THE ADDER-QUEEN

      There was once a young shepherd who possessed two things besides the homely clothes which he wore on his back, - his fife, and his Mechthild, a plump, brown little maid with lips as red as cherries. The fife he had carved out himself; the maid he had found in the forest, where her father burned charcoal. They were both agreed that some time they would become man and wife. The old charcoal-burner had nothing against it either, and they might have been married right away if they had had anything besides their love; but love alone, be it ever so warm, will not cook the supper nor heat the children's broth. “So, let us wait,” thought they, and hoped for better times. One day the beautiful Mechthild was sitting not far from the charcoal kiln, where her father was busy stirring the fire, and hear her stood her lover, while the sheep were wandering about in the wood, guarded by the dog. Over the maiden's head an old mountain-ash spread its boughs, from which hung bunches of scarlet berries. She had plucked a number of them, and was now engaged in stringing the single berries on a long thread. This made a splendid coral necklace. Wendelin, as the young shepherd was called, watched the maid as she moved her little fingers busily, and then he looked on her rosy cheeks, her smooth brow and all her charms one after another, and thought to himself, “How lovely she is!”
      Now the string of jewels was finished. Mechthild twined it around the tightly twisted braids of her dark-brown hair, and smiled at her lover like a happy child. But he looked suddenly sorrowful. “Ah, Mechthild,” he sighed, “why am I so poor? Why can I not place a gold ring on thy finger or put a garnet necklace around thy neck?”
      “It is no worse now than it has been,” said the maid, consolingly. “But are the red berries not beautiful?”
      The shepherd did not seem to have heard her words. He was looking at the smoke which arose from the charcoal kiln and floated away in blue clouds over the tops of the fir-trees. “Why will good luck never visit me? said he sadly. “There are so many treasures lying concealed and bewitched in the mountains; but fortune only laughs at stupid people; and when they are about to seize the gold exultingly, it sinks miles deep into the earth. I have been into the forest at every hour of the night, but no blue flames light up for me, no pale lady beckons to me, and no dwarf leads me to the treasure in the hollow stone.”
      “Wendelin,” said the maiden, earnestly, “don't go about digging and searching fro magic treasures! No good will come of it.” And she continued playfully, “You can more easily win great riches through the golden-horned stag, on which Lady Holle rides through the forest. Every year the magic deer sheds his antlers. Seek for them, my Wendelin! Those of this year must still be lying somewhere in the wood.”
      The charcoal-burner had come along and heard the last words. “Oho,” he said, “so you would like to find the golden antlers? You ask for a great deal. Wouldn't a handful of golden flax-seed husks do as well? Or how would you like the little crown belonging to the Adder-Queen, who lives under the red stone by the water? If there is anything I wish for, it is the fernseed, which makes one invisible. Oh, what fun I would have! What a face the big landlord of the Bear would make up, if every evening I could make his best beer-barrel lighter and fish the biggest sausage out of the kettle without his seeing me!”
      They went on talking in the same strain. Much was said about the magic pervading the forest, and the shepherd became more and more thoughtful. He usually played a tune on his fife to his sweetheart before he left her; but today he never gave it a thought when the time came for his departure. With head bent down he went after the flock, which the dog kept together by his barking.
      The sun had almost finished his course, and a ruddy glow lay on the mountains when the shepherd came out of the woods with the sheep. Before him lay a green field, through the midst of which ran a broad, shallow brook, and on the further side of the water, like a gigantic gravestone, stood a single rock of a reddish color. Bramble-bushes and golden-yellow broom grew luxuriantly about it, and to the crevices clung moss and wild thyme. Here, then, was where the Adder-Princess was said to dwell.
      After the sheep had satisfied their thirst, the shepherd drove them through the brook, for the town where he and the flock belonged lay on the other side of the mountain. He intended to pass by the red stone as usual, but he stood chained to the spot, for it seemed to him as if something stirred in the bushes.
      “If it should be the Adder-Queen!” thought he; and as he had once heard that snakes loved to hear violin and flute playing, he drew his fife out of his shepherd's pouch, and began to play a gentle melody.
      But lo and behold! There, out of the broom, arose the head of a great white snake, forking her tongue and wearing a shining crown.
      The youth was so frightened that he stopped playing his fife, and in a twinkling the Adder had vanished.
      What the charcoal-burner had said was true then. The shepherd timidly retreated, and drove the flock in a wide circuit around the stone to the town.
      The Adder-Queen, or, rather, her golden crown, lay on his mind day and night. But how should he contrive to get possession of the ornament? The old village blacksmith was a wise man, and knew a great deal besides how to eat his bread; perhaps something might be learned about it from him. So he betook himself one evening to the blacksmith's, after the master and his apprentices had left off working; for a pretense, asked some advice in regard to a sick sheep, and after beating about the bush for some time, finally brought the conversation to the Adder-Queen. He had come to the right person. The old blacksmith knew quite enough about the ways to get possession of the little crown, and was not at all loth to show his knowledge.
      “Whoever would rob the Adder-Queen of her crown,” he explained, “has nothing more to do than to spread a white cloth on the ground before the hole where she lives. Immediately the snake will come out, lay the jewel on the cloth, and disappear again. Now is the time to seize it quickly, and with all possible speed to strive to reach water. For as soon as the Adder-Queen notices that she has been robbed, she will start after the fugitive, hissing frightfully; and if he cannot get across water, he is a dead man. But if he is fortunate enough to reach the farther shore, the serpent can do him no harm, and the crown is his.”
      This was the blacksmith's story, and the shepherd drank in every word.
      Some days later the beautiful daughter of the charcoal-burner was sitting in front of their cottage. All of a sudden her lover came running with all his might, threw a little sparkling coronet into her lap, and dropped lifeless on the ground.
      Mechthild gave a scream. Her father came to her, and a glance at the jewel told him what had happened. “He has stolen the little crown from the Adder-Queen,” said he. Then he lifted the swooning youth, bore him into the hut, and tried to bring him back to consciousness.
      His efforts were successful, but the whole night long he lay tossing in delirium on the couch of leaves: not till morning did rest come to him.
      In the course of the day he recovered entirely and was able to talk. Anxiety and care retreated from the charcoal-burner's cottage, and joy entered in. There lay the hard-won serpent's jewel before the lovers, who sat together hand in hand, making plans for the future. Of course they could not keep the little crown; it must go to the goldsmith's in the town: but in its place the bridal wreath would soon adorn the beautiful Mechthild's head; and after the wedding festivities were over, Wendelin would take his young wife to a pleasant little house, and they would kindle a fire on their own hearth. Oh, blissful time! Oh, blissful time!
      On the following morning Wendelin returned to the village. He wisely avoided the red stone.
      The Adder-Queen's crown had twelve points, each tipped with a blood-red stone. As soon as her lover was gone, Mechthild took it out of the chest, where she had hidden it away, and placed it on her head. It was indeed a very different ornament from the red berries of the mountain-ash. If she could see how becoming the jewels were; but there was no looking-glass in the charcoal-burner's cottage. Whenever Mechthild wished to look at her nut-brown face, she ran to the well-spring, which bubbled up out of the mould of the forest, not far from the charcoal-kiln; and hither she turned her footsteps now. She bent over the clear water, and was charmed with her sparkling ornament. “You like me, don't you?” she said to a fat frog sitting on the edge of the spring. And the frog said, “Gloog!” jumped into the water, and dived under to tell the lady-frog at the bottom what a wonderful sight he had beheld. A gray-green lizard rustled through the leaves; she raised her head and looked curiously at the bejeweled maid. Then she slipped away into her underground chamber, and told her sisters about the beautiful damsel with the crown in her hair. And the blue titmice came fluttering inquisitively by, and the golden-crested wrens bristled their tufts with envy, when they saw the glistening jewels on the maiden's head. The squirrel peeped out curiously from behind the trunk of a pine-tree, and a weasel frisked about over the wood-plants to take a look at the crowned maiden.
      Tramp, tramp, now sounded in her ears; perhaps it was a red deer, attracted by the glitter of her crown. But no; stags and does do not tread the earth with hoofs that are shod: it is the sound of horses. Bright dresses could be seen between the branches of the trees, and the merry sound of people's voices came through the air. She sprang away from the brim of the well, and was about to hasten to the house, but the riders had already drawn up in front of the charcoal-burner's cottage. There were gentlemen in rich hunting-costume and ladies in long, flowing riding-dresses, slender young falconers, and sunburned huntsmen with long beards.
      The maiden dropped a low courtesy. The stately gentleman on the roan horse was the count who owned the land, and the beautiful lady by his side was his young wife.
      Mechthild replied respectfully to the question concerning the nearest way to the meadow, through which the water flowed. Then the countess caught sight of the crown on the maiden's head, and cried out in the greatest surprise, “Tell me, my dear girl, how you came by such jewelry as that.”
      The maiden, in her embarrassment, made no reply; but the charcoal-burner, who had come along in the meantime, answered shrewdly, “It is an old heir-loom, most gracious lady; something my great-grandfather brought home from the war in Italy. If it pleases you, pray take it.”
      The countess had the crown brought to her, and the maids of honor, who accompanied her, looked curiously at the precious ornament.
      “I must have the little crown,” said the lady, casting a tender glance toward the count.
      He smiled and unfastened a heavy purse from his belt. “Take that for the crown,” said he to the charcoal-burner; “it is gold. You foolish people have probably never known what a treasure your cottage concealed.”
      The maids of honor fastened the crown with two silver pins to their lady's velvet hood; then the riders spurred on their horses, waved a farewell to the charcoal-burner and his daughter, and galloped off through the woods.
      The hunters had soon left the forest behind, and before them lay the broad meadow valley and the red stone.
      The lazily-flowing brook formed here and there pools and little eddies, much frequented by ducks, herons, and other water-fowl. The hawkers gave the falcons over to the ladies, and all eyes were directed towards the reeds surrounding the water.
      And now up flew a silver heron, noisily flapping his wings. The countess quickly took the hood from the falcon's head, and let him loose. Screaming, the falcon flew aloft, till he hovered over the heron. Then he swooped down, cleverly avoided the threatening bill, and seized the bird with his talons. For some time there was a fierce struggle in the air; then both circled round and round, and the vanquished heron fell with flapping wings on the meadow near the red stone.
      The countess was the first to reach the spot where he fell. Her cheeks glowing with excitement, she sprang out of the saddle to release the heron from the falcon's talons, and to place the silver ring, which bore her name, on his foot. Then she gave a sudden cry and fell on the ground.
      Her terrified companions hastened to her side. The count took his young wife in his arms, and anxiously inquired what had happened. She cried out with pain and pointed to her foot. The count bent down, and saw that her silk stocking was stained with a drop of blood.
      “You have scratched yourself with a thorn,” he said, laughing; “that is nothing.” But the lady moaned slightly, her temples began to beat violently, and her face grew as pale as death.
      The terror-stricken count gave orders for two huntsmen to go for doctors. He himself wrapped his wife in his mantle, took her in front of him on his saddle, and, followed by the others, galloped at full speed toward the nearest village. There he had a couch prepared for the sufferer, and anxiously waited for the doctors to come.
      Her malady grew worse from hour to hour. The old smith, whose advice was asked, looked at the wound and shook his head, and said that it was no thorn-prick, but rather the bite of a poisonous serpent. The same opinion was given later by the doctors. They spoke Latin together, shrugged their shoulders, and used salves and potions as their art prescribed. But they did no good. The sufferer grew weaker and weaker, and when the evening star hung over the forest, she lay unconscious on her bed of pain. Death stood without before the door.
      In the meantime Wendelin, the shepherd, was driving his flock home to the village. Mechthild had told him how the countess had purchased the serpent's crown, and then they counted the pieces of gold and took counsel about the spending of the money. Now the shepherd was cheerfully wending his way along in front of his flock and playing a little tune on his fife.
      Then suddenly his breath failed him, and his hair stood on end. Out of the bushes before him came the Adder-Queen, and raised her crownless head, forking her tongue at him.
      “Stand still, or you shall die!” hissed the snake. And the poor youth stood still, and clung to his crook with trembling hands.
      “Listen, young man, to what I tell you,” said the serpent. “The lady who wore my crown is sick unto death; I stung her in the foot. But I guard the plant whose juice will make her well. Follow me, and I will show you the healing herb.”
      The snake glided through the grass, and the shepherd followed her with beating heart. The adder stopped near the red stone. She broke off an herb and handed it to the shepherd. It was a delicate little plant, and resembled the forked tongue of a serpent.
      “Now hasten,” said the adder, “as fast as you can to the village where the sick lady lies; and if you let one drop of the sap of the plant fall on her wound, she will be cured. But as a reward demand the crown, and bring it back to me. Swear that you will.”
      The trembling shepherd swore as the Adder-Queen desired, then hastened to the village, and asked to be taken to the sufferer.
      The countess was still living, but her breathing was faint. On her right sat the count, with his face buried in his hands; on her left sat a priest murmuring prayers.
      “Try your skill,” said the count to the shepherd. “If you succeed in healing her, I will make you rich.”
      Then the shepherd raised his eyes to Heaven in a hasty prayer and let one drop of the sap of the herb fall on the wound. The sufferer at once opened her eyes and took a long breath. Then she lifted her beautiful head from the pillows and looked confidingly at her husband. And from that hour the fever left her, and with the dawn the countess' cheeks again took on their rosy color, and all her suffering had passed away.
      She gave the crown gladly to the shepherd who had healed her, and he, true to his oath, carried it without delay to the red stone by the water, where the Adder-Queen received it.
      The count kept his word too. He presented the shepherd with a stately mansion, in which Mechthild soon made her entrance as bride.
      Whether the Adder-Queen still dwells under the red stone by the water, and whether she still wears her little crown, that I cannot tell. But the manor which the count gave to the shepherd, is still standing, and is called Schlangenhof, or the Serpent's Court.