When it became clear that riding did no more than wear out ourselves and our horse I told Dido that we must tie Quaker to a tree - which we did. Then we climbed up into the branches to await the arrival of John Hollyshoes.
Seven o'clock, the same day.
Dido told me how she had always heard from her mother that red berries, such as rowan-berries, are excellent protection against fairy magic.
"There are some over there in that thicket," she said.
But she must have been looking with her enchanted eye for I saw, not red berries at all, but the chestnut-coloured flanks of Pandemonium, John Hollyshoes' horse.
Then the two fairies on their fairy-horses were standing before us with the white snow tumbling across them.
"Ah, cousin!" cried John Hollyshoes. "How do you do? I would shake hands with you, but you are a little out of reach up there." He looked highly delighted and as full of malice as a pudding is of plums. "I have had a very exasperating morning. It seems that the young gentlewomen have all contracted themselves to someone else - yet none will say to whom. Is that not a most extraordinary thing?"
"Most," said I.
"And now the nurse has run away." He eyed Dido sourly. "I never was so thwarted, and were I to discover the author of all my misfortunes-well, cousin, what do you suppose that I would do?"
"I have not the least idea," said I.
"I would kill him," said he. "No matter how dearly I loved him."
The ivy that grew about our tree began to shake itself and to ripple like water. At first I thought that something was trying to escape from beneath it, but then I saw that the ivy itself was moving. Strands of ivy like questing snakes rose up and wrapped themselves around my ancles and legs.
"Oh!" cried Dido in a fright and tried to pull them off me.
The ivy did not only move; it grew. Soon my legs were lashed to the tree by fresh, young strands; they coiled around my chest and wound around the upper part of my right arm. They threatened to engulf my journal but I was careful to keep that out of harm's way. They did not stop until they caressed my neck, leaving me uncertain as to whether John Hollyshoes intended to strangle me or merely to pin me to the tree until I froze to death.
John Hollyshoes turned to Dando. "Are you deaf, Ironbrains? Did you never hear me say that he is as accomplished a liar as you and I?" He paused to box Dando's ear. "Are you blind? Look at him! Can you not perceive the fierce fairy heart that might commit murder with indifference? Come here, Unseelie elf! Let me poke some new holes in your face! Perhaps you will see better out of those!"
I waited patiently until my cousin had stopped jabbing at his servant's face with the blunt end of his whip and until Dando had ceased howling. "I am not sure," I said, "whether I could commit murder with indifference, but I am perfectly willing to try." With my free arm I turned to the page in my journal where I have described my arrival in Allhope. I leant out of the tree as far as I could (this was very easily accomplished as the ivy held me snug against the trunk) and above John Hollyshoes' head I made the curious gesture that I had seen him make over the old man's head.
We were all as still as the frozen trees, as silent as the birds in the thickets and the beasts in their holes. Suddenly John Hollyshoes burst out, "Cousin . . .!"
It was the last word he ever spoke. Pandemonium, who appeared to know very well what was about to happen, reared up and shook his master from his back, as though terrified that he too might be caught up in my spell. There was a horrible rending sound; trees shook; birds sprang, cawing, into the air. Any one would have supposed that it was the whole world, and not merely some worthless fairy, that was being torn apart. I looked down and John Hollyshoes lay in two neat halves upon the snow.
"Ha!" said I.
"Oh!" cried Dido.
Dando gave a scream which if I were to try to reproduce it by means of the English alphabet would possess more syllables than any word hitherto seen. Then he caught up Pandemonium's reins and rode off with that extraordinary speed of which I know him to be capable.
The death of John Hollyshoes had weakened the spell he had cast on the ivy and Dido and I were able quite easily to tear it away. We rode back to Allhope where I restored her to joyful parent, loving husband, and hungry child. My parishioners came to the cottage to load me with praises, grateful thanks, promises of future aid, etc., etc. I however was tired to death and, after making a short speech advising them to benefit from the example I had given them of courage and selflessness, I pleaded the excuse of a head ach to come home.
One thing, however, has vexed me very much and that is there was no time to conduct a proper examination of John Hollyshoes' body. For it occurs to me that just as Reason is seated in the brain of Man, so we Fairies may contain within ourselves some organ of Magic. Certainly the fairy's bisected corpse had some curious features. I append here a rough sketch and a few notes describing the ways in which Fairy anatomy appears to depart from Human anatomy. I intend to be in the woods at first light to examine the corpse more closely.
Dec. nth., 1811.
The body is gone. Dando, I suppose, has spirited it away. This is most vexatious as I had hoped to have it sent to Mr Baillie's anatomy school in Great Windmill-street in London. I suppose that the baby in the bare room at the end of the corridor will inherit End-Of-All-Hope House and all John Hollyshoes' estates, but perhaps the loss of Dido's milk at this significant period in its life will prevent its growing up as strong in wickedness as its parent.
I have not abandoned my own hopes of inheriting my father's estate and may very well pursue my claim when I have the time. I have never heard that the possession of an extensive property in Faerie was incompatible with the duties of a priest of the Church of England - indeed I do not believe that I ever heard the subject mentioned.
Dec. 17th., 1811.
I have been most villainously betrayed by the Reverend John McKenzie! I take it particularly hard since he is the person from whom - as a fellow clergyman - I might most reasonably have expected support. It appears that he is to marry the heiress to a castle and several hundred miles of bleak Scottish wilderness in Caithness. I hope there may be bogs and that John McKenzie may drown in them. Disappointed love has, I regret to say, screwed Miss Mary Macdonald up to such a pitch of anger that she has turned upon Henrietta and me. She writes to Henrietta that she is certain I am not be trusted and she threatens to write to Mrs Gathercole and Mrs Edmond. Henrietta is not afraid; rather she exults in the coming storm.
"You will protect me!" she cried, her eyes flashing with strange brilliance and her face flushed with excitement.
"My dear girl," said I, "I will be dead."
Dec. 20th., 1811.
George Hollinsclough was here a moment ago with a message that I am to wait upon Mrs Gathercole and Mrs Edmond immediately. I take one last fond look around this room . . .
THE FRIENDSHIP BETWEEN the eighteenth-century Jewish physician, David Montefiore, and the fairy, Tom Brightwind, is remarkably well documented. In addition to Montefiore's own journals and family papers, we have numerous descriptions of encounters with Montefiore and Brightwind by eighteenth - and early-nineteenth-century letter-writers, diarists and essayists. Montefiore and Brightwind seem, at one time or another, to have met most of the great men of the period. They discussed slavery with Boswell and Johnson, played dominoes with Diderot, got drunk with Richard Brinsley Sheridan and, upon one famous occasion, surprized Thomas Jefferson in his garden at Monticello.1
Yet, fascinating as these contemporary accounts are, our most vivid portrait of this unusual friendship comes from the plays, stories and songs which it inspired. In the early nineteenth century "Tom and David" stories were immensely popular both here and in Faerie Minor, but in the latter half of the century they fell out of favour in Europe and the United States. It became fashionable among Europeans and Americans to picture fairies as small, defenceless creatures. Tom Brightwind - loud, egotistical and six feet tall - was most emphatically not the s
ort of fairy that Arthur Conan Doyle and Charles Dodgson hoped to find at the bottom of their gardens.
The following story first appeared in Blackwood's Magazine (Edinburgh: September, 1820) and was reprinted in Silenuss Review (Faerie Minor: April, 1821). Considered as literature it is deeply unremarkable. It suffers from all the usual defects of second-rate early-nineteenth-century writing. Nevertheless, if read with proper attention, it uncovers a great many facts about this enigmatic race and is particularly enlightening on the troublesome relationship between fairies and their children.
Professor James Sutherland Research Institute of Sidhe Studies University of Aberdeen October 1999
For most of its length Shoe-lane in the City of London follows a gentle curve and it never occurs to most people to wonder why. Yet if they were only to look up (and they never do) they would see the ancient wall of an immense round tower and it would immediately become apparent how the lane curves to accommodate the tower.
This is only one of the towers that guard Tom Brighrwind's house. From his earliest youth Tom was fond of travelling about and seeing everything and, in order that he might do this more conveniently, he placed each tower in a different part of the world. From one tower you step out into Shoe-lane; another occupies the greater part of a small island in the middle of a Scottish loch; a third looks out upon the dismal beauty of an Algerian desert; a fourth stands upon Drying-Green-street in a city in Faerie Minor; and so on. With characteristic exuberance Tom named this curiously constructed house Castel des Tours saunz Nowmbre, which means the Castle of Innumerable Towers. David Montefiore had counted the innumerable towers in 1764. There were fourteen of them.
On a morning in June in 1780 David Montefiore knocked upon the door of the Shoe-lane tower. He inquired of the porter where Tom might be found and was told that the master was in his library.
As David walked along dim, echoing corridors and trotted up immense stone staircases, he bade a cheerful "Good Morning! Good Morning!" to everyone he passed. But the only answer that he got was doubtful nods and curious stares, for no matter how often he visited the house, the inhabitants could never get used to him. His face was neither dazzlingly handsome nor twisted and repulsive. His figure was similarly undistinguished. His countenance expressed neither withering scorn, nor irresistible fascination, but only good humour and a disposition to think well of everyone. It was a mystery to the fairy inhabitants of Castel des Tours Saunz Nowmbre why any one should wish to wear such an expression upon his face.
Tom was not in the library. The room was occupied by nine fairy princesses. Nine exquisite heads turned in perfect unison to stare at David. Nine silk gowns bewildered the eye with their different colours. Nine different perfumes mingled in the air and made thinking difficult.
They were a few of Tom Brightwind's grand-daughters. Princess Caritas, Princess Bellona, Princess Alba Perfecta, Princess Lachrima and Princess Flammifera were one set of sisters; Princess Honey-of-the-Wild-Bees, Princess Lament-from-across-the-Water, Princess Kiss-upon-a-True-Love's Grave and Princess Bird-in-the-Hand were another.
"O David ben Israel!" said Princess Caritas. "How completely charming!" and offered him her hand.
"You are busy, Highnesses," he said, "I fear I disturb you."
"Not really," said Princess Caritas. "We are writing letters to our cousins. Duty letters, that is all. Be seated, O David ben Israel."
"You did not say that they are our female cousins," said Princess Honey-of-the-Wild-Bees. "You did not make that plain. I should not like the Jewish doctor to run away with the idea that we write to any other sort of cousin."
"To our female cousins naturally" said Princess Caritas.
"We do not know our male cousins," Princess Flammifera informed David.
"We do not even know their names," added Princess Lament-from-across-the-Water.
"And even if we did, we would not dream of writing to them," remarked Princess Alba Perfecta.
"Though we are told they are very handsome," said Princess Lachrima.
"Handsome?" said Princess Caritas. "Whatever gave you that idea? I am sure I do not know whether they are handsome or not. I do not care to know. I never think of such things."
"Oh now, really my sweet!" replied Princess Lachrima with a brittle laugh. "Tell the truth, do! You scarcely ever think of any thing else."
Princess Caritas gave her sister a vicious look.
"And to which of your cousins are you writing?" asked David quickly.
"To Igraine . . ."
"Nimue . . ."
"Elaine . . ."
"And Morgana."
"Ugly girls," remarked Princess Caritas.
"Not their fault," said Princess Honey-of-the-Wild-Bees generously.
"And will they be away long?" asked David.
"Oh!" said Princess Flammifera.
"Oh!" said Princess Caritas.
"Oh!" said Princess Honey-of-the-Wild-Bees.
"They have been sent away," said Princess Bellona.
"For ever . . ." said Princess Lament-from-across-the-Water.
". . . and a day," added Princess Flammifera.
"We thought everybody knew that," said Princess Alba Perfecta.
"Grandfather sent them away," said Princess Kiss-upon-aTrue-Love's-Grave.
"They offended Grandfather," said Princess Bird-in-theHand.
"Grandfather is most displeased with them," said Princess Lament-from-across-the-Water.
"They have been sent to live in a house," said Princess Caritas.
"Not a nice house," warned Princess Alba Perfecta.
"A nasty house!" said Princess Lachrima, with sparkling eyes. "With nothing but male servants! Nasty, dirty male servants with thick ugly fingers and hair on the knuckles! Male servants who will doubtless shew them no respect!" Lachrima put on a knowing, amused look. "Though perhaps they may shew them something else!" she said.
Caritas laughed. David blushed.
"The house is in a wood," continued Princess Bird-in-the-Hand.
"Not a nice wood," added Princess Bellona.
"A nasty wood!" said Princess Lachrima excitedly. "A thoroughly damp and dark wood, full of spiders and creepy, slimy, foul-smelling . . ."
"And why did your grandfather send them to this wood?" asked David quickly.
"Oh! Igraine got married," said Princess Caritas.
"Secretly," said Princess Lament-from-across-the-Water.
"We thought everyone knew that," said Princess Kiss-upon-a-True-Love's-Grave.
"She married a Christian man," explained Princess Caritas.
"Her harpsichord master!" said Princess Bellona, beginning to giggle.
"He played such beautiful concertos," said Princess Alba Perfecta.
"He had such beautiful . . ." began Princess Lachrima.
"Rima! Will you desist?" said Princess Caritas.
"Cousins," said Princess Honey-of-the-Wild-Bees sweetly, "when you are banished to a dark, damp wood, we will write to you.
"I did wonder, you know," said Princess Kiss-upon-a-TrueLove's-Grave, "when she began to take harpsichord lessons every day. For she was never so fond of music till Mr Cartwright came. Then they took to shutting the door - which, I may say, I was very sorry for, the harpsichord being a particular favourite of mine. And so, you know, I used to creep to the door to listen, but a quarter of an hour might go by and I would not hear a single note except perhaps the odd discordant plink as if one of them had accidentally leant upon the instrument. Once I thought I would go in to see what they were doing, but when I tried the handle of the door I discovered that they had turned the key in the lock. . ."
"Be quiet, Kiss!" said Princess Lament-from-across-the-Water.
"She's only called Kiss," explained Princess Lachrima to David helpfully. "She's never actually kissed any one."
"But I do not quite understand," said David. "If Princess Igraine married without her grandfather's permission, then that of course is very bad. Upon important matters children ought a
lways to consult their parents, or those who stand in the place of parents. Likewise parents - or as we have in this case, grandparents - ought to consider not only the financial aspects of a marriage and the rank of the prospective bride or bridegroom, but also the child's character and likely chances of happiness with that person. The inclinations of the child's heart ought to be of paramount importance . . ."
As David continued meditating out loud upon the various reciprocal duties and responsibilities of parents and children, Princess Honey-of-the-Wild-Bees stared at him with an expression of mingled disbelief and distaste, Princess Caritas yawned loudly and Princess Lachrima mimed someone fainting with boredom.
". . . But even if Princess Igraine offended her grandfather in this way," said David, "why were her sisters punished with her?"
"Because they did not stop her of course," said Princess Alba Perfecta.
"Because they did not tell Grandfather what she was about," said Princess Lament-from-across-the-Water.
"We thought everybody knew that," said Princess Bird-inthe-Hand.
"What happened to the harpsichord master?" asked David.
Princess Lachrima opened her large violet-blue eyes and leant forward with great eagerness, but at that moment a voice was heard in the corridor.
" . . . but when I had shot the third crow and plucked and skinned it, I discovered that it had a heart of solid diamond just as the old woman had said - so, as you see, the afternoon was not entirely wasted."