Latest / Sandman Stories Presents / EP 289: Azores- The Laborer And His Master, 'Tis Faith Which Saves, St. Brendan's Island, The Silent Cavalier, The Enchanted Palace (Eells)

Transcript

EP 289: Azores- The Laborer And His Master, 'Tis Faith Which Saves, St. Brendan's Island, The Silent Cavalier, The Enchanted Palace (Eells) · Sandman Stories Presents

• 0:25
  Welcome back listeners to Sandman Stories Presents, a
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  folklore podcast where I read you to sleep or until the next
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  story. I'm your host, Dustin.
• 0:32
  If you want more Sandman, I have extra stories that are too spicy
• 0:36
  for the main feed available on my Patreon.
• 0:39
  You can join at the free tier and get everything.
• 0:42
  Today we are back in the book of Azorian folklore, written down
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  by Elsie Spicer Eels. In the first story, we'll learn
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  about a tricky planter, the second has a crappy boyfriend
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  and a trusting girlfriend. The third tells the tale of an
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  Irish priest who helps a man to be heard by his love.
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  The 4th tells about fruitful words.
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  And the 5th we learn about an enchanted place with a lovely
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  Pearl. OK, let's begin.
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  The laborer and his master. The story of a man who outfitted
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  another. Once Upon a time there was a
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  laborer who said to his master, It is time to plant the fields.
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  Very well, said his master. The part which grows above the
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  ground shall be mine, and you shall have the part and payment
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  for your labor. The part which grows under the
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  ground Agreed, said the laborer. He planted the fields with
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  potatoes. His master had nothing but the
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  tops outside of the earth. The laborer harvested many
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  baskets of potatoes that year and sold them for a goodly sum.
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  The master was angry because of this.
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  Next time, he said, we'll see about things.
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  You shall give me what grows below the ground and keep for
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  yourself what grows above. Agreed, said the laborer.
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  That is perfectly fair to me. The laborer planted the fields
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  with wheat. His master had nothing but the
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  roots, while he harvested a rich crop of wheat, which he sold for
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  much money. I'll settle with you, said his
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  master. The laborer was frightened.
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  Don't be afraid, said his wife. When your master comes, let me
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  talk to him. The woman gashed her face and
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  hands with the pruning knife. The master came to the door and
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  she opened it. Where is your husband, he asked.
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  He is sharpening his nails, she said.
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  See what ugly scratches I already have upon my hands and
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  my face? The master went away without
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  punishing the laborer. The end.
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  OK and story #2 tis faith which saves the story of a maid who is
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  betrothed to one she trusted. There was Once Upon a time a
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  fair maid who lived in the island of Fayal.
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  She was betrothed to a young man of the same island.
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  One day she fell I'll with the disease, which baffled the skill
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  of all the physicians. Their arts, the mourning of her
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  betrothed, the prayers and tears of her mother, all seemed of no
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  avail. It appeared that the fair maid
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  would die. Now it happens that in one of
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  the nearby islands, Saint Michael, there was a miracle
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  working image called the Santo Cristo.
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  The fair maid begged of her betrothed that he would go to
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  Saint Michael and procure some of the mysterious miracle
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  working sweat of the Santo Cristo or of some of the
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  miraculous pairings of the nails of the image which had the power
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  to heal any disease. The young man gladly set out on
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  the quest on the boat which conveyed him to Saint Michael.
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  However, he met a maid with beauty and charm, a maid whose
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  bright eyes made him forget the sad eyes of his betrothed.
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  When he arrived at his destination, he thought only of
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  singing gay songs beneath the balcony of his new love.
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  The days flew by, and soon it was time for the boat to return
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  to Fayel. He had forgotten the mission on
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  which he had come, and he returned to the boat with no
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  relics of the miracle working Santo Cristo.
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  The homeward journey was rough and stormy, filled with fear of
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  death. At any moment the young man
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  remembered the fair maid of Fayel, who even at that very
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  hour might be dying. His conscience smote him.
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  Oh, why did I allow another fair face to crowd out from my heart
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  the image of my beloved? He asked himself.
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  Faithless Wretch that I am, what shall I say to my betrothed if
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  good fortune and the sea permit me to stand once more at her
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  side? The rough waves beat angrily
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  against the side of the boat in answer.
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  That night the storm ceased, and in the morning it was fair and
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  clear. As the boat entered the
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  beautiful harbour of Thiel, under the shadow of Mount Pico,
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  with clear skies and smooth seas, the young man's conscience
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  seemed to be less troublesome. He resolved that he would not
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  confess his deceit to his betrothed.
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  If I told her, it might make her grow worse so rapidly that she
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  would die because of it, He said to himself.
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  Indeed, it was quite enough to have made the girl die of a
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  broken heart, had she had known the whole story.
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  Suddenly, the youth's face clouded.
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  What shall I say to my beloved as the reason why I've brought
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  back neither the miracle working sweat of the Santo Cristo nor
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  the miraculous nail pairings he was asking.
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  His eyes fell upon the boat's wooden side.
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  Quickly, he shaved off some of the fine pairings of this wood.
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  He wrapped them up carefully and took them to the fair maiden of
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  Faial as if they were the pairings of the nails of the
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  miracle working image. His betrothed face shone with
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  joy at his return. Tears of thankfulness filled her
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  eyes when she saw the pairings which he had brought her.
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  How can I ever thank you for your faithfulness on this quest
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  on my behalf, with the great love which prompted you to
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  undertake this stormy, dangerous journey on the rough seas, that
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  I might once more be well. The young man did not enjoy
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  hearing of her speak of his love and faithfulness.
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  He did not reply. No maid was ever blessed with
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  such a wonderful lover, said the happy girl.
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  You are forgetting to take the pairings, said the mother.
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  They will not cure you if you do not take them.
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  The fair maid of Faial took the pairings in a gourd full of
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  water. She began to improve
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  immediately, and the next day she was entirely well.
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  Tis faith which saves not pairings, said her betrothed.
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  The end. OK, and story #3 Saint Brendan's
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  Island, the story of the little maid who found it there was once
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  an Irish monk called Saint Brendan.
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  One day he received a visit from a hermit who told him of a most
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  marvelous island. Come and visit this earthly
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  paradise, said the hermit. There the sun always shines.
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  The birds wear golden crowns upon their heads and speak like
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  humans. The perfume of the island clung
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  to the garments of the hermit for 40 days.
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  Good. St.
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  Brandon asked many questions about the mysterious island and
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  at last resolved to visit it. He wanted to see for himself if
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  all the wonders of which he had heard were really true.
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  Accordingly he built a coracle of waddle, covered it with
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  hides, tanned and oak bark, and softened with butter.
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  He loaded it with provisions to last for 40 days.
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  Then he persuaded some of his disciples to accompany him.
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  This was somewhat difficult, for they were timid about embarking
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  on this dangerous expedition in the frail boat.
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  Saint Brendan, however, succeeded in overcoming their
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  fears and set out with a little group of his most devoted
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  followers. It was seven years before they
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  returned to their native land. They were even more enthusiastic
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  about their wonderful island than the hermit had been.
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  They urged others to go and find out its marvels, but nobody else
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  was ever able to locate it. They say that the island of
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  Saint Brendan was a floating island in the Atlantic.
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  Good Saint Brendan did not die, but kept on living on this
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  earthly paradise of his Isle. When the Christians were hard
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  pressed in their battles with the Moors and were about to be
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  pushed back into the sea, the island of Saint Brendan appeared
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  on the horizon and the Good St. himself came to fight against
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  the Moors and bring victory to the Christians.
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  In the middle of the 15th century, there was a little old
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  maid called Maria who lived on the island of Tarsiera.
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  She heard the story of Saint Brendan's Isle from her
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  Franciscan brother. Day and night she dreamed of it.
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  She often sat upon the hillside of Monte Brasil, looking eagerly
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  out over the broad expanse of the sea, hoping with all her
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  heart that the island would appear to her.
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  One day there landed in TER Sierra a cavalier of Rhodes by
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  the name of Vital. From his grandfather he had
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  inherited some of the sacred relics of Saint Brendan.
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  He had come to the Azores in search of the mysterious island.
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  On his doublet he wore an 8 pointed star and a band upon
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  which was embroidered in scarlet silk by the motto By Faith.
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  It was indeed by Faith that he had embarked upon his quest.
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  The little maid Maria fell in love with him the moment she
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  heard of him and his errand. She worshipped him as if he had
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  been the good Saint Brendan himself.
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  But when she was with him, she sat with downcast eyes, her long
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  dark eyelashes sweeping her delicate cheek, and did not give
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  him a glance, much less a word. The young cavalier loved the
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  little maid. He divided his holy relics of
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  Saint Brendan with her, and in return he begged her that she
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  might speak a word of love. To tell my love to you, said
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  Maria. I'd have to be aware nobody but
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  God could hear. Indeed, it was quite true that
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  Maria needed to be where nobody but the good God could hear her
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  when she spoke of her love for the cavalier.
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  Vital, the son of the wealthy captain of the district, had
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  long admired her delicate beauty.
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  He had already sought her to be his bride.
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  His jealousy against Vital rose up like a burning flame.
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  He went to Maria and demanded that she marry him at once.
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  Maria firmly refused. If you do not wed me, said the
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  captain's son, I shall have my father lock you up in the
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  stronghold of Saint Louis on the hillside.
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  I should prefer to spend all my days confined in the castle of
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  Saint Louis rather than be your wife, she said.
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  Why can't you leave me in peace with my relics of the good Saint
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  Brendan? The mention of Saint Brendan's
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  relics stirred the young man's wrath even more.
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  He well knew who it was who had given her the holy relics.
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  His threat was fulfilled, and she was taken that very day to
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  the castle of Saint Louis and locked up in that stronghold.
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  Her room had a window, and there she sat, high up in the tower of
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  the castle, looking down at the city of Angra Bloor.
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  I had longed to serve the good God, she cried.
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  Why is it that my life has been made so useless?
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  At that very moment, the earth trembled.
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  The strong walls of the castle shook as if they'd been built of
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  paper. Near the Fort, 2 doves were
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  sitting on the branches of a cedar tree.
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  Let us rescue this fair maid, said 1 dove to the other.
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  Yes, let us carry her away on our wings, agreed the other.
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  That instant the earth shook so that the walls of the stronghold
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  fell to the ground. The two doves spread out their
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  Snow White wings and bore Maria away in safety.
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  Over houses and churches they flew.
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  Over tree tops and the broad expanse of the sea they rose.
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  The city, the island, the sea all disappeared from Maria's
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  sight. She felt so dizzy that she
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  closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she
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  was on an island of such beauty as she had never dreamed.
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  It was indeed a garden of paradise.
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  The good Saint Brendan himself, she saw, was the gardener.
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  The earthquake caused much damage on the island of
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  Terciera. When the disappearance of Maria
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  was known throughout the little city of Ungra, nobody mourned
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  for her as much as the young cavalier Vital.
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  What is the island to me without Maria?
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  He asked in sorrow. Once more he embarked upon the
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  sea in his search for the island of Saint Brendan.
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  Long days and long nights he tossed about on the ocean. 1
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  Evening, just at sunset he saw the clouds of heaven descending
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  to the earth like a white ladder.
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  Then he observed far away upon the horizon an island.
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  He knew in his heart that he had at last a glimpse of Saint
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  Brendan's Isle. A gentle breeze swelled his
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  sails and sent him rapidly toward it.
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  As he drew near, he saw his beloved Maria standing with her
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  arms outstretched. A bright light shone about her.
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  To speak of my love to you, she said.
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  I have to be where nobody but God can hear.
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  God and the gardener of this island.
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  Saint Brendan. The End.
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  OK, and story #4 The silent Cavalier, The story of the
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  Peachtree. In the early days, when the
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  Azores had just been discovered, there were many Flemish settlers
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  who came to the islands. Among them was a young cavalier
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  of the Order of Saint George of Begonia.
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  His name was Jesus Maria, and the reason why he had come was
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  because a wise monk had told him that his path in life lay by the
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  way of the sea. Your name given to you in Holy
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  Baptism, said the monk, is Isils Maria.
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  Transpose the letters, and it says in Latin Maris EZ via.
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  The young cavalier agreed that the sea must be his path of
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  destiny, and he at once set sail upon a long voyage which finally
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  led him to the island of Fayal. He loved the rocky coast where
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  the waves beat. He loved the deep ravine where
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  the laughing brook ran the lake and the ancient crater, the snow
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  capped summit of Mount Pico, which smiles down in a stately
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  majesty from an opposite island. He decided that this was to be
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  his home. My path of destiny was indeed
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  the sea, he said. The sea has brought me to a
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  country which is very fair. In the island of Fayal there
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  were already some Portuguese settlers.
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  One of these had a beautiful daughter.
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  Ida. The young Flemish cavalier,
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  thought that she was the fairest maiden he had ever seen.
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  He fell deeply in love with her. Now the Cavaliers of that order
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  of Saint George of Begonia had vowed that they would never wed
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  Jesus. Maria could not break the solemn
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  pledge which he had given when he enjoined the order.
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  Neither could he forget the bright eyes of the Portuguese
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  maiden Ida. It seemed as if his heart would
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  break. I will leave this island and
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  return to my own country, he thought.
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  Then he remembered the words which the wise monk had said
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  about the sea being his path. He had followed that road and it
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  had led him to a fair island home.
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  He decided that he could not return to his native land of
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  Flanders. Over across the shining blue
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  water he looked up at the peaceful snow capped summit of
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  Mount Pico. The sight of its majestic
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  stillness gave him the strength to hold his tongue and keep him
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  from speaking the words of love to the beautiful Portuguese
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  maiden. Never a word of love broke from
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  him. The maiden Ida never knew the
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  shrine she occupied in the heart of the Flemish Cavalier.
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  The days dragged slowly by. The young man could bear no
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  more. He felt that his strength could
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  no longer endure on the same island as Ida.
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  If he stayed near her he would break his vow.
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  One morning in the little boat, he crossed the blue waters to
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  the island of Pico, at the foot of that majestic mountain he
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  loved. He built the little Hut which
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  was to be his home. He never returned to the island
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  of Fayal, and as the years went by he was spoken of as the good
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  hermit of Pico. Nobody knew his secret.
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  When at last the Cavalier Jesus Maria died, a Peachtree grew
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  from his tomb the emblem of silence.
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  The leaf of this tree has the form of a human tongue.
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  Its fruit has a stone shaped somewhat like a human heart.
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  From this stone there comes a seed which is planted, which
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  produces a new tree. Thus it is that the words which
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  bear fruit spring from the heart.
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  It is silence which teaches one the gift of fruitful words.
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  They say in the Azores, the end. OK, and story #5 The Enchanted
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  Palace, The story of Lake Ginjal.
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  In the village of Alto Heiress and the island of Terciera,
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  there lived Once Upon a time a fair maid who had been baptized
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  Perola, which means Pearl. As she grew older she was indeed
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  like a rare Pearl among the other maidens of the village, so
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  great was the charm of her unusual beauty.
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  She was the joy of her home and of the whole community, for her
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  disposition was as lovely as her face.
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  One bright spring morning, Perola leaned over the cistern
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  where she had gone to get water. Her reflection shone so plainly
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  in the water that she paused to gaze into the smiling eyes of
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  her own mirrored face. As she did so, a magic spell was
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  woven about her. The water fairy who had come to
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  the cistern had seen her great beauty and had thrown a charm
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  over her. In a moment more she fell into
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  the cistern to join her reflection there.
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  When Perola could not be found, there was great excitement in
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  the little village. Nobody could guess what had
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  become of her. Her mother prayed devoutly for
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  her safety in the Church of Saint Roch.
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  All of the villagers sought her in every possible place.
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  Now at the North End of the island of Terciera, there are
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  groups of tiny rocks in the sea which are called the biscatios
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  or biscuits. Here there lived a wise old
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  woman who had a great reputation among all the people of the
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  island for her knowledge. Let us go to consult the wise
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  woman of Biscoitos, said one of the village youths, when they
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  had sought long and faithfully for a trace of the hiding place
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  into which Perola might have vanished.
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  Accordingly, the young man of Altos Aires went to the wise
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  woman, and this is what she told them.
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  The fair Pearl of your village is safe from the fissures of
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  pearls. She is hidden away in an
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  enchanted place of marble and ivory and tortoise shell and
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  mother of Pearl. The water fairy had taken Perola
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  through an underground passage which led from the cistern to
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  the beautiful enchanted palace in the Lake of Ginja.
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  There she was kept in hiding. The fairies never dreamed that
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  anybody would ever be able to guess where she was.
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  Now, with the words of the wise woman of Biscoitos to guide
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  them, the use of Alto Aires organized an expedition to
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  search for their lost playmate. The sons of the magistrate, the
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  rich men, the learned men of the island of Tricera, all joined
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  this expedition. They searched through the whole
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  island for a place where an enchanted palace might be
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  located. At last, upon Saint John's Day,
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  when the days and nights are of equal length, this band of brave
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  youths of Tersierra came to the shores of Lake Ginjal in the
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  interior of the island. This is surely the enchanted
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  place. Here.
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  In this lake must lie the fairies palace of marble and
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  ivory and tortoiseshell and mother of Pearl.
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  Somebody cried. How shall we be able to approach
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  this magical palace and rescue of perola?
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  Asked one. How shall we be able to break
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  her enchantment? Asked another, Let us camp here
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  upon the border of the lake, and consider best how to proceed,
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  said the leader of the expedition.
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  Now, at that very hour on St. John's Day, the mother of Perolo
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  was in the Church of Saint Roc, in Alto Eres, praying devoutly
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  for her daughter's safe return. Suddenly she heard a strange
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  voice. There were the words which fell
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  upon her ears. Your prayers and the
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  perseverance of the youths of the island have at last
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  triumphed. Go in peace on the day of Saint
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  Peter. At the hour of sunset your
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  daughter shall be restored to you, her enchantment shall be
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  broken, and she shall be brought to the Bank of Lake Ginja in a
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  boat of ivory drawn by a Snow White swan.
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  When the youths encamped upon the shore of the lake heard
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  these tidings, they set up such a shout of joy that it was
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  indeed enough to break any enchantment at the time
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  appointed. Perola was brought to the Bank
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  of the lake in a boat of ivory, drawn by a Snow White swan, just
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  as fair and lovely as upon the day she was when she vanished
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  from the little village of Alto Aris.
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  This is the story of Lake Kinjal.
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  It is quite probable that the enchanted palace of the water
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  fairies is still there. The END.
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  That was quite the collection. I first heard the story as a
• 23:44
  bare rabbit story of tops and bottoms, getting the tops and
• 23:48
  the bottoms and you know, root vegetables versus stuff that
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  grows above ground. And the second story had a happy
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  ending, but was it? I don't know, I feel bad for
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  them. The third story of Saint
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  Brendan's Isle was a cute love story and a nice palate cleanser
• 24:03
  after the failures of the previous story.
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  The fourth story was a nice bit of explaining of the world.
• 24:08
  Peaches do have pits and tongues like leaves, but the Peach
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  itself looks like. And the final story was a nice
• 24:15
  underwater tale that reminds me of so many other cultures that
• 24:18
  border the sea. Thinking of the sea dragon of
• 24:21
  Japan and Korea and stuff like that.
• 24:23
  And I'm looking forward to more of these tales.
• 24:25
  But this book is almost hold out so I think I'll have to get
• 24:28
  another one soon. And the podcast shout out today
• 24:31
  is to film Rage. Want to see 3 Canadians rage?
• 24:35
  Well two rages and probably a meh.
• 24:37
  Well, these three guys, Jim Bryce and Merman go through and
• 24:40
  watch movies so that you don't have to.
• 24:43
  And for a fiver you can make them watch something awful.
• 24:47
  And so if you like their show as much as I do, go and give them a
• 24:50
  like a listen, a review and a mondo.
• 24:54
  And the listener shout out is to the fun city named Custeries in
• 24:58
  Saint Lucia. This is from their wiki.
• 25:01
  The original name was Carnegie Safe Anchorage, in French in
• 25:05
  reference to the city's deep water port, and given by the
• 25:09
  French in 1650 at the time of its founding.
• 25:11
  It adopted the name Castrice in 1756 in honor of Charles Eugene
• 25:17
  Gabriel de Le Croix, Marquis de Castrice, whose title relates to
• 25:21
  a commune in southern France. The origin for the commune's
• 25:24
  name is the Latin word castra, plural of castrum.
• 25:28
  Fortified field or strong castle, fortified city.
• 25:30
  By extension, the island has changed hands several times,
• 25:34
  leading to be called Helen of the West.
• 25:37
  And so to my listener in the Castrice, I say thank you.
• 25:41
  Good night.