Posted on Tuesday, 31 October 2006

Once upon a time, there lived a baronet who was very vain. This baronet had a wonderful - albeit small - looking glass, and when he held it in his hands and looked into it himself, he said,

"Speak, oh, mirror, mirror in my hand, Who is the prettiest man in this land?"

Unfailingly, every day, the looking glass would answer, "Thou, o baronet, art the handsomest by far."

Then the baronet was satisfied, for he knew that the looking glass always spoke the truth.

It so happened that a sailor was passing through Somersetshire who proclaimed he had another wonderful looking glass - a bigger one with a broader reach. An updated version of the hand mirror, so to speak.

As soon as the baronet got word of this wonderful, bigger, better, faster looking glass, he had no ease until the mirror was in his possession. Happy was he on the day, the new looking glass was fastened on its hook and he said, "Speak, oh, magic mirror on the wall, Who is the prettiest man of them all?"

Without hesitation or delay, the looking glass answered, "O, Sir Walter, though handsome ye be, Sir Lewis is handsomer far to see."

The baronet stared, coloured and doubted, and he hastened to ask his old looking glass, "Speak, oh, mirror, mirror in my hand, Who is the prettiest man in this land?"

But the hand mirror had been rigged up with the looking glass on the wall. (It was part of the Surcharge-Free-Installation Packet that the sailor had offered.) Thus, it answered without hesitation or delay, "O, Sir Walter, though handsome ye be, Sir Lewis is handsomer far to see."

Then the baronet was shocked, and turned yellow and green with envy. From that hour on, he knew no rest. The thought that, somewhere, there was a man handsomer than he, ate at him in the morning. The thought that someone was above him in beauty and style, ate at him in the evening. One day, he set out to find this man, for he had to see with his own eyes if he was really handsomer as the mirror proclaimed. He opened the Baronetage and, indeed, he found a Sir Lewis de Bourgh, who was a baronet residing in Rosings Park, Kent.

Then he travelled to Kent and Sir Lewis (with a complexion as white as snow, hair as black as ebony and a mouth as red as blood) was the handsomest man he had ever seen. His heart heaved in his chest, because he hated the man so much. And envy and pride grew higher and higher in his heart like a weed, so that he had no peace day or night.

He called an assassin, and said, "I want him dead. I don't want his face to ever be seen on this earth again. Kill Sir Lewis, and bring me his lung and liver as a token."

The assassin nodded and as soon as he had his payment, he set off and killed Sir Lewis and cut out his lung and liver, and brought them as a token to Sir Walter.

The cook of Kellynch Hall salted the liver and roasted it with onions, the lung was chopped into pieces and made into hash, and the vain baronet ate it all.

Then he went to his looking glass and said, "Speak, oh, magic mirror on the wall, Who is the prettiest man of them all?"

And without hesitation or delay the looking glass answered, "Thou, o baronet, art the handsomest near and far."

Then his envious heart had rest, as far as an envious heart can have rest.

And every day he looked into the mirror and said, "Speak, oh, magic mirror on the wall, Who is the prettiest man of them all?"

And every day, without hesitation or delay, the looking glass answered, "Thou, o baronet, art the handsomest near and far."

Then he was satisfied, for he knew that the looking glass spoke the truth.

But Sir Lewis de Bourgh had a wife, who had loved him very much, and she vowed revenge upon Sir Walter. And she thought and thought how she might harm him, for her anguish let her not rest until she knew him in as much pain as herself. And when she at last had thought of something to do, she painted her face, and dressed herself as a pedlar-woman, and no one could have known her. In this disguise she went to Somersetshire, and knocked on the door of Kellynch Hall and cried, "Pretty things to sell, very cheap, very cheap."

Lady Elliot opened the door and said, "Good-day my good woman, what have you to sell?"

"Good things, pretty things," she answered, "stay-laces of all colours," and she pulled out one which was woven of bright-coloured silk.

"I may let the worthy old woman in," thought Lady Elliot, and she let her into a small ante-room and bought the pretty laces.

"M'lady," said the old woman, "what a fright you look, come, I will lace you properly for once."

Lady Elliot had no suspicion, but stood before her, and let herself be laced with the new laces. But the old woman laced so quickly and so tightly that Lady Elliot lost her breath and fell down and was dead.

"Now your husband will suffer as I do," said Lady Catherine to herself, and ran away.

Not long afterwards, in the evening, the daughters of Sir Walter and Lady Elliot came home from an assembly, but how shocked they were when they saw their dear mother lying on the ground, and that she neither stirred nor moved, and was dead. And the two youngest were distraught and weeping, but the baronet and his eldest went to London as if nothing were amiss. There they enjoyed themselves and had a splendid time.

Word of this got to Lady Catherine and all her blood rushed to her heart with rage, for she saw plainly that the baron didn't give a farthing.

"But now," she said, "I will think of something that shall really put an end to your happiness." And by the help of witchcraft, which she understood, she made a poisonous comb. Then she disguised herself and took the shape of another old woman.

So she went to London, knocked on the door of the baronet's residence, and cried, "Good things to sell, cheap, cheap."

Miss Elliot looked out and said, "Go away, I cannot let someone so ugly sully my doorstep."

"Take just one look, pretty miss," said the old woman, and pulled the poisonous comb out and held it up.

It pleased the girl so well that she let herself be beguiled, and opened the door. When they had made a bargain, the old woman said, "Now I will do your hair in the latest style for you. Such a beauty as you are, deserves to be combed properly every once in a while."

Miss Elliot had no suspicion, and let the old woman do as she pleased, but hardly had she put the comb in her hair than the poison in it took effect, and the girl fell down dead.

"You paragon of beauty," said Lady Catherine, "you are done for now", and she went away.

The baronet, when he came home, found his eldest lying dead and she breathed no more and she snubbed the servants no more and she remained truly dead, and he shed a tear for her (but not more for crying makes your face all blotchy and ugly) and soon forgot about her.

When Lady Catherine saw him thus carefree and happy, she trembled and shook with rage and was very much put out.

"Your happiness shall die," she cried, "even if it costs me my life."

Thereupon she went into a quite secret, lonely room, where no one ever came, not even the sun, for it had no window, and there she made a very poisonous apple. Outside it looked pretty, white with a red cheek, so that everyone who saw it longed for it, but whoever ate a piece of it must surely die.

When the apple was ready, she painted her face, and dressed herself up as a farmer's wife, and no one would have known her. So she went Kellynch Hall in Somersetshire. She knocked at the door.

Miss Anne Elliot opened the door a crack and said, "This household is in mourning. Please respect our wish for solitude."

"Oh you poor child," answered the woman, "I will not disturb your grief. I shall soon get rid of my apples elsewhere. There, I will give you one for free."

"I thank you for your kindness," said Miss Anne, "but I really don't feel like eating an apple right now."

"But you must eat," insisted the woman. "Take my advice, child. An apple a day keeps the doctor away. Forever. Look, I will cut the apple in two pieces, you eat the red cheek, and I will eat the white. Truly, you look very ill. You must eat something, child."

The apple was so cunningly made that only the red cheek was poisoned. Seeing it, Miss Anne longed for the fine apple, and feeling it would be very unkind to refuse the old woman, she could resist no longer, and stretched out her hand and took the poisonous half. But hardly had she a bite of it in her mouth than she fell down dead.

Then Lady Catherine looked at her with a dreadful look, and laughed aloud and said, "You will never wake up again. This time, the baronet will suffer."

But the baronet had never cared much for his middle daughter anyway. He did not weep, nor did he go into mourning but carried on much as before.

And Lady Catherine seethed with rage and hatred. And she shook her fist and stomped her feet and cried, "You shall know suffering as I do. If I have to wipe out all your family, you will."

Thereupon she went into the quite secret, lonely room, where no one ever came, not even the sun, for it had no window, and there she made a very poisonous spindle. When that was done, she painted her face, and dressed herself up as an old pedlar woman, and no one would have known her. In this disguise she went to Uppercross Cottage, knocked at the window, and cried, "Useful things to sell, cheap, cheap."

And Mrs. Charles Musgrove, née Mary Elliot, who was the youngest of the baronet's daughters, opened the window and said, "I am so very ill. I cannot move. Go away."

Then she closed the window again, and bemoaned her fate and would not listen to the old woman, who repeated, "Useful things to sell, cheap, cheap," over and over again.

This made Lady Catherine very angry and, finally, she cried, "This is not to be borne. I am not accustomed to such a treatment. I demand to be paid attention to."

But Mrs. Musgrove was in the middle of listing all her ailments and sufferings and did not hear the angry woman outside her window.

And Lady Catherine cried, "You show not good breeding by ignoring me such and I shall speak to your father about it."

Then she went to Kellynch in a high dudgeon and banged upon its door and barged in past the startled servant who opened it and started yelling at Sir Walter about the upbringing of his daughter.

But the baronet stood in front of his looking glass and was in deep admiration of himself and didn't hear anything. Lady Catherine gnashed her teeth and turned red in anger and stomped her feet, but he didn't see anything else but his reflection. In her rage, she threw the poisoned spindle at the mirror and it splintered.

Sir Walter stared in stunned horror at his wonderful looking glass - now a less wonderful frame. Then he fell to his knees and banged his fists on the floor and cried and wailed and tore his hair, and Lady Catherine was contended for he finally knew the same anguish as she did and, thus satisfied, she went away.

Even the seven servants wept and cried and mourned though not for Sir Walter's looking glass but for Little Miss Anne who had been a favourite with all of them. They laid her upon a bier, and all seven of them sat round it and wept for her, and wept three days long. Then they were going to bury her, but she still looked as if she were living, and still had her pretty red cheeks.

They said, "We could not bury her in the dark ground," and they had a transparent coffin of glass made, so that she could be seen from all sides, and they laid her in it, and wrote her name upon it in golden letters, as if she was a king's daughter, and carried her to the cemetery. There a sailor came along. He saw the girl in the coffin and cried, "No, my Anne. Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

And the earth moved with his anguish and birds and bees and cute little bambies stopped what they were doing and cried with him for his lost love and a colony of lemmings threw themselves over the cliffs of Dover and drowned out of compassion and nothing would ever make him happy again. He pleaded with the servants to let him have the coffin. He promised to take good care of it. And his tears and anguish and pain and wretchedness persuaded the seven servants that he spoke the truth and they were so moved by his pleas that they let him have the glass coffin with the girl in it.

And now the sailor had it carried away by his midshipmen on their shoulders. And it happened that they stumbled over a tree-stump, and with the shock the poisonous piece of apple which Miss Anne had bitten off came out of her throat. And before long she opened her eyes, lifted up the lid of the coffin, sat up, and was once more alive.

"Oh, heavens, where am I?" she cried.

The sailor, full of joy, said, "You are with me." And he told her what had happened, and said, "I love you more than everything in the world. My wishes are unchanged from what they were eight years ago, come with me to the Laconia. A word, a look, will be enough to decide my fate. Would you consider to be my wife?"

Then Anne looked at him and "Would I?" was all her answer, but her accent was decisive enough.

"Good God," cried he, "You would."

Who can be in doubt of what followed? Anne and her sailor married and lived happily ever after.

The End