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The Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night, Volume 8 by Richard F. Burton

R >> Richard F. Burton >> The Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night, Volume 8




When it was the Eight Hundred and Eighty-fourth Night,

She continued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when
the old skipper had made sail he drave the ship, aided by Nur
al-Din, into the dashing sea before a favouring gale. Meanwhile,
Nur al-Din held on to the tackle immersed in deep thought, and
drowned in the sea of solicitude, knowing not what was hidden for
him in the future; and whenever he looked at the captain, his
heart quaked and he knew not whither the Rais went with him. He
abode thus, preoccupied with care and doubt, till it was high
day, when he looked at the skipper and saw him take hold of his
long beard and pull at it, whereupon it came off in his hand and
Nur al-Din, examining it, saw that it was but a false beard glued
on. So he straitly considered that same Rais, and behold, it was
the Princess Miriam, his mistress and the dearling of his heart,
who had contrived to waylay the captain and slay him and skinned
off his beard, which she had stuck on to her own face. At this
Nur al-Din was transported for you, and his breast broadened and
he marvelled at her prowess and the stoutness of her heart and
said to her, "Welcome, O my hope and my desire and the end of
mine every wish!" Then love and gladness agitated him and he made
sure of winning to his hopes and his expectancy; wherefore he
broke out into song and chanted these couplets,

"To all who unknown my love for the May * From whom Fate disjoins
me O say, I pray,
'Ask my kith and kin of my love that aye * Ensweetens my verses
to lovely lay:
For the loss of the tribesmen my life o'er sway!'

Their names when named heal all malady; * Cure and chase from
heart every pain I dree:
And my longings for love reach so high degree * That my Sprite is
maddened each morn I see,
And am grown of the crowd to be saw and say.

No blame in them will I e'er espy: * No! nor aught of solace sans
them descry:
Your love hath shot me with pine, and I * Bear in heart a flame
that shall never die,
But fire my liver with fiery ray.

All folk my sickness for marvel score * That in darkest night I
wake evermore
What ails them to torture this heart forlore * And deem right for
loving my blood t' outpour:
And yet--how justly unjust are they!

Would I wot who 'twas could obtain of you * To wrong a youth
who's so fain of you:
By my life and by Him who made men of you * And the spy tell
aught I complain of you
He lies, by Allah, in foulest way!

May the Lord my sickness never dispel, * Nor ever my heart of its
pains be well,
What day I regret that in love I fell * Or laud any land but
wherein ye dwell:
Wring my heart and ye will or make glad and gay!

I have vitals shall ever be true to you * Though racked by the
rigours not new to you
Ere this wrong and this right I but sue to you: * Do what you
will to thrall who to you
Shall ne'er grudge his life at your feet to lay."

When Nur al-Din ceased to sing, the Princess Miriam marvelled at
his song and thanked him therefor, saying, "Whoso's case is thus
it behoveth him to walk the ways of men and never do the deed of
curs and cowards." Now she was stout of heart and cunning in the
sailing of ships over the salt sea, and she knew all the winds
and their shiftings and every course of the main. So Nur al-Din
said, "O my lady, hadst thou prolonged this case on me,[FN#538] I
had surely died for stress of affright and chagrin, more by token
of the fire of passion and love-longing and the cruel pangs of
separation." She laughed at his speech and rising without stay or
delay brought out somewhat of food and liquor; and they ate and
drank and enjoyed themselves and made merry. Then she drew forth
rubies and other gems and precious stones and costly trinkets of
gold and silver and all manner things of price, light of weight
and weighty of worth, which she had taken from the palace of her
sire and his treasuries, and displayed them to Nur al-Din, who
rejoiced therein with joy exceeding. All this while the wind blew
fair for them and merrily sailed the ship nor ceased sailing till
they drew near the city of Alexandria and sighted its landmarks,
old and new, and Pompey's Pillar. When they made the port, Nur
al-Din landed forthright and securing the ship to one of the
Fulling-Stones,[FN#539] took somewhat of the treasures that
Miriam had brought with her, and said to her, "O my lady, tarry
in the ship, against I return and carry thee up into the city in
such way as I should wish and will." Quoth she, "It behoveth that
this be done quickly, for tardiness in affairs engendereth
repentance." Quoth he, "There is no tardiness in me;" and,
leaving her in the ship, went up into the city to the house of
the druggist his father's old fried, to borrow of his wife for
Miriam veil and mantilla, and walking boots and
petticoat-trousers after the usage of the women of Alexandria,
unknowing that there was appointed to betide him of the shifts of
Time, the Father of Wonders, that which was far beyond his
reckoning. Thus it befel Nur al-Din and Miriam the Girdle-girl;
but as regards her sire the King of France, when he arose in the
morning, he missed his daughter and questioned her women and her
eunuchs of her. Answered they, "O our lord, she went out last
night, to go to Church and after that we have no tidings of her."
But, as the King talked with them, behold, there arose so great a
clamour of cries below the palace, that the place rang thereto,
and he said, "What may be the news?" The folk replied, "O King,
we have found ten men slain on the sea-shore, and the royal yacht
is missing. Moreover we saw the postern of the Church, which
giveth upon the tunnel leading to the sea, wide open; and the
Moslem prisoner, who served in the Church, is missing." Quoth the
King, "An my ship be lost, without doubt or dispute."--And
Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased saying her
permitted say.

When it was the Eight Hundred and Eighty-fifth Night,

She pursued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when the
King of France missed his daughter they brought him tidings of
her, saying, "Thy yacht is lost"; and he replied, "An the craft
be lost, without dispute or doubt my daughter is in it." So he
summoned without stay or delay the Captain of the Port and cried
out at him, saying, "By the virtue[FN#540] of the Messiah and the
Faith which is no liar, except thou and thy fighting men overtake
my ship forthright and bring it back to me, with those who are
therein, I will do thee die the foulest of deaths and make a
terrible example of thee!" Thereupon the captain went out from
before him, trembling, and betook himself to the ancient dame of
the Church, to whom said he, 'Heardest thou aught from the
captive, that was with thee, anent his native land and what
countryman he was?" And she answered, "He used to say, I come
from the town of Alexandria." When the captain heard the old
woman's words he returned forthright to the port and cried out to
the sailors, "Make ready and set sail." So they did his bidding
and straightway putting out to sea, fared night and day till they
sighted the city of Alexandria at the very time when Nur al-Din
landed, leaving the Princess in the ship. They soon espied the
royal yacht and knew her; so they moored their own vessel at a
distance therefrom and putting off in a little frigate they had
with them, which drew but two cubits of water and in which were
an hundred fighting-men, amongst them the one-eyed Wazir (for
that he was a stubborn tyrant and a froward devil and a wily
thief, none could avail against his craft, as he were Abu
Mohammed al-Battal[FN#541]), they ceased not rowing till they
reached the bark and boarding her, all at once, found none
therein save the Princess Miriam. So they took her and the ship,
and returning to their own vessel, after they had landed and
waited a long while,[FN#542] set sail forthright for the land of
the Franks, having accomplished their errand, without a fight or
even drawing sword. The wind blew fair for them and they sailed
on, without ceasing and with all diligence, till they reached the
city of France and landing with the Princess Miriam carried her
to her father, who received her, seated on the throne of his
Kingship. As soon as he saw her, he said to her, "Woe to thee, O
traitress! What ailed thee to leave the faith of thy fathers and
forefathers and the safeguard of the Messiah, on whom is our
reliance, and follow after the faith of the Vagrants,[FN#543] to
wit, the faith of Al-Islam, the which arose with the sword
against the Cross and the Images?" Replied Miriam, "I am not at
fault, I went out by night to the church, to visit the Lady Mary
and seek a blessing of her, when there fell upon me unawares a
band of Moslem robbers, who gagged me and bound me fast and
carrying me on board the barque, set sail with me for their own
country. However, I beguiled them and talked with them of their
religion, till they loosed my bonds; and ere I knew it thy men
overtook me and delivered me. And by the virtue of the Messiah
and the Faith which is no liar and the Cross and the Crucified
thereon, I rejoiced with joy exceeding in my release from them
and my bosom broadened and I was glad for my deliverance from the
bondage of the Moslems!" Rejoined the King, "Thou liest, O whore!
O adultress! By the virtue of that which is revealed of
prohibition and permission in the manifest Evangel,[FN#544] I
will assuredly do thee die by the foulest of deaths and make thee
the vilest of examples! Did it not suffice thee to do as thou
didst the first time and put off thy lies upon us, but thou must
return upon us with thy deceitful inventions?" Thereupon the King
bade kill her and crucify her over the palace gate; but, at that
moment the one-eyed Wazir, who had long been enamoured of the
Princess, came in to him and said, "Ho King! saly her not, but
give her to me to wife, and I will watch over her with the utmost
warding, nor will I go in unto her, till I have built her a
palace of solid stone, exceeding high of foundation, so no
thieves may avail to climb up to its terrace-roof; and when I
have made an end of building it, I will sacrifice thirty Moslems
before the gate thereof, as an expiatory offering to the Messiah
for myself and for her." The King granted his request and bade
the priests and monks and patriarchs marry the Princess to him;
so they did his bidding, whereupon he bade set about building a
strong and lofty palace, befitting her rank and the workmen fell
to work upon it. On this wise it betided the Princess Miriam and
her sire and the one-eyed Wazir; but as regards Nur al-Din, when
he came back with the petticoat-trousers and mantilla and walking
boots and all the attire of Alexandrian women which he had
borrowed of the druggist's wife, he "found the air void and the
fane afar[FN#545]";--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and
ceased to say her permitted say.

When it was the Eight Hundred and Eighty-sixth Night,

She resumed, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when Nur
al-Din, "found the aire void[FN#546] and the fane afar," his
heart sank within him and he wept floods of tears and recited
these verses,[FN#547]

"The phantom of Soada came by nigh to wake me towards morning
while my companions were sleeping in the desert:
But when we awoke to behold the nightly phantom, I saw the air
vacant, and the place of visitation distant."

Then Nur al-Din walked on along the sea-shore and turned right
and left, till he saw folk gathered together on the beach and
heard them say, "O Moslems, there remaineth no honour to
Alexandria-city, since the Franks enter it and snatch away those
who are therein and return to their own land, at their
leisure[FN#548] nor pursued of any of the Moslems or fighters for
the Faith!" Quoth Nur al-Din to them, "What is to do?"; and quoth
they, "O my son, one of the ships of the Franks, full of armed
men, came down but now upon the port and carried off a ship which
was moored here, with her that was therein, and made unmolested
for their own land." Nur al-Din fell down a-swoon, on hearing
these words; and when he recovered they questioned him of his
case and he told them all that had befallen him first and last;
whereupon they all took to reviling him and railing at him,
saying, "Why couldst thou not bring her up into the town without
mantilla and muffler?" And all and each of the folk gave him some
grievous word, berating him with sharp speech, and shooting at
him some shaft or reproach, albeit one said, "Let him be; that
which hath befallen him sufficeth him," till he again fell down
in a fainting-fit. And behold, at this moment, up came the old
druggist, who, seeing the folk gathered together, drew near to
learn what was the matter and found Nur al-Din lying a-swoon in
their midst. So he sat down at his head and arousing him, said to
him as soon as he recovered, "O my son, what is this case in
which I see thee?" Nur al-Din said, "O uncle, I had brought back
in a barque my lost slave-girl from her father's city, suffering
patiently all I suffered of perils and hardships; and when I came
with her to this port, I made the vessel fast to the shore and
leaving her therein, repaired to thy dwelling and took of thy
consort what was needful for her, that I might bring her up into
the town; but the Franks came and capturing barque and damsel
made off unhindered, and returned to their own land." Now when
the Shaykh, the druggist, heard this, the light in his eyes
became night and he grieved with sore grieving for Nur al-Din and
said to him, "O my son, why didst thou not bring her out of the
ship into the city without mantilla? But speech availeth not at
this season; so rise, O my son, and come up with me to the city;
haply Allah will vouchsafe thee a girl fairer than she, who shall
console thee for her. Alhamdolillah-praised be Allah-who hath not
made thee lose aught by her! Nay, thou hast gained by her. And
bethink thee, O my son, that Union and Disunion are in the hands
of the Most High King.." Replied Nur al-Din, "By Allah, O uncle,
I can never be consoled for her loss nor will I ever leave
seeking her, though on her account I drink the cup of death!"
Rejoined the druggist, "O my son, and what art thou minded to
do?" Quoth Nur al-Din, "I am minded to return to the land of the
Franks[FN#549] and enter the city of France and emperil myself
there; come what may, loss of life or gain of life." Quoth the
druggist, "O my son, there is an old saw, 'Not always doth the
crock escape the shock'; and if they did thee no hurt the first
time, belike they will slay thee this time, more by token that
they know thee now with full knowledge." Quoth Nur al-Din, "O my
uncle, let me set out and be slain for the love of her
straightway and not die of despair for her loss by slow
torments." Now as Fate determined there was then a ship in port
ready to sail, for its passengers had made an end of their
affairs[FN#550] and the sailors had pulled up the mooring-stakes,
when Nur al-Din embarked in her. So they shook out their canvas
and relying on the Compassionate, put out to sea and sailed many
days, with fair wind and weather, till behold, they fell in with
certain of the Frank cruisers, which were scouring those waters
and seizing upon all ships they saw, in their fear for the King's
daughter from the Moslem corsairs: and as often as they made
prize of a Moslem ship, they carried all her people to the King
of France, who put them to death in fulfilment of the vow he had
vowed on account of his daughter Miriam. So, seeing the ship
wherein was Nur al-Din they boarded her and taking him and the
rest of the company prisoners, to the number of an hundred
Moslems, carried them to the King and set them between his hands.
He bade cut their throats. Accordingly they slaughtered them all
forthwith, one after another, till there was none left but Nur
al-Din, whom the headsman had left to the last, in pity of his
tender age and slender shape. When the King saw him, he knew him
right well and said to him, "Art thou not Nur al-Din, who was
with us before?" Said he, "I was never with thee: and my name is
not Nur al-Din, but Ibrahim." Rejoined the King; "Thou liest,
thou art Nur al-Din, he whom I gave to the ancient dame the
Prioress, to help her in the service of the church." But Nur
al-Din replied, "O my lord, my name is Ibrahim." Quoth the King,
"Wait a while," and bade his knights fetch the old woman
forthright, saying, "When she cometh and seeth thee, she will
know an thou be Nur al-Din or not." At this juncture, behold, in
came the one-eyed Wazir who had married the Princess and kissing
the earth before the King said to him, "Know, O King, that the
palace is finished; and thou knowest how I vowed to the Messiah
that, when I had made an end of building it, I would cut thirty
Moslems' throats before its doors; wherefore I am come to take
them of thee, that I may sacrifice them and so fulfil my vow to
the Messiah. They shall be at my charge, by way of loan, and
whenas there come prisoners to my hands, I will give thee other
thirty in lieu of them." Replied the King, 'By the virtue of the
Messiah and the Faith which is no liar, I have but this one
captive left!" And he pointed to Nur al-Din, saying, "Take him
and slaughter him at this very moment and the rest I will send
thee when there come to my hands other prisoners of the Moslems."
Thereupon the one-eyed Wazir arose and took Nur al-Din and
carried him to his palace, thinking to slaughter him on the
threshold of the gate; but the painters said to him, "O my lord,
we have two days' painting yet to do: so bear with us and delay
to cut the throat of this captive, till we have made an end of
our work; haply by that time the rest of the thirty will come, so
thou mayst despatch them all at one bout and accomplish thy vow
in a single day." Thereupon the Wazir bade imprison Nur
al-Din.--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased
saying her permitted say.

When it was the Eight Hundred and Eighty-seventh Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when the
Wazir bade imprison Nur al-Din, they carried him to the stables
and left him there in chains, hungering and thirsting and making
moan for himself; for indeed he saw death face to face. Now it
fortuned, by the ordinance of Destiny and fore-ordained Fate,
that the King had two stallions, own brothers,[FN#551] such as
the Chosroe Kings might sigh in vain to possess themselves of one
of them; they were called Sabik and Lahik[FN#552] and one of them
was pure silvern white while the other was black as the darksome
night. And all the Kings of the isles had said, "Whoso stealeth
us one of these stallions, we will give him all he seeketh of red
gold and pearls and gems;" but none could avail to steal them.
Now one of them fell sick of a jaundice and there came a
whiteness over his eyes;[FN#553] whereupon the King gathered
together all the farriers in the city to treat him; but they all
failed of his cure. Presently the Wazir came into the King; and
finding him troubled because of the horse, thought to do away his
concern and said to him, "O King, give me the stallion and I will
cure him," The King consented and caused carry the horse to the
stable wherein Nur al-Din lay chained; but, when he missed his
brother, he cried out with an exceeding great cry and neighed, so
that he affrighted all the folk. The Wazir, seeing that he did
thus but because he was parted from his brother, went to tell the
King, who said, "If this, which is but a beast, cannot brook to
be parted from his brother, how should it be with those that have
reason?" And he bade his grooms take the other horse and put him
with his brother in the Wazir's stables, saying, "Tell the
Minister that the two stallions be a gift from me to him, for the
sake of my daughter Miriam." Nur al-Din was lying in the stable,
chained and shackled, when they brought in the two stallions and
he saw that one of them had a film over his eyes. Now he had some
knowledge of horses and of the doctoring of their diseases; so he
said to himself, "This by Allah is my opportunity! I will go to
the Wazir and lie to him, saying, 'I will heal thee this horse':
then will I do with him somewhat that shall destroy his eyes, and
he will slay me and I shall be at rest from this woe-full life."
So he waited till the Wazir entered the stable, to look upon the
steed, and said to him, "O my lord, what will be my due, an I
heal this horse, and make his eyes whole again?" Replied the
Wazir, "As my head liveth, an thou cure him, I will spare thy
life and give thee leave to crave a boon of me!" And Nur al-Din
said, "O my lord, bid my hands be unbound!" So the Wazir bade
unbind him and he rose and taking virgin glass,[FN#554] brayed it
and mixed it with unslaked lime and a menstruum of onion-juice.
Then he applied the whole to the horse's eyes and bound them up,
saying in himself, "Now will his eyes be put out and they will
slay me and I shall be at rest from this woe-full life." Then he
passed the night with a heart free from the uncertainty[FN#555]
of cark and care, humbling himself to Allah the Most High and
saying, "O Lord, in Thy knowledge is that which dispenseth with
asking and craving!" Now when the morning morrowed and the sun
shone, the Wazir came to the stable and, loosing the bandage from
the horse's eyes considered them and found them finer than
before, by the ordinance of the King who openeth evermore. So he
said to Nur al-Din, "O Moslem, never in the world saw I the like
of thee for the excellence of thy knowledge. By the virtue of the
Messiah and the Faith which is no liar, thou makest me with
wonder to admire, for all the farriers of our land have failed to
heal this horse!" Then he went up to Nur al-Din and, doing off
his shackles with his own hand, clad him in a costly dress and
made him his master of the Horse; and he appointed him stipends
and allowances and lodged him in a story over the stables. So Nur
al-Din abode awhile, eating and drinking and making merry and
bidding and forbidding those who tended the horses; and whoso
neglected or failed to fodder those tied up in the stable wherein
was his service, he would thrown down and beat with grievous
beating and lay him by the legs in bilboes of iron. Furthermore,
he used every day to descend and visit the stallions and rub them
down with his own hand, by reason of that which he knew of their
value in the Wazir's eyes and his love for them; wherefore the
Minister rejoiced in him with joy exceeding and his breast
broadened and he was right glad, unknowing what was to be the
issue of his case. Now in the new palace, which the one-eyed
Wazir had bought for Princess Miriam, was a lattice-window
overlooking his old house and the flat wherein Nur al-Din lodged.
The Wazir had a daughter, a virgin of extreme loveliness, as she
were a fleeing gazelle or a bending branchlet, and it chanced
that she sat one day at the lattice aforesaid and behold, she
heard Nur al-Din, singing and solacing himself under his sorrows
by improvising these verses,

"O my Censor who wakest a-morn to see * The joys of life and its
jubilee!
Had the fangs of Destiny bitten thee * In such bitter case thou
hadst pled this plea,
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'
But from Fate's despight thou art safe this day;- * From her
falsest fay and her crying 'Nay!'
Yet blame him not whom his woes waylay * Who distraught shall say
in his agony,
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'
Excuse such lovers in flight abhorr'd * Nor to Love's distreses
thine aid afford:
Lest thy self be bound by same binding cord * And drink of Love's
bitterest injury.
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'
In His service I wont as the days went by * With freest heart
through the nights to lie;
Nor tasted wake, nor of Love aught reckt * Ere my heart to
subjection summoned he:
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'
None weet of Love and his humbling wrong * Save those he sickened
so sore, so long,
Who have lost their wits 'mid the lover-throng * Draining
bitterest cup by his hard decree:
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'
How oft in Night's gloom he cause wake to rue * Lovers' eyne, and
from eyelids their sleep withdrew;
Till tears to the railing of torrents grew, * Overflowing cheeks
, unconfined and free:
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'
How many a man he has joyed to steep * In pain, and for pine hath
he plundered sleep,--
Made don garb of mourning the deepest deep * And even his
dreaming forced to flee:
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'
How oft sufferance fails me! How bones are wasted * And down my
cheeks torrent tear-drops hasted:
And embittered She all the food I tasted * However sweet it was
wont to be:
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'
Most hapless of men who like me must love, * And must watch when
Night droops her wing from above,
Who, swimming the main where affection drove * Must sign and sink
in that gloomy sea:
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'
Who is he to whom Love e'er stinted spite * And who scaped his
springes and easy sleight;
Who free from Love lived in life's delight? * Where is he can
boast of such liberty?
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'
Deign Lord such suffering wight maintain * Then best Protector,
protect him deign!
Establish him and his life assain * And defend him from all
calamity:
'Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!'"

Scottish book of the year goes to Kieron Smith, Boy by James Kelman

The barrister Constance Briscoe has won the libel case brought against her by her mother, Carmen Briscoe-Mitchell, over her bestselling misery memoir Ugly, in which she accused Briscoe-Mitchell of childhood cruelty and neglect.

Briscoe-Mitchell claimed the allegations were "a piece of fiction", and sued Briscoe and her publishers Hodder & Stoughton for libel.

A 10-day hearing at the high court in London concluded earlier today with a unanimous verdict from the jury after more than a day's deliberation. Speaking outside the court, Briscoe, a part-time judge, said she was "very happy" with the verdict.

"It is sad that my mother still feels the need to pursue me. Now I just want to get on with my career," she said. "I can quite understand why my family went into collective denial, but whilst child abuse may be committed behind closed doors, it should never be swept under the carpet."

The hearing saw Briscoe tell Mr Justice Tugendhat and a jury how her mother beat her with a stick for wetting the bed, called her a "dirty little whore" and drove her to attempt suicide by drinking bleach.

Briscoe's account of her upbringing was published in 2006 and has sold more than 400,000 copies in the UK.

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Would you have your ashes scattered in Jane Austen's garden?
American film producer to publish version of the Bible in which God says it is better to be gay than straight

The royal family doesn't need a poet

The power of Jane Austen never ceases to amaze: the myriad film and TV adaptations, the biopics, the spin-off self-help books, the novels about Austen book clubs and Austen obsessives and even, next spring, the publication of a book about "how Jane Austen conquered the world" (Jane's Fame, by Clare Harman). And now comes the just-too-weird story that deceased fans of Jane Austen have been banned from having their ashes scattered in her garden. In a letter to the Jane Austen Society, Louise West, the collections manager of Jane Austen's House Museum, wrote: "While we understand many admirers of Jane Austen would love to have ashes laid here, it is something we do not allow. It is distressing for visitors to see mounds of human ash, particularly so for our gardener. Also, it is of no benefit to the garden!" (Or is it? Surely a small quantity of fresh ashes judiciously placed beneath a hydrangea bush is just the ticket?)

Anyway, leaving aside the Gardeners' Question Time minutiae, what on earth is going on here? I like an Austen novel as much as the next person – I probably reread my way through the complete works every couple of years – but I am baffled as to why one would want to be laid to rest among the flowerbeds of Chawton. The only explanation is the currently unstoppable power of the Austen cult, fuelled by Colin Firth in a wet blouse, by Andrew Davies's adaptations, and by Hollywood. I'm all for enjoying books, but the cult of Austen has reached ridiculous proportions. In a post-feminist world that should know better, she seems to be adored as the comforting provider of romantic, happy-endings nonsense instead of the sharp and acerbic social satirist she deserves to be seen as.

(Does anyone actually believe her, by the way, when she foretells a happy marriage for Darcey and Elizabeth? I fear a woman as interesting as Elizabeth would be sorely disappointed with this standard-issue British Repressed Public-school Man - hopeless emotionally, and probably hopeless in bed.)

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