Valandil, the soft-hearted korrigan.

  A little interceltic tale



                                    Valandil, the soft-hearted korrigan.



Valandil felt different from the other korrigans in Brittany. No doubt about that: he was small, black and wrinkled when he danced  around the menhirs of Carnac, happy as a lark, or rather as a korrigan; but he didn't feel up to playing nasty tricks on people whose favourite hobbies seemed to sue anyone for no reason at all! As a result, poor human creatures were accused and arrested instead of the korrigans. Very few people could see the small people. Valandil had even tried to make amends to one of them, Paul, and offered him a big bag of gold coins. But as Paul could not explain where and how he had got it to inquisitive and suspicious policemen, he was jailed again.

Valandil felt distressed, and visited him every night. He even managed to cheer him up and make him laugh.



Later, Paul's body was found under a bridge. He had died of an overdose. Valandil cried so much, for such a long time, that his skin became smooth and white. The other korrigans, horrified at first,

laughed at him.

« Friend of the gods, (that is the meaning of his name), you don't belong here any more.Go away!



Then Valandil ran to the enchanted wood of Huelgoat. He stayed there for years, and was happy among the small people. He was heartily welcome, and could dance to his heart's content, even better in summer when concerts took place in the open air theatre. Oh, the wondrous bass of the

Breton bard Gilles Servat! Even the leaves stopped rustling when he called Arthus. They all stopped dancing, expecting to see the king step out of his grotto, and were a little disappointed when he didn't. « Arthus has forgotten us » in Avalon, they sighed! But the music started again and they forgot the king to dance wildly, overjoyed again.



But... Valandil met a heartbroken elf sitting despondently in front of the tree where he lived. An unfaithfull fairy had left him. Valandil did his best to cheer him up, to no avail.  « Love is terrifying »  he thought, « why am I afflicted with a heart like his? »He felt bitter again, and fell asleep in the crack of a stone.



Young Alastair Macdonald, a fist class bagpiper, sat next to the stone to rest for a while and drink a wee dram of whisky from his precious flask.Il was pure malt, of course! He wasn't a drinker, but

it stimulated him, because all the girls here were attracted to the proud Highlander, so cute in his kilt...

It was his duty to live up to the Scots' reputation abroad, after all. Now he decided to take a nap, and, without thinking, took Valandil's stone to put it in his sporran. As a matter of fact, the little bag tended to slip around his waist, and it was a good idea to ballast it, so that it had to stay either in front of him, or on the side, ciamar!



Valandil woke up two weeks later, and the wild music he heard threw him into a frenzied jig.

Alastair was alone and training in the peat of Clair moss, not far from his cottage in Kilchoan.

His neighbours had no taste, and didn't appreciate his music in the evening... When his sporran started to jump on its own, he yelled and threw it away in the moor. The sporran opened and Valandil found himself in scented heather, in the most beautiful scenery he had ever seen, or so he thought, opening his eyes wide. But he realized a gigantic Scot was rushing in his direction, a dagger in his hand, and roaring furiously. Alastair was not going to abandon his sporran and his flask without a fight, no way! Valandil fled as fast as he could, but as he jumped over a rock, he fell into a pool.



He heard crystal-clear laughters and saw a group of fairies, very surprised at his strange appearance.

One of them was fearless and dried him with her thick and silky red hair; sparks of gold glittered in her green eyes; She kissed him playfully, and he fell in love with her at once.

« What is your name, ô wonder among wonders? Your silky hair tickles my tender skin, and I Feel like hugging for ever your perfect body, ô star of the moors! »



« You guessed my name, so I am yours, ô strange creature! You aren't a heartless pixie, or an abrupt leprechaun, you are finer, more subtle... I am already in love with you! My name is Elenwë, or starry. But can you dance? »

« I come from Brittany where the moor is smaller and I am a korrigan.I can dance better than anyone, look! »

He started a wild round , drawing along Elenwë, the other fairies, some pixies and leprechauns, and all were  seduced at once by his talent.



Alastair, who had come near, rubbed his eyes, drank a wee dram of scotch, and,much  bolder, proposed to play a tune for them.



« If you can play all night, I 'll give you a bag of gold as pure as your malt » Valandil answered.



« Och aye! » exclaimed Alastair, who had quickly thought: whisky is more and more expensive, and my sporran is damaged. I run no risk, they have accepted me.

Then he played and the small people's joy increased. They danced and danced, and were never tired.



In the early morning, young Alastair  dragged himself along, holding his bag of gold. What he didn't know was that a whole century had passed in human time, so that he was a little surprised at the sight of his town.



As for Valandil, certain of Elenwë 's love, well,  he continued to dance on Clair Moss moor in Ardnamurchan. As far as I know, he is still there, as happy as can be.