The Rudolf Steiner Archive

14. Goethe's Fairy Tale of the Green Snake and the Beautiful Lily

[By the great river, which had just swollen and overflowed its banks after a heavy rain, the old ferryman lay in his little hut, weary from the day’s exertions, and slept.]

[ 1 ] The ferryman—the lower forces of nature—rests on the opposite bank—the mental plane—of the stream—of the astral plane of desire.

[ 2 ] Here come two will-o'-the-wisps: human beings in whom only Kama-Manas dwells—that is, the lower mind, which draws its knowledge from the lower material plane. The will-o’-the-wisps want to pay the ferryman with the gold they shake out of themselves. He has no use for it; the lower mind cannot master the lower forces of nature. Horrified, the ferryman gathers up the gold of knowledge.

If a gold coin had fallen into the water, the current would,

[ 3 ] — Passion —

who cannot tolerate this metal,

[ 4 ] — Gold and knowledge stir up passions —

rose up in terrifying waves, engulfing the ship and me. And who knows what would have happened to you! Take your money back,

[ 5 ] says the ferryman.

We cannot take back anything we have shaken off,

[ 6 ] say the will-o'-the-wisps. Quite right; what earthly wisdom has given away, it cannot take back. The ferryman demands his wages from the will-o’-the-wisps: fruits of the earth—three heads of cabbage, three onions, three artichokes. The will-o’-the-wisps cannot give them to him, but they promise to provide them. The ferryman carefully gathers the gold into his cap, rows along the river on the same side where the will-o’-the-wisps are—who call out to him once more in vain—until he reaches a rocky area, where he pours the dangerous gold into a vast chasm, where the water can never reach it; then he returns to his hut.

In this crevice [lay] the beautiful green snake,

[ 7 ] — the higher Manas —

who was awakened from her sleep by the clinking coin.

[ 8 ] She devours the gold with eagerness; it melts within her and illuminates her, bringing her joy and comfort. Then she searches for the giver of the gold, paying no heed to hardships or dangers.

Exhausted, she finally reached a damp marsh where our two will-o'-the-wisps played now and then.

[ 9 ] She is delighted to find kinship in them. The will-o'-the-wisps also greet her warmly, but say that they are

related only in appearance.

[ 10 ] The snake feels uncomfortable in the presence of the stranger; it cannot stretch to her height and fears losing its own radiance. It asks the gentlemen about the origin of the gold, which it believes fell from the sky like a shower of gold. The will-o’-the-wisps shake with laughter and scatter new gold, which the snake devours greedily, becoming ever more luminous as a result, while the will-o’-the-wisps diminish and shrink, yet remain ever merry. The snake wishes to show its gratitude and promises to serve them.

[ 11 ] The will-o'-the-wisps ask for directions to the beautiful lily—the highest bliss—and learn, to their horror and sorrow, that she dwells across the water, where they came from. They ask the snake to call the ferryman for them, so that he may take them back across. But to their sorrow, they are told that the ferryman is allowed to bring anyone across, but no one back again. We are brought into the [earthly] world by the forces of nature; to return to the higher world, a person must carry themselves.

[ 12 ] The will-o'-the-wisps ask how this can happen. The serpent offers them two options: She herself offers to carry them across at noon. But that hour does not suit the gentlemen. The second option is offered by the giant—Death—whose body is powerless, but whose shadow—sleep, deep sleep, trance—

a lot, yes, everything

[ 13 ] Perhaps. Its shadow falls across the river in the evening and in the morning, and the gentlemen could use it as a bridge. The will-o’-the-wisps drift away; the snake is glad to be rid of them. She makes her way back to her rocky gorge. There, she had already made a strange discovery. Through a crevice in the rock, she had reached a place where she found things that were [until then] unfamiliar to her. Until then, she had encountered only natural products, which she could easily distinguish by feel even in underground spaces—the pointed crystals that

Hooks and hair made of sterling silver,

[ 14 ] and she also brought many a gemstone up into the light. At the place mentioned, to her great astonishment, she found smooth walls and objects made by human hands—beautiful columns and so on, as well as human figures, which she had wrapped herself around and gazed upon. Now that she had become luminous, she wanted to examine these things with her eyes as well, in order to form a complete understanding of them. With her light, she could not fully illuminate the cave into which she had entered along the familiar path, but she could make out the individual objects as she approached them. In a niche stood the likeness of a king, fashioned entirely of pure gold. Although depicted as larger than life, it nevertheless seemed

the portrait of a man who is small rather than tall

[ 15 ] To Be. The Golden King

asked, “Where do you come from?”—“From the chasms,” replied the snake, “where gold dwells.”—“What is more magnificent than gold?” asked the king. “Light,” replied the snake. “What is more refreshing than light?” asked the king. “Conversation,” replied the snake.

[ 16 ] In the next alcove sat a silver king—Budhi—

tall and rather slight in build,

[ 17 ] adorned with magnificent robes,

A crown, a belt, and a scepter, all adorned with precious stones. His face bore the cheerful air of pride, and he seemed just about to speak when a dark vein running through the marble wall suddenly brightened, spreading a pleasant light throughout the entire temple. In this light, the serpent saw the third king, who sat there in a mighty form cast in bronze, leaning on his mace, adorned with a laurel wreath, and resembling a rock more than a man. She wanted to look for the fourth king, who stood farthest away from her, but the wall opened as the illuminated vein flickered like lightning and vanished.

[ 18 ] A man dressed in peasant clothes, holding a small lamp, walked in,

whose quiet flame was a delight to gaze upon and which, in a marvelous way, illuminated the entire cathedral without casting even a single shadow.

[ 19 ] The man with the lamp is religion.

“Why do you come now that we have light?” asked the Golden King—the Thinker. “You know that I must not illuminate the darkness.”

[ 20 ] The power of religion has an enlightening effect only when it is met by another power. Faith must meet religion; otherwise, religion cannot enlighten people.

“Is my kingdom coming to an end?” asked the Silver King

[ 21 ] — Budhi, the life spirit, the mental, spiritual body.

“Better late than never,” the old man replied. “When will I get up?”

[ 22 ] — that is, to gain my dominion — began the Iron King — the spiritual being, Atma —

to ask. “Soon,” replied the old man. “Who should I contact?” asked the king. “Your older brothers,” said the old man. “What will become of the youngest?” asked the king. “He will sit down”

[ 23 ] — an expression for the relinquishment of power —

said the old man. “I’m not tired,” cried the fourth king in a hoarse, stuttering voice.

[ 24 ] The fourth king symbolizes the four lower, impermanent fundamental elements of human beings; that is:

[ 25 ] first, the physical body,

[ 26 ] second, the etheric body — Linga sharira,

[ 27 ] third, the feeling soul-body—the astral body; fourth, the intellectual soul—lower Manas; Kama-Manas—that is, the intellect, the power of thought, which is still clouded by sensory impressions and desires, and is therefore incapable of recognizing the Higher, the Divine, the higher Manas, the true Thinker, the true human being, and even less so the spiritual human being, Atma. Meanwhile, the serpent had been slithering around the temple

and now looked at the fourth king standing nearby. He was leaning against a pillar, and his imposing figure was more ponderous than handsome. Yet the metal from which he was cast was not easily discernible. On closer inspection, it was a mixture of the three metals from which his brothers were formed. But during the casting process, these materials did not seem to have fused properly; golden and silver veins ran irregularly through a mass of bronze, giving the statue an unpleasant appearance.

Meanwhile, the Golden King said to the man, “How many secrets do you know?” — “Three,” replied the old man. “Which is the most important?” asked the Silver King. ‹The obvious one,› replied the old man. ‹Will you reveal it to us as well?› asked the bronze king. ‹As soon as I know the fourth,› said the old man. ‹What do I care!› muttered the composite king to himself. ‹I know the fourth,› said the serpent, approaching the old man and hissing something in his ear. “The time has come!” cried the old man in a mighty voice. The temple resounded, the metal statues rang out, and in that instant the old man sank toward the west and the serpent toward the east, each darting with great speed through the crevices of the rocks.

[ 28 ] The rock described here represents the ancient mystery temples, where disciples were initiated into the mysteries of existence. The fundamental aspects of the human being were symbolically represented there. There are still many such temples in India, and since spiritual life no longer permeates people’s lives as it did in ancient times—when the intellect and reason were not yet so developed—they have been abandoned and destroyed and shattered by the hand of savage forces; even as ruins, they still make a magnificent, and in some cases, terrifying impression. The figures depicted there symbolically—which appear hideous to our eyes—were once, when viewed through the eye of the spirit, a means of first learning to understand the higher life and then, upon reaching maturity, of beholding it for oneself. We Westerners regard them merely as hideous idols; the Easterners see the meaning of the symbols beyond the outer form. They still lack a sense of beauty in form. In ancient times, when these grotesque images were created, the outer form was such a minor consideration to them that they used it merely to express a thought, just as we now use language—written language—as a medium to communicate to our fellow human beings the things we have grasped in our minds. The crude manner in which we Westerners often judge these things, along with the zeal for conversion that sought its purpose in the destruction of “idols,” testifies to a complete ignorance of these matters.

[ 29 ] The snake whispered in the old man's ear that she was ready to sacrifice herself completely, and the old man then cried out:

It's time!

[ 30 ] to which the temple resounds. We don’t need Eastern wisdom to understand this “resounding.” Goethe provides an explanation in the prologue to Faust, set in heaven:

The sun resounds in the old way
In the realms of brotherhood, a contest of song.

[ 31 ] Heaven—the Devachan—is the plane where sound resonates. Sound has its realm there.

With a sound that resonates in the ears of the spirit
The new day is already dawning!

[ 32 ] The serpent—the intellect—which seeks enlightenment, travels east; the man with the lamp—religion—travels west.

Every corridor through which the old man walked was immediately filled with gold behind him; for his lamp had the miraculous power to turn all stones into gold, all wood into silver, dead animals into precious stones, and to destroy all metals. To produce this effect, however, it had to shine all by itself; if another light was beside it, it cast only a beautiful, bright glow, and all living things were always refreshed by it.

The old man entered his hut, which was built against the mountain, and found his wife in the deepest sorrow. She was sitting by the fire, weeping, and could not console herself. “How unhappy I am!” she cried out; “If only I hadn’t let you go today!”

[ 33 ] In response to the man’s calm question, the woman explains that while he was away, two men—the will-o’-the-wisps—had visited her and behaved very intrusively.

“And just look around you at the walls; just look at those old stones, which I haven’t seen in a hundred years: they’ve licked all the gold off them—you wouldn’t believe how deftly—and they always claimed it tasted much better than ordinary gold.”

[ 34 ] Then they would have grown increasingly boisterous; they would have petted her and called her “Queen,” and she would have shaken herself, scattering a pile of gold coins all over the place; and, unfortunately, her pug had eaten some of them, and now he lay dead by the fireplace.

[ 35 ] “I didn’t see it until they were gone; otherwise, I wouldn’t have promised to pay off their debt to the ferryman.” “How much do they owe?” asked the old man. “Three heads of cabbage,” said the woman, <“three artichokes and three onions; I promised to carry them to the river when day breaks.”

[ 36 ] The Old Woman is the spiritual essence, the ordinary, sensory life of human beings. The will-o’-the-wisps—rational science—lick the gold—historical knowledge—and scatter it again. It [intellectual science] flatters the lower nature, but has no life-giving power; the pug that feeds on it dies. Natural science denies the life force, and without the life-giving power of the lamp—the light that religion brings—life withers away through dead knowledge. In the first cycle, the mineral kingdom holds the form for wisdom. Three times three is nine—human sensuality. Three cabbages, three onions, three artichokes. Man has passed through the three kingdoms. Woman pays for the flow of passions with the fruits of the earth. The cabbage, the bulbous plant, [represents] the leaves; the onion, the essence consisting of layers, [represents] the root; the artichoke [represents] the fruit. She [the wife of the old man with the lamp] must pay this [tribute] to the current.

“You can do them this favor,” said the old man, “because they’ll serve us again someday.” “I don’t know if they’ll serve us, but they’ve promised and assured us they will.”

[ 37 ] [The Old Man] extinguishes the hearth fire, carefully gathers up the remaining gold pieces,

And now his little lamp shone once more on its own in the most beautiful radiance; the walls were covered in gold, and the pug had turned into the most beautiful onyx. “Take your basket,” said the old man, “and put the onyx inside; then take the three cabbages, the three artichokes, and the three onions, arrange them around it, and carry them to the river! Around noon, let the snake ferry you across and visit the beautiful lily; bring her the onyx! She will bring it to life with her touch, just as she kills all living things with her touch; she will find a faithful companion in it. Tell her not to grieve—her redemption is near, and she should regard the greatest misfortune as the greatest happiness, for the time has come.” The old woman grabbed her basket and set off at daybreak. The rising sun shone brightly across the river, which glistened in the distance; the woman walked slowly, for the basket weighed heavily on her head, and yet it was not the onyx that weighed so heavily

[ 38 ] — but rather the fresh vegetables.

She did not feel the weight of anything dead that she carried; rather, the basket would then rise up and float above her head. But carrying fresh vegetables or a small, living animal was extremely difficult for her. She had been walking along in a bad mood for a while when she suddenly stopped, startled; for she had nearly stepped on the giant’s shadow, which stretched across the plain toward her. And only then did she see the mighty giant, who had been bathing in the river, emerge from the water, and she did not know how to avoid him. As soon as he noticed her, he began to greet her playfully, and the hands of his shadow immediately reached into the basket. With ease and dexterity, they took out a head of cabbage, an artichoke, and an onion and brought them to the giant’s mouth, who then continued walking upriver, leaving the way clear for the woman.

[ 39 ] The old woman wondered whether she should turn back and fetch what was missing from her garden, but instead kept walking until she reached the river, where she waited a long time for the ferryman. Finally, he arrived. A young, noble, handsome man stepped out of the boat.

What are you bringing?

[ 40 ] cried the ferryman.

It is the vegetable that the will-o'-the-wisps owe you,

[ 41 ] the woman replied. The ferryman would not accept it, since one of each kind was missing. Although the woman pleaded with him to accept the gift, saying she could not make the arduous journey back, he still refused,

by assuring her that it wasn’t even up to him. “I must set aside what is due to me for nine hours, and I may not accept anything until I have handed over a third to the river, [...] There is another way. If you will vouch for yourself against the river and acknowledge yourself as a debtor, then I will take the six pieces; but there is some danger involved.” — “If I keep my word, I’m not in any danger, am I?” — “Not the slightest. Put your hand in the river [...] and promise that you will pay off the debt within twenty-four hours.” The old woman did so; but how terrified she was when she pulled her hand out of the water, black as coal!

[ 42 ] Alte is very unhappy that her beautiful hand has turned black and is even beginning to wither.

“It only seems that way for now,” said [the ferryman]; “but if you don’t keep your word, it may come true. The hand will gradually wither away, [...], without you losing the ability to use it. You’ll be able to do everything with it, except that no one will see it.” — “‘I’d rather not have to use it and not have anyone notice,’ said the old woman; ‘but that doesn’t matter—I’ll keep my word to get rid of this black hand and this worry soon.’”

[ 43 ] Three times three is nine, the number of human sensuality; it has passed through all three kingdoms. Woman pays for the flow of passions with the fruits of the earth. She must pay tribute to the flow. The cabbage symbolizes the leaves, the onion the root, and the artichoke the fruit. All three are members of the cabbage family.

[ 44 ] The spiritual being—the woman—loses a portion of the fruits and shoots she has earned through diligence in the garden; specifically, through sleep, dreams, and a lack of vigilance. Yet she has committed herself to paying the debt owed to the will-o’-the-wisps—the power of the intellect. The intellect alone cannot produce leaves, blossoms, or fruit; it leaves that to the spiritual forces. But the lower forces of nature—the ferryman—insist on their rights; the stream of passions, too, demands satisfaction. Since the woman lacks the sufficient means to do so, she atones for it with her body. She does not lack the strength, but her body becomes severely disfigured by the fact that she has dipped her hand into the stream. If a person gives way to passion, they suffer harm. It is very telling of man’s base disposition that the woman is far more distressed about her appearance—what will people say?—than about the loss of her ability to work, which, according to the ferryman, does not actually threaten her.

[ 45 ] The woman now picks up the basket again, which is floating freely above her head,

and hurried after the young man, who was walking slowly and pensively along the shore. His magnificent figure and his unusual attire had made a deep impression on the old woman. His chest was covered with gleaming armor, through which every part of his beautiful body was visible as he moved. A purple cloak hung around his shoulders; brown hair in beautiful curls flowed around his bare head; his lovely face was exposed to the sun’s rays, as were his well-proportioned feet. With bare feet, he walked calmly across the hot sand, and a deep sorrow seemed to dull all external impressions.

[ 46 ] The old woman struck up a conversation with him, but he barely responded. She grew bored with this and took her leave, remarking that she had to hurry to cross the river via the green snake and deliver her husband’s gift to the beautiful lily. When the young man hears this, he summons his courage and runs after the woman.

“You’re going to the beautiful lily!” he exclaimed;
“We’re going the same way.”

[ 47 ] Along the way, they share their stories. The young man describes his wretched condition: armor and purple robes have become nothing but a useless burden and adornment to him; his crown, scepter, and sword are gone; he is

naked and in need like any other son of the earth, for her [the lily’s] beautiful blue eyes appear so wretched that they sap the strength of all living beings, and those whom her touching hand does not kill find themselves transformed into living, moving shadows.

[ 48 ] He envies the pug because it would gain life through her touch.

[ 49 ] The young man represents humanity as a whole. Humanity is sick with a longing for life. The Eternal Feminine draws it upward. When a person strives upward toward higher knowledge, a paralysis overtakes him: without a firm moral foundation, it is dangerous to seek higher knowledge. The stormy assault results in death. Love kills life; but it kills so that true life may arise. Die and be reborn.

Whoever does not die before he dies will perish when he dies.

[ 50 ] The lower self must die. Thus, death is the root of life.

[ 51 ] They now come to the bridge and are amazed by the splendor of the green serpent, which sparkles entirely with precious stones; arched high, it spans the river. Once they reach the other side, they notice that several other travelers have crossed over as well—the will-o’-the-wisps, whom they cannot see, but whose presence is revealed by their hissing at the snake, which joins them once the crossing is complete. The woman, the young man, and the serpent now make their way to the white lily, while the will-o’-the-wisps look around the queen’s garden for the time being, until twilight falls.

[ 52 ] The old woman approaches the royal maiden first and is so enchanted by her beauty and her lovely singing accompanied by the harp that she bursts into enthusiastic praise. The lily says:

Don't sadden me with untimely praise! It only makes me feel my misfortune all the more keenly.

[ 53 ] She recounts that her canary—her sole source of joy and delight—startled by the hawk, had taken refuge in her bosom and died there. She is inconsolable, for the fact that the culprit, paralyzed by her gaze, is serving his punishment there by the pond offers her no solace. Her bird—the prophetic power—is dead and must be buried.

“Take heart, fair lily!” cried the woman, [...] “My husband sends word that you should [...] regard the greatest misfortune as a harbinger of the greatest happiness, for the time has come.”

[ 54 ] Then she tells of her misfortune and asks the lily to give her the missing cabbage, onion, and artichoke so that she may pay her debt with them and her hand may become white again. The lily is happy to give the head of cabbage and the onion [— root and leaves —], but the garden, in which fresh greens sprouted on her beloved’s grave, does not yield an artichoke—a fruit—for it bears no fruit.

[ 55 ] The woman pays little attention to the beautiful lily’s words; to her horror, she sees her hand growing blacker and blacker and shrinking more and more, and she is about to hurry away when she remembers the pug, which she now hands over to the lily.

The beautiful Lilie looked at the gentle animal with pleasure and, [...], with wonder. “Many signs are coming together,” she said, “that give me some hope; but alas! Is it not merely a delusion of our nature that, when many misfortunes coincide, we imagine that the best is near?”

What good are all these good omens to me?
The bird’s death, my friend’s black hand?
Edelstein’s pug—is there another like it?
And wasn’t it the lamp that sent him to me?
Far removed from sweet human pleasures,
I am, after all, only familiar with sorrow.
Alas! Why isn’t the temple by the river!
Alas! Why isn’t the bridge built!›

[ 56 ] Impatient with the long song, the woman is about to leave when she is stopped by the appearance of the snake. The snake approaches the beautiful lily and encourages her:

The prophecy of the bridge has come true!

[ 57 ] “It rises above the river, shining with precious stones, far more magnificent than before,” says the woman. The lily, however, does not yet consider the prophecy fulfilled, since only pedestrians can cross the bridge; the promise, however, was that horses and carriages would also travel across a solid bridge—whose pillars rested in the river—that would rise out of the river.

[ 58 ] The old woman, still staring at her hand, is about to take her leave when the lily asks her to take her poor canary with her.

‹Ask the lamp to turn him into a beautiful topaz; I will bring him to life with my touch, and he, along with your good pug, shall be my greatest source of amusement; but hurry as fast as you can! For at sunset, unbearable decay will overtake the poor creature and tear apart the beautiful harmony of his form forever.› The old woman places the little corpse among delicate leaves in the basket and hurries away.

[ 59 ] The snake continues the conversation:

“The temple has been built.”—“But it does not yet stand by the river,” replied the Beauty. “It still rests in the depths of the earth,” said the serpent; “I have seen the kings and spoken with them.”—“But when will they rise?” asked Lilie. The serpent replied, “I heard the great words resound in the temple: ‘The time has come!’” A pleasant cheerfulness spread across the beauty’s face. “I have already heard,” she said, “those happy words for the second time today; when will the day come when I hear them three times?”

[ 60 ] Next comes a description of her entourage: three lovely maidservants. Their touch brings the pug to life, and even if he has only half a life left in him, she still enjoys playing with him.

[ 61 ] The sorrowful youth approaches; weary and pale, he draws near to his beloved. He carries the hawk—the symbol of the herald of the future, the prophet of the mysteries—on his hand.

“It’s not kind of you,” Lilie called out to him, “to put that hated beast before my eyes—the one that [...] killed my little singer today.” “Do not blame the unfortunate bird!” replied the young man; “rather, blame yourself and fate, and grant me the privilege of keeping company with the companion of my misery.”

[ 62 ] Jealous of the pug with which the beautiful Lily is playing and pressing to her bosom, the last remnant of the young man’s heroism stirs within him. He makes a sudden movement; the hawk takes flight, but he lunges at the beautiful girl, and the tragedy is complete: he falls dead at her feet. In silent despair, the Lily looks around for help. The snake forms a circle with its body

She formed a wide circle around the corpse, grasped the tip of her tail between her teeth, and lay still.

[ 63 ] The maidservants—the first of whom brings the armchair—approach once more; the second drapes a fiery-red veil around their mistress’s head, and the third brings the harp. No sooner had the Lily drawn a few notes from the instrument than the first servant arrived with a mirror, holding it up before the mistress so that she could behold her magnificent reflection, which was made even more beautiful by her mourning.

Who can get us the man with the lamp?

[ 64 ] hissed the snake. The beauty just sobbed. At that moment, the woman came running up, out of breath:

I am lost and maimed!

[ 65 ] she exclaimed. Neither the ferryman nor the giant would take her across.

Forget your troubles and help out here. Go find the will-o'-the-wisps so that the giant's shadow can carry them across and they can fetch the man with the lamp.

[ 66 ] The lily waited in great sorrow; the serpent looked around impatiently for help. Then

High in the sky, she spotted the hawk with its crimson feathers, its breast catching the last rays of the sun. She shivered with joy at this good omen, and she was not mistaken; for shortly afterward, the man with the lantern was seen gliding across the lake, as if he were skating on ice skates.

[ 67 ] After announcing his arrival, he says:

“Be still, most beautiful girl! I don’t know if I can help; one person alone cannot help, but those who join with many at the right moment can. Let us delay and hope. Keep your circle closed,” he said to the snake.

[ 68 ] He sat down on a rock nearby and let the light from the lamp fall on the corpse.

Bring the dead canary here, too.

[ 69 ] It is also placed on the corpse. The sun had set; the lamp, the snake, and the maiden’s veil glowed, each with its own light.

Worry and grief were eased by a steadfast hope.

[ 70 ] Only the old woman, who had come here with the will-o'-the-wisps, was deeply concerned about her hand. The will-o'-the-wisps were chatting with the beautiful lily, and midnight came before anyone realized it.

The old man looked up at the stars and began to speak: “We are gathered here at a fortunate hour; let each one fulfill his duty, let each one do his part, and a shared happiness will dissolve individual sorrows, just as a shared misfortune consumes individual joys.”

[ 71 ] It took the combined efforts of everyone to provide help. Each person was fully absorbed in their task and spoke loudly about it; only the three maids had fallen asleep from exhaustion.

“Take,” said the old man to the hawk, “the mirror, and when the first ray of sunlight appears, shine it on the sleeping women and wake them with the light reflected from on high!”

[ 72 ] The snake now broke free and slithered toward the river, with the will-o'-the-wisps following in earnest. The old man and his wife pulled out the basket, which emitted a glow of its own that had not been noticed before; they placed the young man’s body inside and laid the dead canary on his chest. The basket rose into the air and hovered above the old woman’s head as she followed the will-o’-the-wisps closely.

The beautiful Lilie took the pug in her arms and followed the old woman; the man with the lamp brought up the rear, and the area was illuminated in the strangest way by these various lights.

[ 73 ] Upon reaching the shore, the group gazed in wonder at the magnificent arch the snake had formed across the river. The gemstones glowed and shone with wondrous beauty. Once everyone had crossed, the snake also moved to the shore and formed a circle around the corpse once more.

The ferryman, peering out from his hut in the distance, gazed in wonder at the glowing circle and the strange lights passing overhead.

[ 74 ] The old man bowed to the snake and said:

“What have you decided?” — “To sacrifice myself before I am sacrificed,” replied the serpent; “Promise me that you’ll leave no stone unturned!” The old man promised and then said to the beautiful Lilie: “Touch the serpent with your left hand and your beloved with your right.” Lilie knelt down and touched the serpent and the corpse. In that instant, the young man seemed to come back to life; he stirred in the basket, then sat up. Lily wanted to embrace him, but the old man held her back; instead, he helped the young man to his feet and guided him as he stepped out of the basket and out of the circle.

The young man stood there, the canary fluttering on his shoulder; life had returned to both of them, but their spirits had not yet returned; the handsome friend had his eyes open but did not see—or at least he seemed to look at everything without interest.

[ 75 ] Once the astonishment at this incident had subsided somewhat, people noticed with amazement the transformation that had taken place with the snake. Its body had shattered into thousands upon thousands of gemstones when the old woman had accidentally bumped into it while reaching for her basket. The old man and his wife carefully gathered the gemstones into their basket, carried them to a high spot on the riverbank, and poured them into the river. The old man now led the procession toward the sanctuary; he strode ahead with the lamp. The young man followed, almost mechanically. The lily hesitated at a distance; the old woman tried to bring her hand into the light of the lamp; the will-o’-the-wisps brought up the rear. The path led through the rock, which opened up before them. Soon they came to a large, bronze gate,

whose wings were locked with a golden lock. The old man immediately summoned the will-o'-the-wisps, which [...] busily consumed the lock and bolt with their sharpest flames.

[ 76 ] The path to higher levels of consciousness must first be sought through the mind.

The metal rang out as the gates swung open quickly, and within the sanctuary the majestic images of the kings appeared, illuminated by the light streaming in. Everyone bowed before the venerable rulers [...]. After a brief pause, the golden king asked, “Where do you come from?”—“From the world,” replied the old man. “Where are you going?” asked the silver king. “To the world,” said the old man. “What do you want from us?” asked the bronze king. “To accompany you,” said the old man.

[ 77 ] The will-o'-the-wisps had approached the Golden King. He fended them off and said:

Get away from me! My gold isn't for your taste buds!

[ 78 ] After lighting the silver one, they crept past the bronze one toward the mixed one.

“Who will rule the world?” he cried out in a stuttering voice. “Whoever stands on his own two feet,” replied the old man. “That’s me!” said the mixed-race king. “It will become clear,” said the old man; “for the time has come.”

The beautiful Lily threw her arms around the old man’s neck and kissed him most affectionately. “Holy Father,” she said, “a thousand times I thank you, for this is the third time I have heard that prophetic word.” She had barely finished speaking when she clung even tighter to the old man, for the ground beneath them began to sway. The old woman and the young man also held on to each other; only the shifting will-o’-the-wisps noticed nothing.

[ 79 ] The temple first moved downward, then passed beneath the river, and as it rose again, the debris from the ferryman’s small hut fell through the temple’s dome and covered the old man and the young man. The women had jumped aside.

The women screamed loudly, and the temple shook like a ship that had unexpectedly run aground. Frightened, the women wandered around the hut in the twilight; the door was locked, and no one heard their pounding.

[ 80 ] To their amazement, the wood began to ring out. Through the power of the sealed lamp, the wood had turned into silver, and gradually it expanded into a magnificent case of repoussé work. Now a small temple or altar stood in the center of the large one.

The noble young man now ascended a staircase leading upward from inside; the man with the lamp illuminated his path, and another, who emerged wearing a short white robe and holding a silver oar, seemed to be assisting him;

[ 81 ] It was the ferryman, the former resident of the transformed hut.

[ 82 ] [Through] crossing the bridge—which was necessary—the temple was to be revealed; this could only happen through the combined action of all forces. Only through the sacrifice of the self was it possible to cross the stream of passions. The will-o’-the-wisps must unlock the temple; one must possess natural knowledge to penetrate its mysteries.

The beautiful Lily climbed the outer steps leading from the temple to the altar; but she still had to keep her distance from her beloved. The old woman, whose hand

[ 83 ] had almost completely disappeared; she was very unhappy that, despite so many miracles, no miracle could save her hand.

Her husband pointed toward the open gate and said, “Behold, the day is breaking; hurry and bathe in the river!” — “What advice!” she cried; “I suppose I’m supposed to turn completely black and vanish entirely; after all, I haven’t yet paid off my debt.” — “Go,” said the old man, “and follow me! All debts have been paid off.’ The old woman hurried away, and at that moment the light of the rising sun appeared on the rim of the dome; the old man stepped between the young man and the maiden and cried out in a loud voice: ‘There are three who rule the earth: Wisdom, Appearance, and Power.’ At the first word, the golden king rose; at the second, the silver one; and at the third, the bronze one had slowly raised himself when the composite king suddenly sat down clumsily.

[ 84 ] The will-o'-the-wisps had been at him for a long time and did not rest until they had extracted even the finest little veins from his form. But this robbed him of all support, and he collapsed into a shapeless lump.

The man with the lamp now led the handsome young man—who was still staring straight ahead, his expression frozen—down from the altar and straight toward the bronze king. At the feet of the mighty prince lay a sword in a bronze sheath. The young man buckled it to his waist. “The sword on the left,”

[ 85 ] — for defense only, not for attack —

“Free the Right!”

[ 86 ] — to bestow blessings and peace —

cried the mighty king. They then approached the silver king, who bowed his scepter toward the young man. The young man took it in his left hand, and the king said in a gracious voice, “Tend the sheep.” When they came to the golden king, he placed the oak wreath upon the young man’s head with a fatherly, blessing gesture and said, “Recognize the Supreme!”

[ 87 ] The old man, who had been watching the young man closely during the procession, saw how, after the girding ceremony, his chest rose, his arms stretched out, and his feet stepped more firmly;

As he took the scepter in his hand, his power seemed to soften and, through an indescribable charm, become even more powerful; but when the oak wreath adorned his curls, his features came alive, his eyes shone with indescribable spirit, and the first word from his lips was: “Lily.” ‹Dear Lily,› he cried as he hurried up the silver stairs to meet her, [...] “What man, endowed with everything, could wish for anything more delightful than the innocence and quiet affection that your heart offers me?” “O! my friend,” he continued, turning to the old man and gazing at the three sacred statues, “‘Glorious and secure is the realm of our fathers, but you have forgotten the fourth power, which rules the world even earlier, more universally, and more certainly: the power of love.’” With these words, he threw his arms around the beautiful girl’s neck; she had cast aside her veil, and her cheeks flushed with the most beautiful, everlasting blush. Upon this, the old man said with a smile: “Love does not rule, but it shapes—and that is more.”

[ 88 ] Before they realized it, day had fully broken, and their astonished eyes looked out through the open gates:

A large square surrounded by columns served as the forecourt; at the far end of it, one could see a long and magnificent bridge that spanned the river with many arches.

[ 89 ] This magnificent bridge was already bustling with all sorts of people on foot and in carriages. Blessed by their mutual love, the king and his queen gazed at the crowd with delight.

“Honor the serpent!” said the man with the lamp; “You are its life; your peoples owe it the bridge through which these neighboring shores are brought to life and united as lands. Those floating, luminous gemstones—the remains of its sacrificed body—are the cornerstones of this magnificent bridge; upon them it has built itself and will sustain itself.’ Just as they were about to ask him to explain this strange mystery, four beautiful girls entered through the temple gate. By the harp, the parasol, and the folding chair, one could immediately recognize Lily’s companions. But the fourth [...] was a stranger [...]. “Will you believe me more in the future, my dear wife?” said the man with the lamp to the beautiful woman. “Blessed be you and every creature that bathes in the river this morning!” The rejuvenated and beautified old woman, [:..], embraced [...] the man with the lamp, who accepted her caresses with kindness. “If I am too old for you,” he said with a smile, “then you may choose another husband today; from this day forward, no marriage is valid unless it is renewed.” “Don’t you know,” she replied, “that you, too, have grown younger?” — “‘It pleases me to appear to your young eyes as a dashing young man; I accept your hand once more and would gladly live on with you into the next millennium.’”

[ 90 ] The great giant, still groggy from his morning sleep, stumbled across the bridge, disrupting the general happiness. Still half-asleep, he wanted to bathe in the river as usual, but suddenly found himself on the bridge, where he clumsily stepped among the people and livestock. His presence was

marveled at by all, yet felt by none; but when the sun shone in his eyes and he raised his hands to wipe them, the shadow of his monstrous fists swept so forcefully and clumsily back and forth among the crowd behind him that people and animals tumbled together in great masses, were injured, and were in danger of being hurled into the river. The king, witnessing this atrocity, reached for his sword in an involuntary movement, but then reconsidered and calmly looked first at his scepter, then at the lamp and the oar held by his companions. “I can guess your thoughts,” said the man with the lamp; “but we and our powers are powerless against this powerless one. “Be at ease! He is causing harm for the last time, and fortunately his shadow has turned away from us.” Meanwhile, the giant had drawn ever closer; astonished by what he saw with his own eyes, he had let his hands drop, caused no further harm, and stepped into the forecourt, gazing in wonder. He was just heading toward the temple door when he was suddenly pinned to the ground in the middle of the courtyard. He stood there like a colossal, mighty statue of reddish, gleaming stone, and his shadow marked the hours, which were laid out in a circle on the ground around him—not in numbers, but in noble and meaningful images. The king was quite pleased to see the monster’s shadow serving a useful purpose; [...] Meanwhile, the people had crowded around the giant, [...] marveling at his transformation. From there, the crowd turned toward the temple, which they seemed to notice only now, and pressed toward the door. At that very moment, the hawk with the mirror hovered above the cathedral, catching the sunlight and casting it over the group standing on the altar.

[ 91 ] The hawk, the herald of the future, also teaches us to understand the laws. Once these are understood, the knowledge can be borne.

The king, the queen, and their entourage appeared in the twilight-shrouded vault of the temple, illuminated by a heavenly radiance, and the people fell on their faces. When the crowd had recovered and risen, the king and his entourage had descended into the altar to make their way through hidden chambers to his palace, and the people dispersed throughout the temple to satisfy their curiosity. They gazed at the three kings standing upright with amazement and awe,

[ 92 ] But when they reached the fourth one, filled with curiosity, they found the misshapen lump covered with a precious carpet that no one could lift. The crowd would have nearly crushed itself inside the temple had the will-o'-the-wisps not drawn their attention to themselves. As they were leaving, they enjoyed shaking off the gold that had clung to them, which made the people burst into laughter and jokes.

Eagerly, the crowd continued to run back and forth for a while longer, jostling and pushing one another even as no more gold pieces fell from above. Finally, they gradually dispersed, went their separate ways, and to this day the bridge is teeming with travelers, and the temple is the most visited in the entire world.

[ 93 ] There is still much to interpret. The serpent biting its own tail and enclosing the dead youth represents the Budhi principle, which must be lived and loved. The radiance of the Divine—Atma—is peace, harmony, and universal consciousness. It has been attained through the transformation of desire into love. Everything becomes young again.

[ 94 ] The shattered dwelling of the lower forces is transformed by the spirit of life; now the lower forces can guide people back and forth. The giant—the forces of nature—has lost its destructive power; this is the conclusion that will only come to pass after a certain period of time. The last enemy to be overcome is death. Then they [the forces of nature] will merely mark out the rhythmic measures of time. And what of the bridge upon which the people can walk unhindered back and forth to the temple? Is it not faith—independent faith—which was made possible only through Christ’s sacrificial death; the faith that brings bliss, even without beholding the mysteries? But the highest truth is hidden from the eyes of the masses. The king and queen descend from their throne and conceal themselves. All this glory becomes clear and manifest to faith only when wisdom joins with faith; only then can perfection be attained.

[ 95 ] Let us briefly summarize what Goethe intended to convey to us through the “fairy tale”: It is a symbolic representation of the redemption of both the individual and the entire human race; the mystery of becoming and passing away, and of ultimate bliss.

[ 96 ] Many have attempted to interpret the “fairy tale.” Goethe was asked to provide an explanation himself. He promised to do so once a hundred explanations had been submitted. All the explanations were then collected and counted, but Goethe died before the number reached one hundred. Thus, a correct interpretation has been lacking until now. The time was probably not yet right. Only someone who knows the mysteries can provide the correct interpretation.