of the good opinion of anyone.

  Saturday 23 August [Halifax]

  This ‘3 steps’ business haunts me like a spectre. I cannot throw it off my mind; it is my 1st thought in a morning & last at night. It teems with reflections that discomfort me. Alas, it was not a trial of temper. That I could have borne. It was one of heart. My love was plaintiff & reason mourned to give high damages that neither time, nor she that did them, can repay. ‘I was really distressed.’ There is a mock kindness in this that sickens me. Has she deceived herself? Perhaps she understood not her own motives. Nay, might start to hear they were the mere paltry selfishness of coward fear, & shame that prouder circumstances did not attend me. Fear lest such unschooled nature should betray us. Had I driven up in my own chaise & four, I might have stepped with impunity, heedless of the world’s opinion or the postboy’s wonder. But she is worldly, therefore she is selfish. She had a feeling she could not describe. She is worldly. It is the generic character of ‘us poor humans’. Oh, visit it not too harshly. Excuse & pity & forgive… Wrote a page to Dr Belcombe… to say I had sent him a brace of moorgame (killed on the 20th) by today’s mail. (Mr Wriglesworth sent my uncle a leash of birds last night.) Went down to breakfast at 9.35. William, having to go a 2nd time to Halifax, sent by him my letter to Dr Belcombe (Petergate, York) to the post office, & the birds, packed in a box with a little hop under each wing, to go by the afternoon’s mail… Came upstairs immediately. Wrote the following to Mr Radford, 188, Fleet St London. ‘Sir, if you turn to your daybook of Wednesday 2nd October, 1822, you will find an anonymous entry of a lady’s measure for a greatcoat. I wish you to make me a fashionable one, according to that measure, of good strong materials, sufficiently wide in the sleeves to be easy over my pelisse & not cramp my arms in driving. I understand the charge to be 5 guineas. I will pay you immediately on receiving the coat, which I particularly wish to be sent off not later than this day-week, or tomorrow-week, by one of the coaches, directed to Miss Lister, Shibden Hall, Halifax, Yorkshire…’ Promised to meet Miss Pickford at Whitley’s at 5. Almost all the way, this morning & yesterday, & perpetually besides, talking of my uncle’s being bothered; not able to save much; how poor we are & always have been; our ideas above our means. My aunt, nervous tears starting in her eyes. Who that sees me could guess all this. Alas. Who dreams that such pecuniary troubles thus beset me. How little even M— divines the difficulties that beset me. Surely time will mend with me, by & by.

  Monday 25 August [Halifax]

  From 9.35 to 11, writing 2¼ widish12 pp. to M—. So long about it because musing how to express myself. Labouring with the feeling of constraint. After all, if she knew me (but she does not), the style of my letter would be enough… In spite of all I have written in my journal, I have not unburdened my heart enough. I am still vapourish, still sick of thought. M— has not the way, I see, to lull me into sweet forgetfulness. Should we be happy together? I dare not doubt it. Can I believe it?

  Thursday 26 August [Halifax]

  Talked this evening to my uncle & aunt of going to Manchester to consult Mr Simmons. They both of them seem to approve & wish it. My aunt proposed my going in the gig on Thursday. She seems as if she knew more about my complaint. Asked if she had spoken to Cordingley but she would not tell me. Fancy she may know of my linen being stained but can’t make out. Never spoke before in this way of my not being well to my uncle. Said it was now two years since I began. He did not seem strange to it & says he will give me five napoleons, that is, sovereigns, to go with. My aunt thinks I must owe M— a great deal. I fight off. How little my aunt guesses the truth & that I would not be obliged to M— in money matters on any account, if I could help it, which, thank God, I have done hitherto.

  Wednesday 27 August [Halifax]

  During dinner, told my aunt about my complaint, that I thought it venereal. She guessed I had got it at the Duffins’. Then at Croft. This I denied but did [not] say how or where I had got it, tho’ I said I knew very well. My aunt took it all quite well. Luckily, thinks the complaint very easily taken by going to the necessary, drinking out of the same glass, etc. & it is lucky enough she does think so. I am just going to tell my uncle. I told Pic I was going to Manchester. She asked what for. I would not tell at first, but did afterwards, talking about having sprained my back in such a way that Pic might have smoked if she had been as knowing as I am. She has not read all Juvenal, perhaps only the Sixth Satyr [sic], nor Martial, nor Petronius. Said there were few classical works of this sort I had not read… Just before I had set off to Halifax… my uncle gave me five sovereigns to go to Manchester with & seemed satisfied at my going. My aunt had fancied there was some impostume forming on my back, or that I was scrophulous [sic] or some such dire concern. Venereal had occurred to her from my manner, but she durst not name it for fear, if she was wrong, I should laugh & never let her hear the last of it.

  Thursday 28 August [Manchester]

  Got into Manchester. Stopt at the Bridgwater Arms at 3.50… Mrs Lacy did, or I fancied she did, look a little surprised at my walking alone. The gig could not get to the door for a carriage & four, but she was very civil. Yet I have a very small room on the third f
loor, & the bar parlour. Ordered dinner at 6. Washed & made myself comfortable. It was 4.40 before I set off to Mr Simmons, George St, having previously written a note to leave if he was not at home. It was 5.55 when I left him, that I must have been a full hour with him. A plain-appearing, plain-mannered man… He talked of organic disease. I was anxious to know that the complaint did not go beyond the vagina. He hoped not. Asked if I had had many children. From the impulse of the moment I said, ‘Lord bless you, no. I was never married,’ but my life was of too much consequence to my family for me to hesitate to do anything likely to be of service. He then proposed an examination. I said I should not think it right to refuse to submit… The handling hurt me & I felt it quarter or half-hour afterwards but otherwise I did not mind it much. These things are chiefly in idea for, strictly speaking, there is no real indelicacy in submitting to a thing of this kind when so necessary. Dinner not ready till 6.40. Then sat down to boiled salmon, mutton chops, boiled potatoes, plum tart, a pint of very tolerable port, & biscuits. Enjoyed my dinner. Came upstairs at 10¼ having paid my bill, determining to be off before breakfast at 7 in the morning.

  Frtday 29 August [Halifax]

  Very comfortable bed & slept well… Sat down to breakfast (boiled milk & hot rolls) at 8½. It just then occurred to me that the last time I was in this room (the ground-floor parlour on the left entering the Bridgewater) was with M— on the night of 9 March 1816.13 A host of reflections crowded on me. I felt the tears starting & my heart grow sick. ‘How foolish,’ said I. Then sank into the thought that my knowing her had perhaps been the ruin of my health & happiness. She has not the heart to suit me. Perhaps I should not be happy with [her], yet almost feel I should not be so without. I had almost said, ‘Oh, that I had not a heart’ but God be merciful to me a sinner & enable me to fix it where alone true joys are to be found. How very little M— guesses what passes within me. I do not blame her. Heaven has not given her that sweet sensibility of the soul after which my spirit panteth like the hart after the water brook, than which nothing less can satisfy a romantic, enthusiastic mind like mine. To M—, if I shewed myself more openly, I should be an enigma she could not understand. We have not much fellowship in feeling, yet am I attached to her. Alas, I see, more & more plainly, too deeply for my own happiness, were I to tell her the effect of this ‘three step’ business, she could not comprehend it. She would think it perhaps unforgivingness of temper rather than that wound at heart which festers unseen. It has taught me that, tho’ she loves me, it is without that beautiful romance of sentiment that all my soul desires. But mine are not affections to be returned in this world. Oh, that I could turn them with virtuous enthusiasm to that Being who gave them. Oh Mary! You have enticed me with a glimpse of happiness & my heart has pursued the ‘ignis fatuus’14 till retreat is impossible or vain. But no more… Got home in 3¾ hours, at 5¾, i.e. just before it struck 6 by the kitchen clock… Told my uncle & aunt Mr Simmons thought he could cure me but could answer for it better if I was in Manchester under his own eye for 2 or 3 weeks. My aunt wanted me to give up going to Scarbro’ & York & go to Manchester immediately. This, I of course declined, saying I may perhaps be able to do without going to Manchester at all.

  Saturday 30 August [Halifax]

  Wrote a few lines on ½ sheet of paper (which William took to the P.O. before breakfast) to ‘Mrs Cook, Straw-hat maker, Coney St. York,’ to desire her to have black chip in readiness to make me a hat in a day if possible. I should be in York on Wednesday or Thursday… A long while in the stables & did not come in upstairs till 2¼. From then till 4½, looking out my clothes, what wanted mending, etc., for my journey to Scarbro’ & York… Then walked down the new bank to Halifax to meet Miss Pickford at Whitley’s… She turned back with me to go to several shops… Asked what Mr Simmons said. Wished much to see his prescription. Had thought much about me. I would not shew it her or tell what he had said. She asked me with more apparent anxiety or curiosity than usual. She would understand the whole thing, I laughed &… Shewed her Steph’s prescription of two years ago, cubebs, etc, passing it off for Mr Simmons’s. She said it was an odd one. In walking home with her, laughed & talked nineteen to the dozen. Would make her tell what she thought & screwed it out by piecemeal. She said could that be Mr Simmons’s, it would do no good. At last I made her own mercury was the only thing. My whole manner convinced her I was in the venereal. Said Mr Simmons wanted me to go to Manchester for a fortnight or three weeks. Could not yet tell whether, after getting better, I might have any relapse or not. Owned that was [not] his prescription. I had consulted four or five… She said she knew something was the matter. Whatever it was, I looked ill. She seems at home about the venereal disease. I tried to find out if she had had a touch of it. She said nothing to contradict, or yet exactly to own it. I was rattling on. Asked if she knew what lady-sick was. Said I could tell her something for which she would box my ears. She wanted me sadly to say it. I declined for the present (I meant I might sometime pretend I had gulled her, all I had said was a joke). ‘Is this,’ said she, ‘your philosophy? Does your conscience never smite you?’, perhaps alluding to my having before so strongly denied the thing. ‘No,’ said I, ‘It does not. But I mean to amend at five & thirty & retire with credit. I shall have a good fling before then. Four years. And in the meantime shall make my avenae communes, my wild oats common. I shall domiciliate then. She laughed… Said one of my friends said if I had not my talent, I should be abominable. Pic thought I should not find fault with others. She had before told me of her putting on regimentals & flirting with a lady under the assumed name of Captain Cowper. It did not seem that the lady ever found it out but thought the captain the most agreeable of men. Just before we parted, ‘Now,’ said I, ‘do you like the philosophy or the vivication? Do you think me less agreeable?’ ‘No,’ was the answer. ‘Do you think me more so?’ ‘Yes, I do.’ She will breakfast here on Monday for I talk of going by that night’s mail.

  Sunday 31 August [Halifax]

  We all went to church. Mr Franks preached 39 minutes. Good sermon but too long. From Luke xv. 7. ‘There is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth,’ made applicable to the occasion of collecting for the national schools – his majesty’s letter desiring church collections to be made throughout the kingdom was read last Sunday.

  Monday 1 September [Halifax]

  I walked with Miss Pickford… I had chiefly talked off the worst of what I had said on Saturday &, questioning her very closely whether she thought I ever had a friend on the same terms as Miss Threlfall, she said no, she did not think I ever had; that she seemed persuaded I never had any criminal connection with any of them. She seemed wanting to fight off this herself. Said I thought worse of her than she deserved; carried her meaning too far, but this I denied & maintained & she could not be off but said, very oddly, when I talked of a marriage of souls & hinted at bodies too, mentioning connections of les esprits âmes et corps, that it was all esprit on her side, insinuating that it was les corps on Miss Threlfall’s part only. I looked surprised. ‘Then,’ said I, ‘there is only one alternative. Do you know it? No, of course you did not say.’ In my mind thought of her using a phallus to her friend. She was sure I thought worse of her… Speaking of what they said of me, one lady who pretended to know me well (somehow I could not help suspecting Miss Waterhouse), ‘It was melancholy that I had so little sense of religion.’ Pic thought quite the contrary. Has a high opinion of me in all things. Thinks me most consistent with myself, most refined in sentiment… ‘When,’ said I, ‘Shall I see you again?’ ‘Perhaps never,’ she quickly answered. Altogether the last half hour did not please me & I parted from her sensible of her abruptness, her want of gentleness or tenderness of feeling & acknowledging to myself that I wished I had not staid so long with her. Yet I stood in the old bank watching the last of her as she turned up Horton Street. Watching, I scarce knew why, as if I had not felt towards her as if I thought her so gentlemanlike as I had said. I stood watching her so long
the people might stare at me. It has before struck me she likes me more than I might expect. It is very odd, but if I tried, would it be possible to make her melt at all?