The serpent began to feel very uncomfortable in the presence of these relatives, because however hard she tried to lift her head, she knew only too well that she would have to put it down on the ground again before she could move away. A little while ago, in her dark glade, she had been very pleased with herself, but here, in the presence of these cousins, she seemed to be glowing less and less by the minute; in fact, she began to fear that she might go out altogether!
It was therefore in a state of embarrassment that she hurriedly asked the gentlemen whether they could give her any information as to where the gold had come from that had tumbled into her crevasse a while ago. She thought it might be a rain of gold straight from heaven. The will-o’-the-wisps laughed and shook themselves.
A huge amount of gold coins fell from them, and the serpent slid forward quickly to swallow them. “Enjoy them, enjoy them, coz!” said the fine gentlemen. “We can let you have plenty more!” And they shook themselves several times with great agility. The snake could scarcely swallow fast enough. Her light grew visibly stronger; now she was really glowing beautifully. The will-o’-the-wisps, however, had grown quite thin and small, yet without losing any of their good humor.
“I shall be forever grateful,” said the serpent, when she had caught her breath. “Ask of me what you will. I will do anything within my power for you.”
“Very fine!” cried the will-o’-the-wisps. “So tell us—where does the Beautiful Lily live? Lead us as quickly as you can to the palace and garden of the Beautiful Lily. We are dying with impatience to dance at her feet.”
The serpent sighed. “I cannot do you this service right away,” she said. “The Beautiful Lily lives on the other side of the river.”
“On the other side of the river! And we had ourselves ferried across on this stormy night! Oh, what a cruel stream it is that separates us! Do you think we could call the old man back?”
“You wouldn’t gain anything by it,” said the serpent. “For even if you were to meet him on this side, he wouldn’t take you across. He can bring anyone to this shore but take no one to the other side.”
“Well, then we’ve really done it! Is there no other way of getting across the water?”
“There are a few, only not right now. I can put the gentlemen across, but not until noon.”
“And that’s a time when we don’t like to travel.”
“Well, then you’ll have to cross in the evening, on the shadow of the giant.”
“And how do we go about that?”
“The giant, who doesn’t live far from here, can do nothing with his great body. His hands can’t lift a piece of straw, his shoulders can’t bear a bundle of faggots, but his shadow can do a great deal—in fact, everything. That is why he is most powerful when the sun rises and sets. All one has to do is sit down on the neck of his shadow at nightfall. Then he walks gently toward the shore, and his shadow brings the traveler across the water. If you want to meet me at noon in that wooded corner over there where the shrubbery grows close to the water, I can put you across and introduce you to the Beautiful Lily, but if you don’t like the heat of noon, all you have to do is seek out the giant toward evening in yonder rocky bay. I am sure he will be pleased to help you.”
With a little bow, the young gentlemen left, and the serpent was quite glad to get away from them, partly because she wanted to admire her own light, partly to satisfy a curiosity that had been plaguing her strangely for some time.
She had made a most peculiar discovery in the rocky crevasses through which she often crept, for although until now she had had to crawl through these depths without a light, she could tell different objects apart very well by feeling them. She was accustomed to finding herself surrounded by only the irregular products of nature. Sometimes she slithered past the sharp points of huge crystals or she could feel the jags and flaws of pure silver; sometimes she brought a gem out with her to the light. But, to her great astonishment, she had recently stumbled upon some objects in a hollowed-out cave that betrayed the fact that the hand of man had formed them. There were smooth walls that she could not scale, sharp, regular edges, beautifully shaped columns, and—what seemed strangest of all—human figures. She had wound herself around them several times and come to the conclusion that they were made of metal or highly polished marble. Now she wanted to experience all these things with her eyes and corroborate what until now she had been able only to surmise; now she thought she could illuminate this marvelous subterranean cavern with her own light and hoped to see all these strange objects at once. She hurried off and on the customary path found the fissure in the rock through which she usually crept into the sacred precincts.
When she arrived at the place she looked around her curiously, and although her light could not illuminate everything in the rotunda, still she could see what was near her clearly enough. With amazement and awe, she looked up into a shining niche that held the statue of a noble king in pure gold. It seemed to be more than life-size, yet it was shaped like the figure of a slight rather than a big man. He was wearing a simple cloak and a wreath of oak leaves on his hair.
The serpent had scarcely taken in this awesome sight when the king addressed her. “Where have you come from?” he asked.
“Out of the cleft in the rock where the gold lives,” said the serpent.
“What is more glorious than gold?” asked the king.
“Light,” replied the serpent.
“What is more refreshing than light?” asked the king.
“Conversation,” replied the serpent.
As they talked, the serpent caught sight, out of the corner of one eye, of another magnificent statue in the next niche. A silver king sat in it, a tall and slender man. He was ornately clad; crown, belt, and scepter were studded with jewels. The serenity of pride was on his face, and he seemed about to speak when a vein that ran darkly across the marble wall suddenly turned light and spread a pleasant glow through the whole temple. In it the serpent could see a third king, cast mightily in bronze. He sat there leaning on his club. He, too, wore a wreath of oak leaves and looked more like a rock than a man. The serpent was about to look at a fourth king, who was farthest away, when the wall opened and the shining vein disappeared like lightning, and the serpent’s attention was now drawn to a man of medium height emerging from the aperture. He was dressed like a peasant and carried a small lamp in his hand. It burned with a quiet flame that was lovely to look into and it illuminated the whole dome in a wonderful fashion without casting a single shadow.
“Why have you come?” asked the golden king. “You can see that we have light.”
“And you know that I am not permitted to illuminate darkness.”
“Is my kingdom coming to an end?” asked the silver king.
“Late or never,” the old man replied.
The bronze king asked in a loud voice, “When shall I arise?”
“Soon,” said the old man.
“And with whom shall I ally myself?” asked the king.
“With your older brother,” said the old man.
“And what is to become of the youngest?” asked the king.
“He shall sit down,” said the old man.
“But I am not tired,” the fourth king cried in a hoarse, stammering voice.
While everyone else in the temple had been talking, the serpent had been creeping around admiring everything and now she took a closer look at the fourth king. He was standing, leaning against a column, and his prominent figure was ponderous rather than beautiful. It was not easy to tell in what metal he had been cast. On looking closer it seemed to be a mixture of the three that composed his brothers, but in the casting, the metals had evidently not amalgamated properly; gold and silver veins ran irregularly through bronze, making him a very unpleasant sight.
Meanwhile the gold king said to the old man, “How many mysteries do you know?”
“Three,” said the old man.
“Which is the most important?” asked the silver k
ing.
“The manifest one,” said the old man.
“Won’t you reveal it to us?” asked the bronze king.
“As soon as I know the fourth,” said the old man.
“It’s no concern of mine,” mumbled the composite king.
“I know the fourth,” said the serpent, creeping up to the old man and whispering something in his ear, whereupon he cried in a mighty voice, “The time is at hand!”
The temple echoed his words, the metal statues rang with them, the old man vanished toward the west, the snake toward the east, and both hurried as fast as they could through clefts in the rocks.
The walls of every passage traversed by the old man turned to gold behind him, because his lamp had the miraculous power of transforming all stone into gold, all wood into silver, and all dead animals into jewels, and of destroying all metal. But to do all this, it had to shine alone. If another light shone with it, the lamp cast only a lovely glow, and all living things were refreshed by it.
The old man went into his hut, which was built up against the mountain. He found his wife despondent. She was sitting by the fire, weeping, and he could not console her. “How miserable I am!” she cried. “If only I had not let you go out today!”
“What has happened?” the old man asked calmly.
“You had just left,” she said, sobbing, “when two blustering travelers came to the door. I was incautious enough to let them in. They seemed to be nice, decent people. They were dressed in bright flames. You could have taken them for will-o’-the-wisps. They barely got into the house when they began to pay me the most shameless compliments and in the end became so impertinent that I am ashamed to even think of it!”
Her husband smiled and said, “I think the gentlemen were only joking, but they really should have been satisfied to remain conventionally polite in consideration of your age.”
“My age!” cried his wife. “Why do I have to listen to ‘my age’ all the time? How old am I, anyway? Conventional politeness! I know what I know. And just have a look round. Look at the walls. Can you see the old stones that we haven’t seen for a hundred years? They licked off every bit of gold, and how spryly! And kept assuring me it tasted much better than ordinary gold. And when they had cleaned up the walls, they seemed to be in high spirits—and why not? They had certainly grown taller, broader, and shinier in a very short time. But then they began to be bold again and brushed against me and called me their queen and shook themselves, and a heap of gold coins fell from them and danced all over the place. Look at them shining there under the bench. And what a disaster! Our little pug dog ate some. There he lies by the chimney—dead. The poor thing. I can’t get over it. I didn’t notice it until they had gone, or I would never have promised to pay their debt to the ferryman.”
“What do you owe him?” asked the old man.
“Three cabbages, three artichokes, and three onions,” said his wife. “I promised to carry them down to the river as soon as it is light.”
“Do them the favor,” said the old man, “because they will serve us again someday.”
“I don’t know about that, but they certainly assured and promised me they would.”
In the meantime, the fire in the stove had gone out. The old man spread ashes on the coals and removed the glittering pieces of gold. Now his little lamp shone by itself again, the walls were covered with gold once more, and the little pug dog had been transformed into the most beautiful onyx imaginable. The changeable black and brown of the costly stone made a rare work of art of him.
“Take your basket,” said the old man, “and put the onyx in it. Then take three cabbages, three artichokes, and three onions, place them around the onyx and carry all of it down to the river. Let the serpent put you across at noon, and visit the Beautiful Lily. Give her the onyx. She will bring the dog to life by touching him, just as she kills all living things in the same way. The dog will make her a faithful companion. Tell her not to grieve; her deliverance is nigh. She can look upon the greatest misfortune as good fortune for the time is at hand.”
The old woman packed her basket and started out with the dawning day. The rising sun shone brightly on the river glittering in the distance. She walked slowly, because the basket was heavy on her head, yet it was not the onyx that weighed her down. Whatever dead matter she happened to be carrying never burdened her, because then the basket rose and hovered just over her head, but she found carrying fresh vegetables or a small living animal extremely onerous. She had been walking for some time in a dour mood when she suddenly came to a stop, startled. She had almost stepped on the giant’s shadow, which stretched out across the ground to where she was walking. Only then did she see the powerful fellow bathing in the river. He left the water, and she didn’t know how to get out of his way. As soon as he saw her, he greeted her cheerfully and the hands on his shadow reached for her basket. Nimbly they removed one cabbage, one artichoke, and one onion, and put them into the giant’s mouth, after which he wandered on upstream, leaving the woman’s path clear.
She wondered whether she should turn back and replace the missing vegetables from her garden, and walked on beset by this doubt. Soon she had reached the bank of the river. There she sat for a long time, waiting for the ferryman, and saw him at last, ferrying a strange traveler across! A young, noble, very handsome man got out of the boat. The woman couldn’t take her eyes off him.
“What have you got there?” the old man called out.
“The vegetables that the will-o’-the-wisps owe you,” the woman replied, showing him what she had. When the old man found only two of each kind, he was annoyed and assured her that he could not accept them. The woman begged him to take them, explaining that she could not go home again now, and that the basket would be too heavy for her on the way she still had to go. But he stuck to his refusal and explained that it didn’t even depend on him. “Whatever I have coming to me,” he explained, “must be left together for nine hours, and I can’t take any of it until I have given the river a third.” After much discussion, the old man finally declared, “We have one more possibility; if you want to give the river a guarantee and acknowledge the fact that you are its debtor, I’ll accept the six pieces—but it’s dangerous.”
“If I keep my word, what can be dangerous about it?”
“Nothing at all,” said the old man. “So, put your hand in the river and promise to pay your debt in the next twenty-four hours.”
The old woman did and was startled when she drew her hand out of the water coal-black. She scolded the old man, pointing out that her hands had always been the most beautiful part of her. In spite of hard work, she had known how to keep the pretty things white and dainty. She looked at her black hand with chagrin and cried out in her despair, “But that isn’t all! It’s much worse! My hand is shrunk. Now it’s smaller than the other!”
“It only looks that way,” said the old man. “But if you don’t keep your promise, it may come to pass: your hand will slowly dwindle and in the end disappear entirely—but you won’t lose the use of it. You will be able to do anything you wish with it, only no one will be able to see it.”
“I’d rather be able to do nothing with it, if only no one can see that anything is wrong,” said the old woman. “But it doesn’t really matter. I shall keep my word and rid myself of my black hand, and all this vexation.” Quickly she picked up her basket, which now rose above the parting in her hair and hovered freely over her head. Then she hurried after the young man who was walking slowly along the river’s edge, deep in thought. His marvelous figure and strange attire had made a deep impression on her.
His chest was covered with a coat of mail under which every part of his magnificent body moved freely, and a purple cloak hung from his shoulders. His bare head was covered with brown ringlets, his handsome face was exposed to the rays of the sun and so were his beautifully shaped feet. Anguish seemed to make him impervious to all outer impressions, for he was walking calmly across the hot sand on his b
are soles.
The talkative old woman tried to draw him into a conversation but, in curt replies, he gave her little information. In the end, in spite of his beautiful eyes, she grew tired of constantly addressing him in vain. She took leave of him, saying, “I’m afraid you walk too slowly for me, sir. I must not miss the moment to pass across the river on the green serpent and bring my husband’s wonderful present to the Beautiful Lily.” With these words she hastened on. But the young man came to his senses just as quickly and hurried after her. “You are going to the Beautiful Lily?” he cried. “Then we are going the same way. What is the present you are taking to her?”
“I don’t think it is fair, sir,” said the woman, “to enquire into my secrets in such a lively fashion after being so taciturn in reply to my questions. But if you would like to strike a bargain with me and tell me your story, then I won’t hide mine from you, nor my present.” They soon came to an agreement; the woman told him how things stood with her, the story of the dog, and let him have a look at the wonderful gift.
The little pug dog looked so natural lying in the basket. It seemed to be resting. The young man lifted it out and held it in his arms. “Oh, fortunate animal!” he cried. “Her hands will touch you, she will bring you to life—but I who live must flee from her or come to a sad end. But why do I say sad? Is it not far more grievous and frightful to be paralyzed by her presence than it would be to die at her hands? Look at me,” he said to the old woman, “how I have to suffer in my youth! This armor that I wore honorably in battle, this purple cloak that I tried to earn by ruling wisely…fate let me keep the former unnecessary burden, the latter meaningless adornment. Crown, scepter, and sword are gone, and I am as naked and needy as every other man. For her beautiful eyes have such an unholy effect that she robs all living things of their strength, and those whom her touching hand does not kill are changed into living, wandering shadows.”