Bestiary |
Iris
For the ancient Greeks, Iris was the embodiment of the rainbow, and as such she served as a messenger, delivering divine messages much like Hermes. Although her lower status meant she did not carry out orders herself, she would occasionally add her own little touches to them. I’ll remain politically correct by not commenting on that.
According to some, she had a son, Eros, with the west wind Zephyr; this version, however, lags far behind the most famous parents—Aphrodite and Ares—and stems from the imaginations of poets who likely invented that lyrical union of Night and Wind and the subsequent creation of the world.
She didn’t just carry messages; as a courier service, she sometimes had to deal with much larger loads, such as the crate in which she transported the Nemean lion to Nemea; in this version of the myth, however, the animal was not the offspring of Echidna and Typhon, but was created by Selene from sea foam at Hera’s request. Not much, however, remains of Iris in the myths; she was neither a tragic nor a heroic figure, she simply did her job, which is why she is remembered at most as a supporting character in some famous legends; she showed initiative—albeit not entirely her own (it concerned her family)—perhaps only when interceding on behalf of the harpies who were pursuing the Argonauts Calais and Zetes.
Incidentally, Iris is linked to the Harpies not only by an officially recognized kinship but also by shared attributes; like them, Iris had wings (as well as a herald’s staff and a water jug in which she carried water for the clouds). They also shared a somewhat similar profession, though not strictly in a mythological sense. The harpies, after all, once flew as messengers for Hades, the king of the underworld (or rather, they carried the souls of the dead to the underworld).
Due to her absence from significant events, Iris also does not appear very often in the visual art of the time or depicted in stone; the exception—understandably—is vases, on which, on the contrary, we can find her quite frequently.
Zeus (in the middle) sending his messengers Hermes and Iris: FRANÇOIS LENORMANT, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
2.6.2026 (2.12.2007)
Draugr
In Scandinavian folklore, draugar are simply a general term for a ghost, but in the past, unnatural and supernatural beings were classified with greater precision. A draugr is not a disembodied phantom, but rather a kind of Nordic zombie—a reanimated corpse.
In Norway, they are often the spirits of drowned sailors who bring misfortune to their living colleagues, a tradition rooted in Christianity because they themselves could not be buried in consecrated ground. They wander in the water around ships, with seaweed in their hair; sometimes they transform into coastal rocks, in which form they once again lie in wait for sailors.
The Icelandic and older variant of draugr is, surprisingly, less aquatic; it inhabits old burial mounds, often haunts relatives, and is sometimes harmless while at other times attacks both people and animals. They don’t look very appealing—but then, what else can you expect from a corpse? If you want to get rid of them, one of the vampire recipes helps—cut off the undead’s head and place it on its buttocks (the draugr’s, not your own), and then burn the body.
2.6.2026 (18.11.2007)
Mari
Although the Basque goddess Mari is the embodiment of the Earth, as a supreme deity she also rules over wind and thunder. For this reason, she sometimes takes the form of a great storm cloud or a rainbow; at other times, she travels across the sky in a chariot drawn by four horses or a ram. To make matters even more confusing, she is often depicted with the moon behind her head. Her attribute is a sickle.
With her husband, the thunder demon Maju, she had two sons: an evil spirit named Mikelats and, as a counterbalance, a benevolent spirit named Atarrabi. Atmospheric disturbances accompanied her even during her Christian career. As a revered goddess, she was reincarnated as Saint Marina, the protector against curses and storms.
2.6.2026 (2.12.2007)
Chlupáč od Jezurů (The Hairy One from At Jezuras’)
While prostitutes in London feared Jack the Ripper, Prague once had its own specter in the same line of work, known by the name of the place as “Chlupáč od Jezurů” That place—a tavern named, as is customary, after its owner, an establishment of dubious reputation (or, viewed from the other side, a notorious one)—was located on Konviktská Street and belonged to the seedy establishments of the lowest order.
The first victim of the shaggy, hairy bogeyman—a male figure with a swaying, bear-like gait and a beard down to his waist—was a prostitute nicknamed Jikavec. The ghost approached her—again on all fours, like a bear—emerging from the darkness of the courtyard, stood before the girl, and prepared to strangle her. The terror did its job, and when the victim began to scream, the hairy creature vanished, but the tavern patrons came running. They didn’t believe a word the terrified hooker said, but just for fun, they searched the house anyway. Understandably, to no avail. Jikavec, unable to work, went to bed instead. But after midnight, the hairy creature came again, into her room, and in the morning… in the morning they found her with bruises on her neck and the tip of her nose bitten off.
But she was alive. The story had a more or less happy ending, because the young woman gave up her trade (what else could she do?) and has made an honest living ever since. That’s how it ended for her, though not for the other ladies. After a while, the furry creature appeared again—incidentally, no one considered the first appearance supernatural, but rather the work of some, presumably dissatisfied, client, targeting Jikavec specifically—and began to terrorize all the employees. In the rooms and especially in the courtyard, where it had first appeared.
After a while, it expanded its sphere of activity to a similar establishment, U Silbernaglů, where it behaved in the same manner, terrifying the girls, pushing them down the stairs, and scratching them with its claws. By then, its existence had become public knowledge, and the voice of the people declared that it surely came from the Vltava River. One didn’t have to look far for the reason behind his rampage: both at the Jezuras’ and the Silbernagls’, people of a much more noble calling used to frequent the establishments before the prostitutes; the first tavern was located in the former rectory of the adjacent Chapel of the Holy Cross, while the second was created by converting the Church of St. John.
2.6.2026 (9.12.2007)
Falkenhund
Near Jablonné v Podještědí in northern Bohemia, from the ruins of Starý Falkenburg Castle, a large black dog with a long, bushy tail emerges every evening, as befits a proper ghost. It roams the surrounding area, only to return to its bed at dawn. Like many such creatures, this phantom animal has a verified and noble origin—it is said to be an enchanted knight.
2.6.2026 (9.12.2007)
Červený mužík (The Little Red Man)
A goblin in a red cloak, known as the Červený mužík, is one of the many spooky inhabitants of the castle’s underground passages in Slezská Ostrava. Like many such places, the cellars there are said to hide treasures. The goblin (according to some versions, a black one—as is often the case) is thus accompanied by the usual black dog with fiery eyes, a golden duck with ducklings, and a green knight—well-known figures hired to guard the treasure.
But Červený mužíček was not only active at the castle; he is also linked to a legend so typical of the region that it could not be more so—namely, the discovery of black coal, or rather the discovery of its use as a highly calorific fuel. A goblin in a sleigh pulled by a small horse once stopped by a poor but honest blacksmith, had the horse’s hooves shod, and since the poor but honest blacksmith didn’t have enough wood to stoke the forge, the goblin advised him to throw those black stones from the field behind the house into the fire. Which the poor but honest blacksmith did; he shoed the horse and adopted the technology as his own, thanks to which he soon shed the label of “poor.” He did not remain rich and honest for long either, for under pressure from offers by the lords of the castle, he sold both the coal discovery and the field, whereupon his existence in the story ends with the usual moral: the money rolled away, easily gained, easily lost, and so on. Červený mužíček caused the first mining disaster in the newly established coal mines and then departed, most likely to feature in other local legends.
2.6.2026 (9.12.2007)
Gwyllgi
With the upcoming days off, there’s a sense of laziness in the air, and I don’t really feel like coming up with anything new, so I’ll just copy last week’s setup: one dog, one ghost, and a bit about goblins—I’ll just change the setting to Britain.
The dog haunts the Welsh town of Laugharne on the coast of Carmarthen Bay. Gwyllgi is actually a typical member of his kind, a phantom dog with fiery eyes, running through the night along the old road from the castle to the town.
2.6.2026 (16.12.2007)
Old Jacobus
In the Scottish county of Dumfriesshire lies a manor called Rammerscales, built by James Mounsey, a former physician to the Russian imperial family. He fled home after the coup that deposed the newly crowned Tsar Peter III (organized by his wife Catherine, later the Great); to throw off the secret agents he believed were on his trail, he faked his own death and funeral. Every room in his mansion had two sets of doors so he could escape more easily…
His obsession likely persisted even after death, as he began to haunt his house—more precisely, the library. True to British tradition, the ghost has remained to this day. For example, in the not-too-distant past, during World War II, when a school was housed in Rammerscales, he frightened the uninvited lodgers so much that they preferred to move from the cozy house to the stables.
2.6.2026 (16.12.2007)
Spriggan
Spriggans are native to Cornwall and related to pixies. In other words, they are gnomes, though they make no effort to help—quite the opposite, in fact. They haunt abandoned ruins, burial mounds, and menhirs, and are responsible for bad weather, poor harvests, and ill health. They also often impersonate will-o’-the-wisps and lure travelers into swamps or onto cliffs at night. Like many small peoples, spriggans also tend to swap their children for human ones. Although they are usually of undersized stature, they can sometimes grow to gigantic proportions in the blink of an eye, which is why they are sometimes believed to be the spirits of giants, of whom Cornish legends have no shortage.
These days, spriggans appear quite often—fortunately, only as the eponymous beer from the Cornish brewery Skinner.
2.6.2026 (16.12.2007)
Sarut and Bagat
Both can be found in the Philippines, and neither is particularly dangerous—at least not until a frightened person attacks them or provokes them. And since both take on animal forms, one might think they belong in a zoological treatise. But they are, after all, bogeymen.
The first, Sarut, takes on the appearance of a somewhat strange animal or insect, and likes to appear where people are often found. Its response to the aforementioned reaction of a frightened person is an illness it inflicts upon them.
Bagat usually takes the form of a large dog and, for a change, haunts deserted paths, usually during a full moon, or when it’s drizzling and visibility isn’t exactly the best.
2.6.2026 (23.12.2007)
Culebre
And let’s add one more dragon to our collection. Culebre is a classic European serpent with bat wings; it flits over the Spanish region of Cantabria, and like all of its kind, it is very, very dangerous and highly sought after by the more adventurous, because like all of its kind, it usually hides very, very great treasures somewhere.
2.6.2026 (23.12.2007)
Anna Perenna
For the Romans, she was the goddess of the New Year, which is why she seems like a suitable candidate for today’s chapter of the Bestiary. Except for one tiny detail—New Year’s celebrations in ancient Rome took place on March 15. Half a month after the birthday of Mars and thus half a month after the start of the Roman year. But since even our January 1st is essentially just a reference point from which the calendar sets off on the Earth’s endurance run along its orbit, there is no reason to further defend this lady’s presence.
Even her worshippers argued over the origins of Anna Perenna; after all, this was nothing unusual in Rome, which sucked up gods from the wider region like a powerful vacuum cleaner. They attributed the following origins to her:
She could have been a water nymph, if her name derived from amnis perennis, meaning “eternal stream.” She could have been a lunar goddess, if she was named after the year (annis). Perhaps she also had something to do with Anna, the sister of the Carthaginian queen Dido (which strikes me as a hypothesis constructed too much in hindsight).
In any case, she made her mark on Roman history when, during the well-known conflicts between the patricians and the plebeians, she sided with the latter by preventing them from starving to death.
What connects this lady to the present day is the customary nature of her festivities, which took place in a grove near the Flaminian Way. Just as with today’s New Year’s celebrations, alcohol (specifically wine) flowed in more than ample quantities back then as well.
2.6.2026 (1.1.2008)
Nain Rouge
One might think the Red Dwarf is a French ghost. Yes, a certain nain rouge is mentioned in Norman legends, but since I know nothing else about it, I’ll focus on the creature of the same name from across the ocean.
Canada? Close, but no cigar.
Although it has a French name, the Nain Rouge is a notorious harbinger of evil in the United States, specifically in Michigan, and more precisely in Detroit.
Its first recorded appearance was a clash with the city’s founder, Antoine de la Mothe Cadillac, which foreshadowed all subsequent apparitions; Cadillac soon lost both his reputation and his fortune, while the Nain Rouge gained a reputation. From that time to the present day, its apparitions have foretold no small amount of trouble. For example, British soldiers saw him before they were wiped out by Native Americans; he appeared before the fire that ravaged the city in 1805, as well as before the great snowstorm in 1976. These are just a few examples.
As for its appearance, witnesses’ descriptions do not differ significantly: the creature is said to be small, with red or black fur, sometimes with glowing eyes and bad teeth, occasionally making croaking sounds. One lady described it as a horned baboon. It is unclear whether the red dwarf warns of all these accidents, misfortunes, and bad weather, or is responsible for them; in any case, it is a ghost on active duty whose time has not yet run out—and, it seems, will not run out for a long time.
One final note: just like the British Spriggan or the Dutch Witte Wieven, the Detroit dwarf has become the patron of a local beer, which can sometimes lead to unplanned appearances with unexpected consequences.
2.6.2026 (6.1.2008)
Trasgu
The Asturian elf, el trasgu, is the local version of a goblin or imp, a domestic helper known in every culture. Between seventy and ninety centimeters tall, horned and tailed, wearing a cap or hood, of a cheerful and boisterous nature, inhabiting old houses, sheds full of junk, or cellars under the floor, moving with the human family if they change their residence—this is a description of a creature that is, in a way, European and multicultural, as if pieced together from various relatives, from brownies to penates to domoviks.
Like others of their kind, trasgus also enjoy doing small household chores, though they belong to the group that unaltruistically insists on wages: they are paid in food and lodging. If they do not receive the appropriate rewards, they start acting up, waking people from their sleep, breaking dishes, or moving things from place to place. And they steal sweets.
If you want to get rid of them—perhaps because you no longer believe in any damn goblins, or you’ve hired a spouse to do the cleaning—just take advantage of the fact that trasgus (like many people) suffer from an inflated sense of confidence in their own intelligence. Just give them three stupid tasks that are beyond their capabilities—for example, the usual task of carrying water in a colander, which the trasgu won’t be able to do and will leave in shame, or have the goblin calculate something. If you choose a number higher than twelve—they don’t know any numbers beyond that—then you’re in the clear, and the goblin is out of the picture.
2.6.2026 (20.1.2008)
Bonnacon
It is time once again to delve into real medieval bestiaries. Three quite interesting creatures have been caught in the net; you won’t find them today in nature or in zoos, but in their time, they were recognized biological species.
The horned animal Bonnacon is called a Bonasus by some authors, which reveals its kinship with ruminants. It differs somewhat from the usual bovids, however. Although it has a bull’s head, its horns curve inward, so it cannot use them as stabbing weapons in case of danger. Therefore, it uses a more interesting method of defense. It turns its rear end toward the opponent and—well, many animals mark their territory with feces, but the bonnacon has found another use for it. It shoots its excrement over a wide area; unlike skunks, this is not merely for intimidation—the byproducts of the bonnacon’s digestive tract set fire to whatever they land on.
Illustration: Unknown authorUnknown author, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
2.6.2026 (28.1.2008)
Yale
Pliny the Elder placed this black or sometimes light brown animal in a land known to him, though safely distant, called Ethiopia. That is why he could amaze his contemporaries with a description of a creature the size of a horse, with an elephant’s tail and a wild boar’s tusks. Unlike the previous Bonnacon, it knows how to use its truly long horns; moreover, it can point each one in a different direction, thus protecting itself from the front and the back.
The name likely derives from the Hebrew yael—mountain goat—which reveals the path to follow in search of the actual animal that, in ancient times, became the unwitting progenitor of this intriguing creature.
2.6.2026 (28.1.2008)
Muscaliet
Today’s final guest is—at least in terms of its description—the most interesting. The Muscaliet has the body of a small hare, the legs and tail of a squirrel, the ears of a weasel, the snout of a mole, the bristles of a pig, and the tusks of a boar. It hops along branches and cleans trees of leaves and fruit, but it builds its nest on bare ground, because it generates so much heat that if it were to sit on a tree even for a moment, it could destroy it.
2.6.2026 (28.1.2008)
Myrmecoleo, also known as the Antlion
Myrmeleon, or the antlion, can be found—if you know what it looks like, of course—almost everywhere. In its natural habitat, it is (mostly) a nocturnal moth with long wings and short antennae. More popular than the adults are the larvae, which, thanks to their ingenious sand traps and feeding habits, have brought the entire Myrmeleonidae family its name and fame.
The bestiary antlion, however, is a completely different creature. Even its name, composed of both parents, defies zoological convention, as hybrids are typically named using the first half of the father’s name and the second half of the mother’s; yet the myrmecoleo is the son of a lion and an ant mother, having inherited the head from his father and the body from his mother.
The poor thing came into existence, most likely due to a misunderstanding of ancient Hebrew texts, and its existence itself isn’t worth much; since each parent feeds on different food (mythical ants are, surprisingly, herbivores), their offspring can eat neither meat nor grass and thus starve to death. Which reminds me of a lovely passage from Carroll’s Through the Looking-Glass:
“Crawling at your feet,” said the Gnat (Alice drew her feet back in some alarm), “you may observe a Bread-and-Butterfly. Its wings are thin slices of Bread-and-butter, its body is a crust, and its head is a lump of sugar.”
A winged insect which appears to be in the shape of a crust of bread. Its wings are dry slices of bread.
“And what does it live on?”
“Weak tea with cream in it.”
A new difficulty came into Alice’s head. “Supposing it couldn’t find any?” she suggested.
“Then it would die, of course.”
“But that must happen very often,” Alice remarked thoughtfully.
“It always happens.”
– Lewis Carroll. Through the Looking-Glass)
2.6.2026 (3.2.2008)
Judas
These relatives of the Bulgarian samovili appear mainly in North Macedonia and the Rodopi Mountains. As is customary with Slavic nymphs, they can often be seen combing their hair on the banks of waterways; they also love to dance, and any mortal who gets caught in their circle often becomes a thing of the past. Judas are not exactly alluring maidens; their bodies resemble snakes, and their nature is far from flawless. Swimmers sometimes get tangled in their long, flowing hair; this is, of course, intentional, because judas, as is customary for such creatures, drown people.
2.6.2026 (24.2.2008)
Vadatajs
In my region, such matters in folklore are primarily attributed to the Bludný kořen (Wandering Root) though it does not rule out the cooperation of other beings; in Latvia, the vadatajs are responsible for leading people astray. In human form, they might lurk at crossroads and send travelers down the wrong path, though more often they metamorphose into animal shapes. And they lead people by the nose.
2.6.2026 (24.2.2008)
Zhar-ptitsa (The Firebird)
This feathered creature, well known in our country thanks to Karel Jaromír Erben, is not only the hero of Stravinsky’s ballet and numerous Russian fairy tales, but also a folkloric (and originally mythical) figure of the Eastern Slavs.
Like many of his counterparts, he was born long ago in the days of paganism and apparently belonged to the beings of the fire element; much has been forgotten since then, however. Erben’s conception of a bird that flies in from a distant kingdom to steal golden apples is not among the oldest (which also reflect Persian and Armenian influences); the original Žar-ptica (to stick with the original name) was a great bird the color of flames—that is, red, gold (yellow), and orange—at home in a distant land. In keeping with later fairy-tale popularization, it was not easy to capture; if one succeeded, it could bestow good fortune upon its owner or lead him to ruin. This mythical lottery is quite common; hundreds of heroes around the world have often set out on similar quests with similarly uncertain outcomes. In our case, it usually involved finding a single feather (which can illuminate even a large hall), followed by a harrowing journey that tests, above all, the moral qualities of the seeker. The Holy Grail is perhaps the best-known example.
2.6.2026 (3.3.2008)
Beyla
In Norse mythology, Beyla was likely the patroness of ordinary daily tasks, which is probably why she is not particularly well-known. It is known that she and her husband Byggvir belonged to the retinue of the god Freyr, which is why it is assumed they were elves. Some interpretations go a step further and, based on the similarity between the name Beyla and the word “bee,” deduce that this married couple is responsible for mead and beer.
2.6.2026 (16.3.2008)
Tunek
He is four meters tall, terrifying, very fast, and lives in the ice fields; however, Inuit seal hunters can sometimes spot their patron in the mist as he sets out on a hunt in his kayak.
2.6.2026 (16.3.2008)
Haili'laj
A fearsome and incorruptible demon who brings epidemics sails toward the Canadian Haida people under large sails in a canoe of destruction—not coincidentally resembling European ships, whose sailors introduced the Indians to all manner of things, but above all to smallpox.
2.6.2026 (16.3.2008)
