_Hans_. But if she weaves enchantment, master? _Prince_. I am the last from whom on that account a threat is fit. It has turned to blessing for me. To him who chooses sacrifice for his fate, there often comes the best of gifts,--to see deep into the unsearchable, and smilingly to build as though within a pleasure-park, upon the very boundary of the ideal. Once more-- _Hans_. And once more I stand broad-legged in thy unhappy path and shout: Do not destroy thyself! Whoever runs after his desire shall perish in the race; it only yields to him who hurls it from him. Thou dost not know as yet the old wife's schemes; thou standest now above enchantment, a young glowing god confiding in the magic of thine own strength. What thou dost know is that thy prize is hidden, and that the broad path of possibilities, on which thou thinkest to glide aloft, may be choked all at once between black walls and leave thee fevered and panting with the chase, with desire and loathing, eagerness and shrinking, to hasten on forever and never gain the end. _Prince_ [_pointing to his helmet with a smile_]. Look there! _Hans_. Thou hast done well to bring them; if the fatal seed of death does not draw thee down to eternal failure thou must do well indeed! For now the secret purpose of thy path is about to reveal itself; now thy proud and self-poised soul pants to mount aloft,--and here I stand and counsel thee: Hurl away thy prize! _Prince_. Thou ravest. [_The_ Burial-wife _appears in the door of the tower, thrown into lurid prominence by the fire that burns within on the hearth. It grows dark rapidly._] _Hans_. Too late. It has begun. [_Whispers._] It looks as if the hearth-fire glowed straight through her parchment skin and wrapped her bones in flame. _Prince_. Burial-wife! Look me in the face! _Burial-wife_. Thou hast come! Welcome, dear son! _Prince_. Thy dear son--I am not. Thy creditor I am, and I demand my own. _Burial-wife_. What dost thou ask? _Prince_. I forced from thee the words that taught me my way; the deed thou hast demanded is accomplished, and I claim the prize! _Burial-wife_. What I have promised thee, I will faithfully fulfil, my child. A primal force lies within these white husks. They change their form according to their owner's will. What, then, is thy desire? A woman? _Prince_. A woman? There are enough of women. More than one has borne me down to earth in the snare of her supple limbs, and hampered my soul's flight. What is a woman? A downfall and a heaviness, a darkness and a theft of alien lights, a sweet allurement in the eternal void, a smile without a thought, a cry for naught. _Hans_. Bravo! Bravo!