Princess Finola and the Dwarf

Long, long ago, in a little hut in the middle of a bare, brown, lonely moor, there lived an old woman and a young girl. The old woman was withered, bad-tempered and unable to speak. The girl was as sweet and fresh as a rosebud just opening, and her voice was as musical as a woodland stream on a hot summer day.

The hut was woven of branches and shaped like a beehive. In its centre a fire burned day and night, all year round, though no hand ever touched or tended it. In winter it gave light and warmth; in summer only light. Against the wall stood two couches. The old woman slept on a plain wooden one. Finola’s was of bog-oak, polished like a mirror and carved with flowers and birds that gleamed in the firelight. It was a couch fit for a princess, and a princess Finola was, though she did not know it.

Outside, the moor stretched for miles in every direction, bounded to the east by mountains that looked blue by day and took on a hundred colours at sunset. There was no house, no tree, no flower, no sign of anything alive. From morning to night no hum of bee, no birdsong, no human voice reached Finola’s ears. When a storm was brewing, great waves thundered on the shore beyond the mountains and the wind roared in the glens, but as soon as it crossed the moor it lost its voice and passed as silently as the dead. At first the silence frightened Finola, but in time she grew used to it, and she often broke it by talking and singing to herself.

The only other person she ever saw was a mute dwarf who rode to the hut once a month on a broken-down horse, bringing a sack of corn. Though he could not speak to her, Finola was always glad to see him and his old horse, and she gave them cakes baked with her own white hands. As for the dwarf, he loved the little princess so much that he would have died for her, and his heart was often heavy when he thought of her wasting away on the lonely moor.

One day he came and she did not run out to greet him as usual. He made signs to the old woman, but she took a stick and beat him and his horse and drove them off. As he left, he caught a glimpse of Finola at the door of the hut, and he saw that she was crying. The sight made him so wretched that he could think of nothing but her sad face, and he let the old horse wander on wherever it liked.

Suddenly he heard a voice say, “It is time for you to come.” At the foot of a green hill in front of him stood a little man not half his size, in a green jacket with brass buttons and a red cap with a tassel. “It is time for you to come,” he said again, “but you are welcome anyhow. Get off your horse and come in with me, so that I can touch your lips with the wand of speech and we can have a talk.”

The dwarf followed him through a hole in the hillside so small that he had to crawl, and when he stood up he was the same height as the fairy. A few steps on, they were in a splendid room as bright as day. Diamonds sparkled in the roof like stars on a cloudless night. The roof rested on golden pillars with silver lamps between them, though the diamonds outshone the lamps. On a table lay two gold plates, two silver knives and forks and a brass bell the size of a hazelnut, and beside it stood two little chairs covered in blue silk and satin.

“Take a chair,” said the fairy, “and I’ll ring for the wand of speech.” He rang the tiny bell, and in came a weeny dwarf no bigger than your hand, who bowed three times and walked out backwards and soon came back with a little black wand tipped with a red berry. The fairy waved the wand three times over the dwarf, struck him on the right shoulder and the left, touched his lips with the berry and said, “Speak!”

The dwarf spoke, and he was so overjoyed to hear his own voice that he danced round the room. “Who are you at all?” he asked.

“Who are you yourself?” said the fairy. “But let us eat first, for I’m sure you’re hungry.” The fairy rang twice, and the weeny dwarf brought two boiled snails in their shells, then a dormouse, then two wrens, and then two nutshells full of wine. They grew merry, and the fairy sang “Cooleen dhas” and the dwarf sang “The little blackbird of the glen.” Then, with more wine, the fairy sang “The Foggy Dew,” and the dwarf said it was the sweetest song he had ever heard and that the fairy’s voice would coax the birds off the bushes.

“You asked who I am,” said the fairy, “and I asked who you are. Who are you, then?”

“To tell the truth, I don’t know,” said the dwarf, blushing like a rose. “I remember nothing before the day I found myself going with a crowd of all sorts of people to the great fair of the Liffey. On the way we passed the king’s palace, and the king sent for a band of jugglers to perform for him. I followed to watch, and afterwards the king called me over and asked who I was and where I came from. I could not speak to answer, and even if I could have spoken, I could not have told him, for I remember nothing of myself before that day. No one knew anything about me, so the king took me into his service, and my only work is to carry a bag of corn to the hut on the lonely moor once a month.”

“And there you fell in love with the little princess,” said the fairy, winking. The dwarf blushed twice as red. “No need to blush; it is a good man’s case. Tell me truly, do you love her, and what would you give to free her from the spell that is on her?”

“I would give my life.”

“Then listen. The king, your master, killed Princess Finola’s father, who was the rightful king. He would have killed Finola too, but an old sorceress warned him that if he did, he would die on the same day. She advised him to banish her to the lonely moor and promised to throw a spell over it, so that Finola could not leave until the spell was broken. The sorceress also sent an old woman to watch over her day and night, but she told the king to choose a messenger to take food to the hut, someone who had never seen or heard of the princess and could be trusted to tell no one about her. That is why he chose you.”

“Since you know so much, can you tell me who I am?”

“You will know that in good time. I have given you back your speech. Whether you get back your memory of who you were depends on you alone. But are you truly willing to try to free the princess, whatever it costs you?”

“Yes, if it costs me my life. But how can the spell be broken?”

“Easily enough, if you have the weapons: the spear with the shining shaft and the dark-blue blade, and the silver shield. They lie on the far bank of the Mystic Lake in the Island of the Western Seas, waiting for anyone bold enough to seek them. Bring them to the lonely moor and strike the shield three times with the shaft and three times with the blade, and the silence of the moor will be broken for ever, the spell lifted and the princess free.”

“I’ll set out at once!” cried the dwarf, jumping up.

“And whatever it costs you, will you pay the price?”

“I will.”

“Then mount your horse and give him his head, and he will carry you to the shore facing the island. You must cross to it on his back through the water-steeds that swim round the island night and day to guard it, but woe to you if you try to cross without paying the price, for they will tear you and your horse to pieces. When you come to the Mystic Lake, wait until its waters are as red as wine, then swim your horse across, and on the far side you will find the spear and shield. But woe to you if you cross the lake before you pay the price, for the black Cormorants of the Western Seas will pick the flesh from your bones.”

“What is the price?”

“You will know in good time. Now go, and good luck go with you.”

The dwarf thanked him, threw the reins on his horse’s neck and started up the hill, which grew bigger as he climbed, until he saw it was a great mountain. He toiled all day up steep crags and heathery passes and reached the top as the sun was setting in the ocean, and far below he saw the island of the Mystic Lake. Long before he reached the shore, a starless darkness fell over the sea. The old horse, worn out, sank down beneath him, and the dwarf was so tired that he rolled off and fell asleep at his side.

He woke at dawn almost at the water’s edge. He could see the island, but no water-steeds, and he began to fear he had lost his way in the night. Even as he thought it, he heard fierce snorting, and the steeds came swimming and prancing from the island towards the shore. Sometimes only their heads and manes showed; sometimes they reared half out of the sea, beating it to foam with their hoofs and flinging spray to the sky, and clouds of vapour streamed from their nostrils. The dwarf trembled, and his old horse shook in every limb and moaned. The steeds came right up to the shore and reared as if to spring onto it. The terrified dwarf turned to flee, and at that moment he heard the twang of a golden harp, and there stood the little man of the hills, harp in hand.

“Are you ready to pay the price?” he asked, nodding cheerfully, and the water-steeds snorted more furiously than ever. He asked a second time, and a shower of spray drenched the dwarf and chilled him to the bone, and he was too frightened to answer. “For the third and last time, are you ready to pay the price?” said the fairy, slinging his harp behind him and turning to go. Then the dwarf thought of the little princess on the lonely moor, and his courage came back. “Yes,” he said bravely, “I am ready.”

The steeds struck the shore with their hoofs in rage. “Back to your waves!” cried the harper, running his fingers over the strings, and the frightened steeds drew back.

“What is the price?” asked the dwarf.

“Your right eye,” said the fairy, and before the dwarf could say a word, the fairy took the eye and put it in his pocket. The pain was terrible, but the dwarf made up his mind to bear it for the princess’s sake. Then the fairy sat on a rock and began to play the “Strains of Slumber.” The music crept over the water, and the savage steeds grew perfectly still and floated on the tide like foam. “Now,” said the fairy, leading the horse to the water. The old horse swam boldly for the island, the sleeping steeds drifting helplessly against him, and he soon reached land and neighed with joy.

The dwarf rode on until he found a bridle path that wound up through lanes bordered with sweet-smelling golden furze to the top of the green hills that ringed the Mystic Lake. There the horse stopped of its own accord. The lake lay below in the still, sunny air, as still as death and as bright as life. The dwarf gazed at it for a long time, then lay down in the grass. Hours went by and nothing changed, and at nightfall he fell asleep.

The lark woke him in the morning, but the lake was as bright as ever. Towards midday he saw what looked like a black cloud sailing from east to west. As it came nearer, he saw it was a huge bird whose outstretched wings darkened the lake, and he knew it for one of the Cormorants of the Western Seas. In one claw it carried a branch bigger than a full-grown oak, heavy with clusters of ripe red berries. It landed some way off, rested, then began to eat the berries and toss the stones into the lake, and wherever a stone fell, a bright red stain spread on the water. The bird showed every sign of great age, and the dwarf wondered how it could carry such a load.

Later two other birds as big as the first but younger flew in from the west. They too ate the berries and threw the stones into the lake, until it was as red as wine. Then the young birds picked the old bird’s worn feathers off and smoothed his plumage. When they had finished, he rose and sailed out over the lake, dropped onto the water and dived. A moment later he burst up into the air with a joyful cry and flew off to the west in all the strength of youth, the other two following.

When they were mere specks in the sky, the dwarf rode down to the lake. He was at the very edge and about to plunge in when he heard a fierce screaming overhead, and the three birds were circling above the water. He drew back in fright. They swooped low, covering the lake with their wings and crying harshly, then rose high, folded their wings and dropped like three rocks onto the water, smashing its surface and scattering a wine-red shower over the hills. Then the dwarf recalled the fairy’s warning that if he tried to cross without paying the price, the cormorants would strip the flesh from his bones. He did not know what to do and was about to turn away when he heard the golden harp, and there was the little fairy.

“Faint heart never won fair lady,” said the harper. “Are you ready to pay the price? The spear and shield are on the far bank, and Princess Finola is crying this minute on the lonely moor.”

At her name the dwarf’s heart grew strong. “Yes, I am ready, win or die. What is the price?”

“Your left eye,” said the fairy, and he took that eye too and put it in his pocket. The poor blind dwarf nearly fainted with pain. “This is your last trial,” said the fairy. “Twist your horse’s mane round your right hand, and I will lead him to the water. Plunge in and do not be afraid. I gave you your speech; when you reach the far bank, you will get your memory, and you will know who and what you are.” He led the horse to the edge. “In with you now, and good luck go with you.”

The horse plunged in and sank down and down until his feet struck the bottom, and then began to rise. Near the surface the dwarf thought he saw a glimmer of light, and when he came up he saw the bright sun and the green hills, and he shouted for joy, for his sight was restored. Instead of the old horse he was riding a noble steed, and as it swam he felt a change come over himself and a new strength in his limbs. When the steed reached the shore it galloped up the hillside, and on the top stood a silver shield, bright as the sun, propped on a spear planted upright in the ground. He leaped down and ran to it, and in the shield he saw himself as in a mirror. He was no longer a dwarf but a gallant knight. In that moment his memory came flooding in, and he knew that he was Conal, one of the Knights of the Red Branch, and that the spell that changed his body, removed his memory and prevented speech had been laid on him by the Witch of the Palace of the Quicken Trees.

Slinging the shield on his left arm, he pulled the spear from the ground and sprang onto his horse. With a light heart he swam across the lake, and he saw no black cormorants anywhere, only three white swans floating side by side, who followed him to the bank. He galloped down to the sea and crossed to the mainland, then threw the reins on his horse’s neck, and faster than the wind the horse carried him on until he was bounding over the enchanted moor. Wherever its hoofs struck, grass and flowers sprang up, and tall trees with leafy branches rose all around.

At last the knight reached the little hut. Three times he struck the shield with the shaft and three times with the blade of the spear, and at the last blow the hut vanished, and there stood the little princess. The knight took her in his arms and kissed her, lifted her onto his horse and leaped up in front of her, and he turned north towards the palace of the Red Branch Knights. As they rode beneath the leafy trees, birds sang out from every branch, for the spell of silence on the lonely moor was broken for ever.

About this tale

“Princess Finola and the Dwarf” opens Edmund Leamy’s Irish Fairy Tales. Leamy wrote these stories himself, drawing on old Irish legend, and a note in the 1906 Dublin edition says he turned to Ireland’s Gaelic past to give Irish children a love for the beauty of their country’s traditions.

In his own notes Leamy says he took the birds that renew their youth in the Mystic Lake from “The Voyage of Maildun,” as translated in P. W. Joyce’s Old Celtic Romances. In that old voyage tale one of Maildun’s men bathes in the lake and stays strong and healthy for the rest of his life. Leamy says the cormorants guarding the lake are his own addition.

Read the original: Edmund Leamy, Irish Fairy Tales (Project Gutenberg #29311, Princess Finola)

Suggested for older readers within ages 9–12 with an adult: the fairy painfully removes both of the hero’s eyes before his sight is magically restored.

The price is hidden until consent is demanded

The fairy repeatedly asks for commitment before naming the cost. The hero’s devotion is clear, but his courage does not make that an informed bargain. His kindness also predates his transformation into a knight: the earlier body and lack of speech never prevent him caring for Finola. Sound marks the release of both captives, from his recovered voice to the birdsong on the moor.

Make a sound map

List the silent moor, wand of speech, harp, shield blows and final birds. Explain what changes at each sound. Then identify one question the hero should have been allowed to ask before agreeing to a price.

Questions to ask

• Why was the moor around Finola’s hut so silent?
• What price did the dwarf have to pay, and why was he willing to pay it?
• What happened to the dwarf when he crossed the Mystic Lake?

You may also like

• Connla And The Fairy Maiden — another Irish tale of fairy magic and the Otherworld
• The Little White Cat — another of Edmund Leamy’s Irish fairy tales
• The Golden Spears — a Leamy tale of a magic journey and enchanted weapons