Salvanelli are a light-hearted and tricksy fellows, one of the smallest wood spirits in the folklore of Italy: primarily in the Alps, but have been seen as far west as Genova and as far north as the Austrian Tirol. They inhabit the cracks in the bark of the oak trees and other cavities in the trees. The Salvanelli are described as resembling tiny men dressed in overalls or jackets which, though bright red, appear to be worn and well used. They are three feet tall, sometimes smaller, have hairy reddish-brown skin, and are very lanky. They are the children of the salvani and the aguane. The children of the Salvanelli are called the Salbanelli.

These imps behave much as the English pixies. He tangles the manes and tails of horses and rides them so hard all night that they are not fit for work in the morning. He herds large flocks of woolly sheep but never misses an opportunity to steal milk from other farmers.

A farmer had just finished milking his cows and the milk-can was left unguarded for a few minutes. When the man returned, the milk was gone.

Sure that the Salvanel had stolen his milk, the farmer decided to teach him a lesson. The next evening he filled the milk container with strong red wine and left it in the same place.

At first the Salvanel was puzzled by the exotic milk but then liked it so much that he drank himself senseless. When he came to, he was bound hand and foot.

'What plant gives such sweet juice, farmer?' the elf asked.

The suspicious man did not want to give him the right answer. 'Brambles,' he replied.

'I decree, then, that each bramble that touches the ground,' the Salvanel said, 'will grow new roots and make a new plant. Then there will be more juice for us all.'

The farmer swore under his breath at his own stupidity.

'I have one question for you, too,' said the farmer. 'Why do you steal my milk when you have the best herds in the country?'

'I drink your milk,' the elf replied, 'but with mine I make cheese.'

'Cheese?'

In return for his freedom, the Salvanel taught the man how to make cheese, butter and curds.

On his way out of the door, the Salvanel called out, 'Had you kept me a little longer, I would have taught you how to make wax out of the whey!'

To this day, many Alpine farmers still believe there is a way to make wax out of milk (1632: p.260-261).

Despite his playfulness, the Salvanel is not intentionally harmful. He loves to steal children (in particular, two- and three-year-old girls) but does it out of love for them and not out of hate or jealousy. They are raised with all possible care and tenderness in his cave deep in the woods.

After much planning, a Salvanel once stole a child from a neighbouring farm. It was only after he arrived home with the baby that he discovered that he had stolen a boy.

He was so upset that he ran all the way back to the farm. Bursting in on the unsuspecting parents, he yelled out, 'Take him back! Take him back! I don't want him! He's no girl!'

When the parents discovered what he was talking about, they were overjoyed to take the child away from the wildly gesticulating Salvanel (1632: p.260).

Another of his favourite pastimes is misleading travellers. He prances ahead of them up a mountain path and then vanishes with a laugh, leaving his victim at the edge of a precipice or high up on a narrow ledge. Those who inadvertently step on the Salvanel's footprints are also led astray. The only way to find the path again is to turn one's shoes around and walk with the toes pointing backwards (1632: p.258-261; 1517: p.282-283).