The Private Diary of Alexander Pope

I am troubled still. Gray came to visit, with a piece of nonsense Addison has put about that badly needed an answer, and I could give nothing of my mind to't while Serle stood at hand. At last I sent him out on some errand not worth remembering, but still could hardly bring my mind to task. This thing must be got out, like a lancing, else there will be no peace between us.

And yet am I not a coward? For I blanch to lay it before him.

Saturday, 21st February –

Serle with me yet, at least, and not run to tell Martha all the tale of my ruin and evil character.

This morning I put the question to him. Who was this woman, and what relation to him? He replied that he was bound by a promise to say only that he knew her well, and vouched for her character – and who would not bite his tongue at that, to save a laughter not ill-meant but cruel, that he would give a character to a jade? Yet he meant it earnestly, and in truth she was as unlike what she must be called as I can imagine. So I would not use that word to him, nor say aught against her. But though I would have done better to hold my silence, the next words were out 'ere I caught them marshalling upon my lips, and I asked him did he think her likely to come again?

This I thought sure to end his service. I had meant to say no such thing at this moment with the man all at odds, and it was handled so badly that I looked to see anger and hot denial. Yet he came to it readily, so that I hardly knew how to judge him. Even now he seeks her, to bring her again. And what a fool I am, I know too well – and yet with what abandon.

Sunday, 22nd February –

To what has passed this night, my pen is unequal – and is that not a laughable thing? I had begun, indeed, a wretched doggerel – "Some Lines to a Lady Glimpsed by Starlight" – but who would read it, save I who must groan to see my hand write paeans to a whore?

But it is ungentle. Whatever she may be. For she came to kneel by me again this night, softly as before, and with the same care to hide her face. This troubles me considerably; I begin to wonder if I know her, if she be some one of the char maids or cook's girls, unbeknownst to me. Yet I would swear that the hand that touched me this night has known no rough work – not that palm and gentle fingers that curled about me, so strangely forward and yet so delicate that I did not know how to call her.

That troubled me so that in even in my body's eager cry, rising up to her hand, I found strength to beg her name. She was silent for a long breath, her hand still upon me so that my will lay fainting. Then she said, "They call me Kate." And to end all argument, dropped her lips upon me, and made me in all ways speechless.

It was more lingering this night, and gladly so. I was not so wild with the shock of a thing entirely new to me, and she seemed less in haste. All the while her mouth worked me to heaven – a glad sin, pleasure near unendurable – her hands touched all upon my chest and arms and legs. My body answered her then, and eagerly – but my mind, now, lies more upon it. She touched this body, bent as a broken root, with all kindness and reverence, nor shied from its secrets, so unlike those of other men. And here again I was much bewildered in her, for her manner and speech were so soft, but her hands so sure upon me – like hands that have known man in all his forms. I could not but think her practiced – yet so shy and gentle, that even as she stooped to lay her lips upon me, and kissed warm upon my thigh, I could not call her any name unkind, nor fault her in any way.

When she had done, she lay panting like a doe, her cheek to my belly. Lightly, so as not to do me hurt – yet there, bare against my skin, until I near had dozed with it. At last she stood, and though vanity stings me with the memory, I caught her hand – and asked, would she come again. She stood trembling, and her breath came hard; I was ashamed to press her to it. But at last she said, "Ask John Serle. He will send for me." And left.

It was only this morning that I thought of her money, and that in my eagerness I had set none out for her. Much ashamed, I gave twice the sum of before into John Serle's hands, and bid him bring it to her. Thank God, he is a man can be trusted with such things; so honest, that I know the sum will reach her entire. And is this not stranger than any thing, that a man should trust none so well, nor have better faith in any but his whore and her pander?

Thursday, 26th February –

The work goes on apace. Enough on Lear to fill some part of a volume, and some lines upon Thetis as well, which have troubled me exceedingly this month past. Serle in a strange good humor; levity is not his manner, but a quiet content that leaves me no doubt that we are easier with one another. And this the more strange, in that I did ask of him, and receive, word that Kate might come again upon the week's end. Tomorrow night, and Serle to fetch her. Yet he writes a calm hand, and is nearly himself, as he was a month past 'ere I started this coil.

Consider: that the man feared turning off, as he knew a thing about me that I would not have known? That he is quieter now, because he sees that I will not cast him aside having got my ill pleasure? The thing is possible.

Good health today. Unbidden, John brings me wine tonight, mingled with herbs and honey, that does strengthen me greatly, and gives his sure touch to all my limbs, to unknot and straighten them. And though he knows to what use I will put this strength, he tends me earnestly and with a look – not of pity, that I would scorn, but a care touching on kinship. He is nigh a friend; 'tis but his fee stands between us. I own, when I first took him from Martha Blount, I thought she paid his wages over high. But now I think him worth the double of it, and look to improve him.

Saturday, 28th February –

Now here is a knot will take some long unpicking, for if I am Alexander, then this is Gordium. The thing teases me, and yet ... my mind is glad for some strange and tangled web, for it sharpens all my wits.

Kate came this night past. Incomparable Kate. I write it here, for in any company of men I would brand myself an ass and a fool, to sigh after she who bates my lust at hire. But bates so well, and bating raises again – for never have I sought company so often, or in such swift succession.

She grows bolder each time, and this visit she made me, she cast her gown to the floor. I touched only the lightest shift between us, and her bosom unlaced and bared as she knelt kissing my chest and my shoulders with her breasts rubbing against me until I groaned aloud. But is it not strange – that a jade should come by degrees, to that practice she knows so well? Yet I will call her jade no more. For when she had kissed upon my chest and my palms and my throat, this night, with a tremble, she kissed my lips. Then I took her hair in my hands, and kissed her hungrily and let her feel how urgent a man she made me, and how glad, at heart, of this opening in her. She groaned with it no less than I, until at last she fell upon my thighs and work'd on me hot and I swear eager. I gave over all pretense and cried out under her hands, utterly naked to her and glad of it as she took me to her lips and I stroked her silken hair upon my lap. Then I would touch lower, struggling up to reach her, and putting my hand down along her shift. At last, like a grip of heaven, I felt the warm parting of her legs, and she raised her mouth with a breathless gasp that drove all the hunger through me. But she took my hand and put it from her, and press'd it to her bosom – fine and soft, but I wonder that she refused me. Is this her means to salve her conscience? Then, as if to make amends, she dropped her lips and began a long oratorio upon me, with such dextrous facility in the high notes, and wondrous depth in the low, that I was utterly taken, and cried out heedless.

When she had done she knelt at the bed side, trembling, and her cheek against me, as she had that night before. I made bold to touch her, though how there is boldness in the petting of a – but I will not say it. I stroked her hair down her back. She shuddered under it, I know not why, but stayed, and that moment I felt myself blessed in her. I feel the weakest sort of fool now to write it, and it stings me senseless to think what they would make of it, who have felt the cut of my pen in the press, or smarted under my tongue when they begg'd to be lessoned for their idiocy. Yet she makes me soft to her, who rages like fire against all else, though she speaks hardly a word, only such soft sounds as stir my blood when her skin touches mine.

I would speak to her, but was defeated again. She lay long against me, quiet under my hand, and I felt a peace and drowsy pleasure. I would, at that moment, very much that she would come into bed with me – not for glutting of a lust supremely gratified, but that I might touch her once more – I hardly know how. I near asked her to't – but that moment she stood, and dress'd so hastily that at once she was by the door, and hardly called back in time to have her payment. Then she was gone, and what few words I had put to her – who she was, and would she not tell me more of herself – put aside with swift demurral, and unanswered.

That is puzzle enough, but here is more. This noon John Serle was out of my call, and having a sudden chill, I bid the char maid fetch me a wrapper. Taking the warmest she found, though not my usual, she brought it, and I pulled it about me as best I could. Then putting my hand into the pocket, what did I find but a sum of money that never was put there by me? I counted it through, and here is the knot: it was, to a farthing, the fees I have paid to Kate.

What this means, I cannot guess – but watched Serle close all the day when he was back, until he looked at me askance. There is many a man complains that his servants empty his purse – yet surely I am the first to cry that his fill it.

Monday, 2nd March –

Have put thoughts of the flesh from me for the sabbath, to bring coolness to my temper. But watched Serle so close, that he chafes, and seems as if he would know my mind. Made no mention of the money I found, only put the wrapper back whence it came, and showed no sign that I had found it.

He serves well, almost a pleasure. And this teases me every hour, for I can make nothing of his actions. Yet I cannot think ill of him. His manner is very fine, devoted, and near unconscious of this wretched deformity that makes me. Though I scorn the mockery of my foes, who would make my body the outward emblem of a gross and malignant heart – yet who could long put it from him, this cramped, bent body that can be a pleasure to no one? (Save to me, and under certain lips ... ah, my sabbath has not cured me.) Yet John heeds it little; even in undressing me, or bathing my limbs, or working his strong touch upon them, his good nature will not yield to revulsion, or worse, to a damning pity – and can I say as much even of myself?

I had thought him a friend, had we met otherwise. He is a sober creature, and quiet, yet has a flash of wit now and again, and an earnest nature that is truer than easy flattery. He takes words well, and more – this day past, in writing out my notes for the death of Hector, he asked questions prompted by a good mind, if untutored, and all alive to the sense and movement of it. I cannot but pity that he is so bound, a servant all his life. Yet he shows no bitterness – only a gratitude, quiet but very winning, that I would entertain his questions, and speak with him upon the work. He spurs me, and we proceed apace; he little sees it, but he brings a light to the endeavour, and shines it where I had not thought to look.

Wednesday, 4th March –

This work was begun for the stirring of my mind, and yet see how I make it a mere record of my dalliances. It would shame me to have it seen. Yet she comes tonight, and my mind will not take to work. John has set out money; I have marked it most carefully. I will see where it goes. And she will come.

Midnight –

Cramped, and damnable hard to write – at table. She is come. Gone. Lain with me, but shyly. Her fee – 4 s. – still on table.

Thursday, 5th March –

At the desk now, with more comfort to write. John out on an errand of my devising, and I hobbled far enough to fetch this scrawl to me.

I conceal it now. Why, I can hardly say. I fear no villainy from John, and yet ... he is wrapt in this somehow.

And the money. In the pocket of my wrapper. I had the maid fetch it for me of a purpose.

This Kate. What am I to make of her? And what did she, last night, to so unmake my mind? Only kissed me, knelt by my bed, shivering in her shift, and let my hands and lips to her bosom. I strayed there amid the fruits of a rich garden. Though poor she is so cleanly, her person so nice and freshly made, that the cloy of perfumes in the town belles is a poor exchange. I feasted at her bosom, and felt a hot stirring, though her touch was gentle. Then she would have set herself to that duty she had done me times before, but I caught her hand; then asked her, would she come to bed with me.

Low and very soft she gave me answer, "yes, sir." Then helped me, most simply and without qualm, to the side, stood a long moment, and lay down with a sigh in the warmth where I had lain, and came to my bed entire.

I had wished it devoutly, but was confounded in its encompassing. I lay warring with myself 'ere I dared touch her. Damnable cowardice! What was it, but a man with his jade, whom he had fee'd, and full generously? Yet it is her special power to make it seem other, so that when I turned to her body and touched my hand upon it, I swear she trembled. Her breath came sharp, though I touched but where I had moments past as she knelt by my side. Yet there was difference. Why else had I bid her come? And I felt it all the more, when beneath my touch her bosom heaved, then lay still, and at last, as I strove, in truth, to be kind to her, moved, gently under my hands, and then arched up to them.

God. Lord and creator. It has pleased you to make me as I am. Can it but please you too, this last, sweetness incomparable, that a man entered into his thirty-fourth year upon this earth, at last should lay upon the body of a lover, and press kisses to her lips – and feel it in his heart? Do not chide me, vanity. You have had your way these many years, and will again, but this night I was out from under your spur.

Though a fool in every way, and kissing lips fee'd by the half of Twickenham – my heart moved in me. Kate took these kisses in earnest, and returned them, I would swear, with a passion more than the heat of bodies – though heat grew between us. It torments me to this moment. Though my own eyes tell it to me, I swear she is no whore, when she twines her arms about my neck and kisses me so that even this raging heart gives up its bitterness and only ... opens.

Touched her. All adown her body. Warm bosom. Sweet hips. Rich thighs. Then put my hand soft and close between them, and she jumped and shivered like a rabbit. Drew back, but in a little time, with much kissing and stroking between, assayed again – and was received. Ah, that touch – for I had a longing never felt when the thing was more easily gained, with some jade who – but no. I will not think on't, in the same page as this. Touched her soft, and found her so eager to hand, so ready, that a groan passed my lips at the mere hot, tender touch of her. She panted low and shuddered. My hand, dewed with the musk that clung to my fingers, I pressed, and felt a cry and tremble through her body. Thinking the moment come at last, and more eager for it than I can say, I was manned as never man was – but that moment she pulled from me. Put her hands against mine, and half wept, and would say only "please sir" – yet 'twas clear enough what she pled, and I loosed her, though sore vexed.

Now all her seeming kindness had a look of loathing, so that I would near have cast her from me in a fit of anger, sure that it was the thought of my body that stayed her and set her to weep. But 'ere I could, she threw herself on the floor and knelt kissing wildly at my hand – that hand, that had touched her. Watered it with tears, begg'd my pardon, and pleaded that I be patient with her. Patience. For a ... I was struck dumb entire.

But at length this came to me. She had not shown herself a whore, not any such as your most of men would mean by't. Was I right to make one of her, who had been gentle to me? I touched her hair, and bid her rest quiet, and said I know not what – that I would do her no harm, and she might do as she would, and I would make no demands of her.

She kiss'd my hand so fervently that for a moment I felt my troubles entirely paid. And then she kissed, and petted, and stroked me, in so many ways, and with a touch so tender, that at last she soothed all the bitterness from me. When she caressed all down my limbs, and then came at last to kiss and lap my thighs, softly with her tongue, I could make no protest, only hold her to me, and urge her with soft words of thanks that rose, at last, to pleading.

She left without her fee. I woke to it this morning, on the table still. Gave it to Serle, to bring to her; found it when he'd left, in the pocket of my wrapper. He is much affected, and strange to me today; I think she has told him what passed, wherever it is that they meet. I wonder will she have no more of't. I cannot think of the worse of her – and yet I pray she might come again.

Friday, 6th March –

What shock last night. I can hardly write – and so wroth with Serle that I cannot look upon him. Dog! Hound! There is no name I can lay to him that suits this deed. My heart is sick with it, and I, damn him – his willing accomplice.

She came last night. Unbidden. Abed, I heard the door open, and then a voice, very low – "It is Kate, sir."

How glad I was. Fool! I made no question, though wondered if she might be come for her money. But she came to the bed and fell straight to her knees and to kissing of my hand. And thence naked to bed, unbidden but utterly welcome and eager, I swear. All shyness had gone, and irresolution; I met no defense, but felt her press to my hands with a groan, and lay her kisses all down my neck, and nuzzle my ears and my lips, and move against my body as one who with all her heart desires. Or so I think – for this, in truth, is the first I have dared to hope it of any woman. Damn Serle, the treacherous hound!

For this happened. I touched again, where last I was denied, and shuddered to find admittance. She parted to me, and hungrily, pressing into my palm all hot and dewed and longing, so that my blood surged and I craved her. And her voice came at last, she who is so silent – soft cries of "sir, oh, sir!" that were sweet hymns to me, who touched with hands and then – more. When the moment was come, I found a strength wild and rare – moved over her, my body for once answering my call, and felt, of all things, her hands urging my hips, her body opening, and, God – guiding me to her. Was no light labor for a man made as I, but what shudder to have her kisses upon my chest as I came to't, and more – her body, arched to mine, taking to me her. Made entrance, and ah – taken whole, and at once, into the temple of Venus.

And near missed, thereby, what I did, though sensed it somewhat. Her cry told me more, even as she slipped sweet about me, and what damnable confusion this – for was she not what no whore could be? It was morning 'ere I saw the blood, sign indisputable, but in short – I was right. And what, damned of all, can this mean? But last. In that moment, bliss and sudden shock, I must – I must see who joined with me. Threw back the curtain, wrenched wide the blind with a struggling hand, and –