Why Icelanders are wary of elves living beneath the rocks
Plans to build a new road in Iceland ran into trouble recently when campaigners warned that it would disturb elves living in its path. Construction work had to be stopped while a solution was found.
From his desk at the Icelandic highways department in Reykjavik, Petur Matthiasson smiles at me warmly from behind his glasses, but firmly.
"Let's get this straight before we start - I do not believe in elves," he says.
I raise my eyebrows slightly and incline my head towards his computer screen which is displaying the plans for a new road in a neighbouring town. There are two yellow circles marked on the plans, one that reads Elf Church and another that reads Elf Chapel. Petur sighs.
"Ok," he acknowledges wearily. "But it's not every day in Iceland that we divert roads for elves. It's just in this case we were warned that elves were living in some of the rocks in the path of the road - well, we have to respect that belief." He grins shyly and picks up his car keys.
"Come on, I'll show you where the elves live," he says indulgently.
- Work on the highway to link the Alftanes peninsula to the Reykjavik suburb of Gardabaer was halted when campaigners warned it would disturb elf habitat and a protected area of untouched lava
- The chapel (pictured, with Petur) is a 12-foot-high jagged rock
- The matter was resolved in part when a local lady who claims to talk to elves, mediated and they agreed to the road so long as their chapel was carefully moved and put elsewhere
- The highways authority will not reveal the cost of moving the rock, but says it weighs 70 tonnes and they will have to hire a crane
Surveys suggest that more than half of Icelanders believe in, or at least entertain the possibility of the existence of, the Huldufolk - the hidden people. Just to be clear, Icelandic elves are not the small, green, pointy-eared variety that help Santa pack the toys at Christmas - they're the same size as you and I, they're just invisible to most of us.
Mainly they're a peaceable breed but if you treat them with disrespect, for example by blasting dynamite through their rock houses and churches, they're not reticent about showing their displeasure. During our car journey, Petur tells me several stories about how elves are suspected to be behind bulldozer breakdowns and a series of workmen's accidents.
As I step out of the car at the site of the elf church a vicious gust of icy wind punches me full in the face making me stagger backwards on to the black, volcanic rock.
Iceland's rugged landscape is no bucolic idyll - the very ground boils and spits irrationally, the surrounding craggy, black mountains fester menacingly and above, the sky is constantly herniated by the iron-grey clouds it strains to hold up. It's a visceral, raw and brutal beauty which makes Heathcliff's Wuthering Heights look like a prissy, pastoral watercolour.
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She looks at me imploringly. "Please don't portray Icelanders as uneducated peasants who believe in fairies, but look around you and you'll understand why the power of folklore here is so strong," she says. It is of course also strong in the tourism trade.
On the main road into town from the airport, "Elves Live Here" signs try to lure the fanciful into spending a few thousand krona (a few pounds) on a tour of an elf village, a CD of mystical music, or for the less whimsical, perhaps an "I had Sex with an Elf in Iceland" T-shirt.
There's even an elf school in the capital at which I dutifully enrolled.
Magnus Skarphedinsson, the headmaster, a rotund, ebullient chap who ate large quantities of breakfast cereal during my one-on-one lesson, had regrettably never seen an elf himself although he did own an old cooking pot that apparently had once made stews in an elf kitchen before the bottom rusted away.
His eyes twinkled so wickedly throughout the class that at the end I asked if he wasn't some kind of malevolent fairy himself.
Petur and I have now reached the 12-foot-high jagged rock that's apparently home to the elf chapel. I scour it closely but apart from an insect or two scuttling to find some shelter in its moss-encrusted crevices, I can see no signs of any life, mythological or other. Petur eyes me suspiciously.
"I could tell you about our family elf," he begins tentatively. I encourage him to tell his tale and learn that Petur's family had a protective elf in the wild north of the country who'd brought them good fortune.
When he'd gone on a camping trip to the isolated area, his father asked him to go and pay his respects to the elf and to thank her.
"But I don't believe in elves so I sort of forgot," he says. The next day, despite the overcast sky and drizzle, he woke up so badly blistered by what appeared to be sunburn that he could barely stand.
As we turn into the blustering wind we catch each other's eye. We both have one hand gripped on to the rock with the desperation of gamblers clinging to a lucky charm. We walk back towards the car in a smug complicity of being almost non-believers.
Petur and I have now reached the 12-foot-high jagged rock that's apparently home to the elf chapel. I scour it closely but apart from an insect or two scuttling to find some shelter in its moss-encrusted crevices, I can see no signs of any life, mythological or other. Petur eyes me suspiciously.
"I could tell you about our family elf," he begins tentatively. I encourage him to tell his tale and learn that Petur's family had a protective elf in the wild north of the country who'd brought them good fortune.
When he'd gone on a camping trip to the isolated area, his father asked him to go and pay his respects to the elf and to thank her.
"But I don't believe in elves so I sort of forgot," he says. The next day, despite the overcast sky and drizzle, he woke up so badly blistered by what appeared to be sunburn that he could barely stand.
As we turn into the blustering wind we catch each other's eye. We both have one hand gripped on to the rock with the desperation of gamblers clinging to a lucky charm. We walk back towards the car in a smug complicity of being almost non-believers.
Huldufólk - Iceland's Belief in Elves
Huldufólk - Iceland's Belief in Elves
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Elves dancing over a lagoon at dusk. The Norse concept of Elves was often as Nature Wights, or protective nature spirits.
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Title page of a manuscript of the Prose Edda, showing Odin, Heimdallr, Sleipnir and other figures from Norse mythology.
Religion in Medieval Iceland
Iceland was settled by the Norse in the 9th Century. When Viking settlers came from Scandinavia, they brought with them their Norse language, culture, and religion. Due to Iceland's location, being isolated at quite a distance from Europe, old Norse religion survived much later in Iceland than elsewhere. Even after Christianization, the cultural climate in Iceland was such that the old ways were allowed to survive alongside the new religion.
In fact, it was a Christian who recorded the Norse myths as we know them today. Snorri Sturluson recorded the Prose Edda, also called the Younger Edda, as well as Sagas of the Norwegian Kings in the 13th Century. Although Iceland became decidedly Christian long before Snorri's time, the people did not become detached from their roots to the extent that many other Europeans were cut off from their own.
Although the Roman Catholic Church was responsible for the (often forced) conversion of Northern Europe, Catholicism, in many cases, allowed regional folk practices to carry on as long as there was a Christian veneer polished over it. The cult of the saints is a good example. Local deities were often re-branded as local saints. In this way, locals could carry on venerating them. When the Renaissance picked up steam, however, reformers raged against the "pagan" aspects of Catholicism. Folk beliefs, seen as remnants of paganism, were stomped out with great fervor. Although there were witch hunts in Iceland, the populace was removed enough from the on-goings of Europe for their folk beliefs to survive comparatively in tact.
Among the old beliefs that held on was a strong connection with the Landvættir and Huldufólk - the "Land Wights" and "Hidden People."
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Jökulsárgljúfur National Park, Iceland
The Mystical Landscape
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Lava island in Lake Mývatn, Iceland.
While Iceland's isolation may have insulated them to protect their culture, there may have been another reason their ancient folklore survived. Iceland's landscape is... well it is difficult to summarize in a word. The landscape drastic, powerful, dramatic, awe inspiring, and you might even say that it is magical.
Despite Iceland's name, the land is quite fertile, with an abundance of green during parts of the year. Being an island nation, the sea was (and is) a source of income and sustenance. So, ties to the land and sea remained strong.
Even more poignant is Iceland's array of unusual geological phenomena. It is one of the most active volcanic regions on Earth. Geothermal activity such as geysers and hot springs are also abundant. What makes this region so unique is that the volcanoes and hot springs are juxtaposed beside snowy rock formations and glaciers.
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Gígjökull, an outlet glacier extending from Eyjafjallajökull, Iceland.
Land of Fire and Ice
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The eruption seen from Þórolfsfell.
So what does Iceland's unique geology have to do with keeping Norse mythology alive? Well, it is almost as if the land is a living reminder of certain myths. Fire and Ice are a large part of the imagery involved in the Norse creation myth.
Muspelheim is the land of heat and flame. It is so hot that nothing can survive there except creatures indigenous to it, like the fire jötunn (giants).
Niflheim, meanwhile, is the opposite. It is a cold, misty, land of ice. Nine frozen rivers flow through this frosty realm.
Between these two lands was a great void called Ginnungagap. And it was in the void where fire and ice met, sparking the creation of the Nine Worlds.
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Sunset at Goðafoss in Winter, Iceland.
Belief in Elves Today
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Elf houses near Strandakirkja in south Iceland.
A large minority of Iceland's population openly admit to believing in Elves and other Hidden People today. These beliefs survived the longest in rural areas, where farmers may still commune with the Land Wights. However, the belief is surprisingly prevalent in urban areas as well. Many residential homes will pay homage to their garden Elves by building homes for them. Elf houses can be seen dotting the countryside as well.
Although only a small percentage of people will admit to believing in them, a much larger percentage of the population still won't deny their existence. Many people won't openly say that the Elves are real, yet at the same time, they take precautions to avoid disturbing them. It's an approach that seems to say "Elves probably don't exist. But I don't want to take any chances in case they do!"
Elves Reside in Large Rocks
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Álfaborg, the castle of the fairies near Borgarfjörður.
Icelanders believe that Elves live within boulders and large rock formations. If a boulder is known as an Elf home, it is considered disrespectful to climb on it or disturb it in any way. Bad luck could befall someone who disturbs the Elves.
It is interesting that even though the number of people who will openly say "I believe in Elves" is a minority, the public will still speak out to stop building projects that will be trespassing on land believed to be Elf occupied.
Road and highway construction has been halted and diverted when the public became aware that Elf rocks were scheduled to be demolished.
United States military bases in Iceland have been scrutinized by locals for endangering the welfare of indigenous Elves. In 1982 150 people demonstrated at a U.S. naval base with concerns that the U.S. military activities were endangering native Elves.
Sometimes "elf doors" are made from wood and colorfully painted by locals to be placed in front of rocks known to populated by Elves. This serves as an identification marker so that others know not to disturb those rocks.
Communicating with Elves
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A human boy speaks with an Elven princess.
Icelandic Elves communicate with humans in various ways. They can express dissatisfaction in ways that are non-verbal, but never the less blatantly communicative. For example they may cause rock slides and other natural disasters to let it be known that human activity has angered them. They can also cause illness in humans, failure of crops, and disease in livestock.
When the Elves are pleased, however, they may bless a farmer with an abundant harvest, or grace their region with pleasant weather and smooth sailing seas.
Dreams are another mode of communication for Elf to human contact. One Icelandic builder reported that as he was making plans to have a boulder on his project site moved, the Elven resident who lived inside it came to him in a dream. She asked that he give her family some time to gather their belongings and find temporary lodgings until the boulder was relocated, at which point they could move back in. The builder stalled the relocation of the boulder for a few days, delaying construction. When questioned on this, the builder refused to change his mind. Treating the Elves with respect was only the right thing to do.
Elves can speak directly with humans on occasion. Most people are not capable of seeing them, but individuals blessed with psychic medium abilities may be able to see and communicate with Elves.
However, if you wander about in any Icelandic village, you are likely to encounter the odd housewife who says she can see and speak with the Elves residing in her Garden.
Source: http://carolynemerick.hubpages.com/h...Hidden-People#
The Sad Story of the Queen of the Elves: An Icelandic Folktale
The Sad Story of the Queen of the Elves: An Icelandic Folktale
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By Minjie Su
Once upon a time, in a mountainous region somewhere in Iceland, something strange took place that was at the same time puzzling and frightening: every year, when the winter sun finally shone on Christmas Day, the herdsman was found dead in his bed, with no apparent trace of injury. Naturally the farmer was greatly troubled by these mysterious murders; on the one hand, he needed a herdsman to tend his sheep, but on the other, as a good Christian, his conscience didn’t allow him to hire a fellow man into his untimely death. What should he do?
Sounds familiar, does it not? The long, cold night before Christmas Day is a highly favoured time for monsters (in particular, draugar or revenants) in Icelandic sagas to come out of their lairs (or mounds) to haunt and to kill. The herdsmen are often the favoured victim, for the nature of their job places them between the safe, domestic space – symbolised in a house – and the unknown landscape of wilderness.
But this is not a story of some draugr in some ancient saga; this is the story of Hildur, Queen of the Elves. Originally an oral tale, it is preserved in the collection published by Jón Arnarson – also known as ‘The Grimm of Iceland’ – under the title ‘Íslenzkar Þjóðsögur og Æfintýri’ (‘Icelandic National Stories and Tales’) in 1862. Many of them were translated and published in English by George E. J. Powell and Eiríkur Magnússon (William Morris’s Icelandic tutor). Despite the late date, these folktales share many motifs with the medieval sagas – after all, in the words of Guðbrandur Vigfússon, they are ‘twin sisters’, for ‘these tales are closely coherent with, and have risen and grown in the company of, the historical sagas, as, in those long gone-by days, history and tradition lived in the greatest union.’
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6FgU85JvKhE
Enough background; let’s go back to the story. So, what did the farmer do? By this time, we’ve been quite well informed about the farmer’s household. The farmer was unmarried; his only long-term companion was a housekeeper named Hildur, who did a very good job and whose family and lineage the farmer knew very little of. Everyone in the house was very fond of Hildur. We’ve also been told that it was the customary for people to spend Christmas Eve at Church. Everyone in the farmer’s household did just that, except the herdsman and Hildur, for both finished their work late and had to stay behind.
As implausible as it may sound, a man who was apparently in desperate need of a job presented himself and insisted on being hired, despite the unexplained yearly death. He turned out to be an able farmhand and everything went on just fine until Christmas Eve. Just before he was about to fall asleep, the herdsman suddenly remembered the tragic fate of his predecessors, so he decided to remain awake no matter what. This turned out to be a smart move, for it did not take long before he sensed someone stole into the room and went up to his bed. In the dim room, he can barely make out the silhouette of a person, but he recognised Hildur the housekeeper. Believing he was fast asleep, Hildur put a magical bridle on him and rode him to a huge precipice. Then she fastened the reins onto a rock and leaped into the opening. The herdsman, ‘objecting strongly to being tied to this stone all night’, freed himself after a struggle and followed Hildur to a beautiful meadow.
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An engraving showing a man jumping after a woman (an elf) into a precipice. It is an illustration to the Icelandic legend of Hildur, the Queen of the Elves. From celandic Legends : Collected by Jón Arnason : Translated by George E. J. Powell and Eiríkur Magnússon (1864)
With the help of a magical ring that just happened to be in the herdsman’s possession, he became invisible and followed Hildur unnoticed to a splendid palace – this was where the Elven king dwelled and Hildur was saluted and welcomed as his queen. A great feast was laid out in Hildur’s honour, and several children came out, calling Hildur mother. To appease the youngest child, Hildur gave him her golden ring to play with. The ring rolled to the herdsman; he took it and carefully hid it in his pocket. As the night drew to an end, Hildur prepared for her departure. Seeing this, everyone begged her to stay except an old, ugly woman who sat sulkily in a corner. The crone was the king’s mother; she had laid a curse on Hildur and refused to unsay it. Hildur just had to go.
The herdsman quickly went back to the rock, re-harnessed himself, and allowed himself to be ridden back to the farm. Exhausted, he slept until late morning, when the farmer went to his room to check on him. When they found out he was not dead, they pressed him to tell what happened. The herdsman named Hildur and produced the golden ring as evidence. Then Hildur revealed to all that she was indeed the Queen of the Elves, but, since she was but a commoner, the king’s mother banished her from her homeland and family by a curse; she can only return once a year at the cost of a man. But by breaking down the barrier between the human world and the elvish world, and by surviving the trial, the herdsman also broke the cycle of murder. Hildur was freed; she told them her story and vanished, never to be seen again.
The herdsman built a farm for himself and prospered. He often gave his thanks to Queen Hildur.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4_Y-mB2NgoU
For the 1864 book Icelandic Legends by Jón Árnason and Eiríkur Magnússon (as translated by George E. J . Powell):
Click on the picture.
https://ia802303.us.archive.org/Book...ale=8&rotate=0
