The Fellers' Master Stroke

In the #TateBritain there is a magical painting set deep in the forest, with tiny, supernatural beings frozen in anticipation as the "Fairy Feller" prepares to split a nut with his axe. It's by #RichardDadd and he wrote a #poem to go alongside it.

Here's the painting:

But it's small and intricate so the above image doesn't really do it justice. Lets zoom in!

The Fairy Feller’s Master-Stroke is weird, whimsical and haunting, in the best king of way! It takes us into a wild, magical #fairy world crammed with quirky little characters frozen mid-action. Right as the "Fairy Feller" is about to split a nut with an axe, a crowd of magical fairy folk, ranging from kings and queens to jesters and old-world spirits, has gathered in the forest to watch. It's a moment of suspense, as if time is paused, as everyone waits for what is about to happen once this hazelnut is split.

Richard Dadd painted it with insane detail, down to every blade of grass and sparkle of fairy dust, and you can tell he was totally immersed in this bizarre, enchanted universe. He painted it while he was in Broadmoor (a psychiatric hospital) in 1865 after experiencing a severe mental health crisis. He had paranoid schizophrenia and his painting depicting British fairy lore became his obsessive project for nearly a decade.

Dadd wrote the poem to go alongside the painting to explain it, to flesh out the bizarre, enchanted world he’d imagined. The poem is cryptic and rambling, full of Shakespearean references, fairy tale twists, and wordplay. It’s half explanation, half riddle, he wrote it to make sense of the painting, but it's quite confusing. But maybe that just adds to the mystery and magic of it.

Elimination of a Picture & its Subject—called The Fellers' Master Stroke (1865)

by Richard Dadd

Half twelve, that’s six, ’tis more

Perhaps, exact that’s gone before

Behoves not here to say,

How many years away

Have welled up and flowed on

Slow passing till they’re gone.

But some such time has fled

Since regular business led

To where a canvas glowed

With fays, a leafy node

Encircling wild about.

Their differences they let out

About an Indian boy,

Whom for a toy,

To while the time

Or teach to mime

Or verse in fairy tricks,

A mighty King his eyes did fix

Upon with covetous regard;

When met upon the sward,

Near Athen’s learned seat

His Queen had set her feet

Thrice happy green —--business

Led, an official person to this sight

Who with the picture pleased

As ’t’were a jewel bright,

His mind of burden eased,

To have the like

Of which did strike,

At fancy’s shrine well meant.

If ’t’was not so, then I may say

’T’was this perhaps, that west away

Some friend he had, who wrote in verse

About the fairies, sense as terse

As poets jam into a measured line

And gives such extra value I opine

To Heliconian jet so of his rhymes

Possessed, he wished to see

A little sketch, slight as may be

To illustrate the same —

Some stanzas shewed as game

Or point from which to throw

Sees nothing clearly, as his has

Blackly impositive and soon

Makes it as clear as sunny noon

That he has not –

Waiting this heavenly gift

I thought on nought – a shift

As good perhaps as thinking hard.

Fancy was not to be evoked

From her etherial realms

Or if so, then her purpose cloaked

And nuzzling the cloth, on which

The cloudy shades not rich,

Indefinite almost unseen

Lay vacant entities of chance,

Lent forms unto my careless glance

Without intent, pure fancy ’tis I mean

Design and composition thus –

Now minus and just here perhaps – plus -

Grew in this way – and so – or thus,

That fairly wrought they stand in view.

A fairy band, much as I say, just so

’tis true.

Part from the shades designed

Part a vain fancy, all inclined

A common end to gain

Of nothing something still

To stand before, the sight to fill

Something we have, having, we

Yet have not

Be it so or nay, why care a jot?

But there they are – and now

They stand a theme – a field to plough

And silent reap what any choose

Judiciously or not to lose.

All, the significance may give

They surely think in this doth live.

As Nature’s Pages open spread

By erudite or fools are read,

To this one seems the world a den

While that a paradise in it doth ken

In the same place, ’tis lore

Preacquisite, the wise man’s store

Gives off a value rich & full

To that sprung from a sense so dull

It does not half appreciate

Upon that which it doth dilate

Dilatory, dull, absorbing, rapt

In the sort of a kind of a –

something mapped

While struggling reason roams away

Nor will in such dull fetters stay

But leaves the author out of himself

To make his fame or gain his pelf

If so he may or can –

But to the common mind

The meaning thus, let’s find –

For idle pastime hither led

Fays, gnomes, and elves and suchlike fled

To fix some dubious point to fairies only

Known to exist, or to the lonely

Thoughtful man recluse

Of power a potent spell to loose

Which binds the better slave to worse

Swindles soul, body, goods & purse

T’unlock the secret cells of dark abyss

The power which never doth its victim miss

But may egorge when truth appears

When fail or guns or swords or spears

For some such end we may suppose

They’ve met since day hath made its close

Night’s noon time haply extra bright

By fairie power made all so light

Doubtful if night or day might reign

To certain be in mind revolve again

And say that common nature is not true.

Precisely to what fairie opes to view

Comme ça for the effect, if you should doubt.

If you’ve not been there, perhaps you mought

Make a fresh bend; we’ll now advance

These folk displayed as in a trance

Have not the dexter object here

But the same might be sinister

For saintly doubtless it is rare

To call a goblin elf, the lair

He loves, or any thing or sprite

That in the name of fairy doth delight

Or e’en the land itself

Laden with unimpossible wealth

To the mutton says Monsieur Crapaud

This meet unto the Patriarch owed

Say its conclave – and here to shew

His triple crown of subtle might

Weird in its form & shining bright

An arch magician whose large little club

Of some hard heavy wood is but a stubb

And might be loaded in its larger butt

Force to add when to use ’tis put

But even without no fairy skull

Resist it might however thick or dull

A little bit of wood just a mere twig

For which a plodding mortal less than a fig

Cares - but to an elf it has

A power as fatal as the Upas.

If on a sudden it descends

On fairy sconce, its revel ends

And then you know poor little fart

Unto another private realm he will depart.

“Don’t want to hurt poor little fa-er-ee”

Appeals the rogue unto the powers that be

The arch-fiend sees no dodge illicit

’Bout younker caught – is not explicit

Or he might say “Don't let me catch

You here again

Or perhaps you'll meet with far too

Much sharp pain

And stunning effects the same to

Follow – which will not leave you

time to holloa!” ––––––––

Beneath his wide spread crown

He casts a glance adown

Dim vistãs of the pregnant coming bustle

To note if there is aught to stay or hustle

The incident peculiar here

Inciding edge incising clear

Or so to do.

His right hand raised, seems to declare

“Except I tell you when, strike if you dare –

For all the powers of skill or chance

Fairies can use before my glance –

are bare”

’Tis so – no doubt, but even Almighty Power

Suffers defeat each day & every hour

As unforeseen some little trifling thing

Cheats of a stave another song we sing

His glance means likely too

If t’other is not much ado

He with one blow, another turn will serve

If from the aim’s intent it doth not swerve

Left to its time & how to do

To split, for Mab perchance a chariot new.

’Tis all the skill there is for such a deed

Happen, happening in faerie for fairy’s need.

See – ’tis fay woodman holds aloft the axe

Whose double edge virtue now they tax

To do it single & make single double

Teatly and neatly – equal without trouble

’Tis not yet done – yet there he stands

Try if he’ll do it – for your own commands

He knows the axe to use on fairy trees

And fairy common sense embodies if you please

If that your fancy – you can strain so far.

As to suppose the same & yet not mar

Your mental method and decorum

Where all things shew them quasi coram

He’s clothed in leather note from top to toe.

All of one colour you may mark also.

The colour of his money you might say.

Good or bad adding lack-a-day.

How can I tell? –

Splitting is either good or bad

For not so the same terms are had.

And that’s his money so to speak

Merely tho’ ’tis about a freak.

As to the colour this we’ll add

’Tis warm enough for fairy mad

But fairy leather comes from Victims small.

Tho’ if they’re cattle fed in field or stall,

I know not – or bat’s wings dyed to suit the taste

But to the next one let us haste.

The ostler from the fairy inn

Knowing his air, the curate of the trim

Hands to his knees and body bent

On the nuts so tiny is all intent

With well spurred heel can ride amain

Stirrup or saddle seeks not to maintain

His seat the which so well he knows

Secure the menage that around him grows

That is a look of mastery as t’were to say

There is no dodge to me doth lay

Concealed where asses dogs or warmint be,

I am a doctor veterinaree

They call me night or morn as’t eve

Tom – price –

I know full well of beasts & in a trice

Your servant Sir your ass I’ll groom

And shew you to the fairy inn’s best room.

What are you at there? Steady ho!!! –

Do you think his gaze will help the blow. –

Next a dwarf monk with shaven crown

On the bank’s brink hath cast adown

His wide sleeved arms & rests his chin

Partly his face his hands conceal –

I put him in –

For why? because I may reply

Monk’s beatific mount they say on high.

But as historians do over

About their manners some demur

Checks the free access unto Heaven

And then, of that to speak with leaven

Of circumspection, unto a nether

Region they adhere.

Not holding on to it very tight I fear.

And where there is but little wine or beer.

Far wandering habits also ’tis well known

Led the same blades about from town to town

And this with inns & sotlers too

Familiarly acquainted grew.

Says he’s a rogue & to the next,

’Tis varhma’s ploughman claims the text.

He has a twinkle in his eye

Bespeaks good humour you’ll descry

Of cows & sheep & crops can talk

Quite wonderful & see him walk

With lounging stride across the fields

Just turned afresh to raise the crop that yields.

Ample return for all his labour

That wants no sound of pipe & tabour.

His doubtful speech he hath addressed.

To Waggoner Will beside him lest.

The sage remark quite lost should be.

But how indifferent Will is – see!

Come hither! Woah is more to him.

Than such a speculative whim

Above Clod-hopper sits and like the sod –

He’s brown in colour, also he’s well shod.

A satyr’s head has, buckles in his shoes.

Nurses one foot upon his knee amuse with him

Yourself he’s modern fay.

So gives his garb & decent sylvan he.

Is not stark naked & so proud might be

A foot and not a hoof to own.

But can he put a hat upon his crown?

His horns forbid – say that it slid

From off his pate & fell

Where! he nor I can tell!

There let it lie –

The Politician next, with senatorial pipe.

For argument or his opinion ripe.

A first chop Englishman at that sort of chaff.

To hear him talk, Lord!

How ’t’would make you laugh.

For fairy politics differ so very wide

From human governments complete divide.

He’s pondering matters now as if his vote

Ought to be given ere ’tis smote.

The nut – I mean –

Next him observe one clad in green.

An unknown character some fairy dandy.

Making a break as sweet as candy

To faery nymph like him so quaint.

They are poor ones clearly and attaint.

The present case, because ’tis queer,

And like themselves – yet no small beer.

They deem of their own station.

Behind them elves quite wide awake

Notes of the doings here to take

And to their fellows bye and bye

Tell all without a word of a lie.

Below a pedagogue appears.

A Critic up to sneers & jeers.

And by his faun-like ears he’s wild

Untamed himself, each fairy child

He tames with many a look severe

But if his glance is there or here

’Tis hard to say. He squints to note

You may. But he’ll not meddle

With a work so sharp.

Waits in suspense and doth not carp.

His business is to teach to do.

Do it himself? Oh no! t’is you.

Next come two wenches rather smart.

From lady’s chamber where each art

Of fairy Luxury they the care,

At madam's need can well prepare.

This holds a mirror in her hand so tiny.

A magic surface polished bright & shiny.

While that a broom to sweep away.

The fairy rubbish lack-a-day

Holds in her left hand on her right

A favourite hawk moth doth alight.

They’ve got good legs and feet so small.

Bavaria Flanders Germany and all.

Can shew no more fantastic limb.

Critics are severe ’tis therefore that I beg.

You’ll not inform that fay, that under the leg

Of one of those maids, behind his back.

A satyr peeps; at what, it doth not lack,

An explanation.

At such a book,

His right to look,

I care not to dispute.

Such secrets surely some must know.

All are not saints on earth below.

Or if they are they know the same.

Or are shut out from nature's game.

Banished from nature's book of life,

Because some angel in the strife

Had got the worser fate.

And they close their eyes, that gate –

By which reminders enter.

And in a paradise of fools contented live.

Fays also are not saints, so I must believe

That this and similar frolics they achieve.

The truth is not for all you’ll say.

But that eternal seal it bear,

One might say nay.

Who are the victims of that cruel fate

False secrecy, that sometimes ’tis too late

To find – lost to their race for ever they

In other spheres can understand the light of day –

Next Lubin bending o’er his flame.

Chloe or Phyllis hard to tame.

With wooden sabots round about she’ll clatter.

Churn fairy butter or some such matter.

As to the dairy doth belong.

Whiling and charming time with song.

They’re rustic Lovers rustic in manner.

And Lubin happen is a fairy tanner,

Tanned woodman’s leather coat and cap,

His leggins, all their boots mayhap.

Except his sweethearts they are of wood.

He’d do them too to oblige her if he could.

They are curious in this business you see plainly –

See also next below, two dwarfs – ungainly?

No for the sake of rhyme it fits so well –

We’ll write it down – and after tell

That ’tis deformity approaches near

The truth about this couple here.

A fairy conjuror he who knows a trick

Or two at cards and in the nick –

Of time, can well deceive.

Thus, of your reason you take leave.

Then ’tis that he will do the clever dodge.

Which puzzles many a clownish varhma Hodge.

You think perhaps you don’t do so.

The prayer book so affirms I know –

Just now he offers out to let –

’T’will or ’t’will not be surely split.

Some odds perhaps will give

What fairy coin is – true as I live.

I can’t inform – nor if they betted

And if they did, the profits netted

The spider near. His web hath left.

Drops down upon them from some cleft

Where he spread his wide snare for game

One that detains yet doth not maim

Perhaps he’s an offer when they have done.

To supply with gossamer wells all, every one.

A master weaver he in whose employ

The lesser spinners may enjoy

Profits & learn to make account

Of those who wish aloft to mount.

And sail away upon the wind

From Europe p’raps to furthest Ind.

They’ve only wind to ask for – ’tis the weather

That in this case saves the expense of leather

And pilgrimages – let’s make one

To the opposite side – That is, objection

If you’ve none – Two braves we see –

In gallantry – Who by their wits can live –

Can sing or play – Fight, run away,

Or entertainment give.

Your fairy man upon the town.

That can clean out a swell or clown.

And if there’s need can let you down –

A peg or two – so high they fly.

Hawking while talking all my eye –

Next to the Patriarch’s

Crown attend. And mark the motes

That there descend.

Dancing and singing there they go

With their fal lal the rah and huy gee wohe.

The dress is Spanish ’tis in use,

At present time If I abuse,

Not memory of the source

From which I borrowed them of course

Call cottagers, no bloods are, these;

As on a tight rope they to please.

I represented – when in the play

One is dressed like to Duvernay.

Balancing these on the other side

Queen Mab in Car of state doth ride.

Some atomies the poet says did draw

A gnat gives to them coachman’s law

I never saw the famed Queen Mab or might.

Had it been so contributed delight.

The atomies are, no doubt, a dubious theme.

Like tiny female centaurs here do seem.

Half beast & half a woman yoked are.

With wings to soar away in regions far.

Under the coachman standing nigh

Two little pages you may spy.

Cupid & Psyche they enact,

Fairies no doubt possess the tact

To imitate like mortal players

I know not if at theatres or fairs.

It needs must be so –

Fairies ’tis said shun all display

And most affect the pale moon’s ray

Sol’s potent ray soon drives them off

He’d instant find whereat to spurn and scoff –

Just so it was with folk in olden time,

Whose practices were held to be a crime.

They fled the powers that held despotic sway –

Poor little fairies! why not also they?

Fancy this pair aught else ’t’will do,

But male and female they are plain to view

Next to the Queen you here behind may count,

Some strapping fairy footmen mount

And garde chemin no doubt they well do serve.

Tiny in size but lusty in the nerve,

As every footman should be –

Above in attitude of fondest love

King Oberon & his Queen approve

The sport else why should they repair

To this sequestered spot the same to share

Merely perhaps to note the way things went.

And how many chops were useless made anent.

Pulling of straws out from a stack of wheat.

Is for a pastime not more meet.

And such the Old Lady in the Scarlet Cloak,

Might non-be fancying true – no joke.

Is it true for me or even you –

True if you care not – this is true.

Her nose and chin will never crack

The monster nuts & many a whack

From club or shining axe will want

Ere the chance fatal lights upon’t

Above the harridan some whose names

Serve schoolboys turn when at their games

They of the future calling prophecy

With boisterous laugh and ecstasy

Of childish mirth, nor want they

Perhaps a forced imposed belief.

In soldier and sailor, tinker or tailor

Ploughboy, apothecary, thief.

Counting their buttons down the vest.

A name to each – the last doth rest

The faded rade – soon from the thoughts ’tis laid

Aside and fairy prophecy forgot.

Here let me say my let of this same lot –

The ragged soldier sure is mad.

Made so by wounds, debauch and glad

But hard earned victory

Being fay, I’ve not the history.

I made it so but not from spite,

Else he’d find reason to requite

But ragamuffins to enlist.

He’s a brave spirit to assist.

Knows when he does he’ll be Commander

The chief one or a Salamander.

A real fire eater like the Sun

By his own bravery surely won.

The sailor keeps a pleasure yacht

Has nought to do but live on what

The smiling elements that never frown

Freely disclose as up and down

For pleasure merely roam about

The fleets of vessels of which he’ll take

Entire command for the nation’s sake,

Nor cares he where to move or swim.

’Till death commands to dowse the glim.

Some other oceans then he’ll try,

Rolling eternal in the sky –

The tinker next with barrow trig

Knows every wandering gypsy rig

Where does he lodge? ’tis hard to say

Whether a house or stack of hay

Serves the poor outcast for his rest

He’s butt howe’er for many a jest

Lives in a world of nether pose

Mysterious obscure, your senses lose

Or cast aside as nothing worth

Nor length it has nor breadth or girth

Just now he marks the filbert big

Stript of its natural russet wig

How would he here his skill to prove?

He’d grind it p’raps? Not so by Jove

Clumsily skilful though he be

He knows too much for that d’ye see

Around the fairy villages he’ll stray

Knives scissors to grind might bawl each day.

Knows well the tailor reg’lar grinds his shears.

Ah! That’s a tailor brave that knows no fears.

Nine fairy tailors would not make a man

Tho’ they might queer him, you know well they can.

But this one seems disposed to queer,

The plough-boy that is standing to him near

Shews him a coat neat made and very strong

’T’would last the lad his fairy life time long.

But while he doubts the same to buy,

The Thief his craft on him doth try.

Loosens his handkerchief so gay.

Too artful he to snatch away.

The doctor in his thoughts reserved.

The trick below hath not observed

But with his sounding pestle beats,

The drugs that he to fairy metes.

His mortar would not hold the nut.

But holds enough for fairy gut.

A nostrum or a panacea

At any price we’ll say not dear.

Next to the Soldier on his right,

a Dragon Fly exerts his skill & might

Sounds the long notes ’long the long tube that wind

And in the fairy hollows echoes find.

To assist this gaudy long legged trumpeter

A tatteredemalion & a junketer

Holiday folk that tends upon,

Like a Postilion if you con

Each blows his brazen tube no doubt in tune

With Dragon Fly that rests his leg abune

The jutting stone on which they sit

Expecting company that soon will flit

Slanting along the Lunar ray

Like boys & girls come out to play –

Alow behind these last-named two

An elfin takes a peeping view –

Not at the nut but the spectator

Happen to mark if arbitrator

He in this remarkable fudge

Or humbug gives the fatal nudge.

Peeper is wildest of the crew

Cares nought for them or I or you.

You from his cap with me perchance agree

Of the Chinese small Foot Societee,

He’s a small member.

But if Confucius sent him

Now I can’t remember.

Turn to the Patriarch & behold

Long pendents from his crown are rolled,

In winding figures circle round

The grass and such upon the mound,

They represent vagary wild

And mental aberration styled.

Now unto nature clinging close

Now wildly out away they toss,

Like a cyclone uncontroll’d

Sweeping around with chance-born fold

Unto the picture brings a grace

Which else was wanting to its face

But tied at length unto a stem

Shews or should do finitam rem –

The size the nuts do here display

Forgive nor make me forfeit pay

Having the benefit of doubt

Of what the fairies grow without

The reach of human ken or will

And needs not now that I instil

Into your mind.

What here I’ve said from fancy’s wing

A sense supporting of my need

You may deny – say – no such thing

’Tis all wrong every bit indeed.

Well! to your judgment I must bow

Freely it’s exercise allow

You perhaps to such are more inured.

Your notions may be more endured

But whether it be or be not so

You can afford to let this go

For nought as nothing it explains

And nothing from nothing nothing gains.

You can see Richard Dadd's oil painting The Fairy Feller’s Master-Stroke in the Tate Britain. It's definitely best seen in person!

Have you seen it? What do you think is happening in the painting?