Posted on Tuesday, 15 December 1998
The following work is my interpretation (from her letters) of a moment in Jane Austen's life. Read it with kindness...
"No one will remember me" Miss Austen mused, "My works are for charming people on a dreary day such as today. Why would anyone with common sense care what my silly characters do a hundred years from now? By then, if all goes well there will be greater responsibilities and hopes. And after all, I am just a writer of pleasure not of study or religion. My characters are of sharp edges, but so few are with wisdom. No one will care, no one shall remember the follies of wealthy but poorly learned ladies, of gentlemen who have too much yet give so little. Of petty jealousies and broken hearts, these are ordinary maladies that we all suffer. None of it is too grand, or too gentle for easy digestion. Save few kind souls all my characters need to learn a lesson, but even the teachers themselves are so poor of self-understanding that one has to wonder. All I can hope for is that whoever will be the unfortunate soul that opens a dusty tome of mine will look at the works with compassion. And realize it was written by a foolish lady who resembles some of her characters too much for her own good." She finally confessed to herself looking out at the dreary view of Winchester.
"The wars have come and gone. We have yet again lost to the Americans. Hopefully it will be the last time we will declare war on the former colonies. And Napoleon is now in exile mercifully to never start another bloody conflict. So many dead and gone, face after face, name after name. Maybe the critics are correct in wondering why I never touched upon these tragic and grand affairs, but who am I to write and record such greatness, such sadness and in the end, such pain? All I can do is write for pleasure and to brighten lives as they come across my words. Perhaps succeed in making some laugh in spite of everything. And there are so many everything nowadays. Even I am tired most of my waking moments. I have barely the strength to go on writing. I can't leave my sailor alone though, that would be too cruel. Especially after I separated him from his Anne. And I know my faithful readers wait for me. Even it doesn't mean much for anyone else, for me that is more than enough. A hundred years from now I won't have a care, so why should I worry? I only hope those readers will look upon my work with charity."
Jane Austen was born on December 16, 1775 and passed away on July 18th, 1817 after suffering from what is believed to be Addison's diseases. But her works remain fresh, witty and charming as the day they came to life. Happy birthday dear lady and we do remember you with not only charity but also gratitude and admiration.