“Well, King Gunther, I will tell you what brings me here. You know that good Queen Helche, the faithful helpmeet of my liege lord King Etzel, died some years ago, and that her sons were slain in battle by Wittich. The king of the Huns has long sat lonely in the wide halls of Etzelburg, but he has now made up his mind to marry again. He consulted me on the subject, and I advised him to try and win the hand of the noble Lady Chriemhild, your sister and the widow of heroic Siegfried. If you will give your consent to the match, I am empowered to say that she shall be queen of the Huns.”
“She is no longer under my charge,” was the answer; “she is queen of the Nibelungs, and of the Netherlands, and I fear that she will not be willing to marry again.”
“I will take her the good news,” said Giselher, “and mother Ute will advise her to do as we wish.”
The young warrior immediately rose, and went to the women’s apartment. He found his sister busied as usual with her embroidery. He told her that it was time she should give up grieving so much for her dead husband, and reminded her that she was still young, and might yet be happy. Then he told her what Rüdiger had related of Etzel’s court, its greatness and its glory, and finally told her of Etzel’s wooing. But Chriemhild answered with solemn firmness, that she would not leave the grave-mound in which all she loved was buried.
Then mother Ute spoke. “If you will be Etzel’s queen, my child, you will be the most powerful of women.”
“Most powerful of women,” repeated the daughter thoughtfully. “Look, Giselher,” she went on, pointing to her embroidery, “you know whom that hero is intended to represent?”
He shook his head, and she added, “It is Wali, the Avenger, of whom our fathers said that he revenged Baldur, and sent dark Höder to his own place.”
“These are old wives’ stories that are forgotten now,” answered Giselher. “Let us speak of him in whose name good Rüdiger is come to woo you.”
“Yes—but what if it were to be fulfilled?” she said, “perhaps—Ask the Margrave to come to me, that I may hear his wooing myself.”
Giselher left the room, and the Lady Ute went out also, leaving Chriemhild alone, as she requested.
“Siegfried,” said the young queen, “it is for your sake that I leave your resting-place, from whence you have so often come to me, in waking and in sleep, and pointed to your wounds—those gaping, bleeding wounds, that will never close until it is granted me to send grim Höder down to dark Hella.”