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.
Entry one,
Charlotte Lucas Lucas Lodge,
Morning November 27th 1811 My dear diary,
This morning's entry finds me well recovered from the recent excitement of the Netherfield ball.
Netherfield Park was delightful and not far from Longbourn,
Little over three miles away.
It has been recently rented by a Mr Charles Bingley,
A most charming gentleman of 23 years old.
He is good-looking and good-natured and he shows a marked interest in Jane,
Elizabeth's older sister.
Which is just as well,
For he's far too boring for the likes of me.
You will think me quite transformed from the sensible Charlotte you've always known,
Diary,
But I must confess I've developed a most extraordinary fascination.
At the ball,
Myself and Elizabeth met an unusual gentleman by the name of Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy.
He is a close friend of the aforementioned,
Though considerably more established,
Being the owner of Pemberley House,
That renowned estate in deepest Derbyshire.
Yes,
It is true he is proud and disagreeable,
As Elizabeth says he is.
Yet,
If rudeness be a measure of great intellect,
I'm sure he shows great promise in tempting me.
How I abhor the frivolities of such an event.
Yet,
With somebody like Mr Darcy around,
Things might just get a bit more exciting.
The man challenges my intellect and former assumptions of myself as regards to the command of my emotions,
And this I am fascinated by.
I write now to gain clarity.
Of course,
What business should I have?
I have inferior beauty and consequence to any of the Bennet sisters.
But,
Dear diary,
Does intellect not command at least the slightest respect?
I am torn.
I will not remain servant to these fancies as ridiculous as they are.
I have sought to retain a sympathiser with a blue-stocking group,
And I will remain a sensible creature who practices intellect over infatuation,
Sense over sensibility.
Indeed,
What would Elizabeth Montague make of such a thing?
And yet I cannot account for when my feelings began to change.
Perhaps it was serving Darcy's genuine concern for Mr Bingley.
Perhaps when he expressed his quiet dignity when faced with our neighbour's less charitable comments about his reserve.
For where others see arrogance,
I have come to perceive a man of sense,
One who refrains from wearing his heart upon his sleeve,
As the more gregarious Mr Wickhamis want to do.
And,
Of course,
I am painfully aware of how impossible my situation is.
At seven-and-twenty,
I am already considered akin to Spinsterhood,
With so little fortune and no particular beauty to recommend me.
This is more than a ridiculous notion.
Indeed,
Mr Darcy moves in circles so far above mine,
He likely does not even recall my name when we have been introduced.
His ten thousand a year and connections to the nobility make any romantic attachment to the eldest daughter of a country gentleman not merely improbable but absurd.
I understand my place.
And yet,
In a battle of words,
I am sure I could win.
But now I am frustrated,
For I cannot govern my feelings as I once could.
I understand I must acknowledge them.
I understand I must listen to what they are telling me.
But what are they telling me?
I consider I would like to converse with the gentlemen.
I would like to have conversations when they do,
Rather than sit in a corner and talk about lace and fanciful things.
I have always prided myself on being practical in matters of the heart,
And I believe affection should be guided by prudent consideration of compatibility and security.
Compatible intellectually,
I am sure we might be.
And yet,
Such societal constraints I face every day.
I am quite at the mercy of those sentiments I abhor.
This confession is,
Of course,
Shocking indeed.
I fear I am now bordering on the ridiculous,
Proving myself as susceptible to foolish fancy as any silly girl,
Despite my advanced age and supposed wisdom.
I trust I will use the day ahead to contemplate my emotion and prudently consider the practicalities of such an infatuation.
To be infatuated with a mind is one thing,
But to expect a gentleman to be infatuated with mine in return is completely out of the question,
For what use am I to any man?
A strong intellect is far beyond what any man would ever seek from me.
O,
To be part of the blue stockings!
O,
To run away to Bath and never be subjected to this again!
I sincerely wish the passing of the day will aid me in gaining some semblance of my former self.
I could not bear to be the subject of speculation or,
Worse still,
Pity.
I must collect my thoughts.
I fear my heart has overruled my head,
And I should be most grateful to maintain my former composure for my own sake as much as for the others around me.
Signed,
Charlotte.
P.
S.
I have heard rumours that a certain Mr.
Collins may soon call upon us with some purpose in mind.
I am sure I know not what.
The man bores me,
And if his attention should prove serious,
I confess I am quite uncertain how to receive them.
Yet I fear being nothing more than a financial burden to my now expanding family.
If he makes an offer,
I may well have to accept it,
Intellect aside.
The only saving grace is that he may well,
As a parson,
Have access to that huge library of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
And if by some miracle I could keep the man at arm's length,
I may well benefit from such an attachment.
Evening,
November 27,
1811 How deeply I have cogitated over the practicalities.
How well I now understand the confusion I have felt.
To discover one's heart capable of such tender sentiments,
When one has always prided oneself on practical sense,
Must be both surprising and overwhelming.
I do not think myself foolish in the least for experiencing these feelings.
Indeed,
I believe it speaks to the depth and goodness of my character I am capable of seeing beyond first impressions,
To recognise Mr.
Darcy's finer qualities.
I have noted a superior intellect and a thoughtful nature,
That others might mistake for pride.
And I believe my assessment to be both fair and perceptive.
And this is what I am drawn to.
Indeed,
There is certainly more to that gentleman than many in our neighbourhood have allowed themselves to see.
But,
Of course,
The difference in our stations makes such an attachment unlikely to prosper.
And therefore,
I must counsel myself to dismiss these feelings entirely.
His opinion of me,
Of course,
Is entirely out of my control,
And therefore not something I should attach any consequence to.
Of course,
There is wisdom in allowing myself to have felt what I felt without acting upon it.
And that also prepares me for whatever the future may bring.
If Mr.
Collins should consider me,
I must follow my own consequence in how to receive it.
I am,
Of course,
His intellectual superior.
But with his position and the convictions it affords me,
This would appear a most prudent match.
And,
Of course,
Remaining a good friend to the Bennet sisters,
May well see me ensconced in the Pemberley Library in years to come.
I have made my decision,
Dear diary.
And with that,
I leave fate to take its course.
