In those distant times, evil witches lived in the Pyrenees. They were cunning and treacherous. They will meet at midnight, throw off their everyday clothes, in which no one takes them for witches, and immediately disappear, flying away to their evil deeds. They will scatter along the roads of the Pyrenees, crushing the harvest in one village, burning down houses in another, and ripping up the cattle in others. They left grief and evil behind them. And the peasants caught the witches, lying in wait every night! They will chase after the witches, but they have been gone for a long time, the wind has covered their traces, the fog has covered them, the dew has washed away.
After their nightly pranks, the witches loved most of all to hide in the crowns of the oak trees that stood on both sides of the road near the An-Gurve precipice. They will fly up to the oak trees, out of breath, and shout discordantly: “Stork-step, go up quickly!” And the whole flock of witches will disappear into the green branches. You can only hear the branches creaking under their feet, the leaves rustling, the trunks groaning, as if thousands of birds had swooped down on the trees.
Enraged peasants will run up to the oak trees, look around, then run further: would it even occur to anyone to look for witches in the oak crowns, among the green leaves? That's how we lived. The witches did their evil deeds, the peasants lay in wait for the witches, the witches ran away from them and hid in the crowns of oak trees.
But only Oak could not stand it and rebelled against the witches. He was the youngest, the thinnest, and his leaves were the lightest and softest. But Oak was brave and this is what he said to his old mighty brothers:
“I’m ashamed to help these witches!” I am ashamed that my branches and leaves give them shelter. I won't hide witches anymore. My brothers, may your leaves cease to be steps for their feet, may your crowns cease to be a roof over their heads, and may your branches no longer serve as protection from the weather. Let's kick out the witches, kick them out forever!
But the old mighty Oaks did not like these words. They were only surprised at the audacity of the young tree and answered their brother like this:
-Why do you want to drive out the witches? Don’t you feel sorry for these peasants who cut down our trunks and branches and collect our acorns in the fall? Do you want to help people? Are you ashamed to help witches? And we are ashamed to help the peasants, because without them we would live better. Let the witches do whatever they want with them. Neither wind, nor rain, nor bad weather treats us on ceremony. People can tolerate witches too.
“You think only about yourself,” young Oak boomed. - From now on, not a single witch will hide in my crown!
And he kept his word, forbade the witches to climb their leaves, hide in the crown, or hide behind their branches. He even threatened them that he would reveal the secret of their hideout.
The witches began to threaten the young Oak, but then decided that his stubbornness was a bad sign and it was time for them to move to another place. They flew to the abyss of An-Gurve for the last time and said to the old mighty Oaks, who remained friends with them:
– Make your wishes! We will fulfill whatever you want!
And then the Oaks that stood to the right of the road said:
“We want our leaves to be as bright and shiny as the leaves that adorn the branches of the trees growing on the hills.” Look, they just have golden leaves!
And the witches gave the Oaks that stood to the right of the road real golden leaves. And the wind rang them like golden bells.
- Thank you! We are happy now, happy...
The wind carried to the witches the request of the Oak trees that grew to the left of the road:
– And we want our leaves to shine and shimmer in the sun! Let them be transparent with us, and let the light play in them, as in the precious stones of a witch. - Fine! - they answered. It will be your way!
And the Oaks that grew to the left of the road received crystal leaves from them. And the sun got entangled in their wonderful faceted foliage.
The third and final request was conveyed to the witches by the Nightingale who lived in this oak grove.
“The farthest and oldest Oaks that grow above the very abyss of An-Gurve want to get younger,” he said. “They want leaves that are soft like meadow grass and fragrant like roses!”
And so it became. The crowns of the old Oak trees turned green, like emerald grass, and their aroma filled the entire area.
The Oaks got everything they wanted. The sorceress fulfilled her promise. And only one Oak, the one that refused to help the witches, retained its hard, dark green leaves. The witches laughed and circled around him.
- You won't get anything! - shouted. – You won’t get anything, don’t even ask!
They shouted and flew away.
And the next morning the robbers walked along the road near the An-Gurve abyss. The sun rose over the abyss, and the golden leaves on the oak trees to the right of the road sparkled so much that the robbers even closed their eyes. But then they opened their eyes, climbed the trees and tore off every single golden leaf from the branches. They rang sadly as they fell into the sacks, cloaks and baskets of the robbers. But what can you do? What has been done cannot be undone... The robbers left, and the oak trees stretched their bare black branches to the sky.
The North Wind, the Tramontana, blew in, and its breath knocked the crystal leaves off the oak trees that grew to the left of the road. They fell to the ground and broke. And the oak trees stretched their bare black branches to the sky.
The ringing of crystal leaves was heard by goats grazing in a neighboring meadow. They approached the abyss of An-Gurwe, and a wonderful aroma filled their nostrils. How tenderly the leaves now smelled on the oldest, most ancient oaks! The shepherd was delighted that he had so unexpectedly found food for the flock, climbed the tree, tore off the leaves and fed the goats to their fill. He climbed all the trees and tore off all the leaves from the oak trees. Only bare branches now swayed along the road near the An-Gurve abyss, only black branches rose to the sky, only black trunks groaned in the wind.
And the youngest Oak, the one that did not ask for anything from the witches and received nothing from them, the one that refused to give them shelter, was still green, and the flowers were still blooming on it, and the acorns were still ripening in the fall. The old Oaks envied him. But can envy fix things? The woodcutters came, cut down the black trunks for firewood, and tied the branches into bundles. One young Oak remained standing over the abyss of An-Gurve.
The witches flew over it at night, saw that their gifts did not bring happiness to the patron oaks, and let's fight, blame each other for what happened to the oaks. They fought and fought and scattered in different directions. So they disappeared forever from Catalonia, and maybe from the Pyrenees, because when the flock of witches scatters, they lose their evil power.
And the stubborn oak tree with dark green leaves still stands over the abyss. Everyone in the Pyrenees now knows its history and comes to bow to the tree. They thank him for his courage, for his honesty and perseverance. And no more oak trees grew around him. No need to. Let everyone remember what a story happened a long time ago on the road that runs right next to the An-Gurve abyss.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru