passes off, the curtain rises; and there is no mistaking whose
forest habitation we are in; for the central pillar is a mighty
tree, and the place fit for the dwelling of a fierce chief. The
door opens: and an exhausted man reels in: an adept from the
school of unhappiness. Sieglinda finds him lying on the hearth.
He explains that he has been in a fight; that his weapons not
being as strong as his arms, were broken; and that he had to fly.
He desires some drink and a moment's rest; then he will go; for
he is an unlucky person, and does not want to bring his ill-luck
on the woman who is succoring him. But she, it appears, is also
unhappy; and a strong sympathy springs up between them. When her
husband arrives, he observes not only this sympathy, but a
resemblance between them, a gleam of the snake in their eyes.
They sit down to table; and the stranger tells them his unlucky
story. He is the son of Wotan, who is known to him only as
Wolfing, of the race of the Volsungs. The earliest thing he
remembers is returning from a hunt with his father to find their
home destroyed, his mother murdered, and his twin-sister carried
off. This was the work of a tribe called the Neidings, upon whom
he and Wolfing thenceforth waged implacable war until the day
when his father disappeared, leaving no trace of himself but an
empty wolfskin. The young Volsung was thus cast alone upon the
world, finding most hands against him, and bringing no good luck
even to his friends. His latest exploit has been the slaying of
certain brothers who were forcing their sister to wed against
her will. The result has been the slaughter of the woman by her
brothers' clansmen, and his own narrow escape by flight.

His luck on this occasion is even worse than he supposes; for
Hunding, by whose hearth he has taken refuge, is clansman to the