Lenda das Amendoeiras em Flor - (Portuguese Version)

É muito antiga esta lenda e foi atribuída a muitas regiões. Parece que tem as suas origens mais remotas na Pérsia, país tradicional de amendoeiras e de gentileza.
No entanto, ela surge também na Turquia e em todo o Próximo Oriente.
Em Espanha foi atribuída à cidade de Córdova e a Sevilha.
No Garbe português foi atribuída a Silves.

Há muitos e muitos séculos, antes de Portugal existir e quando o Al-Gharb pertencia aos árabes, reinava em Chelb, a futura Silves, o famoso e jovem rei Ibn-Almundim que nunca tinha conhecido uma derrota.

Um dia, entre os prisioneiros de uma batalha, viu a linda Gilda, uma princesa loira de olhos verdes e porte altivo.

Impressionado, o rei mouro deu-lhe a liberdade, conquistou-lhe progressivamente a confiança e um dia confessou-lhe o seu amor e pediu-lhe para ser sua mulher.

Foram felizes durante algum tempo, mas um dia a bela princesa do Norte caiu doente sem razão aparente.

Um velho sábio pediu para ser recebido pelo desesperado rei e revelou-lhe que a princesa sofria de nostalgia da neve do seu país distante.

A solução estava ao alcance do rei mouro, pois bastaria mandar plantar por todo o seu reino muitas amendoeiras que quando florissem as suas brancas flores dariam à princesa a ilusão da neve e ela ficaria curada da sua saudade.

Na Primavera seguinte, o rei levou Gilda à janela do terraço do castelo e a princesa sentiu que as suas forças regressavam ao ver aquela visão indescritível das flores brancas que se estendiam sob o seu olhar.

O rei mouro e a princesa viveram longos anos de um intenso amor esperando ansiosos, ano após ano, a Primavera que trazia o maravilhoso espectáculo das amendoeiras em flor.

Fim

Lenda das Amendoeiras em Flor - Legend of the Almond Blossom (English Version)

It is a very old legend and this was attributed to many regions. It seems that has its earliest origins in Persia, traditional country of almond and kindness.
However, it appears also in Turkey and throughout the Middle East.
In Spain was attributed to the city of Cordoba and Seville.
In Portuguese “Garbe” was attributed to Silves.

There are many, many centuries before Portugal and there when the Al-Gharb belonged to the Arabs, Chelb reigned in the future Silves, the famous young king and prince Ibn-Almundim had never known defeat.

One day, among the prisoners of a battle, saw the beautiful Gilda, a blond princess with green eyes and proud bearing.

Impressed, the Moorish king gave him the freedom, it gradually won the trust and one day he confessed to him his love and he asked her to be his wife.

They were happy for a while, but eventually the beautiful princess of the North fell ill for no apparent reason.

An old wise asked to be received by the desperate king and told him that the princess suffered from nostalgia snow in their country apart.

The solution was within reach of the Moorish king, since it would have planted throughout his kingdom many almond trees that flowered when its white flowers give the princess the illusion of snow and she would be cured of his longing.


The following spring, the king took Gilda to the window of the castle terrace and the princess felt that its forces were returning to see that elusive vision of white flowers that stretched before his eyes.

The Moorish king and princess lived long years of an intense love anxious waiting, year after year, the spring that brought the wonderful spectacle of the almond blossom.

The End

The Barcelos Legend's Rooster

The legend of the rooster (galo) from Barcelos (a small city east of Braga) is so old that there are nearly as many variations as there are dialects in Portugual.

It goes something like this:

A Galician pilgrim who was passing through town on a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela was accused of committing a serious crime: possibly theft, perhaps murder.

Protesting his innocence in the face of execution, he demanded to see the magistrate who had pronounced his sentence.

His request granted, the Galician was taken to the house of the magistrate, who was entertaining guests.

Pointing to a roast chicken (a staple on any Portuguese banquet table), he shouted, “As sure as I am innocent that cock will crow if I am hanged!”

Here the story varies. Some versions say the cock crowed immediately and the man was released. Other versions say guests derided the accused while the party continued and the man was sent to the gallows, but the judge ordered that the cock not be touched.

By the time the man was to be hanged, evening had fallen and the judge was in his house.

Suddenly, to everyone’s amazement, the roasted rooster transformed and began to crow.

The Galician was saved just in time, and released.

According to the legend, the pilgrim came back later to Barcelos to carve the Cruzeiro do Senhor do Galo (Cross of the Lord Cock).

Nowadays we can see the Cross of the Cock in the Archaelogical Museum of Barcelos.

The Portuguese and Spanish get along a little better, but the Galo de Barcelos has become one of the most instantly recognized cultural symbols of the Portuguese. No Portuguese home is without at least one galo somewhere: embroidered on a table cloth, tattooed on a kid’s back, painted on something ceramic.

Graça Pinheiro - 4 th Year - B

Ploubaznec Meeting - "La Soupe aux Pois"

Stone Soup Legend - Lenda da Sopa da Pedra

There is a legend attached to the Stone soup recipe.
The main character in the legend varies from a beggar to a monk to a shepherd.
The ingredients also vary considerably, but the main ingredient is of course a stone.

A very hungry man knocked at a farmer’s door late one night begging for food.
The mealtime had long passed and there were no leftovers.
The man, who held a gleaming stone in his hand, asked if he might make some simple requests.
“I must have a pot with some water and a fire”.
These were provided.
He placed the stone in the pot and then said:
“This will taste with a bit of olive oil and salt”.
These were duly provided. As the water boiled, the man looked at his hosts and remarked:
“I am sure you would like to taste my soup. Perhaps the flavour would be improved if we add some bacon or sausage or vegetables.”
These were duly provided.
As the soup simmered the man enchanted the family with tales of his travels.
In due course wine and cheese were placed on the table and everyone eat of the soup until only the stone was left.

The man washed the stone, placed it in his pocket, thanked his hosts and disappeared into the night.

The english version of the "LES BONS AMIS", "The good friends"

"It's snowing so much that the fields are completely white, completely white.

The little rabbit has nothing left to eat. Nothing.

He opens the door.

"Brrr!!!.... How cold it is!"

The little rabbit goes looking for something, anything to eat.

And suddenly he finds ... guess what?

Two orange carrots, this big, that were sleeping under the snow.

Munch, munch, munch. He eats one of them.

He isn't hungry anymore.

He says to himself:

"It's so cold, it's snowing so much, that the little horse, my neighbor, must surely be hungry. I'm going to take the other carrot to his house."

The little rabbit runs, runs to the home of the little horse, his neighbor.

Knock! Knock!

The little rabbit opens the door...

Ah! The little horse isn't there!!

The little rabbit leaves the carrot ... and departs.

In the snow that slides and cracks the little horse is looking for something to eat. And suddenly he finds ... guess what?

A big beet, white and purple, that formed a little bump under the snow.

Munch, munch, munch. The little horse eats the beet.

Good, good! He isn't hungry anymore, and he returns to his house.

He returns home, sees the carrot, and says:

"Who brought me that? It's the little grey rabbit: I saw his little pawprints in the snow! That little grey rabbit is so nice!"

Then he says to himself:

"It's so cold, it's snowing so much, that the sheep must surely be hungry. I'm going to take him this carrot right away and then come back home."

The little horse gallops! Clop! Clop! Clop! Clop! Clop! Clop! To the big sheep's house.

Knock! Knock!

The little horse opens the door.

Ah! The sheep isn't there!

The little horse sets the carrot down and leaves.

The big curly sheep had gone to look for something to eat. And suddenly he finds ... guess what?

A red cabbage hidden deep in the snow.

He eats the cabbage leaf by leaf, munch, munch, munch.

He's not hungry anymore and he returns to his house.

The sheep enters his home, sees the carrot and says:

"A carrot, who brought me that? It's the little horse, I bet: I see his hoofprints in the snow!"

And the sheep also says:

"It's so cold, it's snowing so much, the deer must surely be hungry: I'll take him the carrot and then come back home."

The big sheep trots, trots on the snow, which is slippery and crackly, on the frozen fields through the woods.

All the way to the house of the little red deer.

Knock, knock, the sheep opens the door...

Ah! The deer isn't there!

The sheep leaves the carrot and departs.

The deer had gone to look for something to eat. He had found ... guess what? A tuft of frozen grass and the buds on a little pine tree.

He eats so much of that that he isn't hungry anymore.

He goes back home, sees the carrot and says:

"Who brought me that? The brown sheep, I think: he left a bit of wool behind as he left here."

And the deer also says:

"It's so cold, it's snowing so much, the grey rabbit must surely be hungry. I'm going to take him this carrot right away and then I'll come back home."

The little red deer jumps, jumps, over the hedges, over the holly, in the leafless woods.

He arrives, he finally arrives at the door of the little rabbit.

When he returned home, the little grey rabbit had fallen asleep.

The deer opens the door very quietly and sets down the carrot, very quietly, next to the bed.

The rabbit wakes up.

The deer says to him:

"It's so cold, it's snowing so much, perhaps you have nothing to eat! I brought you a carrot."

And so it was that, from the horse to the sheep, from the sheep to the deer, the carrot returned to the little grey rabbit.

Ah! Such good, good friends!

Die Geschichte der Maria Kastanie

Der Himmel war bereits ganz grau und fast nie schien die Sonne und weil es nicht regnete, gingen die Jungen zum Garten spielen.

Es war ein sehr grösser und schöner Garten, mit grünem Gitter, damit die Autos nicht rüber hereinkamen und über die Jungen fuhren. Sie rannten und spielten, in viele Weisen: einige spielten im Schwingen, andere gaben den Enten Brot, andere setzten die Füße auf fallenden Blätter ein – Crack! Crack! - unter den Schuhen, andere liefen mit geöffnetten Armen hinter den Tauben.

Es war gut zum Garten gehen. Auch ohne Sonne, die Kinder hatten heiße Füße und rote Backen, von rennen und springen.

Eines Tages, erschien im Garten ein anderes Mädchen: sie hatte keine rote Backen, aber ein braunes Gesicht, mit zwei dunkel und glänzenden Augen.

Wie heisst du? - fragten die Kinder.
Maria. Maria Kastanie.(1)
Wie lustig! Maria Kastanie!
Willst du spielen?
Ja!

Sie begannen zu spielen. Sie rannten schneller als alle.

Wer kann mich fangen? Fängt mich niemand?
Niemand fängt Maria Kastanie!

Sie lief so schnell! Sie sah das Auto des kastanieverkäufers, bei der Tür des Gartens nicht, und schlag gegen ihn.
Crash!

Der Beutel der Kastanien fiel und verbreitete sie ganz auf dem Boden. Maria Kastanie fiel auch, und sass mitten in den Kastanien.
Oh! Freches Mädchen! - schrie der Kastanieverkäufer heraus. Er war böse.
Es war onhe Absicht! - sagte Maria Kastanie.
Es war onhe Absicht! - erklärten die Jungen.
Ich helfe alles aufzuheben – sagte Maria Kastanie,kniete unter und begann, die fallenden Kastanien aufzuheben. Die anderen Kinder hilfen auch. Bald wurden alle Kastanie aufgehoben.

Wo sind deine Eltern? - fragte der Kastanieverkäufer.
Sie gingen Arbeit suchen.
Und du?
Ich kam Freunde zu suchen.
Du hast sie schon gefunden: wir sind deine Freunde – sagte ein Junge.
Und ich auch – sagte der Kastanieverkäufer, und setzte die Hand an Maria Kastanies weiches Haar, so weich wie die Wolle der jungen Schafe.

Dann sagt er:

Wenn Freunde sich finden, ist es Tradition eine Party zu machen. Machen wir eine Kastanien- party? Mögt ihr Kastanien?
Ja! Ja! – Schrien die Jungen.
Ich weiß nicht. Ich habe nie Kastanien gegessen, im Land woher ich komme gibt es nicht Kastanien – sagte Maria Kastanie.
Du wirdst gleich sehen wie gut sie sind!
Und der Kastanieverkäufer legte Kastanien und Salz und setzte sie im Feuer auf zu grillen.
Nach ein paar Minuten waren die Kastanien fertig....Bang! Bang!
Oh! Schüsse?! - Maria Kastanie erschrak sich, weil sie von einem Land kam, wo es Krieg gab.
Hab keine Angst. Es sind die Kastanien die zu der Hitze knallen.
Aus der Kastanienröstpfanne kam ein hellblaues Rauch und es roch gut. Blau und sehr heiß waren jetzt die Kastanien die der Kastanieverkäufer Maria Kastanie und ihrer Freunde gab.

Gut, sehr gut! - lachte Maria Kastanie während sie die Kastanien aß.
Wenn du mir helfen willst, kannst du alle Tage Kastanien essen. Kannst du Papiertüten machen?
Maria Kastanie konnte nicht, aber sie lernte es.
Sie machte die Papiertüten wo der Kastanieverkäufer die Kastanien hineinlegte und vor den Gartentor sie verkaufte.

(1) Auf portugiesisch, das Wort «Kastanien» gilt gleichzeitig für das Frucht und auch für die Farbe braun.

The Mary Chestnut's Story

The sky was grey and the sun rarely came out, but as long as it didn't rain, the children played in the garden.

It was a very big and beautiful garden, surrounded by a green painted fence that prevented cars from driving in and running over the children, who played freely in various ways: some played in the swings and slides, others were by the lake feeding bread to the ducks, some were stepping on the crackling dry leaves, which would crackle - Crack! Crack! – under their boots, some would run, with their arms opened, after the pigeons that flu up and away, also with open wings.

It felt good going to the garden. Even without the sun, children would warm their feet and redden their cheeks running and jumping up and down.

One day, a different girl turned up in the garden: her cheeks weren't red, but she had a sweet round brown face, with two big dark shining eyes.

- What's your name? – the children asked.
- Mary. Sometimes, people call me Mary Chestnut (1).
- That's funny, Mary Chestnut! Do you want to play?
- Yes I do.

They started to play catch.

Mary Chestnut was running faster than all of them.

- Who can catch me? Does nobody catch me?!
- Nobody catches Mary Chestnut!

She was running so much. So fast, that she didn't see the chestnuts vendor's cart, by the garden's gate, and run into it.
Crash!
The chestnuts bag fell and spread them all over the floor.
Mary Chestnut also fell down and found herself sitting in the middle of the chestnuts.
- Oh! Naughty girl! – yelled an angry chestnuts seller.
- She didn't mean it – explained the other children.
- I'll help to pick everything up – said Mary Chestnut, kneeling down and starting to pick up the fallen chestnuts.

All the other children helped too.
Soon the chestnuts were all picked up

- Where are your parents? – asked the chestnuts seller to Mary Chestnut.
- They are looking for a job.
- And you?
- I was looking for friends.
- You've found them: we are your friends – the children said.
- I'm your friend also – said the chestnuts seller.

He laid a hand on Mary Chestnut's curly soft hair, as soft as the wool on a young lamb.

He then said:

- When friends meet, there's usually a party to celebrate. Let's celebrate with a chestnut party! Does everyone like's chestnuts?
- Yes! Yes, we do! – shouted the children.
- I don't know?! I've never tasted chestnuts. It doesn't grow in my homeland - said Mary Chestnut.
- You'll taste it and know how good it is.

The seller put some chestnuts and salt into the spit and roasted then on top of the fire.
Soon, the nuts were snapping... Bang! Bang!
- Oh! Are these gunshots? – Mary Chestnut was scared, because her homeland was at war.
- Don't be scared. The nuts are snapping with the heat.
And from the spit a light-blue nice smelling smoke rose in the air.
And blue were the very hot toasted chestnuts the Seller gave to Mary Chestnut and her friends.

- This is tasty – said the smiling Mary Chestnut eating the roasted chestnuts.
- If you'll help me, you can eat chestnuts everyday. Do you know how to make paper cartridges?

Mary Brown didn't know, but she soon learned.

She's the one who rolls newspaper into cartridges the seller's fills with chestnut's to sell to customers by the garden's gate.

The End

(1) – in Portuguese the word Chestnut (the fruit) and brown (the colour) is written the same way "castanha", so, in the story, the word is used with a double meaning, as the fruit and as her name symbolizing the colour of her skin.