BRUNHILDA.  Over-confident art thou.

  KRIEMHILD.  It is my right!

  BRUNHILDA.  It may not come to proof,
  And even a dream is sweet—­so slumber on,
  And I will never wake thee.

  KRIEMHILD.  What say’st thou? 
  My noble husband is too gentle far
  To grieve the rulers of his royal realm,
  Else had he made a sceptre long ago
  Of his good sword and held it forth so far
  That its great shadow covered all the earth. 
  For all the lands are subject unto him,
  And should but one deny it, I would ask
  That land from him to make a flower bed.

  BRUNHILDA.

  Kriemhild, what then would be my husband’s place?

  KRIEMHILD. 
  He is my brother, and the standard’s his
  Whereby one weighs all others.  None weighs him.

  BRUNHILDA.

  No, for he is the standard of the world! 
  And as ’tis gold decides the worth of things,
  So he the worth of heroes and of knights. 
  Thou must not contradict me, dearest child,
  And in return I’ll listen patiently
  If thou wilt only teach me how to sew.

  KRIEMHILD.

  Brunhilda!

  BRUNHILDA.

  Nay, I did not speak in scorn;
  I long to sew, and needle-work is not
  My birthright like the throwing of the lance,
  For which I never sought a master’s aid,
  More than I needed aid to stand or walk.

KRIEMHILD.

If ’tis thy wish, we can begin at once;
And since thou best enjoyest making wounds
We’ll take the bodkin for embroidery. 
I have a pattern!—­

[She is about to show the girdle.]
No, I have it not.

BRUNHILDA.

Thou lookest on thy sister coldly now. 
But ’tis not friendly to withdraw thy hand
From my fond clasp before I give it up—­
At least our custom is the contrary. 
And canst thou not be reconciled to know
The sceptre of thy dreams is given now
Into thy brother’s hands?  Thou art his sister,
And that should comfort thee.  A brother’s fame
Is half thine own, so thou shouldst yield to me,
Before all other women, honor’s crown
That once for all could never have been thine,
For no one could have paid for it as I.

  KRIEMHILD.

  ’Tis thus perverted nature takes revenge. 
  Thou didst resist love’s rule as no one else,
  And now this blindness is thy penalty.

  BRUNHILDA.

  Thou speakest of thyself and not of me! 
  We need not quarrel, for the whole world knows
  That ere my mother bore me, ’twas my fate
  The strongest knight alone should conquer me.

  KRIEMHILD.

  I can believe it.

  BRUNHILDA.

  Well?

  KRIEMHILD (laughs).

  BRUNHILDA.

  Then thou art mad! 
  Perchance thou fear’st that we shall be too harsh
  With all the vassals?  Yet thou need’st not fear! 
  I plant no flower beds in conquered lands,
  And only once will I claim precedence
  If thou art not too proud and obstinate,—­
  Here at the church today and nevermore.