​   “[Jane] Austen is a novelist who tells you exactly how rich each of her characters is.”
   So says an October 2020 ​New Yorker article, and who would dispute it? Mr. Darcy's entrance into the ballroom was followed by a "report which was in general circulation within five minutes... of his having ten thousand a year." Everyone seems to know how much money everybody else has: Mr. Collins knows Elizabeth is only entitled to one thousand pounds in the four percents after her mother’s death. 
     A poem by W.H. Auden, quoted above, surmises that Austen might be shocked to meet Lord Byron in heaven, but she is herself shocking because she's so frank and unsentimental about "the economic basis of society." However, as I’ve come to realize, the statement: “Jane Austen’s novels are preoccupied with money” is incomplete and somewhat misleading. The statement should be, “Jane Austen’s novels, like most novels of her time, were preoccupied with money.”  
    Many, many, novels of this period include exact descriptions of incomes, expectations, disappointments, and inheritances, especially as they relate to someone’s ability to get married. You can literally pick any18th-century novel at random and find passages referring to these things. And, just as in Sense & Sensibility, the financial circumstances of the main characters are often laid out in the introductory passages.  Here is a sampling:  

   In Jane West's A Gossip's Story (1796), people talk about Marianne, the heiress of fifty thousand pounds: "Rumour on this occasion acted in her usual way, increasing it to one hundred thousand pounds, for the many-tongued goddess always enlarges the possessions of the wealthy."
​   Sarah Scotts’ 1766 novel Sir George Ellison opens with the situation and family tree of a man descended from “an ancient and opulent family,” who decided to give his son George "two thirds of the sum of £4,000 pounds of which he was possessed." More last-will-and-testament-type prose follows: the father “took a bond from his son, which secured to [his siblings] in case of their father’s death, their share of the 4000 pounds to be paid them in two years after his decease, if by that time of age, and obtained his promise, that during those two years, the money should bear six per cent interest, thus providing for their convenience as much as could be done without hurting their elder brother, whom possibly a more speedy payment might distress.”
    In Charlotte Smith’s Celestina (1791), the author explains why the family estate is sadly encumbered. She goes back to before the time of Charles the First, down through the great-grandfather and grandfather of the last owner, “but the manners of the times in which he lived; and a disposition gay and volatile, had led the last possessor into expenses, which, if they did not oblige him to sell, had obliged him to mortgage great part of this, as well as all his other estates; and being charged at his death with twelve hundred a year to his widow, and the interest of ten thousand pounds given to his daughter, they slowly and with difficulty produced, under the management of very careful executors, little more than sufficient to pay such charges, and the interest of the money for which they were mortgaged...[and so on]”
   In Elizabeth Helme’s Louisa, or, the Cottage in the Moor (1787), a widow named Mrs. Rivers narrates her backstory to Louisa. In introducing herself and her own circumstances, she goes back to her grandfather and, over several pages, explains his social standing, the source of the family income, the grandfather's lack of thrift, his purchase of an army commission for his son, the income her mother brought to the marriage, her parents' income and how they handled their money--and all of this to a total stranger who has stumbled upon her cottage!  "My father was the only son of a gentleman of small fortune, who had a place in one of the public offices, which brought him about four hundred pounds a year. By living up to the full of what he possessed, he had it only in his power to procure a pair of colours for his son. [who advanced in the army, then returned home] “where, after remaining two years, he closed his only parent’s eyes (his mother expiring in giving him birth). [He went abroad and] married the daughter of an officer lately dead, who had two thousand pounds in the British funds.... (etc.)"

   These novels reflected the reality of their times; birth and income were crucial matters in 18th century England. Your parentage determined whether you were of the gentility or the nobility, and your ability to live in the rank to which you had been born depended on your income, which could basically only come from land, inheritance, a fortune derived from the East or West Indies, or some genteel profession.
    In the New Yorker article referenced above, professor Louis Menand explains the "joke" behind Austen's remark that Augusta Hawkins  brought “so many thousands as would always be called ten” to her marriage with Mr. Elton. "Austen’s nineteenth-century readers would have known... a fortune of ten thousand pounds represents the minimum point on the money curve.” Ten thousand pounds invested at five percent yields 500 pounds a year. In Alfred, or the Wilds of Strathnarven, a long-lost rich uncle in declares upon meeting his poverty-stricken niece that he would give her £10,000 on her wedding-day. In real life, the governor-general of Bengal, Warren Hastings, gifted £10,000 to his god-daughter Eliza, Jane Austen's cousin.
  While 500 pounds a year wouldn't fund a lavish lifestyle, it would provide that cushion of safety that kept you in the genteel class. As Elinor and Marianne's conversation in Sense & Sensibility makes clear, you'd need more than £500 a year to live in style. Marianne named £2,000 a year as "a competence," the minimum amount of money you'd need to rise above sordid considerations about money. Otherwise, “money can only give happiness where there is nothing else to give it."
 In fact, this "was a substantial sum," Shannon Chamberlain writes, "enough to place a family in what we would now call the one percent." When we understand how few people had £2,000 or more annually, we understand why Marianne is being so silly.
    In Constance (1785), the heroine’s father has that desirable £2,000 a year, but he lives beyond his income; he dies, leaving his widow and daughter in debt. The author gives us the details: “Five thousand pounds in the funds had been left to [Constance’s mother] by a relation soon after her marriage, the interest of which her husband [had promised to] accumulate as a fortune for his daughter,” but dad invested it all in a canal scheme.
   The widow moves in with her relatives, rents out the mansion, and hopes the canal will pay off one day. She's left with £300 a year and Constance gets £100.
    To reiterate, this kind of specificity about money, which we are told is a feature of Austen's​ novels, is easily to be found in many novels.   
     If we are talking about Austen's literary merits, I think she is without question the best writer of her era, and one of the best writers of any era. But when you say "Austen talks about money,"  I think it's only fair to ask, compared to whom? 
    Nevertheless, many modern critics claim that Austen's references to money have a special significance. Next post.

   Three days before her death, Jane Austen wrote a witty poem about St. Swithin, the patron saint of Winchester from which I take the quote: "But behold me immortal." ​Austen died on July 18, 1817 and was laid to rest on July 24.

  As we know, the fact of Austen's being a novelist is not mentioned on the stone slab that covers her grave and this has been the subject of much commentary, speculation, and even criticism. 
   The critic Margaret Kirkham says Austen's plaque is "certainly remarkable in its insistence upon Christian virtue and total silence about the literary distinction which had, presumably, earned her the honor of a cathedral burial."
 It seems to me that that your gravestone would be the most unremarkable place for your relatives to insist on your Christian virtues. Kirkham's implication, I suppose, is that the Austens are protesting too much. And we don't know if Austen's burial in the cathedral had any connection to her authorship. (See my previous post for some surmises on why Austen was buried in the cathedral.)
    However, other female authors, as we will see, were also praised for their Christian virtues on their gravestones. As for the contention that it was "remarkable" for all mention of Austen's writing to be omitted, we'll look into that as well.  
   Lately, I've been diving into the novels of the long 18th century and comparing them to Austen's. (For example, here and here). It occurred to me to ask: did other authors announce their authorship on their tombstones? I started checking, but quickly realized I was asking an apples-to-oranges question.  The other authors were known as authors in their lifetimes. Some were very famous. Sometimes the inscription in question is not on their tombstone, but on a memorial plaque. Sometimes the inscription is contemporaneous with their burial, and sometimes it's erected after their death by admirers. That said, if you'd like a nice graveyard tour, come along with me:

     The plaque mentions "her writings" and her fame but it also stresses Burney's sweet and noble disposition and her faith in her Redeemer, just as Austen's plaque does.  ​

  Mary Brunton (1778 – 1818), also has a memorial plaque near her grave and here we have an example of one which mentions authorship, even a book title. It says she is the "authoress of Self Control." Mary Brunton's novels had dramatic incidents but were very moralistic and overtly Christian; does this make it more acceptable for a plaque in a churchyard?
   Self Control, which was a best-seller in its day, is now most famous for what Austen said about it: "I am looking over Self Control again, and my opinion is confirmed of its being an excellently-meant, elegantly-written work, without anything of nature or probability in it. I declare I do not know whether Laura's passage down the American river is not the most natural, possible, everyday thing she ever does."  

   ​Charlotte Turner Smith (1749-1806) had an interesting and tragic life story which she drew from when devising the plots for her novels. Married at only 15, she and her husband (whom she grew to despise) had 12 children. She wrote to support her family and tried to keep her husband's hands off her earnings. Her best-selling works include The Old Manor House and Celestina. She was an influential and prolific writer, but she died in poverty.
   This post says "the exact location of her burial is not certain" but she was probably buried with her mother. Her memorial plaque was placed in a nearby church. "It is curious that the memorial makes no direct reference to Smith’s outstanding and influential literary achievements, but merely to her 'TALENTS and VIRTUES'. The only hint of her poetry is the carving of a lyre at the top."

   Let's look at what was said about Elizabeth Robinson Montagu, (1718-1800). Her memorial plaque commemorating her, her husband, and their infant son, is also in Winchester Cathedral.
  Wikipedia describes her as "a British social reformer, patron of the arts, salonnière, literary critic and writer, who helped to organize and lead the Blue Stockings Society."  However, her memorial plaque, while laudatory, is not nearly so specific as Wikipedia in respect of her accomplishments. It says she possessed "the united advantages of beauty, wit, judgement, reputation and riches, and employing her talents most uniformly for the benefit of mankind, might be justly deem'd an ornament to her Sex, and Country." While she was famous during her lifetime there is no mention of her published works, which, like Austen's, were published anonymously. We have to remember that well-born people in those days took a very different public attitude toward literary fame, however they might have felt about it privately. As a gentlewoman, putting her name on her writing--even acknowledging that she published--was beneath Montagu's dignity. "It was merely a matter of form," John Mullan explains. 
(Hmm, that inscription does remind one of Emma, doesn't it? Handsome, clever and rich...)

   Here are more writers whose authorship is not mentioned on their gravestones: Mary Shelley (1797-1851) is buried in Bournemouth with her father William Godwin, her mother Mary Wollstonecraft, and her son and daughter-in-law. Her gravestone has all the family names and the dates, plus the information that she is the widow of Percy Bysshe Shelley. Her gravestone does not say "author of Frankenstein."

   Sir Walter Scott (1771–1832), poet and novelist, is buried with his wife in in the romantic Gothic ruins of Dryburgh Abbey in Scotland in a plain sarcophagus with only their names and dates. When Scott died, he was so famous that it wasn't necessary to explain who he was on his tomb. He also has a memorial in Edinburgh which is the largest memorial to an author in England, and the second largest in the world. 
  Other authors outlived their fame. The novelist Selina Davenport (1779-1859), died after years of poverty and has no headstone. Charlotte Lennox (1730-1804) author of The Female Quixote, a book that inspired Austen's Northanger Abbey, was famous in her lifetime but died poor and was buried in an unmarked grave in Broad Court cemetery in Covent Garden.

  All the authors we've looked at in this post were known as authors in their lifetimes. Austen's authorship was revealed at the time of her death in an obituary placed by the family in a London newspaper and later, in the two novels (Persuasion and Northanger Abbey) which were published posthumously.
   Anne Bronte (1820-1849), like Austen, died away from home. Her gravestone, erected by her sister Charlotte, did not mention her authorship. Anne was not famous when she died, though I believe she had been revealed as being the author "Acton Bell." A more recent plaque adds the information that she was a poet and novelist. 
​   Charlotte (1816-1855) and Emily Brontë (1818-1848), are buried in a vault beneath their church. There is a tablet in the church for them and a memorial tablet with their names and dates at Poet's Corner in Westminster Abbey. So the female English novelists who come closest to Austen in lasting fame did not have gravestones that announce their authorship, either.