Gifts

My husband was sure there would be no gift shop at 8 College Street, the Winchester house where Jane Austen died, and which opened to the public for the first time this summer. Surely, he argued, it would be in terrible taste to hawk Austen-themed merchandise in such a sad and sacred place.

Oh, you sweet summer child.

Of course there was a gift shop. (I bought a commemorative tea towel, while scorning the mug attributing to Sense and Sensibility a quote from “Catharine, or the Bower.”)

In fact, there was a gift shop everywhere I went during the ad hoc Austen 250 pilgrimage I undertook during my visit to the UK last month. There were Austen-as-Rosie-the-Riveter mugs in Reading, where Austen attended school. There were Austen-cartoon keychains and coasters in Southampton, where she lived with her brother Frank’s family. There were branded dog treats and “Obstinate, headstrong girl” lollipops in Chawton, where she wrote or revised all six of her novels. There were Christmas tree ornaments at Winchester Cathedral, where she’s buried.

Reading Museum

SeaCity Museum, Southampton

Winchester Cathedral

Reading Museum SeaCity Museum, Southampton Winchester Cathedral

Jane Austen's House, Chawton

Jane Austen's House, Chawton

Jane Austen's House, Chawton Jane Austen's House, Chawton

Inside the second-floor rooms at 8 College Street, however, it was blessedly possible to tune out the noisy commercialism and try instead to imagine the quiet, sad weeks the Austen sisters spent as lodgers, vainly seeking a cure for Jane’s debilitating illness.

The building, which is owned by Winchester College, the venerable boys’ boarding school, was used as faculty housing until a few years ago, and in preparation for this summer’s anniversary opening, the college undertook some tasteful conservation work. Rooms have been repainted in colors discovered beneath layers of later papering. A few diagrams and information placards hang on the walls. Down the street, the college has mounted a display of its Austen connections, including school rolls listing the names of some of the eight Austen nephews who were pupils there.

But overall, the curatorial touch is appropriately minimal, offering the chance to experience the space mostly unmediated.

Near the exit, bulletin boards display cards filled out by visitors, in response to the prompt, “What Does Jane Austen Mean to You?” The testimonials range from the touching (“Jane Austen got me through some tough times”) to the hilarious (“Her use of the semi-colon made it my favorite piece of punctuation”), with a detour into the semi-delusional (“Jane has taught us that if you have faith and belief in yourself you can write a novel!”) 

The apartment overlooks a pleasant street and garden, and natural light streams in; it’s a relief to know that Austen, while hardly rich, didn’t die in squalor. Yet it’s hard to overlook how small a space she inhabited by the end. As she declined toward death, her world had shrunk to just a few modest rooms.

She takes up a lot more space now.