“Papa! Come look!” called little Julie, all of six-and-a-half years old, as she ran into the great room from the back of the house. Taking hold of her father’s hand, she pulled on his arm, “Come quick Papa!” Young Albert Farly rose from his chair, “What is it, cher?”
“There is a boy jumping on our barn!” his daughter answered, “Come see!”
Young Albert followed her to her window and peered through the frosty panes into the winter darkness. It was a bitter cold Sunday night in late January, 1826. The moon, soon to be full, shone brightly on the smooth white snow that had fallen gently like goose-down throughout the day.
“There was a little boy just outside my window!” explained Julie. “But when I looked at him he ran away, and climbed onto the roof of the barn, and then started jumping around!”
Young Albert could see no one, but there were faint tracks in the snow leading to the barn. “Olivier!” he shouted to his oldest son, “Light the lantern and come with me to the barn!”
Putting on their overcoats, they went out the back door into the yard. About four inches of light new-fallen snow lay undisturbed on the ground, reflecting the moonlight. Holding the lantern high, Olivier led the way as they walked around to the back of the house, and then to the window that looked out from the girls’ bed chamber.
Sure enough! There, under the window, they saw a small area where the snow had been trampled underfoot. And from that spot they could barely make out a trail of tiny footprints leading toward the woodpile next to the barn, and more tiny prints on top of the woodpile. But there was no sign of a little boy, and the footprints weren’t those of a boy anyway.
Young Albert thought Julie must have seen a small animal, perhaps a raccoon, and mistaken it for a boy. But that didn’t account for what she said about jumping on the roof, and no raccoon could make that leap. But a fisher cat could! That settled it. He and his son went back inside, unconcerned. “Are you sure you did not see a fisher or a raccoon outside your window, Julie?” he asked his daughter.
“Oh, no Papa!” she replied earnestly. “It was a little boy! He was right at the window. His eyes were all sparkly and he smiled at me before he ran off.”
“Well you let me know if you see this little boy again, cher,” her father answered, patting her on the head. “But for now it is time for bed. Tomorrow comes quick.”
The next morning, the family rose early, as they always did. After breakfast, Young Albert and the boys went out to the barn to feed the livestock. When Olivier got to the stall of Young Albert’s best horse, he was shocked by what he saw. The beloved old stallion, a bay cheval canadien named Agathon, was truly a sight to behold that morning.
There he stood, already fed and groomed, with his coat as smooth and shiny as taffeta and his mane combed and plaited in many complicated braids, tied up with ribbons and bows. There was even a green ribbon in his tail, which was also carefully combed and intricately braided. He had the appearance of a grande dame on her way to a ball, wanting only rouge on his lips, earrings and a necklace to round out the ensemble. Olivier called out in alarm to his father, who immediately came running.
Young Albert was completely dumbfounded by what he saw, and struggled to comprehend the meaning of it all. He returned to the house and told his wife Elizabeth what he had just seen in the barn. A concerned look flashed across her face, but at that moment, Julie, who was eating her breakfast, observed, “I think it was the little boy I saw last night, who fed and groomed Agathon!”
“Why do you say that, cher?” asked her father.
“I don’t know. I just think it was he,” she replied, “After all, he was on the barn last night!”
“I think I will ride up to see my father this morning,” Young Albert informed Elizabeth, “He may have something to say about this odd situation.”
“Oh, may I go to see Pepére with you Papa?” Julie exclaimed, hurrying to finish her breakfast. Her older brother Hyacinth, who was also nearby, asked if he could go as well.
“All right then, we’ll take the sleigh,” Young Albert agreed. “Olivier!” he called to his son, “I want you to come also, in case Pepére doubts what we saw last night. Hitch Agathon to the sleigh. We’ll leave as soon as he is ready.”
A short time later, little Julie sat in the front of the sleigh, bundled in a blanket between her father and Olivier, while Hyacinth rode in the back. Olivier jiggled the reins, calling “Hue, Agathon! Alez, hue!” Agathon pulled, the runners snapped and popped as they broke free of the ice, and the four of them headed out of the yard and down the lane to the range road.
When they reached the road, they made a left turn and in hardly any time at all they reached the lane that led up to Old Albert Farly’s imposing stone house. Sitting on a small rise overlooking the St. Lawrence River, it was the oldest and by far the finest house on the island of Île Dupas. It was built in 1764 by Old Albert’s father, Jacque Philippe Farly, when he purchased the seigneurie upon retiring from his career on the frontier as a voyageur and Indian interpreter.
Verse II.
As they made their way up the lane, they could see Old Albert clearing drifted snow away from the door of his henhouse. He paused when he heard the sleigh approaching and turned to greet them.
“Bonjour, Papa! Comment ça va?” Young Albert called out to his father.
“Ça va bien,” Old Albert replied, “What brings all of you here this morning?” Then he noticed the unusual appearance of the Frencher pulling the sleigh, and exclaimed, “Oh my! What have you done with Agathon? And why did you do that?”
“Bonjour, Pepére!” called Julie, struggling to be free of her blanket, “It wasn’t Papa! It was the little boy who did that to Agathon!”
Old Albert’s brow furrowed. “Hmmph!” he grunted, “Come inside and we’ll see if we can make some sense of this.” Young Albert, Julie and the boys followed Old Albert into the house.
Old Albert’s wife Josette greeted everyone with a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Oh hello, hello!” she repeated to each of them, to a chorus of “bonjourMemére” in reply. “So nice to see you!” she added, “Let me bring some coffee!”
As everyone sat down around the table in the kitchen, Josette served the boys coffee and made a cup of hot cream and cocoa for Julie. Young Albert explained to his father what had happened the night before, and what they found in their barn that morning.
“So you see everything I am telling you is true,” Young Albert concluded, “And I cannot explain how Agathon ended up this morning in the condition you saw.”
“I think it was the little boy!” Julie interjected once again.
“I think Julie is correct!” Old Albert agreed, to the surprise of Young Albert and the boys, “But it wasn’t a little boy! It was a Lutin!”
“A Lutin?” Olivier responded incredulously.
“Oui! A goblin!” his grandfather replied, “I know of these things. I’ve seen them before! And this has all the marks of a Lutin’s work.”
“What is a Lutin, Pepére?” Julie asked.
“Les Lutins are a magical race of creatures,” Old Albert replied, “I am sure you saw one last night, cher, and mistook it for a little boy.
“The little monsters stand a bit over a foot tall and look more or less like tiny people. Their eyes glow in the dark, and they use them to light their way because, you see, they only come out at night. They have a nose like a small chestnut, and their mouth is very wide, opening from ear to ear like a bullfrog.
“Their arms and legs are like a toad’s, and they are able to leap about very quickly, and grasp things tightly in their dainty fingers. Their bellies are fat and round, but not like an apple; they are plumper and softer, more like an over-ripe tomato.
“Nobody knows for sure where they came from. My father told me they came from France in the early times as stowaways on the ships of Monsieur Cartier himself. But my mother believed they are native to this country, like the red men who were here before the explorers arrived. Qui veut dire?
“I’ve been told they are very good at mining gold and silver from the ground, and many of them have become very rich. If you believe the stories, capturing a Lutin can be very profitable, as they will ransom their freedom for a barrel of gold. But I have never met anyone who has become wealthy in that fashion.
“One thing is undeniable, though – they love horses. There are none better at tending horses in all of Québec than les Lutins. And when they take a shine to a particular horse, they will treat it like a king. Its manger will always be full of hay, and its feedbag overflowing with oats. And it will be groomed finer than any horse for miles around, with its coat brushed like gleaming silk and its mane and tail dolled up like a fine society lady – just as you found Agathon this morning!”
“Are they evil?” Hyacinth asked.
“I don’t know for certain, but I would not say they are evil. They can cause much mischief, though, if you get on the wrong side of them,” the old man answered. “Let me tell you,” he warned, wagging his finger, “You should not mess around with them.
“On the other hand,” he continued, “If they take a liking to you, les Lutins can bring good health, good fortune and prosperity. And once les Lutins take up residence, it is very difficult to dislodge them without suffering severe consequences. I tell you it is a very tricky business dealing with les Lutins!”
Young Albert exhibited a stern countenance as he listened to what his father had to say. “This is not good news to me, Papa,” he commented, “If it was indeed a Lutin that did this, it appears he has already taken an interest in Agathon, and maybe even Julie. He may already be living in my barn!”
“Oui, you might be right,” his father agreed, “Usually they live in the wild – in hollow logs and behind stumps, between rocks and in small caves. But when they attach themselves to a household, more often than not they will make a home somewhere in the stable, in keeping with their love of horses.”
Verse III.
“You need to find a way to live in peace with this Lutin, Albert, or it could be trouble for you,” Old Albert advised, “Let me tell you a story of what can happen if you run afoul of les Lutins!”
He reached for his pipe and pulled out his pouch, filled the pipe and lit it. As the aroma of tobacco smoke permeated the room, the old man commenced his tale. “Many years ago, it was 1775 I believe, my sister Charlotte was engaged to marry a cultivateur named Joseph Cadet,” he began, and turning to Young Albert, he added, “Your late Uncle Joseph, Albert.”
“He had a fine farm in St. Cuthbert, but as it turns out, like you Albert, he had Lutins on his farm. They had not caused him too much trouble, and in fact had lifted from him the burden of grooming and caring for his favorite horse, a fine chestnut gelding named Pégase.
“As his wedding day approached, though, young Monsieur Cadet became concerned that his new bride, my sister, might not be so accommodating of les Lutins, and so he determined he must be rid of them. Now it is well known that les Lutins despise salt and will avoid it at all costs. So young Monsieur Cadet determined to use that fact against them.
“First, he turned out all of his horses into the paddock. He did this on a Sunday afternoon, as he knew from experience that les Lutins were most active on Sunday nights. With the spring thaw well past and the weather becoming milder by the day, he knew it would not be a problem to keep his horses outside for a few days to lure the little goblins out of the barn.
“After a few days, when he was fairly certain all of les Lutins had moved out of the barn to be with the horses, he spread thick lines of salt across all the thresholds of his barn. That evening, he brought each of his horses, one by one, back into the barn, confident that none of les Lutins would cross the barriers of salt, and he would be free of them.
“But pantoute, he was sadly mistaken. His plan only served to enrage les Lutins, and they made their displeasure extremely clear to him. For you see, while he had protected his animals from les Lutins, he had neglected to protect his home, and before he knew it an infestation of vengeful monsters had overtaken his house.
“There was no end to the mischief of the nasty creatures. For weeks they played tricks on poor Monsieur Cadet. One morning, when he put on his boots, they were filled with dried peas. Another time, as he pulled on his trousers, he found the legs had been sewn shut and he nearly fell to the floor. On yet another morning, as he drank his coffee, it had been fouled with black pepper. He could not count the times they stole food from his pantry and replaced it with stones. But the worst of les Lutins’ pranks was yet to come.
“On the eve of Monsieur Cadet’s wedding to my sister Charlotte, les Lutins played their most dastardly trick of all upon the poor man, and in doing so, they unfairly punished my innocent sister as well! What had she done to deserve the mistreatment she received at their hands? Yet those tiny little imps cruelly abused her to inflict retribution upon her betrothed.
“Just as the sun set and the stars began to come out, a cadre of Lutins, both male and female, took a rope they had fashioned out of willow boughs and, working together, climbed up onto one of the barn’s windowsills. Using the rope they had made, all of them climbed down to the floor of the barn and made their way stealthily to Pégase’stall. Of course they fed him oats and brushed his coat. But instead of plaiting his mane and tail, they twisted them into a hopeless tangle of witches’ knots. But what they did next was even worse, and would surely teach Joseph Cadet his lesson once and for all.
“All of them climbed onto Pégase’back, and directed him out of the barn, stepping over the salt line which so infuriated them. They opened the paddock gate, and slapping at the animal’s rump, set him running on the road to Berthierville.
“Driving him faster and faster, when they got to the town they turned onto the road to Île Dupas. Over the bridge they sped, and along the range road through the fields. Then they ran the poor beast up the lane to my father’s house, where they jumped from his back and scurried to my sister’s window. They forced open the window and called to Charlotte, using their magical powers to place her in a dream-like state.
“Les Lutins worked together quickly to curl and plait her hair, and adorn it with flowers and delicate bows. They dressed her in her wedding gown and when they were finished they carried her out of her window and pushed her up and onto Pégase, after which they all climbed onto the winded horse after her – some on his back, some on his haunches, some clinging to his neck, and some climbing onto my sister’s back and shoulders. In a flash they were all off again at a gallop, down the lane and back onto the range road, across the bridge to the north bank and onto the King’s Highway.
“The following morning – the wedding day – neither the bride nor the groom’s favorite horse could be found. The families assembled in front of the church in Berthierville and were about to organize search parties to look for my sister Charlotte, when they beheld the strangest sight many of them had ever seen.
“Walking slowly up the road from Montréal, with his head hanging low, came Pégase. And on his back, dressed in her wedding dress with her arms wrapped around his neck, rode Charlotte. The gelding stopped before Monsieur Cadet, his chestnut sides lathered in sweat and heaving, and covered in burrs and brambles. Charlotte looked both terrified and completely exhausted. Her gown was torn in several places, her hair was disheveled and there were cuts and scratches on both of her arms.
“Joseph Cadet could not believe his eyes. As he helped my sister down from Pégase’back, she seemed not to recognize him at first. But then, as if awakening from a dream, Charlotte slowly became aware of her surroundings, and told the assembled families how les Lutins had forced her to ride Pégasethrough the night all the way to Montréal and back.
“Many of the relatives were skeptical, but when Joseph Cadet told them of his effort to drive les Lutins from his farm, and the subsequent retribution heaped upon him, they had no choice but to believe Charlotte’s story.
“Charlotte married Joseph Cadet later that day, after her dress was mended her hair combed and her wounds dressed. We can only assume that in time she and her husband came to an accommodation with les Lutins, because after that the harmful pranks ceased, they had many children and lived happily together until Monsieur Cadet passed away.
“So you see, Albert, the best course is to avoid conflict with les Lutins,” Old Albert concluded, “If you don’t bother them, they won’t bother you.”
Verse IV.
When the boys were finished with their coffee, they and Julie bundled back into the sleigh, and Agathon in all his finery pulled them down the road and home. Young Albert began to think about how best to deal with the Lutin in his barn, while both of his sons wondered if it was a wealthy Lutin, with a hidden barrel of gold.
On the following Sunday, after dark, Olivier took the lantern, put on his overcoat and went out to the barn. Climbing the ladder to the loft, he hid himself behind some hay in a place where he could see Agathon’s stall. He extinguished the lantern and waited.
Nearly an hour later, Olivier heard a scratching sound coming from beneath the floor of the barn just below where he was perched. His heart raced. He squinted to see through the darkness. The scratching and scraping continued. Olivier wished he could see better through the barn’s dark shadows.
Then, suddenly, he saw one of the floorboards move, as if being pushed up from below, after which a hand reached up from under the floor and moved the board to one side. Likewise a second board was moved and then a third. Olivier crept down the ladder and toward the hole in the floor, when up from the hole appeared the top of a head.
Olivier pounced, seizing the culprit and pinning him down, intent on ransoming his prize for a barrel of gold, until he recognized his brother Hyacinth, who had been searching for that same barrel of gold.
