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.
August 2nd,
1812 What a curious morning this has been.
I find myself quite changed in perspective after my conversation with Mr.
Forthridge at the Assembly last night.
He was a gentleman of evident learning and composure,
Who spoke with such measured wisdom I could not help but be struck by the contrast he presented to the daily tempest that raged within my own household.
Mrs.
Bennet,
Dear creature that she is,
Has been in a state of particular agitation these past weeks.
First over the entailment,
Again.
Then over Lydia's latest escapade.
And now over some perceived slight from Lady Lucas regarding Elizabeth's prospects.
Her nerves,
As she so frequently reminds us all,
Are in such a condition that one might think them visible to the naked eye.
So often are they referenced in conversation.
Mr.
Forthridge,
An interesting man,
Enlightened me regarding the philosophy of the Stoics.
Those ancient thinkers who believed in accepting what cannot be changed whilst focusing one's energies on what lies within our control.
The discipline of the mind,
He called it,
Separating external circumstance from our responses,
He said.
How refreshing such a notion appears when one considers the alternative of living in perpetual chaos.
I declare I am tired of listening to the reactions of every shifting wind or fortune of social gossip.
It was interesting to learn of the Blue Stocking Circle,
Where learned ladies practice such philosophical principles with remarkable success.
I confess the irony is not lost on me,
That women of education and reflection should demonstrate greater mastery over their emotions than my dear wife,
Who prides herself on the sensitivity of her feelings.
Furthermore,
The benefits Forthridge described are manifold.
Peace of mind,
Improved judgment,
The ability to respond rather than merely react.
This appeals to a father of five daughters.
The capacity to model rational behavior for one's children seems at this point nothing less than essential.
My dear Lizzie,
I believe,
Possesses some natural inclination towards such steadiness,
Although she knows it not by name.
Jane,
Sweet girl,
Already embodies much of this philosophy through her gentle nature.
But the younger ones.
.
.
And therein lies the challenge.
I find myself wondering whether I might introduce these concepts to my household in a more formal way,
Though I suspect Mrs.
Bennet would declare such philosophy quite injurious to her nerves.
The approach must be subtle.
I must lead by example rather than by lecture.
Heaven knows I've grown rather too comfortable in my library retreat,
Observing the chaos with detached amusement,
I fear,
Rather than attempting to guide it,
As Mr.
Forthridge suggests,
To more rational shores.
The practice begins with small daily exercises.
I must ensure my family examines their judgments and responses before reacting to their situations.
Is this within my control,
They must ask,
And what would wisdom counsel in this moment?
Such simple questions,
Yet profound in their implications.
I have decided to attempt this experiment,
Both for my own edification and as a model for my dear wife and daughters.
Perhaps if Mrs.
Bennet could learn to view social slights and matrimonial concerns through such a lens,
Our drawing room might know something approaching tranquillity,
Although I confess the silence might prove rather alarming after so many years of animated discourse on the state of her nerves.
Still,
The prospect intrigues me.
To respond to life's inevitable storms with equanimity rather than the theatrical despair that currently characterises our household's approach to every minor setback,
What a gift that would be to bestow upon my daughters as they make their way in the world.
I shall begin tomorrow,
Starting with my own reactions to the daily dramas.
If I can master the art of stoic response,
Perhaps I might serve as a better guide to those I love rather than merely an amused spectator to their tempests.
ADDENDIM POST-LUNCH The feats it would seem have conspired to test my newfound philosophical reserve with remarkable swiftness.
Not two hours after penning the above reflections,
I receive the most distressing intelligence from Colonel Forster.
Our youngest daughter Lydia is planning to elope with that scoundrel Wickham.
Mrs Bennet has taken to her bed in hysterics,
Declaring our family utterly ruined,
While Kitty weeps inconsolably.
The house reverberates with such wailing one might think we were under siege.
My first impulse,
My old familiar impulse,
Was to retreat to my library with a bottle of port and curse my own negligence in allowing such folly to unfold.
But Mr Forthridge's words return to me now with startling clarity.
What lies within our control and what does not?
Lydia's rash action is done beyond recall,
Beyond my influence.
Wickham's character was established long before this day,
But that they should act according to their natures,
My raging against it serves no purpose save to compound our misery.
What therefore is within my control?
Nothing but my response,
My actions moving forward,
The guidance I provide to my remaining daughters,
The strength I offer to my shattered wife,
Even as she declares herself dying of shame.
I must act with humility and contact Mr Gardiner,
My dear brother-in-law,
Not with that theatrical despair that currently grips this household,
But with rational purpose.
I shall go to London,
Seek out the wayward pair and attempt to salvage what can be salvaged.
This is the right and necessary course of action.
Oh,
But I had many more of my dear Elizabeth.
She maintains her composure even now,
And I see in her the very stoic principles I had only this evening resolved to cultivate.
She asks practical questions.
She thinks about where they might have gone,
What resources Wickham possesses and how might we proceed most effectively.
She does not waste energy on lamentations over what cannot be done.
Perhaps this crisis,
Dreadful as it is,
Shall serve as the very test Mr Forthridge spoke of,
The opportunity to practice sense under fire,
As it were.
If I can navigate this storm with reason,
With action,
No passion,
No despair,
Then perhaps some good may yet come of it.
I leave for London at first light,
Not to flee in panic,
But to proceed with purpose.
How prophetic those words Mr Forthright quoted to me seem now.
You have power over your mind,
He said,
Not outside events.
Realise this,
And you will find strength.
