woodland nymphs washing themselves, for the love of heaven, Hanny! in the petals of a foxglove. And, most irrefutable of all, the final two in the sequence—the first, of a little naked mannequin with the head of a horse, and one of herself smiling at a tiny, winged woman sitting in the palm of her hand, combing her long hair with minuscule fingers.
My dear Hanny, what can I say! I have seen the evidence myself and I am convinced of its veracity. Had it been presented by an accomplished photographer, I might have hesitations, but these are the handiwork of a fifteen-year-old girl!
Well, of course, Willie has been in a fine old flap ever since, and wants to arrange a series of interviews, preferably under hypnosis, with Emily to finally prove the existence of a mystical world apart from, but adjacent to, our own. Even before I heard the word hypnosis mentioned, I had thought of you, Hanny; after all, you are the country’s leading investigator of the strange and supernatural. Willie hasn’t the first idea about mesmerism, let alone how to go about an investigation scientifically, so I suggested you to him with a few of your credentials and he insisted that you be in attendance. I know you’ll hardly need asking twice, but please hold your horses one moment before throwing things into cases, telephoning the station, etc., and I’ll summarise the arrangements.
Caroline Desmond has suggested the weekend of the twenty-seventh of this month as a provisional date. Telegram me, will you, and let me know if it is acceptable. She’s offered to accommodate you, but I said there was more room at Rathkennedy, and anyway, we were old friends. Hanny, dearest, there’s too much we have to talk about! Do say you can make it—I’m dying to see you again. It must be over three years since our paths last crossed.
Erin Go Bragh!
Connie
Excerpts from the Craigdarragh Interviews: July 27, 28, 29, 1913, as Transcribed by Mr. Peter Driscoll, Ll.B., of Sligo.
(The first interview: 9:30 P.M. , July 27. In attendance: Mr. W. B. Yeats, Mr. H. Rooke, Mrs. C. Desmond, Miss E. Desmond, Mrs. C. Booth-Kennedy, Mr. P. Driscoll. Weather, windy, with some rain.)
Yeats: You are quite certain that Emily is in the hypnotic trance and receptive to my questioning, Mr. Rooke?
Rooke: Quite sure, Mr. Yeats.
Yeats: Very well, then. Emily, can you hear me?
Emily: Yes, sir.
Yeats: Tell me, Emily, have those photographs you have shown me been falsified in any way?
Emily: No, sir.
Yeats: The recorder will note that scientific research has proved that it is impossible for a subject to lie under hypnosis. So these are genuine pictures of faery folk, then?
(No reply.)
Rooke: You must question the subject directly, Mr. Yeats.
Yeats: Forgive me, a momentary lapse of memory. I repeat, Emily, are these photographs actual representations of supernatural beings? Faeries?
Emily: Faeries? Of course they are faeries—the Old Folk, the Ever-Living Ones.
Yeats: The recorder will let it show that the subject, on being questioned a second time on the veracity of the photographs, again verified their genuiness. Therefore, having established the validity of the photographs, could you tell me, Emily, on how many occasions these photographs were taken?
Emily: Three occasions. Once in the morning. Twice in the early afternoon. Three days. Then—
Yeats: Go on, Emily.
Emily: It was as if they didn’t want me to take any more photographs of them. They were distant and aloof, like there was a cloud over the sun. They drew apart from me, hid themselves in the wood. I haven’t seen them now in many days, Oh, why do they hide themselves from me? I only want to be their friend.
Yeats: Thank you, Emily. That will be all, for now.
Rooke: Excuse me, Mr. Yeats, one moment. Might I ask a couple of questions before we close? Emily, on what date did the first manifestation occur?
Emily: The first night was the sixth of July. I remember—I wrote it in my diary. It was the
My dear Hanny, what can I say! I have seen the evidence myself and I am convinced of its veracity. Had it been presented by an accomplished photographer, I might have hesitations, but these are the handiwork of a fifteen-year-old girl!
Well, of course, Willie has been in a fine old flap ever since, and wants to arrange a series of interviews, preferably under hypnosis, with Emily to finally prove the existence of a mystical world apart from, but adjacent to, our own. Even before I heard the word hypnosis mentioned, I had thought of you, Hanny; after all, you are the country’s leading investigator of the strange and supernatural. Willie hasn’t the first idea about mesmerism, let alone how to go about an investigation scientifically, so I suggested you to him with a few of your credentials and he insisted that you be in attendance. I know you’ll hardly need asking twice, but please hold your horses one moment before throwing things into cases, telephoning the station, etc., and I’ll summarise the arrangements.
Caroline Desmond has suggested the weekend of the twenty-seventh of this month as a provisional date. Telegram me, will you, and let me know if it is acceptable. She’s offered to accommodate you, but I said there was more room at Rathkennedy, and anyway, we were old friends. Hanny, dearest, there’s too much we have to talk about! Do say you can make it—I’m dying to see you again. It must be over three years since our paths last crossed.
Erin Go Bragh!
Connie
Excerpts from the Craigdarragh Interviews: July 27, 28, 29, 1913, as Transcribed by Mr. Peter Driscoll, Ll.B., of Sligo.
(The first interview: 9:30 P.M. , July 27. In attendance: Mr. W. B. Yeats, Mr. H. Rooke, Mrs. C. Desmond, Miss E. Desmond, Mrs. C. Booth-Kennedy, Mr. P. Driscoll. Weather, windy, with some rain.)
Yeats: You are quite certain that Emily is in the hypnotic trance and receptive to my questioning, Mr. Rooke?
Rooke: Quite sure, Mr. Yeats.
Yeats: Very well, then. Emily, can you hear me?
Emily: Yes, sir.
Yeats: Tell me, Emily, have those photographs you have shown me been falsified in any way?
Emily: No, sir.
Yeats: The recorder will note that scientific research has proved that it is impossible for a subject to lie under hypnosis. So these are genuine pictures of faery folk, then?
(No reply.)
Rooke: You must question the subject directly, Mr. Yeats.
Yeats: Forgive me, a momentary lapse of memory. I repeat, Emily, are these photographs actual representations of supernatural beings? Faeries?
Emily: Faeries? Of course they are faeries—the Old Folk, the Ever-Living Ones.
Yeats: The recorder will let it show that the subject, on being questioned a second time on the veracity of the photographs, again verified their genuiness. Therefore, having established the validity of the photographs, could you tell me, Emily, on how many occasions these photographs were taken?
Emily: Three occasions. Once in the morning. Twice in the early afternoon. Three days. Then—
Yeats: Go on, Emily.
Emily: It was as if they didn’t want me to take any more photographs of them. They were distant and aloof, like there was a cloud over the sun. They drew apart from me, hid themselves in the wood. I haven’t seen them now in many days, Oh, why do they hide themselves from me? I only want to be their friend.
Yeats: Thank you, Emily. That will be all, for now.
Rooke: Excuse me, Mr. Yeats, one moment. Might I ask a couple of questions before we close? Emily, on what date did the first manifestation occur?
Emily: The first night was the sixth of July. I remember—I wrote it in my diary. It was the
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