Ultimately, he came to his own in Tyrol owing to an act of the Council of Constance in Baden, which not only condemned John Huss—amongst many ecclesiastical enactments—to be burned, but also ordered that Duke Frederick, now an outlaw, who had burned Oswald von Wolkenstein's castles, should rebuild them, and restore to the knight all the property that he and his followers had seized. It is not easy, however, to comprehend how an outlaw who was fleeing from one place to another in fear of his life was to accomplish these things, nor how property taken by the soldiery years before, and probably long ago converted into cash or other uses, could be given up and restored.
We are told, however, that after visiting France in Sigismund's train Oswald returned to his favourite castle of Hauenstein, the ruins of which nowadays are so lost in the vast pine forest which surrounds them as to be almost undiscoverable.
Then Sabina, his old love, once more comes upon the scene, this time as the claimant of the castle on account, so she alleged, of an unrepaid loan made by her grandfather to the Wolkensteins. She invited her old suitor Oswald to join her in a pilgrimage to some shrine for old acquaintance sake; and when he came to her, unsuspecting and unarmed, she promptly had him seized, thrown into a dungeon, and there kept him a prisoner in chains. He lay in treacherous Sabina's castle until by chance Sigismund, hearing of his parlous state, intervened on his friend's behalf, and Oswald von Wolkenstein was set free. He was, however, so maimed by rheumatism and the fetters which had galled him that he ever afterwards went lame.
Once more he was cast into prison, this time by Duke Frederick's machinations, and lay in a horrible underground and tunnel-like cell in Vellenberg not far from Innsbruck. He had married in 1417 Margaret, a daughter of the house of Schwangau, after a long period of betrothal, and to her he was deeply attached. On his second release, after three years' incarceration, he returned to Hauenstein to find his wife dead, and his home fallen into disrepair from neglect.
A few years later we find him, unconquered in spirit though broken in body, at Rome to attend the coronation of his friend Sigismund, who but a year or two later was driven from the throne. In 1435 Oswald once more, as a man of fifty-eight, returned to forest-enshrouded Hauenstein, where he died nine years afterwards, never having again left it.
Of course, the castle is haunted by the spirit of this unhappy and adventurous knight and Minnesinger, and there is still this belief amongst the peasantry of Seis and the neighbourhood round about. And the few who have ever ventured near the ruined pile after sundown aver that those who do are sure to hear the ancient Minnesinger chanting a dirge-like lay, accompanying himself upon his lute. But if this be so Oswald's spirit has wandered far from his body, for his remains repose at Neustift near Brixen.
He was not only one of the most picturesque and romantic figures of the band of Minnesingers who were so numerous during the Middle Ages, but also in a measure an historical figure. By some authorities he is considered to be the last of these strange wandering minstrel adventurers. Probably it would be more correct to speak of him as the last really great Tyrolese "Minnesinger;" but, whichever estimate be right, his place on the roll of fame relating to the deeds and songs of these is assured by reason of his gallantries, misfortunes, and adventurous and knightly doings.
ST. ULRICH
On the way to Klausen one is wise to make a diversion down the narrow but picturesque Grödener Thal to St. Ulrich, which charming village, situated in a basin and almost surrounded by thickly wooded slopes, and beyond them stupendous and rocky peaks with the serrated pinnacles of the Langkofel in the background, is the centre of the Toy industry of Tyrol and an increasingly popular tourist resort. The road is a steeply ascending one, and one comes upon the first glimpse of the village, which stands midway down the valley between Waidbruck and Wolkenstein, quite suddenly. One's first impression is of a typical Tyrolese village of considerable size, its white—very white—houses standing out clear cut and prominently against the background of dark-green pines, and the lighter green of the valley fields in which they are, many of them, set. Of late years the clean-looking cottages of the villagers, the balconies of which are as often as not hung with delightful flowers, have been supplemented by good and large hotels, villas, and other modern up-to-date tourist accommodation. But, nevertheless, St. Ulrich is not yet spoiled, and there are still many of the almost mahogany-coloured barns and storehouses left, with their picturesque balconies running right round them, on which the grain and herbs are placed to dry, wood to season, and other stores are kept, forming so sharp a contrast to the hotels and white houses.
Although we imagine St. Ulrich's chief attraction is its quaint and interesting toy-making industry, there are many others including most beautiful scenery, and the numberless excursions which can be made from it. In winter time, to quote the quaint phraseology and spelling of a local guide-book, it has "a very strange charme for the friends of Tobogganing and Ski-sport has the valley in the always mild and snowy winter-time." And regarding the accommodation offered, the same luminous authority goes on to say there are "very comfortable stabled hotels and land-houses extraordinary fit as a summerset for residence, likewise for a start place for numerous high-parties to the Dolomites."