"Mataswintha, granddaughter of the great Theodoric, in the laurel-grown garden at Ravenna. She would have become my friend; but she desired to hear only of love, nothing of heroism and duty to people and kingdom. She knows only one right, one duty--love. This separated us sharply and rigidly. Yet how touchingly both may be united, a beautiful old legend celebrates. My noble friend, Teja, once sang it for my grandfather and me to the accompaniment of his harp, in measures so sorrowful and yet so proud--ah, as only Teja can sing. I will translate it into your language. Come, let us mend this corner of the golden hem; meanwhile, I will tell you." Both took their seats by the open window again. Once more Eugenia's glance, still in vain, often flitted over the courtyard, and while the two were industriously embroidering, the Princess began: "It was in ancient times: when eagles shrieked, holy waters flowed from heavenly mountains. Far, far away from here, in the Land of Thule in Scandinavia, a noble hero was born of the Wölsung race. His name was Helgi, and he had no peer on earth. When, after great victories over the Hundings, the hereditary foes of his family, he sat resting on a rock in the fir-woods, light suddenly burst from the sky, from whose radiance beams darted like shining lances, and from the clouds rode the Valkyries, who--according to the beautiful religion of our ancestors--are hero-maidens who decide the destinies of battle, and bear the fallen heroes up to the shield-wainscoted halls of the god of victory. They rode in helmets and breastplates; flames blazed at the points of their spears. One of them, Sigrun, came to the lonely warrior, clasped his hand, greeted him, and kissed his lips beneath his helmet, and they loved each other deeply. "But Sigrun's father had betrothed her to another, and Helgi was compelled to wage a hard battle for his love. He killed her lover, her father, and all her brothers except one. Sigrun herself, hovering in the clouds, had given him the victory, and she became his wife, though he had slain her father and her brothers. But soon Helgi, the beloved hero, was murdered by the one brother whom he had spared. True, the assassin tried to make amends to the widow; but she cursed him, saying: 'May the ship that carries you never move forward, though a fair wind is blowing! May the steed that bears you stop running, when you are fleeing from your foes! May the sword you wield cease to cut, and may it whirl around your own head! May you live in the world without peace, as the hunted wolf wanders through the forest!' Disdaining all comfort, she tore her hair, saying: 'Woe betide the widow who accepts consolation! She never knew love, for love is eternal. Woe to the wife who has lost her husband! Her heart is desolate; why should she live on?'"