The Islands of Magic Part 26

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 n.o.body 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 n.o.body but G.o.d could hear."

Indeed it was quite true that Maria needed to be where n.o.body but the good G.o.d 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 G.o.d," 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 n.o.body 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 n.o.body but G.o.d can hear--G.o.d 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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. n.o.body 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.