The Wonderful Cures of One Ann Jefferies

So far I have covered the ideas of a literary genius, a nostalgic poet, an open-minded skeptic, and a propagandist. As I am nearing the end of this discussion, I would like to take the opportunity to explore the writing of one enthusiastic believer, a man I expect would clap his hands for Tinker Bell to this day. His name is Moses Pitt, and his story is An Account of One Ann Jefferies (1696), the tale of a woman of his household and her supposed communion with the fairies.

Pitt's account is unique compared to most of those I have read about in my research. Rather than condemn Ann as a witch, he supports her and encourages readers to do the same. In his four page introduction to the Reverend Dr. Edward Fowler, he emphasizes repeatedly the truthfulness of his incredible tale as well as his assurance that Ann's circumstances are proof of the wonderful works of God. He admonishes the reverend that though he will be tempted not to believe, it is through unbelief sin first crept into the world. For a moment, we may forget that fairies, not Christ, are the subject at hand.

All assertions aside, Pitt's credibility is questionable. His account, like Aubrey's, is based on the recollections of childhood. Ann was an apprentice to his wealthier family when he was young, and though she still lives, seventy years old, at the time of his writing, she will not aid him in the popularizing of her tale. (She does not wish to deal a second time with public opinion.) Further, all but one of the citizens who may have remembered her circumstances have since died. In short, the story belongs entirely to Moses Pitt.

He describes Ann as a bold girl who "would venture at those Difficulties and Dangers that no Boy would attempt." Yet she is also of a devoted nature, attending church during her ordeals as often as she has the strength. When she is nineteen years old, she is visited by six short-statured fairies wearing green. The details of this first encounter catch my interest. Again reminiscent of Aubrey's story, these are of the shrunken new breed of fae kind, but they wear the traditional green, a recurring detail in many accounts and probably significant of innate wildness. Also, Ann's visitors do not spring upon her within a human house, but while she is sewing in the garden. Perhaps it is her tomboyish streak, the not-quite-tame in her, that makes her a likely candidate for fairy visitors. The timing may not be random either. Ann is an unmarried woman on the verge of adulthood (she could leave her master's home at twenty-one), so the fairies' visit comes across even as a coming-of-age story.

Ann initially reacts with a convulsive fit. She then continues for weeks to have fits and physical sickness so great she cannot walk, and to cry out periodically of figures passing through her window. Pitt describes her as becoming "even as a Changeling." It is the sacrifice of a saint. For shortly thereafter, she begins to exhibit mysterious prescience and healing powers. The first instance of this occurs when Pitt's mother forces Ann to stay outside while she is away in order to keep her from falling into the fire or otherwise hurting herself in her distressed state. While she it out, the woman trips and hurts her foot, which the fairies inform Ann is because she forced her to do something against her will. Ann bears no grudge. Without the aid of salve or ointment, she heals the woman. The word spreads, and others begin to seek her out as if she were an apostle. During this period, she takes no food with others, but is fed by the fairies in her own room.

We have already seen that healing powers are a common theme in fairy stories. Ann's tale is distinct from that of most other English healers in that she seeks no material gain. She does not charge for her services, yet always has enough on which to get by.

Unfortunately, generosity is not enough. As Ann's popularity increases, word reaches nearby ministers, who visit her in order to persuade her that her consorts are demons. Ann, wishing no evil, is torn. Twice she ignores the call of her fairies (unheard by any but herself), but at the third cry she runs to them. Soon after they warn her that she will be arrested, and that she must not fear. Sure enough, when her jailers order her food withheld from her, she continues to thrive on the fairies' sustenance. She remains in jail for some time but is never brought to trail, and is eventually discharged on the condition that she not return to her former household. She moves in with Pitt's widowed aunt, continues to perform her strange cures, and eventually marries and lives to a ripe old age.

Pitt asserts that he has gives no personal reflection on any passage, but leaves the events to speak for themselves. In the opening letter, however, he makes it very clear what he thinks of Ann's gifts. His argument is legitimate: why would the devil heal? If her powers are real, they are good, and Pitt does not doubt the former. He cannot admit to ever having witnessed the fairies himself, but others have, and the powers are there, and that is enough for him. He is eager to swallow it all. Of course, we cannot discount the element of the propagandist here either. Pitt shows no concern for the fact that Ann does not want her story shared, and he uses the tale in much the same way that others use monstrous baby pamphlets, as a religious admonition.

The difference in this is that Ann's story really does appear "wonderful." Her works are kind and her motives are pure. She visits the chapel as well as the fairies. This has all the feel of a saint-making with none of the stuffiness. Her green-clad fairies are unseen and untamed, dancing with her outside, sending her into fits by their very presence, yet they are also healers and protectors. They feed her and help others by her hand. They are not safe, but they are good.

As an aside, this may be my favorite account I have read so far. It has everything a good story needs: danger, disease, an unconventional heroine, and rewarded goodness, all pulled together by the unifying spice of magic to make sense of something so strange as a happy ending.