September 29, 1811
Michaelmas is almost upon us. It is the day of the Lord and I ought to have this time to my leisure, yet I'm afraid I shan't be doing much writing presently. It is not that my hand is idle, but I shall be constantly interrupted by my sisters and there is too much noise in the house to even consider writing a lengthier account. I cannot even hear myself think. It is a wonder I escaped the parlour. I do hope this new piece of gossip does not amount to much; otherwise this tempestuous excitement might become a permanent distress.
We witnessed a particularly intelligent sermon this morning, delivered by Rev. Gordon (whom I believed too young and shy at first. My assertions were rightfully corrected) on the subject of mental debauchery. I suppose he felt it necessary after news spread of the dismal affair at Mrs. Morris' dinner party. I quite agree. I was not expecting to discuss mental debauchery on our way home for that would be quite absurd, but it was a terrible waste to talk about Netherfield Park. I cannot even remember who imparted the knowledge to mother and it hardly matters, but the short of it is that Netherfield Park has been let to a young gentleman. It is believed to be a certainty but I am much in doubt since the Park hasn't been occupied in three years.
Mamma had only one design in her head and that was that this gentleman had come hither to find a wife. This idea is not only degrading to the man himself, but to the whole of the parish as well. I cannot imagine our neighbours waiting on this young man and he having no conjecture of what is expected of him! A vaudeville indeed.
Father was lucky enough to be free of these marital speculations for some time, as he kept a good distance from us in our walk, but he could not avoid them at home.
Jane, of course, is already a bride. Lydia, a possible second. Kitty protested against the arrangement. Mother pacified her and she is now Lydia's understudy, in case the gentleman finds Jane too beautiful and Lydia too young.
His name is Mr. Bingley, apparently. I can only envision him as a rake in one of Pope's satires. That is only prejudice, of course. But I am unfortunately eager to confirm it.
Oh, Doris just came in to tell me I am needed in the parlour. As expected.
God bless and adieu.
September 30, 1811
It grieves me to say Mr. Bingley is not a figment of my imagination. Jane is currently sitting with mother by her bedside. She has fallen "sick with misery" and she requires the salts every half hour. Yesterday, father made it clear he would not visit Netherfield Park to make Mr. Bingley's acquaintance. The decision seems quite sound to me since the gentleman shall be present at the Merryton Assembly. What would be the point in exerting oneself so early? The man is probably still unpacking. He would laugh at this urgency and regard papa and the rest of us as simple country people. I would pride myself on it if there were any ingenuity in being simple country people, but there is none. I hear Sir Lucas has called on him already, but mother is loath to receive any account from Lady Lucas. Petty rivalry.
In any case, mamma was very displeased with father's decision and is now bewailing the fate we shall suffer after our father's death. I try to avoid her chambers.
I cannot say whether I am amused or angered by Mr. Bingley's overwhelming influence, I am only aware that these are not Christian feelings.
Oh, the faults of us who expose our thoughts to ourselves! I had better return to my Robert Southwell and hope to temper my ill feelings. I've written so little indeed, but I fear any further frivolity on my part.
God bless and adieu.