SNOW WHITE

A garden. To the right the palace entrance. In the background rolling mountains. The Queen, Snow White, the foreign Prince, the Hunter.

Queen:

Say, are you sick?

Snow White:

You would ask since you wanted death

on the one who ever stung you

in the eyes as too beautiful.

How you look at me so composed.

This kindness, showing in your eyes,

so full of love, is just made up,

the serene tone just counterfeit.

Hate really does dwell in your heart.

You dispatched the Hunter to me

and told him to draw his dagger,

to point it at this despised face.

You ask me whether I’m sick now?

Such sport sounds bad from a soft voice.

Indeed, softness becomes sly sport

when it is so fearlessly cruel.

I’m not sick; I’m very much dead.

The poison apple was painful,

O, O so painful, and Mother, you,

you’re the one who brought it to me.

So why joke about my being sick?

Queen:

Fair child, you are wrong. You are sick,

no, gravely, very gravely ill.

There’s no doubt this fresh garden air

will do you good. I beg of you,

just don’t let your weak little head

give in to the idea. Be still.

Don’t mull things over and over.

Get some exercise, skip and run.

Shout racing for a butterfly.

Scold the air for not making it

warm enough yet. Become a child.

Soon you’ll leave this color behind,

which is like a pale winding sheet

draped over your pink complexion.

Think not of sin. The sin should be

forgotten. Perhaps I did sin

against you many long years ago.

Who could remember such a thing?

Unpleasant things are easily

forgotten if you consider

who’s near and dear. Are you crying?

Snow White:

Yes, I must when I realize

how quick you are to wring the past

by the neck the way you wanted

mine wrung. Crying, of course, over

the sinful absent mind that wants

to sweet-talk me. O how you give

this sin such wings, and yet it flies

terribly with this new pair

that do not fit. It lies so close

to me and you, this thing you want

bantered away with a sweet word,

so close, I’d say, close to the touch,

such that I can never forget it,

nor you who committed it.

Hunter, speak, you did swear my death?

Hunter:

Of course, princess, a grisly death,

just not performed as loud and clear

as the fairy tale made public.

The humble way you begged touched me,

your face, lying there sweet as snow

beneath the kiss of the sunlight.

I sheathed that which I intended

for your murder, stabbing the deer

that leapt across our path. I sucked

the blood out of him greedily.

Yours, however, I left untouched.

So don’t say I swore you should die.

I took pity and broke my oath

before I did you any harm.

Queen:

So what are you crying about?

He drew his dagger as a joke.

He’d have to stab what’s soft in him

before he could ever stab you.

But he didn’t. The soft in him

is alive like the morning sun.

Come give me a kiss and forget.

Look up with joy and show some sense.

Snow White:

How can I kiss the lips of one

who pushed this Hunter off, kissed him

into doing the bloody deed.

I’ll never kiss you. With kisses

you fired the Hunter to murder

and my death was seconds away,

because he was your sweet lover.

Queen:

What did you say?

Hunter:

Me with kisses?

Prince:

I really believe it’s all true.

That man in the green jacket has

far less respect than befits him

in the presence of this great Queen.

Snow White, O how evilly have

you been played by such ruthless hate.

It’s a wonder that you’re alive.

You survived poison and a knife.

From what stuff are you made,

for you’re dead and yet so lovely

alive, indeed, so little dead

that life must be in love with you?

Tell me, did this Hunter stab you?

Snow White:

No, no, there beats in this fellow

a good heart filled with compassion.

If the Queen had this heart, she would

be a better mother to me.

Queen:

I mean to be much better with you

than your keen suspicion suggests.

I did not send the Hunter off

after you with kisses. Blind fear

has made you too apprehensive.

In fact, I have always loved you

as my sweet, innocent child.

Why would I have any reason,

cause, or right to hate one as dear

to me as a child of my own breast!

O do not believe that coy voice

that whispers of sin, which it’s not.

Believe your right, not your left ear,

I mean that false one telling you

that I am this evil mother

green-eyed at beauty. Don’t be fooled

by such an absurd fairy tale

stuffing the world’s greedy ears full

of these newsy bits that I am

mad with jealousy, by nature

evil. It is just idle talk.

I love you. To admit this has

never been said more sincerely.

That you’re so lovely gives me joy.

Beauty in one’s own child is balm

for a mother’s love gone weary,

not the goad to some heinous deed,

like the fairy tale has laid out

for this story line here, this play.

Don’t turn away. Be a dear child.

Trust a parent’s word as your own.

Snow White:

O I believed you with pleasure,

for believing is quiet bliss.

But how much faith is going to make

me believe when no faith exists,

where a roguish malice lurks, where

injustice sits with a proud neck?

You speak as kindly as you can,

and yet you still cannot act kind.

Those eyes, flashing so scornfully,

wince at me so threatening, so

unmotherly, laugh with menace

at the affection on your tongue,

with derision. They speak the truth,

and they alone, those proud eyes, I

believe, not the backstabber’s tongue.

Prince:

I believe you see right, my child.

Queen:

Must you keep helping, little prince,* 

feeding more flames to the fire, where

a flood of healing is needed?

A stranger clad in motley clothes

should not step too close to a queen.

Prince:

Why not dare to rise against you,

you fiend, for the princess’s sake?

Queen:

What?

Prince:

Yes, and while I look small and weak,

I’ll echo this a thousand times,

ten—a hundred thousand times for you:

a dreadful crime’s taken place here,

and one that points to you, the Queen.

Poison was strewn for this sweet child,

set out as though she were a dog.

Why not admit your wickedness,

your good conscience! You, fair child,

let’s go up for a little while

and contemplate this grievous thing.

If you’re too weak, just lay your head

upon my faithful shoulder here,

which would cherish such a burden.

From you, Queen, we shall take our leave

for now of a short span of time.

Then we’ll continue our talk.

(To Snow White) Come,

permit me this sweet liberty.

He leads her inside the palace.

Queen:

Just go, broken mast and rigging.

Go newlyweds, married to death.

Go misery, lead weakness away,

and be very dear arm in arm.

Come, fair Hunter, let’s have a talk.

Change of scene. A room inside the palace. The Prince
and Snow White.

Prince:

I would talk away the whole day

with you and do so arm in arm.

How strange this language is to me

that comes from that sweet mouth of yours.

Your mere word, how alive it is.

My ear hangs rapt on its richness

in a hammock of harkening,

while dreaming of a violin strain,

a lisp, a fair nightingale’s song,

of love’s twittering. In and out

the dreaming goes like ocean waves

washing onto our garden shore.

O speak, and I’m ever asleep,

a prisoner of love this way,

in chains, yet infinitely rich,

free as no free man ever was.

Snow White:

You speak such noble princely speech.

Prince:

No, let me listen instead,

so that the love I swore below

in the garden, in that playpen,

never blows away in vain words.

I only want to listen and respond

to your love that sounds in my head.

Speak, that I am ever silent

and true to you. Unfaithfulness

comes quick with words. It speaks rashly,

a fountain in the wind, being whipped,

to froth over into babble.

No, let me be silent, true to you.

In this sense I shall love you more

than with love. Then wholeheartedness

knows itself no more. It showers

me in wetness the same as you.

Love is wet the way the night is,

such that dry dust never clouds it.

So speak, such that when you speak

it falls like dew upon our love.

You’re quiet. What do you see there?

Snow White:

You do talk like a waterfall

of silence, yet you’re not silent.

Prince:

What’s wrong, speak! You look so somber,

so plaintive right down to your toes,

as if you were searching for words

that whisper love. Do not sulk there.

Speak up when something troubles you.

Unroll it just like a carpet

on which we will merrily play.

To dally in heartache does one good.

Snow White:

You talk forever and promise

silence though. What are you saying,

talking headlong on and on?

Confidence is not so quick-tongued.

Love fancies it soft and serene.

O if you’re not devoted

to my bliss in every sense,

then say so. Say it, for you say

unfaithfulness would talk away

eagerly, talkative, so fast.

Prince:

Let us drop that.

Snow White:

Yes, let’s make small talk, be merry.

Let us banish from love’s kingdom

melancholy and dolefulness.

Let’s jest and dance and cheer aloud.

Why worry of the pain of now,

which commands us to be silent!

Well, what see you in the garden?

Prince (looking out the window):

Alas, what I see is fair and sweet

to the naked eye that but sees.

To feeling, which takes in this scene

with its fine net, it is sacred.

To intellect, which knows the past,

it’s disgusting, a dirty flood

of muddy water. Oh, it takes

a twofold view, sweet and terrible,

thoughtful and beautiful. Look there,

with your own eyes, see for yourself.

Snow White:

No, say, what’s going on? Just tell me.

From your lips then I could gather

such a picture’s subtle detail.

If you paint it, surely you will

cleverly, prudently temper

the view’s poignancy. Now, what goes?

Rather than look, I’d rather hear.

Prince:

It is the most lovely passion

that ever inflamed two lovers.

The Queen kisses the Hunter’s lips,

and he gives kiss after kiss back.

They sit beneath the willow tree,

whose long branches flutter downward

on both their heads. The grass kisses

the tangle of interlocked feet.

The wood bench sighs under the press

of their bodies making one body

in the rapture of their embrace.

O, so a tiger pair would mate

in the jungle, far from the real world.

The sweet bliss makes them one, tears them

apart just to bring them closer

all over again. I’m speechless,

imageless at such an image.

Will you see it and be speechless?

Snow White:

No, such a thing would disgust me.

Come away from that filthy scene.

Prince:

The colors barely release me

from its spell. It is a painting,

and sweet love is its painter.

O, how she lies down there, this Queen,

being crushed inside his strong arms.

How she cries from passion and how

her beau smothers her with kisses,

like one smothering a bowl of food,

no, a sky, this mouth opening

on heavenly passion itself.

That rogue is utterly shameless.

He thinks his green hunting jacket

protects him from barbs. Here’s a barb,

what seems to bewitch me up here.

O, I’m furious. It’s this woman!

Not this wretch. O, just that woman!

Something does wrong to that crude wretch.

Alas, this sweet, this sweet woman.—

If I could only lose the sense

of what I saw. Now I’m lost.

A storm rages above it all,

what is called love, wishes being called,

but no longer. Go, everything.

Snow White:

Woe unto me that I must hear.

Prince:

Woe unto us that I must see.

Snow White:

O, how I long for nothing more

than to be smiling and dead, dead.

This I am too and always was.—

I’ve never felt life’s seething storm.

I feel as still as this soft snow

that lies for a ray of sunlight

that accepts it. I’m snow this way—

and melt away with a warm breeze

meant not for me but for the spring.

Sweet is this seeping down. Dear earth,

receive me unto your dwelling!

The sun is too painful for me.

Prince:

Do I give you this terrible pain?

Snow White:

O no, not you. You could never!

Prince:

How lovely you are, how you laugh

for me, come smiling! Don’t love me.

I simply disturb your repose.

O, to have left your coffin alone!

How beautiful you lay therein,

snow in a silent winter world.

Snow White:

Snow, always snow?

Prince:

Forgive me, you dear winter scene,

you likeness of serene white calm.

If I upset you, it happened

only for love. Now this love turns

away from you again weeping,

toward the Queen. Please forgive this love

for lifting you from that coffin,

the glass one, wherein you lay

with rosy cheeks, an open mouth,

and this breath just like one alive,

this picture to die for most sweet.

I should have left it just like that,

with love kneeling before you then.

Snow White:

Look, look! Now that I am alive

you dump me like a dead body!

How very strange you men all are.

Prince:

Rightly scold me. You’re being tender.

Hate me and I’ll kneel before you.

If you called me a rotten knave

it would fit well. But let me now

find that lovely Queen, for I wish

to free her from a love unworthy.

I beg of you, be very cross

with me, indeed, be very mad.

Snow White:

Why then? Give me a reason why?

Prince:

Well, because I’m such a villain

to run from you to another,

she who excites his mind more now.

Snow White:

You are not a villain! Well, well—

that mind, that mind of yours is more

excited? What’s on your mind is so

mindless. What a pack of dogs must

excite your mind such that you flee

like a terrified deer, the foe

pursuing you. Well, so be it.

So fly from me then to this stream

with the better water to lap.

I’ll remain, smiling, teasing you

with my pale white hand outstretched,

follow your flight with a gay voice

that calls: Snow White shall wait for you.

Come, knock on this familiar door

and laugh aloud. And then you turn

your dear, faithful head to me

begging me to just be quiet,

for shouting serves no purpose.—Go!

O go then, for I release you.

And do commend me to my Queen.

Prince:

Commend you to the Queen? What for?

Am I dreaming?

Snow White:

Well, am I not allowed to send

my regards to Mommy with you,

who’s down there in that shady park

occupied with her needlework?

She sews a token of her love—

what do I care. I owe her love,

and love sends its regards with you.

Say, I forgive her. No, not that.

Anyway, it doesn’t show well

for a child to be on her knees

and begging for me to forgive.

You’ll be half love’s own already

on your knees. Then say it like so,

in passing, like sugared pastry,

and pay heed when she nods so fair,

when she’s choking with emotion

and gives her hand for your hot kiss,

which sends, you being so chivalrous,

my forgiveness for this mistake.

How impatient I am for word

from my mother. So be quick, go!

Prince:

Snow White, I don’t understand you.

Snow White:

That has nothing to do with it.

Go now, I beg of you. Leave this

flower to herself that can only

bloom in full in her solitude.

For she was never meant for you;

so calm down then. Depart, leave me

to dream here, to close myself up

as though some gaily colored plant.

Go to this other flower, go,

draw upon her sweeter fragrance.

Prince:

You should calm down. Just wait here.

I shall bring the Queen back to you

reconciled. I’ll look for her now

down there in her shady garden

and talk to that villain Hunter.

No matter where and when and how,

I’ll find him too. So until then,

just remain calm and wait for us.

Exits.

Snow White:

He’s filled with turmoil and counsels

calm in me that in richer measure

than his has possession of me.

Everything goes the way it must.

This untrue prince has done me wrong.

But I’ll not cry, the same way

I would not rejoice had I proof

of his innermost love for me.

Fury more than fury musters

I cannot do, and who silently

keeps silent chokes down fear, so

this I will do. Oh my, here comes

Mother herself and all alone.

To the Queen, who enters.

O kind mother, O forgive me.

She throws herself at her feet.

Queen:

What is this for, my child? Get up.

Snow White:

No, on my knees like this for you.

Queen:

What’s with you, what makes you this way,

what is trembling so in your breast?

Stand up and tell me what is wrong.

Snow White:

Do not withdraw this gentle hand

that I would cover with kisses.

How much have I longed for its squeeze!

A shyer plea for forgiveness

has never been made as shyly

as mine to you. Forget, forgive.

Please be my merciful mother.

Let me be your good little girl

who clasps frightened to your body.

O sweet hand, I had thought of you,

you coming for my life, offering

me the apple: something not true.

Sin so fine is only contrived

of recalling all kinds of things.

My thinking is the only sin

there is here. O please absolve me

of the suspicion that wronged you.

I only want to love, love you.

Queen:

What? Did I not send the Hunter?

Did I not spur him on with kisses

to you to do this great, great sin?

You know that you’re not thinking right.

Snow White:

I just feel! A feeling thinks sharp.

It knows every little detail

of this matter. A feeling,

far more noble than to recall,

will think a situation through,

but to forgive. And its judgment,

which is devoid of all judgment,

judges more severe, simply too.

So I see nothing in thinking.

It just speculates here and there,

full of big airs and opinions,

says this happened like so and keeps

making petty condemnations.

Away with the judge who but thinks!

If he can’t feel, he must think small.

His verdict makes a belly ache.

It’s bland and drives the plaintiff mad.

It absolves the sinner of sin,

dropping the charges in one breath.

Go and fetch me this other judge,

that sweet, ignorant feeling. Hear

what it says. Oh, it says nothing.

It smiles, it kisses the sin dead,

caresses it like its sister,

chokes it with kisses. My feeling

absolves you of all sin. It lies

before you on beseeching knees

and begs, calls me sinner, me who

pleads so frightened for forgiveness.

Queen:

The poison apple I sent you;

you took a bite, of course, and died.

The dwarfs bore you in the coffin,

the one of glass, until the kiss

of the Prince brought you back to life.

That is what happened, am I right?

Snow White:

All of it’s true up to the kiss.

The defiling mouth of a man

has never before kissed these lips.

The Prince, and how he could kiss too—

he had no hair upon his chin.

He’s still a little boy, elsewise

noble, but so very short, weak,

like the body he’s trapped inside,

small, like the mind he depends on.

Of one prince’s kiss say nothing more

of it, Mommy. The kiss is dead,

for he never sensed the wetness

on both sides of two moistened lips.

What did I want to talk about?

Ah, of sin, that stands on its knees,

before you, of the dear sinner.

Queen:

No, that is wrong. You yourself tell

fairy-tale lies. Surely it

says that I am an evil queen,

that I dispatched the Hunter to you,

and gave you the apple to eat.

Now answer me straight about this.

Your begging me for forgiveness

is just a joke, isn’t that right?

All of this gesture and technique

is rehearsed, a script cleverly

practiced by you yourself. You have,

as it turns out, only made me

suspicious. What are you doing now?

Snow White:

Looking upon your kind, soft hand,

seeing its beauty wondrously

waking in a child a feeling

almost totally extinguished.

No, you are no sinner at all:

where would you get this idea?

Neither am I. We’re still spotless

of all guilt, immaculately

watching an immaculate sky

being as mild as it has been here.

Once we did evil to ourselves.

But that is far too long ago

to remember. Now part for me,

I beg you, those dear lips of yours.

Tell me something very happy.

Queen:

I sent you off to die sparing

not one kiss or caress on him,

who followed you like a wild beast,

hunting you through woods and fields

until you fell down to the ground.

Snow White:

Ah, yes, I know the story well,

about the apple, the coffin.

Be so kind as to tell me more.

Why does nothing else come to mind?

Must you hang on to these details?

Must you forever draw on them?

Queen:

With kisses, kisses I fired on

the Hunter, my bloodthirsty man.

O, how the kisses came raining

like drops of dew upon that face

swearing faith to me, harm to you.

Snow White:

Forget about it, my dear Queen.

I beg you think no more of it.

Do not roll your big eyes like that.

Why do you shake? You’ve only

been good to me all of your life,

for which I’m utterly grateful.

If love knew of a better word,

then it might speak less awkwardly.

Love is boundless for that reason.

It knows to say nothing when it’s

wholly enrapt in your being.

Hate me so that I can but love

more childlike, more wholeheartedly

and lovingly by myself,

for no other reason than that

love is sweet and ambrosial

to one who humbly offers it.

Don’t you hate me?

Queen:

I hate myself much more than you.

Once I did hate you, begrudging

your beauty despite the whole world,

for the whole world sang your praises,

gave you homage while I, the Queen,

was looked upon suspiciously.

O did that make my blood boil.

It turned me into this tigress.

I didn’t see with my own eyes.

I didn’t hear with my own ears.

Unfounded hate but saw and heard,

ate, dreamt, performed, and slept for me.

I lay sadly upon my ear,

doing what it did. That’s in the past.

Hate now wants to love. And love hates

itself for not loving harder.

Why look, there comes the young Prince.

Go, kiss him, call him your precious.

Tell him I shall be nice to him

despite his bitter words spoken

in your favor. Go and tell him!

The Prince enters.

Prince:

Fair Queen, I’ve been looking for you.

Queen:

Fair? This is a polite greeting.

I do like you, Prince, Snow White’s half,

to whom you wish to be married.

Prince:

Snow White wants not to be my bride.

She says I’ve had a change of mind

since lifting her from the coffin

and leading her here. She is right

to blame it all on you, Queen. To you

I utterly devote myself.

Queen:

Where is this weak temperament,

which like a reed shakes back and forth

when the wind blows, going to take us?

Prince:

Where? I don’t really know where.

But this I know only too well,

that I am in love, and with whom?

With you, with the Queen that you are.

Queen:

Such love, ah, that doesn’t suit me.

This is too fast. Your behavior

I find perfectly juvenile.

Your mind is far too capricious,

your nature too rash. Have patience

and don’t tell me that you love me.

In fact, you need to be scolding me

still, Snow White’s half, she whom you seem

to rather carelessly forget.

Hey, Hunter.

Prince:

What of that villain?

Queen:

He’s no villain. In hunter’s clothes,

he equals ten thousand princes.

Don’t be a hothead. Think of who’s

present when you stir up your storm.

To the Hunter, who appears.

Oh, there you are.

Hunter:

What’s your bidding?

Queen:

As though it were real, reenact

that scene of Snow White’s distress

that she had in the forest here.

Do so as though you wished to kill.

You, girl, beg as though you mean it.

Me and the Prince, we will just watch

and critique if you play your roles

too lightly. Now then, let’s begin!

Hunter:

Snow White, come, I’m going to kill you.

Snow White:

Oh, like it happened that quickly.

First draw your dagger. I’m not scared

at all of your proud booming voice.

Why do you want to strangle me,

this life you see here, who never

caused you injury or insult?

Hunter:

The Queen hates you. She bid me here

to kill. Ferociously she drove

me to it with her sweet kisses.

Queen:

Ha, ha, with kisses, ha, ha, ha.

Snow White:

Is anything amiss, dear Queen?

Queen:

Nothing, play on. You’re doing just fine.

Prince:

The villain does the villain’s role

like second nature. It fits him

as tight as his hunter’s costume.

Queen:

Prince, Prince!

Hunter (to Snow White):

Now then, prepare yourself to die.

Don’t give me any trouble, please.

You’re just sand in the Queen’s eyes.

You must leave this beautiful world.

This she wills, this she bid me do.

Be done! Why are you drawing back?

Snow White:

Can’t I fight off this brazen death

when it’s grabbing me by my throat?

Are you death, O hard-hearted man!

I don’t believe it. You look kind.

A sweet nature dwells on your brows.

You kill animals, not people

who’re not your open enemy.

I do see this. Mercy makes you

put the knife back. Thank you, thank you!

Would but the Queen have your nature.

Queen:

So? Really? You’re dead serious.

Do you forget and speak the truth?—

Then, Hunter, please step from this role.

It’s unbefitting such a man.

Run the evil whore through, right now.

For the entire afternoon

she’s been hectoring me with her

two-faced blathering. O slay her.

Bring that lying heart of hers here

and lay it down at your Queen’s feet.

The Hunter points his dagger at Snow White.

Prince:

What, what is going on? Snow White, run.

Stop that you, you villain. O Queen,

what a snake you are after all.

Queen (laughing at the Hunter while stopping his arm):

All of this is only a game.

Come into the garden. Spring air,

rising, falling in the park’s shade,

chatting along the graveled path,

is the bickering’s happy end.

I must be a snake in your eyes,

nothing but evil. No matter,

for the next hour will prove to you

that I am not. Snow White, come.

Prince, if you will allow me now,

I shall call her my dear child.

We were just pretending before!

Trust me, and you played your parts well.

That was just for fun, a dagger

waved around in a hunter’s hand.

So he’s the villain—ha, ha, ha.

Come, come all into the garden.

Prince:

But I still don’t quite trust you yet.

Queen:

Come, little rabbit prince! Come too,

Hunter. Laughter will lead the way.

Hunter:

Indeed, my Queen.

They exit.

Change of scene. A garden like the one in the first scene. The Queen and Snow White enter.

Queen:

You lament again as before,

are bitter, and give me this sad look.

Why such a change without a word?

You know I don’t hold any grudge.

You have no reason to be sad.

Once more the Prince has turned to you

in love anew and yet you sulk

and don’t see that love’s drawing near,

approaching you from every side.

Snow White:

Oh, but the thought of you hating

and pursuing me I can’t shed.

In my troubled mind it follows

me and never, so long as I live,

can I get this out of my mind.

It sticks like this black in my heart.

It darkens every joyful note

of my soul and I am so tired.

I long for that open coffin,

laid out as this frozen image.

Were I but with my dwarfs, then

I would have peace and give you yours.

I plague you. I see you want me

a thousand miles away from here.

Queen:

No, no.

Snow White:

Ah, if I could be with the dwarfs.

Queen:

How was it there? Nice and quiet?

Snow White:

There sleep lays as quiet as snow.

I would be with them, like brothers

they were and so kind; there it shines,

having a cheerful cleanliness.

Pain, like some foul leftover food,

unpleasant to a refined sense,

was strange to that life’s white table.

Like a bedsheet, the happiness

was so clean you fell into sleep,

into this realm of colored dreams.

Unknown among the people there

was any ungenerous nature.

Each cherished their gentility,

good manners. Sweet conversations

found upon their lips a response.

I would still be there, but I was

driven in tears to you again,

back into this world where a heart

has to wither away and die.

Queen:

So among your dwarfs hate did not

exist? Perhaps love to them, too,

was something entirely foreign.

As you know, hate nourishes love,

and love rather prefers to love,

as you well know, cold, bitter hate.

Snow White:

I never felt a harsh word there.

Hate never tarnished love. If love

was there, that I don’t really know.

Hate makes love perceptible first.

There I didn’t know what love was.

Here I know, for there’s just hate here.

My yearning for love had made me

conscious of love; inspired by hate,

a soul longs to find love in some place.

And there it dwelled among the dwarfs

in unadulterated joy.

No more about it. That was then.

Queen:

Now then, my dear, let’s have a laugh.

Snow White:

No, laughing wants some delight

other than what is in my breast.

My delight is only to cry.

With kisses and flattery

you goaded the Hunter just now,

spurred him on to murder. You said,

“Run the evil whore through,” shaking

with anger. You called it a game.

O, how the desire for revenge

drove that outrageous game with me,

she who knows not how to fight back.

Lower me into my grave. Then

Snow White’s grave is Snow White’s delight.

I only find delight smiling

in my coffin. There is my joy.

Please lay me beside it.

Queen:

Now you smile, indeed, you’re laughing.

Snow White:

Ah, if only for a moment.

This other thing tells me once more

about the pain and woe you cause.

It wags with its finger, points long,

and shows me with enormous eyes

what you’re up to. Then it whispers,

“Your mother is not your mother.”

The world is never a sweet world.

Love is a leery, wordless hate.

A hunter’s a prince. Life is death.

You are not a good queen, rather

you are a proud and wanton one

who dispatched my bloody Hunter.

He’s dear to you. You flattered him.

You granted him that one sweet kiss

with which you drove him to the kill.

I am his quarry—all of this

speaks of the next bitter moment.

Now you shall hate me twice over.

Queen:

I set him on fire with kisses.

Didn’t I? Isn’t that so? Say it!

Shout it loud in this gentle world,

into the winds and echo it

into the clouds. Carve it likewise

into these tree trunks rank with leaves,

breathe it into these gentle airs

that they, with this subtle fragrance,

broadcast it likewise into spring.

O, then everyone sucks it up,

praising you as the innocent,

calling me the terrible one

for I fed this murder with love,

inflamed it with a poison kiss.

Hey there, Hunter, where’d you go? Come.

Leave this guilt behind. I’ll kiss you,

call you the dearest man of all,

the best, the truest, the strongest and

the handsomest, the boldest man.

Snow White, help me here in my praise.

Snow White:

Enough, enough, you are going mad.

Had I only not opened up

the poisoned wound. Now it’s bleeding

fresh again and will never heal.

If you would but forgive me, Queen.

Queen:

To hell with forgiveness, guilt, shame,

going soft. Hey, my loyal servant!

The Hunter appears.

Hunter:

Did you call, Your Highness?

Queen:

My one and only, let’s kiss first.

I could die. However, I still

should have this short conversation.

I still need to explain this game,

otherwise she, who it concerns,

will call it crude. Talk in my place.

Explain to this silly, sad-eyed girl here

that I hate and love her as well.

Show your dagger. No don’t, darling!

Just let it remain in its sheath.

You should only talk, comfort her,

tell her something she can believe,

and reassure me, make it all

quiet again as it had been

before this casual game began.

Now let’s get on with it, and do

watch yourself. Don’t say too little

that your spare words don’t say too much.

Hunter:

Snow White, come over here to me.

Snow White:

Since I’m no longer scared, gladly.

Hunter:

Do you think I want to kill you?

Snow White:

Yes and yet no. Yes, I’m strangled.

No swiftly tells me yes again.

Say it so that I believe you,

that I must believe forever.

No makes me tired. Yes is lovely.

I believe the things you say, too.

I like to say: Yes, I believe.

No has long been averse to me.

Thus, yes, yes, I do believe you.

Hunter:

Now see, that’s the voice of Snow White.

She’s not herself being suspicious,

torturess torturing herself

and those who are devotedly

in love with her. Let me say now,

this suspicion just tells a lie,

a made-up, poisonous lie, so,

Snow White, believe me. It’s not true!

Snow White:

Yes, how gladly so. O yes, why

not yes to all that you say.

Saying yes feels so good, is so

endlessly sweet. I believe you.

Yes, if you were to lie, to build

the fairy tale into the sky,

tell me lies, draw me a picture

within reach crudely, awkwardly,

I would believe you forever.

Yes I must say, forever yes.

Never has such beautiful faith

swelled in me than now, never such

a sweet confession than this yes.

Say what you want. I believe you.

Hunter:

How easy you make this business

for me, for you, and this dear Queen.

For that, thanks. But believe me, girl,

I’ve been bold-faced lying to you.

For the sake of my mistress there,

I tell nothing but fairy tales.

Snow White:

No, no, don’t tell lies to yourself.

I know that it’s your soul that speaks.

I trust you. O, such confidence

is safe, has never trusted wrong.

Speak lies. My confidence makes them

into truth as pure as silver.

In fact, I can predict them all.

Whatever you think and say,

this yes will press truth on your words.

Speak, for me, ever faithful,

yes is this prisoner and longs

to be free of his stifling cell.

Hunter:

I speak then free of guilt and shame

here for the Queen. Do you believe?

Snow White:

Do I believe this? Yes, why should

I not believe in so much love?

I believe. Be off. I believe.

Just very happily be off.

Hunter:

That she drove me to this misdeed

with fiery kisses isn’t true.

The fairy tale lies, which thus speaks.

Snow White:

How could it be true since you say

it’s not. Be off, I believe.

Hunter:

That she hates you like a snake,

desirous of your sweet beauty

is a lie. She’s a beauty too,

like a resplendent summer tree.

Behold her and call her lovely.

Snow White:

Lovely, O how lovely. Spring’s lush

splendor is hardly so gorgeous.

She surpasses in grandeur

an image of polished marble

when sculpted by a true artist.

She is sweet like a gentle dream.

The fancy of a fevered brow

could not form such a fairy scene.

And how can she be so jealous

of me who stands like the winter

at her side, so frosty and cold?

I don’t believe it. How could she?

Go on then, you see, in this case,

I am of the same mind as you.

Hunter:

Beauty hates not beauty as much

as a fairy tale has spread here.

Snow White:

No, she’s surely lovely herself.—

So why hate this sister image,

one who is begging at her feet

and asks that, in the same shadow,

it might exist in her imminence?

Hunter:

That I wanted to kill you is

an endless childish fantasy.

I never had the heart for it.

From the very start I was touched

by this sad, sweet, childlike pleading

spoken by both your mouth and eyes.

I lowered my dagger and arm,

lifted you up, my sweet, to me.

The deer, which had leapt in our way,

I stabbed myself. Isn’t that so?

Snow White:

I hardly see it worth the time

to bear out this story. Why, yes,

of course. So it was. Yes, indeed.

Hunter:

The Queen never dispatched poison

intended for you to your dwarfs.

The poison apple isn’t true.

The lie that says so is poison.

She herself who makes such claim has

ripened like a beautiful fruit,

tempting, full of flattering splendor,

but inside it would sicken who

is bold enough to taste it.

Snow White:

It’s a lie, black and fantastic,

repugnant to hear, for scaring

children with. Be gone with this lie.

Are you kidding? I beg of you,

wring another stupid lie’s neck

that just tries to be so clever.

Why is the Queen so quiet?

Hunter:

She contemplates vain misery.

She thinks of the mistake that plunged

you both in flames of vicious strife.

She weeps for so much confusion.

If I may ask, Snow White, kiss her,

something that would express some love.

Snow White (kisses her):

Then permit me this sweet token.

See how pale you are! Forgive me

if I take your pallor’s life with

these kisses. See, they sponge it up,

every bit of this tragic hue

that would so disfigure your bliss.

Hunter, have you nothing newer?

Hunter:

O, still so much, but silence now.

An end kisses in the end, though

a beginning is still not through.

The Queen gives me a gracious nod

and my words choke up in her grace.

As one blessed, I keep my silence.

The King, the Prince, ladies-in-waiting, and nobles appear.

Snow White:

O good Father, with your august

seal press on that not yet smothered

strife between these two burning hearts.

Accept this kiss, and trample out

this jealous strife into the ground

as an emissary of peace.

King:

I always thought you peaceable.

What kind of strife, my lovely child?

Queen:

No more strife, just a smiling word,

a jest taking a serious mien

that tricks you with a looming brow.

There was some strife here, but no more.

Love knew how to win here. Hate

perished in such a stronger love.

I did hate—it was just a game,

a tantrum taken much too far,

the bluster of a passing mood.

No more than that. Now it’s sweet peace.

For a while a wounded envy

felt it had to hate. Ah, that hurt

myself more than anyone else.

Snow White here can affirm me.

King:

Is the Hunter blameless? The Prince

here bitterly accuses him.

Snow White:

Pureness points to heaven no more.

Perhaps you believe he trafficked

in illicit love with the Queen,

exchanging kiss and embrace, O,

don’t believe that. You are deceived

by the temperament of this man,

which is as precious as a gem.

Love must cherish him, honor crown

him beyond doubt. Brave man, to whom

more gratitude than gratitude

can ever owe, I repay you.

(To the King) Lord, everything is peaceable,

and strife looks just like a blue sky.

King:

Here indeed then a miracle

has happened during this short hour.

Prince:

The villain is villain no more.

Queen:

Hush, noble prince, it’s ignoble,

such a weakness for minor faults,

in the scene you keep pointing at,

whose flowering you sought after,

shielding him instead. Were he great,

we’d not now be standing gathered

so peacefully. Give me your hand,

forget the guilt in a friend’s press.

Prince:

I should forget that here is this

confounded poisonous villain,

the green knave in the hunting clothes,

who for but a short hour courted

such rich favor from the Queen?

Make me forget that I am an

anointed prince and a ruler,

but not this sin, which is too great

for just any oblivion.

Snow White:

O, there’s no longer any sin.

It’s no longer in this circle.

It’s fled from us. The sinner here,

I, as her true child, kiss her hand

and ask of her if she might but

sin as much in so dear a way.

Why, Prince, why do you stir up strife?

Have you forgotten what you swore

only but a short time ago?

Did you not swear love to the Queen,

kneel for her beautiful image

of devotion and sweet splendor?

Show now love, it truly befits

you best to joyfully render

the homage here of a shy kiss.

I, too, I thought I had been hurt,

the one harmed, hated, and cast out.

How stupid and stubborn I was

alike to see an evil sin,

to hastily trust in mistrust

and be so blind in bitterness.

Cast off the rash prejudice of

condemnation and fierce justice.

Justice is this clemency here,

and clemency is peace enwreathed,

part of this sweet, blessed revel

that tosses sin into the air,

plays with it as with the flowers.

Be happy you can be happy.

O, could I speak. I must too

for such a great and blessed end.

But I lack that gift for eloquence;

passion is much too wild in me

and I am so intensely filled

by such lofty, contrary joy.

Queen:

Oh, but how sweet you speak, fair child!

King:

Take this kiss, and may all have

a fete of royal joy this day.

Prince, you’d be better served if you

fell in with the general delight.

You don’t want to be a stranger

and apart from such faithfully

devoted, heartfelt happiness.

What? Why do you still look angry?

Prince:

Not angry, nor charming either.

I just don’t know what I should say.

Prince exits.

Queen (to Snow White):

And are you no longer tired now?

You want to laugh again, have fun,

and spread cheer as if it were seed?

Snow White:

I’m tired no more. What? Did the Prince

run in fear from our rejoicing?

Does this befit this noble man?

Queen:

Sure it befits—he’s a coward!

Snow White:

I don’t know if he’s a coward.

But such conduct’s awful of him.

Go, Hunter, bring him back here.

Hunter exits.

I want to scold him when he comes,

and he’ll surely come. He just wants

us anxiously seeking for him.

Queen:

Then he will still be your sweetheart.

And then—then I say, yes indeed,

must say something I remember, say—

What do I say? Ah, yes, then say,

something like this perchance, saying:

“You fired him on with your kisses

to that—”

Snow White:

Hush, O hush. Just the fairy tale

says so, not you and never me.

I said it just once, once like that—

it’s over and done. Father, come.

Lead the way inside for us all.

All go toward the castle.

* The Prince should be seen as shorter than the other characters, even Snow White, and wearing a checkered costume.