Angels and Insects (20 page)

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 think 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.

Miss Mouffet’s reply was lost in the whirring of the great wings, as the Moth rose from the earth, with steady beats, and went swiftly out, over the wall, into the dark beyond.

The journey was full of terrors and delights, which you may imagine for yourself. Sometimes the moon was obscured by great hooked leathery wings, and sometimes the earth shone silver and peaceful beneath. They flew on, and on, over oceans and cities, rivers and forests, and then began a long, slow descent in a ravine between rocks that went on, and on, so deep, that above them the stars appeared to vanish. And as the sky and the moon and the stars vanished, another world was revealed by another light, a black world washed by flickering silvery fires, and shot with rainbow colours whose source he could not see. And finally the Moth alighted on what seemed to be the steps of a temple cut in a rock face, surrounded by a thick grove of silent, watching black trees. On the step of the temple was a much smaller Hawk Moth, or Sphinx, grass-green in colour, with a gold underwing, and a look of earthly leaves in that dark place.