#jane austen letter

[flowerytale]

"I wish you joy" Jane Austen, from a letter to her brother Frank (26 July 1809)

[amicus-noctis]

“I am not what happened to me, I am what I choose to become.” ― Carl Gustav Jung

Drawing: "Crouching Figure of Atlas" by Baldassare Tommaso Peruzzi

[noonemonitorsmyscreentime]

Darcy: She hates me, she hates me. Nothing I can do to fix that right now. But over my dead body, she'll like Wickham.

[dark-romantics]

~ Jane Austen / Sense and Sensibility

[anneslovegood]

“classic literature is so boring, why do high schools never change the reading requirements for kids? how can these books still be relevant?!”

oh, honey, if you only knew the amount of teen romcoms based on classic literature

[anghraine]

I love that Elizabeth and Darcy are so ready to effectively tell each other they're full of shit. This happens a bunch of times, but I was re-reading their conversation at the Netherfield Ball and they're both kind of refreshingly Done.

[Darcy:] “Do you talk by rule, then, while you are dancing?” [Elizabeth:] “Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together; and yet, for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible.” [Darcy:] “Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?” “Both,” replied Elizabeth archly; “for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the éclat of a proverb.” “This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure,” said he.

It's also pretty funny, because I suspect Darcy is thinking of this sort of thing in a later conversation at Rosings:

“You mean to frighten me, Mr Darcy, by coming in all this state to hear me. But I will not be alarmed, though your sister does play so well. There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me.” “I shall not say that you are mistaken,” he replied, “because you could not really believe me to entertain any design of alarming you; and I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance long enough to know, that you find great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions which, in fact, are not your own.”

[4ever-feral]

The sluttiest thing a man can do is walk across a misty field in an unbuttoned white shirt at dawn.

[becasaurusbex]

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of a copy of pride and prejudice must be in want of a massive fancy house, fancy letter paper, and a few proper fancy dresses

[crazy-ache]

Jane Austen's most romantic letter, if it had been written by Lucien Vanserra (Persuasion x Elucien)

Or what would happen if Lucien overheard Elain have a conversation about the bond? And what if he wrote a gut-wrenching love confession in said letter? Inspired by literature's most infamously romantic letter ever written.

Some text is directly taken from Chapter 23 of Persuasion by Jane Austen.

"We will write the letter to Helion we were talking of, Rhysand, now, if you will give me materials."

Materials were at hand, on a separate table; Lucien went to it, and nearly turning his back to the rest of the Inner Circle, was engrossed by writing.

Elain eyed him carefully, studying the leather strap that held back his long, molten red hair. Clearing her throat, she found Nesta across the room by the open window of the parlor as they were both on the outskirts of the Inner Circle’s political discussions. It was a respectable distance from where Lucien was writing at the desk, although still somewhat nearby. 

“I have a question for you,” Nesta turned to her younger sister, face like stone. “One that I have been thinking about for some time. What do you think our parents would have thought about the mating bond?” 

With wide, brown eyes Elain sucked in her breath. It was an unexpected question, but also a familiar one. For her thoughts had circled the very same doubts and insecurities that plagued her sister. “Well,” Elain wrung her hands nervously. “Mother would have adored Feyre’s, being mated to a High Lord after all. But if she didn’t like the outcome, she would have demanded a way to break it or alter it for her own advantage.” 

Nesta’s wicked grin revealed an agreement, knowing full well their mother would have been furious at her marriage and bond with an Illyrian general, and her matching status as a Valkyrie now. 

“As for father, well, I suppose, based on what he discussed with me in the past—there is a small chance he would have been disappointed.” Her voice dropped in both volume and confidence, barely escaping as a whisper passed her lips. As if she was instinctually afraid someone would hear, perhaps someone sitting across the room. 

Elain felt compelled to explain further. “He always told me the most important thing to find in a husband was true love. That I should not settle for anyone less than a kind, loyal heart who loves every part of me, because that kind of love will never leave you.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Nesta regarded her with furrowed eyebrows. “And you do not believe that a mating bond can also encompass those very same feelings? That same love?” 

She considered her question carefully, chewing on her bottom lip. “Perhaps it can, but how can you know it is true? That it is not just the manifestation of desire in its place?” It was always that doubt, that fear, that crept into the darkest crevices of her heart. For as long as those shadows existed, she could not bring herself closer to her own mate, afraid she would be unable to determine the answer. In return, she was afraid of what she could possibly want or feel for him.

“I wish I could make you comprehend, Elain.” Nesta frowned, “I wish I could properly convey the feeling of how your soul glows when your mate loves you—”

Before Nesta could continue, Elain found herself apologizing with a hand on her elbow. “Gods forbid that I should undervalue the love and bond you share with Cassian, or Feyre’s either for that matter. It is a reminder that bonds can be true and constant attachments.”

She could not immediately have uttered another sentence; her heart was too full, her breath too much oppressed.

“You’re a good sister,” Nesta replied affectionately and Elain wonder if her sister could see past her tenderness, if anyone could witness the mask of kindness that Elain could so easily put on for the sake of others to hide her own feelings. The conversation faded as Feyre now joined them with Nyx on her hip, a welcome distraction for Elain as the three of them turned to him. 

“Ready to go?” Cassian’s voice eventually broke through the hum of the room, an echo across the parlor. “We need to meet with Vassa and Jurian.” Lucien was folding up a letter in great haste, and either could not or would not answer fully.

“Yes,” he said. “I will winnow us. I will be ready in half a minute.” 

Cassian left to wait for him at the front door, and Lucien, having sealed his letter with great rapidity, was indeed ready, with a hurried and agitated air, as if he was greatly impatient to leave. Elain could not understand it. Cassian had given her a smile and shoulder a warm squeeze as he left the room, but from Lucien himself, not a single word. He had passed out of the room without a look.  

Elain moved closer to the table where he had been writing, when suddenly she heard footsteps returning; the door opened and it was Lucien. He gave her a polite nod and gestured to where he had forgotten his gloves, instantly crossing the room to the desk. He drew out a letter from under the scattered papers, placed it before Elain with eyes glowing in longing fixed on her, and hastily collected his gloves, once again out of the room before anyone could even be aware he had been in it at all. 

The interaction was almost beyond expression. The letter, with strokes of pen that were hardly legibly, as if rushed, read “Elain Archeron,” was evidently the one which he had been folding so hastily. While he had supposedly been writing to Helion, he had also been addressing her. On the contents of that letter depended all which this world could do for her. Anything was possible. Sinking into the chair which he had occupied, succeeding to the very spot where he had leaned and written, her eyes devoured the following words:

“I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when this bond first snapped, two and a half years ago. Dare not say that a mate’s love cannot be true, that his love is influenced by our tether. I have loved another, but none like you. Unjust I may have been, distant and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Velaris. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these past few days after Solstice, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine, I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish your true thoughts through the bond when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent female! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among males. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating in your mate,  L.V. I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow the court, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter the Night Court this evening or never again.” 

Such a letter was not to be soon recovered from. 

[flowerytale]

Jane Austen, from a letter to her sister Cassandra Austen

[amicus-noctis]

“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.” ― Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets

Painting: Ambrogio Alciati - Le Baiser (The Kiss) (1900)

[luciferslilith7]

It's always "To be loved by a writer"

And never "To love a Writer"

I too want to be the plot for once, just once. Please.

[wring-wraith]

thinking about this bad summary of Pride and Prejudice I made in eighth grade so I wouldn’t forget the plot while doing a report

[adobongsiopao]

I still love this version of "Persuasion" starring Amanda Root and Ciaran Hinds. It's really great.

[talesoflore]

Jason Todd would text with perfect grammar and capitalization.

[sailforvalinor]

People calling Fanny Price weak and passive as if every other Austen protagonist (yep, even Lizzie, maybe even especially Lizzie) wouldn’t have crumpled under the pressure in her circumstances is absolutely hilarious