Meridian Folklore

[cruzazul 2815]

The Ascension of Duarte

 

 

In a deserted part of the rock-bound Asulian coast, a poor fisherman, barely five feet in height, skin ivoried by the coastal sun. Too eclectic to be of descendant origin, a giller from a foreign culture. He identifies as ‘Duarte’ (or Edward in common tongue.  Amid one of his nautical expeditions he comes across a lovely maiden, magnificently dressed, polishing her long jet-black hair with a golden comb studded in diamonds.

 

It was still early morning, and the sun had not attained its greatest power; and as the tide was at its lowest, an innumerable number of ponds were formed by the rocks which, for a distance of half a mile, were left bare by the receding sea.

 

Seated near to one of these ponds, and cooling her feet in the water, sat this lovely maiden; and she was so intent on performing her toilet that she did not perceive Duarte, who, thinking she was a mermaid, and might therefore cast a spell over him, hid behind a ledge of rocks, and was able to see and hear her without being noticed.

 

Duarte heard the melancholic allure of the princess—

 

“I am the daughter of a king

Who rules in absolute,

My messengers they bring

Me food to live aloof.

My father thinks me dead;

My death he did ordain,

For that I would not wed

A wicked knight, half slain.

But those whom he did send

To kill me in this place,

My youth they did befriend,

But cruel is my case.”

 

“Is it even so...” pondered Duarte to himself, “that this lovely maiden is the daughter of a king? If I render her assistance I may incur great danger, and if I leave her to die it will be a crying shame; what, then, am I to do?”

 

As he was thus contemplating in his mind, he heard a flapping of wings, and, looking in the direction whence the noise came, he saw a pair of perfectly white pigeons bearing a small basket between them, strung on a thin golden bar, which they held at each end between their beaks.

 

Descending, they deposited the basket by the side of the princess, who caressed them most tenderly, and then took from the basket some articles of food which she greedily ate (for she had not eaten since the previous morning), and after having finished the contents she again sang—

 

“I am the daughter of a king,

Who thinks that I am dead;

Here on this beach I sing,

By pigeons I am fed.

Thank you, my lovely birds,

Who are so kind to me.

But to what avail my words?

Oh, I a bird would be!”

 

This wish was no sooner uttered than Duarte, much to his astonishment, saw that the lovely princess had been turned into a white swan, with a small golden crown resting stoically atop her head.

 

Expanding her wings, she soared high above him, attended by her swathe of pigeons accompanying both flanks, and the trio flew out to sea; when suddenly Duarte observed a magnificent ship not far from the coast, whose deck was of burnished gold, and her sides of ivory fastened with gilded nails. The ropes were of thread silver, and the sails of white silk, while the masts and yards were made of the finest sandal-wood.

 

To the ship the three birds flew, and no sooner did they alight on the deck than Duarte observed that there were three beautiful maidens.

 

The princess sat on a richly ornamented chair, and the other two maidens on velvet cushions embroidered in gold at her feet.

 

Over them was spread a superb awning to shelter them from the rays of the sun, and the vessel glided over the vast expanse of water, now in one direction, now in another, as if the breeze blew to suit the sails.

 

Duarte was so astonished at what he saw that at last he got frightened, and fled, being young and nimble, he soon lost sight of the ship; but at every pace he seemed to hear a voice saying, “Run not away, future king of Meridia!”

 

Duarte continued running until he left the beach far behind, and was now in the pine-forest; nor did he stop till he was in the densest part, when, for very fatigued, he threw himself on the ground, and then he distinctly heard a voice say, “Duarte, you are destined to be King of Meridia; but tell no one.”

 

Not till then had he discovered that he was no longer dressed in fisherman’s attire, but that his clothes were of the finest cloth fringed with an effervescent golden lace.

 

Duarte, on seeing this, exclaimed, “I am enchanted. That princess is indeed a mermaid, and has cast a spell over me. I am undone, my cataratical eyes deceive me, and what I take for so much grandeur is but a deception.” Saying which, he started to his feet, and hurried towards his village as fast as his plump legs would carry him.

 

Arrived at the fishing hamlet, all his old companions paid him such deference that he tried to get out of their way, thinking they did but laugh at him, and, arriving at the door of his widowed mother’s cottage, he ran into the kitchen. His mother happened to be frying some cod, and when she saw a grand gentleman enter the apartment she took the pan off the fire, and, bowing low, said, “My noble sir, this house is too humble for such as you; allow me to conduct you to his reverence’s house, for there you will find accommodation more suited to your high estate.” 

 

Duarte would have replied to his mother, and sought to kiss her hand and ask her blessing, after the custom of the country; but, on attempting to speak, his tongue hung out of his mouth, and he made such a perplexing noise and so gesticulated that his mother was glad to get out of the house, followed, however, by her son and a large crowd of villagers who had congregated to see the grand stranger.

 

As soon as it was known throughout the village of the arrival of the grand stranger the church bells pealed, and the parish priest mingled with the crowd desirous of seeing the new arrival; but as soon as Duarte commenced gesticulating as before, the priest and all the rest of the people were much frightened, for they thought that he was dangerously mad.

 

Duarte, noticing this, sorrowfully turned away from his native village and took the high-road to the next town.

 

As he was going along, thinking of his present trouble, he observed a wide gate made of gold, opening into a beautiful garden, into which he hesitated not to enter; for he recollected what the wise woman of the village had once told him—that “grand clothes beget respect.”

 

“Open wide those gates, O worker midst the flowers,” exclaimed Duarte to an old gardener (for he had now recovered his speech). “I come in cloth of gold to speak unto my love.”

 

“Sir,” replied the old man, “you may always enter here, for you are Eduarte I. of Meridia, I well can see.”

 

“What very high balconies, a hundred feet in height!” exclaimed Duarte. “Tell me, good old man, does the princess ever come there?”

 

“To those balconies so high, to feel the cooling breeze,” replied the gardener, “the princess comes there every evening alone.”

 

“Should she ask you,” continued Duarte, “who I am, tell her that I am your son come from a distant land, and I will help you to water the pinks.”

 

At her usual time the princess came to her favourite balcony, and seeing Duarte watering the flowers, she beckoned to him, saying—

 

“O waterer of the pinks, come a little nearer and speak to me.”

 

“Is it true that you desire to speak to me?” inquired Duarte of the princess.

 

“No mirror bright ever reflected the truth more correctly than the words I uttered conveying my desire,” answered the princess.

 

“Here, then, you have me,” said Duarte. “Order me as your slave; but give me, for I am thirsty, a small ewer of water.”

 

The princess poured some water into a silver goblet, and having handed it to Duarte, he exclaimed—

 

“And in this mirror bright of crystal water pure, which does reflect thy form, I quench my heart’s deep thirst.”

 

“You see yonder palace at the end of the garden,” said the princess to Duarte. “Well, in that palace you will be lodged for the night; but should you ever tell anyone what you see there, you will put yourself in danger and cause me great trouble.”

 

Duarte promised to keep secret whatever he might see that night, and bidding “good night” to the princess, he hastened to the palace which the princess had pointed out to him, and, having entered it, he walked through the marble passage, which seemed to be interminable. On each side of him were rows of majestic columns, surmounted by gold capitals, and now and again he thought he saw the forms of lovely young maidens flitting among them..

 

Just as he was approaching a richly carved fountain surrounded by sacred palms, a maiden of surprising beauty seemed to be addressing a Ser in most impassioned tones, as if claiming his indulgence; but when Duarte got up to them he discovered that both were the work of the statuary.

 

At every step the surroundings became more magnificent, and the carved ceiling was of such exquisite workmanship that it seemed rather the work of the loom, being so like the finest lace, than of the sculptor.

 

At last he arrived at the end of this avenue of columns, and noticing a door in front of him, he opened it, and found himself standing on a marble quay, against which the sea waves were washing.

 

Scanning the vast expanse of water before him, he observed approaching him the same beautiful ship he had seen in the morning.

 

When the ship came alongside the quay, a sailor sprung on shore, and made her fast by a golden cable; then, addressing Duarte, he said—

 

“I am glad you have not kept us waiting, for our royal mistress is very wishful to consult you, as one of her favourite doves has broken its right wing, and if you cannot cure it, the princess will die of starvation.”

 

Duarte made no reply, but stepped on board the ship, which soon got under way, and within a short time they were approaching the coast he knew so well.

 

Having landed, Duarte saw the princess seated on the sand, nursing one of her white pigeons.

 

“Duarte of Meridia,” the princess exclaimed, “a stranger dared to enter my royal father’s garden, and in assisting to water the pinks he trod on the wing of my favourite pigeon, and he has broken it.”

 

“Señora,” replied Duarte, “the intruder did probably seek you, and had no idea of hurting the lovely bird.”

 

“That matters not,” continued the princess, “for my principal supporter is wounded, and you must cure her. Cut out my heart, and steep this bird in my warm blood, and when I am dead throw my body into the sea.”

 

“How can I kill one so lovely?” asked Duarte. “I would rather die myself than hurt you!”

 

“Then you do not care for me, or else you would do as I bid you,” answered the princess.

 

“Princess, I cannot and will not kill you; but I will do anything else you bid me,” exclaimed Duarte.

 

“Well, then, since you will not kill me, I order you to take this pigeon back with you; for I know it was you who walked in my father’s garden to-day,” continued the princess. “And tomorrow evening, when you see that princess whom you saw today, you must kill her, and let her blood fall over this pretty bird.”

 

Duarte was now in great trouble, for he had promised an oath unto her to do anything she doth required, except killing her, and he could not break his word; so taking hold of the pigeon very gently, and bidding goodbye to the princess, he again stepped on board the ship, and so depressed was he that he had arrived at the marble quay without being aware of it.

 

On landing, he retraced his steps through the avenue of pillars, and found himself once more in the garden, where the old gardener was again watering the pinks.

 

“What very high balconies!” exclaimed Duarte. “Tell me, old gardener of the ancient times, if the princess comes here today.”

 

“The princess loves the fresh sea breeze,” answered the old man, “and tonight she will come to the balcony, for her noble lover will be waiting for her.”

 

“And who is the princess’s lover?” inquired Duarte.

 

“If you will help me to water the pinks, I will tell you,” said the old man.

 

Duarte readily acquiesced, and putting down the pigeon where he thought no harm would happen to it, he commenced assisting the gardener to water the pinks.

 

After a silence of a few minutes the gardener replied

 

“There were once seven pigeons who said, ‘Seven pigeons are we, and with other seven pigeons we might all be mated; but, as it is, we must remain seven pigeons.’”

 

“Yes,” put in Duarte; “but I want to know who the princess’s lover is.”

 

The old man took no heed of the interruption, and continued—

 

“There were once seven pigeons who said, ‘Seven pigeons are we——’”

 

“Stop!” cried Duarte; “You think me a fool! Tell me who this noble lover is!”

 

“Sir,” cried the gardener, with a very serious countenance, “there were once seven pigeons who said, ‘Seven pigeons are we, and——’”

 

“Take your watering-can,” shouted Duarte in disgust; “I will not listen to your nonsense!”

 

“And yet there were once seven pigeons who said, ‘Seven pigeons are we;’ and now the last of them is gone, for the noble lover has been false to his trust,” exclaimed the old man, looking very cunningly at Duarte.

 

At these words Duarte looked towards the spot where he had placed the pigeon, and it was no longer there.

 

Seized with a fit of fury, he was about to lay hands on the gardener, when, to his astonishment, he found that he was also gone.

 

“I am undone,” cried the fearful Duarte; “and now I shall not see the princess again.” Saying which he fainted away, and might probably have remained there some time, had he not heard a voice murmuring, in a jocular manner—

 

“There were once seven pigeons who said, ‘Seven pigeons are we, and——’”

 

Duarte started to his feet, and nearest him was the princess whom he had previously seen in the balcony.

 

“Why do you thus tease me, princess?” said Duarte. “I want to hear no more about the seven horrid pigeons.”

 

“Don Duarte de Meridia,” answered the princess, “I must tell you that the old gardener to whom you spoke is a magician, and he has possessed himself of the last means I had of regaining my liberty, for I am under his power. Is it not true that you came here with the purpose of killing me?”

 

“I was under a vow to do so,” replied Duarte; “but I cannot kill you, although I would rather slay you, fair princess, than do you a more grievous injury.”

 

“Go back, then, to the downtrodden lady whom you left on the shore, and tell her that you have been false to your promises,” said the princess.

 

“How sorry I am,” exclaimed Duarte, “that I was ever destined to be King of Meridia! When I was a poor fisherman, I lived a much happier life!”

 

“Duarte of Meridia, the moon will be at full tonight, and you may then rescue me,” said the princess, “if you have the courage to meet the wicked magician in this garden at midnight, for then is his power weakest.”

 

“I am prepared for the worst,” replied Duarte, “and I fear not your gaoler.”

 

“Well, then,” continued the princess, “when the magician sees you he will again tell you about the seven pigeons; but when he has finished, you must tell him that there were once seven wives who had only one husband, and that they are waiting outside to see him. Do as I tell you, and if you are not afraid of his anger, you may be able to free me.”

 

Duarte promised to do as he was told, and the princess having retired into the palace, Duarte amused himself by walking under the lofty balconies, watching the fire-flies grow brighter as night came on.

 

Just about midnight the magician was seen watering the pinks, and as soon as he perceived Duarte he said—

 

“There were once seven pigeons who said, ‘Seven pigeons are we, and with other seven pigeons we might all be mated; but, as it is, we must remain seven pigeons.’”

 

“Quite so,” put in Duarte. “And once upon a time there were seven wives who had only one husband, and they are waiting outside to see him.”

 

The magician, at these words, lost all control over his temper; but Duarte heeded him not, rather did he endeavour to increase his rage by repeating all about the seven wives.

 

“I am undone!” cried the magician; “but if you will induce the spirits of my seven wives to again seek the grave, I will give you what you want, the fair princess.”

 

“Give me the princess first,” answered Duarte, “and then I will free you of your wives.”

 

“Take her, then,” said the magician; “here she is. And forget not what you have promised me, for I may tell you in confidence that a man with seven wives cannot play the magician.”

 

Duarte hurried away with the princess; and after they had been married and crowned, the princess, who was now queen, spoke to him—

 

“Duarte, the magician who held me captive from you was Ire, the cursed demon of Merid. Upon there were the balconies so high! When you saw me on the beach fed by pigeons, it was that you should know my power; on the shore I was attended by winged messengers, and on the sea I sailed about at pleasure.”

 

“But what about the wounded pigeon?” asked Duarte.

 

“Recollect, Duarte, what you said to me in the garden,” answered the princess—“that you would rather slay me than do me a more grievous injury. That poor pigeon with its broken wing could no more hope to soar aloft than an injured woman to mix with her former associates.”

 

“And what about the seven wives who were waiting outside, and who so frightened the old magician, Ire?” continued Duarte.

 

“They are the seven deadly sins, who would each have a tongue for itself, and yet without tongues are enough to frighten Ire,” answered the princess.

 

“And who am I, then,” asked Duarte, “to be so exalted now?”

 

“You are the wise man who strove to do his best, yet tried not to exalt himself above his position,” sweetly answered the princess.

 

“So that the magician Ire has unwillingly raised me… a poor fisherman to be king?” questioned Duarte.

 

“Not Ire alone, but much more so thy own worth.”

 

And with that the story ends. Duarte, once a humble fisher, raised to the status of royalty. The epic converges on all tenants that the Meridian people live and abide by; humility, self worth, and dedication. The epic of Duarte has been passed down from the ruling Merid family for centuries.

 

[lawnmowerman 3040]

Gwythyr looks forward to eat Caldo Verde with his token black friend, Duarte.

[Galendar 631]

A young rapscallion of Helena picks his teeth as his senile grandfather tells him the tale for the sixth time.