The Woman and the Youth reached the other side of the River and thanked the Snake for the privilege of crossing on her back. They consulted in what order they should introduce themselves to the fair Lady; for however many people might be in her company - there were others whom they could not discern - they were obliged to enter and depart singly, under pain of suffering hard severities.
The Woman with the metamorphosed Pug in the basket first approached the garden looking for her Patroness who was engaged in singing to her harp. The finest tones proceeded from her first like circles on the surface of the still lake, then like a light breath they set the grass and the bushes in motion. In a green enclosure, under the shadow of a stately group of many diverse trees, was she seated; and again did she enchant the eyes, the ears and the heart of the Woman, who approached with rapture and swore within herself that since she saw her last, the fair one had grown fairer than ever. With eager gladness, from a distance, she expressed her reverence and admiration for the lovely maiden.
The old Woman said: "What a happiness to see you! What a Heaven does your presence spread around you! How charmingly the harp is leaning on your bosom, how softly your arms surround it, how it seems as if longing to be near you, and how it sounds so meekly under the touch of your slim fingers! Thrice-happy youth, to whom it were permitted to be there!"
The fair Lily raised her eyes and let her hands drop from the harp and answered:
"Trouble me not with your untimely praise; I feel my misery but the more deeply. Look here, at my feet lies the poor Canary-bird, which used so beautifully to accompany my singing; it would sit upon my harp, and was trained not to touch me; but today, while I, refreshed by sleep, was raising a peaceful morning hymn, and my little singer was pouring forth his harmonious tones more gaily than ever, a Hawk darts over my head; the poor little creature, in affright, takes refuge in my bosom, and I feel the last palpitations of its departing life.
The plundering Hawk indeed was caught by my look, and fluttered fainting down into the water; but what can his punishment avail me? my darling is dead, and his grave will but increase the mournful bushes of my garden."
Wiping off a tear, which the story of the hapless maiden had called into her eyes; the old Woman cried: "Take courage, fairest Lily! Compose yourself; my old man bids me tell you to moderate your lamenting, to look upon the greatest misfortune as a forerunner of the greatest happiness, for the time is at hand; and truly the world is going strangely on of late.
Do but look at my hand, how black it is! As I live and breathe it is grown far smaller: I must hasten, before it vanishes altogether! Why did I engage to do the Will-o'-wisps a service, why did I meet the Giant's shadow, and dip my hand in the River? Could you not afford me a single cabbage, an artichoke and an onion? I would give them to the River, and my hand were white as ever, so that I could almost show it with one of yours."
The fair Lily raised her eyes and let her hands drop from the harp and answered:
"Trouble me not with your untimely praise; I feel my misery but the more deeply. Look here, at my feet lies the poor Canary-bird, which used so beautifully to accompany my singing; it would sit upon my harp, and was trained not to touch me; but today, while I, refreshed by sleep, was raising a peaceful morning hymn, and my little singer was pouring forth his harmonious tones more gaily than ever, a Hawk darts over my head; the poor little creature, in affright, takes refuge in my bosom, and I feel the last palpitations of its departing life.
The plundering Hawk indeed was caught by my look, and fluttered fainting down into the water; but what can his punishment avail me? my darling is dead, and his grave will but increase the mournful bushes of my garden."
Wiping off a tear, which the story of the hapless maiden had called into her eyes; the old Woman cried: "Take courage, fairest Lily! Compose yourself; my old man bids me tell you to moderate your lamenting, to look upon the greatest misfortune as a forerunner of the greatest happiness, for the time is at hand; and truly the world is going strangely on of late.
Do but look at my hand, how black it is! As I live and breathe it is grown far smaller: I must hasten, before it vanishes altogether! Why did I engage to do the Will-o'-wisps a service, why did I meet the Giant's shadow, and dip my hand in the River? Could you not afford me a single cabbage, an artichoke and an onion? I would give them to the River, and my hand were white as ever, so that I could almost show it with one of yours."
The Lily said: "Cabbages and onions thou mayest still find; but artichokes thou wilt search for in vain. No plant in my garden bears either flowers or fruit; but every twig that I break and plant upon the grave of a favourite, grows green straight away and shoots up in fair boughs. All these groups, these bushes, these groves my hard destiny has so raised around me. These pines stretching out like parasols, these obelisks of cypresses, these colossal oaks and beeches, were all little twigs planted by my hand, as mournful memorials in a soil that otherwise is barren."
To this speech the old Woman had paid little heed; she was looking at her hand, which, in the presence of the fair Lily, seemed every moment growing blacker and smaller. She was about to snatch the basket and hasten off, when she noticed that the best part of her errand had been forgotten. She lift out the onyx Pug, set him down, not far from the fair one, in grass.
The old Woman said: "My husband sends you this memorial; you know that you can make a jewel live by touching it. This pretty faithful dog will certainly afford you much enjoyment; and my grief at losing him is brightened only by the thought that he will be in your possession!
The fair Lily viewed the dainty creature with a pleased and, as it seemed, with an astonished look.
Lily said: "Many signs combine, that breathe some hope into me: but ah! Is it not a natural deception which makes us fancy, when misfortunes crowd upon us, that a better day is near?"
She sang:
"What can these many signs avail me?
My Singer's Death, my coal-black Hand?
This Dog of Onyx, that can never fail me?
And coming at the Lamp's command?
From human joys removed forever,
With sorrows compassed round I sit:
Is there a Temple at the River?
Is there a Bridge? Alas not yet!"
The good old dame had listened with impatience to this singing, which the fair Lily accompanied with her harp, in a way that would have charmed any other.
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Goethe's intention in creating this very imaginative dialogue will be different for everyone who reads and speaks it!
The dialogue can be heard as audio recording 9 on www.tgsatbl.blogspot.co.uk
