The fairies take great delight in horsemanship, and are splendid
riders. Many fine young men are enticed to ride with them, when they
dash along with the fairies like the wind, Finvarra himself leading,
on his great black horse with the red nostrils, that look like flames
of fire. And ever after the young men are the most fearless riders in
the country, so the people know at once that they have hunted with the
fairies. And after the hunt some favourite of the party is taken to a
magnificent supper in the fairy palace, and when he has drunk of the
bright red wine they lull him to sleep with soft music. But never again
can he find the fairy palace, and he looks in vain for the handsome
horseman on his fine black steed, with all the gay young huntsmen in
their green velvet dresses, who rushed over the field with him, like
a flash of the storm wind. They have passed away for ever from his
vision, like a dream of the night.
Once on a time a gentleman, also one of the Kirwans of Galway, was
riding by the fairy hill—where all the fairies of the West hold their
councils and meetings, under the rule of Finvarra the king—when a
strange horseman, mounted on a fiery black steed, suddenly appeared.
But as the stranger bid him the time of day with distinguished grace,
Mr. Kirwan returned his greeting courteously, and they rode on together
side by side, discoursing pleasantly—for the stranger seemed to know
every one and everything, though Mr. Kirwan could not remember ever
having seen him before.
“Now,” said the black horseman, “I know that you are to be at the races
to-morrow, so just let me give you a hint: if you wish to be certain
of winning, allow me to send you my man to ride your horse. He never
failed in a race yet, and he shall be with you early, before the start.”
With that, at a turn of the road, the stranger disappeared; for he
was no other than Finvarra himself, who had a friendly liking for the
tribe of the Kirwans, because all the men were generous who came of the
blood, and all the women handsome.
Next morning, as Mr. Kirwan was setting out for the race, his groom
told him that a young jockey was waiting to see him. He was the
strangest looking little imp, Mr. Kirwan thought, he had ever set eyes
on, but he felt compelled to give him all the rights and power that was
necessary for the race, and the young imp was off in a moment, like a
flash of lightning.
Mr. Kirwan knew no more—he seemed like one in a dream—till the silver
cup was handed to him as winner of the race, and congratulations poured
down on him, and every one asked eagerly where he got the wonderful
jockey who seemed to make the horse fly like the spirit of the wind
itself. But the jockey by this time had disappeared. However, the
stranger on the black horse was there, and he constrained Mr. Kirwan
to come with him to dinner; and they rode on pleasantly, as before,
till they reached a grand, beautiful house, with a crowd of gorgeous
servants waiting on the steps to receive the lord and master and his
guest.
One of them led Mr. Kirwan to his room to dress for dinner, and there
he found a costly suit of violet velvet ready, in which the valet
arrayed him. Then he entered the dining-hall. It was all lit up
splendidly, and there were garlands of flowers twining round crystal
columns, and golden cups set with jewels for the wine, and golden
dishes.
The host seemed an accomplished man of the world, and did the honours
with perfect grace. Conversation flowed freely, while soft music was
heard at intervals from invisible players, and Mr. Kirwan could not
resist the charm and beauty of the scene, nor the bright red wine that
his host poured out for him into the jewelled cups.
Then, when the banquet was over, a great crowd of ladies and gentlemen
came in and danced to sweet low music, and they circled round the guest
and tried to draw him into the dance. But when he looked at them it
seemed to him that they were all the dead he had once known; for his
own brother was there, that had been drowned in the lake a year before;
and a man who had been killed by a fall when hunting; and others whose
faces he knew well. And they were all pale as death, but their eyes
burned like coals of fire.
And as he looked and wondered, a lovely lady came over to him, wearing
a necklace of pearls. And she clasped his wrist with her little hand,
and tried to draw him into the circle.
“Dance with me,” she whispered, “dance with me again. Look at me, for
you once loved me.”
And when he looked at her he knew that she was dead, and the clasp of
her hand was like a ring of fire round his wrist; and he drew back in
terror, for he saw that she was a beautiful girl he had loved in his
youth, and to whom he had given a necklace of pearls, but who died
before he could make her his bride.