The Complete Fairy Books. Andrew Lang

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      ‘What are you spinning?’ he asked in a rough voice.

      ‘My wedding shift, my lord.’

      ‘You are going to be married, then?’

      ‘Yes, my lord, by your leave.’

      For at that time no peasant could marry without the leave of his master.

      ‘I will give you leave on one condition. Do you see those tall nettles that grow on the tombs in the churchyard? Go and gather them, and spin them into two fine shifts. One shall be your bridal shift, and the other shall be my shroud. For you shall be married the day that I am laid in my grave.’ And the Count turned away with a mocking laugh.

      Renelde trembled. Never in all Locquignol had such a thing been heard of as the spinning of nettles.

      And besides, the Count seemed made of iron and was very proud of his strength, often boasting that he should live to be a hundred.

      Every evening, when his work was done, Guilbert came to visit his future bride. This evening he came as usual, and Renelde told him what Burchard had said.

      ‘Would you like me to watch for the Wolf, and split his skull with a blow from my axe?’

      ‘No,’ replied Renelde, ‘there must be no blood on my bridal bouquet. And then we must not hurt the Count. Remember how good the Countess was to my mother.’

      An old, old woman now spoke: she was the mother of Renelde’s grandmother, and was more than ninety years old. All day long she sat in her chair nodding her head and never saying a word.

      ‘My children,’ she said, ‘all the years that I have lived in the world, I have never heard of a shift spun from nettles. But what God commands, man can do. Why should not Renelde try it?’

      IV

      Renelde did try, and to her great surprise the nettles when crushed and prepared gave a good thread, soft and light and firm. Very soon she had spun the first shift, which was for her own wedding. She wove and cut it out at once, hoping that the Count would not force her to begin the other. Just as she had finished sewing it, Burchard the Wolf passed by.

      ‘Well,’ said he, ‘how are the shifts getting on?’

      ‘Here, my lord, is my wedding garment,’ answered Renelde, showing him the shift, which was the finest and whitest ever seen.

      The Count grew pale, but he replied roughly, ‘Very good. Now begin the other.’

      The spinner set to work. As the Count returned to the castle, a cold shiver passed over him, and he felt, as the saying is, that some one was walking over his grave. He tried to eat his supper, but could not; he went to bed shaking with fever. But he did not sleep, and in the morning could not manage to rise.

      This sudden illness, which every instant became worse, made him very uneasy. No doubt Renelde’s spinning-wheel knew all about it. Was it not necessary that his body, as well as his shroud, should be ready for the burial?

      The first thing Burchard did was to send to Renelde and to stop her wheel.

      Renelde obeyed, and that evening Guilbert asked her:

      ‘Has the Count given his consent to our marriage?’

      ‘No,’ said Renelde.

      ‘Continue your work, sweetheart. It is the only way of gaining it. You know he told you so himself.’

      V

      The following morning, as soon as she had put the house in order, the girl sat down to spin. Two hours after there arrived some soldiers, and when they saw her spinning they seized her, tied her arms and legs, and carried her to the bank of the river, which was swollen by the late rains.

      When they reached the bank they flung her in, and watched her sink, after which they left her. But Renelde rose to the surface, and though she could not swim she struggled to land.

      Directly she got home she sat down and began to spin.

      Again came the two soldiers to the cottage and seized the girl, carried her to the river bank, tied a stone to her neck and flung her into the water.

      The moment their backs were turned the stone untied itself. Renelde waded the ford, returned to the hut, and sat down to spin.

      This time the Count resolved to go to Locquignol himself; but, as he was very weak and unable to walk, he had himself borne in a litter. And still the spinner spun.

      When he saw her he fired a shot at her, as he would have fired at a wild beast. The bullet rebounded without harming the spinner, who still spun on.

      Burchard fell into such a violent rage that it nearly killed him. He broke the wheel into a thousand pieces, and then fell fainting on the ground. He was carried back to the castle, unconscious.

      The next day the wheel was mended, and the spinner sat down to spin. Feeling that while she was spinning he was dying, the Count ordered that her hands should be tied, and that they should not lose sight of her for one instant.

      But the guards fell asleep, the bonds loosed themselves, and the spinner spun on.

      Burchard had every nettle rooted up for three leagues round. Scarcely had they been torn from the soil when they sowed themselves afresh, and grew as you were looking at them.

      They sprung up even in the well-trodden floor of the cottage, and as fast as they were uprooted the distaff gathered to itself a supply of nettles, crushed, prepared, and ready for spinning.

      And every day Burchard grew worse, and watched his end approaching.

      VI

      Moved by pity for her husband, the Countess at last found out the cause of his illness, and entreated him to allow himself to be cured. But the Count in his pride refused more than ever to give his consent to the marriage.

      So the lady resolved to go without his knowledge to pray for mercy from the spinner, and in the name of Renelde’s dead mother she besought her to spin no more. Renelde gave her promise, but in the evening Guilbert arrived at the cottage. Seeing that the cloth was no farther advanced than it was the evening before, he inquired the reason. Renelde confessed that the Countess had prayed her not to let her husband die.

      ‘Will he consent to our marriage?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Let him die then.’

      ‘But what will the Countess say?’

      ‘The Countess will understand that it is not your fault; the Count alone is guilty of his own death.’

      ‘Let us wait a little. Perhaps his heart may be softened.’

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