DUKE. What new event is this?
SWANWHITE. I know! I see!—I hear the water dripping from his hair; I hear the silence of his heart, the breath that comes no more—I see that he is dead!
DUKE. Where do you see—and whom?
SWANWHITE. Where?—But I see it!
DUKE. I see nothing.
SWANWHITE. As they must come, let them come quick!
Four little girls enter with baskets out of which they scatter white lilies and hemlock twigs over the floor. After them come four pages ringing silver bells of different pitch. Then comes a priest carrying a large crucifix. Then, the golden bier, with the body of the PRINCE, covered by a white sheet, on which rest white and pink roses. His hair is dark again. His face is youthful, rosy, and radiantly beautiful. There is a smile on his lips.
The harp begins to play. The sun rises completely. The magic bubble around the STEPMOTHER bursts, and she appears once more in her customary shape.
The bier is placed in the middle of the floor, so that the rays of the rising sun fall on it.
SWANWHITE throws herself on her knees beside the bier and covers the Prince's face with kisses.
All present put their hands to their faces and weep.
The FISHERMAN has entered behind the bier.
DUKE. The brief tale tell us, fisherman——
FISHERMAN. Does it not tell itself, my noble lord?—The young prince had already crossed the strait, when, seized by violent longing for his love, he started to swim back, in face of tide and wave and wind—because his bark seemed rudder-less.—I saw his young head breast the billows, I heard him cry her name—and then his corpse was gently dropped upon the white sand at my feet. His hair had turned to grey that night when he slept in the tower; sorrow and wrath had blanched his cheeks; his lips had lost their power of smiling.—Now, when death o'ertook him, beauty and youth came with it. Like wreaths his darkening locks fell round his rosy cheeks; he smiled—and see!—is smiling still. The people gathered on the shore, awed by the gentle spectacle—and man said unto man: lo, this is love!
SWANWHITE. [Lying down beside the body of the PRINCE] He's dead; his heart will sing no more; his eyes no longer will light up my life; his breath will shed its dew on me no more. He smiles, but not toward me—toward heaven he smiles. And on his journey I shall bear him company.