The untold journal entries.
Pride and Prejudice in a blue stocking style.
Humorous takes on a much-loved classic.
Written and performed by Stephanie Poppins.
Tuesday,
15th November,
1811.
Morning entry.
What a glorious morning!
I declare the sun itself seemed to shine more brilliantly when there's the prospect of officers about town.
Kitty and I have heard the most delightful news.
Colonel Forster's regiment is to remain emeritum for another fortnight at least.
I can barely contain my excitement at the thought of all those handsome uniforms promenading about the streets one by one.
Mama was speaking yesterday of some dreadful gathering that Charlotte Lucas attended.
Something about books and philosophical discussions with a group of those tiresome blue stocking women.
How perfectly horrid!
I cannot fathom why any young woman would waste her time with dusty old books when there were so many delightful diversions to be had.
What use is philosophy when one could be dancing?
What good are learned discussions when one could be receiving compliments from charming gentlemen?
Indeed,
I can't think of anything worse than getting tied up in one of Charlotte's ridiculous discussions.
The cultivation of reason over passion was one of them.
How perfectly ridiculous!
As if reason could produce half the enjoyment that passion provides.
Where would be the pleasure in life if we were all to conduct ourselves like marble statues unmoved by feeling or excitement?
Just like my sister Jane with her maddening serenity.
I declare,
What is there that could be more exciting than the rush of emotion I experience upon catching sight of merely the sleeve of a red coat?
The way my heart flutters when Captain Carter tips his hat or when Lieutenant Wickham smiles in that particular way of his.
Surely these sensations are worth a thousand philosophical arguments.
My sister Elizabeth and her boring friend Charlotte may bury themselves in their books if they choose,
But I shall not waste my youth on such tedious pursuits.
There will be time enough for serious thoughts when I'm old and married,
Though I do hope my husband will be an officer,
For I could never bear to be wed to someone who does not cut a fine figure in uniform.
How grateful am I,
Mama has always encouraged me to follow my heart and show my feelings openly.
She's the very model of what a woman should be,
Lively,
Spirited and never ashamed to express her emotions.
Dear Mama understands that youth and beauty are fleeting and we must make the most of our advantages while we have them.
She delights in my conquests and she shares in my excitement over the officers,
For she knows what it is to have been young and sought after herself.
Evening Entry What a perfectly delightful day this has been.
Kitty and I encountered no fewer than six officers during our walk to Meryton,
And I'm quite certain that more than one of them paid me particular attention.
The way one young ensign complimented my new ribbon was so charming,
Far more meaningful than any of those dull maxims about virtue and restraint that Elizabeth is always spouting.
Tomorrow I have decided I shall wear my yellow gown,
For I noticed how Captain Denny's eyes brightened when I wore it last week.
There is more wisdom in choosing the right ribbon than in all the philosophical volumes in Papa's library,
I'm quite convinced of it.
No indeed,
I shall never understand those serious ladies who speak of controlling their emotions.
My emotions are precisely what makes life worth living and precisely what makes me who I am,
And I intend to indulge them whenever the opportunity presents itself,
Like it did today.
When Captain Denny was enchanted by my new ribbons,
Lieutenant Sanderson would scarcely take his eyes from me,
Whilst nobody even looked at poor Mary.
I cannot understand those blue-stocking females who think themselves so clever with their reading and their accomplishments.
What good does it do Elizabeth to quote poetry when she hasn't a penny to her name?
What use is Mary's moralising when she grows more sour-faced by the day?
They may call my behaviour forward,
But I say it is practical.
Papa has made it quite clear,
We five girls will inherit precious little when he's gone,
Barely even pin money.
That odious entailment means Longbourn will surely pass to that odious Mr Collins,
And what of us then?
Are we to starve virtuously while clutching our novels?
I think not.
I will use what advantages I possess,
And if mine happen to be a trim waste,
Bright eyes and the good sense to know how to use them,
Then so be it.
The officers find me charming because I'm not forever lecturing them about propriety or hiding behind some silly fan.
I am securing my future when I laugh at their jokes and allow them to compliment my figure.
And I know that each flirtation is an investment,
Each dance is a step towards matrimony and security.
Let my sisters call it vulgar,
I call it survival.
What tedious existence would it be to spend one's youth buried in books when there are handsome men in red coats to be conquered?
Life is for living,
Not for reading about it.
While Elizabeth wastes her time walking through muddy fields and Mary drones on about duty,
I'm ensuring I shall never want for admirers,
Or with any luck a husband,
Who can keep me in good comfort.
I was indeed quite shocked when the other evening Papa suggested I might benefit from more serious pursuits.
But what could be more serious than securing one's future happiness,
I ask?
I shall leave the virtue and the volumes to those who can afford such luxuries.
As for me,
I shall continue to make the most of every opportunity that presents itself.
After all,
What good is virtue if it leads to poverty?
I declare there is nothing quite so thrilling as walking down the high street with a handsome officer in his scarlet regimentals.
How the other ladies stare when I appear on the arm of Lieutenant Wickham or Captain Carter,
Their eyes fairly green with envy.
Mama says the brilliant red of their coats sets off my complexion to perfection,
And I do believe she's right.
When I promenade past the milliner's shop,
I can see my reflection in the window glass.
What a picture I present,
My bonnet at just the right angle,
My gloves pristine white.
I am like something from a fashion plate.
Even the shopkeepers pause in their work to admire me,
And I confess it gives me the most delicious sense of triumph.
How can my sisters not understand the exquisite pleasure of being the object of such devoted attention?
When Captain Denny whispers compliments about my dancing,
When Lieutenant Sanderson praises my wit,
When they compete for the honour of fetching my lemonade,
That is living.
Each admiring glance is like a little victory,
Each flirtation a delightful game where I hold all the winning cards.
They think me pretty,
They think me charming,
And they are not wrong.
Why should I hide such gifts under a bushel of false modesty when they serve me so well?
I will leave the rest to their books,
For I have something far more valuable.
The power to enchant,
The power to captivate and make strong men weak with a single flutter of my eyelashes.
That is a woman's true accomplishment,
And I am so happy to say,
A special gift I possess.
