He rode away sad at heart; but the weather was so beautiful, and the
birds were singing so gaily, that he could not remain sad long. He sang
wherever he could get an audience, but sweet and joyous as was the
music he made, it brought him no gold. He therefore tried what his
sword could do for him, and fought under the banner of King Konrad,
against his rival Heinrich Raspe, the “pope’s king,” thereby helping to
win the battle of Ulm. He was handsomely rewarded for his assistance.
Then he went back to Italy, and fought there also for the
Hohenstaufens, for which service he was richly paid. Once, soon after
this, he sought and found shelter for the night in a castle where many
knights were assembled. After supper he delighted every one with his
minstrelsy. But immediately after he had ceased to sing, a stranger
came in, dressed in black garments embroidered with gold, and wearing
black feathers in his cap. He had a harp in his hand, and, seating
himself, began to play and sing in a deep, powerful, and yet melodious,
voice. His song was strange and eerie in its effect. The guests all
glanced at each other in silence when it was done. They felt ill at
ease, they knew not why.
Tannhäuser, throwing off the unaccountable feeling that possessed him,
caught up his harp, and sang a merry ditty about woods and birds and
flowers, and soon both he and the other guests were restored to their
usual cheerfulness. After that, they all began to play at dice.
Tannhäuser won large sums, and lost them again immediately to the black
stranger, and not only these, but some of the money he had put aside
for his marriage.
The next day, when he left the castle, the stranger went with him,
remained with him all day, and before night fell, had won all his money
from him. Seeing how sad Tannhäuser looked, the stranger laughed, and
said:
“Do not pull such a long face over so small a matter as the loss of a
few gold pieces, but come with me to Wartburg; Landgrave Hermann has
summoned a minstrel tournament to meet, in which the prizes are lands
and wealth, but he who fails will lose his head. My name is Klingsohr,
and I come from Hungary. I am willing to enter into an alliance with
you. Your songs are like the bliss of heaven; mine, like the horrors of
hell. If we are successful, you may have the wealth—I shall take the
heads; if, on the other hand, we lose, we shall go together to heaven
or hell; what does it matter which? You shudder like a weakling to hear
me talk thus, for you believe the tales the priests tell you about fire
and brimstone; but instead of that, it is the realm of Dame Venus, who
gives her friends the most exquisite pleasures earth can afford, and
both silver and gold in abundance. If you do not care for the minstrel
tournament, you can visit the fair queen on the road to Wartburg, for
she lives in the Hörselberg, which we shall have to pass at any rate.”
Tannhäuser listened to his companion with a shudder; but when he went
on to describe the unspeakable glories of the Hörselberg, and to tell
of the marvellous charms of the queen, he felt a growing desire to see
Dame Venus with his own eyes. So he set out with his strange companion,
forgetting, or nearly forgetting, Kunigunde, and his love for her.
When the travellers approached the mountains of Thuringia they were
joined by a tall and stately man in full armour, with his sword at his
side, and a white staff in his hand. As they walked on together, they
exchanged confidences as to who they were, and from whence they came.
The new-comer said:
“People call me the faithful Eckhard, the Harlungs’ comfort, for I took
care of the noble youths for many years; but, alas! wicked Ermenrich,
and his evil counsellor Sibich, slew them in my absence, and all I
could do was to avenge their death.”
“The Harlungs, Ermenrich, Sibich,” repeated Tannhäuser thoughtfully,
“it must have been long ago.”
“Three or four hundred years or even more may have passed since then,”
answered Eckhard. “I find it difficult to reckon time after the manner
of men; but ever since those old days I have been busily employed in
warning people away from the Venus Mount.”
Klingsohr burst out laughing, and cried, “Spare your words, old fool;
so you are one of the idiots who blaspheme Dame Venus.”
“Get thee behind me, tempter,” said Eckhard; “I am going to take the
good knight to the Wartburg, where he may win glory and wealth.”
“And I am going on to prepare his lodging in our queen’s palace,”
answered the other, as he set off at a brisk pace towards the mountains.
The minstrel and Eckhard continued their way quietly, talking the
while. At last they came to the beautiful Hörselthal, with its meadows,
trees, and rushing stream, and, a little farther on, to a bleak
mountain, out of which came a confused sound as of waves beating a
rock-bound coast, the roar and clatter of a water-mill, human cries of
rage, and the howling of wild beasts.
“That is the Hörselberg,” said Eckhard, “the place where Dame Venus
holds her court, with the wicked who are under her dominion. Keep thine
eyes and ears both shut, lest the temptress entangle thee in her net.”