The Diary of Mrs Pepys
a thank you by way of highlights for Ponsonby Senior
In 1934 a woman called, I believe, Deborah Senior published the fictional diary of Elizabeth Pepys, née St Michael. The author has recalled writing the diary ‘purely for self-amusement.’ I came across it in the stacks of the London Library a week ago, and I can assure F.D Ponsonby Senior (as the author appears on its spine) that the diary has afforded my amusement as well.
(Such, I pray you forgive, is the quaint language of politesse one falls into after reading The Diary of Mrs. Pepys.)
Ponsonby Senior also insists in her “Apology by way of foreword” that there is no reason to assume, as many biographers have, that Elizabeth was unaware of her philandering, self-pitying, vain and vainglorious clever boots child of a husband’s coded diary. “It is based on the false premise,” declares Ponsonby (as I prefer to call her) “that Elizabeth Pepys was even more stupid than she looks in her portrait.”
Frankly, I don’t find her portrait any more fatuous than that of her periwigged husband.
“We know that Samuel was very fond of calling his spouse a fool,” continues the writer. “Yet had she been one in reality he would never have married her.”
Perhaps, rabbit.
Suffice it to say that the woman Ponsonby (who was quite prolific in her literary indulgences of the Carolean era) has created in her fictional diary is not merely no fool, she is a delight and a heroine. She is frank, self-aware, and forgiving as all (much) better halves tend to be.
Mostly, I suppose, she reminds me an awful lot of my gran when she had just about had it with the beatitudes of her own beloved mate. My gran, another Elizabeth, who would also have swore by God as her witness that she would rather labour a whole day with her needle than one hour with pen, for spelling was a thing she could never compass.
All entries below are copied from “The Diary of Mrs. Pepys” by F.D. Ponsonby Senior, 1934.
**
Now that I have written so much (though God as my witness I would rather labour a whole day with my needle than one hour with my pen, for spelling is a thing I can not compass in English) I am resolved to keep a diary too, in such leisure as I can snatch from washing shirts and cooking the savoury meats Mr Pepys loves … he is a good husband, as such go, though queer-tempered.
**
I hope we need not go often to the Pearse house, but Mr. Pepys saith the man Pearse is like to go far someday, therefore we must keep him and his wife our friends, I do not know what Mr Pearse may do, but I’ll warrant his wife will go as far as any man likes to lead her.
**
He praised me for the dinner, and rewarded Jane for her service at table with a kiss I did not envy her. He had eaten most of the prawns and anchovies, washed down with so much drink that in bed I made him lie with his face to me.
**
He came home so late I accused him of gadding abroad to see bonfires with Madame Pearse, and we fell to high words, which ended in his weeping and saying ’twas hard a man might not solace his soul with musique without being called a whoremonger.
**
Today came home a fine velvet coat with gold buttons for the great Ms. Samuel Pepys, the King’s trusted friend! And Mrs Pepys, his lady-wife, did the washing and jarred 20 pounds of strawberries. So the world wags.
**
If ever I try to talk of other things than food and servants, he do always forsooth me like that, and would have me always naught but his echo! But I have a mind of my own, I hope.
**
He fell to blowing dolorously through his new flageolet until his cheeks well nigh burst, and the neighbours opened their windows — he thought to admire — but I distinctly heard them curse the cats.
**
I being out a few shillings in my accompts, he was like a madman, shouting and cursing. I will not be spoken to so, and that I told him, adding that I would not stay to be so misused. “Go then,” he beside himself roared, which, I confess, startled me, for where would I go except to bed? And there I went.
**
Merry all the way home, but he made sheep eyes and Madame Pearse until I longed to box his ears.
**
Then he bade me note that he had spent this month £89 on house and clothes. I replied that if he had spent £1 on me, the other £88 had gone to his own glorification. He seemed astounded by my arithmetique and went to bed very thoughtful.
**
Still I would not have him what he might be if he were not what he is. He might be far worse!
**
If ever I have a son I will teach him most to distrust the woman who seems to know naught and says nothing; for ’tis odds but the more she carrieth herself like a fool, the less she is one; and the less she says, the more she knows.
**
The Queen is sick and like to die. My Lady’s housekeeper Sarah tells me her Majesty hath the spotted fever and though the King weeps beside her bed all day he sups nightly with Lady Castlemaine, Which must be true, for Sarah’s husband is a cook and dresses their suppers. I HATE men.
**
He hath had the colique all night and says it comes of too oft washing his feet; which it is true he hath done of late with Mercer’s help. When that forward wench is gone I think he will no longer deem cleanliness next to godliness.
**
The Queen is better. Mr. Pepys hath bespoke a great periwig like the King’s and I do not like it, though I say it becomes him to put him in a complacent humour; for I want him to buy me a payre of stays.
**
Our little canary is dead and I did weep to see the pretty thing lying stiff at the bottom of its cage. Strange how easily I can weep for such a thing as that, but if I am sad or thrashed or scolded can never shed a tear.
**
There hath been a great victory over the Dutch, which I do not rightly understand, not knowing we were at war with them nor why.
**
In came Pearse and we fell almost at once to high words, for she spoke of my man as I will have no one but myself speak of him. If he be not true to me, who is she to tell me so to my face?
**
When we quarrel it is over in a minute and we are friends more often than we are enemies. Which I pray God keep us so.
