Three Crones

I find the winter doldrums a good time to straighten things up around the house, especially my study. My table, piled high with stacks of books, became my first target to establish orderliness.

I have them mostly back in their proper places on the bookshelves, but here in front of me, previously hidden by dusty tomes, are three clear, acrylic paperweights with a blooming flower captured at each of their centers. The three sat in the box they came in. A gift from—I don’t recall.

How long have they been here?

I pick the box up and head for the third floor, to what I think of as the nick-nack room. It brims with items I own but have no use for.

The bare, wooden stairwell up to the third floor echoes with the hollow sound of my footsteps. I should probably carpet this someday. I open the door to the nick-nack room and am greeted by darkness and a cold draft. A window must have been left cracked open.

I reach for the light switch and find my hand touching the bark of a tree trunk. Around me are other trees barely visible in the moonlight. Not far ahead is a campfire, its light showing the arc of a wagon wheel and the broad side of a caravan, as well as the figures of three, black shawled, seated women. I venture forward.

“Ladies,” I say in greeting.

“Ah! Here he is at last,” says one of the three ancient crones I see before me. “Sit, sir. You have taken your time. Look at us! What makes you think we would last much longer?”

“Oh, sister,” says another of them. “Don’t be hard on him. He is here in time for us.”

“And so he is,” says the third. “I will start the stories.”

In a fair forest lived a girl along with her four brothers, father, and mother. She had fallen in love with a handsome, rich huntsman, but he would take no notice of her, never answering her calls to him.

She entreated the devil to aid her. He gave her a mirror and told her to show it to the huntsman. She did, but the huntsman knew this to be the work of the devil and ran away. Too late, the girl found out that whoever looked into the mirror thereafter belonged to the devil and that both she and the huntsman were now his.

Still, the devil promised she would get her huntsman if she would give him her four brothers, father, and mother. The girl, for her love of the huntsman, did so.

The four brothers, the devil turned into four strings, each of a different thickness. The father, the devil made into a strangely shaped wooden box with one long arm. The mother became a stick with her hair becoming horsehair.

Stringing the father with the four brothers and drawing the mother across the strings, the devil invented the violin. The music he played caused the girl to laugh and cry. The devil told the girl to play the violin to attract her huntsman. This she did, and the huntsman was drawn to her.

They only had nine days together before the devil returned and demanded they worship him. They refused, and the devil took them away, leaving the violin on the forest floor. One of the Roma found it and played it for all who would listen, causing them to laugh or cry at his will, depending on how he played.

“Do my eyes play tricks on me?” I say. “Now that this story has ended, the three of you look a good bit younger than when I sat down with you.”

They laugh, smile, and nod to each other.

Fairy Tale of the Month: January 2024 Romany Tales – Part Two

Next Tale

The second of the Roma women feeds the campfire. Sparks fly up like little stars ascending to heaven. She adjusts her shawl around her shoulders and begins her tale.

The emperor of Bukovina gave a ball, during which a mist descended and carried away the empress. The emperor’s three sons set off to search for their mother.

They came to a place in the road that went off in three directions. Each brother took one of the paths. The youngest, a seer as well as a prince, suggested they each take a bugle to blow upon and call the others should they find their mother.

Entering a forest, the youngest eats an apple from a tree, and two horns grow on his head. While crossing a stream, the flesh fell from his body. At another apple tree, he declared he would follow God’s will and eat another apple. The horns fell from his head, and when he forded another stream, his flesh was restored.

On a mountain, he found a spot bare of trees with a boulder setting at its center. He found he had the power to move the rock easily, which covered a huge, deep hole. With his bugle, he called his brothers. They made a rope from the bark of trees, and it was the youngest who was lowered in a basket into the hole; the elder brothers not willing to try.

In the world below, he came to a house in which dwelt a princess, carried off and kept there by a dragon. The prince inquired of his mother, and the princess sent him to her sister’s house, and she on to the youngest sister’s house. It was she who knew where to find the empress.

He rescued his mother as well as the three princesses and had his brothers pull them up one by one in the basket. Before he sent the youngest princess up, they pledged marriage.  

Not trusting his brothers, he put a stone in the basket, and, as he suspected, halfway up, the brothers let go of the rope. Wandering into the dragon’s palace, he found a rusted ring. When he polished it, a little man appeared to grant his wishes. The youth wished to be in the upper world.

After returning, he washed his face with certain water, which altered his appearance. He went to his father’s tailor to become his apprentice, knowing the wedding clothes would soon be ordered. 

The youngest princess refused to marry either of the two brothers, so they arranged to marry the other two sisters. The youngest prince/apprentice, with the help of the magic ring, made marvelous wedding clothes and was invited to the palace.  The brothers decided to marry off the youngest princess, who had refused them, to this apprentice. She, at first, again refused to marry, but the apprentice revealed his identity to her, and she accepted.

The apprentice/prince had his little man build a three-story castle that turned on a screw to follow the sun. The roof of the castle was made of glass in which swam fish so that guests would look up and see fish sporting about.

During the wedding feast, the younger brother washed his face with other certain water, and all now recognized him. He challenged his brothers to come out with him, so that all three could cast their swords high into the air. If they were innocent, their swords would fall in front of them. If not, the swords would strike them on their heads. In this manner, the two elder brothers killed themselves.

“I am sure of it now,” I say. “You all are indeed younger. Your skin, no longer wrinkled.”

Even their shawls have changed. Instead of somber black, they are laced with red and blue threads.

“Of course,” says the second of them, “that is why you are here.”

Fairy Tale of the Month: January 2024 Romany Tales – Part Three

Last Story

The third woman puts a log on the fire, sending up another wave of sparks. I am sure her story is next in the round-robin of Romany tales.

She sits quietly, looking into the flame before speaking.

The Red King declared he would reward anyone who could tell him who it was that every evening stole the food he had locked away for himself. His three sons tried in turn, but only the youngest managed to stay awake. He witnessed his baby sister turn into a hideous witch, steal the food, and, with a somersault, turn back into a baby.

Instead of telling his father about what he saw, he asked for money and a horse so that he may go out into the world and find a wife. He buried the money in a stone chest and marked the spot with a stone cross.

He traveled for eight years until he came to the Queen of the Birds. He told her he looked for the place where there was no death or old age before he would marry. She told him that with her, there would be no death or old age until she had whittled away her forest. That did not satisfy the prince.

He traveled on for another eight years until he came to the Maiden of the Copper Castle. She told him there would be no death or old age with her until the mountain and forest were leveled.

Again, the prince traveled on until his horse warned him they had come to the Plain of Regret, and they must flee.

 They came next to the home of the wind, who appeared to be a lad. Here there was no death or old age, and the prince declared he would never leave.

After a hundred years, he was warned by the wind to never go near the Mountain of Regret or the Valley of Grief. The prince did not listen, went there, was overcome with both, and desired to go home.

The wind told him that nothing remained of the Red King’s realm and that, in fact, a million years had passed. Again, the prince did not listen. While returning, he came across the Maiden of the Copper Castle. Nothing was left but the dying maiden. He buried her and went on. The very same thing happened with the Queen of the Birds.

When he arrived at the place of his father’s kingdom, all he could find was his father’s well. There was his witch/sister, who attacked him, but she, too, perished when he made the sign of the cross.

He met an old man who would not believe his story. To convince the old man, the prince found the spot where he buried the stone chest. Only the very tip of the stone cross remained above ground.

The prince dug up the stone chest and opened it. Inside, sitting on the coins, were death and old age, who leapt out and seized the prince. The old man gave him a decent burial, placed the stone cross at his head, and left with the money and the prince’s horse.

“Well, well,” I mutter.

The three young girls, brightly dressed in scarves, bangles hanging from their wrists—the shawls gone—smile back at me. The sun is rising, and I see my box of paperweights lies in my lap. I hand each of the girls a present, over which they ooh and aah.

“Ah, but kind sir,” one says, “we must now take from you your memory of this evening that we can remember ourselves as you see us now; then we will not forget and become old again.”

Lightly, they touch their fingertips to my head. I thrill at this odd sensation, then find myself at the nick-nack door.

Why am I standing here? What did I come for? Ah! This short-term memory stuff! It is so annoying getting old.

Your thoughts?

(Source: Gypsy Folk Tales by Francis Hindes Groome)