The first time I saw her, she lay stretched out onto a branch of the old, scrubby willow that would bend far over the water. The stream soon dammed up forming a pond and there were trouts floating over its white-pebbled ground, fanning with their tender fins, butterflies danced up and down; buzzing dragonflies with azure wings dashed about and on top of a pole, on the opposite riverside, there was a living gem stone, shimmering - a kingfisher. Within the foliage, though, there was the ring snake, bathing in the sun.

To seven year old-me, she meant nothing but the terrifying word "snake" itself; needless to mention my aunt, who ran away screaming when she saw her. I wanted to do the same, because if big auntie could run and scream, I felt that I had even more right to do so, being the little lad that I was. But grandfather took my hand, preventing my escape.
"No need to be scared. This is a ring snake, she ain't do anything to anyone and will be pleased if you leave her alone as well. Look, how beautiful she is! Grey and shiny, like a band made out of ore, - and she even has a golden little crown."
Grandfather was a quiet, contemplative man, a taught historian who had written books - about his hometown Vienna, when it was overran by Turks and when great Napoleon lived in Schönbrunn palace and then, much later again, when the Ringtheater was burning. Now, he was spending his last years in his cottage within the Vienna Wood and there, I was around for a visit. Now and then, he also wrote poems - how else could he have come up with that comparison otherwise, calling the ring snake's yellow spots behind its neck a little crown. Yet, he did not know what he had done to me with this comparison; that to me, he had opened a door to a new fairyland of my childhood.
"Is that the queen of all snakes?", I asked, breathlessly.
He made a sound, part buzzing, part mild laughing. This, he always did whenever I bombarded him with quirky questions. And I asked a lot, but he had an answer for everything. "That may be. Without a doubt, she is the largest ring snake around."
Whatever grandfather said was truth to me that no one could dispute. Because he was the smartest man that I had known and his goodness and wisdom would turn everything he did and said into steady values. When he assured the snake was good and queen of her kind, then this was as clear as the sun in the sky. And the crown, I could see myself after all. To me, the yellow bands of its neck instantly turned into softly gleaming gold and no one could have told me that she was not wearing fine jewelry on her little head, the spikes ornated with gemstones.
"Can I touch her?"
Again this deep, rumbling buzz: "She won't let you. Monarchs don't allow anyone touching them."
"Will she bite me?"
"Oh no. She only wants nothing to do with men. Between us and beasts, there is a wide space, like from moon to earth. And there is no bridge inbetween. Anyway! Try it!"
So, I stepped closer. But then, there was a soundless, beautifully graceful movement awakening within her long body, some slithering and swinging, a silent splattering of water - and gone, she was.
From this moment on, the pond turned into my daily destination, and almost always, I'd see the snake queen resting on the willow branches, sunbathing. And, wasn't that crystal clear? Queens do only show up at sunshine.
During those patrols through Wolfsgraben valley where grandfather had his cottage, a long-term companion of mine was Jucunda, one year my junior and our neighbour's little daughter. This neighbour was a bugler at the Vienna Philharmoic Orchestra and many times, in the morning or the evening, one could hear his instrument playing, as soft and dreamy as if the forest itself had been singing. Jucunda's character resembled those sounds that came out of her father's instrument: Gentle and a bit shy, strange and otherworldy within the life-affirming realm of an orchestra. Her brown little head was filled with myths, fantasies, full of allegories with which she'd connect tender beauties of childlike experiences, connecting these again to her inner self. Clouds told her whole stories, and she was able to see and feel a connection to herself through every butterfly, every bug and every flower.
Not only was she showing no fear whatsoever of the beast dreaded by all men - when I'd lead her to the snake (after her making a promise of total secrecy), she was as delighted and believing as I was in this fairyland of mine. Of course she could also see the golden crown and was just as convinced that this beautiful creature had to be the empress of this quiet water place, ruling from its emerald throne of leaves.
We decided to gain the favour of this sublime and unapprochable one, and we'd both do it in our own way. Jucunda sat in the grass, singing a song with her muted voice, or telling a story. And when the snake sometimes lifted her head, watching us with her black, beady eyes, then the little girl cheered, saying that the queen understood her very well. I, being a boy, thought a bit more practical. Many times, I lay some piece of cake or numerous grapes (which I had resolutely resisted to eat myself) into the grass before the willow bushes and I ended up being just as happy when I'd find the delicacies, being such a sacrifice for myself since I always had some great appetite, to be gone next morning. At that time, I didn't know yet that ring snakes eat neither cake nor grapes and thus, everything probably went into the tummies of blackbirds and tits.
It went like this for a good while, and indeed, the snake had grown so used to us that she would allow us to come quite near, with a distance of about two metres. But still, she never let us touch her. If we tried to step any closer, she'd then glide away, even though not in a hurry anymore, but reluctantly and slow into the water where she'd disappear under the overhanging riverbanks. Jucunda was convinced that she was having her castle there and also nymphs who'd dance clothed in flowing veils at night, being her servants.
One day, though, we saw something very frightening. We came near the pond, but stopped still when we caught sight of Kaspar Loidl, of whom we were both afraid of. He was a big, rough country lad, who despised city folks spending their holidays down here in Wolfsgraben and who insulted us, calling "damn city rabble" whenever he'd see us. This Kaspar now must have seen the snake, for he was hastily searching for a stone which he luckily could not find in the grassland. Oddly, the snake who let Jucunda and me step so close, now had quickly disappeared, although the country lad still had been quite away from her. We could still hear him ranting, something about "emptying the cow and need to kill it off", until he finally departed. At that day, we waited for the snake to come out, but it was to no avail.
I told my grandfather about this and received the answer that among country people, there was this believe of snakes drinking all the milk out of the udder of cows. But that would be nonsense and we shouldn't buy into it.
He knew a lot, the smart grandpa - also about the snake itself who now had stepped in the realm of my own knowledge, and he showed himself to be very taught. How did the snake achieve to crawl up the willow branches at the pond? It seemed so weird and inexplicable to me, for she had no frog legs, like the tree-dwelling "croakers" did. But the smooth serpent body with all its moving scales explained this riddle to me and would also offer other insights much later on, gained from the delicate climbing movements of the aesculapian snake - which later again turned into one of my much beloved terrarium snakes. Very often, I had seen this harmless snake vertically climbing walls, sliding over tiny ledges - and same goes for the extremely venomous horned viper, accidently named sand viper, that enjoys laying on branches in the south of Macchia. While the encounter with an aesculapian snake poses no danger at all and the serpent only tries to get away with arrow-like speed, meeting a venomous snake in the flowery scent breezed Macchia of the Balkans or Corsica is much more dangerous. It may warn you with a strong hissing, but woe betide you if you're missing this signal; in this case, it will simply strike and any wanderer can receive such a blow when hiking through the bush.
Grandpa did know nothing of Macchia and the horned viper, but what he did know was that my "little crowned snake" from my adventures was an excellent swimmer and thus able to devour fish and frogs alike. That firmly explained her position up in the trees because underneath, tiny fish would wag through the water of this idyllic little pond, being much welcomed by the snake who wasn't known to miss out on anyhting. Only the toads - I observed that soon - she would let pass unharmed through the pond. Why? That, grandpa also knew: The disgusting, no, actually poisonous skin of this water folk not even a serpent would eat; quite the opposite, she'd despise it just like humans do, who generally have a rather stupid opinion of them "ugly" toads, although their melodic voices fill each night with beautiful music.
This and much more I learned from grandfather about snakes, who could read from my eyes how fearful I was about Loidl possibly hurting the snake. He then added, calmly, that any farmer thought of every snake to be a venomous one and that Kaspar would beware getting all too close to it.
As a result, we also never saw the lad at the pond again, because now he was being too busy during hay-time anyway and we thought that we did not have to worry for the steel shimmering queen anymore. Jucunda and I were deeply engulfed into our lovely fairy tale. We had stepped into a very personal and immediate relationship with the snake, without realising how onesided it really was. Jucunda sang her songs, I told stories and in every raising of her gold-crowned head, in every movement that her body would do resting in the branches, we believed to find sympathy and understanding. We had built us this little world of blissful self-delusion, creating this invisible wall around it. Only grandfather had known our secret. He may have felt the surrealness of this relationship between man and beast, for the scientist within him would sometimes try - with gentle attempts - to lift the fantasy veil that I had pulled around the snake and observe the creature from a more scientific view. But then again, he also was too much of a poet after all, not able to destroy my sky blue summer dream with mundane explanations; and he may have thought to himself: Well, the boy believes in Father Christmas and the Easter Rabbit, so why shouldn't he also believe in the Snake Queen? So, it stayed that way and thus also stayed the golden crown that she would wear gracefully and yet proudly on her head.

That was until one day, when a thunder bolt destroyed our lalaland, turning it into ruins. The snake lay dead in the grass and her head was crushed beyond all recognition. Jucunda and I stood around her like two children who were forced outside a warm room and into a terrible storm at night. All of a sudden, everything was being different; we saw yellow leaves and autumn coming, we felt a freezing wind travelling from the mountains that were already covered with first snow. Jucunda cried silently, but I, helpless in my boyish wrath, thought of horrible things instead that I would do to Loidl who, without a doubt, was the one responsible for this. Setting his house on fire, poisoning his cows, shooting and killing his chickens with the slingshot! Of course, those thoughts of revenge were never put into action, but stayed thoughts.
Something shiny lay in the grass, not far from it all: a tiny piece of golden paper, like one would use it to wrap up chocolate. Some day-tripper might have thrown it away. Jucunda picked it up, her hands trembling. "The little crown!" None of us thought that it could have been something else.
We lay it in a pit, the same in which we'd bury the snake and together with it all, we also buried a children's dream, one that turned out too fragile to last long.

Yes, I may have been only seven years old. But much later, when I looked at things in the much harder, clearer light of truth, it came to me that back then, I had experienced my last fairy tale.
~

- Gustav Renker, taken and translated from "Verkanntes Schlangenvolk".