by A. S. Byatt
Imagine to yourself a red apple, hard and shiny and heavy as the Albert Hall, hung on a cable and swinging over your defenceless head. Imagine then how much more terrible must appear the veined spherical mountain, wonderfully streaked with rich purple, soft and green-ridged and folded with crevices and crannies, which is a gleaming cabbage, bursting with strength and just ready to pick. Seth was overcome with a mixture of awe, and apprehension, and admiration of the huge force behind all this burgeoning. He climbed down again to the earth, and thanked the ants for their kindness. He thought he might try to live in the garden until he could find a way of restoring himself to his original form, and rescuing his comrades. He thought he could hide well enough from Dame Cottitoe Pan Demos, unless of course she knew a magic that would reveal him to her. This thought cast him down a little. He began to hurry across the lawn forest, away from the wall of the castle, as though there was any use in distancing himself from her sphere of influence. The ants had helped him. He might meet other helpers, he told himself, to keep his spirits up.
He could hear all sorts of sounds around him. Some of them he would have heard in his natural state—the liquid warbling of the birds, now an orchestra singing in a waterfall, and the huge hum of bees, darting from flower to flower. He heard also sounds he would never have heard with unsharpened ears—the mumbling, and champing and sawing, and munching of thousands and thousands of busy mouths eating away at leaf and flower, fruit and flesh and bone. He could hear worms sliding by like slimy trains and thirsty mouths in the soil, sucking up dew and juices. After a time he got used to all these sounds, like a man walking easily in the bustle of a great city, and began to look about him more confidently. He carne out of a tunnel in the grass, and on to the edge of a bed of raspberry canes. He thought he might manage to pull off a raspberry and eat part of it—he was suddenly hungry—and began to climb up the stem of one, hand over hand, as he used to do in the days of his sailing. By this method he managed to approach the sun-baked top of a low brick wall, against which the canes were springing, and he was about to reach out for the fruit, when, from amongst the leaves, he heard a slow, menacing hiss. And from along the wall he heard a kind of threatening coughing growl, like the voice of an angry crocodile.
Along the branches of the raspberry poured the most terrible creature, a loathsome, blunt-snouted dragon, with a horrible bloated head, and huge staring eyes. And along the wall, making the growling noise, advanced another, waving a forked tail like a whiplash, rearing up a huge cavernous mouth, snarling loudly. This one had a wine-coloured back and bright green head and tail. It moved slowly, in a swaying way, whilst the more serpentine beast oozed over the branch.
Seth backed away, looking frantically for a weapon. He found a flake of slate on the wall that might, at a pinch, cut or stab, and he picked up a handful of fragments to throw.
‘Get away—’ he cried. ‘Go back.’
The serpent in the branches swayed to and fro. It spoke in a thick, bloated kind of voice, as though its mouth was full of nasty things.
‘I—am—very—unpleasant—indeed. I—will—hurt—you—very—badly. I—am—very—dangerous. You—should—not—approach—me.’
And the one on the path said, ‘I—am—very—cruel. I—am—the—eater. I—pick—you—to—the—bones.’
‘Go back,’ said Seth. He could smell their hot breaths, all fleshy and full. He threw a pebble at the forked-tailed one, which stopped and twitched its skin, and then came on again. Seth thought his last moment had come: he could not run away because there was a sheer rising wall behind him, and the fat-headed serpent in front. He was trapped between the two.
And just at that moment, out of the sky, someone descended very fast on the end of a long silken rope, which did not appear to be attached to anything. Two shiny black shoes arrived, with a little skip, and above them someone long and thin and black—a four-limbed creature, which resolved itself into a human shape, female, with a long black skirt and a white bonnet, shading a little white face with large hornrimmed glasses on a sharp nose. She was wrapped in a long, silvery cloak. This person rolled in the silk rope out of the blue, and coiled it at her feet.
‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘You appear to be troubled.’
‘I am about to be eaten alive by dragons and serpents.’
‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘These are my friends, Deilephila Elpenor, and Cerura Vinula. They are quite as much afraid of you as you are of them. They tell terrible lies about themselves, and blow themselves up to horrify those they think might hurt them. I don’t think this creature will hurt you,’ she said to the dragons. ‘You have frightened him very efficiently. That is enough for now. You must hurry, and eat more. There is not long to go.’
Seth said, ‘They look very terrible and dangerous.’
‘They will be pleased to hear that. Won’t you, Elpenor? Won’t you, Vinula? Look closely at Vinula, Sir, and you will see that his real jaws occupy a small space underneath that great Mask he shows the world. And watch Elpenor deflate himself, and you will see that his terrible eyes are only the spots on his saddle, puffed out to dwarf his real head, which is small enough. Really, he has a dear little snout, more like a piglet than a great Dragon. Things are not always what they seem, you know. May I know your name?’
‘It is Seth.’
‘And I am Mistress Mouffet.’ She held out a thin hand. ‘Would you like to share my picnic? I think you must have escaped from the Sties, and I may be able to help you, if you will trust me.’
So Seth sat down with Mistress Mouffet on the top of the wall, and she gave him bread and cheese and apples from her basket, all of which were the right size for him in his present state, and for her too. And she looked at him kindly with her shining eyes behind her spectacles, and told him about the Garden.
‘It belongs to Dame Cottitoe Pan Demos, who uses it to ripen fruit and vegetables for her table, and flowers to decorate her boudoir and her drawing-room, and likes to walk about in it, as you see, for Dame Cottitoe is a good gardener, and her plants flourish mightily. But there are other creatures who spend time here, and are not subject to the rule of Dame Cottitoe—who came from beyond-the-wall, and have other purposes. Elpenor and Vinula are such creatures in a sense, or will become such creatures, as I hope you may see, for although they were born in this Garden, and have no memory of any other place, they are not subject to the laws of the Garden and will leave it. And many other creatures sail into the Garden on umbrellas of silk, or long threads as I do. And many more come in through burrows and cracks in the earth, for the Garden is part of the realm of a much more powerful Fairy than Dame Cottitoe, who allows her to tend it, but likes to see how its creatures fare, and to send and receive messages from within the wall. Look at the grass, and you will see that it is all laced over and over with silken ropes, such as I came on—each belonging to a spiderling, who will make her nest here, and spin her web, and keep watch. And the birds too, and the winged seeds of the trees, which spin in and out, and the clouds of pollen from others, and the parasols of the cow parsley and the dandelion, all carry messages.’
‘And who is this Fairy? And would She help me, and my poor enchanted companions? And who are you?’
‘I am the Recorder of this Garden, or you might say the Spy, for Dame Cottitoe does not know of my existence. I look after creatures such as Elpenor and Vinula, and yourself, as it turns out. A relation of mine, in another world, was one of the great Namegivers, one of the great historians of this Garden. It was he, indeed, who named Elpenor and Vinula, and their names are like delightful poems, you know. I got into a poem myself—“Little Miss Muffet” my poem is entitled—but it is a garbled thing, associating me with spiders, it is true, but suggesting that I, the cousin of the author of Theatrum Insectorum sive Animalium Minimorum might be afraid of a spider, when I am in fact a recorder of their names and natures, and their good friend.’
‘Tell me about the poetic names of Elpenor and Vinula, Mistress M
ouffet. For I too come from a country family, where namegiving is a family occupation.’
‘Elpenor, you must know, was the name of a Greek sailor, who was turned into a swine by a relative of Mistress Cottitoe, named Circe, and my father chose this name for him because of the snout-like nature of his ordinary nose. He has a junior relative called Porcellus, a pigling, for the same reason. And Vinula’s name is Cerura Vinula—Cerura for two Greek words, (keras) a horn, and (oura) a tail, for his tail, you see, is forked like two horns, and hard into the bargain. And my relative called Vinula “an elegant caterpillar, by Jove, and beautiful beyond belief”. Names, you know, are a way of weaving the world together, by relating the creatures to other creatures and a kind of metamorphosis, you might say, out of a metaphor, which is a figure of speech for carrying one idea into another.’
Of course,’ said Seth, who was pursuing his own ideas. Of course, they are caterpillars. I took them for terrible snakes, or lizards.’
‘So do full-grown humans and hungry birds. That is their cleverness. And like all true caterpillars, they will change into winged beings. And then their names are added to and changed again. I know where some of Elpenor’s brothers and sisters are just about to burst out of their hiding places. Will you come and see them? I think they may help you. For they carry very particular messages to the Fairy beyond-the-wall, and are named for Her, in some ways, and might consent to carry you to Her, if you have the courage.’
So they went along the top of the wall, accompanied by the caterpillar-dragons, who rippled along very busily. And after a time they came down, in a far corner of the garden, where a graceful willow-tree overshadowed pots of herbs, and a vegetable-bed, with solid rows of leeks like green cathedral-pillars, and ferny carrot-tops, like luxuriant palm-trees, and bowers of potato-leaves, in which a large caterpillar could be seen crunching up vast mouthfuls, ripping and tearing with great force.
‘This is a relative of Elpenor,’ said Mistress Mouffet. ‘His name is Manduca, which means simply a Glutton, in Latin, which is not very nice, but appropriate, you know; because he is so large, and must grow so much, he has to eat very quickly. He is very handsome, I think, despite his nasty name. Over here are some of Elpenor’s relations, feeding on the rosebay willow-herb, which is not one of Dame Cottitoe’s nurselings, but one who flies in on silky floss on every breeze and can make a rooting-place in any nick or cranny. And Vinula’s relations can be seen all over the tree here, for they love willow. If you come near the tree, I will show you the chrysalis woven by Vinula to rest in for the winter. Look, there, in that crack in the bark.’
Seth looked, but could see nothing.
‘He is due to hatch any moment,’ said Mistress Mouffet. ‘I am here to record the date of his transfiguration.’
‘I can see nothing at all,’ said Seth.
‘And yet there is his house, or cradle, or even coffin, however you wish to name it,’ said Mistress Mouffet. ‘It is woven tightly of lovely silk—he curls up and spins his own soft shroud from his own substance, using his little head as a shuttle. Each makes his own characteristic house. Manduca does not weave silk, but builds himself a horny carapace, like an Egyptian mummy-case, in darkest mahogany, and buries it far beneath the soil, where it lies quietly in waiting. And Elpenor makes a similar case—only paler—and hides it on the surface of the soil. You must have seen these things, when you were—larger. You may even have broken into one, whilst digging in your garden. Your father must turn them up, often and often, in his thorny soil. And if, by accident, you break open the coffin during the sleep of its builder you will not find either a grub or a folded moth, but a yellow soup, like egg-yolk, which looks like the decay of putrefaction and is the stuff of life and rebirth itself. For things are not what they seem, as you must always remember.’
‘I will,’ said Seth, and guided perhaps by this excellent principle, or perhaps by a preliminary shudder of changes, he was suddenly enabled to see the chrysalis of Vinula, which was a huge tent, or nest, on the bark of the tree, woven so wonderfully with bits of bark and sawdust, and wood, that it seemed to be an outgrowth of the tree itself, and nothing to do with caterpillars, or moths. But from within it appeared the soft head, and then the thin shoulders, and then the clinging wet, trembling wings of the moth, which clung with its fine feet to the bark of the tree, limp and exhausted.
‘He will dry out his fur, and wait for his wings to harden in the air and the light,’ said Miss Mouffet, obviously a person who took great pleasure in instructing others. ‘Meanwhile, here is a brother of Elpenor, who has already found his way out, and is waiting for the evening. He is very handsome, I think, with his rosy body and wings, striped with the loveliest mossy-green. He is like a moss-rose-bud, though he is not named for that. He is a Large Elephant Hawk Moth.’
Those are strange names,’ said Seth, considering the beautiful rosy creature, with its pointed wings and its furry breast. ‘For there is no resemblance between an elephant and a hawk, so how may Elpenor resemble both at once?’
Mistress Mouffet was momentarily puzzled at this. Then she said, ‘His family are Hawk Moths. The gluttonous Manduca is a Hawk Moth, too. They are named for the sharpness and darting of their flight, and the pointed nature of their heads. I suppose the “elephant” is a reminiscence of his snout in the caterpillar state. His scientific name is Sphinx Deilephila Elpenor. Deilephila is a beautiful word, meaning “lover of the evening”, for he likes to fly at dusk.’
‘And Sphinx?’ said Seth.
Miss Mouffet lowered her voice.
‘Sphinx is one of the names of the great Fairy. It means, in part, the asker of riddles. And the answer, too. She loves these moths because they are riddles, like herself.’
‘What is an elephant and a swine and a lover of twilight and a desert monster all at once?’ said Seth, helpfully.
‘That sort of riddle, but not only that sort,’ said Miss Mouffet.
‘And what is the true name of Cerura Vinula?’ asked Seth, watching with fascination as the wings dried into the most beautiful floating silver, spangled with gold and smoky grey, and the damp body puffed itself out into soft grey fur.
‘He is the Puss Moth, as you can see, and his family are the Notodonta, from () the back, and (odontos) tooth—as you see, he has sharp points on his upper wings. He too is a kind of mimic dragon, at rest, though soft and delicate.
‘But now, evening is approaching, and the greatest of the Moths, the Sphinx, whose larva was Manduca, the hungry one, will be stirring, and ready to sail beyond-the-wall. I might ask him to bear you with him, for he goes into her Presence. But the journey is fearful, and the place where She is is not for the faint-hearted. For you must go into the Shadows and beyond, and few return from there.’
‘Will she help me?’
‘She helps all of us, though some of us do not recognise her help for what it is.’
‘Will she restore me to my former shape?’
‘She will change you, for that is her work. It may be that the change will be a restoration.’
‘I will go,’ said Seth. ‘Take me to the Moth.’
When he first saw the great Sphinx, he thought it beautiful, and restful, for its wings were dappled with rich shades, umber and charcoal, dark rose and silver, beautifully veined. It had long feathery antennae, gently moving in the darkening air, and its voice was soft and dreamy. Miss Mouffet stood before it, and asked it if it would carry this metamorphosed Human into Her kingdom and it answered, in soft syllables, ‘If that is what he wishes, I am willing.’
‘Let him see his saddle,’ said Miss Mouffet, who seemed taller and darker and straighter of a sudden, and her silvery cape more mysterious and moony.
And the great Moth spread its wings—its underwings were moon-gold, fringed with soot—and there, on its back, spun in its very hair, was a staring mask, which could be read as a jackal, or a demon, or a human death head, with cavities of bone that had once held eyes. And Seth had a moment of terror, to thi
nk of riding into the dark on the back of a death’s head, and thought even, ‘Things are indeed not what they seem, and perhaps Miss Mouffet is a witch and perhaps Madame Sphinx is simply terrible and devouring.’
‘What is this Moth’s true name?’ he asked, knowing the answer in his soul.
‘It is the Death’s-head Hawk, Sphinx Acherontia Atropos,’ said Miss Mouffet. ‘And Acheron is the River of Pain in the Underworld, where you must go, and Atropos is the Fate who snips the thread of life with her terrible shears, but fear nothing, and answer the Fairy’s Question, and you will come out of it well. Hold tight to the Sphinx, no matter what forms flow past you, and remember, things are not what they seem, and the death’s head is not Atropos’s face, but a soft nest where you may lie in safety, if you dare.’
So Seth climbed up on to the great back—from where he could no longer see the deathly sockets, for they were soft brown pillows—and said goodbye to Miss Mouffet.
‘You said nothing about a question.’
‘I said She was the source of riddles, but also of answers,’ said Miss Mouffet. ‘And if you do not fear, and remember things are not what they seem, you will very likely find the answer—’
‘And if I don’t find it?’ asked Seth.