The Love of the Oranges Three - the Spanish Tale collected at Bèlgida
Once upon a time there was a widowed king with an only son, whose name was Dalmau. He was always sickly and sad and wanted nothing more than to keep to his bed.
This was a double misfortune for the prince, for it prevented him enjoying both his youth and his realm, which, though small, was a happy, pleasant place, located among great mountains with a mild climete.
Dalmau was twenty years old at the time of our tale, handsome and slim. But his mysterious melancholy, which no doctor had been able to diagnose, left him worn and pale. The king was at a loss as to how to relieve his son’s dark thoughts. He ordered that a shallow reservoir be built in the palace gardens and filled with the rich olive oil produced in those lands. When it was completed, he decreed that all of the poor who so desired could come and fill up one jar per person from the pool. He hoped that, apart from its being an act of charity, the noise and movement of all the folks who came, above all the women, would serve to cheer up the delicate youth. And so it was.
The cozy chamber where the prince Dalmau spent his days had large windows looking over the gardens and he could see the reservoir as he lay in his bed.
One morning, when everything was ready, the guards opened the gates and the procession of the poor with jars came. Most of them were women dressed in rags, who were shouting at each other: “I was here first!” “Get behind me, you!” and so on.
At first the prince paid them little attention; but he gradually began to appreciate the humor and spontaneity of the folk and soon, more than once, he was struck with fits of laughter. He became quite curious to see them all every day and found them so entertaining that in a few days his health was much better. He frequently got out of bed and sat before the window, always accompanied by his servant Baldiri, from where he could observe without being seen himself. The spring sun bathed him in warmth and he breathed in the perfume of the flowering branches.
Day by day the level of the olive oil decreased, until the day came when only a small puddle was left at the bottom of the reservoir. There was hardly enough for a taste.
But the king’s son was getting stronger every day, and now only lay a bed to sleep. One morning he got up at around ten, and Baldiri opened the large window so Dalmau could sit and look at the reservoir. Since everyone knew there was no more oil, no one had shown up. The prince passed the time listening to the song of the greenfinches and when the servant - Baldiri left the room to attend to some duties, Dalmau saw a very old woman enter. She wore a dark dress, which must have been quite elegant in other days. She was clearly a lady who had fallen on hard times and hadn’t wanted to show up in her ragged clothes among the noisy crowd and so had waited till the very end. In short, she must have been ashamed of her poverty.
Dalmau was intrigued: “Why is she coming now,” he thought, “when there’s no oil left to be had?” And he watched in amazement as she approached the reservoir, produced a white rag, bent over and began to rub the floor and squeeze out the last remaining oil, drop by drop, into her jar.
He contemplated the grotesque figure of that poor old lady wiping up the drops and then squeezing them out, and he had a sudden fit of laughter... like a child. But then it occurred to him that out of pride this aged lady looked down on all the rest of the penniless poor who shouted and laughed and were happy for a spell as they took advantage of the king’s self-interested charity. The thought of it darkened his mood and he felt a sudden resentment for the destitute old woman. In the meantime, she had finished scouring the bottom of the reservoir and, casting glances from left to right as though she were afraid, walked toward the exit. And what does that spoiled and self-centered Dalmau do? Well, he searched the room for some ivory marbles he played with as a child and shoots them at her with a slingshot. The first one missed. He fired another and held his breath... That one missed too. Dalmau moved closer to the window. This time he hit his mark and a loud cliiink! was heard. “Oh Mary Mother of God!” the woman screamed. Her jar had broken into three pieces and the precious liquid, like transparent gold, streamed down her hands and arms, staining her worn dress.
“Who did this?” Her eyes were flaming with indignation. She heard someone laugh and looked up to see the prince staring down from the window. Then she spoke up with a sharp, broken voice that struck some fear into the prince’s heart.
And do you know what that old woman said, what curse she flung at him? It was this: "You may be the son of the king and king you may someday be... But never will you ever win the Love of the Oranges Three".
All the birds... all fell silent when this spell was pronounced. Suddenly feeling repentant, the prince cried out in that strange silence: “My good woman... Do not go! I shall give you a jug of oil! Come in, good woman, come in.” said the youth sweetly. I beg your forgiveness for the ugly tricks I have played on you. My faithful Baldiri will take a jug of oil to your home.”
The lady’s attitiude changed and she said, happy now. “And as I see you so young and polite, all is forgiven.”
Baldiri went to fetch the olive oil and the prince asked: “As now we are friends, please tell me what I must do to attain the Love of the Oranges Three. My heart tells me that when I find it, I shall shake off my strange sickness.”
The old woman replied, “I am certain that your sickness is nothing more than a terrible thirst for love. A woman’s love, mother or wife; and it came from the death of your mother, the queen, may she rest in peace.”
“So what can I do?” -asked the sad prince again. The woman explained him that the Love of the Oranges Three lies in a distant country and the finest knights journeyed to win it and failed to return which means they died in the attempt.
But Dalmau’s heart was inflamed, and the prospect of danger only served to strengthen him. More than anything in the world he wished to find that mysterious Love. So he said excitedly, “Nothing will stop me! “
Seeing that the old woman advised him to prepare the best horse, a jug of milk, a lamb from the royal livestock and three good brooms. Then she reached into her apron and gave him a small box. The box contained a powder which added into the milk made it fresh.
Then she gave the prince the exact directions describing the whole route to the destination which was a shady oasis. At the very center of that oasis there was going to be the palace of the Orange Three of Love.
Dalmau, hanging on every word, smiled broadly and asked why he would need the milk, the lamb and the three brooms?”
And again the woman explained that on the way to the oasis ther would be three paths and the middle one leads directly to the palace. She said: "When you get close you’ll see an iron gates. Do not go near. Wait, instead, until you hear the clock in the tower strike twelve. The gates will open then. Go through them as quickly as you can; you’ll have five minutes to do the deed, for the clock strikes again at 12.05 and the gates will close. If you remain trapped inside you will surely die.”
Dalmau didn’t miss a thing. “As soon as you’re inside, you’ll hear the roar of a lion. When it rushes out to devour you, give it the lamb and it will let you pass. After that, from beneath a mass of green vines at the front of the palace a horrid long serpent will slither out. Jump off of your horse, open the jug of milk and give it to him. The serpent will let you pass by too. Next an ugly witch will come out of the building. Do not look at her for anything in the world if you don't want to be turned to a stone. Instead, looking down at the ground, throw the three brooms at her feet. She’ll pick them up and go back into the palace. That’s when you must go around the mansion to a small courtyard where you’ll find the famous Orange Three of Love. At the foot of the tree,” the lady continued, “you’ll see a gigantic African resting against the roots. Look at him carefully! If his eyes are open, he’s asleep. If they’re closed, he’s awake. If he’s sleeping, pick the three oranges hanging from the boughs.“
"And then, what should I do with the three oranges?” he asked. (That was the most important thing!) But she didn’t reply. “Tell me, good woman,” insisted the prince, “What must I do to find Love?”
But to Dalmau’s great astonishment, the lady started to change colors and then disappeared.
But Dalmau didn’t lose heart. Early next morning he set out to find the Love he needed so much. The journey was long and dangerous but the Prince knew exactly what to do and finally, in the midst he saw the legendary orange tree at last.
It was a noble thing, with a high, pompous crown and shiny, deep-green leaves. Only three perfectly round oranges hung solemnly from its boughs. But at the foot of that tree was the most gigantic and ferocious-looking African you could imagine.
Keeping calm, he examined the giant’s eyes. What good luck, my God! They were open! “He’s asleep,” thought the prince; and he went up to the tree, picked the three oranges and started to run away.
Dalmau just managed to ride through the gates with the last chime of the clock, and the horse’s tail got stuck as they closed. But it was only a few loose hairs. The prince cut through them with his sword and galloped away. Then though, the gate opened again and out ran the giant, now as awake and alert as a fox, braying and huffing like a dragon. It was enough to strike fear in the calmest heart in the world. Knowing that he carried the Three Oranges of Love next to his breast – that is, the Love of the Oranges Three – the prince felt a supreme confidence in his luck and in his life. It was as though he could glimpse a strong light, or hear a secret music, like a current of joy that would never end. But the giant, with his very long legs, was coming dangerously close. The prince looked over his shoulder and saw him about a hundred paces behind. He commended himself to God and his luck as the conqueror of the Three Oranges of Love.
He wasted no more time. Riding on at a quick pace, he was soon outside of the beautiful and now fog-laden oasis. Then Dalmau noticed that he was drenched in sweat from the dangerous ride and the recent wrenching emotions. He tried a canteen and found it as light as a feather; not a drop of water was left. And in the other one? It did have a few scant drops, which he drank down carefully. Where would he be able to refill them?
He started to wonder what he should do with the three mysterious oranges he had beneath his shirt. His heart told him that they would help him to find true love and good health some day. But he couldn’t imagine how. When he got back to the palace he would seek the advice of his father’s counselors. They would call on the wisest man in the kingdom to decide how best to proceed.
All of these thoughts made him feel happy. He had rested a bit, but was still thirsty and weak. Talking to himself made him feel better. The thought came into his mind like a bolt of lightning. Should he eat one of the oranges? In any case, nature made oranges to be eaten, no matter how mysterious they may be.
He could already taste that rich juice of the queen of all the fruits... But, not quite knowing how, he conjured up the willpower to resist the temptation.
Eventually, he could fight the desire no longer: he sat up, took out an orange, cut it with his sword, began to remove the peel and cloof! The orange burst open... And out of it came a woman of about twenty years of age; she was very pretty and had an elegant figure.
And then she asked him unabashedly: “Sir Knight, have you water for me to wash with?”
“No, my lady. How could I?” he stuttered.
“Have you a comb for me to comb my hair?”
“I have not.”
“Have you powder for me to powder my face?”
“No.”
“In that case, I shall go back to my orange tree!” And, with a look of disgust, she vanished.
Everything was still and sad again. At his feet lay the two dusty half spheres of the peel of the first Orange of Love.
The next day, he set off dully again. Fortunatelly, he found the town with an inn and a bazaar, where he bought an ivory comb and a box of sweet-smelling oriental powders.
The following day he was a new man. He bathed, had breakfast, bought provisions for the road. At the end of the day he didn’t have any patience concerning the mystery of the two remaining oranges. What could there be inside? Was there another lady ? He decided to check it.
Just as he suspected... a young woman comes out of the orange, if possible even more attractive than the first. Just as touchy as beautiful, she asks him hurriedly: “Have you a comb for my hair?”
“Yes. Here,” replies Dalmau, self-satisfied.
“Have you powders so I can powder my face?”
“Take these,” and he offers her the blessed box.
“Have you water I can wash with?
The prince shook the two canteens... and they were both empty! What a mistake! “No... but I can bring you some.”
But in that very moment she disappeared like a mist, when it’s touched by the sun.
That night, in a foul mood, Dalmau left the road he was following and took a path that seemed to lead toward a dim light.. It was the well-known highland village. He knew he was in the pleasant and familiar land of his own kingdom but he dared not touch the third orange till he wont have comb, powder and water.
When he was only a few hours out from his father’s house, the capital in sight in the distance, he thought: “So, what if I open it here?”
Without another thought he draws his sword, takes out the orange and makes a long cut in its shiny, aromatic peel. And of course, there was a cloof! as before and a princess appeared... yes, she was a real princess – no doubt about it. So beautiful! Her gown, with a discrete pattern of flowers, was encrusted with tiny jewels that broke the sunlight into thousands of sparks. Her large, expressive eyes were as blue as the sky... Everything about her was tremendously elegant.
This time Dalmau didn’t act as before; this time it was worse. He was speechless, and he could feel his heart pounding like a hammer. She smiled, and the prince was emboldened to respond with a delicate bow.
“Have you water that I can wash with?” she asks, for she had appeared with her back to the pool.
“Behind you is all you could wish for,” says Dalmau happily. “Have you a comb for my hair?”
“I have kept this ivory comb for you,” he answers; and it was true.
“Have you powders so I can powder my face?”
“Yes, my lady; here they are,” offering her the box.
And seeing that the Prince placed one knee on the ground and introduced himself: “I am Dalmau, prince of the kingdom of the High Mountains... I request your hand, whoever you may be, in marriage.”
It took the lady some seconds to respond. Then, she looked into his eyes and said: “I am the princess Silvana, of the kingdom of Quiet Waters. I was kidnapped by the wizard of the Palace of the Oranges of Love, as were other ladies before me. It was written that a gallant youth would come from the lands to the north to free me... and that I would marry him! So it is my destiny... a fate that also pleases me,” Silvana modestly answered”
That moment they probably fell in love but the both decided that the Prince would go on ahead and explain the circumstances to his father and then return for her in a sumptuous carriage laden with flowers and with white horses.
But as you know things almost never turn out as we plan, especially when the plans are not well thought out.
In fact, Dalmau reached his father’s palace after an hour’s gallop and rushed into the king’s chambers to tell him of all that had happened. But it took some time and Silvana, all alone, was feeling bored and sad. Each hour seemed to her like a day. She decided to go for a walk and then it happened. She met horrible witch who turned Silvana into a soft butterfly. And, oh! It was in her power to imitate the poor Princess form.
When the afternoon sun was moving down toward the high mountaintops to the west, and at last there was a persistent ringing of silver bells, the false Silvana had been sitting at the edge of the pool awaiting Dalmau.
The king’s son came forward, all excited, took the simulated princess’s hand and said in a loud, tremulous voice: “My friends, I here present my wife-to-be, the princess Silvana"
What a disaster!
That witch in the guise of a princess was in a rush. Settled into the palace and introduced to the king, she requested that he arrange the nuptials as soon as possible in order to avoid gossip. The king found this reasonable and within a week’s time the festive occasion began. And the ceremony was performed with all of the pomp and luxury typical of royal weddings.
And when the priest spoke up: “Do you take this woman as your lawfully wedded wife?”
The prince answered: “I do!” And a happy “oooh!” broke out all around. At that moment a large butterfly appeared above the altar and fluttered about the princely couple’s heads. The onlookers were amazed. “What a beautiful creature!”
There was an angry cry. It was the bride, lashing out at the thing with the folds of her veil and flowers and when the butterfly had settled upon Dalmau’s shoulder she screamed: “Kill it!”
Don't even ask how but in the very last moment the Prince noticed that there is something wrong in the behaviour of his new-married wife. He touched the butterfly with love and ..... there was beautiful Silvana again.
And again don't ask what happened with the witch. Let's focus on the happy-ending.
Three months later, Silvana’s parents arrived from their distant kingdom of Quiet Waters with grand pomp and ostentation; and Dalmau’s nuptials were celebrated again. No one recalled his time of melancholy, nor did he himself. And so the happy couple had many beautiful children and lived long lives. And when the venerable king died in his old age, Dalmau came to the throne and ruled with prudence, and a firm hand and a kind and generous heart.
P.S. Congratulations if you read till the end. It's my version of a long but beautiful story I found here:
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