Today, we visited the house where Jane Austin completed all her novels... at Chawton... and was her last home until her death at the age of 41 from unspecified ailments... but probably from an infection related to TB... in the year of 1817.
Her fame in 2013 is probably greater than it has ever been. At her funeral, only 4 people bothered to turn up... the minister, the undertaker, the grave-digger, who else... probably the organist. She died in a house located close to the Cathedral... the Cathedral was busy and offered to bury Jane in the only available time slot for weeks... so the family said, "Right Oh... not everyone gets buried in Westminster Cathedral". Her father had been a pastor and two of her brothers were in the clergy... so the family had contacts.
Today, there was a steady stream of Jane Austen fans making their pilgrimage... looking at the desk where she did her writing... looking at her bed... looking at the dining table where she had her meals. Hundreds of thousands of people each year troupe past to show their respects... in contrast to the number at her funeral.
"Why is she so famous today?", I can hear you ask. She was famous for noticing small things. She was one of the first female English authors... and in the first editions of her books the author was identified as "a lady author"... but her anonymity was stripped aside before her death. She was the first author to portray female characters in life-like dimensions... before her, females were uniformly portrayed as retiring, submissive delicate flowers to be admired at a distance. Jane put fizz and colour into her ladies... particularly ladies in the higher stratas of society. She put on paper the energy of vanity, revenge, destitution, pride and prejudice.
We enquired how she managed to get to see high society at close range, when her father was poor... a country pastor who had to farm a few acres to boot... to put food on the family table. This occurred by a most unusual arrangement where a childless wealthy cousin asked Pastor Austen if they could adopt Jane's brother... so that an heir would be available to take over the family estate. Jane's financial circumstance gradually declined following the death of her father (the pastor)... so she had a clear view of poverty. However, when her brother inherited the estate, Jane with her sister and mother were allowed to stay rent-free in the Chawton property. Jane was also invited to attend some of the balls staged in her brother's grand houses... and because of her connections to her wealthy brother... gained invitations to social events in nearby country estates.
Jane never married. We asked if Jane was the marrying kind. "Yes", we were told most clearly. She was fond of a boy in her teenage years... but he too came from a poor family... so her parents stopped the relationship. She also received a marriage proposal from a Mr. Harris Bigg-Wither... a proposal that she accepted. However, the next morning she told her sister that the pain from being unmarried was less daunting than the pain of being married to a partner that you did not love. She called off the 8-hour engagement... and never received another proposal. She lived all her life sharing a bedroom with her sister... Cassandra. They were soul-mates... and correspondence between the two suggests that many of the best lines in Jane's books were phrases perfected in her letter writing with Cassandra.
During the time at Chawton, Cassandra and Jane's mother devoted their lives to give Jane the opportunity to write her novels. In that period, Jane was prolific in her writing. She re-wrote 'Sense and Sensibilities' and 'Pride and Prejudice'... and churned out four more books... all of which were accepted by publishers... but experienced delays in getting the books into the shops. It wasn't until a year or two before her death that royalty payments started to flow.
Probably, Jane Austin's popularity will remain undaunted while our modern society cuts corners on Good Manners and lasting commitments.
At heart, we still relate to the richness of life being made of small things.
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