On the Portuguese seaside, many children gather delightful little citrus-favored white berries called camarinhas from the dune scrub for an impromptu snack. Adults may sip a cordial distilled from them or pick up a bag at a local beachside stand to make homemade jelly. The fruit of these seaside plants have been a food source during times of occasion or famine since Neolithic times. In English, they are known as Portuguese White Crowberries.
According to a popular legend, the white berries were formed from the tears of Queen Isabel, wife of King Dinis. King Dinis is known to the Portuguese as the Poet King and the Farmer King, and being both kind and just, and perhaps a bit of a tyrant as well. However, despite his kindness as a husband, he was not altogether faithful to his vows and engaged in numerous extra-marital affairs. The Queen, so pious and selfless, and whose miracle of roses resulted in her canonization by the Roman Catholic Church, was deeply disturbed by his sinful ways, and one of his affairs brought her to tears.
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The Tears of Queen Isabel
Queen Isabel sat alone in her chamber, her slender fingers tracing the delicate patterns on the lace handkerchief in her lap. The soft glow of the evening sun filtered through the stained glass, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the room. The peaceful silence was broken only by the distant sounds of the palace — footsteps of servants, hushed whispers, and the distant murmur of the court. The weight of her sorrow pressed heavily upon her, her mind a tangled web of longing and pain. The day seemed to stretch into an endless expanse of heartache, her soul tethered to a love that dared not speak its name.
A Moura Encantada — known to her simply as her kind friend Felícia — appeared silently beside her. Dressed in flowing, iridescent robes, her presence was almost imperceptible, a mere shimmer. She moved with a grace that seemed to defy the constraints of the physical world, her very being a thread in the tapestry of the ancient magic that coursed through the land. The air around her hummed with soft, otherworldly energy. But Isabel intuited none of this; she only saw the friendly face of a courtier.
“My Queen, why do you grieve?” Felícia’s voice was a gentle whisper, like the rustle of leaves in a breeze. Her eyes, deep and careworn, offered comfort beyond words.
Isabel’s eyes, filled with unshed tears, met those of her guardian. “Felícia, you’re here; I did not hear you enter. Welcome.” She sighed, “It is the King. Once again, he has found solace in the arms of another.” Her voice trembled, each word heavy with the weight of her hidden sorrow. The room seemed to close in around her, the walls echoing her unspoken pain.
Felícia’s gaze softened. “Your heart is heavy, but you must remember that your love is pure, transcendent. It is not bound by the earthly desires that ensnare King Dinis.” Her words were like a balm to Isabel’s wounded soul.
Isabel sighed, her thoughts drifting to Maria, her lady-in-waiting. “It is not just his infidelity that wounds me. Maria, too, has fallen under his spell. Seeing them together is a dagger to my heart.” The memory of their shared moments, once a source of joy, now twisted within her like a thorn. Her love for Maria was a flame in the darkness of her hidden life, now seemingly extinguished. But the embers of that love still burned, refusing to be snuffed out.
Felícia placed a hand on Isabel’s shoulder, a touch as light as a feather. “The bonds of the heart are complex, my Queen. Sometimes, love and loyalty are tested in ways we cannot foresee.” Her touch was warm and reassuring, a tangible connection to a world that seemed slipping away from Isabel’s grasp.
A Love Hidden
Isabel closed her eyes, exposing her vulnerability before her confidante. “It is not his freedom that I envy,” she confessed. It is the ease with which he lives, the freedom to pursue his desires without fear or shame. He loves openly, while I must hide my true self behind the façade of our marriage.” Her voice wavered.
She recalled hearing a troubadour recite a selection of King Dinis’ Love Poems one evening. His verses, written through the eyes of women—blondes, Moorish beauties, nobles, bourgeois women, and simple peasant women—thinly veiled his many seductions. Throughout the performance, the court’s pitying glances at Isabel stung, and their frowns inferred that she was a fool, only deepening her isolation.
“You’ve carried this burden with grace. Your love for Maria is as real as any. But it’s hidden, constrained by role and the ever-watchful eyes of the court.” Felícia’s words resonated deeply within Isabel, affirming the truth she had always known but could rarely acknowledge; in a society where love was often a political tool, Isabel’s feelings for Maria were not only forbidden but also dangerous. Their love, a beautiful and pure thing, was a threat to the established order, and thus, it had to remain hidden.
Isabel’s mind wandered back to the times she had spent with Maria. They shared secret moments of joy, passion, and physical ecstasy in a hidden grove within the Pinhal d’El-Rei | Pinewood of the King, a forest with an otherworldly aura. Local lore spoke of springs inhabited by the supernatural, sacred rocks, and oaks that whispered secrets to those who would listen – all of which Isabel claimed heresies. Among these enchanted places was A Fonte da Felícia | the Spring of Happiness. The spring’s crystal-clear waters sparkled seemingly with their own light. Surrounded by flowers of every hue in this secluded paradise, it was here that Isabel and Maria’s love blossomed. Each rendezvous was a stolen slice of heaven, a reprieve from the rigid expectations of the court.
Isabel’s heart ached with the memory of Maria’s laughter, the feel of her touch, the warmth of her embrace. At the Fonte da Felícia, they were free to love without fear or shame, their bond strengthened by the sacredness of the place and the magic surrounding them. It was their sanctuary, a place where their love could bloom without the constraints of the court. And it was here that Kind Dinis was seducing Maria; she knew it.
Felícia, coiled beneath the waters of the enchanted spring, watched over Isabel and Maria as they bathed and loved in her sacred grove. Mouras Encantadas, like Felícia, were supernatural guardians of the land, ensuring its balance and harmony. On the eve of the Feast of St. John, a night when the boundaries between the mortal and the supernatural were said to be at their thinnest, it was believed that these beings could transform from serpents into beautiful maidens if offered white figs in the moonlight.
Isabel had unknowingly set Felícia free during a summer rendezvous with Maria. It was a warm night, the air heavy with pine and the murmur of the spring. Isabel had brought a plate of white figs to share with Maria, leaving a few as a token of appreciation for the spring’s beauty. Under the soft glow of the moonlight, the figs shimmered with an otherworldly radiance. This offering, on the eve of St. John, intertwined with ancient rituals and mystical energies.
As Isabel and Maria parted beneath the canopy of stars, the air hummed with anticipation. Their quiet devotion awakened Felícia, who emerged from the water, taking human form. The transformation was a sight to behold, a testament to the ancient magic that coursed through the land. When Isabel returned through the moonlit glade, a gentle rustle of leaves caught her attention. She turned, expecting a nocturnal creature or a trick of the wind, but found Felícia standing before her, majestic and serene.
“My Queen,” Felícia’s voice was a soft murmur, like the whisper of the breeze through the pines. “You have offered this sacred place a gift of purity and love. Your heart is true, your love steadfast and brave.”
Isabel stood in awe, her breath caught in her throat. Felícia approached slowly, her hand outstretched. The moonlight danced upon her radiant form, casting a gentle glow around her. “Your love is a light that shines even in the darkest corners of this world,” she said, her voice tinged with reverence. “It transcends boundaries and defies convention. Know that you are seen, my Queen, and that your love is blessed.”
Isabel hesitated, her mind racing with fear and uncertainty. She had never expected to encounter anyone here, let alone someone who seemed to understand the depth of her hidden love. Her thoughts raced, imagining the consequences if Felícia revealed her secret affair with Maria.
As Felícia’s hand drew closer, Isabel’s fingers trembled. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, you mustn’t tell anyone. The consequences…”
“Fear not,” Felícia replied. “Your secret is safe with me. I seek only to offer solace and understanding.”
Isabel looked into Felícia’s eyes, searching for any hint of deception, but found only sincerity and empathy. At that moment, she realized that Felícia was not a threat but a kindred spirit—a comforting presence in the moonlit glade, offering solace to a heart burdened by love and duty.
Tears of gratitude streamed down Isabel’s cheeks as she reached out to clasp Felícia’s hand in hers. The touch was gentle, a silent vow of mutual respect and protection. “Thank you,” Isabel whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “Thank you for seeing us.”
Felícia smiled, her expression radiant in the moonlight. “Go in peace, my Queen,” she said, her voice carrying a gentle breeze that seemed to echo through the pines. “Your secret is safe with me. Always.”
As Isabel returned to the palace, dismounting her horse, she heard an echo of Felícia’s voice saying, “My presence shall always watch over you.” Impossible, she thought, dismissing it as her imagination.
Yet, in her secret meetings with Maria, Felícia’s words resonated within Isabel. In the sunlight-filtered forest, Isabel felt an ethereal presence at the edge of the spring—a shimmering figure materializing from the dappled shadows. Steeped in the rituals and teachings of her faith, Isabel dismissed these sightings as mere illusions. Yet, in those stolen moments with Maria, their love blossomed against the backdrop of the pinewood’s quietude, Felícia’s presence bringing comforting reassurance, sheltering their forbidden affection.
Under the canopy of pine trees, where sunlight filtered through the branches like golden threads, Isabel found solace in Felícia’s protective gaze. The ethereal figure became a silent confidante, a symbol of divine understanding in a world condemning their love as taboo. In moments of doubt and fear, when the weight of their secret threatened to overwhelm her, Isabel would glimpse Felícia’s form and feel a calm descend upon her—a reminder that their love, though hidden, was blessed by forces beyond mortal comprehension.
As Isabel and Maria sat by the spring, their hands intertwined, they often whispered their hopes and dreams beneath Felícia’s watchful eye. Their bond deepened with each stolen moment, strengthened by the unspoken presence that sanctified their love. The Queen, burdened by duty and societal expectations, found solace at the spring, the only place their clandestine affection could be free.
Felícia listened to their conversations, her ancient soul touched by the purity of their love. She proved a faithful guardian, guiding anyone who might chance upon Isabel and Maria to another trail through the woods. Although she was a silent guardian in the pinewood, she often appeared to Isabel in the palace—offering her shoulder in moments of sadness or sharing laughter in moments of joy. Despite her power, Felícia could not shield Isabel from all the harsh realities of her world, but her presence provided Isabel with much-needed comfort.
Blinded by Faith
Isabel, blinded by her Catholicism, did not recognize the true nature of the Moura Encantada. To her, the encounter at the spring was a mere coincidence, a fleeting encounter with a woman in the forest in the otherwise rigid structure of her life. As a new presence in the palace, she saw Felícia as another of the many courtiers of the realm. Nonetheless, the Moura Encantada remained a silent witness to Isabel and Maria’s love, offering protection and advice without revealing her true identity. Isabel’s faith was a veil obscuring the supernatural, her devotion blinding her to the ancient magic surrounding her.
“Isabel,” Felícia spoke, her voice drawing the Queen from her reverie, “you must not let your sorrow consume you. Your love for Maria is a gift, a light in the darkness of your constrained existence.” Her words were a lifeline, pulling Isabel back from the abyss of her despair.
Isabel looked at Felícia, her eyes filled with gratitude and despair. “But what am I to do? The court whispers the King flaunts his affairs, and now Maria… I fear I will lose her to him completely if I have not already.” Her voice broke with the weight of her hidden love and the betrayal which threatened to overwhelm her.
Felícia’s expression was one of serene determination. “You must hold fast to your love, my Queen. It is stronger than the forces that seek to tear it apart. And remember, you are not alone. I am with you, as I have always been.”
The Unveiling of Betrayal
The following day, the court was abuzz with rumors. King Dinis was nowhere to be found, and whispers of his latest conquest filled the halls. Determined to uncover the truth, Isabel summoned her entourage and rode to Pinhal d’El-Rei. The journey was a blur, her mind wracked with dark, looming shapes of betrayal and heartache.
As she galloped through the forest, Isabel felt a presence beside her. The cool wind seemed to carry a whisper, and out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Felícia’s iridescent form, fleeting like a shadow. Isabel shook her head, thinking it was a trick of the light or a figment of her imagination, born from the turmoil of her emotions.
But the horse, guided by an unseen force, found its way through the dense forest with uncanny ease. The path ahead seemed to clear as if the trees themselves bowed to let her pass. Isabel’s heart pounded with anticipation and dread, but she attributed her horse’s surefootedness to luck and her urgency to uncover the truth.
Approaching the forest’s edge, the air grew thick with anticipation. Felícia led the horse past her spring and to a secluded rocky place by the sea, a spot Isabel knew Dinis favored. Her heart pounded as she dismounted and walked toward the cottage nestled between the forest and the cliff. The sound of waves crashing against the rocks echoed her tumultuous emotions.
There, hidden amidst the verdant embrace of the Pinhal d’El-Rei, Queen Isabel found them. It was a picturesque scene beneath the canopy of pines and oaks, where sunlight filtered through the branches in dappled patterns. King Dinis stood beside Maria with his charismatic smile that could sway hearts and kingdoms alike. Her lady-in-waiting and erstwhile lover, usually demure and composed, now stood before King Dinis with eyes alight —a mix of desire and guilt swirling in their depths.
Isabel’s arrival was unexpected, a moment frozen in time as she stumbled upon the unfolding tableau. The soft rustle of leaves beneath her feet seemed to echo in the stillness of the forest. The sight struck her like a thunderbolt, a visceral blow to her heart. She stood there, momentarily paralyzed, her breath caught in her throat as the world around her seemed to tilt on its axis.
Once fixed upon the man she had married—a union of duty and appearance rather than passion—her gaze now rested upon him in a new light. A light that illuminated the depths of his betrayal, casting shadows over the carefully constructed façade of their royal marriage. Beside him, Maria’s presence cut deep, a double-edged sword of loyalty and betrayal that pierced Isabel’s heart.
Isabel remained rooted in place for a timeless moment, her mind struggling to comprehend the scene before her. The forest’s silence enveloped her, broken only by the distant murmur of the spring and the flutter of birds’ wings overhead. Her hands trembled at her sides, fingers curling into fists as emotions roiled within her—a tempest of anguish, disbelief, and a profound sense of betrayal.
The world she knew shattered then; fragments of her reality scattered like leaves in the wind. Yet amidst the devastation, a flicker of determination ignited within Isabel’s soul. It was a resolve born not of anger or vengeance but of a quiet strength that emerged from the depths of her being.
“Dinis,” she called out, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. “What have you done?” Her words, like knives, cut through the sham of their marriage and exposed the raw truth beneath.
The King turned, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he masked it with his usual charm. “Isabel, you misunderstand. This is not what it seems.” His words rang hollow, the betrayal evident in his eyes.
Maria looked away, unable to meet Isabel’s gaze. “My Queen, I…” Her voice trailed off, the weight of her actions pressing down upon her.
Isabel’s tears fell freely, each born of her wrenching pain. The ground beneath her seemed to absorb her sorrow, the air around her heavy with the unspoken words that hung between them. Her heart ached with a numbness she could not understand. The betrayal cut more profound than she had ever imagined. Isabel’s vision went dark, and the air sucked from her lungs.
The Moura’s Revelation
Felícia, unseen by all but Isabel, stepped forward from the shadows of the Pinhal d’El-Rei, and the swirling vortex in Isabel’s mind froze. Her form shimmered with an otherworldly radiance, “Isabel,” her voice carried on a soft breeze, “your heart is heavy, but you must remember that love is not bound by the constraints of this world. Your tears are a symbol of your strength, your resilience.”
Isabel’s eyes widened in astonishment, the realization dawning upon her like the first light of dawn breaking through a stormy sky. Felícia’s presence, once subtle and comforting, now emanated a palpable power. She looked at Felícia, her gaze filled with gratitude and sorrow. “Felícia… you’re real, you’re not a figment of my imagination?” Her voice trembled, the weight of her hidden life pressing down upon her.
Felícia’s expression remained serene, her presence reassuring and unwavering. “No, my Queen,” she replied with gentle certainty. “I am a Moura Encantada, a guardian of this enchanted land. I have watched over you, unseen but ever-present, through your moments of joy and sorrow. Here.”
Isabel’s breath caught in her throat as she absorbed Felícia’s words. A sense of wonder and awe filled her heart, mingling with the grief and turmoil that had plagued her. “But what can I do?” she whispered, “My love for Maria, my duty as Queen… it is all too much.”
Felícia’s gaze softened with an easy smile. “You must hold fast to your love, my Queen,” she said, her voice now a soothing melody amidst the forest’s quiet. “Remember: it is stronger than the forces that seek to tear it apart. Your tears, born of grief and realization, hold a power that transcends mere sorrow.”
Isabel felt a surge of emotion welling up within her—a blend of sorrow, acceptance, and a newfound resolve.
As Felícia chanted in a low voice, “Your tears mark the purity of your love,” a transformation began. Isabel’s tears touched the earth, and small bushes captured her tears in their verdant branches, turning them into clusters of delicate white pearls. Each pearl gleamed in the soft light filtering through the pine trees, born of the strength and purity of Isabel’s love.
The air around them shivered with an ethereal aura, and it was as if the very essence of the Pinhal d’El-Rei responded to Isabel’s grief and Felícia’s presence, weaving their emotions into the fabric of the land itself. The gentle rustle of leaves overhead echoed their shared sorrow and hope, carrying whispers of a love that transcended the boundaries of duty and societal expectation.
As Isabel gazed upon the pearl-adorned bushes, a sense of peace settled over her troubled heart. In the heart of the pine forest, she had come to know love; she found solace in knowing that her love for Maria, though hidden from the world, was honored and sanctified by the land itself.
Epilogue
In the following centuries, Queen Isabel’s story became a beacon of hope for those who had suffered infidelity and heartbreak. Her tears, transformed into pearl-white berries – or camarinhas – were a reminder that even in the face of great sorrow, there was beauty and strength to be found in all of life’s struggles. Pinhal d’El-Rei, once a place of betrayal, became a sanctuary for those seeking solace and healing.
Isabel’s legacy lived on, and although her hidden love remained obscured and only guessed at, her resilience inspired generations to come. The Moura Encantada, ever watchful, continued to watch over the land, her presence a silent guardian of the Queen’s enduring spirit. Camarinhas to bloom in the Pinhal d’El-Rei and on the sand dunes between the ocean and the forest, their white pearls a timeless reminder of Isabel’s enduring love and the transformative magic that had shaped her destiny; their delicate beauty remains a symbol of the power of love and the strength of the human heart, and the recall the Queen’s hidden love and strength in the face of betrayal and heartache.
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Nota Bene
Long before Queen Isabel’s time, the Celtiberian people who inhabited the land that is today’s Portugal also spoke of magical tears. According to another legend, the land was once blessed by a goddess who cried tears of silver. These tears were said to have fallen during a time of great sorrow and strife when the goddess wept for the suffering of her people. Her tears, like those of Queen Isabel, were imbued with divine power, transforming into sacred berries that nourished and healed the people. The Celtiberians believed these sacred tears could heal wounds, cure illnesses, and bring fertility to the land. They revered the berries as gifts from the goddess, using them in rituals and as offerings. Folk memory tells of mages seeking out these berries and branches in times of need, using their magic to aid their people. Camarinha branches still figure in Nossa Senhora celebrations in August when the bush’s fruit is ripe, as well as on Trinity Sunday – and especially for the celebration at an old pagan-turned-Catholic site called Senhor da Pedra | Lord of the Rock; the latter is encapsulated in a popular song.
The confluence of these legends—the ancient Celtiberian tales of sacred tears and the medieval story of Queen Isabel adds a rich tapestry of myth and magic to the humble camarinhas. Whether seen as the divine blessings of a sorrowful goddess or the pious tears of a heartbroken Queen, the white berries remain a symbol of enduring beauty and resilience, a testament to the power of faith and the magic of the land.
Below, find an association in images (model: Didi) and a translated poem recounting the legend; here, find a fado & chanson.
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