pt 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 slain brothers
and is bound to avenge them. He tells the Volsung that in the morning,
weapons or no weapons, he must fight for his life. Then he orders the
woman to bed, and follows her himself, taking his spear with him.

The unlucky stranger, left brooding by the hearth, has nothing to
console himself with but an old promise of his father's that he shall
find a weapon to his hand when he most needs one. The last flicker of
the dying fire strikes on the golden hilt of the sword that sticks in
the tree; but he does not see it; and the embers sink into blackness.
Then the woman returns. Hunding is safely asleep: she has drugged him.
She tells the story of the one-eyed man who appeared at her forced
marriage, and of the sword. She has always felt, she says, that her
miseries will end in the arms of the hero who shall succeed in drawing
it forth. The stranger, dif