A long, long time ago, a young girl lived with her parents in a simple hut by Lake Neuchâtel in Béroche. They were poor and lived on what little their land yielded, for the father was ill and the mother was weakened from a constant cough. At that time, an evil prince ruled the land. He made the poor pay for gathering chestnuts and beechnuts, and even berries could only be picked with his permission. They had to give up what little they grew on their barren fields to the prince, and so the people starved and many were weak and ill.

In those days, the shores of Lake Neuchâtel were completely overgrown with reeds. There, hidden among the reeds, Rose, a young girl with long, golden hair, was bathing. One day, as she was swimming again, a white woman suddenly appeared and asked: ‘Please, dear girl, take me across the water to the other shore.’

Rose swam to the shore and fetched her father’s boat. She helped the woman into it, began to row, and sighed as she did so. The white woman asked: ‘What troubles you, dear child?’

“Oh,” said Rose, “one of my brothers died recently; he had terrible stomach cramps. My father is always in pain and can hardly walk, and my poor mother coughs every night so she can’t sleep.” The white woman listened attentively. When they reached the bank, she asked Rose to get out with her. She led her to a meadow and picked a bundle of herbs: sage, silverweed and bedstraw; she also picked lime blossoms and placed them in the girl’s hand. “With these herbs, you can heal your family’s ailments,” she said. She showed the girl which medicinal herb healed which ailment and how she should prepare it, then she vanished.

When Rose was back home, she prepared soothing ointments and tea from the medicinal plants, just as the white woman had taught her. Then she rubbed the ointment into her father’s back, and before long he was able to walk without pain. She gave her mother some of the tea to drink, and at last she recovered.

Soon word spread of her knowledge of herbs, and sick people came to the old hut to be given remedies by Rose. She healed wounds, fevers and aching joints, and not a day went by without people seeking her advice.

The prince heard of this too: ‘Who gave her permission to heal the sick?’, he asked, “Who gave her permission to pick herbs?” His anger grew ever greater. So he set off for the hut where Rose’s family lived. The girl was home alone. She was preparing an ointment, greeted the prince warmly and asked after his health. This question annoyed the prince even more and he roared: ‘How do you know which herbs can heal?’ Rose told him about the white woman. Then the prince grabbed the girl and ordered her to show him where she had met the white woman. Fearfully, Rose led the prince to the water’s edge and pointed to the spot. But as she turned her back on him, he pushed the girl into the water, and she drowned. Then he walked away.

In the evening, the mother searched for her daughter. With torches, the villagers searched the riverbank and soon they saw the girl’s lifeless body in the reeds. The mother cried out in horror and the people of Béroche wept when they saw that Rose was dead. Suddenly, thunder rumbled and lightning flashed; then the white woman appeared beside the dead girl and said: ‘Rose, you shall be a rose forever.’ At once, the girl’s pale cheeks turned into petals and her body into a slender stem, rooted at the water’s edge and swaying in the wind.

At that moment, the prince appeared to drive the people away from the bank, but the white woman pointed at him and cried: ‘You tyrant, you shall be a bear forever.’ Then the prince felt his legs grow heavy and fur begin to grow. His hands turned into paws and, horrified by his bear-like form, he leapt away. He hid in a nearby cave, but when the people cautiously approached the next day, they saw that he had turned to stone. From that day on, however, the healing roses grew everywhere in the Béroche. The people gathered their blossoms and rose hips and lived long and healthy lives.

Fassung Djamila Jaenike nach: Nach F. Chabloz, Patois neuchâtelois, Neuchâtel 1894, Übersetzung Lysander Jaenike © Mutabor