IN SWEDEN, IT is often said that the "groom lays the food in the crib, but it is the Tomte who makes the horse fat.. The Tomtra not only care for the horses and cattle; they are responsible for the well-being of the entire house. A home with a happy Tomte can easily be recognized by its orderliness and cleanliness. The Tomte is, furthermore, in charge of the finances of his family. He steals hay, milk, grain, and even money for his masters and fights with other elves bent on theft. He does all the work of a hired man, sweating in the fields, washing the dishes, and caring for the animals. He may even teach his favorites the art of fiddling. Like most sprites, the Tomtra and Nissen will not accept regular wages for their work but do make certain demands on their employers. The house and grounds must be kept clean and neat at all times or the sprite will leave in disgust, taking all the luck of the place with him. All loud noises and irregularities are forbidden, as is chopping in the yard. Holidays must be rigorously observed. At Christmastime, the home sprites should be given an extra gift of tobacco, a little piece of grey cloth, and a shovelful of clay. Special attention should be paid to them on Thursdays, when they have their weekly holidays; their food rations should then be larger than usual and an extra dab of butter put into their porridge. No one should spin on that day, and all unnecessary noise must be avoided. In some sections of Sweden, the Tomte is fed at ten in the evening and once again at four in the morning. The family that can manage to keep their Tomte well-fed and happy need never worry about debt or bankruptcy.
Despite the Nissen's and Tomtra's capacity for hard work, they are also fun-loving sprites and delight in dance and play. Their favorite dancing times are full-moon nights when the moonlight frosts their haunts with a silver shimmer. They then skate on frozen lakes and rivers.
Inside the house, their playfulness is taken out on humans and cattle. They box people unexpectedly on the ear, pull the hay away from dairy maids, tease young boys, laugh hysterically at misfortunes, dance, sing, pinch sleepers, and let the cows loose in the winter.

Identification: The most common Finnish home sprites are the Tontuu and Para. In Russia they are called Maciew, in Norway Tomtevatte, in Sweden Tomtra, and in the Faroe Islands Niagruisar. The Danish and Norwegian home sprites are Nissen god Dreng, and in northern Germany they are called Nisken. Despite their many names, these northern house elves are very similar to one another in appearance. They have good figures and are extremely strong. They are as tall as a small child, but their faces are old and wise and speak to their great age. Their heads are large, their arms long, and their eyes bright. Many say that their laugh resembles that of a horse. The Nissen and Tomtra are most often seen wearing peasant shoes or soft slippers, red stockings, short breeches, and grey or green jackets. In summer, they either go naked or wear jackets of rough cotton, and in winter their coats are of heavy wool. They are seen at noon or at night.

Habitat: Although Nissen and Tomtra originally lived in trees (preferably ash, linden, or elm), they have now moved indoors. Their favorite spots are the dark corners of the house, stable, barn, or woodpile. They live in northern Germany, Denmark, Sweden, Norway, and Finland, along the Baltic Coast and in the Faroe Islands, and have been spotted in some communities in North America.

A boy once offended his family's Nis by threatening him with a pitchfork. The Nis did not take his revenge that day but waited for nighttime. When the boy was safely asleep, he crept into his room, picked up the sleeping boy, and carried him into the yard. With no apparent effort, the Nis threw the boy over the house eight times before tiring of the sport and letting his victim fall into the gutter. Because of similarities in their characters, young boys and Nissen often quarrel. A Jutland boy and a Nis quarrelled more often than most. If the boy treated the Nis well for an hour, that would be the hour the Nis chose to torment the boy. The previous day, the boy had given the Nis his porridge but had hidden the butter in the bottom of the bowl. When the Nis did not see the butter, he began to fuss and fume, vowing to punish the boy for his oversight. Even when he did find it, he did not change his mind.
That night, he went into the room where the boy was sleeping in thesame bed with the master of the house. After pulling the covers down, the Nis studied the two of them for some time. Then he grabbed the boy and dragged him to the foot of the bed so that his feet were on a level with the man's feet. But that didn't satisfy the Nis. "Long and short don't match!" he said, and took the boy by the head and pulled him to the top of the bed so that his head was on the same level as the man's.
"Long and short don't match!" he repeated, and dragged the boy to the bottom of the bed. This ritual went on all night. Needless to say, the boy did not feel very refreshed when he woke up in the morning. Later that day, the boy got his chance to continue the feud. When he walked into the hay loft, he saw Nis sitting at the other end, his legs hanging over the edge, teasing the dogs in the yard below. The boy crept very quietly up behind the Nis and pushed him off into the greedy jaws of the hounds.

THE VAZILA is a DoMovov who takes care of the horses. He resembles the house Domovoy but has horse's ears and hooves. The Bagan is the protector of all farm animals, especially goats and horses. It is advisable to keep him in mind when buying livestock. The animal must be of the right color or the Bagan will torture and bother the poor beast until it is almost dead. If he approves of the animal's color, it will grow fat and sleek and never sicken. To discover the Bagan's favorite color, a piece of cake should be taken at Easter, wrapped in a rag, and hung in the stable for six weeks. Then it should be taken out and inspected for maggots. If the maggots are white, then the Bagan's favorite color is white; if red, then the color is red. The Bannik lives inside the bath house, guarding it jealously. It is unwise ever to bathe after dark, because then the Bannik takes his own bath. If disturbed, he will suffocate the intruders. In Smolensk, the locals have such respect for him that they always leave a full bucket of water and a bath whisk for him and his friends.

Identification: The Banniki and Bagany are very similar in appearance to the Domoviye. The Bagan is only visible on Holy Thursday and on Easter Sunday. The Vazily have horse's ears and hooves.

Habitat: The Bagan lives behind the stove or in the barn. The Bannik lives in the banya, or bath house, while the Vazila is usually seen in the stable. They inhabit the same areas of eastern Europe as the Domoviye.

"This is the last money we have. Please be careful with it." The woman handed her husband their savings and sent him off to buy a horse at the market. In town, the man could only find one horse for the money: a tired old nag who looked about ready to drop. When he arrived home with the new horse, his wife was furious. "I told you to buy a horse, but you bought a worthless lump of dog food. That thing won't even live until next week! She'll die like all the rest, and then what will we do?" The woman burst into tears. Humiliated and embarrassed, her husband led the horse into the barn.
There he got a much better reception. As soon as the barn Domovoy, or Vazila, set eyes on the horse, he began to laugh and clap his hands. "That's really a horse! Finally, a good horse. After all the others, finally a good horse! You're a genius! Now, that's what I call a horse!" The man couldn't believe his ears. What was the Domovoy talking about? Then it dawned on him. The Domovoy only liked one color, and this nag had it.
Within a week, thanks to the Domovoy's attentions, the worthless mare had turned into a sleek, proud horse. Even the wife was forced to admit that her husband had, indeed, made a good bargain.

SOUNDS HEARD INSIDE a forest can be very confusing and misleading. This is especially so in Russia, where the sound of the wind, the echo, and the rustling of the leaves are all voices of the Leshiye. Humans should refrain from listening too closely, or the Leshiye, whispering and murmuring, will gain control over them and draw them off the path into the darkness of the woods. Once among the trees, wanderers are at the mercy of the Leshiye. Sometimes they tickle their victims to death, sometimes they sicken them, and sometimes they simply make them lose their way and then laugh at them.
A Leshy is lord of the forest. All the animals in the wood belong to him, and he can barter, sell, or gamble them at will. He demands that all herdsmen who bring their cattle into the forest pay for the use of the meadows with offerings of animals or of milk. Like most sovereigns, he is surrounded by subjects, of whom the bear is the most important. He is the Leshy's servant and takes care of him when he has drunk too much with his friend the VODYANY.
The Leshy lives in empty huts in the forest. When a man is presumptuous enough to try to sleep in one of these huts, the Leshy reacts violently. He beats on the doors, howls in the forest, and makes the wind whirl around the hut. In Archangel, a whirlwind is a Leshy dancing with his bride. In other sections of Russia, hurricanes are caused by fighting Leshiye. Despite the great power the Leshy possesses, he is a seasonal lord and is only active from spring to autumn. In winter, when the snow blankets the forest, he sleeps along with his servant, the bear.

Identification: The Zuibotschnik (from "cradle"), or wood Leshy, gets his name from his habit of cradling himself in the branches of a tree and laughing, crying, neighing, moaning, mooing, howling, and roaring. He can be as tall as the highest tree in the forest or as small as the smallest leaf. He has goat's feet and horns, no eyelashes or eyebrows, only one eye, and claws. He is covered with green hair from head to foot, has grey skin, and wears his sheepskin kaftan fastened the wrong way round, without a belt. In Czechoslovakia, the Leshiye are called Lesni Muzove.
The field Leshiye are Leshiye who have moved to the outskirts of the forest and now live in meadows. Their height changes with the seasons, from the size of the stubble after the harvest to the height of the grain in summer. They, too, hibernate during the winter. The Leshiye have wives and children, the Lisunki, who resemble them. In Czechoslovakia, their wives are called the Lesni Pany or Dive Zeny.

Habitat: Almost every forest in Czechoslovakia and European Russia has its native Leshiye and Lisunki. They sleep in empty huts in the forest and hibernate during the winter. The field Leshiye live in fields on the outskirts of woods.

The year 1843 was famous throughout Russia as the year of the Great Squirrel Migration. Tens of thousands of squirrels left their old homes in Vyatka to travel to new forests. Scientists were puzzled but couldn't explain the phenomenon. Among the people, though, there was no doubt.
A Leshy had obviously been the cause of the migration. The Leshiye are persistent gamblers and sometimes have to send their animals away as payment for their debts. This particular migration was the result of a gambling bout between two Leshiye who lived far apart. The losing Leshy sent his squirrels to the winner, hundreds of miles away.
A woman was walking through the woods when she heard a baby cry. At first, she was too frightened to investigate, for she thought it might be a Leshy trying to mislead her. In the end, her maternal instincts prevailed, and she headed toward the sound. In a clearing beside the path, she found a child. It was shivering with cold and crying piteously. The fact that it was covered with green fur didn't stop her from picking it up, comforting it, and warming it in her shawl. Soon the crying stopped, and the Leshy fell asleep, happily cuddled in her arms. Just then, the mother came running into the clearing. "Where is my child?" she asked hysterically. "Don't worry about him, he's sleeping peacefully," the woman said. "Many thanks for your kindness," said the Lisunka. "I thought I had lost him. Please take this as a reward." She held out a pot of burning coals.
The woman was too polite and too shy to refuse the gift; she took it under her arm and started home.
When she arrived, she found to her surprise that the coals were not coals after all, but nuggets of pure gold!
"Good day, sir, how do you do?"
"Not badly," the stranger said, "for this time of the year. Would you care to walk along with me for a while?"
"Gladly, I've been feeling a little lonely here myself."
The two men walked together farther into the forest. They chatted and gossiped and told each other stories. They had such a good time that the first man didn't pay any attention to where he was going. When he finally did notice that his companion's shirt was fastened the wrong way around, it was too late. He found himself in the middle of a swamp. His friend, safe on dry land, laughed fiendishly. "You should never listen to a Leshy! Ha! Ha! Ha!"
The Leshiye are filled with new strength and vitality when they wake from their winter's sleep and often test their fledgling power against each other. When they fight, boulders and trees fly, the wind howls, and the animals flee in terror.
During one of these springtime battles, a Leshy was defeated by hiscompanions, tied up, and left in the forest to die. Just as he had decided that there was no hope, a merchant on his way home from market walked into the clearing, humming a song to himself. "Good day to you, sir Leshy. I see for once that you're not causing any trouble! Ha! Ha! Ha! But I guess even you are entitled to your freedom!" The merchant pulled a knife out of his pocket, and in a few seconds the Leshy was free.
"Thank you for your kindness," the Leshy said. "You were on your way home, weren't you? Then let me help you." Before the merchant could say a word, a whirlwind picked him up and carried him high above the trees. "Help!" he cried. But he was in no danger. In a few seconds, he was deposited safely on his own doorstep. From that time on, whenever the merchant needed to travel in a hurry or had any errands to do, he called on the obliging Leshy.

FIELD ELVES ARE fiercely jealous of their domains. They allow humans to harvest the crops, but only if the men know how to do it properly. The Noon Woman, or Poludnitsa, stops women she meets in the fields at noon and interrogates them about the cultivation and spinning of flax. If the women don't know the answers, they have to pay with their lives. The Italian Pavaro slashes the legs of bean thieves, and the Polevik strangles drunkards foolish enough to trample through or fall asleep in his fields. Children who venture into the grain are led astray or are suckled at the poisonous black breast of the Roggenmohme, or "aunt-in-the-rye." Her companion, the Pilwiz, sickens trespassers with elf-shot.
The overprotective nature of these elves has, in recent years, been exaggerated and too much made of their jealousy. It should be remembered that each year, our sickles and farm machinery cut down their fields, destroying their hiding places and sometimes even wounding them. When a farmer wanders into the fields at the wrong time and disturbs them, they react in kind, cutting his leg or his neck with an elfin sickle. It is therefore wise to know ways to discourage the vengeful elves. In Germany, one should throw a pocketknife with three crosses cut in it at the Pilwiz, yelling, "There it is, Bilbze!" In eastern Russia, the bark of a certain tree will cure Polevik wounds, and some hold that anyone who can say the Paternoster backwards for half an hour will not be bothered by elves.

Identification: The Russian field elves change their size in accordance with the field in which they live. In autumn they are only a few inches tall, in summer as high as the tallest plants in the field. The male Poleviki have dark skin and dress in white linen. They have green hair. The females wear white, are very beautiful, and appear at noon carrying sickles.
The German Pilwiz or Bockschitt, like the Polevik, has dark skin and dresses in linen. He comes out in the evening, a dark three-cornered hat on his head and a sickle tied to his left foot. His female companions, the Roggenmohme, wear no clothes, showing their deadly black breasts. By far the most exotic-looking field elf is the Pavaro, a north Italian elf with fiery eyes, a wide mouth, and a dog's head. He protects broad bean fields. His teeth are made of iron, as are his nails, and his arms are so long that they can sweep through several acres.

Habitat: The Poleviki are familiar throughout eastern and northern Europe and into Russia. The Swedish field elves are known as Lys- gubbar. The Pilwize have spread from Bavaria to Poland and eastern Germany, Thuringia, and Franconia. The Pilwize originally lived in trees but have since moved into rye, oat, and grain fields. The Pavaro lives only in broadbean fields, the KornKater in grain fields, and the Bavarian Preinscheuhen in oat and millet fields.

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AN OLD SLAVONIC saying is "Whether the Vila is white or black, she will always be a bad Vila." In other words, the only good Vila is no Vila at all. They are held to be even more malicious, jealous, and wicked than their relatives the Greek NEREIDES. Men are cruel to them, and they, in turn, are cruel to men.
The exclusively female Vily live mainly in mountain forests and on craggy peaks. They protect and care for the springs, streams, trees, plants, and animals within their domains. At times, their possessiveness becomes pathological. They go to absurd lengths to keep intruders away from their trees and their woods, even poisoning streams so that no man will drink there. They speak the speech of animals and herd chamois and deer. Any hunter who is foolish enough to shoot one of their animals will be punished with mutilation, blindness, dumbness, or death.
When men come into Vily territory, the Vily often shout so loudly that the men are sickened with fright. Those who stay too long in their lands are shot with arrows, die suddenly of a heart attack, sunstroke, or lumbago, or are buried under avalanches.
Beautiful women should be particularly careful not to go near Vily woods, for even the best-disposed and kindest Vily are subject to fits of jealousy. They do not like to see beauty in any other women.
It is said that Vily are only born during a fine rain on those summer days when the sunlight breaks into tiny rainbows on the tree branches. Their nature is like their birth weather: at times cloudy, at times sunny. Despite their jealous and malicious tendencies, most Vily also have a positive side. Because they can cause sicknesses, they can also cure them, and they know the healing properties of each and every plant under their protection. They cure the mentally ill, give planting advice, bring the dead back to life, and show where treasures are hidden.
Children they take under their protection are always well cared for, as are the fields, streams, woods, and animals of which they are the mistresses. They befriend brave and fearless men and change themselves into horses so that their heroes won't have to travel on foot. They marry young men, although their insatiability and jealous tempers often make difficulties.
The most desirable relationship to have with a Vila is to become herblood sister. Those who have been struck with Vila arrows or have been taken by the Vily often join with them in elective sisterhood and are allowed to return to Earth after a period of three, seven, thirteen, or twenty-one years. They are called Vileniki or Vilenaci and have great knowledge of the magic arts and of healing. It is possible to become the blood relative of a Vila when one helps her in trouble.

Those who want to become healers often use a very unusual ceremony to bring the Vily to them. A circle is drawn around the prospective healer with a birch-twig broom that was bought without bargaining. To be effective, the ceremony must take place before sunrise on a full-moon Sunday. In the middle of the circle, two or three hairs from the mane, head, and tail of a horse are placed, along with some manure, a horse's hoof, and the flesh from under the hoof. The person inside the circle should then put his right foot on the hoof and yell loudly into his folded hands, "Hu! Hu! Hu!" He should turn around the hoof three times, saying, "Blood sister Vily! I look for you over nine fields, nine meadows, nine lakes, nine woods, nine mountains, nine rocky mountain peaks, and nine decaying castles, because you want to come to me and become my blood sisters.

When the Vily come, they must be greeted, "Blood sisters! Vily! I've found you and am your beloved sister." The male "sister" should then ask the Vily to grant his desires and tell them, "What has belonged to me from the beginning of the world must be mine.. They will be forced to grant the wish.

Identification: The majority of Vily have fair complexions, long reddish-brown curly hair that falls to their feet, and shimmering white clothes or coverings of green leaves. They sometimes have invisible wings, which allow them to fly through the air. The Vily of the Yugoslavian-Hungarian border have slightly darker complexions and die if they lose a single hair. The Yugoslavian coast Vily have iron teeth, goat's feet, and wear gold caps. The Bohemian Vily are called Jezinky. In Istria they are called Vili Cestitice, in Bulgaria Samovily. Only humans who are bound to the Vily as blood relatives can call them by their proper names.

Like most wood spirits, Vily are not always of the same height. The Vily who live in the deep forest are larger and more formidable than those who live in the meadows that surround the forest. The Vily can most easily be recognized when they take the form of exquisitely beautiful girls in white dresses or as Vilahorses. They have been seen as falcons and as silver wolves. Those born on Tuesday or Sunday can see the Vily with most ease.

Habitat: Any tree can harbor a Vila. The Vila's life is bound to thatof her host tree, though she may wander far away and not visit it for years. If a Vila-tree is cut down, a Vila will die, and her companions will come to avenge her death. The favorite trees of the Vily are fruit and nut trees, firs and beeches. They also live next to streams or in fabulous white fortresses and watchtowers on mountaintops. Some live inside flax plants, but these flax Vily are very rare.

Vily live in eastern Europe.

A young boy was working in the fields. He had mowed all day, but the work was dreary and boring. He stopped to look around and caught the eye of a girl working beside him. The Vila nodded at his silent question, and in a few moments, both had vanished from the field.
The boy's mother had just come from home with his dinner. When she failed to find him, she automatically suspected the worst and cried, "The Vily must have taken my son! My poor boy, they've taken him away to the mountains, and I'll never see him again. Oh, my poor boy! Why did those wicked Vily have to take him away?"
She sobbed and howled over the fate of her son. Suddenly, she heard a Vila's voice beside her.
"You'd better thank God, woman, that my baby is sleeping on my lap. Otherwise I'd shoot you through with an arrow. You're an old bag and don't understand anything about your son or about us. Now clear off before your yammering wakes the child!"
The woman didn't wait to hear more but waddled home as quickly as she could.
Miodrag, peering through the trees of the thicket, saw a Vila milking her deer. He could barely keep from laughing when a buck mounted the doe the Vila was milking. The Vila, however, wasn't amused. "You undisciplined beast! I hope Miodrag won't miss when he shoots at you!"
Miodrag didn't wait to be told twice. He had hunted the whole day without hitting a single animal and knew it was the Vila's fault. "Then I won't miss!" he said, springing up from his hiding place and felling the buck with a single shot.
"You're an even bigger beast than he was," screamed the Vila. "I hope your eye falls out as fast as you shot my buck!"
Before the words were out of her mouth, Miodrag had lost his right eye.

Two hunters were so proud of their knowledge of the mountains that they bet their companions that they could count all the peaks of the Veld range. They set out early in the morning, climbed up to the top of one of the mountains, and began to count. But try as they would, they couldn't do it. Each time, the score was different.

The day passed quickly, and before they knew it, night had fallen. The hunters knew that Vily lived in the mountains and might harm them if they were found sleeping there. They devised a method to fool the mountain women. They lay down very close to each other, head to foot, and wrapped the blanket around themselves in such a way that only their heads showed.

The Vily were, indeed, surprised when they found the strange sleepers in their forest.

"What kind of monster is this, sisters? By all the three hundred and seventy Veld mountain peaks, I've never seen a body with two heads!"

The men escaped from the Vily unharmed, and they also won their bet.
While walking one day in the forest, Johannes fell through a hole in a bank and broke his hand and his foot. A Vila materialized before him and offered to cure him, but for a price. She demanded that he pay one thousand ducats and that his sister give up her kerchief, his brother his horse and falcon, his mother her silk supply, his father his arm, and his wife her pearl necklace. Johannes' father, mother, sister, and brother agreed to pay the price, but his wife refused to give up her favorite necklace.

"If she can't pay, she certainly can't keep you!" grumbled the Vila.

Johannes' hand and foot refused to heal, and his body was ravaged by fever. On the third day he died, a victim of his wife's greed.

"Mark my words, girl, you'll come to harm if you mess about with the Vily's well. They dug it and won't let anyone near it."

The girl, enchanted with the magic of the spring day, paid no attention to the old man.

"What magnificent flowers!" she exclaimed, picking the most beautiful of the Vily's roses. "And this is just what I need," she said, plunging her hand into the cool water.

As soon as she put the water to her lips, the Vily came. They were clothed in blinding white and walked menacingly toward the girl.

"You were warned not to drink from our spring but were too feebleminded to listen to good advice. Now pay for your stupidity!" cried the first, kicking her squarely in the throat.

"This is our spring, and no one can drink here," said the second, tying the girl's hands behind her back.

"Don't ever come here again, or we'll kill you," said the third, ripping out her eyes.

As Is THE case with many spirits, the Rusalky are tied to a rigid schedule. Their activities, though, have been more carefully observed and better recorded than those of most elves.
The first time the Rusalky can be seen is on Holy Thursday. They surface in the water or sit on the banks of streams and lakes, combing their long green hair. In the sixth week after Easter, they move into the trees and beg pieces of linen from passers-by. This linen is then washed and carefully spread out to dry. Any human who steps on the Rusalky's wash will lose either his strength or his coordination.
During the seventh week after Easter, the Rusalky collect feathers and straw and build warm nests in their underwater palaces. Humans must not sew, wash linen, or put up fences during this time, and if possible, they should not work at all. Those who do will probably lose their cattle and poultry. Humans meeting Rusalky in the woods should throw pieces of linen at them to keep them from doing harm. The Rusalky are offered garlands by young girls who hope that the water women will give them rich husbands in return.
On Sunday of the seventh week, a new phase begins in the life of the Rusalky. They then walk for the first time in the grain and hay fields, slipping invisibly through the stalks, singing, clapping their hands, and making the grain wave in the wind. In most sections of the U.S.S.R., men chase them away, saying they are stealing the crops. These attempts are usually unsuccessful until June 29.
Then the Rusalky begin a new activity: dancing. Each night they dance by the light of the moon and draw men into their circles. Those
who have joined them never recover, but the grain grows better where they have danced. The Rusalky control the rain and wind that can increase or destroy a year's crop.
When the first snow falls in winter, the Rusalky vanish and are not seen again until the following spring. They hibernate in soft nests in the bottom of lakes and streams during this time.
Not only are the Rusalky tied to an iron schedule, but they are also watched over by the insanely jealous VODYANIYE. They can only go on land when the Vodyaniye allow it; even then, they must be sure to return on time.
Maybe because of the harshness of the life they lead, the Rusalky are often harsh with others. Those who can't answer their riddles are tickled to death. Those they catch in the woods without wormwood in their pockets suffer the same fate. They lure men into the water and then kill them, and those who bathe at night without a cross around their necks are drowned by the Rusalky or the Vodyaniye.
The Rusalky were originally girls who drowned, committed suicide, were strangled, or were buried without a church funeral. After their death, such girls must be appeased with gifts of pancakes, alcohol, and red eggs. If they do not get these offerings, they will haunt the forgetful relatives until the gifts are left for them.

Identification: The majority of Rusalky are very beautiful and have pale skin, white breasts, slender bodies, soft voices, and beautiful long wavy hair. Their eyes are wild, and they are naked. When they do wear clothes, they prefer long white unbelted dresses or coverings of green leaves. They cannot live if their hair dries out and always carry a comb with them. When it is pulled through their hair, it can cause a flood. These Rusalky live in the US.S.R. and in Romania.
The Rusalky near Saratov are much uglier and more gruesome than their relatives. They are always naked, and their hair is dishevelled. They have fiery eyes, hunchbacks, and sharp claws, and they love to drown humans. Marine Rusalky are sometimes spoken of but are so rare that very little is known of them.

Habitat: The real home of the Rusalky is in the water. When they come to land, they live in trees and among the grain. At the beginning of winter they return to the streams from which they take their names.
The Rusalky live in all of European Russia, in Romania, and parts of Poland. In Bulgaria and Macedonia, similar water elves are called Judys.
A Rusalka married a Vodyany, and they lived together in his underwater palace for many years.
The Rusalka did not think of her old life until one day she heard church bells. She went to the surface to see where the sound was coming from and was overwhelmed by memories of trees and birds and the feeling of wind and sunlight. She wanted to go back to her village to visit family and friends. Without saying a word to her husband, she climbed out of the water and walked towards town.
But the town was not as she had imagined it. Not a soul recognized her. When she greeted them, they looked at her as if they hadn't seenher. That evening, broken-hearted, she returned to the Vodyany. Two days later, the river roared in anger, and her mutilated body was thrown upon the shore.

Dwarf is a generic name usually applied to Dark Elves; it is never used in reference to Light Elves

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THE KOBOLDE WERE the original German home sprites, the NISSEN the first Scandinavian ones. Since those early days, they have been named and renamed, divided and subdivided into different subspecies. Two separate groups can now be picked out from the confusion of names. The first group is that of the POLTERSPRITE S, noisy, bothersome spirits who owe their name to their perpetual racketing. The second includes those familiar elves who are so much a part of family life that they have been given nicknames. They are called Heinzlin ("little Heinz"), Hinzelmann or Heinzelmann, Guter Johann, Chimke (short for Joachim), and "little Walter" (Wolterken), or are named Mtitzchen (`Capkin"), Eisenhutel, Hutzelmann, Pumphut, Hopfenhutel, or Hutchen from the peculiar red cap that they wear.
This second tribe of sprites are extremely hard workers who will, for the limited payment of food once a week and on holidays, do almost all the house and farm work; wash the dishes; sweep and scrub the floors; curry, feed, and water the horses; clean out the cow stalls; carry hay and corn into the barn; make fires; chop wood; discipline lazy servants; oversee the house; and make sure misfortune does not touch their charges. Besides working, they can also foretell the future and give gifts of advice or magic. They are extremely loyal to their family and cannot be forced to leave the house voluntarily. There are several ways they can be pressed into leaving: if not fed, if continually insulted, if openly given gifts of clothes, if rushed at their work or laughed at, or if the house is burned down and a wagon wheel is left standing in front of it; but it must be borne in mind that they will leave angry, cursing those who have made them go.
Identification: The Heinzelmannchen and Hutchen are between one and three feet tall and wear green or red clothes with red hats. They often have red hair and beards and are occasionally blind. They have an infectious laugh and are shape-changers, changing into cats, children, bats, snakes, or roosters at will.
Habitat: All home sprites prefer to live in dark corners of the house, and the Heinzelmannchen and Hutchen are no exceptions. They can be found in the barn, the stable, the corner behind the tiled stove, a tree near the house, in the roof beams, in the gables, or in the cellar. They are inhabitants of Germany but have also been reported in Denmark.
One of the most famous German house sprites was Hinzelmann, a blond, red-hatted elf who lived with his wife, Hille Bingels, in Luneburg in the middle of the sixteenth century. He had his room in the upper story of the castle and furnished it with a pleated straw chair, a round table, a bed, and a bedstead. Because of his usefulness around the house, he was allowed to eat at the dinner table next to his master. Woe to the servant who forgot to bring him his dinner or his breakfast of crumbs and sweet milk!
Things had not always been as good at Luneburg. At first, the master of the house was not at all happy with Hinzelmann. Many attempts were made to drive away the sprite, but he would not go. If mistreated, he simply punished whoever had wronged him. When an exorcist was called, Hinzelmann tore up the prayer book and threw the pages around the room. Finally, the lord of the castle called for his coach and left for Hannover. During the ride, a white feather floated alongside the carriage, but the nobleman paid little attention. He was too busy congratulating himself on his escape from Hinzelmann.
Next morning, the noble discovered that he had not escaped at all. He woke up to find his golden neck-chain missing. Only after he had accused the innkeeper of stealing it and they had argued heatedly for several hours did Hinzelmann make his appearance. He told his master that he had followed him in the shape of a white feather from Luneburg and had hidden the chain under the pillow. The nobleman then realized that he would never be able to rid himself of Hinzelmann and forgave him, then rode back with him to Luneburg.
For many years after that incident, Hinzelmann lived happily in the castle. When he left, it was with a promise to return in the final years of the noble's family.

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THE LITTLE PEOPLE of Scotland are proud and independent and can claim many distinguished ancestors. The Irish Daoine SIDHE visited Scotland in early times, as did the Scandinavian Trolls. They interbred and produced the present race of Sith, the People of Peace. The Sith were in close contact with humans when the Picts inhabited Scotland, but in recent times they have withdrawn more and more. Their relationship with men has become strained owing to misunderstandings on both sides. As is generally the case with elves, they respond well if treated kindly and badly if treated with disrespect. They sometimes steal children and often take farmers' cows for their dinner. Cattle should be protected from the People of Peace by horseshoes and crosses of mountain ash hung over the stable doors. Children should be baptized early and a piece of iron or steel kept in their cradles.

Identification: The Sith are smaller and sturdier than the Irish Faeries. They are three to four feet high, handsome, and have light brown skin and either blond or red hair. They love to wear green and have pointed hats. The Shetland Trows' hats are red, but their clothes are green or grey. The Sith speak old Gaelic among themselves. The Beansith is known outside of Scotland as the Banshee.

Habitat: The People of Peace live in Elfhame, inside green hills that can be seen raised on pillars during the full moon. They are known throughout Scotland, and in Orkney and the Shetland Isles go by the name of Trows. They live in a different time context from that of Earth. They are most often seen in May when they ride through the countryside in long processions called "fairy rades."
Two fiddlers were once approached by a hoary-headed man who told them he would pay them double to play at a party. At first, the two were a little suspicious of the small, green-cloaked man, but greed won over caution. The small man led them to the top of a hill, stamped three times with his right foot, and showed them into a large, brightly lit hall, filled with many Little People dressed in green clothes and red, pointed hats.
The fiddlers played merrily all night, and there was plenty of food and wine to go round. When morning came, they were paid handsomely in shiny gold coins.
"God bless you, sir," the second fiddler said. With his words, the lights faded, and they found themselves outside the hill. They walked into town but found it changed. The streets had widened, and there were houses where there had been none before. They looked inside the church just as the preacher was blessing the congregation.
"In the name of the Father, and of the Son..."
They saw their hard-earned gold turn into worthless leaves, and in a few minutes they, too, had crumbled into dust. That one night "inside the hill" had in reality been one hundred years long.
The Beansith, or woman of the Sith, came every day. She would walk in without knocking, go over to the fire, take the largest pot from its hook, and leave without saying a word. Luckily, the mistress of the house knew a spell to force her to return the cauldron: "A smith is entitled to coals in order to heat cold iron, a cauldron is entitled to bones and to be sent home whole."
Every night, the Beansith returned the pot, filled with bones.
This ritual went on for quite some time until one day the woman had to go to town. She left her husband in charge of the house and told him to repeat the spell as soon as the Beansith lifted the pot from the fire.
But the man had never seen the Beansith and was so terrified when she came that he ran into the house and locked the door. That didn't stop the Beansith. She simply climbed up on the roof, and the pot rose to meet her of its own accord.
That evening, the farmer's wife returned and was surprised to see the cauldron gone. When her husband told her what had happened, she went storming off to the Sith's hill to get it back.
There was no one inside except a couple of old men dozing in the corner. She tiptoed over to the fire and put her hands on the pot. She had almost made it out of the gate when the belly of the cauldron clanged loudly against the door-post. The old elves instantly woke up and called the dogs. Two enormous animals came out, one black and one green, and ran snarling after her. She threw a few bones from the pot to the dogs and was safe for a few seconds. But soon the beasts gained on her, and she had to throw more bones. When they started gaining on her the third time, she emptied the pot onto the ground and, with one last desperate burst of speed, ran into her house and slammed the door. She had regained her pot, and the Beansith never visited her again.
After a long walk, a man came to a field where some fat, healthy cows were grazing.
"Ah, if only I had some of their milk to drink," he sighed, and went on his way.
A few minutes later, he met a small woman in a large green skirt who offered him a drink of milk.
"How did you know that I wanted milk?" he asked. "And who ever heard of someone giving milk away? No, thanks, you can keep it."
The cow woman cursed him soundly for his rudeness, but the man didn't let it bother him and went on his way.
The next day, his body was found in a river a few miles from where he had first met the Beansith.
An old Scottish ballad tells ofTam Lin, the elfin knight: Fair Janet, shut in her father's castle, had heard of Tam Lin and went stealing off to meet him. She found him beside a well in Cauterhaugh and stayed with him all through the day. The next time they met, she looked him in the eye and asked, "Are you a fairy lover or a Christian man? For I am pregnant and must know who to blame."
He replied: "Janet, let me ease your mind. I am a man and no elf.
My horse tripped while I was riding in the hunt, and I fell into the arms of Elfland's queen. Since then, I have been a captive in their halls and have taken on some of their ways.
"But, Janet, if you want to save me, you can. You must come tomorrow, on Hallowe'en, to the crossroads and take me from my captors. I will pass by in the third procession on a white steed, my right hand gloved, my left hand bare, and my hair combed down in my face. If you take the horse by its bridle and hold me in your arms, I will be free. But first I will change into a salamander, then a snake, next a hairy bear, and then a raging lion. Your right hand will burn as I become red-hot iron and then a glowing coal. You must hold fast and, at the end, toss the coal in water and cover me as I emerge, a mother-naked man!"
Janet did as she was told and held him through his changes until he stepped forth, her naked lover. When the Fairy Queen saw what had happened, she let out a scream and cursed him for his betrayal.
"If I had known you'd betray me, Tam Lin, I'd have plucked out your mortal eyes and given you new ones of elfin wood!"

THE SEA TROws of Shetland are close relatives of the land Trows. They are sometimes called Selkies, or seals, for they cannot travel through the water in their own forms but must put on a seal or fish skin.
They come to shore on full-moon nights and dance on the rocky beach. If a man steals one of their skins, the Trow to whom it belongs follows him until he consents to give it back. Female Trows even marry the man in order to regain their skins.
Seal Women can easily be recognized when in human form by the slight web between their fingers, the roughness of their palms, their slow breathing, their fondness for swimming and diving, their fertility, their knowledge of medicine and midwifery, and their ability to foretell the future. Although they make good wives, they never lose their love of the sea and return to it as soon as they regain their skins.

Identification: The Seal People include the sea Trows, who are frequently seen in the form of seals (in Orkney, they are known as Haaf-Fish) with startlingly bright eyes. When they take fish form, they have green hair and scales. They are very beautiful and of human size when on land. The other Seal People, the Highland Roane, are gentle and shy and only appear as seals.

Habitat: The Seal People are seen in Scotland, Orkney, and Shetland, as well as in Ireland. They live by preference under the sea, but, if forced, can live on land. Their underwater palaces are fine, airy edifices of pearl and coral.
A group of Shetland seal hunters landed on a rock in the North Sea. They had killed many seals but still not skinned all of them when the sea started rising and the waves began beating against the rocks.
"We'll have to leave now and forget the seals," shouted their leader.
"All men to the boat!"
They didn't notice that one hunter had been left behind. He was frantic when he discovered himself alone on the rock.
"Hello! Is anybody there?" There was no answer. Then he saw that he wasn't alone. Some Trows were trying to revive the dead seals.
"My son! My son! Why did they have to take your skin away?" one female was crying.
Then she spotted the hunter.
"You're the one! You killed my son!" she shouted at him. Almost before he could answer, her fury gave way to hope. "Then maybe you can bring him back to life again. If I can get his skin back, he will be saved. You must help me."
The hunter promised to do what he could. The Trow mother turned into a seal, and he climbed up on her back, cutting slits in her sides to make stirrups for himself. She took him back to land.
True to his word, the man found the skin and brought it back to her. She thanked him heartily and swam away, the wounds in her sides bleeding as she swam.

THE BEST REWARD for a Brownie who has helped with the housework is a bowl of cream and a hot-cake smeared with honey. In Scotland, the Brownie's craving for sweets is so well known that an especially delectable tidbit is known as "a piece wad please a Brownie." Brownies also accept simpler offerings of beer and brown bread if these are left quietly in their favorite corner. Brownies hate any show of generosity and leave the house if the owner is rude enough to leave a suit of clothes for his naked helper.
If treated well, the Brownie can be an invaluable friend. Regularly fed and not ridiculed, he will milk the cows, churn the butter, mow hay, pasture the animals, and even call a doctor if the mistress of the house is in labor. The Cornwall Browney is the bee guardian. The luck of the house depends on the Brownie. He makes everything run smoothly when he is happy, but he ruins the family if he is miserable.
In Scotland, each house used to have its own Brownie who was especially helpful when the owners were brewing beer. They would pour a little malt from each batch into a holed stone called a Brownie's stone, and he would hasten the brewing process and improve the flavor of the home brew. Increasing industrialization and the high taxes on malt later forced farmers to stop brewing, and many Brownies found themselves without jobs. They can still be found in remote English and Scottish villages but are seen less frequently than before.

Identification: About twenty inches high, they are often invisible. When they can be seen, they have shaggy brown hair that covers them from head to foot. They have wrinkled old faces and brown skin. They are naked or wear old, tattered clothes of coarse brown wool. The Scottish Lowland Brownies have no real noses, just two nostrils, and the Highland Brownies have no fingers or toes. An interesting Lowland Brownie is the Wag at the Wa', an old teetotaller with crooked legs and a long tail. He lives on the pothook in the fireplace and always has a toothache. The Bodachan Sabhaill are Highland barn Brownies.

Habitat: Brownies live in the British Isles in Cornwall, northern England, Scotland, Orkney, and Shetland, and have even been seen in Ireland. Their Welsh relatives are called BwczoD. They usually live in human houses but also stay in caves, hollow trees, rocks, or river banks near houses.
Most Brownie stories tell how the Brownie is "laid." A gift of new clothes will lay him-force him to leave a house forever.
The Cauld Lad of Hilton was an English Brownie who helped in the kitchen of Hilton Hall. He cleaned everything up if the kitchen had been left dirty. But if the plates had been washed and stacked, he would hurl them around the room. The servants soon caught on to his ways and went to bed without cleaning anything up. In the morning, the kitchen was spotless.
One day, a maid overheard the Cauld Lad complaining:

Wae's me, wae's me!
The acorn's not yet
Fallen from the tree
That's to grow the wood
That's to make the cradle
That's to grow the bairn
That's to grow to a man
That's to lay me

The maids didn't like to see the Brownie unhappy. They made him a green cloak and hood and put them in his corner, little knowing that their gift would lay him. He was overjoyed with the gift and danced round and round, admiring himself in his new clothes. That night he vanished, never to return. The women had, in fact, been able to lay him where no man could.
A Berwickshire Brownie had faithfully mowed and threshed the corn for years until someone criticized his work. This angered him so much that he carted all the corn a distance of two miles and threw it over Raven's Crag.
"It's no' weel mowed! It's no' weel mowed! Then it's ne'er be mowed by me again; I'll scatter it ow'r the Raven Stane, and they'll hae some wark ere it's mowed again!"
He never returned to the farm, nor was he ever seen again in Scotland.
Another mischievous Brownie placed himself between two serving girls who were sharing a piece of stolen cake and took it from them, bite by bite. They couldn't see Brownie, so each thought the other had stolen her cake. The maids had begun to hit each other and swear when suddenly the Brownie laughed, "Ha, ha, ha, Brownie has't a'!"

no entry. See Trows

No entry.
Entry for Glashans and Shopiltees

As A RULE, the male lake spirits of northern Europe are monstrous and have nothing to do with the Little People. But there are exceptions to every rule.
The Scottish Kelpies and Fuaths take horse forms of gigantic size, but the Manx Glashans and the Shetland Shopiltees show themselves as miniature water horses. The Glashan appears as a small foal or a yearold lamb, while the Shopiltee is most often seen as a Shetland pony. Although less bloodthirsty than their larger relatives, they are always to be avoided. The Glashan is a woman-raper, and the Shopiltee lives off the blood of those who drown.

Identification: The Glashan's true form is unknown. He takes the shape of humans, lambs, or grey foals. The Shopiltee is called Tangye in Orkney. A Tangye is a small pony with horse's legs, enormous testicles, and seaweed dripping from his back. He also appears as a human.

Habitat: They live in rivers and deep lakes in Wales, Scotland, Shetland, and Orkney.

THE FAERIES ARE one of the most populous species of European Little People. The word fairy has been continually misused and misapplied throughout the English-speaking world, but the Faeries are still a people of great power in Ireland. They are the descendants of the original Irish, the Tuatha de Danaan. Those with the closest ties to the Tuatha are called the Sidhe (pronounced "shee") or Daoine Sidhe. They are the aristocrats of Faerie, very beautiful and of great size, great age, and even greater power. Their music is a joy to listen to, and their queen, Maeve, is of such beauty that it is dangerous for humans to look at her. The only one who rivals her power is the fool Amadan-na-Briona, the most dreaded individual in Faerie. As the Irish put it, "to meet the Amadan is to be in prison for ever."
The Sidhe live a very domestic life if left undisturbed, caring for their animals, drinking whiskey, borrowing milk and meal. But if they are molested or if any of their taboos are broken, they will react with great violence. Their touch alone can sicken or madden a human, and their elf-arrows cause instant paralysis or death. People they fancy are kidnapped and made to act as slaves or concubines inside their hills.
Even a short stay with the Faeries changes humans completely, and they return to Earth as madmen, seers, healers, or prophets.
There are many ways to avoid angering the Faeries. Even more numerous are the means of protecting oneself against them. A few of the most important should always be kept in mind: never eat faerie food but, on the other hand, never forget to leave them an offering of food and water, or some milk, potatoes, tobacco, or whiskey. If milk is spilled, "there's someone the better for it, and those who don't cry over the fact win the approval of the Faeries. Slovenly people are despised by the Faeries, and for that reason the house, and especially the fireplace, should be swept early and all the ashes and rubbish thrown out well before dark.
One should avoid contact with the Sidhe while they are at their strongest: on the moving days of May i and Hallowe'en when they move to their summer or winter homes, during the month of May, at twilight, before sunrise, and at noon. One should never walk inside faerie circles or over faerie hills and under no circumstances try to build a house there. One should always tip one's hat when passing a dust devil, and never turn around to look back at a Faery. Cutting down a thorn bush or leaving something on a faerie path invites disaster, and those who praise a person without saying "God bless him" make it possible for the Faeries to take him to their world.
The most effective protection against the Faeries is iron, but salt and religious objects may also be used. A four-leaved clover in one's hat makes it possible to see the Faeries.

Identification: The Sidhe are thin, up to six feet in height, handsome, and young-looking despite their great age. Their forms are shadowy, and they can only fully materialize in the presence of a human. Even their beauty is that of another world.
Their skin is soft, their hair long and flowing, their clothes blindingly white. Their voices are sweet and seductive, and their bagpiping is unrivalled.
There are several individuals among the Irish faeries: Willy Rua, who gets the first drops of each new batch of whiskey; the Stroke Lad, who comes at the end of every faerie procession; and the ruthlessly seductive Lhiannan-Sidhe, who destroys men with her beauty.

Habitat: The Sidhe live under faerie hills, although there are stories of fantastic floating islands peopled only by the most beautiful Faeries. 

A woman returned to her old house after seven years' absence. She had been taken by the Faeries and had danced with them so long that her toes were worn away.
As she was gathering nuts in the forest, a girl heard music of a kind different from any she had ever known. It warmed her heart and made her forget the half-gathered nuts lying beneath the tree. The soft whisper of the wind was loud in comparison with this music, and she thought of things far away and of rivers flowing slowly to the sea, until twilight darkened around her and she could hear no more.
She told her mother of the music and left even earlier the next day for the woods. She stood there beneath the nut tree, listening until the last echoes of the song had faded and the stars glittered in the night.
She went again the next day to listen, and the music overwhelmed her and followed her home, filling her room with its magic. Then, suddenly, it stopped. When the girl emerged from her room, her mother asked her about the strange sounds.
"There was no music, Mother. You must have imagined it."
With a doubtful shake of her head, the mother turned back to her work and said no more about it. The next day, she found her daughter dead in bed. When the neighbors came to the wake, they found a hag with long teeth in her place. She was so old and so wrinkled that she could have been a hundred. That night, the music was heard again. The mother saw flashing colored lights outside every window and heard for the last time the music of the pipers who had taken her daughter away.
A young boy stood on the shore looking out to sea and saw two flights of "Them" sweeping over a fishing boat, flying so fast and low that the water was pushed away on either side, showing the sand beneath. The poor fisherman made little headway as They swept at him again and again, cheering and laughing, enjoying Their sport. As They rose from the boat, They were like a great cloud of dust. Then the boy saw Their faces, always laughing, and changing color at every turn.
A small shepherd's cottage had earned the reputation of being haunted. All who moved there died soon afterwards. Even the dogs that slept by the fire vanished mysteriously. The house stood empty for many years, for no one dared to stay there. Finally, a poor woman decided to give it a try. She had no place to go and thought even a haunted house better than no house at all.
The first day, nothing happened, and there were no incidents on the second. The woman was feeling quite proud of herself when a knock came at the door. She opened it, and a tall, beautiful lady asked, "Excuse me, may I borrow some oatmeal?"
The woman generously gave the stranger what she had and refused to take anything in return when the Faery came a few days later to repay her debt. "The oats have gone to a good use, I dare say. I won't need them anymore."
"As long as you don't open the back door, then," the faerie lady replied, "you can live here as long as you like. I promise that we won't bother you.
The woman warmly thanked the Faery and lived peaceably in the house for the rest of her life. The Faeries moved their path from its original place outside her door and, true to their word, never bothered her again.

THE IRISH LEPRECHAUN is the Faeries' shoemaker and is known under various names in different parts of Ireland: Cluricaune in Cork, Lurican in Kerry, Lurikeen in Kildare, and Lurigadaun in Tipperary. Although he works for the Faeries, the Leprechaun is not of the same species. He is small, has dark skin, and wears strange clothes. His nature has something of the manic-depressive about it: first he is quite happy, whistling merrily as he nails a sole onto a shoe; a few minutes later, he is sullen and morose, drunk on his homemade heather ale. The Leprechaun's two great loves are tobacco and whiskey, and he is a firstrate con man, impossible to outfox. No one, no matter how clever, has ever managed to cheat him out of his hidden pot of gold or his magic shilling. At the last minute, he always thinks of some way to divert his captor's attention and vanishes in the twinkling of an eye.

Identification: Leprechauns and Cluricauns are small, between six and twenty-four inches high. They have light grey skin, old wrinkled faces, and bright red noses. They wear three-cornered hats, old-fashioned green jerkins and waistcoats with enormous shiny buttons, leather aprons, long blue stockings, and high- heeled shoes with silver buckles almost as big as the shoes themselves. They smoke small pipes and carry a leather purse. They are usually seen busily hammering on a shoe.

Habitat: They live and work in quiet, secluded places. They make their homes under the roots of trees or in ruined castles. They live only in Ireland.

Although few people nowadays admit to a belief in the Faeries, at one time it was considered very dangerous for an Irishman not to believe in them. Felix O'Driscoll had drunk a little too much one night and said right out loud that he thought there were no Cluricauns, and that the stories about them were a lot of nonsense. An old woman was shocked by this talk.
"So you don't believe in what your ancestors never thought to doubt! Well, I'll tell you a thing or two. Cluricauns not only exist, but I've touched one!
"I was a young girl then, about to have my first child, and I can tell you that was a good long time ago! I was pottering around a little in the garden when what should I hear but a sort of a hammering noise going knock, knock somewhere off among the beans. I couldn't imagine what it was, but it sounded a little like the sound the shoemaker makes when he's putting on a pair of heels. And sure enough, down there at the end of the beans was a little old man. He wasn't a quarter as big as a newborn child and had a cocked hat and a funny little pipe stuck in his mouth, puffing away at it so hard it would make a body laugh. His shoe buckles were so large that they covered his feet, and he was working away as fast as he could. Well, I knew then it was the Cluricaun, so I said to him, `It's an awful hot day for a person to be doing such hard work,' and before I knew it, I had him sitting in the palm of my hand. Then I pulled a horrible face and looked at him as wicked as I could and asked him where his sack of gold was. He sort of hemmed and hawed and said he didn't know what a poor creature like himself would do with so much gold. So I got even meaner and pulled out the knife I had in my pocket, and told him I'd cut the nose right off his face if he didn't tell me. He got rather scared at that and said, All right, come along and I'll show you where it is.' I kept tight hold of him and my eyes right on him. We hadn't gone very far when I heard a lot of buzzing behind me. The Cluricaun yelled out, `Look, look, your bees are swarming!' and I was fool enough to look. I didn't see the bees, and when I turned around, there wasn't anything in my hand, either. The little man had vanished just like smoke in the air, and I was tricked out of the gold."
A long time ago, a farmer caught a Leipreachan hiding under a mushroom.
"Now I've got you! You won't get away until you've given me your gold!" The farmer threatened and cursed, but it did no good. The Leipreachan said he had no gold to give. The farmer then locked him up in a big dark trunk. Time passed, and the Leipreachan didn't make a sound. One day, the farmer sold a piece of wood he had found washed up on the shore. That night, the Leipreachan let out a loud laugh.
The Leipreachan stayed inside the trunk for seven years, and when he still wouldn't tell about the gold, he was locked up for another seven.
Some time later, a poor man came to the house but left without eating. The Leipreachan laughed again.
The next seven years soon passed, and the Leipreachan refused once more to tell the farmer about the gold and was put back into the trunk. A little later, the farmer wanted to go to the fair and dug up some money to take with him. When he came home that night, he heard the Leipreachan laugh loudly from the trunk.
"That's enough now," said the farmer. "You've laughed three times, and I want to know what's so funny."
After many arguments, the Leipreachan explained that he had laughed the first time because the wood the farmer had sold was full of gold. He had laughed the second time because the poor man had broken his leg on leaving the house. If he'd stayed and eaten, nothing would have happened. Then the Leipreachan told why he had laughed the last time. A thief had watched as the farmer dug up the money and had stolen the rest while the farmer was at the fair. The man went running out to the field to look for his money, and when he found it gone, he lost his mind as well.
As Thomas Fitzpatrick was out walking one fine autumn day, he heard a soft tapping noise coming from a hedge. Curious, he peered inside. In one corner he saw a brown jug, and next to it a little old man with a leather apron sitting on a stool and hammering on a tiny wooden shoe. Thomas had heard tell of Cluricans, but this was the first he had ever seen.
Very slowly, without taking his eyes from the shoemaker, he moved closer. When he was only a few inches away, he said, "God bless the work, neighbor!"
The Clurican didn't seem at all surprised but answered him civilly and kept on with his work.
"And can I ask what you've got there in the jug?" Thomas asked.
"Beer, and good beer, made from heather tops," said the Clurican.
Thomas laughed, but the Clurican seriously explained how the Danes had taught his great-grandparents the art of brewing heather beer.
"Could I try a little?" asked Thomas.
"Listen, young man, you should be at home herding the animals.
Why, right now the cows have broken into the orchard and are trampling all your father's fruit."
Thomas almost turned around but caught himself in time. "You won't get away so easily," he said and grabbed the little man. "Tell me where your gold is."
The Clurican led him over very rough country until they came to a
field of ragwort plants.
"If you dig under this plant, you'll find all the gold you want."
Thomas had, of course, brought no shovel with him, so he tied his red garter to the plant and ran home for a shovel. "You won't be needing me anymore, will you?" the Clurican asked.
"No, I suppose you can go now."
When Thomas returned, every plant in the field had a bright red garter tied to it, and the Clurican had vanished.

no entry.

THE WORD FAIRY has so often been misused (especially by
poets such as Spenser and Drayton) that it is very misleading to
employ it as a scientific designation for a particular species of elf. The
problem is further complicated by the many subspecies that go under
the name of Fairies. The original, powerful, majestic Fairies of King
Arthur's time have intermarried with humans and other elvish races,
producing a smaller, less powerful modern English Fairy. These can
be seen throughout England, dancing merrily in the meadows on
moonlit nights. During the day, their nighttime beauty is transformed,
and they appear as ugly, wrinkled dwarfs.
Because they are vain and don't like to be thought of as ugly, the
Fairies usually appear during the day in the form of birds, cats, toads,
or butterflies. The Essex Hyter Sprites are often seen in the form of
greeneyed
sand
swallows.
The
popularized
Dorset
Fairies,
Pillywiggins, are tiny flower spirits. Some, like the Lincolnshire Tiddy
("tiny") Ones, are tied to their native fens. Every dialect has its own
name for the Fairies, ranging from Dairies and Frairies to the Suffolk
Farisees and Lancashire Feeorin.
Despite their great differences in appearance, the Fairies still have
many things in common. They all hate misers, St. John's wort, salt,
iron, and rowan. They do not like to be talked about or to be thanked
or rewarded. They will not visit a house that has ivy on the walls.
Bluebells attract them, and primroses, four-leaved clover, cowslips,
and forget-me- nots give those with second sight a glimpse into their
land. They love to dance, especially on full-moon nights in May. They
usually treat humans well if treated with respect in turn.
Identification: The old, majestic Fairies were Light Elves of large
size and with fair skin. Like the Daoine SIDHE, they were
aristocrats and came from the oldest families of elves. It is
possible that King Arthur himself was one of them. They cannot
be seen today but are sleeping under hills, waiting for the time
when they will be needed again.
The smaller, modern Fairies are between a few inches and one
and a half feet tall. They have become Dusky Elves. If seen in the
daytime, they have old, wrinkled faces. They prefer to wear red
but also wear blue, white, or green, according to the local peasant
costume. They are shape-changers and appear in many different
insect and animal forms.
Habitat: They live underground or in great palaces above ground
that can only be seen at night. They are known throughout
England, although they are less numerous in the Midlands.
A little girl had wandered far from her friends while picking flowers.
Clutching a nice bundle of primroses in her hand, she started home to
show them to her mother. She walked and walked until she came to a
large rock she had never seen before.
"But this rock isn't in the right place!" She looked hesitantly around
herself and then wandered on until she came to another strange rock.
"Maybe this really isn't the way home."
She sat down on the rock and the primroses, slightly wilted by now,
knocked against the stone. She started crying.
"There's no reason to cry, little girl," a voice said softly beside her.
She turned around and saw many tiny Farises come out of the rock.
"But where did you come from?" she asked. "And how did you get
here?"
"We've come from another land, and your flowers opened our door.
Here's a ball we've brought for you to play with," they replied and
handed her a large golden ball. She was delighted and laughed
merrily as they accompanied her home.
A conjuror was at the house when she arrived and listened carefully
to her story. He thought he could also get a golden ball for himself.
The next day he went to the meadow and picked an enormous
bunch of primroses. He wasn't as lucky as the little girl, for he had
gathered the wrong number of flowers and had come on the wrong
day. The Farises who came out of the rock this time weren't gentle
and kind but very angry. The magician was never seen again. Most
likely, he still lives under the rock, "taken" by the Farises.
Cakes that aren't marked with a cross before baking often get tiny
pockmarks on them when set out to cool. Somerset people say that
the holes are made by the Dairies who dance on them with high-
heeled shoes.
An Oxfordshire man had a fine apple tree. It produced the best fruit in
the parish and never had an off-year. Many people came from miles
around to marvel at it, and all who came went away with a couple of
apples.
One neighbor wasn't content just to look at the tree. Jack refused
the apples the man offered him and stayed awake at nights thinking
how he might own such a tree.
One night, Jack looked over into the farmer's yard and saw tiny
lights in the tree and heard songs coming from inside its branches.
Trembling with envy, he grabbed his rifle and went running out of the
house. He fired straight into the middle of the tree. The lights
suddenly went out, and the songs stopped. A flock of tiny green birds
swarmed angrily at him and pecked at his eyes.
That didn't stop greedy Jack. He didn't heed the warning of the fairy
birds. The next night, he took an axe and chopped the tree down. It
fell with a crash to the ground, and the lights went out for good.
Maybe he hoped that the birds would move into his own tree. If he did, he was sorely disappointed. His neighbor had lost the magic tree, but greedy Jack had lost his luck and died a poor and bitter man.

IN SOUTHEAST ENGLAND, ants should be treated with respect.
According to popular tradition, they are the last survivors of the original red-headed inhabitants of Cornwall. The children of these first settlers, and all other unbaptized or "pagan" children since, change at their death into Piskies. At first, the Piskies were man-sized. Accounts of them in the seventeenth century speak of them as being four feet tall. They then became successively smaller and smaller, until in this century they appear as diminutive Piskies or as Meryons, the fairy ants. It is believed that they will spend their last days on Earth as ants. Then they will never be seen again.
The present-day Pixies are tiny field sprites. They are hairy and naked or wear raggedy green clothes and red hats. Mischievous and irreverent, they love to steal and to lead humans astray. They substitute Killcrops (in German Kielhropfe, or changelings) for children, steal turnips and apples from the fields, sour the milk, lure men into bogs, and laugh "like Piskies." They dance to the music of crickets, frogs, and grasshoppers, and their dancing circles, or "gallitraps," can be found throughout Devon, Somerset, and Cornwall.
When they are in a helpful mood, they lend a hand with the threshing, pinch lazy maids, and do the housework and spinning. Their help should be accepted quietly, for they depart immediately if thanked or presented with clothing. The house should be swept every night for them and a container of fresh water placed next to the fire.
Identification: The Pixies are between nine and twelve inches high, have red hair, pointed ears, and turned-up noses, and are often hairy and cross-eyed. They are either naked or wear tattered green clothes. The Colt Pixy who guards Hampshire and Somerset orchards is not technically a Pixy but a pixy horse who bites and kicks apple thieves.
Habitat: The Pixies are found in Cornwall, Devon, most of Somerset, and eastern Hampshire. They are known as Grigs in some parts of west Somerset. They live under rocks, in caves, in small groves of trees, or in meadows. Occasionally they will consent to live inside a house.
The Pixies, although normally solitary folk, gather together once in a while and hold large fairs. A poor Somerset farmer once passed through a pixy fair on his way home from market. The first thing he saw was a gold mug brimming with coins. Without thinking twice, he purred his pony and grabbed the mug as he galloped through the fair. He didn't stop or look back until the house door was safely bolted behind him. He hid the gold under the bed and went to sleep dreaming of the good life he would now be able to enjoy.
His happiness was short-lived, for when he woke in the morning the mug had turned into a toadstool, and his pony was "scamble-footed" for the rest of its life.
An Exmoor farmer lived in a village with several churches. He was in the habit of leaving some corn for the Pixies to thresh whenever he was short-handed. One night, his wife spied on the naked Pixies through the keyhole and decided to make them some warm clothes.
Without telling her husband anything, she sewed shirts and breeches and left them on the threshing floor for the Pixies.
The farmer was furious when he heard what had happened. He knew that the Pixies wouldn't work for him now that they had new clothes.
Only much later did he see one of them again. The Pixy came to ask him for the loan of a cart and two pack horses. At first the farmer was reluctant. Then he agreed when the Pixy told him it was because "I'd want to take my good wife and littlings out of the noise of they dingdongs."
The Pixy took the horses and moved his entire family over the hill, away from the church bells. When the horses were returned, they were sleek and healthy and could do twice the work they had done before.

THE BROWNIES ARE the most important Scottish house elves, the B W c I OD the most numerous Welsh sprites, and the Hobgoblins the most populous English species. They rarely leave the house, preferring to stay warm and comfortable next to the hob.
Every section of England has its own neighborhood Hobgoblins, and they are known under a variety of names. Hob-Gob, Tom Tit, Robin Round Cap, Hob Thrush Hob, and Goblin-Groom were individual Hobgoblins so well known that they were called by their proper names. Unfortunately, fewer and fewer English home sprites have been seen in recent years, owing to their distrust of crowded towns, electricity, machines, and industrialization. They have become so rare that most people are only acquainted with them through stories and poems. Although Robin Goodfellow and Puck are perfectly respectable names for Hobgoblins, they are most likely not the names of historical elves but of literary personifications.

Identification: Hobgoblins are almost extinct, therefore it is difficult to find detailed descriptions of them. Usually one or two feet tall, they have dark skin and are either naked or dress in brown tattered clothes.

Habitat: Hobgoblins live by the fire and rarely go outdoors. At one time, they were known throughout England and into the Scottish Lowlands. Today, they are only seen in the most deserted areas, where the inhabitants still adhere to the old ways of life.

A Herefordshire Hobgoblin used to have a peculiar method of avenging himself when slighted. He stole all the keys in the house and would not return them till begged to. The people in the house had to place a cake on the hob and sit quietly in a circle around the fire, their eyes closed, until the sprite's anger cooled down and his hunger had been sated. Then he would throw the keys against the wall and the humans could go on with their work. After this, the goblin returned to his favorite spot on the horseshoe hung over the fire.

No Entry.

THE DUTCH ALVEN are the most representative species of Light Elves. Their bodies are so insubstantial to our eyes that we usually call them invisible. They can travel through the air with the same ease with which they cross rivers and streams, gliding quietly through the currents.
The Alven should never be taken lightly. Their bodies may look weak, but their power is awesome. They control many bodies of water, including the fabled River Elbe. Their power is at its strongest at night, when they wake from their sleep and come to land to do mischief and greet friends. They then care for their favorite plants, nightwort and elf leaf, watering and strengthening them against the coming day. Their attachment to these plants is so strong that they will sicken or kill cattle and humans who touch them.

Identification: Very few detailed descriptions of the Alven exist because of their translucent, almost transparent bodies. To further complicate things, the Alven are shape-changers and can shrink to minuscule size, only to then grow and spread into gorgeous monsters who cover half of the morning sky.

Habitat: The Dutch Alven live in ponds in which there are no fish or under small mounds called Alvinnen hills. They travel with the wind and through water inside air bubbles or broken eggshells.

SAILORS, ALWAYS SUPERSTITIOUS, used to put great faith in their ships' figureheads. Not only did the carving have to be lifelike and magical, but the wood itself had to be very carefully chosen and cured. In the great shipbuilding centers of Flanders, the most treasured wood for this purpose was that of trees that had the souls of dead children living in them. (It was the custom to plant guardian trees at the birth of each child. Such a tree's fate was intimately connected with that of the child. If the child died, his soul went to rest in the tree.) These spirits felt so much at home in their trees that they followed them even after the trees were cut down and carved into figureheads. When the figureheads were mounted on ships, these spirits took over the duties of the ship's sprite and warned of disasters, kept sickness away, and helped the sailors with their work.
They were, in time, given the name of Klabautermannikins, and great care was taken not to drive them away. If they left, the ship was sure to sink.
Some of them did leave and took to the easier life of the harbor towns. As they traveled and multiplied, they became a common sight from Amsterdam to Copenhagen and were spotted inland, on the banks of the Elbe and the Oder. Many people told stories of these elves, now called Kaboutermannikins, who came into their houses on nights with no moon and lit warm, invisible fires in the fireplace. The Kabouters often stayed for a long time in one home, helping with the house and farm work until driven away by gifts of clothes or by curses.
Land life has agreed with the Kaboutermannikins. They have become a little greedier and a little fatter and can frequently be seen in back streets, smoking their pipes. Some unkind citizens of Holland have hinted that they have become dimwitted since their move inland and that it now takes three Kaboutermannikins to do what one Klabauter- mannikin used to do. Even smoking a pipe has become a Herculean task. One Kabouter must hold the bowl, another has to hold a light to it, while the third pulls the thick sweet smoke into his lungs.

Identification: The Klabauter- and Kaboutermannikins are between one and three feet tall. They wear red jackets that are always a couple of sizes too small for them and round, red hats. Those who live aboard ship wear white or yellow sailors' trousers and high boots. Both the land and the ship sprites love to smoke.

Habitat: The Klabautermannikins live in ships' figureheads and travel with their ships down the Elbe and the Oder, through the North and the Baltic Seas to the Atlantic, and as far south as the Mediterranean and Adriatic.

The Kaboutermannikins live in mills and caves and upstairs in houses and castles, deep inside old wooden beams. They can be found in Holland, Belgium, and northern Germany as far east as Leipzig.
The Kaboutermannikins of Lowen were once hired to build the church tower. The citizens were pleased with their work and rewarded them richly with gold and silver. The Kaboutermannikins were delighted.
They had never seen so much money and took turns counting it, watching the coins glisten in the sunlight and letting them run through their fingers. The more time they spent counting their treasure, the less time they spent working, eventually shutting themselves up in their treasure chamber to devote more time to their hoard.
The days passed by, and the weeks, and months, and years. The Kaboutermannikins grew old, their gold locked up in chests and boxes, safe against thieves. A few Kabouters died, but the survivors kept their unending watch on the gold. One day, the roof of their treasure chamber caved in, burying them together with their gold.
Many have since tried to find it, without success.
It is a well-known fact that old men never tire of telling their story long after everyone around has tired of hearing it. Most of these stories go forgotten, no matter how long or how vehemently they are told.
"Once upon a time, I was a rich man, and not the beggar you see today. All my bad luck came from the time I swore at the Redcap who made me rich. What a fool I was! I've had to pay dearly for my rudeness, but the Redcap will never forgive me, and I'll die a poor man.
"It all started the day my wife fell ill, God bless her. She was a strong woman and had done all the housework for years, never missing a day. You can imagine how it was when she became ill! I'd never washed a dish in my life or been to market, and suddenly there was no one there to do it for me. One night, I was setting the butter churn in front of the fire when I saw the Redcap who was to bring me so much pain and trouble. But I didn't know it then, so I piled a few logs on the fire and tiptoed quietly around him as he slept there on the hearth with his bright red jacket and strange green face. That morning when I woke up, the butter was already churned, the fire was blazing, and the kitchen was scrubbed and cleaned. From that day on, the Redcap did the work of three men. Even after my wife recovered, bless her soul, he stayed with us, tending the animals, cleaning the house, minding the child, and washing the clothes. Every day, he brought in firewood and lit the fires.
"I suppose the Redcap began to make life too easy for us. We soon had so much time on our hands that we didn't know what to do. I began to drink, and my poor wife started to ask for more and finer clothes. But no matter how much we spent on clothes and drink, there was always more. The work of the Redcap had begun to pay off. Before long, we were the richest people in town and could buy anything we wanted. The drinking and the wealth began to go to my head, for I became grumpy and nasty. I yelled at the children when I got home, cursed the dog, and fell asleep in a drunken stupor. I can assure you, I was the most disgusting bastard in the whole town!
"Then I made my first real mistake: I yelled at the Redcap and threw the firewood he was carrying down the well. With a wicked laugh, the little fellow vanished, and I never saw him again. The next morning, things were as bad as the day he had come: my wife was sick again and didn't live through that week, may she rest in peace.
All my savings had turned into potato peelings under the mattress, the cows died, the house was sold, and before I knew it, I was a penniless pauper. If only I'd learned to curb my temper, I'd still be a rich man today!"

no entry.

STANDING STONES, OR dolmens, are a familiar sight in Europe.
In Cornwall, Brittany, and Iberia, they are an accepted part of the landscape. Often the stones are hidden deep in the woods, half-covered with vegetation, but in other places they are grouped in circles, reminders of ancient civilizations. The Bretons say the dolmens were brought to Brittany by the Korred, who were so strong that they were able to carry the massive stones on their backs.
Dolmens were used by the Celts as astronomical markers as well as meeting points and places of worship. But the Celts died out, and only the Korred remain to tell the story of the stones. The locals still honor these old ones who first brought the stones into the land and who now live in caves underneath them.
The dolmen elves are most common in Brittany, where they appear under myriad different names, but can also be seen in the Pyrenees and in Cornwall. The Breton dwarfs are grouped under the name of Korrs or Korred, and have bright red eyes as well as the Dark Elves traditional dark skin. In keeping with their association with the standing stones, they are prophets as well as magicians, and know the secrets of all treasures hidden in their neighborhood. Their main delight is in dancing, which they do with such vigor that the grass burns in circles under their feet. They only dance at night, usually on Wednesday, their holiday. Humans should take care never to join these dances, for they are Korred dances, serious elf rituals that have little to do with our frivolous foot-stompers. The Korred react with violence against humans who disturb these rituals. Girls who take part will bear a child nine months later resembling someone in the village they have never slept with. Men will be forced to dance until they die of exhaustion. The Crions-a kind of Korred-invariably find this so funny that they laugh until daybreak.
The Korred are not always unkind in their dealings with humans, although never over-friendly. For a small payment, they loan their oxen, kitchen utensils, and tools, and sharpen knives and scythes if these are left overnight on their "borrowing stones." Some of the Korred even care for the pigs if they are allowed to watch the smoking and are given a little piece of fat at slaughtering time.
The Cornish standing-stone elves are called Spriggans. They guard underground treasures and are responsible for controlling the winds. They resemble the French Crions but also appear as giants, stretching to enormous size in order to scare humans.

Identification: The original Korred and Crions range from one to three feet in height. The Jetins and Vihans are occasionally even smaller. The Korred's bodies are hunched, their skin black, their hair dark and shaggy, and their eyes, set far back into their heads, are the color of burned rubies. Instead of fingers, the Korred have cats' claws, as well as goats' hooves in the place of feet. Their voices are cracked and muffled, but they have an extraordinarily loud laugh. The male Korred always carry a large leather purse filled with hair and a pair of scissors. They live together with their wives, but the females are rarely seen outside the house.
When the Phoenician sailors came to Brittany, they brought another type of elf with them, whom they called Couretes or Carikines. Through the years, these have intermarried with the old Korred until they have been assimilated, and one can barely distin guish between the "old" Korred and the "new" Among the many old Korred still extant are the Jetins, the Hommes Cornus, the Corics, Kerions, Kouricans, Gwazig-Gan, Kourils, and Korandon. In one aspect only do the younger Korred differ from the older: most of them do not wear their hair loose but hide it under enormous wide-brimmed hats. Among the many present- day Korred are the Corriquets, Guerrionets, Korriks, Boudiguets, C' Horri- quets, and Corrandonnets, and the Kornikaned, who carry small horns attached to their belts.

Habitat: The Korred live in Brittany, although one entirely male group, the Hommes Cornus, live in Gascony. Other Korred have been occasionally seen in the Pyrenees. The Spriggans emigrated from Brittany to England, and now live exclusively in Cornwall.
The original Korred lived underground, in caves under dolmens, under heaths, in sea-cliff caves, or in natural caverns. Their homes had and still have one characteristic in common: they always lie below sea level. The Teuz and Poulpikans, also of old ancestry, make their homes in bogs, swamps, and stagnant waters.
The younger Korred are not as particular about where they make their homes as the older tribes are. They have been spotted near dolmens, at the seashore, among sand dunes, and, in some extreme cases, even in human habitations.
A hunchbacked farmer and his wife were in the fields one day when some Korred bent on kidnapping them approached. The couple was only saved by some iron in the fork of their plough.

"Let him go, let him go, fork of the plough has he!" sang the Korred, powerless against the iron's magic.
One night the man went to the Korred, protected by the iron. He joined their dance, after first making them promise not to tire him to death. The Korred's dancing music consisted of the simple song "Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday!" which the hunchback then completed with "Thursday, Friday, Saturday." Grateful, the Korred rewarded the man with a younger face and removed his hump.
Another hunchback from the same village heard of his good fortune and decided to try his luck. He, too, went dancing with the Korred, but stuttered while trying to finish the rhyme. His song sounded something like "And Su-Sunday too, and Su-Sunday too!" This hardly pleased the Korred. They gave him the hump they had taken from his neighbor and sent him away. Furious, the double-hunchback hurried back to the village.
"Look what happened to me, just because of those Korred. It's your fault, you e-elf-loving swindler! If I hadn't listened to you, I wouldn't have th-th-this thing on my back right now! Pay me, or I'll tell everyone in t-town that you're in league with those foul-mouthed d-d-de-devil dwarfs."
"Here's some money," said the farmer. "Now leave me alone."
The farmer then went to the Korred to finish their rhyme for good: "With Sunday, as is meet, and so the week's complete." Now knowing the days of the week, the Korred were able to stop dancing. They presented the farmer with one of their purses filled with horse-hairs, leaves, and sand, which changed to gold and precious jewels when sprinkled with holy water.
A Cornish woman lost her child to the Spriggans. They left a changeling who gave her no end of trouble. Caring for the ugly creature took up most of the poor woman's day, and thinking of ways to get rid of it most of the night.
A friend told her that she could only free herself of the monster by dipping it in a holy well. The young mother took her friend's advice.
She traveled to the well and dipped the changeling twice into the cold water. As she was about to dunk it the third time, she heard voices coming from inside the well. The voices were so loud and so strange that she forgot her task and ran back to the house, too frightened to look behind her.
Once she was safe at home, the woman's fear turned to anger. She decided to rid herself of the changeling, once and for all. She took a broom from the cupboard, set the changeling on the rubbish heap and beat it, paying no attention to the creature's cries. She then stripped it naked and left it beside the church stile.
When the woman awoke in the morning, her own child was back in its cradle, and the changeling had vanished, never to be seen again.

THE MAIN THING to be remembered in dealing with Lutins is
their capriciousness. One moment they help with the work, the next
moment mischievously interrupt it, and then they laugh at the whole
thing a few seconds later. They are irrepressible and can think up
endless games to pique humans. They transform themselves into
stallions and, when mounted, promptly throw their riders into the
ditch. They braid horses' manes and lock them up in pig pens, turn
men into donkeys, and scare hunters waiting for game. They appear
as enormous spiders, lead people astray, and attach two cows to the
same side of the yoke. Some appear as goats, others as great balls,
and still others as fire. Some take the horns off cows, block roads,
and throw travelers off cliffs. Coast Lutins make seashells shine like
gold nuggets and laugh as humans run to gather them. In some
cases, the Lutins even let themselves be put to work as oxen to ruin
the ploughing.
When in good moods, the Lutins can be quite industrious. Many
stable Lutins pick out one horse as their favorite and feed and
pamper it until it is the best-looking animal in the neighborhood. They
are very fond of children and play with them for hours on end. House
Lutins warn of disasters, sea Lutins rescue shipwrecked sailors, and
coast Lutins guard fishermen's nets.
Although eccentric and occasionally malicious, the Lutins are
seldom cruel. The only times they use violence are when humans
disturb them at their work or spy on them. The unfortunates are then
blinded, sickened, or murdered.
Identification: The Lutins appear in a bewildering variety of forms
and move incessantly from place to place. One Lutin, the Cula, is
such a master shape-changer that it can choose between a
thousand different disguises. The Lutins manifest themselves as
small boys, animals, balls of yarn, giant spiders, small monks
dressed in red, flying spindles, horses, men with wolf's heads,
gusts of wind, and traveling flames. The house and stable Lutins
appear as small, mischievous boys. Names used to describe the
Lutins are almost as numerous as the forms they take. Listed
under the house and stable Lutins are Moestre Yan of the
eighteenth century, Petit Jeannot, Thomas Boudic, Bom Noz,
Sotret, Penette, Soltrait, Folaton, Fouletot, and Natrou-Monsieur.
The country Lutins are called Lutins Noirs, Nion Nelou,
Araignees Lutins, Moine Trompeur, Le Criard, Nain Rouge,
Droug- Speret, L'Homme Velu, and Cornandonet Du.
Habitat: Lutins have no permanent homes. Only the house Lutins
stay in one place year after year and even then move when the
owners move or when the master of the house dies.
The Lutins do not usually live next to running water, near rivers
or mountain streams. They abound in stagnant waters and have
been spotted near caves. They visit moors and seashores, walk
between dunes, travel over fields, live in houses, and haunt
dolmens and standing stones. They are natives of France as well
as of certain cantons of Switzerland.
Two girls were once forced to spend the night in a stable. They were
so tired that they immediately fell into a deep sleep, dead to the
world.
When morning came, they found that a Lutin had visited them in the
dark. Their hair was so tangled and knotted that it was impossible to
comb out. All their "lutined" locks had to be cut off.
It was customary in the valley to leave a bowl of milk every day for
the mountain Lutin. In return, he would see that the animals came to
no harm.
A herdsman began to be curious about this Lutin. He had never
seen him, just heard stories about him. Besides, he did not believe
that such a tiny creature could do so much to protect the sheep and
goats.
One day, the man decided to take a look at the famous Lutin.
He carried the milk to the Lutin's eating-place himself and then hid
behind a rock to see what would happen. After a long time, he heard
tiny footsteps and saw a little hand reach for the milk. Before the
herdsman could get a good look, he heard a terrified bleat from
behind and turned just as his favorite white goat was crushed by a
boulder. Before he recovered from the shock, the Lutin and the milk
had vanished.
Nobody could believe it: one of the most successful and sober men of
the town was walking down the main street pulling a rope. The rope
stuck straight out behind him, as if a great weight were attached to it.
The man was pulling and heaving with all his might, the sweat
running down his face.
"What have you got there, friend?" some of the townspeople
shouted.
"If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were dragging the Devil to
market," another one laughed.
"You're not far from the truth, friend," the struggling man panted.
"This Lutin has been driving me crazy, and I wanted to sell him to an
out-of-towner. But the creature refused to come with me. Now I have
to drag him away through the streets, making a laughingstock of
myself. I'll be so happy when I'm finally rid of the beast."
Two fishermen on their way to Berneville came upon a young boy and
offered to take him with them. He gladly accepted and entertained
them with laughter and stories along the way. Just outside the village,
the cheerful boy suddenly turned into the Nain Rouge and tossed one
of the fishermen into the water. The other one, however, he could not
touch. The Nain Rouge screamed at him in a thin strangled voice:
"You! You can thank your patron saint for making you cross yourself
with holy water this morning. If you hadn't, you would have joined
your friend in a surprise bath and not have spoiled all my fun!"

ORIGINALLY FOREST ELVES, the Dames Vertes have lately
been seen close to human habitations. At one time, they lived
together in small groups in the forest and led men astray, destroying
them with the violence of their emotions and the exuberance of their
lovemaking. The Dames Vertes were later seen at the edge of the
woods, teasing travelers, laughing at young people, and dangling
strangers by their hair over waterfalls. Then they became friends with
the wind and traveled over the ripening grain, breathing life into the
seed with every step. They appeared before fires, visiting the fields
and orchards with their haunting presence.
Through their long association with the wind, the Dames Vertes
have become more and more ethereal until, at the present time, they
are sometimes referred to as revenants, or visitors from another
world. It cannot be denied that the winds of the Dames Vertes smell
of earth and mold and death, but to refer to them as "ghosts" is far
from correct. Their nature, however ethereal, remains that of a life-
giving, greening force, like the warm wind that melts the winter's
snows.
Identification: The Dames Vertes are tall, beautiful, and extremely
seductive, and they dress in green tunics. Very rarely seen in
their natural forms, they are usually invisible, walking so
gracefully and lightly over a field that the only sign of their
passage is a slight ripple in the grass.
Habitat: The Dames Vertes live in thickly wooded areas in eastern
France, at the edge of meadows, in forest caves, near waterfalls
and springs, and on the slopes leading to fishponds. They have
occasionally been known to work inside houses. During rainy
weather, they can be found behind trees or overhanging vines.