The Zankiwank and The Bletherwitch: An Original Fantastic Fairy Extravaganza

The Rose and the Lily

A tender Rose, so pretty and sleek,

Loved a Lily pure and white;

And paid his court with breathings meek —

Watching o'er her day and night.

While the Lily bowed her virgin head,

The Rose his message sent;

The Lily clung to her lover red,

And gave her shy consent.

The Violets cooed, and the Hare-bells rang,

And the Jasmine shook with glee;

While the birds high in the branches sang,

"Forget not true to be."

Dear Flora came the wedding to see, —

The Cowslips had decked the bride,

The Red Rose trembled so nervously —

His blushes he could not hide.

The Daisies opened their wee white eyes,

The Pinks came down in rows;

"Forget-me-not!" the Lily cries,

"My own, my sweet Moss Rose!"

The Violets cooed, and the Hare-bells rang,

And the Jasmine shook with glee;

While the birds high in the branches sang,

"O may you happy be!"

The Flower-fairies were gathered there,

And every plant as well,

To attend the wedding of this pair

So sweet that no pen can tell.

But a cruel wind came sweeping by —

The Lily drooped and died…

Then the Red Rose gave one tearful sigh,

And joined his Lily bride.

The Violets wept, and the Hare-bells sobbed,

The Myrtle and Jasmine sighed;

The birds were hushed as their hearts all throbbed

At the death of the Rose's bride.

Before the children had time to grow too sorrowful, there was a fluttering in the air and a rushing among the plants and flowers as the Zankiwank bounded into their presence, cutting so many capers that they were glad they were not to have mutton for dinner, as certainly all the capers would be destroyed.

The Zankiwank was in very high spirits, and gleefully announced that the Court of the Fairies, with the Queen, was coming, as Sally who lived in somebody's alley had just informed him. Then he burst out singing to a tune, which I daresay you all know, the following foolish words: —

Of all the flowers that are so smart,

There's none like Daffydilly!

She'd be the darling of my heart,

But she has grown so silly!

There is no wild flower in the land

That's half so tame as Daisy;

To her I'd give my heart and hand,

But fear I'd drive her crazy!

And then there is the Cabbage Rose,

Also the China Aster;

But Buttercup with yellow nose

Would cause jealous disaster.

Forget-me-not, O Violet dear!

Primrose, you know my passion!

For all the plants afar – anear

I court in flowery fashion!

"Oh, please be serious!" cried Willie. "

What

 is the matter with you, Mr Zankiwank?"

You will perceive that Willie and Maude were quite at home in their new surroundings, and nothing seemed to surprise them one whit, not even the unexpected which they constantly anticipated.

The Zankiwank only asked permission to send one more telegram to the Bletherwitch, and then he condescended to inform them that Queen Titania was about to pay a visit to the Flowers and the Birds, and sure enough, before he had done speaking, Titania arrived all the way from Athens, with a full train of fairies and elves, accompanied by a fairy band playing fairy music. Robin Goodfellow skipped in advance, while Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, and Mustard-seed attended on the lovely Queen.

"Indeed, indeed this must be a Midsummer Night's Dream!"

"Indeed and indeed then it is," mocked the impudent Robin Goodfellow. "The fairies are not dead yet; and they never will die while good little girls and boys, and poets with sweet imaginations, live. But quick, let not the Queen see you! Eat of these Fern Seeds and you will become invisible even to the fairies. They are special seeds of my own growing and warranted to last as long as I choose."

So Maude and Willie ate of the Fern Seeds and became invisible, even to the Zankiwank, who was dreadfully distressed and went about calling them by name. In a spirit of mischief Willie pinched his exceedingly thin legs, making him jump as high as an April rain-bow, and causing him to be called to order by the Court Usher.

"And now," said Titania, waving her wand and calling the Flowers and Birds to her Court, "let the Jackdaw sing his well-known War Song."

"If you please, your majesty, I have left the music at home and forgotten the words," pleaded the Jackdaw.

"Very well, then sing it without either or you shall not have a new coat until the Spring."

So the Jackdaw stepped forth and sang as below, while the Rook irreverently cleared his throat above for his friend, and cried "Caw! Caw!"

The Jackdaw's Jest

If peaches grew on apple trees,

And frogs were made of glass;

And bulls and cows were turned to bees,

And rooks were made of grass;

If boys and girls were made of figs,

If figs were made of dates,

Upon the sands they'd dance like grigs

With bald and oval pates.

If mortals had got proper sense

And were not quite so mad;

Their mood would make them more intense,

To make each other glad:

If only they would understand

The things that no one knows,

They'd live like fairies in the land,

And never come to blows.

"That's a very nice War Song – it's so peaceful and soothing," spake the Queen. "And now call the Poets from Freeland. This is the time for them to renew their licences, though I greatly fear that they have been taking so many liberties of late that any licence I can give them will prove superfluous."

"Superfluous! Superfluous! That

is

 a good word," muttered the Zankiwank. "I wonder what it means?" Whereupon he went and asked Robin Goodfellow and all the other Fairies, but as nobody knew, it did not matter, and the Poets arriving at that moment he thought of a number and sat on a toadstool.

Maude recognised several of the Poets who came to have their licences renewed – she had heard of "poetic licence" before, but never dreamed that one had to get the unwritten freedom from Fairyland. But so it was. Several of the Poets seemed to be exorbitant in their demands, and wanted to make their poems all licence, but this Titania would not consent to, so they went away singing, all in tune too, a little piece that Robin Goodfellow said was a Rondel: —

Life is but a mingled song,

Sung in divers keys;

Sweet and tender, brave and strong,

As the heart agrees.

Naught but love each maid will please

When emotions throng;

Life is but a mingled song,

Sung in divers keys.

Youth and age nor deem it wrong,

Sing with joyous ease,

That your days you may prolong

Freed from Care's decrees.

Life is but a mingled song

Sung in divers keys.

So on their way they went rejoicing – saying pretty things to the fairies, the flowers and the birds, for they are their best friends you know, and they love all Nature with a vast and all-embracing, all-enduring love.

One singer as he went along chanted half-sadly: —

To tell of other's joys the poet sings;

To tell of Love, its sweets and eke its pain;

The tenderest songs his magic fancy strings,

Of Love, perchance, that he may never gain.

Hearts may not break and passion may be weak,

But O the grief of Love that dare never speak!

A light-hearted bard then took up the cue and carolled these lines: —

There's so much prose in life that now and then,

A tender song of pity stirs the heart,

A simple lay of love from fevered pen,

Makes in some soul the unshed tear-drops start.

Sing, poets! sing for aye your sweetest strain,

For life without its poetry were vain!

Then they all sang together a song of May, although Queen Titania had declared that it was Midsummer. Perhaps her Midsummer lasts all the year round: —

When Winter's gone to rest,

And Spring is our dear guest;

The Merry May, at break of day,

Comes in gay garlands drest.

The brightest smiles she brings —

Of sweetest hopes she sings

And trips a-pace with dainty grace

And lightest fairy wings.

Joy is the song all Nature sighs,

Love is the light in maidens' eyes,

May is love alway:

The budding branch and nodding tree

Join in the revels and bow with glee

To greet the Virgin May.

While songsters choose and mate,

And woo their brides in state,

The youth and maid stroll through the glade

The birds to emulate!

Then comes the Queen of May,

To hold her court and sway,

While gallant blades salute the maids,

And whisper secrets gay.

Love is the song all Nature sighs,

While peace gleams in each maiden's eyes,

Youth is for joy alway!

The laughing rose and lily fair

Their fragrance shed upon the air,

As though 'twere ever May.

As the Poets went on their happy way, the last one to depart turned to where Maude was standing, and though he could not possibly see her, said gently: —

O grant you, little maiden, your thoughts be aye sincere,

Your dreams turn into actions,

Your pleasures know no sear:

Your life be flowers and sunshine,

Your days be free from tear.

How happy it made her! And what beautiful things these poets always thought of and said!

"Now, Peaseblossom and Mustard Seed, you may sing that little song that I made for you when we were floating up near the Moon, and then we shall soon have to depart as we have so many calls to make this Midsummer Night."

Neither Willie nor Maude could understand how it could be Midsummer Night, because Midsummer Day was such a long way off – quite six weeks, for this was only yet the month of May. But they did not say anything, because Robin Goodfellow was looking at them, and they knew they were invisible, because they could not even feel themselves – which is a curious sensation, when you come to think of it.

Now, this is the song that Peaseblossom and Mustard Seed sang together in unison – the fairies, led by Robin Good fellow, joining in the chorus: —

Will you walk into the Garden

Will you walk into the garden?

Said the Poppy to the Rose,

Your tender heart don't harden, —

Do not elevate your nose.

For the Gilly-flower has sent us

All because of your perfume,

And the Box a case has lent us,

To make a little room.

So Rosey! Rosey! sweet little posy

Come to our garden fête,

And our little Cock-roaches will lend you their coaches,

So that you mayn't be late.

All the Waterblinks are waiting,

Just beneath the Dogwood's shade;

While the Teazle's loudly prating

To the Madder's little maid!

The old Cranberry grows tartish

All about a Goosefoot Corn,

But the Primrose, dressed quite smartish,

Will explain it's but a thorn.

So Rosey! Rosey! sweet little posy

Come to our garden fête;

Our naughty young nettles shall be on their fettles,

All stinging things to bate.

Now for tea there's Perrywinkles

And some Butterwort and Sedge,

House-leeks and Bird's-nest-binkles,

With some Sundew from the hedge,

There is Sorrel, Balsam, Mallow,

Some Milk Wort and Mare's Tail too,

With some Borage and some Sallow,

Figworts and Violets blue.

So Rosey! Rosey! sweet little posy,

Come to our garden fête,

And the Iris and Crocus shall sing us and joke us

Some humorous things sedate.

"That's all very well," exclaimed the Zankiwank. "Roses are always delightful, especially the Cabbage Roses, because you can eat them for breakfast, but every rose has its drawback… Ho! and it's thorn," he added, dancing with pain, for at that moment several rose bushes he was passing by gave him a good pricking.

"Ah!" said Queen Titania, "that is not the way to look at the beautiful things of life. It is because the thorns have roses that we should be thankful, and not find fault because the roses have thorns."

"That is a sentiment that I can endorse – it is a true bill, and almost as good as one of my own," replied Robin Goodfellow saucily; "and now let us wander through the Florange grove and gather some Moranges and Lemons."

Neither Maude nor Willie had heard of Floranges or Moranges, and wondered what sort of fruit they could be, when their attention was drawn once more to Queen Titania and her court of fairies, who were all seated beneath the greenwood tree eating puddings and pies that Mustard Seed and Peaseblossom and Cobweb were making for them, chanting, as they cooked the pastry by the fire of their own eloquence, this doggerel: —

First you take a little orange,

And you squeeze out all the pips;

Then you add a crimson florange,

Which you cut up into chips.

Then you stir them in a porringe,

With your tiny finger tips;

And you have the finest morange

Ever known to mortal lips.

How Willie and Maude longed to taste a morange! The Zankiwank evidently enjoyed the one he had, for he said it tasted just like mango, ice cream, blackberries and plum tart all mixed up together, so that it must have been nice.

After the feast Titania said she must be going, as she felt certain that there were some invisible mortals present. She could hear them breathing! At this Robin Goodfellow grew nervous, and the children got frightened lest the Queen should discover and punish them for their temerity.

"Where Christmas pudding's bliss

'Tis folly to eat pies,"

cried Robin Goodfellow to divert attention and the fairies at the same time, but the Queen was not satisfied, and ordered a special dress train to carry them away again.

At this moment the two children tumbled off nothing into a vacant space, making the Zankiwank scream out – "It must be the Bletherwitch in the clutches of the Nargalnannacus." But it wasn't, and if it had not been for Robin Goodfellow's presence of mind, I am sure I do not know what would have happened. That lively rascal, however, guessing that he had used the wrong seeds, at once stepped forward, and taking Maude and Willie each by the hand, boldly presented them to Her Majesty as being favoured mortals who were friends of the Zankiwank, and so the Queen received them and asked them more questions than you could find in any school book. None of which they answered, because when they turned round the Queen and all her court had vanished, and only the Zankiwank was to be seen.

The Zankiwank took no notice of them whatever, and behaved just as though he could not see them. They called him by name without arousing his attention, for he was once more writing a telegram, only he did not know where to send it. In the distance Maude could hear the sound of voices, a