at any moment, the young man remembered the fair maid of Fayal who even
at that very hour might be dying. His conscience smote him.
"Oh, why did I allow another fair face to crowd out from my heart the
image of my beloved?" he asked himself. "Faithless wretch that I am,
what shall I say to my betrothed if good fortune and the sea permit me
to stand once more at her side?"
The rough waves beat angrily against the side of the boat in answer.
That night the storm ceased and in the morning it was fair and clear as
the boat entered the beautiful harbor of Fayal under the shadow of Mt.
Pico. With clear skies and smooth seas the young man's conscience
became less troublesome. He resolved that he would not confess his
deceit to his betrothed.
"If I told her it might make her grow worse so rapidly that she would
die because of it," he said to himself.
Indeed, it was quite enough to have made the girl die of a broken
heart, had she known the whole story.
Suddenly the youth's face clouded.
"What shall I say to my beloved as the reason why I have brought back
to her neither the miracle-working sweat of the Santo Christo nor the
miraculous nail parings?" he was asking.
His eye fell upon the boat's wooden side. Quickly he shaved off some
fine parings of this wood. He wrapped them up carefully and took them
to the fair maid of Fayal as if they were parings from the nails of the
miracle-working image.
His betrothed's face shone with joy at his return. Tears of
thankfulness filled her eyes when she saw the parings which he had
brought her.
"How can I ever thank you for your faithfulness in this quest in my
behalf, and the great love which prompted you to undertake this stormy,
dangerous journey on the rough seas that I might once more be well?"
The young man did not enjoy hearing her speak of his love and
faithfulness. He did not reply.
"No maid was ever blessed with so wonderful a lover," went on the happy
girl.
"You are forgetting to take the parings," said the mother. "They will
not cure you if you do not take them."
The fair maid of Fayal took the parings in a gourd full of water. She
began to improve immediately and the next day she was entirely well.
"'Tis faith which saves and not parings," said her betrothed.
ST. BRENDAN'S ISLAND
_The Story of the Little Maid Who Found It_
There was once an Irish monk called St. Brendan. One day he received a
visit from a hermit who told him of a most marvelous island.
"Come and visit this earthly Paradise," said the hermit. "There the
sun always shines. The birds wear golden crowns upon their heads and
speak like humans."
The perfume of the island clung to the garments of the hermit for forty
days.
Good St. Brendan asked many questions about the mysterious island and
at last resolved to visit it and see for himself if all the wonders of
which he had heard were really true. Accordingly, he built a coracle
of wattle covered with hides tanned in oak bark and softened with
butter. He loaded it with provisions to last for forty days. Then he
persuaded some of his disciples to accompany him. This was somewhat
difficult for they were timid about embarking upon this dangerous
expedition in the frail boat. St. Brendan, however, succeeded in
overcoming their fears and set out with a little group of his most
devoted followers.
It was seven years before they returned to their native land. They
were even more enthusiastic about their wonderful island than the
hermit had been. They urged others to go and find out its marvels but
nobody else was ever able to locate it.
They say that the island of St. Brendan was a floating island in the
Atlantic. Good St. Brendan did not die but kept on living in the
earthly Paradise of his isle. When the Christians were hard pressed in
their battles with the Moors and were about to be pushed back into the
sea the island of St. Brendan appeared upon the horizon, and the good
saint himself came to fight against the Moors and bring victory to the
Christians.
In the middle of the fifteenth century there was a little maid called
Maria who lived in the island of Terceira. She heard the story of St.
Brendan's isle from a Franciscan brother. Day and night she dreamed of
it. She often sat upon the hillside of Monte Brasil, looking eagerly
out over the broad expanse of sea, hoping with all her heart that the
island would appear to her.
One day there landed in Terceira a cavalier of Rhodes named Vital.
From his grandfather he had inherited some of the sacred relics of St.
Brendan. He had come to the Azores in his search for the mysterious
island. On his doublet he wore an eight-pointed star and a band upon
which was embroidered in scarlet silk the motto, "By Faith." It was
indeed "by faith" that he had embarked upon his quest.
The little maid, Maria, fell in love with him the moment she heard of
him and his errand. She worshiped him as if he had been the good St.
Brendan himself, but when she was with him she sat with downcast eyes,
her long dark eyelashes sweeping her delicate cheek, and did not give
him a glance, much less a word.
The young cavalier loved the little maid. He divided his holy relics
of St. Brendan with her, and in return he begged of her that she might
speak a word of love.
"To tell my love to you," said Maria, "I'd have to be where nobody but
God could hear."
Indeed it was quite true that Maria needed to be where nobody but the
good God could hear her when she spoke of her love for the cavalier
Vital. The son of the wealthy Captain of the district had long admired
her delicate beauty. He had already sought her for his bride. His
jealousy against Vital rose up like a burning flame. He went to Maria
and demanded that she should marry him at once.
Maria firmly refused.
"If you do not wed me," said the captain's son, "I shall have my father
lock you up in the stronghold of St. Louis on the hillside."
"I should prefer to spend all my days confined in the castle of St.
Louis rather than be your wife," said she. "Why can't you leave me in
peace with my relics of the good St. Brendan!"
The mention of St. Brendan's relics stirred the young man's wrath even
more. He well knew who it was who had given her the holy relics. His
threat was fulfilled, and she was taken that very day to the castle of
St. Louis and locked up in that stronghold.
Her room had a window, and there she sat high up in the tower of the
castle looking down at the city of Angra beneath her.
"I had longed to serve the good God," she cried. "Why is it that my
life has been made useless!"
At that very moment the earth trembled. The strong walls of the castle
shook as if they had been built of paper.
Near the fort two doves were sitting on the branches of a cedar tree.
"Let us rescue this fair maid," said one dove to the other.
"Yes, let us carry her away on our wings," agreed the other.
That instant the earth shook so that the walls of the stronghold fell
to the ground. The two doves spread out their snow-white wings and
bore Maria away in safety.
Over houses and churches they flew. Over treetops and the broad
expanse of the sea they rose. The city, the island, the sea, all
disappeared from Maria's sight. She felt so dizzy that she closed her
eyes.
When she opened them again she was in an island of such beauty as she
had never dreamed. It was indeed a garden of Paradise. The good St.
Brendan himself, she saw, was the gardener.
The earthquake caused much damage in the island of Terceira. When the
disappearance of Maria was known throughout the little city; of Angra
nobody mourned for her as did the young cavalier Vital.
"What is the island to me without Maria?" he asked in sorrow.
Once more he embarked upon the sea in his search for the island of St.
Brendan. Long days and long nights he tossed about on the ocean.
One evening just at sunset he saw the clouds of heaven descending to
earth like a white ladder. Then he observed, far away upon the
horizon, an island. He knew in his heart that he had at last a glimpse
of St. Brendan's isle.
[Illustration: One evening just at sunset]
A gentle breeze swelled his sails and sent him rapidly toward it. As
he drew near he saw his loved Maria standing with her arms
outstretched. A bright light shone about her.
"To speak of my love to you," said she, "I have to be where nobody but
God can hear--God and the gardener of this island, St. Brendan."
THE SILENT CAVALIER
_The Story of the Peach Tree_
In the early days when the Azores had just been discovered there were
many Flemish settlers who came to the islands. Among them there was a
young cavalier of the order of St. George of Borgonha. His name was
Jesus Maria and the reason why he had come was because a wise monk had
told him that his path in life lay by way of the sea.
"Your name given to you in Holy Baptism," said the monk, "is Iesvs
Maria. Transpose the letters and it says in Latin, _Maris es via_."
The young cavalier agreed that the sea must be his path of destiny and
he at once set sail upon a long voyage which finally led him to the
island of Fayal. He loved the rocky coast where the waves beat. He
loved the deep ravine where the laughing brook ran, the lake in the
ancient crater, the snow-capped summit of Mt. Pico which smiled down in
stately majesty from the opposite island. He decided that this was to
be his home.
"My path of Destiny was indeed the sea," he said. "The sea has brought
me to a country which is very fair."
In the island of Fayal there were already some Portuguese settlers.
One of these had a beautiful daughter Ida. The young Flemish cavalier
thought that she was the fairest maid he had ever seen. He fell deeply
in love with her.
Now the cavaliers of the order of St. George of Borgonha had vowed that
they would never wed. Jesus Maria could not break the solemn pledge
which he had given when he joined the order. Neither could he forget
the bright eyes of the Portuguese maiden Ida. It seemed as if his
heart would break.
"I will leave this island and return to my own country," he thought.
Then he remembered the words which the wise monk had said about the sea
being his path. He had followed that road and it had led him to a fair
island home. He decided that he could not return to his native land of
Flanders. Over across the shining blue water he looked up at the
peaceful snow-capped summit of Mt. Pico. The sight of its majestic
stillness seemed to give him strength to hold his tongue and keep him
from speaking words of love to the beautiful Portuguese maiden. Never
a word of love broke from him. The maiden Ida never knew the shrine
she occupied in the heart of the Flemish cavalier.
[Illustration: The peaceful snow-capped summit of Mt. Pico]
The days dragged slowly by. The young man could bear no more. He felt
that his strength could no longer endure on the same island with Ida.
If he stayed near her he would break his vow.
One morning in a little boat he crossed the blue waters to the island
of Pico. At the foot of the majestic mountain he loved, he built the
little hut which was to be his home. He never returned to the island
of Fayal, and as the years went by he was spoken of as the good hermit
of Pico. Nobody knew his secret.
When at last the Cavalier Jesus Maria died, a peach tree grew from his
tomb,--the emblem of silence. The leaf of this tree has the form of
the human tongue. Its fruit has a stone shaped somewhat like the human
heart. From this stone there comes a seed which when planted produces
a new tree. Thus it is that words which bear fruit spring from the
heart. It is silence which teaches one the gift of fruitful words,
they say in the Azores.
THE ENCHANTED PALACE
_The Story of Lake Ginjal_
In the village of Altos Ares in the island of Terceira there lived once
upon a time a fair maid who had been baptized Perola, which means
Pearl. As she grew older she was indeed like a rare pearl among the
other maidens of the village, so great was the charm of her unusual
beauty. She was the joy of her home and of the whole community for her
disposition was as lovely as her face.
One bright spring morning Perola leaned over the cistern where she had
gone to get water. Her reflection showed so plainly in the water that
she paused to gaze into the smiling eyes of her own mirrored face. As
she did so a magic spell was woven about her. The water fairy who had
come to the cistern had seen her great beauty and had thrown a charm
over her. In a moment more she fell into the cistern to join her
reflection there.
When Perola could not be found there was great excitement in the little
village. Nobody could guess what had become of her. Her mother prayed
devoutly for her safety in the church of St. Roque. All the villagers
sought for her in every possible place.
Now at the north of the island of Terceira there are groups of tiny
rocks in the sea which are called the Biscoitos or biscuits. Here
there lived a wise old woman who had a great reputation among all the
people of the island for her knowledge.
"Let us go to consult the wise woman of Biscoitos," said one of the
village youths when they had sought long and faithfully for a trace of
the hiding-place into which Perola might have vanished.
Accordingly, the young men of Altos Ares went to the wise woman, and
this is what she told them:
"The fair pearl of your village is safe from the fishers of pearls.
She is hidden away in an enchanted palace of marble and ivory and
tortoise-shell and mother-of-pearl."
The water fairy had taken Perola through an underground passage which
led from the cistern to the beautiful enchanted palace in the lake of
Ginjal. There she was kept in hiding. The fairies never dreamed that
anybody would ever be able to guess where she was.
[Illustration: The beautiful enchanted palace in the lake of Ginjal]
Now, with the words of the wise woman of Biscoitos to guide them, the
youths of Altos Ares organized an expedition to search for their lost
playmate. The sons of the magistrate, the rich men, the learned men of
the island of Terceira joined this expedition. They searched through
the whole island for a place where an enchanted palace might be located.
At last, upon St. John's Day when the days and nights are of equal
length, this band of the brave youths of Terceira came to the shores of
Lake Ginjal in the interior of the island.
"This is surely the enchanted place. Here in this lake must lie the
fairies' palace of marble and ivory and tortoise shell and
mother-of-pearl!" somebody cried.
"How shall we be able to approach this magic palace and rescue Perola?"
asked one.
"How shall we be able to break her enchantment?" asked another.
"Let us camp here upon the border of the lake and consider how best to
proceed," said the leader of the expedition.
Now at that very hour on St. John's Day the mother of Perola was in the
church of St. Roque in Altos Ares praying devoutly for her daughter's
safe return.
Suddenly she heard a strange voice. These were the words which fell
upon her ears:
"Your prayers and the perseverance of the youths of the island have at
last triumphed. Go in peace. On the day of St. Peter at the hour of
sunset your daughter shall be restored to you. Her enchantment shall
be broken and she shall be brought to the bank of Lake Ginjal in a boat
of ivory, drawn by a snow-white swan."
When the youths encamped upon the shore of the lake heard these tidings
they set up such a shout of joy that it was indeed enough to break any
enchantment.
At the time appointed Perola was brought to the bank of the lake in a
boat of ivory drawn by a snow-white swan, just as fair and lovely as
upon the day when she had vanished from the little village of Altos
Ares.
This is the story of the Lake of Ginjal. It is quite probable that the
enchanted palace of the water fairies is still there.
THE FRIEND OF THE DEVIL
_A Story of the Islands in the Bay of Angra_
Once upon a time there was a handsome Flemish youth who came to the
island of Fayal. His name was Fernao de Hutra. He fell in love with a
beautiful nun in the convent of the Gloria in the city of Horta.
One day the Devil appeared to him.
"Since you fell in love with this fair nun, I see you are a friend of
mine," said the Devil.
The young man had not known this, but he replied:
"Say rather that I will be your friend if you help me get possession of
this nun I love."
"Very well," said the Devil, "but you will have to make a bargain with
me."
"What is it?" asked Fernao, rather anxiously.
"Grant me your solemn pledge that you'll give me all your children,"
responded the Devil.
"Agreed," said Fernao.
After that he saw much of the Devil. The nun, however, was as devout
as she was beautiful. She refused to break the vows she had made and
flee with the Flemish youth. She firmly resisted both him and the
Devil.
"You are not a true friend to me after all," said Fernao to the Devil
sadly.
"But you are my friend," said the Devil in reply.
Soon after, Fernao de Hutra left the city of Horta and the island of
Fayal and went to join his kinsmen who had settled in Angra in the
island of Terceira. Here his handsome face won many friends for him
among the youth of the city. To some of these he confided the story of
his relations with the Devil.
Now it happened that in the year 1666 the first bull fight was held in
Angra. To this very day the island of Terceira is the only one in the
Azores which has bull fights.
Fernao had taken part in this. He was one of the chief organizers of
the bull fight held on St. John's Day of the following year. That day
all the men and women and children of the city of Angra assembled in
the public square before the fort. The bullfighters, richly clad, rode
forth upon prancing steeds decked in costly velvets with streamers and
ribbons of gold and silver which sparkled in the bright sunlight. The
youths were resplendent in their garments of crimson or purple or blue
velvet, richly embroidered. Fernao de Hutra was radiant in his jacket
of blue decked with pearls, with a plumed hat upon his handsome head.
He carried a yellow banner embroidered with the arms of his family.
Gay music sounded. The bulls were brought into the ring. The
bullfighters saluted and the fight began.
In the windows of the castle the daughters of the chief magistrate of
the city of Angra were seated among their friends. The eldest
daughter, Sophia, was the most beautiful maid of the whole city. The
magistrate watched her anxiously as her fair cheek alternately paled
and flushed as the struggle went on. There could be no doubt about the
fact that there was love in her eyes as they rested upon the handsome
young Flemish cavalier, Fernao de Hutra. She was wearing his colors
and in her hand she carefully held his bouquet of flowers. The ribbon
which tied them secured also a piece of paper upon which were written
these words:
"Oh, beautiful maid of my heart's desire,
For your dear sake I'd go through fire."
The magistrate withdrew from the gay scene into the silence of the
great hall of the castle. He bowed his head upon his hands.
[Illustration: He bowed his head upon his hands]
"This youth is the friend of the Devil," he groaned. "I cannot consent
to my daughter's marriage to him. He has promised to give all his
children to the Devil, they say. I cannot allow my own grandchildren
to be given to the Devil."
That very day he began to plot how to get rid of the handsome young
Fernao.
Now in the bay before the city of Angra there are two rocky islands
called to-day just as they were then, the Ilheos de Cabras, the islands
of goats. The brother-in-law of the magistrate was the owner of these
barren islands. There were a few goats there, a few mulberry bushes,
and a tiny spring of fresh water. The magistrate called his
brother-in-law to him as soon as the bull fight was over. He told him
all his fears and asked if he might use the islands as a place of
banishment for the young Flemish cavalier who was the friend of the
Devil.
"You are quite welcome to use these islands for so worthy a purpose,"
replied his brother-in-law. "Indeed, I have often thought that the
deep cave on the island led into Inferno. It is a most fitting spot
for the habitation of the Devil's friend."
Thus it happened that the handsome young Flemish cavalier was seized
and borne away to the barren rocky islands in the Bay of Angra. When
he was received there a great earthquake shook the whole island of
Terceira. When at last the people of the city of Angra were through
contemplating all the destruction which had been wrought, some one
looked in the direction of the island of goats. They saw that a great
piece had been broken away from one of the islands.
Thus it was that the Devil received his friend.
THE MILLER'S CLOAK
_The Story of a Man Who Tried to Stay Home from Church_
There was once a pious miller. He was always to be found in the church
praying. He prayed for the dead. He prayed for those who were alive.
He prayed for all who suffered, for the homeless ones, for the hungry
ones. He prayed for those upon the sea and those upon the land.
Now it happened that a terrible storm smote the island. The sea beat
high against the rocky coast. Lightning flashed. Thunder roared. The
wind howled. The rain fell in torrents as if it were a flood.
"Don't go out in the storm to-night," counselled his wife. "It is not
a suitable night for one to go to church."
"I agree with you," replied the miller. "I do not need to go to the
church in this fierce storm. Surely my prayers of other days and
nights have been so many that to-night I have earned rest in my own dry
house. The good God will pardon me."
The miller wrapped his heavy brown cloak about him and lay down upon
his bed. The wind shrieked. Thunder shook the earth. Unseen hands
pulled the miller's cloak from off his bed.
"The wind has blown out the candle! Light another!" cried the miller
to his wife.
By the dim light of the candle the good miller again arranged his bed.
He wrapped his heavy mantle about him and once more tried to sleep.
Again his cloak was pulled from off his bed as if by unseen hands.
There was no rest for the miller that night. His cloak could not be
made to cover him as he lay upon his bed.
"I might as well go to church and pray," he told his wife. "I can't
rest here."
He wrapped himself in the brown cloak and went out to the church
through the fierce blinding storm. He prayed for the dead. He prayed
for those who were alive. He prayed for all who suffered, for the
homeless ones, the hungry ones. He prayed for those upon the sea, for
those upon the land.
[Illustration: He wrapped himself in the brown cloak and went out
through the fierce blinding storm]
"Surely the prayers of the pious are needed this night," said the
miller to his wife when he came in out of the fierce storm.
Lightning flashed. Thunder roared. The rain fell in torrents. The
wind howled and drove the pouring rain against the windows. It blew in
sheets through the door before the miller had time to close it behind
him. The storm beat upon the thatched roof as if it would carry it
away.
"Quick, your cloak!" cried the miller's wife. "Take it off that I may
dry it by the fire!"
The good man started to obey. As he touched his cloak, however, his
eyes opened wide in amazement. It was entirely dry.
"Feel it yourself!" said he to his wife. "There is not a drop of rain
upon it!"
The miller's wife discovered that his words were true.
"It is a miracle of God!" cried she as she crossed herself.
THE MAGIC MOUTHFUL
_The Story of a Woman Who Quarreled_
Once upon a time there was a woman who lived a most unhappy life. She
and her husband were always quarreling. Every day when he came home
from work he was cross, and said harsh words to her. She would respond
with bitter words, and things would go from bad to worse until at last
he would beat her.
One day the woman took her water jar and went to the fountain to fill
it as usual. She was so unhappy that great tears were rolling down her
cheeks.
There was a little old woman standing by the fountain.
"What is the matter, my daughter?" she asked as she saw the tears upon
the poor woman's cheeks.
When she had heard all the story, the little old woman took the water
jar and filled it at the fountain.
"Go home, my daughter," she said. "Keep this water in the jar. The
moment your husband says a cross word to you, fill your mouth with the
water."
The sad woman thanked her and went to her own house.
The next day when her husband came home he began to scold as usual.
She was about to reply when she suddenly remembered the old woman's
advice. She ran to the water jar and filled her mouth with water.
[Illustration: She ran to the water jar]