Prelude Daz ich der jâre bin ein kint (1267)
Ich fröi mich manger bluomen rôt
die uns der meie bringen wil.
die stuomdem ê in grôzer nôt:
der winter tet in leides vil.
der mei wils uns ergetzen wol
mit mangem wünneclîchem tage:
des ist diu welt gar fröiden vol.
Waz hilfet mir diu sumerzît
und diu vil liehten langen tage?
mîn trôst an einer frouwen lît
von der ich grôzen kumber trage.
wil sî mir geben hôhen muot,
dâ tuot si tugentlîchen an,
und daz mîn fröide wirdet guot.
Swann ich mich von der liben scheide,
sô muoz mîn fröide ein ende hân.
owê, sô stirbe ich lîht von leide
daz ich es ie mit ir began.
ichn weiz niht, frou, waz minne sint.
mich lât diu liebe entgelten vil
daz ich der jâre bin ein kint.
The many red flowers I welcome
Those that May will yield us.
Long have they been in plight:
Greatly did Winter wrong them.
But May will repay us in full
With many a wonderful day:
For this the whole world rejoices.
What help is to me the Summertime
With its long bright days?
My comfort lies entire with a Lady
Whom I receive great sorrows from.
Oh, could she raise my heart,
That would be a virtuous deed,
And my happiness would be complete.
When from my Love I part,
Then from Joy I leave too.
Woe, of pain I almost die
Ever since I gave myself to her.
I know not, Lady, what Love is.
And harshly my Love makes me pay
For of years I am but a child. (1)
---
Burg Trausnitz, Landshut, Herzogtum Bayern-Landshut, February 1267
The castle room was small, and a log smoldered in the great fireplace, yet the cold winter wind seeped in from outside, making its way through the fissures between the great building stones. If that gust of wind had eyes and a brain, it could have peeked from beyond one of the heavy embroided clothes that ornated the otherwise bare walls and it would have assisted to a private conversation between two teenagers. A conversation that would set in motion a chain of events that would lead to a world far different from most others in the multiverse.
A young man, sitting on a finely carved oak stool, put down his lute as he finished singing. He was pleasant looking; tall, blond and with the air of refinement that distinguishes people of noble station and education from commoners who toil in day to day drudgery. A more attentive eye, however, would quickly notice that this young man was in truth just a boy, with no traces of a beard and with a delicate complexion which betrayed the tender age of Conrad, Duke of Swabia, rightful King of Jerusalem and Sicily and true heir of the last great Emperor of the Romans, but temporarily penniless ward to his powerful uncle, the Duke of Bavaria Ludwig II the Strict. Close to him stood another young dispossessed noble, his close friend Friederich von Baden, claimant to Austria and Styria.
“So, Friederich, what do you think of my little exercise?”
“My liege” the older boy spoke, half-serious and half-joking: “Should I give the opinion of the vassal, or that of the friend?”
“Don’t ask me this question ever again: you are a brother to me!” Conrad rose, closing to his friend: “And, besides, I won’t be no Caligula, who loves empty flattery; whatever God’s providence holds for my future I will always welcome an earnest counsel.”
“As you wish then… It was fairly good, but let’s say it was not like one of the ones from our great Walther (2), but I am curious…” The slightly older boy smiled mischievously: “who is the fortunate lady who stole your heart? Your betrothed? (3) Or one of the fair maidens who attend to our mothers?”
“None of them in truth, my heart is wholly given to that fair but far land which is my rightful heritage.” The young uncrowned king was now very serious: “Friederich, did you hear what the Italian ambassadors said about the bloodthirstiness and greed of Charles and his men? What man can sit still and not fight against such injustice? What Knight can close his ears to such a cry of sorrow from a downtrodden people?” Conrad, now flushed with excitation, paused for a moment, before continuing: “No, I have taken my decision, my fate lies to the South. Will you ride with me?”
“You shouldn’t have to ask, you know I am ready to die for you Conrad!”
“And I for you. We shall avenge my uncle Manfred’s unquiet ghost and once I am truly king you shall have the first place of honour at my court. But whatever the outcome of this quest, we shall ride together till the end of it.”
“So be it.”
The two youngsters were briefly joined by a tender embrace, then Conrad left his friend, full of newly found confidence and ready to put his uncle before his now irrefutable decision. There was so much to do to organize the campaign, but he felt that future smiled upon him, the last scion of the great House of Hohenstaufen.
Notes:
(1) Sorry for the terrible translation: Neither English nor (especially!) Mittlehochdeutsch are my native languages and I didn’t have time to make the metrics and rhymes square up, so I just gave a more or less literal translation. The poem was actually written by Conradin in his real life and I couldn’t help to make the connection between the distant Lady and Sicily or between the suffering flowers and the Ghibellines/Hohenstaufen loyalists in Italy.
(2) The famed Minnesänger Walther von der Vogelweide (1170-1230).
(3) Sophia, daughter of Margrave Dietrich von Landsberg. It is not clear whether theirs was only a betrothal or an actual marriage per procurationem. ITTL Conradin will manage to regain his kingdom and he will end up marrying someone different and probably more significant.