One evening when the noble knight Tannhäuser was sitting in a miserable
wayside inn, grumbling over the fate that had made him a poor man
instead of a prince, he was startled by a loud knocking at the door. He
felt a moment’s terror lest it should be the bailiffs come to arrest
him for debt; but instead of that, it was his good lord, Duke Friedrich
of Babenberg, who ruled the rich Danubian land of Austria.
The duke chid the young man for his debts and follies, and then, giving
him a purse full of gold, desired him to return to court, where his
music and society were much missed.
So Tannhäuser once more returned to court, and took part in the gay
doings there. He also aided his liege lord in many a great battle waged
against the enemies of the realm. He was a great favourite of his
master, both because of his gift of song, and because of his bravery.
So Friedrich gave him the fair estate of Leopoldsdorf, near Vienna, as
well as a large sum of money.
The Hohenstaufens, too, looked upon him favourably, both the Emperor
Frederick II., and his son Konrad, who ruled in Germany after him. The
minstrel received many gifts at their hands, and was devoted to their
service.
But although large sums were thus continually passing into his coffers,
he was always in debt. In course of time his patron the Duke was killed
in the battle of the Leitha. He mourned him deeply, and wrote a number
of beautiful songs in memory of the man who had been so kind to him.
But at length his poetic soul began to turn with more pleasure to
cheerful themes, so he collected what little remained of his wealth,
and, setting out in the bright summer days, he wandered from castle to
castle, and from town to town, sometimes hungry, sometimes happy, as he
was ill or well received. He travelled through Bavaria, and remained
some time at Nürnberg, where song was loved and studied; and after that
he crossed the Alps into Italy. At Pavia, he made the acquaintance of a
German knight, who was much drawn to the fascinating minne-singer, and
he, in his turn, to the knight’s fair daughter, Kunigunde. The old
knight, on being asked for his daughter’s hand, replied that he liked
Tannhäuser very much, and would give him his daughter willingly if he
had the wherewithal to support her. Minstrelsy was all very well, he
added, but it would not keep a family in bread and butter. “You have
both your sword and your harp to trust to,” he concluded with a smile;
“go, and make enough money to set up house, and then I will give you
Kunigunde.”
Tannhäuser took leave of his lady-love, promising to return in a year
with the needful ducats; and he fully intended to keep his promise.