The Gypsy's Cup: Part 2 | A Soothing Bedtime Story

Welcome back! Tonight, we continue the magical tale of The Gypsy's Cup by Mary De Morgan, as we step into Part 2 of this captivating story. We will discover together how this sleepy tale of love and magic unfolds.

As always, I’ve included a short relaxation exercise at the start of the episode to help you unwind and ease into a state of calm before the story begins. So settle in, take a few deep breaths, and let the soothing narration carry you into a peaceful, restful sleep.

As always, I’ve included a short relaxation exercise at the start of the episode to help you unwind and ease into a state of calm before the story begins. So settle in, take a few deep breaths, and let the soothing narration carry you into a peaceful, restful sleep.

Wishing you all the sweetest dreams! Joanne

Transcript

Welcome,

Dear listeners,

To this special premium episode of Drift Off.

Tonight we continue the magical tale of the Gypsy's Cup by Mary DeMorgan as we step into Part 2 of this captivating story.

In Part 1,

We met a hard-working young potter who was visited by a mysterious gypsy girl.

She enchanted him with her skill,

Creating a small brown cup imbued with a powerful charm.

A charm that could inspire true love with one sip,

But turn it to hatred with a second.

The potter's life seemed to flourish when he married a kind and beautiful woman,

But when the gypsy's cup fell into the wrong hands,

The spell began to take hold,

Threatening the happiness they had built.

Now,

In Part 2,

We'll see how this tale of love and magic unfolds.

Before we begin,

Let's take a moment to settle in and relax.

Find a comfortable position and let your body sink into the support beneath you.

Close your eyes,

If you like,

And take a deep breath in,

And let it out slowly.

With each breath,

Feel the tension in your body start to melt away.

Now,

Imagine yourself standing in a peaceful meadow,

The grass soft beneath your feet and a gentle breeze carrying the scent of wildflowers.

The sun is low on the horizon,

Casting a warm golden glow across the landscape.

In the distance,

You hear the faint sound of a stream trickling over smooth stones,

Its gentle rhythm calming your mind.

As you take a step closer to the stream,

Notice how the light dances on the water's surface,

Creating shimmering patterns that remind you of the magic of tonight's story.

You pause here,

Feeling the cool breeze on your face and the steady flow of water soothing your spirit.

And so,

My friend,

Take a deep breath in,

Letting the peace of this moment fill you,

And exhale,

Releasing any remaining tension.

Let yourself feel grounded and calm,

Ready to drift into the enchanting world of storytelling.

The young potter sat and thought and thought,

And waited many days,

Hoping that his wife would change and love him as before,

But she remained cold and hard.

Then the potter packed a wallet full of clothes and put some money in his pocket,

And he went to his wife and said,

Wife,

There's a man somewhere who has done me a great wrong,

And perhaps he did it unwittingly.

I'm going to find him and to make him right it,

And though you do not love me,

You will abide here quietly with your baby till I come back,

And I do not know if that will be in months or years.

Then the potter's wife fell a-crying.

I do not love you,

Nay,

I hate you,

And shall be glad when you have gone,

But perhaps it may be because I am a wicked woman,

And I do not know what has come over me,

That now I want to fly away from you,

When I used to think that I had the best husband on all this earth.

The potter sighed bitterly,

But he kissed her cheeks,

Which felt as cold as ice,

And then he said goodbye to his baby,

And started on his way with the tears filling in his eyes.

When the potter had gone,

The wife cried sorely,

But still she was glad that she had not to see him,

And for some time she lived with her baby happily enough.

She kept the house,

And mended and swept and cleaned as before,

And thought little of the potter,

Or where he had gone.

But by and by,

All her money began to be spent,

And she knew that unless the potter returned,

She would soon be very poor,

And the winter was coming on,

And she feared cold and hunger for her little one.

So she went into a garret where she kept her old weaving loom,

And she brought it out,

And she bought flax,

And sat down to weave just as she used to,

When she went round the country with her sister who spun the flax,

And she found that she could still weave her clothes very skillfully,

And she began to sell them to the passers-by,

And in this way she earned her bread.

The winter set in very cold and hard,

And the potter's wife felt very sad,

But perhaps,

She said,

It is thinking of the poor things who are starving around with no homes,

For she never thought of her husband at all,

And the flax began to be very dear,

And she had difficulty in buying it.

Instead of doing all these cheap clothes,

She said,

It would be better to get very fine flax,

And do a very very fine cloth,

It will be the finest cloth I have ever woven,

And I will sell it to some very rich lady.

So she bought the finest flax that money could bring her,

And when she had woven a little bit of it,

She sat and looked at it in her room,

And she saw a tress of her golden hair lying upon it,

And she thought how beautiful it looked.

Then she said,

There is no one now who loves me or my hair,

So I will weave it into a cloth with this very fine flax,

And I must sell it for a very large sum of money,

Or else I shall have nothing left to go on with.

But she couldn't think of any pattern,

In which the hair looked well with the fine linen flax,

Till at last she hit on one,

In which there was a cup with a heart on top of it.

The cup she made of the gold hair,

And the heart also.

She worked at it for many long days,

And when she had finished it,

She looked at it,

And was very much pleased,

And said indeed it was the most beautiful cloth she had ever made,

And now she must make haste,

And take it into town,

And sell it for a great deal of money,

Or she and her child would begin to do badly for food and fire.

The snow was lying heavily upon the ground,

As the potter's wife stood by the window looking at her cloth,

When there crawled up outside the window a poor gypsy woman leading a little boy by the hand.

She had big black eyes and a brown face,

But her cheeks were so thin that the color scarcely showed in them,

And the potter himself would have had much ado to recognize her as the gypsy girl who made the cup years before,

And her clothes all hung upon her in rags,

And her little boy was crying bitterly with the cold.

She knocked against the window with her poor thin hands.

Take me in,

She cried,

And have pity on me,

For I can go no further.

Then the potter's wife opened the door,

And the gypsy woman entered the room with her little boy by her side,

And crouched by the fire.

Where is the potter who lived here?

Said the gypsy.

It is long years ago since I saw him,

And now I have come back to pray that he would give me food,

For I am starving.

No,

Said the wife.

I know not where he is,

For he is my husband,

And he has left me,

And right glad of it am I,

But if you will stay here,

I will give you food and drink and attend to you,

For,

Poor woman,

You seem to be very ill,

So stay here and I will attend to you till you are well enough to go your way.

There is only one way that I shall ever go,

Said the gypsy,

As she looked into the fire with her big black eyes,

And that is the road which leads to the churchyard.

But if he was your husband,

Why do you say that you are glad he is away?

Is he not kind to you?

He was very kind to me,

Said the potter's wife.

He gave me everything I wanted,

And money and to spare,

But for all that I could not love him,

And I am glad he is gone and left me alone with my baby girl.

You are a foolish woman,

Said the gypsy.

If you had a husband who loved you and worked for you well,

You should have loved him and cherished him.

My husband beat me and was cruel to me and stole all that I had,

And now that I am dying he has deserted me to die as I may.

Then the potter's wife brought her food and bid her lie down and dried her rags of clothes and she wrapped the little boy in her own clothes and gave him food and put him to sleep,

And as she lay the gypsy woman watched her with her great black eyes and at last she said,

Have you a brown cup here,

A little rough brown cup,

Did your husband give it to you?

The potter's wife stared with astonishment.

How did you know I had a little rough brown cup,

She said,

There was such a one and it stood upon the shelf,

But I have given it away,

I gave it to a poor gypsy man who begged it of me,

And he wanted it so badly that I couldn't refuse,

And he made me drink his health in it and took it away.

Then the gypsy woman raised her head and her eyes looked blacker and her cheeks blacker,

And what was the gypsy man like,

She cried,

Had you drunk from the cup before,

Can you remember?

I remember well,

Said the woman,

I drank from it on the day when I promised I would marry my husband,

And I drank from it once again when I wished the gypsy God speed,

And soon after that my husband left me for I could not bear to have him near me.

Then the gypsy cried out loud and said something in a language which the woman did not understand and beat her hands.

I think it was my husband,

She said,

Alackaday,

Tomorrow night I shall die and who will take care of my little boy and see that he does not starve,

For his father would beat and ill-treat him if he found him.

Then the potter's wife kneeled down beside the gypsy woman and kissed her on the forehead.

Be at peace,

She said,

If it be that you must die,

Die with a quiet heart,

For I will keep your little boy.

What is enough for two is enough for three,

And he shall call my little girl sister and me mother.

The gypsy said nothing,

But she looked at the potter's wife for long,

And then she said,

And my clothes are all in rags,

And I have no garment in which you can wrap me for my grave.

Then the potter's wife began to cry,

Be at peace,

She said,

For I have a fine cloth made of flax and my own hair,

And in it you can lie clad like a princess.

Then again the gypsy woman cried out words that the potter's wife did not understand,

And again she beat her breast and lamented.

But as evening drew nigh,

She turned to the potter's wife and told her the truth about the charms in the cup,

And wept for the evil she had done her who was so good and kind.

The potter's wife sat by her all that day,

And into the dark hours of the night,

But when it was drawing nigh to twelve o'clock,

The gypsy woman sat up and stretched out her arms.

The wheel,

She cried,

Bring me your husband's wheel,

And give me a piece of clay,

That while there is yet time I may throw my last cup,

And you may drink from it before the dawn,

And undo the harm I have worked.

The potter's wife wondered much,

But she feared to disobey her,

And she went out into her husband's workshop,

And she brought in his wheel and a piece of clay which stood there,

And placed them beside the gypsy.

The gypsy was so weak that she could scarcely sit up,

But when she saw the wheel she staggered to her feet,

And took the clay in her thin little brown hands,

And molded it as she had done years before,

And then she set it on the wheel,

And set the wheel spinning,

And formed it into a little brown bowl,

And bent her head over it and whispered into it.

Now drink,

She cried,

Although the clay is still wet,

Pour water into it,

And drink from my little bowl,

And wish me Godspeed as you did to my husband,

And then dress me in white and gold like a princess,

For I must start upon my journey,

But keep my little boy always,

And if my husband comes to search for me,

Give him my ring,

But tell him that he shall never find me more.

The potter's wife poured some water into the little clay cup,

And stooped her face and drank it,

That the woman might be content,

And when she had done so,

The gypsy folded her hands and lay back and died.

But when she had tasted the water out of the wet clay,

The potter's wife thought of her husband,

And she called his name,

And cried to him to come and help her with the poor gypsy woman,

And then she thought of how long it was since he had been with her,

And she began to cry,

And wept bitterly as she leaned over the dead woman.

Oh,

Where is he gone?

Why did I drive him from me?

She said.

Have I been mad?

Truly the poor gypsy spoke rightly,

That if a woman has a husband who loves her and works for her,

She should cherish him with all her might.

Alas,

Alas,

And now my husband is out in the wide world,

And I am alone here with no one to help me,

Until this poor woman told me,

I never knew how wrong I was.

Then she looked at the gypsy woman lying in all her rags,

And she remembered her promise to her,

And she took the fine linen cloth in which was woven the golden heart and the gold cup,

And she clothed her in it as if she were a princess,

And the next day the poor woman was buried,

And no one knew from whence she came,

Nor to whom she belonged.

Then the potter's wife sat down,

And grieved bitterly,

For she didn't know what it would be best to do to find her husband again,

And tell him that she loved him as at first.

At first she thought she would go out and seek for him in the wide,

Wide world,

But then she remembered how he bid her wait where she was till he came back,

And she knew she ought to do what he had told her,

But as now she had three to keep instead of two,

She feared they would be very poor,

And as she had buried the gypsy in the fine gold and white cloth woven with her hair,

She had not got it to sell,

And she had not any money left wherewith to buy more fine thread to weave.

The gypsy's little boy was a pretty boy,

With dark eyes like his mother's,

And when she looked at him,

She said they would all three starve together,

But she would keep him as she had promised his mother,

Rather than turn him out into the cold streets.

So she washed him,

And mended his rags as best as she might,

And then she began to seek everywhere for something she might weave to sell,

And keep them from starving.

She wandered round the garden,

And in and out of the house,

And the gypsy boy,

Who was a clever bright lad,

Went with her.

What are you searching for?

He asked.

I am searching for thread,

That I may weave it into some kind of cloth and sell,

She said,

Otherwise we shall surely starve,

For I have no money left to buy it with,

And nothing more left to sell.

I will go and get you something to weave,

Said the boy,

And he ran out into the road,

And looked up and down it to see what would come past.

Presently there came up a big carton laden with straw,

And on the top of the cart lay one man,

While another drove.

The horses went slowly,

And the gypsy boy followed them and began to beg.

Run off,

Little chap,

Cried the man at the top,

I have no money to give to beggars.

But I don't ask for your money,

Cried the boy,

But of your charity,

Give me a handful of straw.

And what do you want with a handful of straw?

Asked the carter,

As the boy still went on begging.

Why,

See,

Cried the lad,

I am all in rags,

But if my mother had a handful of straw,

She can weave me a coat,

And I shall be quite warm,

At which the men both laughed,

And declared that the idea of a coat of straw was very funny,

But the driver said,

Well,

Give some to the little chap,

I expect he comes from a lot of lying gypsies further on,

And they want it for their animals,

Still it won't do any harm to give him a few wisps.

And so they flung down a bundle,

And the boy picked it up,

And ran back with it to the potter's wife.

See what I have brought you,

He cried,

Now make that into a mat,

And I will take it out and sell it,

And bring you back the money.

The potter's wife was amazed by his cleverness,

But she knew that the gypsies had to live by their wits,

And that teaches them to be sharp.

So she sat down,

And tried to weave the straw into a mat,

As the gypsy boy had said.

At first,

She found it very hard to use,

For it was coarse and brittle,

And she thought she could make nothing of it.

The lad sat beside her,

And cut it into even lengths for her,

And chose out the good pieces,

And at last it was done,

And it looked quite a smart little mat,

And the boy took it on his back and ran away with it to the village.

A mat,

A mat,

He cried,

Who wants to buy a good straw mat to wipe their feet on when they are dirty,

Or for the cat to sit on by the fire,

Or to put over the fowl house and keep it warm?

At first,

All the people he met laughed at him,

And said nobody wished to buy a mat at all.

Then he turned into the ale house,

There were some men smoking,

And keeping themselves warm by the fire,

And when the host saw him and the mat over his shoulder,

He said it was quite a well-made thing,

And he would have it to lay down by his doorway for incomers to tread on.

And then one and another looked at it,

And the boy told them where it came from,

And said he could bring them plenty more straw mats and carpets,

All as good or better,

And so well worked that they would last almost forever.

And presently,

One and another began to say that they would buy them,

And when he had taken his money,

The gypsy boy ran home well content.

So the potter's wife sat all day weaving straw mats,

And presently she got to do them so well,

That from far and near the people sent to buy them of her.

Then after a time,

She put patterns into them,

Made with red and black and white straws,

But do what she could,

The patterns always came out in the shape of a cup,

And still she wept and grieved all day long.

Then the gypsy lad said to her,

What are you crying for now,

You have plenty to eat and drink,

Tell me why you're crying,

And I will help you if I can,

Because you took my mother into your house to die,

And buried her in your fine cloth like a princess.

I cry,

Because my husband has gone a long way off,

Said the potter's wife,

And he doesn't know that I love him,

And he will never come back to me,

For when he went away I hated him.

He will never know it if you don't try to tell him,

Said the gypsy boy.

You should tell it to everyone you meet,

To all the birds of the air,

And the wild animals too,

That is what my mother told me to do,

If I wanted to send news abroad.

You should say it even to the winds,

And write it in the sand,

And on the earth and on the leaves of the trees,

In case they blow about,

For she said all things could pass on a secret,

Though none can keep one.

And why don't you weave it into your mats too,

For the people who buy them take them far and near,

And maybe he will see one,

And know that you want him to come home again.

Then the potter's wife tried to weave her secret into her mats,

And beside the pattern of the cup she wove a little verse.

From the gypsy's cup I drank for love,

From the gypsy's cup I drank for hate,

But when she gave me a cup again,

My love had gone,

And I drank too late.

Now,

Cried the gypsy boy,

Your husband may see it,

And perhaps he will come home,

And all will be well with us.

Sweet dreams,

My friend.

Sleep well.

Reviews

This story has me hooked to see what will happen. Thank you.