“I wrote of love, money, and power from a creaking cottage door, published as 'A Lady,' and never married, while my brothers chased French ships.”
I was born in 1775 at Steventon, a rector’s daughter with a lively household, a good library, and assemblies enough to observe how fortunes, tempers, and expectations arrange themselves in a country room. I began early—nonsense, burlesque, and small dramas for home performance—teaching myself how a faint blush or a careless remark might decide a life.
Removal to Bath unsettled me; my father died there, and we daughters learned again the arithmetic of reduced circumstances. At Manydown I once accepted a proposal at night and refused it with the morning light, preferring plain comfort in my own mind to an establishment without it. I never married.
Chawton, in 1809, restored quiet industry. I kept a small table near a door that creaked; I would not have it mended, for the warning let me slip my pages away. There I revised old manuscripts and sent them into the world—first Sense and Sensibility, then Pride and Prejudice, Mansfield Park, and Emma—anonymously, “By a Lady.” I sold the copyright of Pride and Prejudice outright and watched others profit more handsomely than its author. At the Prince Regent’s librarian’s urging, I dedicated Emma to His Royal Highness, though my feelings were not solicitous.
Ill-health pursued me to Winchester, where I died in 1817. Afterward, my family brought out Northanger Abbey and Persuasion; a small unfinished tale, later called Sanditon, remained a fragment. My sister Cassandra kept my best counsel—and destroyed many letters—so you must take the novels for what I wished to leave.
I wrote equality into law, and in 1802 I restored slavery.
Start the conversationI trained for the pulpit, sailed for geology, and returned with a theory I dared not publish for twenty years—ask me why a barnacle delayed me.
Start the conversationI bound planets with number, yet spent more ink on prophecy and alchemy, and helped send counterfeiters to the gallows.
Start the conversationI wrote of Rome and Denmark having never seen either, and men still swear I knew their hearts.
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