All language subtitles for Miss Austen Regrets (2008)

I think your sisters have drunk
too much of the orange wine.

You can bring your sister.
And your mother.

Miss Austen... Uh, Jane,

would you marry me
and be mistress of Manydown?

Yes, Harris.

I will.

Oh, I couldn't be happier!
Jane!

I'll go and tell Father.

Jane.

Are you sure?

Tell me I have done
the right thing.

Tell me I was right to change my mind.

Dear God, let me never regret this day.

Oh, I'm all fingers and thumbs
with these ribbons today.

It's not your fault.

This poor old bonnet
has breathed its last.

My dearest Fanny,

nothing could be more intriguing
than your latest letter.

Such a description of
your queer little heart.

This new young man you adore,
is he the one?

If we could only see into the future

and know in advance if our choices
will turn out to be wise.

Alas, you face the most momentous
decision of your life

with only your Aunt Jane to advise you.

Come to your cousin's wedding prepared
to discuss every delicious detail.

...look mercifully upon these,
thy servants,

that this woman may be loving
and amiable,

faithful and obedient to her husband.

O Lord, bless them both.

Aunt Jane, you've got to help me decide
because I can't.

I must meet your darling Mr Plumptre
as a matter of the greatest urgency.

Plumptre, Plumptre.

- Mrs Plumptre!
- Shh! Stop it! Everyone will hear.

Such a plump and prosperous name,
I fear you'll find him hard to resist.

Come home with us, Aunt Jane.

Father. Father. Tell Aunt Jane
she's got to come to Kent.

Please. I'm dying to know
what you think of him.

There may be an aunt who could resist
such an invitation,

but I am not that aunt.

Just don't think you've got any chance
of beating me to the altar.

- I'm expecting a proposal at any moment.
- That's such a silly old joke.

Learn from me, Fanny.

All any gentleman needs
is an opportunity.

- Mr Papillon.
- Miss Austen.

Lovely service.

Miss Austen, how kind you are.
How very kind.

My humble effort's
no match for your intellect, I'm sure.

- Surprisingly romantic.
- Romantic? Dear me, no.

I would have everyone marry
if they could. Don't you agree?

St Paul himself tells us
it's better to marry than burn.

Who could resist?

I'm convinced, Mr Papillon, that there's
not a single freeborn English lady,

even the most unlikely spinster,
who could fail to find happiness

if only our English gentlemen
would seize the moment.

Any moment, really.

Oh, very clever, I'm sure.

- What a lovely service.
- Lovely!

Good day to you, ladies.

Jane!

Silenced by the force of his passion.

You shouldn't torment the poor fellow.

Like a cat with a mouse. And it's cruel!

Mr Papillon is such a dry old stick.
I'm sure he doesn't notice.

Anyway, I'm a vicar's daughter.

Why shouldn't I make
a charming vicar's wife?

And you set a bad example to our niece.

The child is delightful.

To think of her married
to an ordinary gentleman from Kent...

Everyone from Kent
is always quite agreeable.

I don't want people
to be very agreeable.

It saves me the trouble of liking them.

Are you going to have time
for that in Kent?

I'll make time.

Help me, Cass. I'll be late.

Write to me every day.

Think of all the new people
she might meet.

Mother.

You, you turned your face to the wall
years ago:

But Jane, you're not going to tell me
she's not interested in gentlemen.

- She's met all the gentlemen in Kent.
- You girls!

What if there's someone better?

What if I marry Mr Plumptre
and I never meet him?

Someone better, I mean.

What if I pass him on the street
and I never know that he was the one?

And what if you do meet him
and he doesn't have any money?

But if I loved him
then nothing else would matter.

In heaven's name,
what gave you that idea?

Well, it says so in all of your books.

If that's what you think they say,
my dear,

perhaps you should read them again.

What's worse, do you think?

To marry the wrong man
or to die a lonely old maid?

There are worse things to die of.
You're not old.

I shall soon be 40!
That's almost old enough to boast about.

Well, we must look for a wealthy old
widower with six children.

Mmm, very attractive.

I bet you had hundreds of proposals
when you were my age.

Thousands!

I bet every young man
in the vicinity pined with longing.

- Alas, not for me.
- You must've been asked.

I never was, my dear.
I'm simply a mistress of all the theory.

And despite the shame of being old,
I'm quite happy to be so.

- It's much less messy.
- Were you really never in love?

The truth is, Fanny,
and this must be our secret,

you must never tell anyone.

The truth is,
I am she that loved and lost.

Who was he? Tell me.

I loved and lost and pined and yearned.

And then swore myself to solitude

and the consolations
of writing about it instead.

Did you really?

You read far too many novels.

Stop for a moment, please.

BoY: The coach is here!

Hello!

Nerve-wracking the idea she might
make the wrong choice of husband.

Alas, for fond fathers everywhere,

the days of arranged marriages
are long gone.

Mmm. It's hard for the poor child
without a mother to guide her.

You know, she will accept him
if he has your blessing.

The responsibilities of an aunt
are bottomless.

What do you think? Will he adore me?

Coloured petticoats and flounces now.

- They've had flounces for ages.
- It's quite short.

Well, if yours is too long,
I'll take my scissors to it.

Don't you dare.

oh, I'll just die on
the spot if you don't like Mr Plumptre.

I'm weak with adoration already.

Please don't expect a Mr Darcy.

My darling girl, this is the real world.

The only way to get a man like Mr Darcy
is to make him up.

I do long for the day
when every one of us on earth

can turn away from shallow
worldly desires,

believing, rejoicing, that our Lord
will reward us in heaven.

- In the meantime, however...
- In the meantime,

a writer like yourself is in such
a powerful position to encourage people

to be virtuous and that is why,
please don't be offended, Miss Austen,

why it worries me that so many of your
men of religion are figures of fun.

My mother...

My mother loves my foolish vicars.

- But I thought your father...
- A vicar?

Yes. A real vicar.
Whereas my foolish vicars are...

Are all made up.

Do you see? They're just stories.

"A clergyman has nothing to do
but be slovenly and selfish.

"Read the newspaper, watch the weather
and quarrel with his wife. "

Mansfield Park?

Have mercy on him, Fanny.

Do not oblige poor Mr Plumptre
to listen to any more of my ramblings.

- I could write a book.
- Please, feel free to do so.

And I will put myself on the sofa by the
fire and drink as much wine as I want.

Well, he's handsome, isn't he?

And his religious faith
is a point in his favour.

I like his quiet gentleman-like manners.

Sensible rather than brilliant.

There is nobody brilliant nowadays.

Will you recommend him?

Good Lord.
What do I know about any of it?

Precisely. Nevertheless...

Girls of 20 are so desperate
to be in love.

It's so hard to tell if it's real.

Everyone should have the chance
to marry once for love.

If they can.

Edward?

Anything wrong?

Fanny and I must visit our neighbours.

Don't worry, you don't have to come.

My darling Cassandra,
do not imagine

I have any real objection
to Mr Plumptre.

I have rather taken a fancy to him
than not.

Now, however, I am all alone.
What happiness.

At this present time,
I have five tables,

eight and twenty chairs
and two fires all to myself.

I am mistress of all I survey.

So where shall I begin?

Which of my important nothings
shall I tell you first?

Hello?

Edward?

Edward?

Good Lord!

Miss Austen.

Mr Bridges. What a lovely surprise.

Were we expecting you?

I'm late, probably, or early.

I was just on my way back to Ramsgate.

Then I can see exactly why you might
want to delay your arrival

as long as is decent.

It's my wife. Her health's not strong.
She needs the sea air.

Then... Then Ramsgate's just the place.

Fanny and Edward will be back
in time for dinner.

Oh, till then,
don't let me disturb your writing.

Oh, no, it's just a letter to my sister.

I can finish it later, by which time,
thanks to your appearance,

its contents will be far more
interesting to her.

You haven't changed at all.

No, it's true, Ramsgate is not
the most elegant of seaside towns.

But Harriet finds the air suits her.

My advice for a happy stay in Ramsgate
is to keep your face firmly south

towards the sea
and your back therefore...

North towards Ramsgate,
keeping my life where I can't see it.

I might find services
rather difficult to conduct.

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here
today in the sight of God

and a howling gale from France.

Are you happy in Ramsgate, Mr Bridges?

Yes.

Are you happy in Hampshire, Miss Austen?

Yes.

I was surprised to hear
that you had left Bath.

Dreadful multitude
of ugly women in Bath.

And as for the men...

Mr Bridges, I barely wrote
a useful word in ten years.

Then we walked
into the cottage in Hampshire

and I knew we'd never leave.

I knew my mother would be happy
and my sister would be comfortable.

You've left someone out.

And I would be free to write.

Things always turn out for the best.
Don't you agree?

Perhaps.

Shall I say yes to him, then,
if he asks me?

- Has he asked?
- No, but when he does.

Because, Aunt Jane,
the worst thing of all

is that we'll have to wait absolutely
years till he finishes his studies.

So you like him well enough
to marry him, but not enough to wait?

- Well, no.
- Makes perfect sense to me.

- Are you in love with him?
- Of course.

Because if you're not, that's an awful
lot of breath we've both been wasting.

There, you just admitted it,
love is the most important thing.

- But not the only important thing.
- There's money and position and family.

And friendship and passion
and shared purpose.

Fanny, do anything
but marry without affection.

Stop!

There.

Now you can turn down
all the marriageable men in Kent.

I shall be as polite to them
as their bad breath will allow.

- Fanny, my dear. So grown up!
- Mr Lushington.

My sister, Miss Austen.

Jane, may I present
Mr Stephen Lushington.

Member of Parliament for Canterbury.

I'm thrilled to find you
as charming in person

as you are on the page, Miss Austen.

I haven't said anything yet.

Discerning elements
at the Palace of Westminster

queue up for the chance of meeting you.

Shall I be stared at
like a wild beast in a zoo?

A wild beast, caught in my net,
right here in this library.

Just where you belong.

Surrounded and supported
by the wisdom of the ancients.

"With awe,
around these silent walks I tread

"These are the lasting mansions
of the dead. "

You like George Crabbe?

I always keep a copy of Crabbe
in my pocket

for when the House of Commons
becomes too tedious.

- I hope you mean Crabbe in one pocket.
- Pride and Prejudice in the other.

Mansfield Park beneath my hat.

Sense and Sensibility
tucked under my arm.

Oh!

And where are you going to put my Emma?

A new heroine.

My dear Miss Austen, you must allow me
to monopolise your attention shamelessly

till the end of dinner.

And beyond.

But it's Saturday night.

It's gone midnight,
it's Sunday, the Lord's day.

Please, Fanny,
it's past the time for dancing.

Your sisters are dancing,
showing their thick ankles.

Rescue poor Aunt Jane.

It doesn't look to me like someone
who needs rescuing.

She's having more fun than me
and it's my house!

Well, I'm going to bed.

Fanny!

I'm an ass. I know I am.

And a very bad guest. Please forgive me.

Only if you abandon
every single one of your principles

and dance with me immediately.

Miss Knight, may I have the pleasure
of this dance?

Once, when you were very little,
I opened the dancing

at a rather grand ball
with your Uncle Brook.

Narrow escape there, Aunt Jane.

You could've ended up
a vicar's wife in Ramsgate.

Far too many beautiful
young men here, Fanny.

How can you possibly choose one?

One, two...

John.

You let that horrid politician
flirt with you all night.

- I'm rather in love with him.
- Mmm-hmm.

He's clever and a man of great taste.

Ambitious and insincere.

It's a good thing I'm prevented
from setting my cap at him,

by his having a wife and ten children.

And he's ugly!

Well done, Fanny, you have
at last uncovered the true reason

why I never chose a husband.

Why? Because you never found one
handsome enough?

No! I never found one
worth giving up flirting for.

A castle? No!

Yes! It's been in the Wildman family
for centuries.

Yes, I can definitely see you
at the altar with Mr Wildman.

I like the idea of you in a castle.

And the next one.
Now, he looks very nice.

- Unaffected.
- Mmm.

- He's a bit boring.
- Mmm.

The Knatchbulls have pots of money.
Their father's a baronet!

Well, I like that quiet, sensible look.

He might do for you very well.

Now that must be Mr Hatton
you wrote to me about.

The one with the heavenly body.

Yes, but are there any castles
in his family?

No.

I don't know what I saw in him now.

Fanny Knatchbull, Fanny Hatton,
Fanny Wildman, Fanny Plumptre.

I shall marry him if he asks me.

I hope he asks me.

But I think you like any of the others
better than him.

Nonsense. Mr Plumptre has
a thousand good qualities.

If you overlook the coarse mother
and the sisters like horses.

Good prospects.

Good character.

He's a good match for you, Fanny.

I'm not like you, Aunt Jane.

More than anything else in the world,
I want to be married.

And I would have you marry

because I know you won't be happy
until you are.

Single women have a dreadful propensity
for being poor.

And the best recipe I know for happiness
is a large income.

Who's there? Show yourself!

Fanny, what on earth are you doing
out here?

- My fault, I'm afraid, Mr Bridges.
- Miss Austen!

Aunt Jane has accepted the awful duty
of offering me moral guidance.

In the shrubbery?

As good a place as any
to lead a young lady astray.

Fanny, go to bed now, please.

I was invited to stay here,
at Fanny's request,

to help her make a decision
about her Mr Plumptre.

I didn't know he'd made her an offer.

How does a gentleman's failure
to make an offer

interfere with a lady's ability
to decide whether she likes him or not?

And what lady
flirts shamelessly all night,

then lurks outside in the dark
gawping and gossiping?

Thank you for so freely sharing
your poor opinion

of my conduct and character.

Good night, Mr Bridges.

My dear Cassandra, I believe I drank
too much wine last night.

I know not else how to account
for the shaking of my hand today.

My hair was at least tidy,

which was all my ambition.

There you are. Everyone else is out,
taking the morning air.

I know. I'm very late down.

Thought I might catch you sitting
in a corner somewhere scribbling.

I'm not at all in the humour
for writing.

- Still going well, I hope.
- Well, Emma is nearly finished,

but Mr Egerton is refusing to publish
another edition of Mansfield Park

and I was wondering,

maybe we should find
a new publisher for Emma.

Maybe we should ask
for some more money, too.

Dear Lord, I do wish you wouldn't
think of it as writing for money.

Sense and Sensibility
has brought me �140.

May I not be proud of that?

Try to imagine how it reflects on us,
your brothers,

to have an unmarried sister
seeking employment.

Jane, I will always take care of you
and Cass and Mother,

but I'm a widower,
I have eleven children,

I inherited a house
I can't afford to run

and an estate riddled
with legal complications.

What complications?

I face a challenge to my inheritance.

A deed was drawn up wrongly,
so they say.

If they win, Jane,
I'll lose half of everything I own.

Not this house?

No, no. This house is quite safe.
I didn't make myself clear.

The writ only affects my claim
on my Hampshire properties.

- The cottage.
- Now, I don't want you to worry.

There'll always be a place
for you all here with us.

Edward, the cottage is where I write!

Oh, Jane, if only you'd been less proud.

If only you'd married.

But if everything on earth
is made by God,

including us and everything we do,
then that must include music.

Yes! Sacred music!
Devoted to magnifying his grace.

But do you think he never meant us
to dance?

- He did give us feet!
- Well, I know, of course, but I...

- oh, now you're making fun of me.
- I'm not!

- I know you think I'm too serious.
- I don't.

Like your Aunt Jane, always laughing
out of the side of her face.

Well, she doesn't! I don't either.

Please, let's not argue.

No, we mustn't argue.

You're right.

I'm sorry.

Oh, Fanny,

you think me so serious.

And here I am,

overcome by feelings of joy,

and I must ask you, um...

Could you, er... That is, may I...

Could you consider...

oh, how hard it is to find words
to express one's deepest feelings.

Oh, you're laughing.

Look, I know
I'm not brilliant with words.

Oh, no, you are. You are!

John?

Forgive me, forgive me, I, uh...

I think I might take a walk
to that line of trees.

Beeches, I think.

Beeches? Yes, I believe so.

Fagus sylvatica.

The dead leaves stay on the tree
all over the winter. Did you know that?

Fascinating subject, botany.

Oh, my God!

I shall deserve it if you never forgive
me for my dreadful rudeness last night.

You are forgiven everything except
your failure to ask me to dance.

What, and let you point out
how little my technique has improved

in all these years?

You were always enthusiastic,
which is what one needs most in a man.

I waited for news that you'd married.

As every woman knows,
there's a scarcity of men in general

and an even greater scarcity
of any that are good for much.

You can hide behind your clever words
as much as you like.

Good, because my clever words
will soon be the only thing

putting a roof over my head.
Or over my mother's or my sister's.

I'm to be my own husband it seems.

And theirs.

I'd have put a roof over all your heads

and cherished you, dear Jane,
till death did us part.

Aunt Jane!

Aunt Jane!

Aunt Jane, I need to speak to you.

My darling girl, when I consider how few
young men you have yet seen much of,

and how much temptation
the next six or seven years of your life

- will be full of...
- I'll be 27!

"And a woman of seven-and-twenty

"can never hope to feel
or inspire affection again. "

That was satire!

Just because you wrote that as a joke,
it doesn't stop it being true.

He thinks we both laugh at him.

He'll never pluck up the courage
to ask again.

I've missed my only chance.

You could have my widower.
All six children.

Why do you always turn everything
into a joke? This is real!

It's me, and all I want to be
is a girl and be pretty

and be loved by John Plumptre
and marry him like Anna married Ben.

You haven't got the first idea
what it's like.

Ben had a cousin

who came to visit Hampshire one summer
when I was 20, your age exactly.

Tom Lefroy was going to be a lawyer,
just like Mr Plumptre.

Shocking amounts of dancing went on,
I remember.

Shameless bouts of sitting together
and gazing at each other.

I was a horrible flirt.

Does this ring any bells?

What happened?

Wiser heads than mine noticed
that we neither of us had any money.

So at the end of the summer,
he went home.

Fortunate fellow married an heiress.

Was he the one?

No, he wasn't.

And I'm telling you this because
it hurt me for about five minutes

and then it passed.

You're so young.

Depend upon it, Fanny,
the right man will come along.

He never did for you.

"More than seven years were gone
since this little history

"of sorrowful interest
had reached its close.

"She hoped to be wise and reasonable
in time, but alas! Alas!

"She must confess to herself
that she was not wise yet. "

...ridiculous.
- I know!

"She had used him ill.

"Deserted and disappointed him,
and worse,

"she had shown
a feebleness of character in doing so,

"which his own decided
confident temper could not endure.

"She had given him up to oblige others.

"She had been forced into prudence
in her youth.

"She learned romance as she grew older.

"The natural sequence
to an unnatural beginning. "

I don't know how you can sit there
with dry eyes.

I never weep over anything
that might make me some money.

You could call it Persuasion.
The new publisher will be thrilled.

My darling brother is a genius.

So when's our publication date?

Don't really have one,
not a date as such.

But the contract...

The contract is, um, a work in progress.

Oh, Jane, the money he's offering.

- He wants all your books for �450.
- That's pitiful.

I'm a banker. If there's one thing
bankers know about, it's money.

You know you can rely on me.

Mademoiselle Jane, welcome to London.

Madam Bigeon, it's so good to see you.

What if I'm mad to think anyone
can love a horrible little snob

who can't mind her own business?

Emma? Everyone'll love her.

What if everyone thinks
it's not as good as Pride and Prejudice?

What if everyone thinks my best work
is behind me?

Henry?

Darling, what is it?

- Why hasn't he seen a doctor?
- Let him rest, mademoiselle.

He's always better by the morning.

Help! Oh!

Henry? Who is your doctor?

He hasn't got one.

It's too late to find anyone today.

- Excuse me, I'm looking for a doctor.
- Come with me.

- Are you the doctor?
- I'm one doctor among many.

I need your help.
My brother's terribly ill.

He's screaming with pain,
stomach pain of some sort.

It's been going on for ages.
He hasn't said a thing.

We don't live far away. Hand's Place.
I walked here myself.

- Alone?
- I had no choice.

I don't need a doctor.

And you mustn't go wandering the town
on your own, Jane.

You're fortunate to have
such a devoted sister, Mr Austen.

Would you excuse us?

He's so young,
I hope he knows what to do.

Not much fun for you, this.

Isn't that
what widowed brothers are for,

suffering terrifying illnesses
and giving their unmarried sisters

a chance to fuss and flap?

Pick up that notebook.

Certainly not. I'm not a writer today.

I'm your nurse.

You just write down
what I tell you to write.

Go on.

So...

To Mr John Murray, publisher.

No, Henry.

Why don't I just go to see
Mr Murray myself?

You can't go out
to a gentleman publisher's office.

It's not seemly, it's not respectable.

- I'd rather be rich than respectable.
- I couldn't agree more.

Glad to see you looking
a little brighter today, Mr Austen.

And Miss Austen.

I didn't understand last night
just who it was who brought me here.

I'm delighted to introduce myself to you
properly, Miss Austen.

Charles Haden, an admirer.

I'm surprised to hear
that you read novels, Mr Haden.

I'm not clever enough for you.
Gentlemen read better books.

The truth is,
I've read far more sentimental novels

than is quite good for my immortal soul.

You'll have to take that word
"sentimental" back,

if you want to truly prove
you've read mine.

Well, I was particularly entertained
to notice that Lizzie Bennett

only realises she loves Mr Darcy
when she sees how big his house is.

The moment for alarm has passed.

Bed rest and quiet
are what he needs now. This means you.

I've taken 20 ounces of blood,
but I fear

I shall have to come again tomorrow
and do the same.

Oh, good. I mean, um, just as you say.

Well, good day, Miss Austen. Ladies.

- See you tomorrow, then.
- It'll be my pleasure.

You must fancy Henry
in the back room upstairs,

and I am generally there also,
working or writing.

Henry calls himself stronger every day,

and Mr Haden keeps approving his pulse.

A young man said to be clever,
and he is certainly very attentive.

Tomorrow, he is to dine with us.
There's happiness.

We really grow so fond of Mr Haden
that I do not know what to expect.

- From Jane?
- No.

Mr H is reading Mansfield Park
for the first time

and prefers it to Pride and Prejudice.

But, Cassandra, you seem to be
under a mistake as to Mr H.

You call him an apothecary.
He is no apothecary.

He never has been an apothecary.
He is a Haden.

Nothing but a Haden.

A sort of wonderful,
non-descript creature on two legs.

Something between a man and an angel.

Infinities of love, J Austen.

Jane! God-like figures quiver
at the sight of his scalpel.

Jane!

She's in her own little world.

Mademoiselle?

Haden here has got
a jolly good idea for you.

Might even force a better offer
out of our publishers.

Talk to her, Haden.

Perhaps your brother
has not told you, Miss Austen,

but my senior partner has patients
in astonishingly high places.

Places of height beyond imagining.

My imagination flies very high.

Well, I happen to know
that the Prince Regent loves your books.

Oh, I hate that man.
I always take his wife's side.

Hide your true feelings as you will.

I'm told to expect a royal invitation
at any moment.

We are to attend His Royal Highness?

Not we, no. You, just you.
I'm only the messenger.

Well, I shall decline it.

The Prince Regent
is such a disagreeable man,

it's quite a misfortune
to be liked by him.

Oh, so you wish only to be read
by men you approve of?

Why shouldn't I choose my readers
as I choose my friends?

Because you'll never make your fortune.

Then I shall remain
poor and obscure forever.

No, on the contrary,

I would give a lot to see you in a fine
gown, sparkling in the best company.

And how does Mr Plumptre
like your coming to London without him?

Of course, he's completely devoted now.

Hangs off my every word.

Whenever I look at him,
he's gazing down and adoring me.

Aunt Jane, I don't know
if I do love him after all.

What strange creatures we are.

Soon as we are sure of a man's
attachment, we become indifferent.

Poor dear Mr Plumptre.

You must give him up.

No!

Whenever you are together,
behave with a coldness

that may convince him
that he has been deceiving himself.

But he'll be so hurt!

I have no doubt that he will suffer
a great deal for a time,

but it is no creed of mine that such
sort of disappointments kill anybody.

Now that I've arrived in London...

Where the streets are paved
with eager young gentlemen.

Fanny,

nothing compares with the misery
of being bound without love.

Bound to one and preferring another.

That is a punishment
even you do not deserve.

You've got a lovely curl
in your hair today.

Not nervous, surely?

Mr Haden, I don't know how to do this.

I have no experience.

You have something much more powerful
and much more desirable than experience.

Go on.

You have imagination.

Think of me cheering you on.

Your greatest supporter,
willing you to victory.

Miss Austen!

Miss Austen!

Miss Austen, the honour of your visit
is immense. It's just incalculable.

Now, the Regent has read and admired
all your publications.

His Royal Highness keeps copies
in every one of his residences.

Yes, indeed he does.
And even I, his humble librarian,

James Stanier Clarke,
I have read them all.

Twice.

Will you have cake?

I will.

I'm sure Emma will be a triumph.

All the same, I'm afraid that those
readers that liked Pride and Prejudice

will think it's too serious, and those
readers that liked Mansfield Park

will think it's not serious enough!

It's not possible, madam,
since with every new work,

your mind seems to increase its energy,
its powers of discrimination.

Your books reflect the highest honour
on your genius

and your principles.

They are my darling children.

I send them out into the world

to compete with the likes
of Sir Walter Scott and Lord Byron.

It's actually no competition
at all, dear madam.

The gentlemen are unreadable.

And yet, I have accomplished
so little in my life.

I have seen so little.
My work is so small.

- My canvas...
- Miss Austen.

...just a little bit of ivory,
two inches wide,

on which I work with so fine a brush.

You are quite at liberty
to dedicate Emma

to His Royal Highness.

Quite at liberty.

Um, perhaps, in some future work,

um, you could write
about the habits of life,

character, enthusiasm, of a clergyman.

Describe him burying
his own mother, as I did.

I've never recovered the shock.
Or... or...

Carry your clergyman to sea,

as the friend of some
distinguished n-naval character.

"Mr Clarke," said I,

"I am honoured.

"But a man such as that would have
to talk on subjects such as science

"and philosophy, of which a woman
like me can know nothing.

"Alas, I think I may boast myself to be,
with all possible vanity,

"the most unlearned
and uninformed female

"who ever dared
to call herself an authoress. "

- Bravo.
- You're so naughty.

You should take pity
on the poor kind soul.

I never take pity on anyone
to whom I'm not related.

Another reason to thank the Lord
each day that I'm your brother.

To our wicked Jane and to Emma.

Like her creator, your Emma is a jewel.

- To Jane and Emma.
To Jane and Emma.

And now that you have contrived
to get it dedicated by permission

to none other than the Prince Regent...

No, you contrived it,
for which I thank you most gratefully.

And Mr John Murray, publisher
of this parish, will have no choice

but to give it a swift print run.

I shall get two thousand copies
out of him at 21 shillings

for the three volumes.

- Oh, surely you can get more.
- As any publisher will tell you,

public taste tends more
to serious romance.

Alas, I couldn't write one of those
to save my life.

I prefer to let other people's pens
dwell on guilt and misery.

A toast to guilt and misery!

Guilt and misery.

Now, if we are to help you
make your fortune, Miss Austen,

we must help you to write
a proper modern novel.

The kind where every heroine must be
the daughter of a clergyman.

Perfectly good, tender, sentimental.
Have not the tiniest sense of humour,

speak several
foreign languages brilliantly

and be wonderful at music, obviously.

And which instrument
shall our new heroine play?

The piano because
it shows off her arms so beautifully.

Oh, what hero could be worthy
of such a paragon?

One who is too perfectly boring
and boringly perfect to contemplate.

You'll have to write his chapters,
Mr Haden.

Pictures of perfection
make me sick and wicked.

Yes, villains are
so much more attractive.

Totally unprincipled and heartless.
Desperately in love with the heroine.

He pursues her
with a relentless passion.

Our heroine is utterly beautiful and
her elderly father is utterly hopeless.

Oh, dear, please don't tell my brother.

Everywhere our heroine goes,
people fall in love with her

and she receives
repeated offers of marriage.

Then, after at least 20 narrow escapes
from falling into the arms of anti-hero,

many tears flow and then,
in the nick of time...

She marries the one
she was destined for all along.

Now, do you believe that, Miss Austen?

That destiny always provides us
with a perfect mate?

I do.

- When I'm writing a novel.
- So unromantic!

Ah, but your aunt's heroines
always get it right.

Each one marries a wealthy man,
each one marries him for love.

And you, Monsieur Haden,
what is your idea of the perfect wife?

A strong mind with sweetness of manner.

Um, well said, Haden, in this company.

Could you play this?

You shall have your sweet wife,

all gratitude and devotion.

I would wish her to be of a silent turn
and somewhat ignorant.

Fond of cold veal pies
and green tea in the afternoon.

You looked fagged, Henry.
I'll take you upstairs.

No fear.
I'm enjoying myself far too much.

Imagine, if you could take
Mr Plumptre's modesty...

- Mr Wildman's castle in Kent.
- And Mr Haden's...

I'm not sure I know the words
for what Mr Haden contributes.

Good Lord. What has become of
all the shyness in the world?

Can all the young men in London
be as flirtatious as Mr Haden?

Was that two chairs I saw you
and him sitting in or just the one?

- Aunt Jane, you're jealous!
- I'm an aunt.

- Still a woman.
- Still a cat when I see a mouse.

Well, you can have him, my dear.

I will not stand in the way
of your happiness.

Aunt Jane.

Aunt Jane.

The more I think about your Mr Plumptre,
the warmer my feelings become.

The more strongly I feel
the desirableness

of your falling in love with him again.

You like Mr Haden, don't you?

He has very good teeth.

Lf, when you were younger...

I should never have wanted
to become a doctor's wife.

There's not nearly enough money
in medicine.

Did I tell you, mademoiselle,
I have a letter from my friend

living in Paris?

She has read a wonderful new book.

It is called Raison et Sensibilit�.

Sense and Sensibility.

My friend says whoever the woman is
who wrote this book,

she knows more about love
than anyone else in the world.

Like someone who can't cook
writing a recipe book.

Passion is meant for the young.
It fades so quickly.

Not in our dreams.

Comfort remains, friendship remains.
If you are lucky as I was.

Happiness in marriage is entirely
a matter of chance.

But the fuss we make
about who to choose...

And love still dies
and money still vanishes.

And every woman, spinster, wife,
every woman has regrets,

so we read about your heroines
and feel young again

and in love and full of hope
as if we can make that choice again.

And do it right this time.

This is the gift which God
has given you.

It is enough, I think.

"For a few moments,

"her imagination
and her heart were bewitched.

"She had some feelings
which she was ashamed to investigate.

"They were too much like joy,
senseless joy.

"Anne hoped she had outlived
the age of blushing.

"But the age of emotion
she certainly had not.

"All of the overpowering, blinding,
bewildering,

"first effects of strong surprise
were over with her.

"Still, however, she had enough to feel.

"It was agitation, pain, pleasure.

"A something between delight and misery.

"The room seemed
full of persons and voices. "

"A thousand feelings rushed on Anne,
of which this was the most consoling.

"But it would soon be over. "

Jane.

Ready.

We're going to be late!

Coming!

Slowcoach!

PAPILLoN: Sanctify this water
to the mystical washing away of sin.

And grants that this child,
now to be baptised therein,

may receive the fullness of his grace

and ever remain in the number
of his faithful and elect children,

through Jesus Christ, our Lord.

- Amen.
Amen.

Let's go straight home.

It's just a bit of backache, really.
I'm well.

Really, don't make a fuss.

Poor animal.
She'll be worn out before she's 30.

Girls!

Well, Fanny,
now you've become almost an aunt,

you are a person of some consequence.

You must excite great interest
whatever you do.

My dear, what is it?

Mr Plumptre's got engaged
to somebody else.

You could at least try
and be upset for me.

My dear, sweet, perverse Fanny.

You did not choose
to have him for yourself.

Why not allow him to take comfort
where he can?

I would have chosen him,
but you ruined it.

- I did not.
- You laughed at him.

And every time I looked at him,
I saw him through your eyes.

You frighten me out of my wits.

You cannot let anything depend
on the opinion of your maiden aunt.

Oh, don't worry, I know that now.

And at your time of life,
making a spectacle out of yourself

- for that silly butterfly of a doctor...
- Girls!

...in front of everyone.
- Girls!

How could I ever have thought you knew
the first thing about real love?

Girls, come this instant and admire
this beautiful little creature.

Isn't she lovely?
She has the Austen eyes, I think.

Haven't you, little beauty?
Yes, that's right.

Aunt Jane,
I'd like you to meet my Jemima.

Now I've met your Jemima,
I'd like to introduce you to my Emma.

Reading? You won't have time
for that sort of childishness now, Anna.

Take her from me a moment
will you, Jane?

There.

Oh... oh, not like that.
She's not a sack of potatoes.

Look at the dear girl.
Clever as the day is long,

but give her a baby
and she has no idea which end is up.

Hardly like a woman at all.

She doesn't mean to be cruel.

I know.

And you say that you are happy
and she takes you to your word.

I am happy, Cass.

Something happened to you in London.

Something between a man and an angel.

Mr Haden was young and unsuitable,

and he thought himself
very clever and very fine.

- And you thought him?
- I didn't think him anything at all.

Thinking didn't come into it.

My mind was not involved.

You take me back to feelings
I thought were long forgotten.

Feelings best left buried
for two old ladies like us.

- You could have...
- No, I couldn't!

- Yes, you could!
- No.

I'm happy too, Jane.

Stuck here, looking after Mother and me?

Well, someone has to do it.

- Henry!
- Shh.

Don't wake Mother.

We weren't expecting you till tomorrow.

It means I've lent too much
and I've borrowed too much and now...

oh, God, Jane,
don't look at me like that.

Yes!

My bank has collapsed which means,
yes, I'm ruined.

- Bankrupt.
- But Edward could help you.

Edward has his lawsuit.
He has enough problems of his own.

Edward's already guaranteed my loans
up to �20,000.

I don't think he'll ever see
that money again.

Oh, Henry.

- Oh, God.
- Now do you see?

I'll take the whole family down with me.

- Mother.
- Don't say a word.

I'll tell her myself.

I'll tell her tomorrow.

- Where's she going now?
- Oh, leave her be.

Do you want to go back?

I don't want anything.

I want to make more money.

I want you and Mother to be comfortable

and not always terrified that our
brothers are going to lose the house

and everything we have.

I want to shake off this awful tiredness
and I can't.

We could take you to the seaside.

Nobody loses their appetite
at the seaside.

Nobody feels gloomy at the seaside.

Nobody suddenly feels so weak
they can't stand.

Please, tell me
why you're angry with me.

Why should I be angry with you?

I'm angry with myself.

I can't be ill.

I have a book to finish.

There are so many characters in my head,
so many stories,

so little time.

- Jane, let me...
- Just leave me alone.

Uh-uh. I saved that bit for Henry.

No, please take it, Mr Papillon,
I'm quite full.

Where's your appetite today?

I wonder how many more she'll have.

Let's hope not as many
as your poor mother.

It's not like in the storybooks, Fanny.

- Books always end with weddings.
Leave Fanny alone, Mother.

You'll spoil her happy ending.

All the interesting business
happens after that.

Mrs Austen!

Like finding out that how ever much
you love the man you married,

you love your children more.

Right! Uncle Henry saves the day.

BoY: Come on, Uncle Henry!
Henry!

On your way back to Ramsgate again,
Mr Bridges?

I fear there is no escaping Ramsgate.

Oh!

Oh, Cassandra has caught you very well.

I believe she has.

Sickness is a dangerous indulgence
at my time of life.

When we met in Kent,
I believe I spoke very rashly.

You're not going to be so ungallant
as to take it back now.

I wouldn't have prevented you
from writing if that was your fear.

How could I have written
if we'd been married?

All the effort of mothering...

We'd have been too poor.

You're poor anyway.

We'd have made each other laugh.

Is that what marriage is?

I suppose no man of flesh and blood
would ever be worthy

of the creator of Mr Darcy.

You're all quite wrong about him.

He wouldn't have done for me at all.

If I had plucked up the courage
after we danced at the ball...

We'd have been too young.

And later, when I did ask you?

I simply went off the whole idea
of marrying anybody.

Tell me now you regret it.

Tell me now that sometimes in the night
you think of me.

Tell me even if it isn't true.

What on earth would be the point?

Henry has made
a complete hash of telling Mother.

She's talking very wildly,
old grudges re-surfacing.

Whatever she says, Jane,
don't take it personally.

She's not angry with me at all.

I've had it with banking, Jane.

I'm going to become a vicar.

My sons have always done their best
for this family.

But she is a selfish, selfish girl.

I saw you with Mr Bridges.

Flirting like a silly girl.

He's a married man!

If you wanted to be Mrs Bridges,
the vicar's wife,

you should've said yes
when he asked you.

That's easy, I didn't want to.

It's not as if you were waiting
for a better offer,

the rich man with the big house.
No, you had that and threw it away!

You threw your life away.
And mine! And your sister's with it!

'Cause, no, he wasn't good enough for
clever Miss Jane with her fancy ideas.

No, she was worth much more than
Mr Harris Bigg with his stately home

- and his thousand acres.
- Oh, Mother, please, it was years ago.

Yeah, 15 years.
It's engraved on my heart.

Fifteen years since the night
you let her run away

like a spoilt child
from marriage and security.

I couldn't marry a man I didn't love!

Then why did you say yes to him?

- "Yes, Harris, I will be Mrs Bigg. "
- I made a mistake.

Your mistake was to get up the next
morning and take your promise back.

What did you want me to do?
Sell myself for money?

We would've been rich. Yes.

And what does that mean?

Rich is just another word for safe.

oh, Mother, I beg you.

Don't you protect her,
you've done enough of that!

You sacrificed all our security
on a principle, Jane.

And has it made you happy?

Has it?

Look at you.

You're ill.

Nobody tells me anything,
but I have eyes in my head.

Oh, my poor lonely girl.

- Aunt Jane.
- Not now, Fanny.

You said yes because he was rich
and no because you didn't love him.

- That's so romantic.
- Would you choose my life?

You can be angry with me, Fanny,

but don't you dare feel sorry for me.

Harris Bigg,
Brook Bridges, Tom Lefroy.

And all any one of those men might
have done is make me quite happy.

Quite happy is not enough.

Quite happy

is not the ending I want to write
for my story.

And quite poor is the absolute limit.

No, the only regret I have
about not marrying Harris Bigg

is that I'm going to die.

And I'm going to leave
you and Mother with nothing.

Oh, don't. Don't, don't, Jane.

It's my fault.

If I'd have stayed silent,
if I hadn't persuaded you...

All that night I nagged and nagged you
to change your mind.

I made you refuse him.

You made me see the choice
for what it was.

Because of me,
you chose loneliness and poverty.

Because of you, I chose freedom.

I didn't do it for you, Jane.

I know.

I'm so ashamed.

Cassie.

Everything I am

and everything I have achieved,
I owe to you.

To the life we have made here.

To the love that we have together.

This life I have

is what I needed.

It's what God intended for me.

I'm so much happier
than I thought I'd be.

So much happier than I deserve to be.

I am so thirsty.

- Your mother sent me.
- Oh! Thank you.

- Please let me see Aunt Jane.
- Not now.

Please, there's so much
I need to ask her.

- Maybe tomorrow.
- Fanny.

I'm still going to marry Mr Papillon.

So you're welcome to the horrid old
widower and his six children.

A widower with six children.

Jane was right as usual.

Annoying girl.

Dearly beloved, we are gathered
together here in the sight of God

in the face of this congregation,
to join this man and this woman...

Don't be sad, Aunt Cass.

Not tonight.

I'm more than happy for you, Fanny.

My husband says
I'm the only person in the world

in whose society he can find happiness.

I'm glad he knows how lucky he is.

What's that you're doing?

Don't worry, I've saved you the ones
where she mentions you.

Don't!
You can't burn Aunt Jane's letters.

You still believe
there's a secret love story to uncover?

Maybe I still hope there is.

She was the sun of my life,

the gilder of every pleasure,

the soother of every sorrow.

I had not a thought concealed from her,

and it's as if I lost a part of myself.

My husband sent me
to ask you for a dance.

Your Aunt Jane was the dancer
in this family.

When I look out
on such a night as this,

I feel as if there could be neither
wickedness nor sorrow in the world.

You are the delight of my life.

Fanny, listen to your own heart now.