 
Adelaide of Brunswick

Donatien Alphonse François, comte de Sade

translated by Lucian Hobart Ryland

Edited by Laura Cremonini

Edizione 2019

# Copyright

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Paperback

# Warning on the Copyright

Book projected and prepared in Italy

Tutti i contenuti di questo eBook rispettano la Legge sul Diritto di Autore vigente in Italia (Legge 22 aprile 1941 n. 633 - Protezione del diritto d'autore e di altri diritti connessi al suo esercizio - (G.U. n.166 del 16 luglio 1941) - Testo consolidato al 9 febbraio 2008.

All illustrations in this book are copyrighted by their respective copyright holders (according to the original copyright or production date) and are reproduced for historical purposes, in according to the Italian Copyright Law (Law no.633 of 22nd April 1941) and Fair use (US trademark law). Any omission or incorrect information should be transmitted to the author or publisher, so it can be rectified in future editions of this book: laura.cremonini@libero.it

In particolare (particularly)

Art. 70

comma 1: Il riassunto, la citazione o la riproduzione di brani o di parti di opera e la loro comunicazione al pubblico sono liberi se effettuati per uso di critica o di discussione, nei limiti giustificati da tali fini e purché non costituiscano concorrenza all'utilizzazione economica dell'opera;

The abridgment, quotation or reproduction of fragments or parts of a work and their communication to the public for the purpose of criticism or discussion, shall be permitted within the limits justified for such purposes, provided such acts do not conflict with the commercial exploitation of the work

comma 3: Il riassunto, la citazione o la riproduzione debbono essere sempre accompagnati dalla menzione del titolo dell'opera, dei nomi dell'autore, dell'editore e, se si tratti di traduzione, del traduttore, qualora tali indicazioni figurino sull'opera riprodotta.

The abridgment, quotation or reproduction must always be accompanied by a mention of the title of the work, and of the names of the author, the publisher and, in the case of a translation, of the translator, whenever such mentions appear on the work that has been reproduced.

Art. 87

Sono considerate fotografie ai fini dell'applicazione delle disposizioni di questo capo le immagini di persone o di aspetti, elementi o fatti della vita naturale e sociale, ottenute col processo fotografico o con processo analogo, comprese le riproduzioni di opere dell'arte figurativa e i fotogrammi delle pellicole cinematografiche.

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1) il nome del fotografo, o, nel caso previsto nel primo capoverso dell'art. 88, della ditta da cui il fotografo dipende o del committente;

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The copies of the photograph must bear the following particulars: 1. the name of the photographer or, in cases referred to in the first paragraph of Article 88, the name of the firm to which he belongs, or of the person who commissioned the photograph; 2. the year of production of the photograph; 3. the name of the author of the work of art which has been photographed. If the copies do not bear these particulars, their reproduction shall not be deemed abusive and the remuneration laid down in Articles 91 and 98 shall not become due unless the photographer proves bad faith on the part of the reproducer.

Art. 92

Il diritto esclusivo sulle fotografie dura vent'anni dalla produzione della fotografia.

The exclusive right in respect of photographs shall subsist for 20 years from the making of the photograph.

Altre precisazioni

Nessuna opera pittorica contenuta in questo libro proviene da Foto effettuate in Musei Italiani o Stranieri o Collezioni Private. Sono immagini scannerizzate contenute nella monumentale pubblicazione, quanto poco conosciuta, Obrazy według artysty di Milan Schlick (deceduto nell'anno 1943), edita in 100 copie nell'anno 1946 e dedicata a falsi d'autore famosi. Gli artisti dei falsi d'autore sono anch'essi deceduti da più di 70 anni.

Remake

Il remake come indica la sua traduzione letterale dalla inglese, è il rifacimento di un'opera, in genere fiction di tipo audiovisivo, già esistente. Il termine si applica in particolare ai film ma può essere utilizzato anche in letteratura. Il remake può essere più o meno fedele all'originale: si può ad esempio cambiare l'ambientazione, qualche personaggio o attualizzare la trama. Tutto ciò, ovviamente, a seconda delle esigenze che possono essere diverse da quelle dell'opera originale. Solitamente maggiore è la distanza temporale tra le due opere, maggiori sono le differenze. Tutti i remake operati dal Self-Publish si rifanno ad opere cadute nel Pubblico Dominio. Si distaccano sempre dall'opera originale per una nuova ambientazione, per personaggi diversi da quelli primigeni, per l'aggiunta di capitoli nuovi. A volte la trama viene cambiata, a volte no.

It is the remaking of a work, generally fiction type audiovisual, already existing. The term is applied particularly to the films but it can also be used in literature. The remake can be more faithful to the original one: he can for instance change the setting, some character or to update the plot. All of this, obviously, according to the demands that can be different from those of the original work. Usually greater it is the temporal distance among the two works, greater they are the differences. All the remake operated by the Self-Publish are referred to fallen works in the Public Dominion. They always detaches from the original work for a new setting, for different characters from those primitive, for the addition of new chapters. At times the plot is changed, at times no.

Testi e Immagini provenienti dagli Stati Uniti - Fair Use

Per quanto attiene testi e immagini provenienti dagli Stati Uniti cella presente pubblicazione ci si è attenuti alle disposizioni contenute nel titolo 17, § 107, del Copyright Act sotto forma di clausola (la legge sul copyright statunitense). Il principio del fair use rende le opere protette da copyright disponibili al pubblico come materiale grezzo senza la necessità di autorizzazione, a condizione che tale libero utilizzo soddisfi le finalità della legge sul copyright, che la costituzione degli Stati Uniti d'America definisce come promozione "del progresso della scienza e delle arti utili" (I.1.8), o meglio dell'applicazione legale dei reclami di infrazione. La dottrina tenta con ciò di equilibrare gli interessi dei titolari di diritti esclusivi con i benefici sociali o culturali che derivano dalla creazione e dalla distribuzione delle opere derivate. Nella misura in cui questa dottrina protegge forme di espressione che potrebbero diversamente venire a configurarsi come infrazioni del copyright, è stata posta in relazione con la protezione della libertà di parola sancita dal primo emendamento della costituzione statunitense.

Fair use is a legal doctrine only in the United States. It permits limited use of copyrighted material without acquiring permission from the rights holders. While according to the Supreme Court fair use is an affirmative defense, in Lenz v. Universal Music Corp., (the "dancing baby" case), the United States Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit concluded that fair use was not merely a defense to an infringement claim, but was an expressly authorized right, and an exception to the exclusive rights granted to the author of a creative work by copyright law. "Fair use is therefore distinct from affirmative defenses where a use infringes a copyright, but there is no liability due to a valid excuse, e.g., misuse of a copyright." Examples of fair use in United States copyright law include commentary, search engines, criticism, parody, news reporting, research, and scholarship. Although related, the limitations and exceptions to copyright for teaching and library archiving in the U.S. are located in a different section of the statute. Fair use provides for the legal, unlicensed citation or incorporation of copyrighted material in another author's work under a four-factor balancing test.

The term "fair use" originated in the United States. A similar-sounding principle, fair dealing, exists in some other common law jurisdictions but in fact it is more similar in principle to the enumerated exceptions found under civil law systems. Civil law jurisdictions have other limitations and exceptions to copyright.

Fair use is one of the traditional safety valves intended to balance the interests of copyright holders with the public interest in the wider distribution and use of creative works by allowing certain limited uses that might otherwise be considered infringement (more).

Paperback

# Index

COPYRIGHT

WARNING ON THE COPYRIGHT

INDEX

INTRODUCTION

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

LIFE

EARLY LIFE AND EDUCATION

TITLE AND HEIRS

SCANDALS AND IMPRISONMENT

RETURN TO FREEDOM, DELEGATE TO THE NATIONAL CONVENTION, AND IMPRISONMENT

IMPRISONMENT FOR HIS WRITINGS AND DEATH

APPRAISAL AND CRITICISM

INFLUENCE

CULTURAL DEPICTIONS

LITERARY CRITICISM

LIBERTINE NOVELS

SHORT FICTION

SADISM IN THE GOTHIC NOVEL

MARQUIS DE SADE BIBLIOGRAPHY

PROSE FICTION

OTHER SHORT STORIES

MARQUIS DE SADE IN POPULAR CULTURE

PLAYS

FILMS

IN ART

OTHER WORKS

ADELAIDE OF BRUNSWICK

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

POSTED

# Introduction

Book annotated and illustrated with 15 wonderful illustrations on medieval life (and more).

Donatien Alphonse François, Marquis de Sade; 2 June 1740 - 2 December 1814), was a French nobleman, revolutionary politician, philosopher and writer, famous for his libertine sexuality. His works include novels, short stories, plays, dialogues, and political tracts. In his lifetime some of these were published under his own name while others, which Sade denied having written, appeared anonymously. Sade is best known for his erotic works, which combined philosophical discourse with pornography, depicting sexual fantasies with an emphasis on violence, suffering, criminality, and blasphemy against Christianity. He gained notoriety for putting these fantasies into practice. He claimed to be a proponent of absolute freedom, unrestrained by morality, religion, or law. The words sadism and sadist are derived from his name.

This book, "Adelaide of Brunswick," is one of Sade's historical tales, discovered among his papers after his death. It demonstrates the range and ability of a man whom history has vilified, but who was inarguably a philosopher, dramatist and author of the first magnitude.

# About the Author

Donatien Alphonse François, Marquis de Sade; 2 June 1740 - 2 December 1814), was a French nobleman, revolutionary politician, philosopher and writer, famous for his libertine sexuality. His works include novels, short stories, plays, dialogues, and political tracts. In his lifetime some of these were published under his own name while others, which Sade denied having written, appeared anonymously. Sade is best known for his erotic works, which combined philosophical discourse with pornography, depicting sexual fantasies with an emphasis on violence, suffering, criminality, and blasphemy against Christianity. He gained notoriety for putting these fantasies into practice. He claimed to be a proponent of absolute freedom), unrestrained by morality, religion, or law. The words sadism and sadist are derived from his name.

Sade was incarcerated in various prisons and an insane asylum for about 32 years of his life: 11 years in Paris (10 of which were spent in the Bastille), a month in the Conciergerie, two years in a fortress, a year in Madelonnettes Convent, three years in Bicêtre Asylum, a year in Sainte-Pélagie Prison, and 12 years in the Charenton Asylum). During the French Revolution, he was an elected delegate to the National Convention. Many of his works were written in prison.

There continues to be a fascination with Sade among scholars and in popular culture. Prolific French intellectuals such as Roland Barthes, Jacques Lacan, Jacques Derrida and Michel Foucault published studies of him.  On the other hand the French hedonist philosopher Michel Onfray has attacked this cult, writing that "It is intellectually bizarre to make Sade a hero."  There have also been numerous film adaptions of his work, the most notable being Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom, an adaptation of his infamous book, The 120 Days of Sodom.

## Life

### Early life and education

De Sade was born on 2 June 1740, in the Hôtel de Condé, Paris, to Jean Baptiste François Joseph, Count de Sade and Marie Eléonore de Maillé de Carman, distant cousin and Lady-in-waiting to the Princess of Condé. He was his parents' only surviving child.  He was educated by an uncle, the Abbé de Sade. In Sade's youth, his father abandoned the family; his mother joined a convent.  He was raised by servants who indulged "his every whim," which led to his becoming "known as a rebellious and spoiled child with an ever-growing temper."

Later in his childhood, Sade was sent to the Lycée Louis-le-Grand in Paris,  a Jesuit college, for four years.  While at the school, he was tutored by Abbé Jacques-François Amblet, a priest.  Later in life, at one of Sade's trials the Abbé testified, saying that Sade had a "passionate temperament which made him eager in the pursuit of pleasure" but had a "good heart."  At the Lycée Louis-le-Grand, he was subjected to "severe corporal punishment," including "flagellation," and he "spent the rest of his adult life obsessed with the violent act."  At age 14, Sade began attending an elite military academy.

After 20 months of training, on 14 December 1755, at age 15, Sade was commissioned as a sub-lieutenant, becoming a soldier.  After 13 months as a sub-lieutenant, he was commissioned to the rank of cornet) in the Brigade de S. André of the Comte de Provence's Carbine Regiment.  He eventually became Colonel of a Dragoon regiment and fought in the Seven Years' War. In 1763, on returning from war, he courted a rich magistrate's daughter, but her father rejected his suitorship and instead arranged a marriage with his elder daughter, Renée-Pélagie de Montreuil; that marriage produced two sons and a daughter.  In 1766, he had a private theatre built in his castle, the Château de Lacoste, in Provence. In January 1767, his father died.

## Title and heirs

The men of the Sade family alternated between using the marquis and comte (count) titles. His grandfather, Gaspard François de Sade, was the first to use marquis;  occasionally, he was the Marquis de Sade, but is identified in documents as the Marquis de Mazan. The Sade family were noblesse d'épée, claiming at the time the oldest, Frank-descended nobility, so assuming a noble title without a King's grant, was customarily de rigueur. Alternating title usage indicates that titular hierarchy (below duc et pair) was notional; theoretically, the marquis title was granted to noblemen owning several countships, but its use by men of dubious lineage caused its disrepute. At Court, precedence was by seniority and royal favor, not title. There is father-and-son correspondence, wherein father addresses son as marquis.

For many years, Sade's descendants regarded his life and work as a scandal to be suppressed. This did not change until the mid-twentieth century, when the Comte Xavier de Sade reclaimed the marquis title, long fallen into disuse, on his visiting cards,  and took an interest in his ancestor's writings. At that time, the "divine marquis" of legend was so unmentionable in his own family that Xavier de Sade only learned of him in the late 1940s when approached by a journalist.  He subsequently discovered a store of Sade's papers in the family château at Condé-en-Brie, and worked with scholars for decades to enable their publication.  His youngest son, the Marquis Thibault de Sade, has continued the collaboration. The family have also claimed a trademark on the name.  The family sold the Château de Condé in 1983.  As well as the manuscripts they retain, others are held in universities and libraries. Many, however, were lost in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. A substantial amount were destroyed after Sade's death at the instigation of his son, Donatien-Claude-Armand.

## Scandals and imprisonment

Sade lived a scandalous libertine existence and repeatedly procured young prostitutes as well as employees of both sexes in his castle in Lacoste. He was also accused of blasphemy, a serious offense at that time. His behavior also included an affair with his wife's sister, Anne-Prospère, who had come to live at the castle.

Beginning in 1763, Sade lived mainly in or near Paris. Several prostitutes there complained about mistreatment by him and he was put under surveillance by the police, who made detailed reports of his activities. After several short imprisonments, which included a brief incarceration in the Château de Saumur (then a prison), he was exiled to his château at Lacoste in 1768.

The first major scandal occurred on Easter Sunday in 1768, in which Sade procured the services of a woman, Rose Keller,  a widow-beggar who approached him for alms. He told her she could make money by working for him--she understood her work to be that of a housekeeper. At his chateau at Arcueil, Sade ripped her clothes off, threw her on a divan and tied her by the four limbs, face-down, so that she could not see behind her. Then he whipped her. Keller testified that he made various incisions on her body into which he poured hot wax, although investigators found no broken skin on Keller, and Sade explained that he had applied ointment to her after the whipping. Keller finally escaped by climbing out of a second-floor window and running away. The Sade family paid the maid to keep her quiet, but the wave of social embarrassment damaged Sade's reputation.  La Présidente, Sade's mother-in-law, obtained a lettre de cachet (a royal order of arrest and imprisonment, without stated cause or access to the courts) from the King, protecting Sade from the jurisdiction of the courts. The lettre de cachet would later prove disastrous for the marquis.

Four years later, in 1772, Sade would commit further acts with four prostitutes and his manservant, Latour.

That episode in Marseille involved the non-lethal incapacitating of prostitutes with the supposed aphrodisiac Spanish flyand sodomy with Latour. The two men were sentenced to death in absentia for sodomy and the poisoning. They fled to Italy, Sade taking his wife's sister with him. Sade and Latour were caught and imprisoned at the Fortress of Miolans in French Savoy in late 1772, but escaped four months later.

Sade later hid at Lacoste where he rejoined his wife, who became an accomplice in his subsequent endeavors.  In 1774, Sade trapped six children, including one boy, in his chateau for six weeks during which time he subjected them to abuse, which his wife allowed.  He kept a group of young employees at the chateau, most of whom complained about sexual mistreatment and quickly left his service. Sade was forced to flee to Italy once again. It was during this time he wrote Voyage d'Italie.

In 1776, he returned to Lacoste, again hired several servant girls, most of whom soon fled. In 1777, the father of one of those employees went to Lacoste to claim his daughter, and attempted to shoot the Marquis at point-blank range, but the gun misfired.

Later that year, Sade was tricked into going to Paris to visit his supposedly ill mother, who in fact had recently died. He was arrested and imprisoned in the Château de Vincennes. He successfully appealed his death sentence in 1778 but remained imprisoned under the lettre de cachet. He escaped but was soon recaptured. He resumed writing and met fellow prisoner Comte de Mirabeau, who also wrote erotic works. Despite this common interest, the two came to dislike each other intensely.

In 1784, Vincennes was closed, and Sade was transferred to the Bastille. The following year, he wrote the manuscript for his magnum opus Les 120 Journées de Sodome (The 120 Days of Sodom), which he wrote in minuscule handwriting on a continuous roll of paper he rolled tightly and placed in his cell wall to hide. He was unable to finish the work; on 4 July 1789, he was transferred "naked as a worm" to the insane asylum at Charenton) near Paris, two days after he reportedly incited unrest outside the prison by shouting to the crowds gathered there, "They are killing the prisoners here!" Sade was unable to retrieve the manuscript before being removed from the prison. The storming of the Bastille, a major event of the French Revolution, would occur ten days after Sade left, on 14 July. To his despair, he believed that the manuscript was destroyed in the storming of the Bastille, though it was actually saved by a man named Arnoux de Saint-Maximin two days before the Bastille was attacked. It is not known why Saint-Maximin chose to bring the manuscript to safety, nor indeed is anything else about him known.  In 1790, Sade was released from Charenton after the new National Constituent Assembly) abolished the instrument of lettre de cachet. His wife obtained a divorce soon afterwards.

## Return to freedom, delegate to the National Convention, and imprisonment

During Sade's time of freedom, beginning in 1790, he published several of his books anonymously. He met Marie-Constance Quesnet, a former actress with a six-year-old son, who had been abandoned by her husband. Constance and Sade would stay together for the rest of his life.

He initially adapted the new political order after the revolution, supported the Republic,  called himself "Citizen Sade", and managed to obtain several official positions despite his aristocratic background.

Because of the damage done to his estate in Lacoste, which was sacked in 1789 by an angry mob, he moved to Paris. In 1790, he was elected to the National Convention, where he represented the far left. He was a member of the Piques section, notorious for its radical views. He wrote several political pamphlets, in which he called for the implementation of direct vote. However, there is much evidence suggesting that he suffered abuse from his fellow revolutionaries due to his aristocratic background. Matters were not helped by his son's May 1792 desertion from the military, where he had been serving as a second lieutenant and the aide-de-camp to an important colonel, the Marquis de Toulengeon. Sade was forced to disavow his son's desertion in order to save himself. Later that year, his name was added - whether by error or wilful malice - to the list of émigrés of the Bouches-du-Rhône department).

While claiming he was opposed to the Reign of Terror in 1793, he wrote an admiring eulogy for Jean-Paul Marat.  At this stage, he was becoming publicly critical of Maximilien Robespierre and, on 5 December, he was removed from his posts, accused of "moderatism", and imprisoned for almost a year. He was released in 1794 after the end of the Reign of Terror.

In 1796, now all but destitute, he had to sell his ruined castle in Lacoste.

## Imprisonment for his writings and death

In 1801, Napoleon Bonaparte ordered the arrest of the anonymous author of Justine) and Juliette).  Sade was arrested at his publisher's office and imprisoned without trial; first in the Sainte-Pélagie Prison and, following allegations that he had tried to seduce young fellow prisoners there, in the harsh Bicêtre Asylum.

After intervention by his family, he was declared insane in 1803 and transferred once more to the Charenton Asylum). His ex-wife and children had agreed to pay his pension there. Constance, pretending to be his relative, was allowed to live with him at Charenton. The director of the institution, Abbé de Coulmier, allowed and encouraged him to stage several of his plays, with the inmates as actors, to be viewed by the Parisian public.  Coulmier's novel approaches to psychotherapy attracted much opposition. In 1809, new police orders put Sade into solitary confinement and deprived him of pens and paper. In 1813, the government ordered Coulmier to suspend all theatrical performances.

Sade began a sexual relationship with 14-year-old Madeleine LeClerc, daughter of an employee at Charenton. This affair lasted some four years, until his death in 1814.

He had left instructions in his will forbidding that his body be opened for any reason whatsoever, and that it remain untouched for 48 hours in the chamber in which he died, and then placed in a coffin and buried on his property located in Malmaison near Épernon. These instructions were not followed; he was buried at Charenton. His skull was later removed from the grave for phrenological examination.  His son had all his remaining unpublished manuscripts burned, including the immense multi-volume work Les Journées de Florbelle.

## Appraisal and criticism

Numerous writers and artists, especially those concerned with sexuality, have been both repelled and fascinated by Sade. He has garnered the title of rapist and pedophile, and critics have debated whether his work has any redeeming value. An article in The Independent, a British online newspaper, gives contrasting views: the French novelist Pierre Guyotat said, "Sade is, in a way, our Shakespeare. He has the same sense of tragedy, the same sweeping grandeur" while anarchist philosopher Michel Onfray said, "it is intellectually bizarre to make Sade a hero... Even according to his most hero-worshipping biographers, this man was a sexual delinquent".

The contemporary rival pornographer Rétif de la Bretonne published an Anti-Justine in 1798.

Geoffrey Gorer, an English anthropologist and author (1905-1985), wrote one of the earliest books on Sade, entitled The Revolutionary Ideas of the Marquis de Sade in 1935. He pointed out that Sade was in complete opposition to contemporary philosophers for both his "complete and continual denial of the right to property" and for viewing the struggle in late 18th century French society as being not between "the Crown, the bourgeoisie, the aristocracy or the clergy, or sectional interests of any of these against one another", but rather all of these "more or less united against the proletariat." By holding these views, he cut himself off entirely from the revolutionary thinkers of his time to join those of the mid-nineteenth century. Thus, Gorer argued, "he can with some justice be called the first reasoned socialist."

Simone de Beauvoir (in her essay Must we burn Sade?, published in Les Temps modernes, December 1951 and January 1952) and other writers have attempted to locate traces of a radical philosophy of freedom) in Sade's writings, preceding modern existentialism by some 150 years. He has also been seen as a precursor of Sigmund Freud's psychoanalysis in his focus on sexuality as a motive force. The surrealists admired him as one of their forerunners, and Guillaume Apollinaire famously called him "the freest spirit that has yet existed".

Pierre Klossowski, in his 1947 book Sade Mon Prochain ("Sade My Neighbour"), analyzes Sade's philosophy as a precursor of nihilism, negating Christian values and the materialism of the Enlightenment.

One of the essays in Max Horkheimer and Theodor Adorno's Dialectic of Enlightenment (1947) is titled "Juliette, or Enlightenment and Morality" and interprets the ruthless and calculating behavior of Juliette) as the embodiment of the philosophy of enlightenment. Similarly, psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan posited in his 1966 essay "Kant avec Sade" that Sade's ethics was the complementary completion of the categorical imperative originally formulated by Immanuel Kant. However, at least one philosopher has rejected Adorno and Horkheimer's claim that Sade's moral skepticism is actually coherent, or that it reflects Enlightenment thought.

In his 1988 Political Theory and Modernity, William E. Connolly analyzes Sade's Philosophy in the Bedroom as an argument against earlier political philosophers, notably Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Thomas Hobbes, and their attempts to reconcile nature, reason, and virtue as bases of ordered society. Similarly, Camille Paglia  argued that Sade can be best understood as a satirist, responding "point by point" to Rousseau's claims that society inhibits and corrupts mankind's innate goodness: Paglia notes that Sade wrote in the aftermath of the French Revolution, when Rousseauist Jacobins instituted the bloody Reign of Terror and Rousseau's predictions were brutally disproved. "Simply follow nature, Rousseau declares. Sade, laughing grimly, agrees."

In The Sadeian Woman: And the Ideology of Pornography (1979), Angela Carter provides a feminist reading of Sade, seeing him as a "moral pornographer" who creates spaces for women. Similarly, Susan Sontag defended both Sade and Georges Bataille's Histoire de l'œil (Story of the Eye) in her essay "The Pornographic Imagination" (1967) on the basis their works were transgressive texts, and argued that neither should be censored. By contrast, Andrea Dworkin saw Sade as the exemplary woman-hating pornographer, supporting her theory that pornography inevitably leads to violence against women. One chapter of her book Pornography: Men Possessing Women (1979) is devoted to an analysis of Sade. Susie Bright claims that Dworkin's first novel Ice and Fire, which is rife with violence and abuse, can be seen as a modern retelling of Sade's Juliette.

## Influence

Sexual sadism disorder, a mental condition named after Sade, has been defined as experiencing sexual arousal in response to extreme pain, suffering or humiliation done non-consensually to others (as described in Sade's novels).  Other terms have been used to describe the condition, which may overlap with other sexual preferences that also involve inflicting pain. It is distinct from situations where consenting individuals use mild or simulated pain or humiliation for sexual excitement.

Various influential cultural figures have expressed a great interest in Sade's work, including the French philosopher Michel Foucault,  the American film maker John Waters)  and the Spanish filmmaker Jesús Franco. The poet Algernon Charles Swinburne is also said to have been highly influenced by Sade.  Nikos Nikolaidis' 1979 film The Wretches Are Still Singing was shot in a surreal way with a predilection for the aesthetics of the Marquis de Sade; Sade is said to have influenced Romantic and Decadent authors such as Charles Baudelaire, Gustave Flaubert, and Rachilde; and to have influenced a growing popularity of nihilism in Western thought.

Sade's notions on strength and weakness and good and evil, such as the "equilibrium" of good and evil in the world required by Nature which the monk Clément mentions in Justine, may have also been a considerable influence on Friedrich Nietzsche, particularly concerning the views on good and evil in Nietzsche's On the Genealogy of Morality (1887). The philosopher of egoist anarchism Max Stirner is also speculated to have been influenced by Sade's work.

Serial killer Ian Brady, who with Myra Hindley carried out torture and murder of children known as the Moors murders in England during the 1960s, was fascinated by Sade, and the suggestion was made at their trial and appeals  that the tortures of the children (the screams and pleadings of whom they tape-recorded) were influenced by Sade's ideas and fantasies. According to Donald Thomas, who has written a biography on Sade, Brady and Hindley had read very little of Sade's actual work; the only book of his they possessed was an anthology of excerpts that included none of his most extreme writings.  In the two suitcases found by the police that contained books that belonged to Brady was The Life and Ideas of the Marquis de Sade.  Hindley herself claimed that Brady would send her to obtain books by Sade, and that after reading them he became sexually aroused and beat her.

In Philosophy in the Bedroom Sade proposed the use of induced abortion for social reasons and population control, marking the first time the subject had been discussed in public. It has been suggested that Sade's writing influenced the subsequent medical and social acceptance of abortion in Western society.

## Cultural depictions

There have been many and varied references to the Marquis de Sade in popular culture, including fictional works and biographies. The eponym of the psychological and subcultural term sadism, his name is used variously to evoke sexual violence, licentiousness, and freedom of speech. In modern culture his works are simultaneously viewed as masterful analyses of how power and economics work, and as erotica.  On a conventional moral view in Sade's time as today, Sade was incarcerated because his predilection for sexual and corporal abuse of vulnerable individuals made him a serious danger to the public. On the other hand, it could be argued that Sade's sexually explicit works were a medium for the articulation but also for the exposure of the corrupt and hypocritical values of the elite in his society, and that it was primarily this inconvenient and embarrassing satire that led to his long-term detention. On the second view he becomes a symbol of the artist's struggle with the censor and that of the moral philosopher with the constraints of conventional morality. Sade's use of pornographic devices to create provocative works that subvert the prevailing moral values of his time inspired many other artists in a variety of media. The cruelties depicted in his works gave rise to the concept of sadism. Sade's works have to this day been kept alive by certain artists and intellectuals because they themselves espouse a philosophy of extreme individualism.  But Sade's life was lived in flat contradiction and breach of Kant's injunction to treat others as ends in themselves and never merely as means to an agent's own ends.

In the late 20th century, there was a resurgence of interest in Sade; leading French intellectuals like Roland Barthes, Jacques Lacan, Jacques Derrida, and Michel Foucault  published studies of the philosopher, and interest in Sade among scholars and artists continued.  In the realm of visual arts, many surrealist artists had interest in the "Divine Marquis." Sade was celebrated in surrealist periodicals, and feted by figures such as Guillaume Apollinaire, Paul Éluard, and Maurice Heine; Man Ray admired Sade because he and other surrealists viewed him as an ideal of freedom.  The first Manifesto of Surrealism (1924) announced that "Sade is surrealist in sadism", and extracts of the original draft of Justine) were published in Le Surréalisme au service de la révolution.  In literature, Sade is referenced in several stories by horror and science fiction writer (and author of Psycho)) Robert Bloch, while Polish science fiction author Stanisław Lem wrote an essay analyzing the game theory arguments appearing in Sade's Justine).  The writer Georges Bataille applied Sade's methods of writing about sexual transgression to shock and provoke readers.

Sade's life and works have been the subject of numerous fictional plays, films, pornographic or erotic drawings, etchings, and more. These include Peter Weiss's play Marat/Sade, a fantasia extrapolating from the fact that Sade directed plays performed by his fellow inmates at the Charenton asylum.  Yukio Mishima, Barry Yzereef, and Doug Wright also wrote plays about Sade; Weiss's and Wright's plays have been made into films. His work is referenced on film at least as early as Luis Buñuel's L'Âge d'Or (1930), the final segment of which provides a coda to 120 Days of Sodom, with the four debauched noblemen emerging from their mountain retreat. In 1969, American International Films released a German-made production called de Sade, with Keir Dullea in the title role. Pier Paolo Pasolini filmed Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom (1975), updating Sade's novel to the brief Salò Republic; Benoît Jacquot's Sade) and Philip Kaufman's Quills (from the play of the same name by Doug Wright) both hit cinemas in 2000. Quills, inspired by Sade's imprisonment and battles with the censorship in his society,  portrays him as a literary freedom fighter who is a martyr to the cause of free expression.  Sade) is a  French film directed by Benoît Jacquot starring Daniel Auteuil as the Marquis de Sade, which was adapted by Jacques Fieschi and Bernard Minoret from the novel La terreur dans le boudoir by Serge Bramly.

Often Sade himself has been depicted in American popular culture less as a revolutionary or even as a libertine and more akin to a sadistic, tyrannical villain. For example, in the final episode of the television series Friday the 13th: The Series, Micki, the female protagonist, travels back in time and ends up being imprisoned and tortured by Sade. Similarly, in the horror film Waxwork), Sade is among the film's wax villains to come alive.

## Literary criticism

The Marquis de Sade viewed Gothic fiction as a genre that relied heavily on magic and phantasmagoria. In his literary criticism Sade sought to prevent his fiction from being labeled "Gothic" by emphasizing Gothic's supernatural aspects as the fundamental difference from themes in his own work. But while he sought this separation he believed the Gothic played a necessary role in society and discussed its roots and its uses. He wrote that the Gothic novel was a perfectly natural, predictable consequence of the revolutionary sentiments in Europe. He theorized that the adversity of the period had rightfully caused Gothic writers to "look to hell for help in composing their alluring novels." Sade held the work of writers Matthew Lewis) and Ann Radcliffe high above other Gothic authors, praising the brilliant imagination of Radcliffe and pointing to Lewis' The Monk as without question the genre's best achievement. Sade nevertheless believed that the genre was at odds with itself, arguing that the supernatural elements within Gothic fiction created an inescapable dilemma for both its author and its readers. He argued that an author in this genre was forced to choose between elaborate explanations of the supernatural or no explanation at all and that in either case the reader was unavoidably rendered incredulous. Despite his celebration of The Monk, Sade believed that there was not a single Gothic novel that had been able to overcome these problems, and that a Gothic novel that did would be universally regarded for its excellence in fiction.

Many assume that Sade's criticism of the Gothic novel is a reflection of his frustration with sweeping interpretations of works like Justine). Within his objections to the lack of verisimilitude in the Gothic may have been an attempt to present his own work as the better representation of the whole nature of man. Since Sade professed that the ultimate goal of an author should be to deliver an accurate portrayal of man, it is believed that Sade's attempts to separate himself from the Gothic novel highlights this conviction. For Sade, his work was best suited for the accomplishment of this goal in part because he was not chained down by the supernatural silliness that dominated late 18th-century fiction.  Moreover, it is believed that Sade praised The Monk (which displays Ambrosio's sacrifice of his humanity to his unrelenting sexual appetite) as the best Gothic novel chiefly because its themes were the closest to those within his own work.

## Libertine novels

Sade's fiction has been classified under different genres, including pornography, Gothic, and baroque. Sade's most famous books are often classified not as Gothic but as libertine novels, and include the novels Justine), or the Misfortunes of Virtue; Juliette); The 120 Days of Sodom; and Philosophy in the Bedroom. These works challenge traditional perceptions of sexuality, religion, law, age, and gender. His opinions on sexual violence, sadism, and pedophilia stunned even those contemporaries of Sade who were quite familiar with the dark themes of the Gothic novel during its popularity in the late 18th century. Suffering is the primary rule, as in these novels one must often decide between sympathizing with the torturer or the victim. While these works focus on the dark side of human nature, the magic and phantasmagoria that dominates the Gothic is noticeably absent and is the primary reason these works are not considered to fit the genre.

Through the unreleased passions of his libertines, Sade wished to shake the world at its core. With 120 Days, for example, Sade wished to present "the most impure tale that has ever been written since the world exists."  Despite his literary attempts at evil, his characters and stories often fell into repetition of sexual acts and philosophical justifications. Simone de Beauvoir and Georges Bataille have argued that the repetitive form of his libertine novels, though hindering the artfulness of his prose, ultimately strengthened his individualist arguments.  The repetitive and obsessive nature of the account of Justine's abuse and frustration in her strivings to be a good Christian living a virtuous and pure life may on a superficial reading seem tediously excessive. Paradoxically, however, Sade checks the reader's instinct to treat them as laughable cheap pornography and obscenity by knowingly and artfully interweaving the tale of her trials with extended reflections on individual and social morality.

## Short fiction

Subtitled "Heroic and Tragic Tales", Sade combines romance and horror, employing several Gothic tropes for dramatic purposes.

There is blood, banditti, corpses, and of course insatiable lust. Compared to works like Justine, here Sade is relatively tame, as overt eroticism and torture is subtracted for a more psychological approach. It is the impact of sadism instead of acts of sadism itself that emerge in this work, unlike the aggressive and rapacious approach in his libertine works.  The modern volume entitled Gothic Talescollects a variety of other short works of fiction intended to be included in Sade's Contes et Fabliaux d'un Troubadour Provencal du XVIII Siecle.

An example is "Eugénie de Franval", a tale of incest and retribution. In its portrayal of conventional moralities it is something of a departure from the erotic cruelties and moral ironies that dominate his libertine works. It opens with a domesticated approach:

To enlighten mankind and improve its morals is the only lesson which we offer in this story. In reading it, may the world discover how great is the peril which follows the footsteps of those who will stop at nothing to satisfy their desires.

Descriptions in Justine seem to anticipate Radcliffe's scenery in The Mysteries of Udolpho and the vaults in The Italian), but, unlike these stories, there is no escape for Sade's virtuous heroine, Justine. Unlike the milder Gothic fiction of Radcliffe, Sade's protagonist is brutalized throughout and dies tragically. To have a character like Justine, who is stripped without ceremony and bound to a wheel for fondling and thrashing, would be unthinkable in the domestic Gothic fiction written for the bourgeoisie. Sade even contrives a kind of affection between Justine and her tormentors, suggesting shades of masochism in his heroine.

## Sadism in the Gothic novel

Despite the strong adverse reaction to Sade's work and Sade's own disassociation from the Gothic novel, the similarities between the fiction of sadism and the Gothic novel were much closer than many of its readers or providers even realized. After the controversy surrounding Matthew Lewis' The Monk, Minerva Press released The New Monk as a supposed indictment of a wholly immoral book. It features the sadistic Mrs. Rod, whose boarding school for young women becomes a torture chamber equipped with its own "flogging-room". Ironically, The New Monk wound up increasing the level of cruelty, but as a parody of the genre, it illuminates the link between sadism and the Gothic novel.

Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marquis_de_Sade

# Marquis de Sade bibliography

Donatien Alphonse François de Sade, best known as the Marquis de Sade, was a French aristocrat, revolutionary and author of philosophical and sadomasochistic novels exploring such controversial subjects as rape, bestiality and necrophilia.

His works evidence a philosophical mind advocating a materialist philosophy in which Nature dictates absolute freedom), unrestrained by morality, religion or law, with the pursuit of personal pleasure as its foremost principle. Besides novels, he wrote philosophical tracts, novellas, short stories, and a number of plays (many of which are no longer extant). Publication, dissemination, and translation of his works have long been hindered by censorship: not until 1983 were his works allowed unfettered distribution in the UK, for instance.

## Prose fiction

Illustration of a Dutch printing of the book Juliette by the Marquis de Sade

  * Dialogue Between a Priest and a Dying Man (Dialogue entre un prêtre et un moribond, 1782, pub. 1926)
  * The 120 Days of Sodom, or the School of Licentiousness (Les 120 journées de Sodome, ou l'École du libertinage, novel, 1785, pub. 1904)
  * Justine (Les Infortunes de la vertu, novel, 1st version of Justine, 1787, pub. 1930)
  * Justine, or Good Conduct Well-Chastised) (Justine ou les Malheurs de la vertu, novel, 2nd version of Justine, 1788, pub. 1791)
  * Aline and Valcour (Aline et Valcour, ou le Roman philosophique, epistolary novel, 1788, pub. 1795; English translation pub. 2019)
  * Dorci, ou la Bizarrerie du sort (novella, 1788, pub. 1881)
  * Historiettes, Contes et Fabliaux (1788, pub. 1926)

o Historiettes

  *     *       * Le Serpent
      * La Saillie Gasconne
      * L'Heureuse Feinte
      * Le M... puni
      * L'Évêque embourbé
      * Le Revenant
      * Les Harangueurs Provençaux
      * Attrapez-moi toujours de même
      * L'Époux complaisant
      * Aventure incompréhensible
      * La Fleur de châtaignier

o Contes et Fabliaux

  *     *       * L'Instituteur philosophe
      * La Prude, ou la Rencontre imprévue
      * Émilie de Tourville, ou la Cruauté fraternelle
      * Augustine de Villeblanche, ou le Stratagème de l'amour
      * Soit fait ainsi qu'il est requis
      * Le Président mystifié
      * La Marquise de Thélème, ou les Effets du libertinage
      * Le Talion
      * Le Cocu de lui-même, ou le Raccommodement imprévu
      * Il y a place pour deux
      * L'Époux corrigé
      * Le Mari prêtre
      * La Châtelaine de Longeville, ou la Femme vengée
      * Les Filous

o Appendice

  *     *       * Les Dangers de la bienfaisance
  * Philosophy in the Bedroom (La Philosophie dans le boudoir, novel in dialogues, pub. 1795)
  * The New Justine (La Nouvelle Justine, ou les Malheurs de la vertu, novel, 3rd version of Justine, pub. 1797-1801 with Juliette)
  * Juliette, or Vice Amply Rewarded) (Histoire de Juliette, ou les Prospérités du vice, novel, sequel of La Nouvelle Justine, pub. 1797-1801)
  * The Crimes of Love (Les Crimes de l'amour, Nouvelles héroïques et tragiques, novellas, pub. 1800)

o Introduction

  *     *       * Une Idée sur les romans

o Vol. I

  *     *       * Juliette et Raunai, ou la Conspiration d'Amboise, nouvelle historique
      * La Double Épreuve

o Vol. II

  *     *       * Miss Henriette Stralson, ou les Effets du désespoir, nouvelle anglaise
      * Faxelange, ou les Torts de l'ambition
      * Florville et Courval, ou le Fatalisme

o Vol. III

  *     *       * Rodrigue, ou la Tour enchantée, conte allegorique
      * Laurence et Antonio, nouvelle italienne
      * Ernestine, nouvelle suedoise

o Vol. IV

  *     *       * Dorgeville, ou le Criminel par vertu
      * La Comtesse de Sancerre, ou la Rivale de sa fille, anecdote de la Cour de Bourgogne
      * Eugénie de Franval. (in 2003, an English translation was published by Hesperus Classics under the title of Incest)
  * La Marquise de Gange (novel, 1807-1812, pub. 1813)
  * Adélaïde de Brunswick, princesse de Saxe (novel, 1812, pub. 1964)
  * Histoire secrète d'Isabelle de Bavière, reine de France (novel, 1813, pub. 1953)
  * Voyage d'Italie
  * Le Portefeuille d'un homme de lettres (destroyed / lost)
  * Œuvres diverses (1764-1869)

o Le Philosophe soi-disant

o Voyage de Hollande

  * Les Journees de Florbelle, ou la Nature devoilee, suivies des Memoires de l'abbe de Modose et des Adventures d'Emilie de Volnange servant de preuves aux assertions (destroyed / lost)

o Les Conversations du chateau de Charmelle (First Draft of Les Journees Florbelle, destroyed / lost)

  * Les Delassements du libertin, ou la Neuvaine de Cythere (destroyed / lost)
  * La Fine Mouche (destroyed / lost)
  * L'Heureux Echange (destroyed / lost)
  * Les Inconvenients de la pitie (destroyed / lost)
  * Les Reliques (destroyed / lost)
  * Le Cure de Prato (destroyed / lost)

## Other short stories

  * La Liste du Suisse (destroyed / lost)
  * La Messe trop chere (destroyed / lost)
  * L'Honnete Ivrogne (destroyed / lost)
  * N'y allez jamais sans lumiere (destroyed / lost)
  * La justice venitienne (destroyed / lost)
  * Adelaide de Miramas, ou le Fanatisme protestan (destroyed / lost)

Essays

  * Reflections on the Novel (Idee sur les romans, introductory text to Les Crimes de l'Amour)
  * The Author of Les Crimes de l'Amour to Villeterque, Hack Writer (1803) (L'Auteur de "Les Crimes de l'Amour" a Villeterque, folliculaire)

Plays

  * Oxtiern, The Misfortunes of Libertinage (1800) (Le Comte Oxtiern ou les Effets du Libertinage)
  * Les Jumelles ou le /choix difficile
  * Le Prevaricateur ou le Magistrat du temps passe
  * Jeanne Laisne, ou le Siege de Beauvais
  * L'Ecole des jaloux ou la Folle Epreuve
  * Le Misanthrope par amour ou Sophie et Desfrancs
  * Le Capricieux, ou l'Homme inegal
  * Les Antiquaires
  * Henriette et Saint-Clair, ou la Force du Sang (destroyed / lost)
  * Franchise et Trahison
  * Fanny, ou les Effets du desespoir
  * La Tour mysterieuse
  * L'Union des arts ou les Ruses de l'amour

o Divertissement (missing)

o La Fille malheureuse (destroyed / lost)

  * Les Fetes de l'amitie
  * L'Egarement de l'infortune (destroyed / lost)
  * Tancrede (destroyed / lost)

Political pamphlets

  * Addresse d'un citoyen de Paris, au roi des Français (1791)
  * Section des Piques. Observations presentées à l'Assemblee administrative des hopitaux (28 octobre 1792)
  * Section des Piques. Idée sur le mode de la sanction des Lois; par un citoyen de cette Section (2 novembre 1792)
  * Pétition des Sections de Paris à la Convention nationale (1793)
  * Section des Piques. Extraits des Registres des déliberations de l'Assemblée générale et permanente de la Section des Piques (1793)
  * La Section des Piques à ses Frères et Amis de la Société de la Liberté et de l'Égalite, à Saintes, département de la Charente-Inferieure (1793)
  * Section des Piques. Discours prononcé par la Section des Piques, aux manes de Marat et de Le Pelletier, par Sade, citoyen de cette section et membre de la Société populaire (1793)
  * Petition de la Section des Piques, aux representants de peuple français (1793)
  * Les Caprices, ou un peu de tout (destroyed / lost)

Letters and personal notes posthumously published

  * Letters From Prison
  * Correspondance inédite du Marquis de Sade, de ses proches et de ses familiers, publiée avec une introduction, des annales et des notes par Paul Bourdin (1929)
  * L'Aigle, Mademoiselle..., Lettres publiées pour la première fois sur les manuscrits autographes inédits avec une Préface et un Commentaire par Gilbert Lely (1949)
  * Le Carillon de Vincennes. Lettres inédites publiées avec des notes par Gilbert Lely (1953)
  * Cahiers personnels (1803-1804). Publiés pour la première fois sur les manuscrits autographes inédits avec une préface et des notes par Gilbert Lely (1953)
  * Monsieur le 6. Lettres inédites (1778-1784) publiées et annotées par Georges Daumas. Préface de Gilbert Lely (1954)
  * Cent onze Notes pour La Nouvelle Justine. Collection "La Terrain vague," no. IV (1956)

Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marquis_de_Sade_bibliography

# Marquis de Sade in popular culture

There have been many and varied references to the Marquis de Sade in popular culture, including fictional works, biographies and more minor references.

The namesake of the psychological and subcultural term sadism, his name is used variously to evoke sexual violence, licentiousness and freedom of speech. In modern culture his works are simultaneously viewed as masterful analyses of how power and economics work, and as erotica.  Sade's sexually explicit works were a medium for the articulation of the corrupt and hypocritical values of the elite in his society, which caused him to become imprisoned. He thus became a symbol of the artist's struggle with the censor. Sade's use of pornographic devices to create provocative works that subvert the prevailing moral values of his time inspired many other artists in a variety of media. The cruelties depicted in his works gave rise to the concept of sadism. Sade's works have to this day been kept alive by artists and intellectuals because they espouse a philosophy of extreme individualism that became reality in the economic liberalism of the following centuries.

There has been a resurgence of interest in Sade in the past fifty years. Leading French intellectuals like Roland Barthes, Jacques Derrida and Michel Foucault have published studies of Sade. There has been continuing interest in Sade by scholars and artists in recent years.

## Plays

  * The play by Peter Weiss titled The Persecution and Assassination of Jean-Paul Marat, as performed by the inmates of the Asylum of Charenton under the direction of the Marquis de Sade, or Marat/Sade for short, is a fictional account of Sade directing a play in Charenton, where he was confined for many years. In the play, the Marquis de Sade is used as a cynical representative of the spirit of the senses. He debates Jean-Paul Marat who represents the spirit of revolution. 
  * The Japanese writer Yukio Mishima wrote a play titled Madame de Sade.
  * The Canadian writer/actor Barry Yzereef wrote a play titled Sade, a one-man show set in Vincennes prison.
  * Doug Wright wrote a play, Quills, a surreal account of the attempts of the Charenton governors to censor the Marquis' writing, which was adapted into the slightly less surreal film of the same name.

## Films

Visual representations of Sade in film first began to appear during the surrealist period.  While there are numerous pornographic films based on his themes, the following is a list of the more significant representations:

  * L'Age d'Or (1930), the collaboration between filmmaker Luis Buñuel and surrealist artist Salvador Dalí. The final segment of the film provides a coda to Sade's The 120 Days of Sodom, with the four debauched noblemen emerging from their mountain retreat. 
  * The Skull (1966), British horror film based on Robert Bloch's short story "The Skull of the Marquis de Sade." Peter Cushing plays a collector who becomes possessed by the evil spirit of the Marquis when he adds Sade's stolen skull to his collection. The Marquis appears in a prologue as a decomposing corpse dug up by a 19th-century graverobber. In another scene, a character gives a brief, fictionalized account of Sade's life, emphasizing his "boogeyman" reputation.
  * The film Marat/Sade) (1966) directed by Peter Brook, who also directed the first English-language stage production. Patrick Magee) plays the Marquis. 
  * Marquis de Sade: Justine (1968), directed by Jesús Franco. Klaus Kinski appears as Sade, writing the tale in his prison cell.
  * Eugenie... The Story of Her Journey into Perversion also known as Philosophy in the Boudoir (1969). Another Franco film, this one featuring Christopher Lee as Dolmance.
  * De Sade) (1969), romanticized biography scripted by Richard Matheson and directed by Cy Endfield. The film more or less presents the major incidents of Sade's life as we know them, though in a very hallucinatory fashion. The film's nudity and sexual content was notorious at the time of release, and Playboy ran a spread based around it. Keir Dullea plays the Marquis (here named Louis Alphonse Donatien) in a cast that includes Lilli Palmer, Senta Berger, Anna Massey and John Huston.
  * Eugenie de Sade (1970), another of Jesús Franco's adaptations. Adapts Sade's story "Eugenie de Franval", accurately, though set in the 20th century.
  * Beyond Love and Evil (1971), original title La philosophie dans le boudoir, French film loosely adapted from de Sade's play "Philosophy in the Bedroom". Set in the present day, a cult of depraved hedonists cavort at a remote, elegant mansion.
  * Justine de Sade (1972), directed by Claude Pierson. An accurate rendition of Sade's tale, though lacking Franco's panache.
  * Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom (1975) Italian: Salò o le 120 giornate di Sodoma, directed by Pier Paolo Pasolini. Sade's novel updated to Fascist Italy.
  * Cruel Passion (1977), a toned-down re-release of De Sade's Justine, starring Koo Stark as the long-suffering heroine.
  * House of De Sade (1977), X-rated film combines sex and S&M in a house haunted by de Sade's spirit. Vanessa del Rio stars.
  * Waxwork) (1988), another horror film. In this one, people are drawn through the tableaux in a chamber of horrors into the lives of the evil men they represent. Two of the characters are transported to the world of the Marquis, where they are tormented by Sade (J. Kenneth Campbell) and a visiting Prince, played by director Anthony Hickox.
  * Marquis) (1989), a French/Belgian co-production that combines puppetry and animation to tell a whimsical tale of the Marquis (portrayed, literally, as a jackass, voiced by François Marthouret) imprisoned in the pre-Revolution Bastille.
  * Night Terrors (1994), another horror film playing on Sade's boogeyman image. A depiction of the Marquis's final days is intercut with the story of his modern day descendant, a serial killer. Tobe Hooper of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre fame directed, while horror icon Robert Englund of A Nightmare on Elm Street (and its many sequels and spin-offs) played both the Marquis and his descendant.
  * Dark Prince (1996). The Marquis (Nick Mancuso) seduces a young maiden from his jail cell.
  * Sade) (2000), directed by Benoît Jacquot. Daniel Auteuil plays Sade, here imprisoned on a country estate with several other noble families, sexually educating a young girl in the shadow of the guillotine.
  * Quills (2000), an adaptation of Doug Wright's play by director Philip Kaufman. A romanticized version of Sade's final days which raises questions of pornography and societal responsibility. Geoffrey Rush plays Sade in a cast that also includes Kate Winslet, Joaquin Phoenix, and Michael Caine. The film portrays de Sade as a literary freedom fighter who is a martyr to the cause of free expression. The film's defense of de Sade is in essence a defense of cinematic freedom.  The film was inspired by de Sade's imprisonment and battles with the censorship in his society.  The film shows the strong influence of Hammer horror films, particularly in a key scene where asylum administrator Caine locks Winslet in a cell with a homicidal inmate, mirroring exactly a scene from The Curse of Frankenstein.
  * Lunacy) (2005, Czech title Šílení): Czech film directed by Jan Švankmajer. Loosely based on Edgar Allan Poe's short stories and inspired by the works of the Marquis de Sade. Sade figures as a character.

## In art

Many surrealist artists had great interest in the Marquis de Sade. The first Manifesto of Surrealism (1924) announced that "Sade is surrealist in sadism". Guillaume Apollinaire found rare manuscripts by Sade in the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris. He published a selection of his writings in 1909, where he introduced Sade as "the freest spirit that had ever lived". Sade was celebrated in surrealist periodicals. In 1926 Paul Éluard wrote of Sade as a "fantastique" and "revolutionary". Maurice Heine pieced together Sade's manuscripts from libraries and museums in Europe and published them between 1926 and 1935. Extracts of the original draft of Justine) were published in Le Surréalisme au service de la révolution.

The surrealist artist Man Ray admired Sade because he and other surrealists viewed him as an ideal of freedom.  According to Ray, Heine brought the original 1785 manuscript of 120 Days of Sodom to his studio to be photographed. An image by Man Ray entitled Monument à D.A.F. de Sade appeared in Le Surréalisme au service de la révolution.

## Other works

  * The writer Georges Bataille applied Sade's methods of writing about sexual transgression to shock and provoke readers. 
  * In Harlan Ellison's science fiction anthology, Dangerous Visions (1967), Robert Bloch wrote a story entitled "A Toy For Juliette" whose title character was both named for, and used techniques based on, Sade's works.
  * Bloch also wrote a short story called "The Skull of the Marquis de Sade", in which a collector becomes possessed by the violent spirit of the Marquis after stealing the titular item. The story was the basis for the film The Skull (1966), starring Peter Cushing and Patrick Wymark.
  * Polish science fiction author Stanisław Lem has written an essay analyzing game-theoretical arguments that appear in Sade's novel Justine. 
  * In Justine Ettler's The River Ophelia (1995), the protagonist Justine is writing her thesis on the work of Sade.

Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marquis_de_Sade_in_popular_culture

# Adelaide of Brunswick

## Introduction

The Marquis de Sade, that extraordinary writer of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century, was born in Paris in 1740. He came of good stock and his male ancestors were nearly always outstanding soldiers or priests. With but a short education in the hands of a religious uncle and a priest, at the age of fourteen he entered the army. Soon, the Seven Years' War was raging, and the young marquis took an active part in many of the battles.

In 1763, the handsome young soldier was released from the army, and losing no time rushed to Paris to have a good time. A small house was rented in the outskirts of Paris and became the scene of some of the wildest parties that can be imagined. The marquis' father began to worry about the large sums being spent and decided that marriage was the only thing to make his son settle down. An engagement was arranged for him to marry Renée de Montreuil, a very rich girl, and while the details of the wedding were being arranged, the young marquis was sent to the south of France to see the family estates and, incidentally, to get him away from the temptations of Paris. While there, he fell in love with another girl, but was forced to marry Renée de Montreuil.

Shortly after his marriage, the parties in his suburban hideaway were resumed. He was interested in all types of unusual activities, and it was probably at this time that he first gave expression to the streak of cruelty which was to have so much influence in his life. Five months after his marriage he was arrested and sent to the Chateau of Vincennes. There is no record of his crime, but it seems certain that some of the young women who had been entertained in his forest retreat complained to the police about the cruel treatment they had received.

As a result of this escapade, the marquis was banned from Paris. He and his bride went to live with her mother in Normandy. This was at a chateau far from any town and the marquis' mother-in-law, Madame de Montreuil, had dismissed all the young woman servants and replaced them with old and unattractive women. The indifferent husband was forced to be attentive to his wife.

The only incidents of interest to the marquis were occasional plays which were given at the chateau and invitations to attend festivals given in nearby estates.

After a year in Normandy, the marquis was able to convince the king that he was a changed man and was allowed to return to Paris. He became much more discreet about his activities, and, instead of having wild parties, he limited himself to entertaining young actresses and dancers from the Opera.

At Easter time, in 1768, de Sade met a woman named Rose Keller who was begging in the street. He took her to his little house in the suburbs and after forcing her to undress, beat her with a whip. The woman escaped from his house and went to complain to the police. She made up a fantastic story in which she claimed that Sade had beat her, cut her, and threatened several times to kill her and bury her in the garden, and had poured hot sealing wax on her bruises and cuts. Her story was believed, but Madame de Montreuil paid the woman, and she withdrew her charges.

The marquis was obliged to leave Paris again. He spent most of the next three years in Normandy and then took his family, which now consisted of his wife and three children, to his chateau of La Coste in southern France. Soon his sister-in-law came to live with them, and it seems fairly certain that the amorous advances of the marquis were successful.

In June 1772, another great scandal occurred in the life of the marquis. He and his valet went to Marseilles, some miles to the south of his chateau, and a party was arranged in which he gave several women some drugged candy. He also beat the women and had them beat him. Other perversions made the party even more lively.

The marquis and his valet were condemned to death and had to flee to Italy. The marquis persuaded his sister-in-law to go along with them.

After a few months, Sade brought her back to France and went to Savoy. Madame de Montreuil was furious at the way the marquis had treated her two daughters, and she used her influence to have him imprisoned in Savoy. After about five months, a daring escape was planned and executed by Madame de Sade, and the two of them fled to Italy.

In spite of the sentence hanging over his head, the marquis soon returned to his chateau where he was to lead a hunted existence for several years. On several occasions armed posses penetrated into the confines of the chateau at night to try to arrest him, but he was either out of town, or had been warned of their coming.

In the year 1774-1775, Sade, tiring of this continual state of worry, decided to have a little entertainment at the chateau. Madame de Sade was in Paris and the marquis engaged young women to be his servants. In the resulting orgies, several of the girls were badly injured by his sadistic attacks and had to be sent off to relatives and hospitals for treatment. This time, Madame de Montreuil was able to keep the matter quiet by the use of large sums of money.

Madame de Montreuil, by now, had become convinced that her son-in-law must be put behind bars for his own good. Finally, in 1777, she was successful and at the same time arranged for a retrial of the Marseilles scandal. This took place in the summer of 1778, and the marquis was declared innocent. However, instead of being freed, he was sent back to prison. It was decided that it was better to keep him out of circulation.

The Marquis de Sade was to stay in prison until 1790. During these years he spent most of his time studying and writing, and it is probably due to this imprisonment that he started a career which has provided the literary world with some of the most amazing books ever written.

It was during this period that he wrote a book called 120 Days of Sodom. This book was almost certainly the first complete study of sexual behavior. It was written a hundred years before the Psychopathia Sexualis by Krafft-Ebing, which is considered to be the first serious study of sex. Although Krafft-Ebing did not know the 120 Days of Sodom, he used some of the other books by the marquis in preparing his monumental study.

The Marquis de Sade was very busy writing, but he was also interested in getting out of the Bastille where he had been a prisoner for a long time. He knew all of Paris was in an uproar, and on July 2, 1789, he noticed a group of people in the street near the prison. He grabbed a large pipe and, using it as a megaphone, he shouted to the crowd that the prisoners were being mistreated and were being slain. He begged the people to storm the Bastille and to release the unfortunate wretches who were there. Twelve days later the Bastille was taken, but Sade, who had caused the attack, did not benefit from it since he had already been transferred to another prison where he was to remain until April of the following year.

The marquis lost most of his manuscripts at the fall of the Bastille, but this did not discourage him. Once out of prison, he started writing again, and in 1791 he published his first important novel, which was called Justine or the Misfortunes of Virtue. This book was the story of a young woman who tried to remain pure in spite of all the attacks on her virtue. She also tried to remain a good Christian, but was unsuccessful. At the end of the book she was killed by a bolt of lightning, a circumstance which would seem to show the disapproval of God for her conduct. This book, which went through many editions, was later followed by Juliette or the Benefits of Vice in which the marquis attempted to show that a life of vice was destined to be much happier than a life of virtue. Juliette, who was as immoral and vicious as Justine had been moral and kind, was entirely happy and all the blessings of life came her way.

These two companion novels have done much to establish Sade as an original thinker and an unusual writer. Through most of the nineteenth century many of the great French writers read these books avidly and did not hesitate to use some of the ideas of the Marquis de Sade in their writings.

In the early revolutionary years, the marquis took an active part in the more radical groups. Paris was divided into sections, and Sade soon became the leader of the Section des Piques. It was he who made most of the speeches and he was usually the representative of his section in the general meetings. It was while he was president of his section that his mother-in-law was brought before him and accused of helping the forces of the nobles. Here was the chance the marquis had been waiting for; it was his chance to get even with the woman who had been responsible for keeping him in prison for so many years. He got his revenge by allowing her to go free! If he had said a word against her, she would have been guillotined.

The marquis continued to serve in his section until the Reign of Terror. At that time the members of his group became so sadistic, that Sade was appalled and did his best to try to get them to be more lenient towards the nobles. As a result, he was not only forced to resign as president of the section but was sent to prison where he expected to be guillotined at any moment.

After nearly a year, the Reign of Terror suddenly ended, and the marquis was released. He started writing again and published Aline and Valcour, a long and tedious novel which contained the plots of three novels. It was popular, however, and he was always proud of this literary production.

In 1795 appeared the book which some have called his most significant contribution to eighteenth century thinking. It was called Philosophy in the Boudoir. Here all the fantastic ideas of the marquis were presented in a more condensed form. Just a few of them will suffice to give an idea of this daring book.

"There is no act which is really criminal. Everything depends on where and when we live. What was a crime in a certain place a hundred years ago might be a virtue somewhere else today."

"Children should love their parents only if they act in such a way as to merit love; a child owes nothing to his parents."

"The destiny of a woman is to be like the she-wolf; she should belong to any man who wants her."

"Adultery in marriage is not only right, but natural."

"Theft represents energy, courage, force and skill. Would it not be better to punish the man who was negligent enough to let himself be robbed?"

"Murder is natural and should not be punished by the state. A murderer should have to watch out for the friends and relatives of the victim."

Naturally we cannot accept the absurd ideas expressed above; most of them were written to shock the reader. But in the Philosophy in the Boudoir the Marquis de Sade applied his fertile mind to other problems which he solved in a fashion which gives him a place among the great thinkers of his time. He expressed, before Malthus, the theories on population which still appear to apply. Before Darwin was born he had worked out all the theories of the natural man. Perhaps his most astounding discovery was that there is some element in the body (hormones) which, when disturbed, causes perversion. He recommended that people not be punished for perversion unless physical violence were perpetrated.

In spite of the success of his books, Sade did not make any money from them. He almost starved at one time and had to take a job as an usher in a theatre where one of his plays was shown.

In 1800, the marquis heard some stories about Josephine, wife of Napoleon. Without investigating these stories, he wrote a little book, hardly more than a pamphlet, called Zoloé and her Two Acolytes. This book treated Josephine as though she were a character in Juliette and was so insulting that Napoleon swore to get his revenge if he ever found the author. After a few months, the secret police of Bonaparte arrested Sade. He was declared insane, and, in 1801, was sent to an asylum. In spite of the fact that his mind was extremely good, he was never able to establish his sanity.

During the last thirteen years of his life, spent in three asylums, Sade was very much interested in the production of plays. He had the theory that getting the insane interested in plays might help them to recover. These plays became very popular in Paris, and the highest society was always present when the "crazy people" gave a show.

During this time, the marquis was still writing. He wrote a long novel something like Justine and Juliette, but the manuscript was destroyed by his son. He also wrote two historical novels Isabelle of Bavaria, (published in 1952) and Adelaide of Brunswick, which has remained unpublished even in France until this edition appears.

The Marquis de Sade died in December 1814, and was buried in the graveyard of the insane asylum.

If Sade had lived in modern times, he might have been as famous as André Gide, the Nobel Prize winner, or Oscar Wilde, the great English writer, who have both been as outspoken on the subject of perversion in our time as the marquis was in the eighteenth century. Or, perhaps he might have been another Krafft-Ebing, Havelock Ellis or Kinsey if his fertile mind had been guided towards the more scientific aspects of the question. Instead, he was a hunted man, a pariah, who had to flee into exile on various occasions and who paid very dearly for his unfortunate tastes by spending twenty-eight years of his life behind bars.

## Chapter One

images from the Middle Ages

A little after the middle of the eleventh century, the period of the story we are going to tell, Germany offered to the universe the picture of a stormy sea, the waves of which threatened to engulf the rest of Europe. There was weakness on the throne of the German Empire, and there was rivalry in Rome. Any decree by one of these powers was immediately opposed by the other.

Living was difficult in those times either through the struggle of the people for existence, or through the disorders of the nobles who left in peace neither the travelers, who were attacked with impunity on the highways, nor those who cultivated the land bordering these dangerous highways. There were battles, armed robbery, unfair taxation, revolting customs, unjust laws; commerce, which would have promoted the general welfare, was paralyzed; and public safety, which is necessary for the happiness and advancement of man, was destroyed.

Emperor Henry IV (1050-1106) still in his adolescence, had just enough military strength to keep himself on his tottering throne; but the opposition which armed force subjugated on one side was revived by political parties on the other.

One of the thorns in the side of Henry IV was a people called Brunswickians who were courageous and unconquerable. They had defeated the Roman general Varus some ten centuries before, and at one time their possessions extended from the banks of the Weser and Elbe to Moravia and from the Rhine to the Baltic Sea. They still burned with the audacious zeal with which they had been inspired by Wittekind, under whose leadership they had resisted Charlemagne for decades until they were finally conquered by trickery. During the course of their wanderings, they devastated some of the provinces of England and took their name of Brunswick from this deed. They were idol worshipers by choice but had become Christians somewhat against their wishes. These people were so independent that the yoke of the new emperor did not sit easily upon their proud shoulders.

It was this proud race which gave to neighboring Saxony the princess whose story we are going to tell.

A fresh and light wind, precursor of a beautiful dawn, stirred softly among the high branches of the old oaks of the thick forest which shadows the castle of Fredericksburg near Dresden. This castle was the favorite abode of the princes who governed Saxony, and it was here that Frederick, the ruler of that beautiful country in Germany, was waiting patiently. The song of the nightingale, mingled with the murmurs of <he waters of a nearby river, and with the sound of the leaves stirred by the wind, composed a majestic symphony in the early hour before sunrise. The delightful perfume of the flowers which bloom at that season added to the enchantment which prepared the soul to enjoy the beautiful spectacle offered by the Eternal.

The watchmen placed on the tops of the towers of the chateau had scarcely called out four o'clock when couriers were heard blowing their horns in the forest, a warning that illustrious persons were approaching the castle.

The members of the guard were aroused, the drawbridge was lowered, and a party was sent to meet the approaching guests. Pages hastened to the room of the prince to announce to him that the carriage containing Adelaide of Brunswick, daughter of the Duke of that name, and the Marquis Louis of Thuringia were approaching. Louis of Thuringia, having just married this princess by proxy for Frederick, his relative and master, was bringing her to her legitimate husband.

Frederick got up quickly and went to receive at the foot of the great stairway the most beautiful princess in all Germany.

"Milady," said Frederick, embracing the one who was going to share his fate, "the rumors of your beauty have circulated in all of Saxony; but I see that the tales they have dared tell about your beauty are far beneath the reality. However illustrious my throne may be, it was on that of the Universe that you should have taken your place, and if I regret that my throne is not so great as it might be, it is because I find it impossible to place at your feet all the honors due to you."

"Sire," answered the princess, "The Duke of Brunswick, my father, has promised me happiness with you; I see it written in your eyes."

Frederick bowed. He embraced Louis of Thuringia, his ambassador, then answered the reverences of the ladies of honor and the whole group went upstairs to be shown their apartments.

While the gentlemen and ladies were being taken to their apartments by the people of the household, the princess was conducted to hers by her august husband.

As most of the traveling had been done during the night, everybody rested until noon when a luncheon was served in magnificently ornamented rooms. The illustrious newly wed couple, Louis of Thuringia, and a few others were admitted to this honor.

Adelaide had just passed her twenty-third year when she left her father's home to be united to the Prince of Saxony, who, older than she by twelve years, had the disadvantage of being somewhat ugly and at the same time weak and jealous by nature, which did not augur too well for the success of their marriage; but these faults were those of his century. While women usually see jealousy as a fault which they pardon in the ones they love, Adelaide was not the type of person who could be anything but displeased with such an emotion.

Louis of Thuringia, a relative of Frederick, who had just brought to his cousin the wife he would willingly have picked for himself, was twenty-seven years old. He had the most pleasant face imaginable. He had both ease and nobility in his carriage, pleasing qualities in his mind, sweetness in his character, an ardent heart, an extreme penchant for love and all things of the heart.

As soon as the luncheon was over, it was decided to go into the forest which was especially beautiful at this time of the year. The ladies went in carriages and the men went on horseback, galloping along beside them. This first day was only one of exploration and the whole afternoon was spent in the pleasant clearings of the forest where the sweet air and the perfume of the flowers reminded one that this was the season of love.

The next day Frederick, having asked the princess the time which she had selected for the wedding day, the latter replied that she would leave to her august husband the choice of the day, which she said would be the most beautiful in her life. Frederick immediately began to plan the convocation of the court and the tournament which must accompany the ceremony. These exercises, at the same time military and chivalrous, were not yet, in that century, known under the name of tournaments; they were called jousting. Their origin was old and went back to the time of Theodoric (454?-526) who used them in order to be able to select the best men to replace the gladiators who had been banned by him. These games then spread to Verona and Venice and from there to other nations. In 870 the children of Louis I (Le Débonnaire) of France were brought together by these games and in 920, Henri I of Saxony, to celebrate his coronation, gave a festivity in which soldiers fought on horseback. In 1559 King Henri II of France was killed in a tournament. He was wounded in the eye with a blow of a lance, and jousting was abolished in France from that time on. Such was the type of entertainment, so agreeable and rare at that time, which the Prince of Saxony wished to give his bride.

With this in mind, all the knights of Saxony were invited to this event and they all came, not with the brilliance which was displayed in later centuries, but at least with all the pomp which their circumstances and fortunes permitted. There were no escutcheons on which heraldic emblems were emblazoned, since these decorations did not come until after the Crusades. But the jousting took place on horseback and afterwards the fighters came to pay homage to the ladies who were watching the event from stands built around the esplanade of the chateau.

Adelaide, placed on the balcony which overlooked the esplanade, had already seen the Prince, her husband, win twice when an unknown knight advanced and asked for the honor of measuring lances with the Prince. In order to provoke the prince, he said that the lady for whom Frederick fought was far from being the most beautiful in the stands, and that this superiority could only belong to a foreign lady as unknown as he, and whom he pointed out. Frederick responded in a suitable way to such a challenge, and the unknown knight was immediately knocked off his horse, and, submissive to the orders of his vanquisher, went to pay his respects to Adelaide who ordered him to tell his name and take his place beside her.

"Milady," said the knight, "I am the Count of Mersburg, and my estates are next to those of your august husband, and I am his vassal. Invited by the Prince, two powerful motives have made me accept the invitation which he was kind enough to give me; that of paying my respects to my sovereign and that of coming to admire in Your Highness the highest perfection that Germany has produced."

"And why did you say, Count, that another woman was more beautiful than I?"

"I see now that all competition was impossible," answered the Count. "If you will look over toward the young woman I had in mind, you will see that she has taken off her veil and that she is young and handsome, but is as far from having the gifts which nature has bestowed on you as the stars of the night are from having the brilliancy of the sun."

"But why did you fight?"

"In order to lose, Milady, and to merit in that way the honor of falling at your feet."

At this moment Louis of Thuringia and Frederick came up to the princess, and the conversation became general.

By nightfall the jousting was over, and dances and festivities of all types followed. For two weeks the amusements continued, and the Count of Mersburg, invited by his sovereign, was present at all the parties which preceded the marriage.

The Count of Mersburg was a handsome man of thirty. He was a learned man at a time when very few people knew how to read. He was intelligent enough, however, to keep his learning a secret in most gatherings because it was not considered a very important attribute. The count was a frequent visitor to the courts of Germany, and he was a past master at intrigue, which was dangerous, but which gave him a kind of intellectual pleasure.

Mersburg soon became the favorite in the court of Frederick. In a short time he was the friend of Louis of Thuringia and the confidant of the princess. It did not take him long to discover that the marriage of Adelaide, formed through politics and self-interest, had not been based on love, and since no person has control over this sentiment, the feelings of our heroine were much more inclined toward Louis of Thuringia than in the direction they were supposed to go legitimately. This observation was sufficient for Mersburg. He decided to fix himself firmly in court so as to be able to calm the uneasy jealousies of Frederick which he had already noticed, and at the same time to promote the love between Adelaide and Louis of Thuringia. Even if there were nothing in this for him except the pleasure of hurting or helping, it was enough to flatter a mind as depraved as his.

"My dear marquis," he said to Thuringia after several months at Fredericksburg, "it is useless to disguise from me the feelings you have for Adelaide. Even if your discretion causes you never to mention this fact, your eyes reveal the true state of your feelings. I have observed such things enough to recognize all the symptoms."

"Suppose your suspicions were true," responded the marquis, "would you blame me very much?"

"Certainly not, my dear Louis. I know no better excuse for the wrongs of which you accuse yourself than the divine charms of the woman you love. The only obstacles to your love are the shackles which bind her to your cousin."

"And that is what causes me to despair. Could I ever overcome difficulties of that type? You know my character well enough to know that I would never do anything which could give me happiness at the expense of the honor of my lord and master. I have been honored by his confidence and by the high position he has given me in his court, and I am devoted to him for life. I could never pay him with ingratitude for all he has done for me. But why did he send me to fulfill for him the formalities of marriage which custom requires among sovereigns? Why did he give me the painful duty of considering for a while as my wife this beautiful woman, and yet be prevented by duty from taking her as my wife? Did he think I was without feeling, that I could help falling in love with so much beauty?"

"Certainly," interrupted the Count von Mersburg, "any misfortune which comes from this imprudence on his part should fall on him alone and you should be excused for any feelings which his acts have brought."

"No matter how much he is to blame, nothing will make me break the law of honor. That law is engraved in the soul of any true Saxon and he would never break it. Our ancestors defied Charlemagne when he wanted us to break that law, and as you know, we preferred his daggers to his promises. Besides, even loving Adelaide, I would never do anything to make her seem untrue in the eyes of her husband. Any weakening of her vows towards her husband would make me esteem her less and as you know, my dear count, esteem is the first element of love. One does not pardon the faults that a woman commits even when she commits them through love. Love which is not based on esteem is no more than a form of delirium of the senses which leads us astray. True happiness cannot come from such delirium."

"There are some sentiments which are worthy of a noble knight, but it would not be hard to show you that these are false. If your Adelaide loves you, is it not clear that by not answering this love you would make her unhappy? And by yielding to the love, you will say that you make the husband unhappy. I ask you, since it is necessary to make one person unhappy, why would you prefer the happiness of the husband rather than that of the wife? One has served you, I know; but the other adores you, perhaps, in silence. It is a question here of sacrificing either the cold feeling of gratitude or the burning sentiment of love. I wonder what heart could even hesitate in choosing?"

"The one which is guided by virtue, my friend. You have put it aside in your discussion. There is no question of considering whom I am going to hurt, the only thing that counts is virtue and this sentiment opposes all your ideas. Besides," continued Thuringia, "in speaking to me thus, you would make me believe that the princess has let you know some of the secrets of her heart. Naturally I am willing to hear such a confession on her part, but I will have enough strength in my soul to know how to be happy without giving way to any sentiment which would compromise the tender object of my dearest affections."

"I don't know anything about her affections," said Mersburg, "but you can be sure that my friendship for you is so strong that I will tell you the instant I hear anything."

And the two friends parted.

The Count of Mersburg easily saw from this first conversation that he would have difficulty establishing any project based on the weaknesses of the two lovers. One of them would continue to resist any action in the least dishonorable, and the other probably would not even admit the condition of her heart. However, he did not give up, and resolved to follow his plans, no matter how criminal his conduct might be in following them.

Once the festivities were over, there were very few distractions, and this solitude gave the Count von Mersburg the opportunity of talking more to the Princess of Saxony. One day when he was taking her to a hunting rendezvous for her husband, the count brought the conversation around to the happiness which he said was sure the princess enjoyed in the arms of a husband like the Prince of Saxony. Adelaide, who liked the count, and who even found in his character certain things which seemed to suit hers, did not fear to confide in him. Especially since Mersburg seemed to be entirely faithful to her and had no love interest in her. Adelaide had a lot of pride, but the high station of Mersburg put her at ease, and she let him see that this happiness was not so real as he imagined.

"Frederick has his qualities," she said to the count, "but they are those of an ordinary individual. I don't see in him that elevation which should characterize the soul of a prince. There are virtues which are suitable to all stations in life; those of the throne are not those of the common man, and it might be said that those of the common man are the wrong kind for the man who must rule. What makes the subjects happy is not always suitable for the glory of the master. History does not relate the story of those rulers who had only domestic virtues; it traces to posterity only those who by their actions surprised the world even though they often spent part of their lives in prison. I wanted an ambitious husband, an illustrious warrior and not a feeble prince whose good deeds will not be remembered because he is too weak to capture the fancy of the people. In addition, he has the vices of the people; he dares to be jealous of a woman like me! Let him realize that if I were capable of what he fears, I would dignify my wrongs even more than he makes illustrious his virtues, and one would speak with more respect of Adelaide the guilty than of Frederick the kind. Why doesn't my husband take advantage of the situation to shake off the yoke of the Emperor? The weakness of Henry IV, his lack of resolution, his perpetual changes, open the field without limit to the ambition of a prince. Frederick has as much right to the throne as Henry. Why not take it? Why doesn't he arm his subjects? Why doesn't he triumph like Wittekind? If that hero made Charlemagne tremble, can't Frederick frighten Henry? Ah, count, don't speak to me of a prince without ambition. Without doubt such a one could make his family happy, but he would never be the glory of the universe; and weakness will cause his name to be effaced from the pages of history. No, the scrolls of immortality are engraved with the names of laurel-crowned heroes."

"These sentiments are worthy of your soul," said Mersburg. "They stimulate all those to whom they are addressed; and if the illustrious sons of a blood as noble as yours are inflamed like you, Saxony would soon have no more oppressor to dread; such sons would throw off the shackles of slavery and would rule in place of the tyrants."

"If they have the apathy of Frederick, could the burning blood of Adelaide circulate in their veins? No, Mersburg, this was not the husband that I needed."

"The one who suited you, Milady, would be, perhaps, in your court?"

"I don't like for people to guess my secrets."

"I would never have dared if you had not developed the theme. While offering my sincere excuses to Your Highness, I dare to assure her at the same time that if I have tried to know this royal secret, it was never the thought of taking advantage of it. To prove my zeal, I would be willing to sacrifice my life to your interests. The misfortune of princes, Milady, is placing their confidence in people who are unworthy of it. My high birth and my loyalty to you should allay any fears you have of confiding in me. Permit me to give you my vow of eternal faithfulness."

"I believe you, Mersburg," answered Adelaide. "What I have seen of you up to this moment does not leave me any suspicion of the frankness of your sentiments. I know that you will learn of the sorrows of your sovereign only to sympathize with them or to disguise them from others. Your guesses have hit the mark, my dear count. The one I love lives in this chateau and I believe he is your friend."

"How I wish that he were my master."

"Yes, it is Louis of Thuringia that I love. It was he alone that Heaven caused to be born for the happiness of my life, and it is he that an unjust Heaven makes impossible for me to have. From the first time that he appeared in my father's court, the impression which he produced on me was such that it will never disappear from my heart. Louis has everything that I want in a man--that noble pride which shines in his face--that loyal and chivalrous character which would cause him to undergo a thousand perils for the one he loves; military talents which he developed in our last war--ambition which shows in his eyes--that manner full of grace with which he is able to combine the severity of a military man with the suaveness of a man of the court. What more can I say? All that has delighted me in the Marquis of Thuringia; that is what has made him the idol of my heart--of a heart where he will reign completely; even though it is broken by the bonds of duty... Do you know whether he loves me, my dear count?"

"I would dare assure you of it, Milady, although I have received no confession from him on this point. His eyes light up so much each time he looks at you that it is impossible not to recognize in him the slave of the same god who has captivated your soul."

"I am very unhappy," cried the Princess. "I will see him suffering, and will never be able to help him since the strictest duty causes me to be near him often, and yet to say nothing which can ease his torments."

"Does Thuringia know of the happiness he has in pleasing you so much?"

"I have told him only by my glances; when he looks at me, he must see the intense feeling I have for him."

"If Milady would permit, I would console that uncertain heart."

"By all means, do not, Mersburg; you would only make his unhappiness even greater. No, I am not able to console him; you can see the bonds which hold me. Let's not breathe a word of all this; on the contrary, let's try to stifle this love which would only make him unhappy. Perhaps I can succeed in vanquishing my own love. Sometimes, one must be unhappy in following this path. Perhaps some day fate will reward me."

When the carriages came together at the rendezvous, the conversation had to cease. The count thought that he could see a glimmer of hope for his intrigues. The hunting was delightful; the deer was surrounded, and all the hunters returned to the chateau well satisfied with their ability.

In returning, Mersburg was not in the carriage with the princess, and so he was not able to continue the conversation which had intrigued him so much, and several days passed without his being able to take it up again.

## Chapter Two

images from the Middle Ages

The intrigue had reached this point when the Prince of Saxony, one day, had the count called into his office.

"Mersburg," said Frederick, "the place of First Chamberlain has become vacant, and I think you should fill the position. The princess has spoken of you in high terms, and the Marquis of Thuringia seems to be your friend. Their recommendation suffices. The high grade of the position is ample proof of my confidence in you."

The count dropped to one knee to show his gratitude.

"For some time," continued the prince, "I have wanted to speak to you of something else. I feel that you should make a suitable marriage before too long. The daughter of the Marquis of Rochiltz has been proposed to me for you. She is young, beautiful and rich, and I believe that in offering her to you, I shall contribute to the happiness of your life."

"Pardon, Milord," answered Mersburg, "But I do not believe that marriage would contribute to this happiness which Your Highness wishes me to have. I am young enough to wait, and I beg Your Highness to save his good intentions until a time when I will be in a better position for marriage. I want to be able to serve Your Highness with my complete devotion, and I believe I would be able to do a better job if I were single. I fear that the duties of a household might distract me from doing all that I could for Your Highness. A man cannot serve a master perfectly if he is serving a mistress at the same time."

"One does not prevent the other," said Frederick. "I think you really mean that you do not believe you could have happiness in marriage."

"I believe, to the contrary, Milord, that these bonds when they are well selected, are the means of assuring happiness; but I also believe that when conditions are not suitable, they become very painful."

"Ah, my dear count, how right you are! The greatest misfortune in life is not to be loved as one loves, and the fear of not being loved, combined with jealousy, is indeed very painful."

"Your Highness is so far from any such situation that it would seem impossible that he would ever experience it."

"Yes, my dear count, I am happy; at least I think I am, but the more one believes he possesses happiness, the more he dreads losing it."

"Certainly there is nothing which could cause you to have any jealousy?"

"One can be jealous in spite of not having any reason to be so. The more charms the loved one has, the more one is susceptible to its stings. Perhaps one often wishes that the loved one had fewer charms in order to have fewer rivals to fear."

"On the other hand, is there a single being who would wish, who would dare, try to take from Your Highness that which he possesses? You have too many things to captivate the wife who shares your throne to fear that any mortal could ever cause her to stray from her duties; especially since those duties become such a pleasure with you."

"I want to believe what you are saying, Mersburg, but one is not so easily cured of this overpowering feeling; this jealousy which is not known except by those who do really love. One says in vain that it causes a man to love even more the object of his affections. The very fact that he adores a woman makes him think that another man will have the same idea. If he has this idea then jealousy is justified; if he doesn't, then love is not justified."

"But has Your Highness seen in his virtuous wife anything which would cause him to have any suspicions?"

"No, my friend," said Frederick with a kind of uneasiness which he could not conceal. "But I am sure that her love is not equal to mine. Everything in her appears to be duty and obedience. I can never find in her any of those little attentions which a woman has for a man; those little things which convince a man that his wife really loves him."

"But all that will come, Milord; the princess is still young. The habit of living with you will soon change what now seems like a duty into pleasure, and the love which will come, will be all the more lasting."

"Thus it is only a question of time until I get my happiness? I would like to have you go into the depths of the situation and to study it and then tell me what you find, and then I will attempt to establish my ideas on your report."

"Ah, Milord," cried Mersburg, "do you realize the responsibility that Your Highness is putting on me? Adelaide will detest me if she ever discovers my part in it. She is either innocent or guilty. If she is innocent then any suspicions of her will make her furious, and if she is guilty, she will never pardon me for discovering it and revealing it to you. Taking advantage of the love which she knows you have for her, she will demand my punishment for having sought out her faults, whether they exist or not."

"Will not my protection guarantee you safety?"

"No, Milord. She will be eager to destroy that protection and from that time on, nothing could preserve me from her anger. She will be able to persuade you to abandon me, and I will become the object of your anger as well as her hatred."

"There is nothing comforting in what you are saying, my dear count. In the first case, you say she would become irritated if she were innocent, because of the suspicions. That way of seeing the situation does not seem right, because your efforts will only prove her innocent. How can she become angry if she is proven worthy to be my wife? And since you seem to fear so much the results of your finding the second case to be true, it makes me think you are already convinced of the truth of this hypothesis."

"Ah, My Prince, how quickly does jealousy seize upon anything which can nourish it! There can be no doubt about the virtue of your wife, and that should be enough to give you all the tranquility you need."

"So be it," said the prince, "but what I propose to you will insure this tranquility, and I require you to do what I ordered."

"I will obey, My Prince," answered Mersburg, taking leave, "but if the truth cause me to hurt you, then I hope Your Highness will remember that I was acting under his orders."

The situation in which Mersburg found himself, would have been painful only for an honest man; but with such a character as his, he found in it intense delight. He became, in a sense, the master of the situation and he could turn to his own profit all the facts which he might discover, by revealing or hiding what he wished.

According to some plan which he had now established, Mersburg went to see the marquis to tell him about the conversation which he had had with the prince.

"I had already noticed Frederick's jealousy," said Thuringia, "but I don't know who the person is. I am sorry he didn't name him."

"Is there anyone besides you who could alarm him? Is there anyone else in this court who could please the one you love?" "But if his suspicions fall on me, I will be more restricted than ever in my contacts with Adelaide."

"That is right," said Mersburg, "but in your place I would want to find out exactly how I stood, and there is no other way than to get right to the point with the princess. I am sure she loves you. Be bold and tell her you love her. From that point on, we will know how to act."

"But do you think that any such procedure would please the princess?"

"I am certain of it. I have acquired enough information to assure you of her tenderness for you."

"What did she tell you?"

"That you were the object of her dearest affection, but that she did not dare fail in her duties towards her husband."

"Ah, her duties are to love me," said the marquis with delight. "Did I consult my duties when my soul became exalted at the thought of her? Does love admit any other duties than those it imposes? I adore Adelaide and I want to adore her all my life. I will sacrifice even life's blood if she wishes it. But why doesn't she respond a little more to my passion, and why doesn't she console me for what I suffer by offering a little hope that one day we will be together?"

"It seems to me that the two of you should try to arrange a rendezvous."

"What dangers for her in such a rash plan!"

"The most violent means are those that please the most in love and experience proves that they are the safest ones. Do you want me to try to arrange it?"

"Ah, my friend, I would owe you my life."

The count was getting ready to go to Adelaide when he found out that because of a threat which the Emperor had just made to Frederick, the latter, having full confidence in his wife, had closeted himself with her in order to answer this insolent message. It was Adelaide herself who dictated the proud letter in which she said to the Emperor that at his age, and with his degrading conduct, he could never impose his will on a prince who was always victorious and who ruled over all Saxony. She went on to say that before trying anything like that, he should change his morals by sending away all his mistresses, and that instead of coming to visit Saxony, which was in good order, he should go visit some of his other provinces which needed his advice and his help.

This letter so impressed the Emperor that he immediately gave up all his plans, realizing that such able resistance would ultimately cause them to fail.

This energetic action in such a young woman was very pleasing to her husband. He spoke of it to everybody in court, and soon the princess received praises where ever she went. It was at this moment that Mersburg chose to paint to Adelaide the intoxication into which this superb act had plunged the Marquis of Thuringia.

"Your friend and relative, Milady, is very anxious to show you the gratitude he feels for the great service which you have rendered to the country. He said to me that when one knows how to reign with so much nobility, why doesn't one know whom to love? One should not make all hearts burst into flame when one does not wish to listen to any of them."

"Let him come to see me," said Adelaide, "and I will be able to prove to him, perhaps, that if I have been able, by what I have just done, to merit the general approbation, it was perhaps from him more than anybody else that I wanted to receive the praise. I knew that an act of courage would please him; he should approve in me what he is worthy of doing himself."

Mersburg went instantly to tell the marquis that the princess would receive him in a little clump of trees situated in the back of her garden.

There was in this clump of trees a sort of temple of the Druids and also a large bird cage made of golden wire. Lilac bushes surrounded the temple, and beautiful roses entwined themselves among the wires of the cage. Here there were a hundred pairs of the rarest birds which announced by their various songs the tender and voluptuous occupations of a life animated by love.

"Oh, Milady," cried the marquis on seeing the one he adored in such a delightful spot, "how kind you are to receive from me the homages which all of Saxony is paying you."

"Marquis," answered Adelaide, "it was in your heart that I found the strength which I have used and which you like. In my situation, you would have acted as I did. It is because I am so sure of this, that I am satisfied with what I have done. I shall always be proud when I resemble you."

"Why can't I be equally proud, Milady, of the sentiments which I wish to inspire in you?"

"Everything forbids me to hear them, my dear marquis. Reflect on my position, and you will realize that I cannot."

"Why was I selected by Frederick to bring him a wife who was so perfect for my own happiness."

"Do not speak to me of these regrets, they fill my soul."

"What do I hear? All my torments are forgotten as soon as I know that you share them. Thus we are obliged to live eternally separated from each other. No consolation will ever appease the harm we have done to each other. Both of us are young, and we will have to weep until death over the misfortune of having known each other. Do you know of any way, Milady, that we can soften our sorrow?"

"I cannot think of any way."

"And why not cast aside these heavy irons which bind both of us?"

"Do such means suit people like us? Could I dishonor the throne on which my birth placed me?"

"Why are you on this throne without me?"

"Why did you come to get me to put me on the throne?"

"Please don't remind me of such a thing. It is tearing my heart."

"Oh, my friend, let me receive from you an example of courage. Am I not more unfortunate than you? There is nobody in your life who would prevent you from keeping my image before you. You know that I cannot say as much because when it is you that I would like to hold in my arms, it is your rival that I find."

"My rival!"

"No, of course not, I didn't use the word right. You have no rival. Could I share the heart which belongs to you entirely? My admissions are very guilty, I agree, but I forgive myself if they can calm you."

"They only inflame me more. Do you think they can make me forget my love when you admit that if some accident..."

"What are you daring to say, Thuringia? Do you think that I would let myself think such things? If my heart is to be worthy of yours, then it must be as pure as yours. We would vilify ourselves if the least criminal thought ever entered our minds. There is no doubt that being deprived of each other is cruel; but if we did anything to break the bonds which separate us, it would be much more painful."

'Well," said the marquis, "I see nothing else to do except to go away. The wars which are so frequent in our provinces offer to me the means of glory, and if they do make me forget the sentiments which nothing can extinguish, at least they will appease momentarily the sorrows which I feel."

"I forbid you to go away," said Adelaide.

"You want my unhappiness to be continually under your eyes."

"What other hand than mine can help it?"

"Grant, at least, that I see you sometimes in this same spot."

"You can count on the desire I have to see you. I will be as eager as you to find moments when it will be possible to soothe you and for us to calm each other."

At that moment Adelaide thought she saw a shadow run rapidly through the trees which were near the bird cage. She squeezed the hand of the marquis:

"We have been discovered," she said with fright.

But Thuringia, looking in the direction which she pointed out, saw nothing.

"Somebody is going through the clump of trees over there," said Adelaide. "I am sure of it."

She held back Thuringia who wanted to pursue the person.

"No," she said, "such an act would make us seem guilty. We would appear to be afraid, and we have said nothing which could cause us to blush. Let's go away by a different way, but I forbid all searches for the person who was here."

As soon as they separated, Thuringia went to tell Mersburg all about it. He did not attempt to hide the princess' severity nor that in view of her position, she took away all hope for their complete happiness.

"I am not of your opinion about the circumstances," said the count. "You can never tell. How many times we have seen happiness come at a moment when all seemed darkest."

Thuringia spoke of the shadow which Adelaide had seen and of the uneasiness which it had caused her, but the count calmed his friend in assuring him that the prince had not even left his apartments.

"But the one who has surprised us might tell him what he has heard."

"If things happened as you have said, there is no danger in telling what happened."

"Ah, my friend, do those who pretend to serve the prince always tell the truth?"

## Chapter Three

images from the Middle Ages

Several months passed thus without the marquis' being able to talk to the one he adored and without Adelaide's being able to give him any consoling message. One noticed at court the sombre and care-worn look which had been present for some time on the face of the ruler and everybody attempted to interpret this crisis in his feelings. As in all courts the face of the monarch is the thermometer of the status of affairs.

Everybody knew that the count had frequent interviews with his master, but as nothing happened, it was impossible to form any kind of conjecture. The delays of a second interview were beginning to make Thuringia uneasy when one day Mersburg came to reassure him.

"Tomorrow, in the same place where you have already seen each other," he said to the marquis, "the princess will wait for you at sunset. Be exactly on time and do not fear anything. I have seen the prince several times since your last rendezvous, and for a while his suspicions seemed to be increasing. I don't know whether the shadow you saw was that of a person placed there to surprise you or not; but in any case, I have calmed the ideas of the prince, and I believe that he has recovered completely from his former fears."

"Was I the object of these fears?" the marquis asked.

"No. His suspicions were vague. They were not directly concerned with any person."

"And you have calmed him?"

"Completely. You can be entirely tranquil about tomorrow, but you must be exactly on time. Let Adelaide arrive first. The watches will call out six o'clock just as she arrives in the little clump of woods. You must arrive exactly a quarter of an hour later. She will explain to you the reasons for this precaution. They must be important because she has insisted very much on the necessity of having you on time."

Louis promised to be exact in everything; but suddenly the next day an event quite different from what he expected caused a sudden stir in the chateau. Just as he was about to leave for the rendezvous, the information came that Adelaide had been arrested and taken to the chateau of Torgau, a town situated on the banks of the Elbe at ten leagues from Leipsig. No reason for this severe act was given; no circumstances were cited to explain it. Frederick simply told the lords of the court that some political reasons forced him to resort to such an action which was extremely painful to him since his love for the princess was so intense. He said that only his duty to Saxony could cause him to take such extreme measures.

It is easy to imagine the condition of the marquis on learning of this frightful news.

"You are the cause of this misfortune," he said to Mersburg. "Either you have been mistaken in this whole thing, or you have deceived me. What proof do I have of all that you have told me? By a guilty imprudence you have thrown the princess into the trap, and I even suspect that you did it on purpose."

"Marquis," said the count calmly, "I know that misfortune makes you unjust, but don't carry your emotions, I beg of you, to the point of forgetting the circumstances. I know most of the secrets of the prince, and he is not jealous of you. Some other man has come into this in some manner which has not yet been explained. This man was at the rendezvous which had been arranged for you. He is the one, perhaps, that you caught a glimpse of at the other meeting. The guilty man's name is Kaunitz, and his sudden disappearance leads one to suspect that the prince has already had his vengeance on him. It seems entirely possible that he has been assassinated."

"But did Adelaide love this man?" cried the marquis with the greatest uneasiness.

"That is how jealousy reasons! Kaunitz must have found out about the rendezvous and went there to spy on the two of you, and the lightning which was supposed to strike the one loved by the princess fell on the spy."

"Then you think Adelaide is innocent?"

"Ungrateful one, how could you doubt it?"

"Let's hurry to deliver her. The dagger which struck Kaunitz may fall on her. Dear count, we do not have a moment to lose!"

"This precipitation might spoil everything. You must be careful to preserve yourself from suspicions. Do not have them fall on you, since they do not weigh on you now. I am the only one who can help you to achieve what you want, but since you no longer trust me, perhaps I should not bother about helping you."

"Ah, my dear count, I have never accused you of anything; it is only misfortune which I blame. Can you think of any harder luck than we have had?When are we going to release Adelaide? With whom is she now? Upon what does her fate depend? And how can Frederick make people believe that the one who has just served the state so well could be guilty of betraying it? They will imagine all sorts of things and will dishonor the purest of women. On top of all the sorrow I have, I will have the shame of seeing the glory of my beloved tarnished by vile tongues and not be able to defend her."

"Let's deliver her, my friend. As soon as she is free you will be in a better position to help her."

"Where could I take her? That would be robbing her forever of the right of occupying the throne on which destiny has placed her."

"Frederick could declare that she is innocent."

"Such an act would be of value to someone who was guilty, but would only hurt someone who was innocent... Who commands the Chateau of Torgau?"

"A man who has taken part in many of the wars of the Empire. His daughter, who is young and intelligent, has been charged with keeping the princess company."

"How can we get her out of there?"

"Easier than you think."

"You are right about my not doing anything to get her out. I should neither protea nor direa her escape, since I am believed innocent and should maintain that feeling towards me.

"Let's separate," said the count suddenly, "I see that people are looking at us. Let's postpone this important discussion." Louis went away to dream about his misfortunes and Mersburg went in to see the prince.

"Well," said Frederick, "was I wrong to give myself up to the torments of jealousy?"

"It would appear that you were right, Milord, but never would I have suspected the one whom you honor with your love."

"Oh, my friend, the heart of woman is inexplicable; it is a labyrinth in which the one who thinks he knows the way is certain to be lost. I adored this woman, and she betrayed me. I thought she was frank and sincere, and there was nothing in her except imposture and lying. It was because of her reputation for virtue that I brought her to my throne, and that is how I have been recompensed. That Kaunitz... who could have believed it? That young man on whom I had heaped favors. Whom can princes trust? But tell me, my friend, had that intrigue lasted a long time? Did they love each other? Do you believe it?"

"If I had known anything about it, Your Highness, I would have told you about it long ago. I imagine that this young man is much more guilty than the princess. Is it not possible that he may have loved her without her responding to his passion?"

"But that rendezvous?"

"We do not have any proof that it was one. The princess was accustomed to going often to the bird house all alone. It may be that Kaunitz followed your wife without her having the least part in this meeting."

"But they have been discovered talking together."

"Only a few words, because there were only a few instants between the time when the young officer entered the bird house and the time when the guards arrested the two of them."

"But Kaunitz, when he was dying from the sword blow which I gave him, did not deny loving the princess."

"In that case, Your Highness was prudent in treating him so severely."

"In the first moments I was tempted to treat Adelaide in the same manner."

"And how you would have repented such an action. For you still adore the princess; the ardor of your sentiments cannot be concealed, and I dare to say that she is still worthy of this love."

"That is what torments me; that is what makes me despair. I cannot help suspecting her, and I want to stop loving her. Such is my state."

"But Milord, you must find out more about all this, and if your wife can explain these happenings should you not bring her back to you again?"

"But will she pardon my error? She will hate me, my dear count. I will only be, in her eyes, a tyrant, an object of fright. Does one excuse unjust punishment? And is she not marked with the seal of the gravest iniquity? The disorder of my ideas is such that I want to clear all this up and yet I fear to do so. What confusion if she is innocent! What despair if she is guilty! Mersburg, I want you to clear all that up. Leave for Torgau and bring her back with you if she is still worthy of me. Let her follow her perfidious lover to the grave if she has been unfaithful to me."

"Milord," said the count, "if you could only give me somebody to help me in this important mission."

"And whom should I send with you?"

"The Marquis of Thuringia, Milord. You gave him the mission of going to get your wife at Brunswick. I feel sure that he will bring her back from Torgau. The good fortune which crowned his first mission is an excellent omen for the second, and our choice cannot fall on a person who is more worthy than Thuringia."

"I consent to it," said Frederick, "I give you the power to instruct him of his new duty. His virtuous friendship for the princess must be sorely afflicted by all this. To speak to him about it would only increase my sorrows. You make all the arrangements with the marquis, and I approve in advance all that the two of you will do."

The count hurried to tell Louis about what the prince had just said to him.

"You will never accuse me again of not being your friend," he said to him. You are going to see the one you love, and bring her back to her husband. Can you think of a happier circumstance in the world?"

"Count," answered Thuringia, "in all you have just done you have thought more about helping a friend than you have about helping Adelaide. I am afraid that this act will compromise her more than ever, especially if it ever comes out that we love each other. I think it would be much better to have her escape rather than take her back to her husband; for if she leaves Saxony, I will still have some hope; but I will have no more as soon as she goes back to Frederick. I am guilty, without doubt, in admitting this, but wouldn't I be still more to be blamed in taking back the one I love to a jealous man who might treat her tomorrow as he treated the one whom he suspected of being her lover? I know all the laws of delicacy, but those of love are equally engraved in my heart, and I would be guilty of a serious infraction if I gave in to an arrangement which would put the sword at Adelaide's throat. Go alone, my dear Mersburg. Take my love to the one who creates for me the charm and the torments of life. In telling her of my refusal, tell her all the reasons which motivated it, and if you really want to serve me, please don't bring her here. Let her go back to the Duke of Brunswick, her father, and I will take care of the rest. From that moment my conduct towards her will cease to be embarrassing to me."

"Your ideas astonish me," said the count. "I didn't expect to see you reject what I had asked for you. However, in reflecting on your reasons, I find them very wise. One point embarrasses me, it is the desire that you have of not seeing the princess here. How do you expect me to persuade her to return to her father? I am leaving here with orders from Frederick and you want me to propose something to Adelaide which will not clear her name. It seems to me that it will be very difficult to make her agree to do anything which will compromise her honor."

"You must hide from her the indulgence, perhaps only temporary, of her husband. Think that her life depends on it, and we cannot hesitate a moment in hiding from her the orders with which you are charged."

"Perhaps you are right. Let her choose the hiding place she wishes, and I will try to get her there. I am going to try to do as you wish," continued Mersburg, "but whatever be the results of our efforts, never accuse me of neglecting your interests."

"Ah," said the Marquis of Thuringia, "I count too much on your friendship to fear it."

"Since Frederick had urged Mersburg to leave at once, the two friends separated without making any other plans. In a short time the marquis met the prince.

"Thuringia," he said as soon as he saw him, "I approve the motives which have caused you to refuse to accompany Mersburg. No suspicion is now on your head; but some of the gossips might have talked if you had gone with him."

"That is what has governed my conduct," said the marquis. "Will you permit me to say that you have acted very quickly in all this? It outrages the virtue of your wife. Such offenses are repaired with much difficulty, and nothing can be done for this unhappy Kaunitz whose life you have ended!"

"My friend," cried the prince, "there is something very queer in all that, something which I have just discovered. They said that he had admitted his love for Adelaide just as he died. I have discovered that this was not so and that he did not even mention my wife in his last sigh. He said that a mortal enemy was pursuing him and he was a victim as his poor mother had been. That was all he said. Who is this enemy? Do you know, Thuringia?"

"I don't know, Milord. It seems to me that the facts show more than ever how innocent your wife is."

"I believe it as you do."

"How terrible your remorse must be at this moment."

"Yes, my friend," said Frederick sinking into a chair. "It is frightful. How I would like to bring the unfortunate Kaunitz back to life."

"There is no use devoting your wishes to something which cannot be changed," said Thuringia, "rather think of repairing the damage done to the best and the most innocent of women." "Mersburg is trying to remedy the situation."

"I am afraid that your propositions will not appeal to a woman who must have been turned violently against you. Ah, my prince, it is often difficult to repair the damage once it has been done."

"Louis, do not torment me any more. I am the most unhappy of men and I have made my virtuous wife the most unfortunate of women."

"And what about the reason which you are giving for her disgrace? Do you think anybody is going to believe that after the sublime response which she has just made to the Emperor? The one who has dictated that letter is now accused of treason. You see, Frederick, how passion blinds and how it makes one do the worst of things. Oh, forgive me, Milord. Forgive me if I speak to you in this manner. My age and your rank should keep me from doing so; but when the heart is touched it is hard to be silent. It is from my heart that I have spoken and I hope you will pardon me for being so frank."

"Oh, my friend," said Frederick embracing the marquis, "may your good heart guide you better in all the circumstances in life than mine has guided me."

## Chapter Four

images from the Middle Ages

In the meantime, Adelaide, overwhelmed by despair which she was unable to calm, conducted with the greatest respect by the guards who had been assigned to her, reached the chateau of Torgau. Received with all the necessary pomp by Major Kreutzer who commanded the castle, she had been established in the most beautiful apartment by the daughter of the officer, and this young person, named Bathilda, gifted with all the qualities of face and mind, had not ceased to console Adelaide since her arrival.

"Ah, Mademoiselle, sorrows like mine do not disappear. One can find remedies for all the others except those which tarnish glory and hurt pride. I do not regret losing a throne where the most unjust of husbands did not think me worthy to sit; but I do regret being treated in such a way and to have my husband suppose that I would have an intrigue with a man I have never known, a man whose birth would prevent my having any interest in him. He has badly known my pride, if he could suspect me capable of such a weakness. If ever a woman like me forgot herself, would it be with a man who was hardly more than a servant? May he find out that I have spurned love of a much higher type than what he accuses me of, and that never has love made me forget my duties! It is not because of my husband that I have acted in this way, but I have served my own pride much more than I have his. But after all what does it matter what reasons keep a woman virtuous?"

Poor Bathilda was doing all she could to appease the resentment of her sovereign when an unexpected event caused so much confusion that it was possible for the princess to escape the chains which bound her.

Frightful cries were heard in all parts of the fortress. Disorder and confusion reigned through the whole building. All this commotion caused the princess and Bathilda to open the door of their apartment. What a spectacle! The whole castle was on fire. Swirls of smoke were pouring from all the windows of the towers, and sounds of pitiful cries were heard from all sides.

The princess who at that moment was getting ready to go to bed threw herself half dressed into the arms of Bathilda who led her quickly down some steps, and in a short time had taken her out of this place of horror. Nobody in this moment of alarm thought of troubling their flight, and they soon reached the outer gates of the fortress which were no longer guarded because the soldiers had all run to try to put out the flames.

"Let's flee," said Adelaide. "Let's hasten to take advantage of this misfortune which gives us the means of getting away."

"Oh, Milady," cried Bathilda, "my father is in danger. Can I abandon him in these circumstances? Let me at least embrace him and receive orders from him."

Then, without waiting for an answer, Bathilda ran through the flames to look for and to help her father. She soon found him busy with his duties.

"Father," she cried throwing herself into his arms, "tell me what I must do."

"Flee, my daughter," answered the major, "flee immediately, and save the princess from the dangers which she runs, and then bring her back here later if you can. Those are my orders and my good-byes, if we don't see each other again. I cannot give you any of the soldiers to escort you since they are all busy. Ah, this terrible event is going to ruin us all."

Then Bathilda in tears returned hastily to the princess. Scarcely had they crossed the last moat of the fortress, when a man came up to them and invited them to flee with him from the dangers which might result from such a fatal event.

"I am here," said the unknown man, "because I accompanied the carriage which has just brought the Count of Mersburg to Torgau. If you will get in, I will be glad to take you to the count's chateau. I am sure he will be happy to know that I have been able to save you. He has stopped on the way, and he ordered me to wait for him here, but in such a case, I am sure he will reward me for disobeying his orders."

"Ah, my friend," said the princess, "what a service you are doing us."

"Milady," said Bathilda, "I am not sure I should go with you."

"Dear girl, would you abandon me in such circumstances?"

"No, Milady, do not fear anything like that. My attachment to your service is already so great that I will sacrifice all to it."

They got into the carriage immediately, and in a few hours arrived at the chateau of the count which was situated in one of the most uninhabited corners of his estates.

"I am lost," cried Major Kreutzer when calm was finally established. "Never will such negligence be pardoned, and they will think that it was I who lit the fire in order to promote the escape of the princess."

Such was the frightful state of the unfortunate Kreutzer when Mersburg arrived. One can imagine the violence of the reproaches which he made to the major.

Kreutzer assured him that he could convince the prince of his innocence, and he added that his daughter should not be blamed too much for having aided her sovereign, since the latter had almost certainly taken advantage of her youth, and persuaded her that it was her duty to do as she was ordered.

The count had dinner with the major; he visited the scene of the fire and returned promptly to Fredericksburg.

It is easy to imagine the sorrow of the prince when he heard this report.

"I will never see her again," he cried. "She is fleeing from me. And why would she want to return to a man whose treatment of her would give her so much reason to complain? I can only be a monster in her eyes. I am not even sure that I want to find her again because I would not be able to stand her just reproaches. Oh, how guilty I have been in this unhappy adventure!"

The count tried in vain to console his master; all his efforts were in vain. The prince finally ordered him to retire and leave him alone with his sorrow.

Mersburg went to find Thuringia who was much less alarmed about the turn of events than the prince had been. He reasoned that at least this kept her from returning to her husband where he thought she was in great danger. He would have wished, however, that it was Mersburg who had arranged the escape in order that he might have sent her to a place which she could have chosen. On second thought, he was happy that the princess could choose the place of her hiding and that she would let him know later where she was. Love always finds reasons for consolation when it should be the most alarmed.

Frederick was not long in calling Mersburg to him.

"My friend," he said to him, "my resolutions are going to surprise you. I can no longer exist without my wife. I want to find her and see her again, no matter what it may cost me. Prepare yourself to follow me, my dear count. I am going to travel over my states, Germany, all of Europe if it is necessary. I don't want to reappear in my court until I have righted the wrong which I have done. Perhaps we will find her and I am sure that my love will help me in my search. You only have to want a thing very much to get it. I will leave here all the rights of my throne. We will travel as simple knights. I am making Thuringia the regent for my states. Heaven has endowed him with all the necessary abilities for governing men. But we will not tell him of our plans, and we will take all the necessary precautions to prevent anything from happening during our absence. During this time, tranquil as to what is happening here in my states, I will be able to keep up the search for my wife."

Mersburg had too many reasons to approve this project to create the least difficulty in its execution. Thuringia was called. Frederick told him of his trip and at the same time informed him that he was leaving for a while the ruling of the state in his hands and that he could not find better hands in which to leave it. Thuringia, through modesty, or perhaps through personal interests, did not want to accept this honor. How long would the trip last? Wouldn't it keep Thuringia from finding Adelaide? What would happen if Frederick found her? Would this angered husband forgive her or would he take his vengeance? But on the other hand, no matter what action he took, he ran the risk of never seeing Adelaide again. All of this was running through Thuringia's mind as he resisted the efforts of the prince to make him regent during his absence. He did not dare hold out too long, however, because the prince would begin to become suspicious about his motives. By the next day all the details had been settled, and the prince and Mersburg set out for Dresden.

Frederick, having assembled his various states, declared that his health would not permit him to attend to his duties for a while, that he was leaving the reins of government in the hands of his cousin, the Marquis of Thuringia, who was a sovereign in his own name of the province of Thuringia. He went on to say that he felt that he had chosen a man worthy of this position and that he believed that the Emperor would leave them in peace since he had more important wars which called him to other countries.

After the expression of regret of the assembly on the departure of the prince to which they all joined their wishes for a rapid return, they felicitated him on the choice of the Marquis of Thuringia to replace him. After this ceremony, the prince and Mersburg hastened to the chateau to make their preparations for the trip.

Before starting out, Frederick thought that it was essential to find out whether his wife had returned to Brunswick, but he did not want to ask the Duke of Brunswick since he did not wish to reveal the troubles which existed in the marriage, and so he had some of his secret agents make a thorough investigation. When the information came that Adelaide could not be in Brunswick, the prince and Mersburg started out.

Their first visit was to Torgau. Major Kreutzer trembled when he knew that his sovereign was arriving.

"I am heartbroken at what has happened in your castle, my friend," said Frederick to the old officer. "Two unpardonable negligences hang over you; that of the fire in the building under your command and another even more important for me, that which has brought about the escape of the sacred person I had left in this post. I could blame your daughter equally, but I can attribute her imprudence to her devotion to my wife. But whatever be the responsibility, have you discovered any outside influence in all this?"

"None, my Prince. Everything is the work of the fire which has facilitated the escape of the princess."

"Sir," said Frederick, "I cannot prevent your punishment. I take away from you the command of this fortress. Return to the army corps to which you were attached. I will not mention the reasons which oblige me to take these measures against you."

The major threw himself at the feet of the prince without obtaining any change in this order. The misfortunes which resulted from this escape were too serious for the prince to pardon those whom he could suspect of having something to do with it. Kreutzer left the place, and the prince set out for Leipsig. In this city which was free at that time and which governed itself by its own laws under the protection of the Prince of Saxony, Frederick could begin to live in perfect incognito; but occupied with the object of his searches, he didn't stay long and soon took the road to Hamburg.

There was a moment in this trip in which he was close to the road which led to Mersburg, the main town, as we have said, of the territory of the friend who accompanied him. He proposed to the count to go off the road a little and to spend a little time in his chateau; but the latter said that he regretted very much to say that his chateau was in such bad condition that it could not receive anybody so important as the prince.

"Well," said Frederick, "let's go at least to the field of battle where the Emperor Henry I beat the Hungarians nearly a century ago."

This proposition being made in such a way that it was impossible for the count to reject it, the travelers, guided by some peasants who offered to show them the celebrated place, went along by the Fata River. They were observing with attention everything their guides pointed out when suddenly the eyes of the prince fixed themselves on two women who were walking along the river on the opposite bank.

"My friend," said Frederick to the count, stopping suddenly, "there is a woman who has the exact proportions of Adelaide. Who could that young person be who is with her?"

"Milord," said Mersburg embarrassed, "I think that Your Highness is mistaken; the woman you see is much smaller than the princess and the one who is with her appears old to me.

"Do you think so? That is how we see the features of the one we seek everywhere. This mistake will happen to me perhaps more than once in the course of our travels... Adelaide, Adelaide, come to calm the trouble in my soul, come and pardon your august husband, come appease the sorrow which devours me and seeing it even more intense than your own, pity in your heart will replace all the feelings of hatred which you have for the most unfortunate of men."

At that point the two women moved off and the two men did likewise and until they reached the place where they stopped for the night, Frederick didn't say a word. A few days later they were at Hamburg where we are going to leave them in order to go back to the two women.

## Chapter Five

images from the Middle Ages

Scarcely was the princess established in the Chateau of Mersburg when she received the following letter:

My squire has told me about what happened to you and I have praised him highly for the help he has given you and for the hiding place which he has proposed. Believe me, it is a good idea to stay there for some time since there is no safety for you anywhere else. The prince is desperate, and wants to find you at any cost; when and if he does, who can guarantee you against his anger? Establish yourself in my castle, and my servants will take care of you in the manner which your rank merits. There at least you will be free; I will be able to give you news of the Marquis of Thuringia and perhaps soon I can bring him to see you. In the meantime, things may have settled down a bit, and I will see to it that you are informed of all that happens. I would offer to take you back to Brunswick, but the anger and jealousy of your husband would follow you there. My states represent the safest place for you at present as a refugee. Do not thank me for this service; it is I who thank you for the honor you do me by staying in my castle.

The same man who has received you will stay near you during your whole visit and you can communicate to him the orders which it will please you to give me. I will answer for his zeal and his intelligence.

Adelaide was much more satisfied after receiving this letter. She thought she was very fortunate to have a friend like Mersburg.

A little after receiving the letter from Mersburg the princess and Bathilda took a walk beside the river.

"Bathilda," said the princess when they were back in the chateau, "did you notice those two men on horseback who followed the road which is parallel to the one we were following?"

"Yes, Milady."

"Well, one of those men was the Prince of Saxony and the other the Count of Mersburg."

"I do not have the honor of knowing your illustrious husband, Milady, but I admit that the one who accompanied him seemed to resemble very much the Count of Mersburg, and although I have seen that gentleman only once when my father sent me to court with a message, I feel sure that Milady is not mistaken."

"But what are they doing in this neighborhood? Mersburg is furnishing me the means of escaping from the fury of the prince, is he going to expose me now to their cruel effects?"

"That is hardly possible, Milady," said Bathilda, "if the count has any such intentions, both of them would already be here."

"Where could they be going in such simple attire? You will have to admit, Bathilda, that it looks as though they are out looking for me."

"But how could they find you as long as the count is along to see to it that the prince looks in the wrong places. Assuredly, he is not going to deliver you to your husband."

"I think you are right, but one fears everything in the cruel position in which I find myself. Whatever happens," continued Adelaide, "all this separates me forever from the one I love. I have confided to you the sentiment I have for the Marquis of Thuringia; I have discovered in you the fine qualities which will guarantee me your discretion. You see, Bathilda, it will be a long time before I see the Marquis again."

"But, Milady, if it were possible to let him know where we are, he would come immediately."

"I fear such imprudences. The pride which I have would not permit me because I would be too humiliated if any such infidelity to my husband were discovered.

"Oh, Milady, political marriages do not chain hearts as real love."

"You are right, Bathilda, I should not blush at my love because it is as pure as the one who has caused it. I have known Thuringia and I have loved him before I was the wife of Frederick, but men in their judgment do not consider the extent of the power of love which we have, and their unjust scorn falls on those who should merit only their indulgence."

At that moment the noise of a horse coming into the courtyard of the castle interrupted their conversation, and very soon they brought to the princess a man who asked to speak to her.

The man explained that he was from a nearby village and that he had been charged to assure the princess that she had no reason to be uneasy about the persons she had seen riding on the edge of the river, that these persons would not go to the chateau and that they were now on the way to Hamburg.

"But who were these persons?"

"I don't know, Milady," responded the messenger, "and as I am not to see them again there is no need for any answer."

"You see," said Bathilda when the man had disappeared, "there was no reason to be alarmed. The Count of Mersburg knows only too well what he owes you in order not to ward off any threat to your security."

"So be it," said the princess, "but I am still worried about the whole situation. It is certain that one of the men we have seen is the prince and the one who accompanied him was Mersburg. Why has the prince left his court? Why would he be traveling in the simple costume of a knight? Where is he going? What is the reason for the mystery which seems to surround all this? Perhaps the prince has executed the unhappy man that I love; perhaps he has found out that his suspicions of the unfortunate Kaunitz were absolutely unfounded and that he has sacrificed Thuringia to his insane jealousy. It is possible that Mersburg has, without knowing it, caused this terrible crime. He knew all the Marquis' secrets, and that is why this sudden trip of the prince worries me. And why didn't that man wait for an answer a little while ago?"

"Could Mersburg receive an answer?" suggested Bathilda. "Since he was obliged to follow your husband, he couldn't delay to wait for any answer nor give the messenger any real knowledge of the message he was sending."

"Oh, Bathilda, now all that seems suspicious! I don't know when my doubts will disappear."

The next day, the princess added a few more reflections that she had had on this subject.

"Would you believe it, my child," she said to Bathilda, "far from tranquilizing me, the message of the count only redoubles my fears. Who can assure me that the prince will not come suddenly to this chateau? If he wants to come, can Mersburg keep him from visiting his chateau? You cannot imagine how imperious Frederick is, his slightest wish is law, and if he decided to come here we are lost. I have made up my mind, Bathilda, I want to leave this chateau; I don't feel in safety. While I believe in Mersburg, I cannot stay in his chateau without terror, and I believe that the only delay we will give to our departure is that needed to make the necessary preparations."

The daughter of the major, absolutely at the orders of the princess could do nothing except acquiesce, and the next day the two of them left for Erfurt, the capital of Thuringia, which was only a few miles from the chateau.

"Here," said Adelaide as they took rooms in a cabaret of the worst type, which was the only type of hotel available to travelers at that time, "here, at least we will receive news of what has happened to the Marquis of Thuringia."

It was indeed the first thing that Adelaide heard.

"Our sovereign master," said the innkeeper, "is now regent of Saxony. Prince Frederick, whose health keeps him away from the affairs of state for some time, has just appointed him to this position while he is traveling to reestablish his health."

"And what has caused this change in his royal health?" asked Adelaide.

"The sorrows which he has received from his wife," answered the innkeeper.

"Ah. And what do they accuse her of?"

"Of an intrigue with young Kaunitz, an officer in the service of the prince. This conduct on the part of the princess," continued the man, "caused such a scandal in the court that she has been imprisoned by Frederick in the citadel of Torgau where they believe that she is condemned to spend the rest of her life. She would do well to stay there because if she ever escaped her life would be in danger."

The innkeeper seemed not to have known that what he had feared had already taken place.

All of this troubled Adelaide so much that she nearly gave herself away; but the art of dissimulating which she had learned on the throne came to her aid, and she was able to keep control until she got to her room.

"That is what I wanted to know," she said to Bathilda, as soon as she had shut the door. "All this makes it quite clear that we should not remain another instant in Saxony. Ah, Frederick, I will get out of reach of your injustices. You deserve having our marriage broken up."

"Milady," said Bathilda, "the one you fear so much is traveling. He is going away from you as fast as possible. Would he do that if he were trying to get rid of you? And besides, you were entirely in his power while you were at Torgau, and he did not attempt to do you any harm."

"That so-called escape was his own work," said the princess. "He wanted to get me out in the open country where he could have me assassinated without having the blood stain the throne. He is away on a trip in order to throw the suspicion on somebody else in case his henchmen succeed in finding me and killing me. He is having the man I love reign because he hopes that I will come to Fredricksburg to be near him and in that way he could get rid of me."

"But if he had been suspicious of Thuringia, would he have sacrificed Kaunitz?"

"A crime is nothing when it is a question of revenge. Anyway, my beloved is on the throne, at least he is in safety."

"Milady, why don't we go to Dresden to be near your father?"

"That would be dangerous and might hurt the Marquis of Thuringia and it might cost me my life, since the prince could easily send his henchmen to Dresden to murder me. Not that my life means much to me; Heaven is my witness that all I want is to live long enough to see the one I love once again. But in this moment, believe me, Bathilda, our surest plan is to leave Saxony until the storm is over. We will come back when things are more propitious."

Once the princess had made up her mind, she quickly made arrangements to leave with a carriage which was going in the direction of Frankfort, which seemed to be the safest place to go.

After a long day of travel, the two women spent the first night at Marburg, at the foot of the mountains which separate Hess from Franconia. The difficulty of crossing these mountains the next day, in a country where there were not yet any roads, caused the princess and Bathilda to spend the night in a rough inn where the driver of the carriage was also going to sleep.

While they were eating, before retiring for the night, a nice looking gentleman approached them.

"Miladies," he said, "you are going towards Frankfort tomorrow, without doubt. I am also going to take the same road, and as it is dangerous and you are alone, I ask your permission to escort you and to procure for you all the help you need and which may contribute to the safety of your trip."

Bathilda, judging other people by the goodness of her own soul and not imagining that one could be otherwise, accepted the offers of the unknown in the name of her mistress.

Adelaide, however, was not so enthusiastic about the offer.

"My child," she said, "I fear that you have accepted the offers of that man without reflecting enough. If I am not mistaken, he has been a soldier in Saxony, and I am quite sure I have seen that face in the citadel of Torgau during my stay there."

"I am sure I have too."

"Well, why did you accept his offer?"

"I was not sure I had seen him then; but now that you have mentioned seeing him, I am sure of it now."

"How can we get rid of him?"

"That is impossible; he would become even more to be feared, if he is really dangerous. Moreover," continued Bathilda, "I have never seen him do anything suspicious. Nothing prevents his offers from being kind, and as he doubtless has no other idea than to receive some money for his services, let's accept. There will be other people along the way and our driver appears to be a good man."

But the firmness of these resolutions disappeared when it was time to leave. The two women both became afraid and when the man appeared, Adelaide said to him in a determined voice that she would rather travel alone than accompanied by a man whom she did not know.

"Milady," said the man, "you are free to do as you wish. I hope that you will not have to repent your refusal of my offer to help you; but I will not go against your wishes."

He disappeared on saying these words and the two women got into the carriage.

When the foot of the mountains was reached, the driver said that it was impossible for his horses to climb such a steep grade if the carriage were loaded and he asked the two women to walk. They agreed, and took with them only their jewelry and money. They walked ahead of the carriage, and in less than an hour, they realized that they had gone so fast and the carriage so slowly that they had lost sight of it.

All alone and seeing nothing around them, the fear of getting too far away caused them to make the decision to wait at the foot of an oak tree whose heavy shadow caused by the thickness of the branches seemed to invite them to its freshness. They had been there only a short time when they suddenly saw the man who had wanted to accompany them from the inn. He came out of a path with two other horsemen.

"Here they are," said this man to his servants. "I knew that they could not escape me. Well, Miladies," he said, "do you still refuse my services?"

"Oh," cried Adelaide, "we are lost!"

"I am afraid you are right," said the man, "moreover, you will be able to judge very soon the fate we are saving for you. You were mistaken if you thought I did not recognize you. The Princess of Saxony is going to know whether she should let her lovers be slain by her barbarous husband; and Bathilda, daughter of Major Kreutzer, will soon be recompensed for her services to her mistress."

"Milady," continued Schinders, the chief of the bandits, "we are the friends and relatives of Kaunitz whose death you caused. I am his brother; these gentlemen are his cousins. Your blood must wipe out the stains made on the reputation of the one who has killed him; we will be satisfied only at that price."

"Well," said the princess, trembling at the sight of the swords which the men unsheathed, "let me shed it here. Of what use is it to take me any farther?"

"No," said Schinders, "that would be too easy a punishment. We want to give justice in proportion to the crime. Let's go."

Then these men having placed the two women on their horses, the whole troop went into the forest by the same road which had just brought them. As they advanced along this narrow route, it became more twisting and impracticable. The old trees which were hanging over the road shaded it to such an extent that although it was the middle of the day, one could scarcely see. After some time they arrived at a clearing where there was a large pond. In the middle of the pond was an old tower completely surrounded by water. A boat rowed by the men took the party to the foot of the tower and they went into the building through an iron door which slammed shut after them with an ominous sound. They were in a dark dungeon which had no windows.

"This is the lodging which has been destined for you, Miladies," said Schinders. "It is a little uncomfortable for a princess accustomed to all the luxury of court life, but it is suitable to one of your merit. If you didn't have your lovers murdered perhaps we would treat you better. Receive, in the meantime, the just punishment which is due you. You see this flax and the tools which are on the table. The punishment to which I condemn you is to make a rope of forty feet. As soon as this rope is finished, it will be cut in two and will be used to hang both of you from the roof of this room. You will not be killed until the rope is finished. Make the work last as long as you wish; our vengeance will be appeased in the end. You will have the consolation of knowing that each of the instants of your life will be used to lead you to your death. The slowness or the promptness will be the measure of your courage; but you will wish for the end of your days in vain, it will come only after you have finished your work. In the meantime, as you will need a little distraction, come see what has been granted you."

And Schinders led his prisoners into a little garden level with the room in which they were going to be prisoners and showing them some spades leaning against an old cypress tree:

"You will each dig here your tomb," he said to them, "and you will try to arrange it in such a fashion that you finish both jobs at the same time. Come, work, Miladies, every month you will receive a visit from me, and I will come when it is time to shorten your lives, whose length you are going to curse while you are busy working to shorten them."

At these words, Schinders went out and the door closed with such a bang that the old tower trembled.

"Do you believe, my dear Bathilda," said Adelaide to her faithful companion, "that there can be two more unfortunate women than we?"

"I do not lose courage, Milady," answered the daughter of the major, "those who have escaped from Torgau can escape from here."

"That is impossible, my dear."

"Let's not give up, Milady. Let's work at the rope. Instead of shortening our days, it may prolong them."

From that time on, the trembling and delicate hands of the Princess of Saxony worked on the most sinister task that it was possible to imagine since the slowness doubled the torments of their lives and the speed hastened the end.

"Alas," said the princess, "isn't this the punishment of all people? The work and pleasure in which they spend their lives bring closer the instant of their death."

Every evening at seven o'clock, a large loaf of coarse bread, some water, and some badly prepared vegetables were brought and once consumed, the unfortunate ones threw themselves on two piles of straw placed in one corner of the dirty and damp room. Nevertheless, they slept; they had reached such an unfortunate situation that it was not possible to have the little torments which trouble rest.

Each morning when Bathilda awoke, she went to help the princess get dressed as she had done ever since she had been in her service. These little attentions helped the princess, since it showed that Bathilda was devoted to her and that it was a feeling of unselfishness which made her continue these duties when the circumstances no longer demanded them.

As soon as Adelaide was dressed, she and Bathilda went to spend an hour or so in the garden which was about the same size as the main room and which had such a high wall that all hope of climbing over it had to be abandoned from the start.

"As for those tools," said Bathilda, on looking at the spades, "if Milady will agree, we will not touch them. I don't want to die here and I especially don't want to dig my own grave. Let's not be sad, and let's eat in the garden under the cypress tree which is supposed to cover our tomb. Let's eat these boiled carrots which they have brought us for our lunch. At least the water is good here; it is fresh. I would not have believed it. It certainly must not come from that stagnant pond which surrounds us."

Then the princess, encouraged by the philosophical gaiety of her companion, imitated her and ate half of the sad looking dish which had been brought them.

"It is fortunate that we still have our money and jewelry," said Adelaide.

"Oh, Milady, those people were not thieves; they were only interested in vengeance."

"But why do they want to take vengeance on me? Did I have anything to do with the death of Kaunitz? Was he my lover? What head would not turn on thinking about all these contradictions?"

"Kaunitz," said Bathilda, "made some kind of rash mistake. The prince was fooled by this mistake, and these people, who have believed only the public rumors, are avenging their brother believing you guilty."

"Well anyway, we will die without knowing the cause of our misfortunes."

"No, Milady, we will know, because we will not die here and we will have the opportunity of knowing everything."

After lunch the two unhappy women began again their somber task.

## Chapter Six

images from the Middle Ages

In Dresden, everything was running smoothly. The Marquis of Thuringia governed with as much inspiration as wisdom the states which had been left to his care. There were good times within the borders and no troubles with the exterior. Everything announced to Germany that Saxony could only be happy if its government fell into the hands of such a wise man. But if his head was calm, his heart was not happy. Separated from the one he loved, not knowing where she was, knowing that she had escaped from Torgau, but not having heard a word from her, he was in a constant state of uneasiness. He knew that Frederick had undertaken his trip to find Adelaide and would make her extremely unhappy if he ever found her. In spite of all this, he devoted himself to the people in an effort to bring about happiness to others, even if he could not have it himself.

The prince, after having spent some time in Hamburg, made up his mind to visit Holland. In the company of Mersburg, he was beginning to know men as he had never known them before while he was on the throne. He mingled with all classes, and was able for the first time to understand many of the characteristics of those in court who gain what they want through flattery rather than through real merit.

One day he was dining in Amsterdam with one of the most famous merchants in Europe, and keeping his incognito, he engaged him in conversation.

"Sir," the merchant said, "you will have to agree that my occupations and my connections are more important and more vast than those of a reigning prince, and if this truth is established then I am more important and most useful on the earth than a prince."

"Sir," answered Frederick, "I am far from being of your opinion. You work only for yourself. Your worries are only for your fortune. The prince thinks only of the good of his subjects; there is no selfishness in him, while you are inspired only by it... The image of a good prince is something like that of a god, while you only offer that of sordid cupidity."

"And in what class are there not dishonest people? It is the state that we judge and not the one who rules it. I pretend, Sir, that the country is more important than the scepter and that since trade makes men live, it will always be more important than anything else."

"But are you not forgetting the rights of birth?"

"What are they except the effect of luck? Let us suppose that you are a noble. Did you have anything to do with your being one? Your merits can make your position important, Sir, but your ancestors had nothing to do with it."

"Do you believe that these merits depend on us alone?"

"No more than nobility. Our penchants come from nature, I know, but we are the masters of the direction of our efforts. Man is what he is through habit; let him try to adopt good principles from childhood, and the habit of these good principles will take him straight to a state of virtue. One cannot exaggerate the importance of the first impressions one gives to youth and how much they influence the rest of his life. But these cares, these efforts are impossible for the child. He fails if his teacher does not aid him. What care parents should take in the selection of a teacher!"

"I don't see the necessity of it," said a third person in approaching the two conversationalists, "I would a hundred times rather abandon nature to itself than to burden it with a lot of useless advice which is always forgotten as soon as passion gets the upper hand. It is man's nature to resist the brakes which one puts on him, and in that way all the effects of good teaching are lost. Let experience be the only teacher."

"Will it be in time after the mistakes have been made?" asked Frederick.

"Isn't it always necessary for a person to make at least one serious mistake?" said the new speaker. "It is in that way that we avoid making others, and there is nothing that I fear in society like a new man who has never made any mistakes. The certainty that I have that he will make one always makes me fear being the object of his first one."

"Moreover this system is not always sure," continued the man. "If the Prince of Saxony had not made the first mistake in being too indulgent about the conduct of his wife, he would not have been in a position to have assassinated the lover whom she preferred."

"Sir," said Mersburg, "one would suppose that you take pleasure in insulting this prince."

"How could that be since I don't even know him. No Sir, I do not insult people. I am satisfied to instruct them when they want to be, and with respect to that, Gentlemen," continued the unknown man speaking to Frederick and Mersburg, "I invite you to come to my house to have some coffee, and I will tell you some things which will interest you and surprise you on that last point."

Frederick and Mersburg having consented to follow this strange man, he took them into a little dark street where there was a house of rather poor appearance and he had the two men go up some narrow steps to his apartment.

They entered a small room in the middle of which was a large mirror. Next to it was a table which held three or four large books.

"Gentlemen," said the master of the apartment turning towards those whom he had brought there, "you are in the home of the greatest necromancer in Europe, and if this gentleman," he continued, pointing out Frederick, "wishes to know things, I can make him see in this mirror all the events which will come to him for the rest of his days."

"We are at the home of a crazy man," said Mersburg to the prince.

"No," said Frederick, "I believe in this science and I am happy to find out what the future holds in store for me."

"If that is the case," said the necromancer who had heard these last words, "look with the greatest attention at all the things which are going to be seen in that mirror. Look, examine, and remember, but don't ask me any questions. I shall be too busy with my books to be able to answer."

Frederick and Mersburg fixed their eyes on the mirror and here is what they saw distinctly:

They first noticed a tower on the top of which was a sign which read: "She is here."

"Who?" asked the prince impetuously.

Nobody answered. Two individuals soon left the tower and they soon disappeared along with the tower. A moment later, a forest could be seen and along a road there were two armed horsemen who seemed to be following the two people who had left the tower.

Soon this scene was effaced by a cloud which covered the mirror and when the cloud had gone, a large chateau appeared in the depth of some woods. A horseman was following another man on horseback and succeeded in catching him and killed him. Then the conqueror got off the horse and gave his arm to a very tall woman.

Everything disappeared and the necromancer, closing his books, said to Frederick:

"You have just seen, Sir, a part of the events of your life. You probably already know all the causes, and since I cannot foresee the effects, it is impossible for me to present them to you. Study what you have just seen, and perhaps you will be able to prevent some of the things from hurting you. Since I have to undergo a terrific strain to present these things, I will now have to go to bed and I beg you to leave me."

The strange man was indeed all covered with sweat. Frederick, much impressed, offered the man some gold, but he refused it.

"There are certain secrets which cannot be paid for," he said to Frederick, "profit from what you have just seen. How happy men would be if they could read in the night of time as you have just done."

"But I didn't understand any of it," said Frederick.

"I know that, Sir, but one day these veils will be lifted, and you will be able to understand better. I wish I could tell you more, but it is impossible."

Once Frederick went back to his rooms, he could not hold back his uneasiness.

"All that we have just seen is extremely unusual," he said to Mersburg.

"Milord," answered Mersburg, "you should not be too much impressed by these charlatans who are quite numerous in Holland, Switzerland and Germany, and who make a good living from their trade."

"But this one did not even accept any money. Why do you expect me not to believe people who have become instructed in the art of reading in the future? I know that it is only a conjectural science, but it is based on certain known principles. The chances of life resemble those of dice. If you throw them on the table a certain number will appear and because of that a certain number will appear the next time; for nothing is chance in this world; everything depends on what has gone just before. The number of events in each life is fixed in such a way that certain causes must always follow certain effects, as it is certain that a traveler going along route A must find everything which that route can offer, while the one who goes along route B will find something entirely different."

"And so you believe that you can control all the happiness of your life," interrupted Mersburg.

"Certainly," answered the prince, "for one is master of what one foresees. All the studies of the future are chimerical," continued Frederick, "but study well the chances of the past and you will be able to determine those of the future. In each page of history you will find similar situations. As for the man we have just met, he seemed to have given us something important."

"How can you tell, since neither of us understood anything of what appeared in the mirror."

"It is up to us to guess. Moreover, my friend," continued the prince, "I confess that what struck me most is that tower on which one read: 'She is here!' Ah, Count, it is of Adelaide that the mirror spoke. She has, without doubt, left one prison only to enter another. Let's hasten to look for her, and may Saxony not see us again until we bring her back."

"But what road should we take?" asked Mersburg. Besides, this tower which frightens you so much no longer has her since you have seen two people leave it, supposing that she was one of the two. It would seem that she is now free."

"What does it matter? Let's look for her always. Let's search all the towers which we can find. Let's go into all the forests. Let's fulfill the aim of our trip and let nothing stop us in our purpose."

This firm resolution caused the prince to go back to Germany, a country more abundant in towers and forests than Holland. They returned to Hamburg where they had left their arms and started out for Munster.

During this time Adelaide and her companion were spending sad days in the frightful prison where they had been placed and the more their work advanced the more fright took over their souls. An old blind man who brought them their food and who only spoke to them by monosyllables gave them no inkling of their fate. When Schinders appeared at the end of the month, as he had announced, he examined their work and did not find it very much advanced.

"It seems to me that you love life," he said to his prisoners, "I imagined, however, that it would not have so much attraction for you in the frightful situation in which you find yourself. But it does not matter; as I have told you, you are the mistresses of your fate, a few months more or less are not of great importance. Since you like life so much, you can enjoy all the poisons of it."

Then passing into the little garden with his prisoners:

"What!" he said in a harsh voice, "these graves have not even been started. If you are not in a hurry to prepare a place for your mortal remains, I shall let them be devoured by the crows, or I will make of them the nourishment of the fish in the pond."

"This is of little importance for us," said Adelaide. "We don't care what becomes of our bodies when they are no longer animated with the principle which inspires them today. What is sure is that this principle will always be imprinted with the hatred which it owes to its tyrants."

"It is not the wife of Frederick who should reproach those who punish the tyrannies of her husband."

"Frederick was never a tyrant. He is a feeble and credulous man who has been deceived by his enemies. But no matter what be the case, you can rest assured that when it will be necessary to leave this earth, our graves will be ready and we will show as much courage as you show barbarism."

"Milady," said Schinders with impertinence, "you speak as if you were still on the throne of Saxony."

"I shall always have the sentiments which made me worthy of being there."

"There are moments in life when that type of energy becomes only a weakness."

"It can only become a weakness with beings as ferocious as you are."

"Ah, Milady, do not antagonize your executioners."

"What does it matter," said Adelaide, "what does it matter whether we breathe a few hours more or less. One cannot leave such monsters early enough."

"Sir," said Bathilda, "do not be surprised at our language, and realize that the hope of dying soon gives the right to say anything."

"You are out of your heads, Miladies," said Schinders. "The attitude which you are taking is bad and it will bring you even more disagreeable things."

At that he put his head out of the door and yelled: "Stolbach! I am putting you in the place of the blind man. You will be better than he is to keep these ladies and you will answer to me for them with your head."

This new guardian was the most frightful looking being that it was possible to see. His legs were small and crooked and his arms were extremely long. There was an enormous hump between his two shoulders which balanced one even larger on his chest. His voice resembled that of the cry of peacocks. He had the ears of an ape and the face of an old dog. His mouth was like an oven on the edge of which one had placed a few horse teeth at a great distance one from the other. His thick reddish hair gave him the appearance of a fox, but from his meanness, one would take him to be a wolf and from his ferocity, he seemed like a tiger. It was hard, by looking at him, to determine whether his origins were human or animal. The two women drew back in horror on seeing this frightful monster. They knew, however, that there was no point in protesting.

"Stolbach," said Schinders, "not only will you watch these women, but you will see to it that they work hard. I am anxious to have them turned back to nature, that never should have let them come on the earth."

With that the man turned and went out slamming the iron door.

"I imagine that your hope has now disappeared," said Adelaide when Stolbach had gone out.

"No more than before, Milady. The circumstances have not changed, why should hope diminish?"

"You mean that this terrible looking guardian does not alter our hopes for escape?"

"Not at all. Perhaps we will be able to influence this one easier than we could the other. For you must realize that we cannot escape without help. You know that we two alone could never accomplish that."

"That is right, but you can be assured that we will never get anything from this Stolbach. The face is the mirror of the soul, and so what hope can we have from this creature?"

Two weeks passed in uneasiness and tears when Adelaide, enervated by sadness and despair, felt her forces grow weak. One morning she felt so ill that she had to stay in bed and asked Bathilda to work alone. At the lunch hour, Stolbach made Bathilda go into the garden with him saying that he had to talk to her.

"Come back quickly," said Adelaide to her, "for I am feeling very ill."

Bathilda left assuring her that she would return as soon as the man had told her the motive of the tête-à-tête that he wanted to have. After about ten minutes the man came rushing out of the little garden and left hurriedly. Adelaide waited for almost an hour and then fearing that something had happened to her companion, she painfully got out of bed and made her way outside. She found Bathilda in tears and sobbing as though her heart would break.

"Oh, my dear Mistress," she said holding out her arms. "I have failed you completely. That creature offered to give us our liberty if I would yield to his desires; but I just couldn't. I could have saved our lives, but not at that price."

"No, you haven't failed me. Death is better than such infamy."

Then the princess took Bathilda back into their room, and they were sitting there wondering what Stolbach would do next when he suddenly burst into the room. They shuddered at the sight of him, but he did not molest them. Instead he put two men's suits on a chair.

"Young lady," he said to Bathilda, "I couldn't help seeing the extreme disgust which you showed at the thought of having anything to do with me. If I had been better endowed by nature, perhaps you would have accepted my proposal. In any event I do not intend to require you to do any such thing for me, but I am going to do a lot for you. By means of these clothes which you can put on, I will help you to escape. Since you did not wish to recompense me in one way, I must have some reward in another. I know that you have some money and you will have to give me some. On that subject you are going to find me reasonable because I am asking of each of you only two hundred gold florins. For that amount I will accompany you until you reach safety."

"Oh, Stolbach, you are a good man," cried Adelaide. "In this way you will have no crime on your conscience. The sum which you ask is perhaps a little high in our present circumstances, but in one way or another we will give you what you require."

Adelaide noticed that Bathilda was looking at her with her eyes filled with doubt and suspicion. She could not trust this strange appearing man.

"We have to," she said in a whisper, "we have no other choice. It is our only chance."

And the sum was promptly given to Stolbach. Since they might need some of their money, a large part of it was given in the form of jewels.

"Come, dress quickly," said their guardian, "moments are precious. I must work for my own safety too. Just imagine what Schinders would do to me if he caught us!"

The two women were soon dressed, and Stolbach took them in the little boat to land. Then he walked with them along the path which had brought them from the main road. Once there, he left them after telling them to keep their disguises until they reached Frankfort.

They were already worn out, and so after some hours of walking when they reached a little inn, they were forced to stop. They were able to buy food and drink, and after resting a while, Adelaide said:

"Well, my dear friend, what is going to become of us in this costume? We are in as much danger as we were before. If they discover that we are women, we will be taken as tramps since we cannot reveal our true identity. Our trunks are lost. At least we still have a little money since Stolbach only took about half of our resources. Let's recommend ourselves to Providence since that is our only hope."

Just as they were going to leave the inn, a hermit came up to them:

"My children, I see that you are worn out with traveling. Come to my home, and you will find there peace, rest and safety."

"We are seeking neither help nor asylum," said the princess. "We are from Frankfort and some bandits have stolen our carriage, and all we want is an honest way to go back home."

"In that case," said the hermit, "you cannot be in a better place than at my house. It is near the main road to the city where you wish to go and I am sure you will be able to find the opportunity of getting a ride very soon."

"What do you think about it?" Adelaide whispered to her companion. "Perhaps he can help us. If we find him to be reliable, we can tell him our story. At least he can give us some advice."

The two travelers having accepted the offers of the hermit, all three started off on foot. It took two hours for them to reach their destination. It was a charming retreat situated on the edge of a limpid brook, and was about four hundred feet from the main road. The cabin was constructed of thatch, and was in a thicket of linden trees which gave it shade.

As soon as they were inside, the hermit gave them milk and figs.

"I have no bread right now," he said to them. "I usually ask the travelers to provide that part of the meal. But what I have will hold you until tomorrow when I can get more provisions."

Night came. The hermit prepared a bed of straw for his guests and they were so tired that they slept soundly until daybreak when they found the hermit ready to go to get some provisions.

"Here are some pitchers of milk," he said. "And this afternoon I will bring some better refreshments and you will lack nothing in my home. Don't go outside, however, as there are bandits which infest this part of the country. Wait for the help which will be necessary for you to reach Frankfort. I promise that I will bring you everything you need on my return."

## Chapter Seven

images from the Middle Ages

"I don't believe, Milady, that we are in safety in this place," said Bathilda. "I don't know whether my misfortunes have taught me to mistrust men, but I don't find much frankness in this one. Let's examine his dwelling while he is absent."

"Wouldn't it be better for us to flee?" said Adelaide. "There is the route; we have money; let's go to Frankfort. There without being obliged to depend on anybody, we will provide ourselves with clothes suitable to our sex, and we can then continue our projects."

But while Adelaide was speaking, Bathilda was searching and finally uttered a cry of surprise and fright.

"You say we have some money, Milady? We have none left."

"Heavens," cried the princess after looking frantically in her own clothes, "everything is gone. We have nothing more. Death and misery become our lot. The hermit is a thief, and he has robbed us during our sleep. What is going to become of us?"

The unfortunate women, in despair, fell in tears on their straw beds where they had passed the night.

"Let's take up what I suggested a few minutes ago," said Bathilda. "Let's inspect this hut and perhaps we will find all our riches."

Behind the spot where the hermit had slept they saw a little door which the bed hid completely. They pulled the bed away and opened the door. Still guided by the hope of finding what they had lost, they went down six steps which took them to a subterranean passage. When they saw the long dark tunnel, they decided to return to the hut, but the door had shut, and they were unable to open it. Gropingly they made their way along the passageway in the darkness. They had gone about two hundred steps, when they heard some groans.

"Heavens, where are we?" they said to each other. "Is this the place where the victims are sacrificed? What hope do we have of ever getting out of here alive?"

Adelaide stopped at one of the walls in the hope of questioning one of the victims, but she could not make herself heard; the wall was too thick.

They were so frightened by now that they almost ran along the passage. At the end of what seemed like hours, but which was only a few minutes they could see a light in the distance and a ray of hope mixed with terror came to them. They hurried their steps; but at the end of the passageway they found an iron gate. The noise they made shaking it brought a man who opened it and then locked it again. But who was this man? They trembled with fright on recognizing him. It was Stolbach. It was this monster who had delivered them from Schinders for money only to have them caught in a new trap.

"Place these women in the dungeons," he said to a man who turned out to be the hermit. "They have come to be judged by the secret court." In a few seconds they were both locked in dungeons.

The place where Adelaide and Bathilda were at that moment was one of those secret courts in Germany which had grown up during the tyranny of the small sovereigns who had used the courts to accomplish their purposes and to second them in despotism.

The two women had not been long in their cells when Stolbach, who had become their guardian again, came to tell them to prepare themselves to be judged.

"You have cruelly deceived us," said Adelaide to him. "You helped us in order to have us fall again into a trap."

"Certainly," said the man, "the first imprisonment was only temporary. We can have you die legally only in this one."

"And by what reason," asked Bathilda, "have you made us pay so dearly for liberty which we do not have?"

"Oh, all the abuses of power are usual things for us. Do you think that we would exercise such a vile trade, in trying to get at the truth without doing some evil things at times? But I am here to tell you that you are going to be judged, thus prepare your answers."

"But," said Bathilda, "what have we done to be judged? What are our crimes? We must know in order to be able to answer."

"But you were told when you were taken by Schinders. Goodbye," said the cruel jailer, "you will see all that when you go there. I have fulfilled my mission and I cannot say more."

The two prisoners remained plunged in the bitterness of the blackest reflections.

Is there ever a situation more frightful than that of oppressed innocence? Justice is so necessary to man, so inherent in his character that when one violates it, he is plunged into despair. There is not a sigh which he gives which is not devoted to regretting existence; there is not a beat of his heart which does not reject his pride at being a man and of which he was so proud when there was justice. He who likes order in all things despises it when it oppresses him. In this moment he forgets his duties, to the point of preferring evil which is rewarded to the good which is punished. Thus judges, inept, criminal or ignorant, you have by such a conduct propagated crime instead of honoring virtue.

Let's leave the Princess of Saxony in her terrible predicament and return to Hamburg where Frederick was preparing with the count to try new adventures in order to find his wife whom so many hands were keeping far away from him.

"My friend," said Frederick to Mersburg, as soon as they were armed again, and they had been joined by Pitreman, their squire, "I confess to you that what we have seen at the necromancer's caused me much uneasiness. 'She is here.' the inscription said and it was a tower. Who then would take upon himself the right to shut up my wife, and what did she do to be shut up?"

"But, remember," said Mersburg, "that this same man, to whom you accord so much confidence, has shown you also that the princess had escaped."

"Well then, we have no fixed point from which to work, and so we will have to seek blindly."

"My Prince," said the count, "wouldn't it be better to return to your states, to publish her innocence and to request in the same proclamation all those who have any news of her to let you know at once."

"This means would hurt her reputation in giving too much publicity to her faults. Let's not do anything like that. Secret searches will cause less talk."

"Let's keep on then," said Mersburg calmly.

Our two knights decided to travel over Swabia and Franconia since they had not yet visited these two provinces.

They were near Frankfort on the Main when they discovered on the right a castle belonging to the Emperor. Although he was not on good terms with this prince, Frederick thought that because of his disguise he would not run any risk on entering. He decided to take this chance, since he was encouraged by the hope of finding his wife, having in mind that she was linked to towers and chateaux. He presented himself with the title of Knight and Protector of the Order of the Fair Sex and asked if he might have safety there. The soldiers went to speak to the commander of the chateau who, in a hospitable manner, went to greet the two men and to bring them into the main hall of the chateau. Soon, according to the custom, some squires came to unarm the two guests and at the time of dinner, the commander came personally to invite them to eat with him. During the dinner, the conversation was concerned mostly with the troubles and fatigue of the noble profession of the two illustrious knights who had come to honor the castle with their presence. That evening, they were established in an apartment by the same squires who had received them so well when they arrived.

"I don't believe," said Mersburg to the prince, "that we will learn anything about Adelaide in this place."

"I think you are right," answered the prince. "It doesn't matter, let's spend a few days with this good soldier; we will discover, perhaps, something which may interest us."

The next day the guests were treated with all the respect which had been accorded them at first and in the afternoon, the prince and Mersburg began talking about political events in Germany.

"Henry's weakness is fatal to the princes of Germany," said Frederick. "He became emperor without having any of the qualifications and he has succeeded in causing all the princes to join together against him."

"Yes," responded the commander, "but his courage is greater than his luck."

"He should have joined to his courage a better behavior," said Mersburg, "and not take along with him a crowd of mistresses who only weaken his moral and physical strength."

"It is rare," said the officer, "that a ruler, no matter how important it may be for him to set an example, have other morals than those of his century. You know what kind we have in this century. To give you an example, the Emperor in trying to control the election of the Pope, succeeded in stimulating the jealousy of Alexander II who had his competitor removed. You will admit that the rules of morality suffer from such a procedure."

"Princes should not have anything to do with the affairs of the Church," said Frederick, "except to prevent the Church from usurping the authority of the state; and that is precisely what Henry has not done and what has caused so many wars in all parts of Germany. Saxony especially which has just come from a state of paganism should not be forced to accept what comes from the priests and you will admit that this country has been interfered with too much."

"There is one thing bad in all governments," said the officer, "It is that it is very rare that politics are in harmony with the fundamental principles of custom and religion."

"Do you know why?" asked Frederick.

"I am trying to find the reason."

"It is," responded the prince, "because the rules of politics are perpetually in opposition with the customs and religion. As a result of this, the sovereign whose policy is to try to make his subjects happy, finds that he is obliged to go against his first instincts of honor. The government of Henry furnishes a very good example of this. This ruler offends the morals by leaving his wife, the daughter of the Marquis of Ferrare, by whom he has had no children. He takes with him some mistresses who will give him what he needs to keep the throne in his house and in that way assure a continual succession which helps to maintain the happiness of the people. Thus you see customs in opposition to politics. Then he brought about a schism in the Church by having a Pope set up who was not the one the Church had selected. He was in opposition to the Church by following the laws of politics. By doing this he was able to assure peace within his own states. In how many centuries and under how many rulers we will find similar examples. But this almost perpetual opposition between politics, customs and religion, which leaves to the princes the duty of bringing about the tranquility of their people, does not excuse them from imposing the necessary restraints to keep order."

"Do you know what the princes of Germany need?" asked the commander. "They need a courageous and wise prince whose reputation for success brings respect and whose genius in recognizing the value of men cause him to surround himself with good lieutenants. Then he should destroy all these little authorities whose perpetual dissensions trouble our lives and should unite all the smaller states into one large one, and this great man should then become the terror and at the same time the hope of the people. Oh, Prince, come quickly to settle with your strong arm the difficulties which besiege us. Hasten to show them your radiant face and the signs of universal domination so that your name repeated by posterity will go from age to age and be associated with glory and will write in gold on the temple of immortality the most august epoch of the centuries. Over these smaller thrones will rise then a wise federation which will set the standard for governments to come. The man who can accomplish all this will be likened to the saint of saints who may come from the banks of the Jordan River to reign over the universe."

"You are right," said Frederick. "Perhaps I should not be of your opinion, but it is wise, and I agree with you."

"This happiness, which I evoke, will be enjoyed one day by Germany," said the officer, "in the meantime, I find that Henry has shown himself to be weak in his treatment of Saxony."

"How is that?" asked Frederick.

"Does it not show weakness to retire from the frontiers just because of a letter which Frederick sent him? It would have been better to have entered into his states rather than to retire because of a simple letter. And then on top of that he gave some orders which will never be executed."

"What are those orders?" asked Mersburg.

"All the commanders of castles have the order to arrest Frederick on sight. I have my orders as all the others."

"Sir," said Frederick rising with pride, "do not compromise your position by not obeying your orders. I am Prince Frederick of Saxony and I am your prisoner."

"Milord," said the commander, "do you believe me capable of abusing to that point the laws of hospitality? You came here as a guest and you will enjoy all the rights and privileges of being one. The first virtues of a military man are frankness and loyalty. I would be blamed by the Emperor himself if I acted in a different way. But it is not a question of the emperor in this matter; it is a question of the heart. The obeying of such orders would be a betrayal for which I would blush for the rest of my life. That is what we were talking about a little while ago, the conflict between politics and morality; I shall not desert the latter, and so be free. Be free as long as you wish. I will tell my master what I have done and he is too just not to approve my conduct. If that is not true then I shall leave his service."

"Sir," said Frederick, "I could not accept this noble act of generosity if I did not consider myself useful to my country. But I shall always consider myself as your prisoner, and if your master ever blames you, I shall come to you in order that you may carry out your orders."

Frederick wanted to leave the castle at once, but the commander would not let him.

"To beg you to do me the honor of staying with me, Prince, is the only portion of my duty that I want to exercise. Accord me this favor, or you will make me believe that you do not believe in my sincerity."

"My fine fellow," said Frederick shaking the hand of this generous man, "I would lack sincerity myself if I did not believe in yours. I want to be your friend eternally and I hope you will be mine."

The prince having consented to spend several days at the castle of this honest knight, he told him his troubles and asked for his advice on the search he had to make to find a wife whose loss he had never felt so much until he had been unjustly cruel with her.

"My Prince, will you permit me to talk on that subject?" said the commander. "I do not believe that it is ever wise to use force with women. This gentle and sensitive sex does not want to be led with anything except chains of flowers. Think about the power this sex has on us by using gentleness and charms. Is it not unjust to want to punish a person who oppresses us only by her favors? I cannot stand vice in women, but on the other hand, I do not wish to punish them for their weaknesses; for these weaknesses are virtues for us. Don't we gain more by them than we lose? Why then should we punish them for what makes our happiness. Look closely at their faults and you will see that they are very similar to our own. If you are in agreement on this point, then you will also agree that the punishment we impose on them is only an injustice. In that case we are like the women in that injustice is a weakness. I ask you, then, if indulgence is not due because of these faults which we ourselves have."

Frederick agreed with everything he said and a few tears came to his eyes when he saw someone render justice to a sex which he had oppressed with so little cause.

"Be indulgent, yourself," said Frederick, "and do not reproach me for my wrongs. The more my heart is broken in blaming myself for my actions, the more I want to find the one who can cure my heart by having her once more."

"If your wife flees from you, thinking you guilty towards her, it will be difficult for you to find her."

"Don't you think, Sir," asked Mersburg, "that the best thing the prince could do is to go back to his states?"

"Yes, but he will not find his wife there, and it is this wife who is so dear to him and whom he has hurt that he needs. He will be isolated in his palace if he does not share it with the one he loves. The searches he is now making help to keep his heart satisfied and make his mind tranquil. I think he should continue them until he is satisfied that he cannot find the one he loves. The first happiness of a prince should be that of his subjects. He fails in this duty when he is too busy with his own happiness. It is not for the happiness of a single man that Heaven has put the sceptre in the hand of this person, it is for the satisfaction of all; and not to create the happiness of the people is so close to the misfortune which negligence can create that it is necessary to keep it in mind always."

"Well," said Frederick, "I shall continue my searches for some time and if I continue to be unsuccessful in finding the one I seek then I will return sadly to my throne which will be a bed of thorns for me. All the days of my life will become days of grief when I shall no longer see the one who used to share them with me."

When they were making their way to their apartment for the night, Frederick was surprised to see the respectful homages which all the soldiers and servants gave him. He turned to protest this to his host.

"Milord, I can see only a sovereign in you, as you are not my prisoner, but my guest. I owe all the possible respects to you because of your position, and because of your misfortune it would be a great blessing to me to be your friend. Ah, Milord, a smile from a suffering being is better than all the caresses of fortune."

Our knights left the next day, and both agreed that it is rare to find in a military man of that century so much feeling and sincerity.

The Prince of Saxony, on leaving the chateau, went toward Trier, and while he is on his way let's return to the prisons of the secret court where the unfortunate Adelaide is made even more unhappy by the fact that they refused to bring her the clothes of her sex.

"It is absolutely necessary," Stolbach said to her, "that you appear before your judges in the same clothes which you wore on arriving in this prison. That becomes one of the essential pieces of evidence in the case."

Time passed without anything happening to quiet the mortal uneasiness of these two women, when Stolbach appeared finally to take them before the judge. Adelaide asked for women's clothes again, but they were refused. She had to accept the situation and submit. What humiliation for the proudest of princesses!

The judge was seated when the prisoners arrived, and by his orders all the doors of the court were closed and everybody was to leave the place. When the princess saw this man, she almost fainted with surprise and astonishment. It was Major Kreutzer, the father of Bathilda, and former commander of Torgau. Too moved to explain anything at first, Kreutzer took his daughter into his arms, and then he quickly sent them back to their prison, whispering to them that he would come to them as soon as he could.

Finally after a few hours, he appeared.

"We have time to talk now," he said. "Under the pretext of being extremely severe, I have given order that you be left in solitary confinement. I should tell you first, that it was the Count of Mersburg who was responsible for your escape from Torgau.

"Yes, we know that," said Adelaide.

"Certainly," said Bathilda, "what he did must have had a good motive."

"Does the count know where you are now?" asked the Major.

"No... But," added the princess, "who has been pursuing us ever since we got out of Torgau? Who had us put in the tower of Schinders and then later in this place? For what reason were we brought here and why are we kept here?"

"All that is unknown to me," answered Kreutzer. "I know only that you were brought before me on the charge of murder. I do not doubt the falsity of the accusations and that all the evidence was forged; but that is usually the case in such courts where one only seeks punishment. It is certain that there is a powerful hand in all this, but the judges never know who these secret agents are. I could have declared you innocent when I judged you, but that would not have saved you. I am going to use another method which should succeed better. In the meantime, is it impossible for you to guess who is back of all this?"

"Absolutely."

"We will know one day, Milady," said Bathilda. "But let's take advantage of this moment to find out from my father how it is that we find him in this place."

"The Prince of Saxony," said the Major, "in forcing me to leave my castle, sent me to command some troops, and since I was in disgrace, I was not happy there. Since I had studied law in my youth, I went into practice and in a few months I was asked to take this position--and it was very fortunate for you and for me since I find again my princess and my daughter.

At this point Bathilda told her father of the desire she had of staying with him, but the good Kreutzer persuaded his daughter that, since the princess was in such an unhappy situation, it was her duty to stay with her and to do all she could to help her. He then turned to the question of their escape.

"If I were freer myself," he said, "I could simply open the doors and let you go. But you cannot realize the severity of this court. I would be put in your place immediately, if I did anything like that. I can only get you out of here secretly, and without being able to get any other clothes for you. I do have four hundred florins which should help you to get to Dresden where I advise you, Milady, to take up again your position in the world."

"Do you suppose that I would return to the man who has had me locked up and whose rage even pursues me in this court? No. I would never do that!"

"Who assures you," said Kreutzer, "that his feelings have not changed and that he is doing the impossible to get you back. It is certain that he is looking for you."

"In order to kill me."

"Ah," said the father of Bathilda, "don't be so harsh toward him."

"My dear Kreutzer, I do not love him, and I cannot be near a man from whom I have so much to fear."

"But will you spend your life running over Germany? Does this role suit the Princess of Saxony?"

"No, I agree, my duty calls me near the one whom my heart rejects. I will wait to see what time brings. When I am convinced that my husband is no longer after me, I will retire to some obscure place and await events."

"So be it," said Kreutzer, "since that is your fate, may Heaven make these events favorable to you. If you ever become happy again, as I hope you will, do not forget the man who will always think that it is his duty to serve you."

With these words, the good Kreutzer embraced the two women and left them with the promise that soon he would send a man to release them, and, as soon as it was dark, a man they had never seen took them through the passageway into the hut where they had spent the night with the hermit. This time the hermit was not there and they spent the night protected by the man whom Kreutzer had sent. At daybreak, they told the man goodbye and started out on the road to Trier.

"Why did you not claim the things which had been stolen from us?" asked Bathilda.

"I was very careful not to do that," answered Adelaide. "That rascal of a hermit and Stolbach might have interfered with our escape and we might have been assassinated. I believe my prudence in not claiming our property may have saved our lives."

Our two travelers were talking thus of events when after they had gone only about two miles, they saw coming toward them five or six men of very evil appearance.

"There they are," said one of them. "There are those tramps who have escaped from our court. Let's seize them so that they may be judged immediately."

In saying this the men seized the two women and bound them with ropes and were just about to drag them away when suddenly two knights and a squire appeared.

"Where are you taking these young men?" cried one of the knights with his lance held in a threatening position and his visor lowered to battle position.

"Where we should take you, too," answered one of the brigands in an insolent tone.

"By the very God that you insult," answered the knight, "you will let these two young men loose or I will flood the ground with your blood."

At this the other knight and the squire came running up with their swords held high and the brigands ran away in fright.

"I don't want to know who these individuals are," said the knight. "They seem to be honest young men. Let's not try to claim any gratitude."

The two knights started off again leaving the squire behind.

"Pitreman," said one of the knights, "take these two young men on the back of your horse to the first inn where you can be sure they will be in safety and then join us at the Golden Florin in Trier. If these two young men ask you questions about us, be as discreet as we are concerning who they are. The most profound mystery is one of the laws of the noble professions which we exercise."

The squire left with the two women and the two knights kept on their way. After having put them safely in an inn on the road to Frankfort, he bowed and left without telling them who their savior had been and he did not ask them their names.

All this intrigued our two travelers very much.

"How is it," asked Adelaide, "that these people come to take us prisoner after having given us our liberty? That happened when we left the tower, and then it happened again when we left this other place. If I were not sure of your father, I could not keep from suspecting him of some treason."

"Ah, Milady, my father could not do a thing like that."

"I know it, and so I am more confused than ever."

"I think I can explain it. You saw how careful my father was to have us move only when it was dark and to hide us in the hermit's hut, well our pursuit is the work of those who brought us to the place. As soon as they found that we had escaped they ran after us."

"That is certainly the simplest explanation. But tell me, what do you think of those two brave knights who have so generously snatched us from the hands of those who wanted to take us back. We owe them our lives."

"There is no doubt of it, Milady."

"If only our liberator had been the Marquis of Thuringia," said Adelaide, "how sweet it would be to unite in my heart the feeling of gratitude to that of the sincerest love. But why didn't they make themselves known? It seems to me, however, that the voice of the knight who spoke was one which I have heard before. I have heard it before, but it was so muffled in the helmet that I couldn't recognize it exactly. When one knows how to win hearts as those two knights did, they should not reject the gratitude that we feel."

"That grandeur of soul is worthy of you, Milady."

"I no longer feel any pride, Bathilda. Beaten down by misfortune and injustice, I feel closer to evil than I do to good; those are the effects of tyranny and iniquity. I can see now why criminals become worse in prison. They will be abolished in my states if I ever have anything to do with ruling again. The misfortune of being a prisoner myself has made me realize that they are not a good thing. In order to bring men back to a state of virtue, it will not be by offering them a disgusting picture of all the inconveniences of vice; it is to the hurt of men that it is necessary to shut men up in order to prevent them from doing any harm. It is certain that this procedure causes a feeling of revenge and it is only with the greatest precautions that one should use such a gross means."

"Don't you see, Milady," said Bathilda, "that it is easier to shut them up than it is to convince them that the easiest road is the one which foolishness traces. In any case, Milady, your misfortunes will at least have given to rulers some reflections on the importance of weighing carefully before sending a man to prison."

"Unfortunately, I can feel the danger of sending men to prison, but I cannot undo the harm it has already done me. I have become a victim of the prison system. My soul is no longer the same. Misfortune has changed me. I am no longer a person who takes things in a good-humored fashion; the least contradiction has become intolerable for me... But let's hurry to get away from here. We are still too close to the place where we have been in such danger. We should prefer Frankfort to Trier and should get there as soon as possible. The large size of the former town, the confusion of the large fair which is being held there at this moment will favor our hiding. Once there we will see what we have to do and what the circumstances will suggest."

They were fortunate enough to find in the inn where they had taken refuge a very rickety carriage which was pulled by an old horse. The owner of the inn offered to take them to Frankfort in this vehicle, and they accepted at once.

Once arrived in this big city, already famous for its commerce and the riches of its merchants, they immediately bought suitable clothes. In a few hours they had found rooms and were resting, and for the first time in a long while they felt fairly safe.

Through an indefinable presentiment, Adelaide kept thinking about the two knights who had saved her life, and the princess was hoping all the time that one of them might have been the one who was so cherished in her heart. But since there was nothing about the two men which would cause her to believe that one was her beloved, her attention went to plans for the future. While she is making these plans, let's return to Frederick and Mersburg.

These two gentlemen went towards Trier where they awaited their squire, the faithful Pitreman.

"Well," they said when he had joined them at the inn, "what did those two young people say about the services which we gave them?"

"They were full of gratitude, Milord," said the squire, "but if you will permit me to say so, I believe that those two individuals were not of our sex, and if you had permitted me to be a little more curious, I would know even more."

"I suspected that they were women," said Mersburg.

"Perhaps they are women who consort with the bandits who frequent these woods," suggested the squire.

"I am convinced that they were women," said Frederick, "but I don't think you are right concerning their morals, from the way they acted, I feel sure that they were women of a higher type. I am sorry now I didn't speak to them."

They were discussing this case when the mail from Dresden arrived. Frederick was always careful to inform the marquis of his address in order that he could receive news from time to time. Frederick learned that the Emperor was renewing his attempts to subdue Saxony and that he was marching with a big army on Dresden, which obliged the marquis to raise an army from the provinces in order to be able to warn off such a serious threat. He asked Frederick to return at once in order to take command of this army.

"My Prince," said Mersburg, "you are now in a position to choose between love and glory; but I imagine that a Prince of Saxony will always choose the latter. Do not let the wagging tongues accuse you of a weakness which would dishonor your name forever. Love is the recreation of a sovereign, but glory should be his only thought. Posterity, which will judge you, will not pardon you for having wavered."

"I shall not waver, my friend," said Frederick quickly, "and to prove it to you, we will leave instantly."

Frederick and Mersburg rode as fast as they could toward Dresden, but at some distance from this city they learned that the troops of the Emperor were between him and the city and that if he tried to go through, he might be taken prisoner. Frederick was not to be stopped in his attempt to make his way through and as he advanced, a detachment of the Emperor's army captured him and took him to the castle.

Frederick was instantly recognized and taken to the closest captivity where he did not even have the pleasure of having the company of Mersburg. The latter had succeeded in escaping. He left a letter for Frederick in which he told him that he would join the troops which were defending Dresden.

Frederick thanked Heaven for the brave people in his states and waited for his delivery from prison. Leaving him in his solitary confinement, we can now return to Frankfort where Adelaide and Bathilda are preparing for a new life.

## Chapter Eight

images from the Middle Ages

The princess soon perceived that the help which she had received from the father of Bathilda would not be enough to keep her for a long time, but her pride would not let her show the frightful distress which she felt about her future. Born in luxury and abundance, she was overwhelmed by the fate which awaited her and incapable of doing anything about it.

In spite of her plight, she was not able to forget her rank, and rented a superb apartment in Frankfort. She began to replace the clothes and other things which she had lost, giving no thought to the fact that in a few days she would not even have money for food.

One day, she went walking with her companion in a part of the city in which a fair was being held. As they walked she was reviewing in her mind the chain of events leading to her present predicament. Suddenly she noticed a man who was looking at her with the greatest interest. She hesitated, then went forward joyfully to meet him.

"Ah, sir," she said eagerly, "is it really you? Aren't you Burdorf, the representative of my father, the Duke of Brunswick? Heaven has sent you to help me when I needed you most."

"Yes, Milady, it is I," answered Burdorf, "but permit me to ask you why I have the honor of seeing the illustrious Princess of Saxony dressed as a private citizen? Will Your Highness come to my home to tell me what has happened and to accept at the same time lodging suitable to one of your position?"

Adelaide, to show her acceptance, offered her hand to Burdorf, and she and Bathilda were taken immediately to his home. His wife received them magnificently. The princess told her story, and the delegate, moved by the strange fate of a woman of such high birth, told her that even if she wanted to return to Saxony, it would be impossible. War had just been declared in that part of Germany and the best thing for her to do was to stay in Frankfort or to travel.

'While you are making your plans, Milady," he continued, "will you permit me to repair in some way the losses which you have sustained? Here is a letter of credit which will permit you to receive money in all the principal cities of Europe."

The princess hesitated before such an offer.

"And allow me," he continued presenting to the princess two purses filled with gold, "to join to it this sum fpr your daily needs until you use the letter of credit."

"Sir," answered the princess, "thank you a thousand times for this kindness, but I can't accept this money since I am unable to return it. In the situation in which I find myself with regard to my husband, I can assure you nothing from Dresden."

"I have no need of such guarantees," answered the delegate. "The money which I am putting at your disposal belongs to the Duke of Brunswick, your distinguished father. I have only to get a simple receipt from you. Huge sums were sent to me for raising troops. They have been more than sufficient, and I am sure I can make no better use of the remaining money than to give it to you."

"Will you give me your word of honor that what you say is true, Sir?"

"I give it to you, Milady."

"It is only with this certainty that I take these sums, and my gratitude to you is of the highest order. My protection over you will last forever."

A simple dinner followed this generous act. The next day, the princess, not wanting to inconvenience Burdorf by taking lodging in his house, rented a superb house in the finest section of the city. Servants were hired, and the princess resumed her former mode of life. She gave herself the name of the Baroness von Neuhaus as both she and the delegate thought it would not be wise to use her title of Princess of Saxony.

A few days later, the Baroness von Neuhaus invited the delegate and his wife to have dinner with her. This was the beginning of her social career in Frankfort and soon everybody was talking about the magnificence and the beauty of this stranger whom all admired and whom, fortunately, nobody recognized.

With the help of Burdorf, the princess enjoyed all the pleasures which the city could offer; but a heart caught in the meshes of love lives only in the hope of being with the loved one. There is nothing interesting in life except that which recalls him, and unfortunately Louis of Thuringia was not in Frankfort. He was fighting against the imperial troops of Henry VI. Since Adelaide knew this, the dissipations of Frankfort did not succeed in giving her any relief from her worries about the safety of her beloved.

"Oh, my dear Bathilda," she often said to her companion, "do you believe that these pleasures can satisfy my heart, my heart which is filled with adoration for the Marquis of Thuringia? To be deprived of his presence, not to know when the happiness of seeing him again may come, to think of him in the midst of dangers which his bravery only increases; all this torments me frightfully. It may be, that already pierced with the sword of the enemy, he lies among the dead. No matter how glorious the laurels are that he is winning, I tremble at the thought that they may be covered with his blood."

Bathilda did all she could to calm the princess, but she had only the cold eloquence of the mind, which has ever proved useless in understanding the heart of a lover.

Among the persons of importance enjoying the festivities of the season in Frankfort was the Margrave of Baden, the ruler of that part of Swabia of which the frontiers are bathed by the Rhine and the mineral waters of which have such a great reputation today. The margrave met Adelaide in the public gatherings and was much impressed by her. In fact, she made such an impression on him that he soon fell violently in love with her. He began to seek information about her and could only learn her name and that her origin was unknown. He sent word to Adelaide that he wanted to court her. The princess, irritated at this light manner of treating a woman like her, sent word to him that she was only staying in Frankfort for her health and that she did not want to receive anybody. Nothing stimulates love like resistance and the margrave renewed his propositions from time to time, but always received the same answer. However, he did continue to see her in society and this redoubled his love.

"Well, Milady," he said to her one day when he happened to see her alone, "will it never be possible for me to express the tender sentiments which I have for you?"

"But it seems to me that you are doing that now, Sir," said Adelaide, ignoring the high rank of the one who was speaking to her. "Your words and acts have for a long time shown me the ardor of your feelings for me. My answers should have convinced you that it is impossible for me even to listen to you."

"What is the cause of this attitude? Is it due to caprice or do you have certain bonds which keep you from responding to my offers?"

"You would need to know the reasons for my refusal only if it were possible to overcome them, but as they are indestructible, what does it matter what they are?"

"It would at least be a consolation."

"And why should I console someone for the trouble he is causing himself? Your pride must console you; humiliated by my refusal, you should henceforth silence those desires which can only cause you to be hurt again."

"But it seems to me, Milady, that the permission to see you would bring no consequences. The satisfaction which I would have from this favor would lead to none of the inconveniences which you fear."

"I don't fear the inconveniences, but the indifference of my reply should convince you better than anything else that you should not ask for that favor."

"Milady, I will risk anything to see you," said the margrave as he withdrew somewhat vexed.

For three days, Adelaide did not see the gentleman. Then one day he suddenly appeared.

"I feel quite guilty, Milady," he said as he entered. "I should not, according to your orders, come to your house."

"Your visit is quite senseless, Sir. I see in it only frustration for you and boredom for me."

"Ah, Milady," said the margrave throwing himself at the feet of Adelaide. "I beg of you to tell me the reasons for your refusal. Do you want my fortune? Please accept all I have. Do you want a crown? Mine awaits you."

"Nothing of all that has anything to do with it. Scepters are often a heavy burden. The fortune which accompanies them is always changeable."

"Could my hand please you? I offer it to you."

"I do not consider such bonds very happy and besides I already have some which would prevent me from taking others."

"But, Milady," said the margrave sitting beside Adelaide, "I must then lose all hope?"

"That is the wisest advice which I can give you."

"Permit me to consider it very cruel."

"But any suffering which you have, comes from you alone. Give up the cause and the suffering will cease."

"Great Heavens! How can I do that?"

"A man can do anything he wants when he forces himself to it."

"No, for passion dominates me. It is stronger than my will."

"It is because I feel the same thing, Sir, that your offers are so distasteful to me," and taking the hand of the margrave, she took him toward the door. "Sir, I ask you to give up these impossible pretentions and do not oblige me to stay away from the places where I might meet you or to forbid you the right to come into my house. Be satisfied to know, since you oblige me to tell you, that if you are unhappy, not being able to possess the person you love, that I am equally miserable. For I cannot possess the one I love nor love the one I possess. This resemblance, far from bringing us together, forever separates us. Let us permit each other to enjoy the pursuit of pleasure in this city."

As she finished speaking, they reached the antechamber. Although the margrave was still reluctant to go, Adelaide left him there and quickly reentered the house, and closed the door behind her. She gave her servants orders not to admit the margrave in the future. The margrave's haughty and fiery character was not likely to pardon such a reception from a woman whose rank he did not suspect. He promised himself revenge. "She doesn't know whom she is offending," he said to himself. "She does not know the soul she is outraging; I will teach her, and perhaps with so haughty a woman I should not limit myself to seduction. Who is she to resist me? With such a being, force must be used." The margrave began to plan ways of obtaining the object of his affections. "This woman," he mused, "is unknown. She is all alone in Frankfort. Since she is not known she will not be missed if she disappears. Not a soul here in Frankfort really knows her. Her companion, Bathilda, seems to be in possession of her secret; it will be necessary to kidnap both of them. One will serve to tell me something about the other. Who could resist a man like me? What is the good of having authority if one doesn't use it to serve his passions?"

Full of these ideas in an age when the arts had not yet enlightened men, and not possessing the sense of justice which should influence those who govern, the margrave made his preparations to seize the princess and her companion.

One night, the weather was so beautiful that everybody stayed very late in the park. The singers, minstrels and poets were amusing the public with their games and their talents. Adelaide and Bathilda, calm and relaxed, were peacefully enjoying the moonlight and the music. Suddenly four armed men seized them and threw them into a carriage drawn by six horses. This carriage, changing horses every four miles, took them to Baden and then to the margrave's chateau on the top of a mountain. There was nobody in the carriage which took the women along the road at such breakneck speed, and it is easy to imagine their state of anxiety when they finally arrived at their destination.

Orders were given to receive them magnificently. All their desires were anticipated. The margrave, however, did not yet appear. Their uneasiness increased and they soon understood that even though their shackles were gilded, they were still just as strong.

"Between this prison and the one where we were formerly obliged to spin the wheel of life, I don't see much difference," said the princess. "There was brutality in one; there is falsity in the other and both of them have the same designs on our lives and honor. Oh! How mean men can be! And yet we are not expected to avenge ourselves when we get a chance. When that man knew about my bonds and my duties, what good did it do him to kidnap me? What can he expect from me? To force a woman to yield to his desires when he knows that she does not share them; is there in the world any more unjust thing? And all this is caused by the suspicions of my husband. He alone is responsible for the dangers which I run and all the misfortunes which I experience. Do you think, Bathilda, that I can ever forget these horrors? They are pulling me down to the grave and I will die, perhaps, without ever being able to tell the person I love how much I have suffered for him. Oh, Bathilda, how unfortunate it is that we have not been able to inform the honest Burdorf of our new difficulties. Fortunately, I still have my pocketbook and I have all the gold which he gave me."

Hardly had Adelaide finished these sad reflections and wiped away her tears when a gentleman of the margrave was announced. This ambassador was the Baron von Dourlach, born in Trentino, and had served when he was young in the armies of the emperor. He had attached himself to the Margrave of Baden and had become his confidant and friend. Dourlach, twenty-eight years old, was handsome and had a good and honest character.

"Milady," he said to the princess with an amiable air mixed with timidity, "I have been charged to express to you the extreme desire my master has of seeing you and at the same time his regret at having to use such means to bring you here. He is most anxious that you not cause him to continue to use such distasteful means. He has very tender feelings toward you and he would not want to hurt you.

"It seems to me, Sir," said Adelaide, "that if he loved me, he would not have reduced me to such an imprisonment."

"He fears losing you, Milady, and would do anything to keep you with him."

"Your master then has very little pride since he knows no other means except violence for capturing the heart of a woman."

"But he told me, Milady, that he had tried all the other means."

"There is one which he rejects entirely."

"What is that, Milady?"

"The one of trying to please. Tell him for me, I beg you, that he will succeed in that only by sending me back to Frankfort, and by placing me again in the situation in which he found me."

"Your house and your servants need not cause you any uneasiness, Milady. My master has handled all that; you no longer have a house in Frankfort. All your expenses have been paid and your trunks are here."

"And who has given him the right, I beg of you, to arrange my affairs? Does he imagine that he can win me by such vile procedures? Tell him, sir, that he will know in a few days whether I was born to receive such treatment. He will be extremely sorry when he finds out the name of the woman he is humiliating."

"I believe that his highness has for you, Milady, all the feelings of respect and love which can exist in a heart like this. But he has also the bitter feeling of being paid by ingratitude."

"I cannot be ungrateful to him, since I neither ask for nor accept his favors."

"The margrave will despair when he learns of your harsh words. Can't you soften them somehow and give him a little hope?"

"Why do you expea me to deceive him?"

"In order to be a little happier."

"Why should my happiness depend on him? Did he have the right to interrupt my enjoyment of life?"

"Oh, Milady," said the gentleman with enthusiasm which he did not try to hide, "what a wonderful person you are! How happy a man would be who could inspire in you some less severe sentiments."

Adelaide, realizing immediately that this young man could be very useful to her, smiled at him graciously and assured him that the efforts he was making for another were entirely useless; her heart could not be released from the bonds which already bound it. She would only change her opinion about men when she found a man who could win her respect again.

Dourlach withdrew, not too sorry to have a discouraging report to give to the margrave. He believed that Adelaide was not entirely unresponsive and that perhaps he would do well to work a little for himself.

This conceit was pardonable at the age of twenty-eight, but did it have any real foundation? How could the Princess of Saxony suddenly give up all her natural pride and forget her violent love for the Marquis of Thuringia? Let us hasten to find her motives.

It is difficult to imagine such a complete change of character. Adelaide was still true in her heart to the man she loved and she was in no way false to him. A woman is false when she pretends to have affection where neither the affection nor the need for pretense exists. On the other hand, a woman is only adroit and clever when she pretends the same sentiments under circumstances which force her to do so; especially when she does not accord her favors to any other man than the one she loves. If she only makes a man hope for her favors she is not being untrue to the man she loves. The following conversation will develop this idea:

"Milady," said Bathilda, who had noticed some of the little game which had just taken place, "am I mistaken in what I think?"

"I am sure you are," said the princess, "for you suppose that I am in love with Dourlach when as a matter of fact, I am only in love with freedom."

"But your eyes let this young man have the hope that he could win you; even away from his master."

"That is because I don't want either one of them, my dear Bathilda, and I see here the possibility of getting rid of one by playing up to the other. But let's not put too much faith in my methods; they could easily fail. Rarely does anything succeed when one puts all his hopes in it."

While the two women were talking, the baron was trying to soothe the ruffled spirits of the margrave. He advised his master to go slowly and that he would plead his case with the captive.

Dourlach had everything to gain through an arrangement which would allow him to see Adelaide as often as he wished, for he was beginning to love her. He used all his eloquence to persuade the prince that he would succeed in his courtship only if he used the most refined delicacy and gallantry. In order to please his prisoner, the margrave gave sumptuous festivities to which were invited all the important people in the neighborhood. But Adelaide was never happy at these entertainments because there was always some member of the court of the margrave stationed near her to prevent her making any plans for escape. Finally, she stopped attending these parties and sent word to the margrave that she would no longer leave her apartment unless she was given complete freedom.

This brought a new visit from Dourlach to try to make her change her mind. He told her that the cessation of these precautions depended only upon her; since the margrave wanted her, it was natural that he would continue to keep her prisoner until he had obtained this desire.

"I understand perfectly," said Adelaide. "It seems to me that if you loved a woman, you would not treat her in this way."

"Far from it, Milady. These Asiatic ways are repugnant to me. I would never force my attentions on the one I loved."

"Your gallantry and charm are so fine that they merit a return of affection from some woman."

"Alas, Milady, I hope to receive that affection some day for as yet I have not."

"What! You have never loved?"

"Before your arrival at the chateau, I could have said no, but since that day my heart has been no longer mine."

"Someone came about that time who was capable of captivating your heart?"

"Oh, yes, Milady, but I must overcome and stifle these sentiments which can only end by making a fool of me."

"Are you so sure of this?"

"I have only to watch you to learn. I see how miserable you have caused my master to become, and I realize that I must control my affections or suffer like him."

"But the person you love may not have the same reason for resisting your love that I have for rejecting that of the margrave."

"I am afraid that they are the same."

"Perhaps, but, where you are concerned, a woman's resistance just fades away."

"Swear it to me," said Dourlach, throwing himself on his knees at Adelaide's feet.

"Do you expect me to take it upon myself to make oaths for the woman you love?"

"I would be so much happier to have you love me than the other."

"And suppose I loved you more than the other?"

"In that case, you may be sure that I would be unfaithful to her."

"If you are untrue to me in that way, I will forgive you."

"Ah, Milady," cried Dourlach, "you make me the happiest of men."

"And what did I promise?"

"Please don't be so severe, after such a sweet moment of surrender. Please accept, Milady, the purest homage of my heart."

"But where will all this take us? Are we not both chained, you by your devotion and duty and I by brute force?"

"All these bonds can be broken by our love. I can admire the margrave without passing my life near him, and with my help, you can leave at any time."

"But how can you continue to serve the margrave and yet take away from him the one he loves?"

"The measure of a man's love is what he would give up for his beloved. For you, my life, even my very soul, I would willingly sacrifice, and count all well lost."

"But first of all be careful. I do not reject your sentiments completely, but many things have to happen before I can share them. Let's break off for today a conversation which if kept up much longer might hurt both of us. Let's keep all this enveloped in the shadows of mystery and postpone until a happier time the continuation of this conversation."

## Chapter Nine

images from the Middle Ages

"Well, Bathilda," said Adelaide as soon as the baron had left, "do you understand me now?"

"Yes, Milady, I think so, but suppose this young man betrays you?"

"Bathilda," said the princess smiling, "you don't have much confidence in the power of my charms."

"I am only worried about your playing the part of a coquette."

"Now, Bathilda, I wouldn't say that. It would imply that I am being false to the Marquis of Thuringia and that is far from being true. I am not a coquette since coquetry in a woman is only a mask she dons to disguise her faults and appear more attractive. Those whom Nature has blessed with beauty never call upon this art to help them. I am not trying to seduce the baron, but I wish to leave this chateau and he is the only one I can find who can serve this purpose."

"But you are deceiving him."

"Isn't it permissible to deceive others in order to save oneself? History is full of false treaties, vain promises and unjust wars. People have always disregarded the interests of others and cared for their own."

"But if you deceive this young man, he will never get over it."

"I will do all I can to keep him from falling too much in love with me."

"But once he loses you, he will never be consoled."

"Let's not worry about consolation before the harm is done. Let's leave that for a moment. We are forgetting something else, something much more essential."

"What's that, Milady?"

"It is very important for us to get word of our abduction to Burdorf, who can be useful to us."

"I realize the truth of what you say, Milady, but certainly our correspondence is too well watched for any of our letters to reach their destination. But you have already captivated the baron. Let's rely on his help. We will have much more chance of success and less danger."

Suddenly the door was thrown open and the margrave stalked in, bristling with anger.

"You don't realize the danger of irritating a man like me," he said furiously. "Do not force me to make you feel my anger."

"In truth, sir," said the princess, "I know nothing quite so strange as your ire. By what right do you speak to me in this manner?"

"The right of power over nothingness."

"You mean the right of lions and bears over their unfortunate victims."

"It is the surest of all and I do not expect to use any other."

"The only thing you will succeed in doing is to make me even colder toward you."

"But who are you, woman, to resist so imperiously my favors?"

"I am a free and proud woman who depends only on herself, who has no need whatsoever of you, and who will never have anything but scorn for your methods. Once more, sir, have me taken back to where you found me. It is the only way of having me forget your wrongs toward me. Each moment which you keep me here only aggravates them. At the present I have only indifference toward you. Watch out if I begin to hate you."

"I will know how to guard myself," sneered the margrave, as he stalked out.

After this interview, Adelaide, who was used to eating every day with the margrave, was served in her room. This change seemed unusual and Bathilda did not reassure her.

"All this announces something sinister, Milady," she said. "Believe me, we should put all our papers in order and be prepared for any event."

At this time they usually went to bed; but now they did not even undress, but locked themselves up in their rooms. At two o'clock in the morning a noise could be heard. They listened and trembled, noticing that the noise was increasing. There was a tramping of heavy feet outside and suddenly the doors were opened by force. Three men seized Adelaide without saying a word. Two of them dragged her out of the room while the third held Bathilda to keep her from following.

The weeping of Bathilda, the cries of Adelaide, the curses of the abductors, the doors which were opened and closed with a frightful noise, the disorder of the torn clothes of the princess after her struggles, her loose hair falling on her bare shoulders, her arms of such dazzling whiteness brutally gripped by the hairy hands of the monsters who were taking her away, some traces of blood on the hideous faces of these scoundrels, caused by the violent blows she had given them when she was trying to prevent their taking her off; all this scene projected into the dark passageways of the castle through which this beautiful victim was being dragged, resembled a dead body removed from a coffin surrounded by many bright candles and thrown into the obscurity of the tomb.

After what seemed hours to the terrified woman, her captors stopped, opened a door, and threw her into a totally darkened room. Heavens! What a moment for her! It was like the total destruction of the senses, like the breaking of the thread of life, leaving in the mind only one expression: "you are no more."

Adelaide groped her way around in the room. Suddenly, her arms were pinned behind her by one strong hand, while the other explored the most intimate parts of her body. She tried to free herself, but then her lips were seared by the hot mouth of the margrave. Through the thin layers of clothing which separated them, she felt the passionate quivering of his strong muscular body. With a violent effort she broke from his grasp and ran blindly across the darkened room. But the margrave quickly lighted some candles, and with every evidence of his evil passion clearly visible, he once again seized his trembling victim. He dragged her to his bed, and started ripping her clothes from her with fingers made clumsy by haste. After a few moments he stopped and let his eyes feast on the dazzling beauty of her body.

"Well, fair creature," he said with arrogance, "do you care to resist me further? Don't look around for help. From which direction do you expect it to come?"

"From this direction," cried Dourlach bursting into the room, a sword shining in his hand. "Yes, it is I alone, a man unafraid of such a master. It is I who will save her from this crime. The forces of power will not prevail over innocence. You have no right over this woman, and I am taking her away from your odious projects."

The margrave tried to defend himself, but Dourlach gave him such a blow with the flat of his sword that the wretch fell stunned to his knees. He called out weakly to his servants to come and help him.

"Stop your cries and your struggles," said the baron with energy. "Crime is always weak, and finds no helpers. I am not going to kill you, but I detest you. When I told your friends and servants what you were doing, they all deserted you as I am going to do. I am going to take this outraged woman far from your reach, and you will regain your freedom only when she will have nothing to fear from your crimes."

During this time, Adelaide had hurriedly rearranged her clothes as best she could. Now she looked up at her saviour and tremulously smiled, holding back her tears.

Dourlach took her hand and gently raised her to her feet. "Come, my dear. A carriage is waiting for us. Your faithful Bathilda is already in it. As for you," he said addressing the margrave, "do not try to pursue us. I have taken sure means to see to it that you will become our victim if you try to follow us."

Adelaide followed her liberator without the slightest hesitation. They were soon in the carriage and without stopping except to change horses and to eat, they went on to the Tyrol with the plan of going to Trentino, the native country of the young baron. All three of them were too moved by events to do much talking along the way. They finally reached Innsbruck where they stopped to spend the night.

"How happy I am, Milady," said the baron, "to have been able to snatch you from the horrors which awaited you. It is possible that you might have come out of it with only the loss of your honor, but knowing the margrave as I do, and since he would be fearing the results of your complaints, I feel sure that he would have killed you. Fortunately, I was warned about the whole plot, and I did not hesitate to foil his projects. I am sorry not to have asked your opinion as to the place where you wished to be taken, for I was sure that you would be safe wherever I was. I am taking you to my family, and once there I am going to ask you to recompense me for the slight service which you have been willing to accept from me."

"How well you merit it, Sir," answered Adelaide, "and you can be sure of receiving from me all that it will be possible for me to give you."

But it was written in the Book of Destiny that the unfortunate Princess of Saxony was to get out of one danger only to fall into another. Misfortune followed her everywhere and one might have said that she was only to have peace after reaching the tomb.

On leaving Innsbruck, our travelers went toward Brixen, a small town in the Tyrol situated at the foot of Brenner mountain. This town was well known at that time because of a band of thieves who operated in the neighborhood. They were ruled by Krimpser, a chief as bloody as he was thieving, who lived on the slope of the mountain which faces in the direction of Italy. The carriage was two miles from this mountain, about six o'clock in the evening, when it was suddenly stopped by four of the men of Krimpser.

"Where are you going?" asked one of these bandits.

"To Brixen," answered Dourlach. "Let us travel in peace or this dagger will make gush from your breast the impure blood which causes you to live in crime."

"What! A man all by himself and two miserable women dare to speak to us in this manner," said one of the bandits. "Get out of the carriage. Let these prisoners be chained and taken to Krimpser. He will dispose of them as he wishes. In the meantime, we will pillage the carriage and then we will sell it."

Forcing the driver to get down from his seat, they cut his throat before the horrified eyes of the travelers. They then took the carriage down a side road where they tied up Dourlach and the two women and took them off to the chateau of the chief.

"What sort of game are you bringing me?" Krimpser asked his men when he saw the prisoners come in.

"Some fools who wished to revolt against us," said one of them.

"They will be sorry for that," said the chief. "Do they have any money?"

"Everything they had has been left in the carriage. Our comrades are searching it now. They will bring a report."

"Good. In the meantime, put each of these people in a separate cell. Tomorrow we will decide whether we will cut their throats or put them to work in the mines. Now leave me. I have worked hard today and I need to rest."

This Krimpser, at whose dwelling the Princess of Saxony had just arrived, was a former soldier who had served almost all the princes of Germany. A thief by necessity, by lack of profession, and by liking for thievery, feelings of frankness and loyalty which are always present in the heart of a soldier, still subsisted in his, and needed only the right occasion to be revived. But for a long time nothing had reawakened his good sentiments. The victims which they brought him seemed to be very ordinary individuals, and he always gave the crudest orders in disposing of them.

The next morning, Krimpser questioned his satellites about the captives in order to determine their fate. When those whom he questioned told him that the carriage came from Baden, Krimpser, who was angry with the margrave who had sent troops against him, decided to be especially hard on the prisoners. He was not going to condemn them to death, however, until he found out whether it would be possible to get more money by holding them for ransom.

In her prison cell, Adelaide remained silent for a long time trying to think what she could do next when she heard sounds in the next cell, which made her realize that it was Bathilda who was there. In order to find out the truth, she tried knocking on the wall.

"Is it you, Bathilda?"

"Yes, Milady."

"Thank Heaven. I was not mistaken."

"No, dear mistress, it is I, but quite sad at not being able to be of any help to you due to my own captivity."

"What is going to become of us?"

"I don't know, Milady, but according to what our captors have said, we must expect to die."

"And our unhappy liberator, the baron, do you know what they have done with him?"

"I believe that he is in a cell below us, but it is impossible to get word to him."

"I would like to help him, and I am grieved at not being able to do so. Do you still have any of the Burdorf money?"

"I still have the portion which you gave me to keep."

"I still have mine, too. The bandits don't realize that we have these sums."

"It will be necessary to keep this information from them."

"It seems to me that we can use some of it to win over some of the guards who may help us to escape."

"We would not succeed, Milady. And if they discovered our only resources, they would have another reason to hasten the end of our days."

"But suppose they kill us in the meantime."

"I have a feeling that something will turn up to help us." "Those illusions are only chimerical. Such things come from a vain hope which deceives us and keeps us from exerting ourselves to effect an escape."

A noise of keys interrupts this conversation. It was the men bringing some food. Both of them questioned their jailers, but only received the enigmatic assurance that the prisons would soon be emptied. This was a favorite expression with jailers who liked to give the impression that they knew more than they really did.

"I hear that you kill people here," said Adelaide.

"Why not," said the jailer, "from the moment that we robbed you, you became necessarily our victims. We must get rid of you because if we let you go, would you remain silent on what had happened to you?"

"This reasoning is infamous," answered Adelaide. "Is there any reason to commit a great crime just because one has committed a smaller one?"

"Oh, we don't reason; we act. Come, don't worry. It will not be long, I tell you. I will certainly not bring you more than three dinners."

The rogue went out leaving the soul of the unfortunate princess filled with terror.

Adelaide did not delay in telling her friend and companion what she had just learned. Having questioned her jailer, Bathilda had received just about the same answers.

"Well," said Adelaide, "do you believe now that we should use our last resources?"

"The danger is the same, Milady, but we have now another reason to put our money into action. I promise to attempt that tomorrow."

Bathilda kept her word. The jailer accepted the money, but following the custom of most of these rogues, the first thing he did was to take the money to his master, telling him what Bathilda had asked him to do.

Bathilda was brought before the chief immediately. She was asked to explain the reason for her conduct. It was easy for her to answer.

"But do the two people who were with you have any money?"

"I don't know."

"Listen," said Krimpser to her, "your life depends on the confessions which you are going to make to me. Don't hide anything, I advise you. Think that death is close at hand for you. Who are the people who are with you?"

Bathilda, frightened, told naively the story of Baden and the details of their escape with the help of Baron Dourlach.

"But that woman whom this young man has taken away from the margrave, who is she?"

Here, Bathilda had the idea that the truth might be useful to her mistress. She confessed all the events concerning herself and the princess.

"What!" said Krimpser with the greatest surprise, "your mistress is Adelaide of Brunswick, Princess of Saxony?"

"Yes, sir. I certify that this is true."

"Take this woman to her cell," said the brigand, "and in two hours I will send for her. In the meantime, bring her mistress here immediately."

The orders were obeyed at once and in a few minutes Adelaide was brought to Krimpser.

"Milady," said the bandit, "please take a seat and listen to me attentively. The person who accompanies you has just assured me that you are the Princess of Saxony."

"I blame her indiscretion."

"And I, Madam, thank her for it. The most ferocious animal that we know spared the life, in the arenas of Rome, of the man who had helped him. I will not be more cruel than the lion and I will not send to her death the daughter of the prince who has saved my life. When I was still young I had just committed a crime in Brunswick, but your august father, in whose guards I had the honor of serving, pardoned me on the promise which I made of living a better life. I did not keep my word, as you see, but the gratitude which his goodness lighted in my heart has never died out. I am happy to have this occasion to display it. You may go free, Madam, and I hope that one day you will tell your father what happened to you; that is the only thanks I expect from you. Here are the papers and money which the person who accompanied you had on her person. My men will escort both of you to Venetian Territory. I have good reason to tell you not to take any other route. With respect to the Baron Dourlach, it is impossible for me to give him back to you. You see, I need to have him as a hostage to use as a bargaining point with the margrave."

"But, sir," said Adelaide, "it is sending him to certain death to send him back to his master."

"Don't worry about that," said the chief of the bandits, "I will answer for his life."

"Will you tell him, at least, the keen regrets that I have at not being able to serve him better?"

"I give you my word of honor. The feeling of gratitude will be understood by the one who has just shown you what control he has over his heart. You have a debt to pay Dourlach and I will take over this debt with pleasure. I am sorry not to be able to do more for such a beautiful princess. Especially for one whose father I shall cherish to the last moments of my life."

Krimpser's first lieutenant appeared. Adelaide was put in his hands and the severest orders were given him. This officer got into the carriage with the princess and Bathilda and escorted by several men, they started off for the Venetian frontier. They were to go as far as Padua.

When they had reached their destination, Krimpser's officer asked the two women if they wanted to be escorted still farther. They declined and to show their gratitude for having been brought safely to Padua, they paid all the men generously.

After such a long captivity, Adelaide and Bathilda were very happy to be free once more. They were quite interested in the new town, and at once began to explore its many fascinating streets. Padua, built by Antenor almost four hundred years before Rome, was beginning to be famous as a center of learning and culture. The town was situated in the center of a broad fertile plain, encircled by two rivers. To the weary traveler, it presented a picture of delicious tranquility. The two women thought they would be able, without danger, to spend several days at Padua. They enjoyed a complete rest for a week, and at the end of this time they went by boat through the splendid canal of Brenta to Venice.

Although this city, which was then only three hundred years old, was far from being the splendid city it was to become, it was even then very picturesque. Venice, as one approached it by boat, resembled less a city than a flotilla in the midst of the sea. Towards the middle of the seventh century, a few families from Padua, fleeing the fury of the Goths who were ravaging Italy, sought refuge in the marshy places in this Adriatic gulf; this was the beginning of Venice. As those who established the colony came from Padua, the Paduans thought they had the right to govern it. One of the lagoons was named Rialto and was declared by the founders to be free and independent of Padua. This spirit of freedom doubled its population and it became a refuge for all those who were seeking to escape the cruelty of the savage Attila. At the same time, the other lagoons, while still under Padua, were able to achieve a certain freedom in matters of trade and commerce, and prospered greatly.

Each of the islands had its own governor. After a while, these islands were able to join together to form a fairly strong state and they were able to shake off their yoke; just as centuries later, the Anglo-Americans freed themselves from their mother-country.

The new Venetians solidified their alliance with each other, and in order to increase their unity declared themselves free from the Pope and the Emperor. They combined their small states into a republic, at the head of which they had a Doge.

Soon these Doges became autocratic, and began to extend their authority to the point that the republic might soon have become a kingdom. In order to combat this, a Council was formed which had the power to overthrow a Doge if he became too much of a despot. It also decreed that the Doge could not name his successor, thus preventing the position from becoming hereditary.

Before Venice had completely declared its independence, it had received from King Berenger II of Italy the right to coin its own money. A cloak of gold had to be paid this King each year for this right. The city was able, however, to leave off this tribute a few years later when there were uprisings in the kingdom. About this time the Doges took the title of Duke of Dalmatia, and little by little the greatness of this new state increased to the point that the seas were covered with its ships during a time when the other nations of Europe, principally Germany, were languishing in the darkness of ignorance and barbarity.

Although the shores of the Rialto were not adorned as today with superb buildings, one found there convenient hostels for the many strangers who came to visit the infant city; the city which already dominated the seas around it. It was in one of these hostels that the Princess of Saxony and Bathilda found lodgings.

The first concern of the princess was to find out, at the hotel where she had stopped, the name of a highly recommended merchant in Venice where she could make use of her letter of credit. She felt that as long as she was in Venice she should make her entrée into the social life of the city. She was told to send word to Signor Bianchi, a rich ship owner, to inform him of the arrival of the Baroness von Neuhaus, who had been recommended to him and to request him to fix a time when that lady could come to see him.

Bianchi did not wait for Adelaide to come to see him; he hastened to go to her rooms. She showed him the letter of credit she had, and disclosed her true identity, telling him the reasons for her incognito, and asking him to guard her secret. The ship owner, a pleasant and attractive man, said that not only would he be her banker, but that he would try to justify the confidences which she had placed in him. Moreover, he would give her all the pleasure which could be found in Venice, by presenting her in the most distinguished gatherings where her beauty would not fail to attract the attention it deserved.

The princess responded to this politeness with the natural grace and dignity of her rank, and promised Bianchi to accept his invitations. Before he left he invited her to dine at his home.

Comfortably installed in their hotel and fearing no danger of any kind, the princess and her companion were able to have a peaceful conversation.

"The chief of the bandits was a very fine man," said the princess. "Who would imagine finding so much nobility in a man of his profession? Since I have been traveling over the face of the earth, I have noticed that passion corrupts the soul of men, but I believe that reflection brings them back into line again; and when a man is really himself, he becomes virtuous."

"But how can we control passions when we are born with them?"

"That is precisely the excuse, my dear Bathilda, of those who abandon themselves to their passions. Everybody is born with them, but they have to be coped with only at certain periods in life. Childhood ignores them and old age does not feel them any more."

"If it is thus, why not, with the help of a good education, watch out for them and destroy them as soon as they appear? Why not put ourselves at adolescence in the state where we will be some forty years later? In that way we could obtain and preserve a lasting tranquility at an early age."

"That would be possible if education could make us know the real meaning of passion; but unfortunately we do not know it until after it has had its effect on us. Passion comes to us with shy and seductive ways. A man who could, if he only knew it, floor this enemy by his own strength, through lack of this knowledge becomes feeble and cannot resist."

"It seems to me, Milady, that you have advanced the theory that man can become master of himself by reflection."

"It is true, but the examples of force are rare, and I put forth here the principle of an almost chimerical perfection. If it were necessary to analyze the motives for many virtuous actions, one would often come to the sad conclusion that they have as their basis only egoism."

"I understand. One could, for example, give a similar motive for the conduct of Krimpser?"

"No, I think that his actions can only be explained by gratitude. But to return to the passions, I will add that they take such complete possession of our soul that they do not let the more virtuous sentiments come in. That ferocious man, to whom a crime means nothing, proved to us that the most uncontrolled passions can be tempered by generosity."

"Ah," said Bathilda, "if he had only extended this feeling to Dourlach by giving him his freedom!"

"I am very sad over his refusal," said the princess, "but Krimpser, in promising me his life, leaves him the hope of coming to Thuringia where he can see me and where I will be able to reward him for the services which he has given me."

Two or three months passed in this way without our two travelers being able to change their situation and without anything important happening to them. During this time of calm, they took long boat rides around Venice, enjoyed the social life and admired the beauty of the city. While they are thus engaged, let's go back to the unhappy Frederick, the man Adelaide has accused of being the cause of all her sorrows.

## Chapter Ten

We have left the Prince of Saxony as prisoner in the fortress of Altenburg, far from his friend Mersburg, who had escaped, as he said, to deliver his master from the imprisonment in which he languished.

The great deeds of arms of the Marquis of Thuringia had succeeded in pushing back the troops of the Emperor who were besieging his capital. As soon as Altenburg was recaptured, the Count of Mersburg and the Marquis of Thuringia rushed to the aid of their sovereign and placed a new garrison in the city which the enemy had abandoned. There was nothing more touching than the interview of these three lords. If, however, Thuringia, not satisfied with the way Frederick had conducted himself with Adelaide, was a little cool towards his master, and Mersburg a little false; there was no doubt about the genuineness of the feeling of Frederick when he embraced his two liberators. He was unstinted in his praise of Thuringia for his heroism and his leadership. The marquis, however, was using all his efforts to get the prince to take over again the reins of government. Mersburg, too, agreed with Thuringia; but the two of them were unable to convince him of his duty in this respect. He spoke of the regrets he had at the way he had treated Adelaide and that he was even more eager to find her in order to get her forgiveness which was so necessary for his tranquility of mind. Nothing could turn him aside in his wish to carry through this search for his wife. In consequence he asked the count to follow him, and the latter having accepted, less through real liking than through a wish to further his plans for the future, the two men left on their mission. Louis of Thuringia took up again the scepter which had been left to him, and our two knights took up their adventures again followed by the same squire who had been with them before. They headed toward Mainz and in a few weeks were settled in this town.

There were in Mainz during this time, many people who had just returned from the famous fair in Frankfort and in talking to these people, the two knights heard the story of the Margrave of Baden and of a beautiful Saxon woman whom he had taken off to his castle. The prince tried to get the people, who had told the story, to tell him the name of the Saxon woman; but they had never heard it. Jealousy immediately came to the heart of Frederick and he resolved to do all he could to find the true identity of this woman.

"My friend," he said to the count, "I have no doubt about this being my wife. She must have yielded to the margrave and has become his mistress. Let's go to Baden immediately and let's challenge this man who has made me unhappy."

Mersburg opposed this project immediately.

"You have no idea whatsoever about whether this is your wife or not."

"No, I admit, I have only a suspicion."

"In that case, what can you accomplish with the margrave? You will only dishonor her and yourself by your suspicions."

"No, at least I will calm myself. Let's go to Baden and find out all we can. It may be that we can find the thread which will lead us to her."

"That is a possibility, but I think that it will be a useless trip."

Nothing could calm the jealousy of Frederick and all through the trip to Baden, he was raging in his heart.

When they arrived, all they heard about was the adventure of the margrave and the beautiful Saxon woman and about her escape. A price had been put on the head of the Baron of Dourlach by the margrave and he had promised a handsome reward for the person who would bring back the two fugitives. This news had come to Krimpser, who was eager to get in the good graces of the margrave and having kept the young man with this in mind, he had sent him back to Baden to get the punishment which the margrave was holding for him. In committing this treacherous act, he had not, however, in any way betrayed the hiding place of Adelaide and he continued to say that he did not have the slightest idea about where the two women had gone. The violent margrave, not being able to get his vengeance on Adelaide concentrated on Dourlach and according to the people the baron had disappeared. Thus the thread was broken.

Such was the state of things when Frederick arrived in Baden.

"Didn't I tell you that the trip would be useless?" Mersburg said when they had heard all that. "There would be no point in going to see the margrave since he does not know any more than you do. He knows that he has lost a woman whom he loved, but he does not know who that woman was, and he will certainly not reveal how much she meant to him nor how far he went with her."

"That is right," said Frederick, "but the trace is not as lost as you think. We know that Dourlach, arrested by the brigand Krimpser, has known the beautiful Saxon woman. We may be able to get some information from the bandit."

"Prince," said Mersburg, "you have to be very jealous and very much in love to go as far as you suggest. I do not speak of the dangers which are very grave, but I do speak of the humiliation. Think about how you will be lowering yourself to ask that thief what has become of your wife. You who purge your states of bandits, is it to a man of his type that you are going to find out what has become of the woman who shares your throne? Oh, my Prince, people are right to say that passion has no shame. What will you do in the bandit's lair, if he receives you badly?"

"I shall be very careful not to tell him who I am, and as for the way he receives me, I shall reward him if he receives me well, and I shall have him exterminated if he receives me badly."

Mersburg wanted to answer, but realizing that it was useless, he said nothing and followed his master.

The two travelers were stopped at the foot of the mountain by the satellites of the bandit. They said they were Bavarians and that they had come to this neighborhood in order to discuss a matter of great importance with the illustrious Krimpser. They were obliged to spend the night under the trees where they were guarded by six men. The next morning a man was sent to Krimpser to tell him that three Bavarian gentlemen requested the honor of speaking with him. After a while the ambassador came back saying that they could not obtain this favor unless they were unarmed.

"You see how you are being humiliated," said Mersburg. "I warned you about this."

"And suppose we refuse to disarm?" said Frederick.

"Well, in that case, you will not see our general and we will be obliged to put you in our dungeons," said the man.

"If that is the type of adventures you promised me," said Mersburg to Frederick, "you will have to admit that it would have been better if I had never left home."

They were forced to make up their minds at once since the laws of Krimpser would not allow very long delays.

"Let's go to him," said Frederick laying aside his arms, an example which the other two followed. "What brings me here," said the prince, "is too important for my happiness not to sacrifice even honor."

"You will not lose your honor," said the one who was in charge of taking them to the bandit. "Your arms will be returned to you as soon as the interview is over. One is not dishonored by bowing before the man who makes half of Europe tremble."

They arrived in the reception room of Krimpser who was lying on a pile of arms. He did not get up and even insisted that his visitors remain standing with their heads bare. He first asked them many questions before he listened to what they had to say. Finally Frederick was able to ask him some questions. Here Krimpser although faithful to the laws of honor and gratitude, used a few ruses to carry out some orders which had been given him and for which he had certainly received much money.

"Sir," he said to Frederick whom he had recognized, "the one you are seeking is your wife, isn't she?"

"She is the woman who reigns over my heart and for the last two years in her name I have been fighting the traitors and the scoundrels of society."

"In that case, I would advise you to change the object of your affections. She is not worthy of them. If I had not had proofs of this weakness, I would not have kept her so long."

"You are a cad and you will pay for that lie."

"Don't question me if you do not want me to tell you the truth, and do not lack respect for me if you don't want me to take away from you the means of showing it. Believe me that I am not the only one who has had your Saxon beauty. When she arrived here she was already the mistress of Dourlach who had taken her away from the Margrave of Baden with whom she had lived in the greatest intimacy."

Frederick was in a furious mood and was going to throw himself on the pile of arms on which the bandit was sitting to grab a sword, but Mersburg held him and was able to calm him after a few moments.

"Was that all you wanted to find out from me?" asked Krimpser with insolence.

"No," said Frederick, "I would like to know what has become of this woman whose fate interests me so much. Does she still languish in your infamous den or have you given her her liberty?"

"She is no longer here and I believe she is in Dalmatia."

"Has she gone to Venice?"

"Perhaps," said Krimpser, "but all your questions tire me. Soldiers, take these people away. You will give them back their arms at the foot of the mountain, and what becomes of them then is of no importance."

There was nothing to answer to this and everything took place as the bandit had ordered. The three men went on their road to Brixen where they spent the night.

There as one can easily imagine, Frederick was upset by the revelations he had just heard and he could not rest. He was bored by the stupid consolations of Pitreman and he was irritated by the reproaches of the count. He decided to take a walk in the neighborhood of the inn where they were spending the night and which was located on the edge of the town.

The night was very black, and the prince, who like most people when they are occupied with their thoughts, did not notice where he was walking until he found himself in an uneven section of ground and he noticed that there were tombstones. His walk had taken him to the cemetery.

"Alas," he said to himself, "this is the place where I must stay. Chance has brought me here and does it not seem like an order? After all what do I have left in the world after having lost the heart and the person of the one I adore? Why should I leave this place in order to expose myself to new misfortunes? Adelaide, I must die here since I shall never see you again, and since if I did find you, I could only think of your infidelities. Ah, my suspicions did not deceive me when they fell on Kaunitz; but why should I have had assassinated the one she preferred? The blood of this young man is still on my conscience. I see his shadow still following me through this sinister habitation of the dead."

Suddenly a flash of lightning brightened the heavens and thunder grumbled on the tips of the mountains and more flashes lighted up the valleys. The clouds piled up in heavy masses and made the black obscurity even more frightful. The violent crashes of the lightning became more frequent and the streaks of fire crossed the heavens in all directions. At this moment the earth shook and the graves opened up. One might have said that they were like mouths cursing the sky for the death which it was sending down to the earth.

"Crush me," yelled Frederick to the lightning, "hasten to have me join the unfortunate ones who are resting here. Let my criminal remains be purified, if it is possible, but being close to the innocent bodies of those who have been buried here. If Heaven is just, in compensation for the troubles I have had, may it deign to pardon those I have caused."

Frederick, haggard, kept on with this soliloquy. He was the image of the sinner who was unable to stop the fury of God who shows his anger and his power at times to us mortals.

Suddenly, he stopped because he thought he saw a shadow in one of the graves which had been opened up by the earthquake. He tried to penetrate the darkness with his eyes, but was unable.

"Don't you know me?" asked a deep voice. "Have you forgotten the one at Amsterdam who was able to foretell such true things? I have come here to finish my days and I am going to speak to you again. Your misfortunes are not over, Frederick, undergo them with courage. Continue your search among the people of Padua, there you will find your wife again."

At these words, the shadow disappeared and soon the storm ceased and the prince, frightened at what he had just heard, left quickly to rejoin those who had been uneasy because of his absence. He did not say a word about his adventure.

"I am more anxious than ever to push on to Venice," he said to them. "I have a feeling that I will see the one I love there, and I want to succeed or die in the attempt."

## Chapter Eleven

In the meantime, Adelaide, still not daring to return to Saxony where her love and her duty called her, thought that she should at least amuse herself in this city which seemed to offer all the necessary things to calm the nerves. Bianchi took her to all the best houses and introduced her under her pseudonym as she wished.

In a society where men were so galant, it was natural that she should attract much attention with such a beautiful face and such a striking figure.

It is a fairly well-known fact that Venice kept up her rank as one of the outstanding cities of olden times by the severity and mysterious nature of her government. Secrecy was the soul of government in those days and even when a state was just about to fall, it never appeared likely to outsiders.

Venice in the eleventh century was still in its infancy, but this principle of government was already an integral part of its success. It had already got the reputation for uncovering the many plots which were hatched there and of punishing the offenders without mercy. In those days society was divided into two parts, those supporting the government and those against it. It was not possible to go from one group to the other.

Adelaide had heard about this custom, and since she did not wish to associate with any of her countrymen, she soon became linked with one of the two factions. Since it was Bianchi who was introducing her to society, she naturally fell into his group. She was taken by Bianchi to the house of Senator Anthony Contarino, a nephew of the doge who was at that time reigning in the Republic of Venice.

This young man was not yet chained by the bonds of matrimony and was living with his mother, the sister of the doge. Witty and gifted by all the graces of nature, Anthony did not fail to make known to the princess the sentiments which she inspired in him, but which he kept within the narrow limits of the rules of decency. Adelaide, who felt the need of society, was far from suspecting the dangers of such a group, and since she wanted to remain in good standing, did not reject completely the homages of the young Contarino. She was persuaded that her experience with men in general and her love for the Marquis of Thuringia could safeguard her against anything dangerous with this young man. She thought of it as a little love game without any serious consequences.

In the midst of the simple and honest pleasures which this society offered, the princess was able to see that there were some more serious occupations which caused groups of people to gather at the senator's house in secret.

"Anthony," she said one day to the nephew of the doge, "if you want me to believe in the sincerity of your sentiments, you will have to give me your confidence. Tell me, who are these serious faced individuals who come to disturb our games? What are they doing here in your house?"

"I find it rather odd that such things interest you," answered Anthony. "I must confess, however, that I have found it more healthy not to know about such things. If, however, you insist on knowing what it is all about, I shall try to find out."

"If this secret is of great importance, then I am taking chances, it seems to me, by coming to the same place where they are having their meetings. As I don't want to get mixed up in all that, I think it is better for me not to know anything about it. I had better leave."

But Anthony, very much in love with Adelaide, tried to head her off.

"No, divine creature," he said to her holding her arm. "Do not leave me thus. If it is useful to your happiness to know our secret, I feel that it is even more necessary to my happiness to have your confidence. In telling you this secret I become a traitor to the others, and I do so only with the idea of attaching you to me for life. The fate of Venice is the prize offered for your affection. Let your heart be appreciated by you yourself, Milady, and see if it is worth the lives of my fellow citizens."

"The balance is too unequal, Sir," said Adelaide. "What you want is too far from what it is necessary to sacrifice and although you might esteem me worth the sacrifice, I am not of the same opinion. From this moment I must cease to see you. I would have sworn not to betray the man I love, but I cannot make any such promises for a man who does not mean anything to me when this revelation might interest the fate of a city which is today my refuge. However, you may be tranquil, Anthony. You will be neither betrayed nor loved. I will remain in the most complete indifference with respect to you and the secret which cannot be mine."

Anthony wanted to hold Adelaide back, but it was in vain. She hastily went to her gondola and went home before Contarino even had time to work out in his mind whether he had acted badly or not.

Scarcely had twenty-four hours passed when Anthony wanted to see the one he loved, and a dinner, which his mother was giving, furnished the occasion. Adelaide was invited and on leaving the table, the conversation of the day before was renewed between the two of them.

"You require one thing of me, Milady," said Anthony to Adelaide, "a thing on which depends the fate of the Republic and of my family. Before, I tried to make it somewhat an exchange arrangement in which you were going to give me certain rights and privileges. I realize the mistake of such a procedure and now I am asking you for nothing at all. I am going to tell you the secret and I feel that it is entirely safe with you."

"One moment, Anthony," interrupted Adelaide, "what I have said has not been understood by you. I said that I could not give you any right over me because I am not free to give any such privileges. That was why I said I could promise you nothing in exchange for the secret. I have said, however, that if you showed yourself worthy of my friendship by putting the trust in me, I would consider your secret as sacred. That is all I have promised and that is all I can do."

"If this secret concerned only me, Milady," said the young senator, "I would consider myself recompensed by the friendship of my family and of my country. You will see that this gives it a more serious nature."

"Yes, I admit that what you are giving me is more than what I am giving you. It is up to you to accept an unequal exchange."

"I am ready to tell you everything." Here the doors were closed carefully and Anthony took Adelaide to a corner of the room where he said to her in a whisper:

"It is a plot to overthrow the government. It is only right that in telling you the details that you become a member of the group and that you take the oath which they have already pronounced."

"I agree to that and you see, Anthony, that in doing so I am giving something in return for telling me the secret."

"If you betray us, we will all perish together. I am associating you with my death, and this idea frightens me. Thus you see, I am making the highest sacrifice for your friendship."

"You appreciate badly the sentiment which I have if you do not put it higher than friendship."

"But where will it take me?"

"Don't make me repeat what I said about being free. Come now, what is the oath which you want me to repeat?"

"To love me with the most tender love."

"You know I can't say anything like that," said Adelaide as she moved away with the thought that she would never come back to this house again.

"No," cried the senator holding her, "sign your name to this oath and I will tell you everything."

"I swear never to reveal what is going to be confided in me and to perform all things which are ordered me. I swear to make the sacrifice of my life if one can ever prove that I have betrayed those to whom I am linked."

"And now I am associated with the crime," said Adelaide a little troubled after putting down the pen with which she signed the name she used in Venice.

"No, it is not a crime, Milady, but the triumph of virtue. Our country is groaning under tyranny, and it is necessary to deliver it. My uncle, the doge, who is governing today, consents to taking the reins of government all by himself if the state can be rid of the oppressing members of the council who are the tyrants of the country. All of the members of the council will perish tomorrow, and it is on their ashes that my family will rise. Contarino, who begins the dynasty of the sovereign doges, will leave me the scepter after his death and I will offer it to you and you will reign with me."

"I do not wish to reign and I do not want to cause the flow of blood. I do not engage myself here to either of these things; but I will keep your secret, it will never be betrayed by me. I swear it to you again. I am sorry for the feeble and unpardonable curiosity which will repair this fault. That is all I promise."

"And what about this friendship so precious to me and so capable of rewarding me for all I lose?"

"I am giving it to you, but my dear Anthony, let me say that you are not really worthy of it."

"Why is that?"

"No matter how good or how bad a government may be, it is at the same time the work and the image of Heaven. No subject can overthrow it without being guilty of a crime. If he tries to do this, he outrages in the government which he attacks the authority which he should respect and the celestial power which surrounds it. And he who attacks, can he do so without destroying himself? And the men whom he sacrifices in changing the government, are they not as precious as his ambition and his caprices? Analyze the reason which causes any man to trouble the government under which he lives and you will see that he is acting only because of selfish interests. It is not the good of the people he has in mind, but his own advancement. Now I ask you to what point is a man guilty who causes the misfortune of others only in order to make himself happier. Who can say that the state of things which he wishes to substitute will be better than the one which he is destroying. How much greater will his wrongs be if he is mistaken."

"The republican state is evil," said the nephew of the doge.

"And what about the race of the rulers who will take its place, will it not also have its vices?"

"They are the vices of a single man; they are less to be feared than those of the people."

"That may be," answered Adelaide, "but that does not prevent me from saying to you that it is not up to us to decide which is the best type of government. We should only follow with docility the one which Heaven has caused to be created in Venice and respect the hands which hold the reins of government. When you do not respect this situation, you are wrong, and I shall never take part in such wrong doing. Anthony, I have promised to respect your secret, it will not be betrayed; but do not require me to go beyond that, I would be deceiving you in promising it."

At this moment several of the conspirators appeared.

"Let's separate," said Anthony, "remember your oaths and be here tomorrow before daybreak."

Adelaide left without answering and went to reflect on these matters with her faithful companion. She had the idea that it would be best to leave Venice immediately, but Bathilda advised her not to do that saying that anybody who fled would be considered to be guilty.

"If the things succeed," said this wise friend, "those who consider you to be one of their friends, fearing that you might reveal one day the secrets of their plan, will seek you out and destroy you. On the other hand, if the plan fails, your flight from the city will immediately put you in the camp with the traitors. I am afraid that your curiosity may get us into some serious trouble."

"I realize that I have made a blunder," said Adelaide. "It may be too late to do anything about it. What do you advise me to do?"

"Take your chances with the senator and go tomorrow as you have promised."

Adelaide got up early the next morning with the idea of carrying out the plan when she saw from the window that some guards were surrounding the house. Three of them came up the steps, their faces almost hidden by the ample cloaks which they wore.

"Milady," said one of these men, "are you not acquainted with the young Senator Contarino?"

"I see his mother quite often, but I hardly know the son."

"I am afraid that your Ladyship is not telling the truth. Here is a paper written in your hand which proves the contrary of what you are saying."

Adelaide threw a glance at the paper and recognized the oath which she had signed the day before. She lowered her eyes and her profound silence was her only reply.

"Did you not realize," continued the man, "that you were running a serious danger in consenting to such a criminal association?"

"Yes, I realized that."

"I can only prove it to you this way," said the same man pulling from under his coat the bloody head of the unfortunate Anthony. "You see, Milady, what one risks in Venice in taking part in plots of this type. All of your accomplices have just undergone the same fate. Follow me."

"Am I going to a like punishment?"

"That is to be judged later."

The unhappy Adelaide did not doubt that her last hour had arrived. She had enough presence of mind, however, to ask permission to take Bathilda along with her and the guards having consented, three new guards conducted the two women to a gondola which soon took them to the Palace of the Doges. They were escorted along long corridors and down an infinite number of stairs until they arrived at a large room where three bodies were hanging from the ceiling.

Two senators were seated in this room. One of them ordered the princess to examine the bodies carefully and to see if she recognized them as friends of the young Contarino. Adelaide, in spite of her repugnance, examined very carefully these beings whose heads were not disfigured too much for their features to have lost their identity. After examination she said she had never seen those three men before.

"It is very fortunate that your report is similar to theirs," said one of the senators, "your place was beside them. Guards, do your duty."

Adelaide and her companion were taken to one of the dungeons situated in the lowest part of the palace. These dungeons are well known in that the poor prisoners suffer intensely from the heat during the summer and then from the cold in winter. It is very rare that a person survived more than a year in these cells which had no furniture. On the other hand, the prisoners were well fed.

"You should give thanks to God," said the jailer locking them in, "yes, you should thank Him that instead of being hanged, as you have merited, you can end your days peacefully here."

"But," asked Adelaide, "can I at least see my adviser or friends?"

"Write out your request," said the jailer, "and I will take it to the Senate. It will be acted on there."

Taking advantage of the kindness of the man, Adelaide asked that she be allowed to see Bianchi and he appeared a week later.

He begged the princess to forgive him for having taken her into such a house and told her that the only way to get out of her present situation was to tell her real name.

The princess agreed to this and Bianchi hastened to the Senate where he told them the importance of their prisoner. Immediately one of the members of this august assembly, followed by Bianchi, went to the cell where the two women were and received from the princess the declaration of her titles and also her statement that she had been guilty in the unfortunate affair only of an imprudent curiosity.

"... which was natural in a woman like me," she continued, "since I was born to reign. I was glad to know about all the plots which the wickedness and insubordination of man prepare in these troubled times."

The Princess of Saxony was taken back to her hotel where she was allowed to stay as long as her affairs should require and she took up again her incognito.

The shock of this whole affair had been terrible in Venice. More than four hundred people had perished in different types of torture. And since there was so much disorder and tumult in the city and in the surrounding country Adelaide considered it prudent to stay in her hotel. After things calmed down a little, the senator who had released Adelaide from prison came to offer her the society of his home, in assuring her that she would not have to run the same dangers she had undergone in the house of the Contarinos. Adelaide consented and shortly after this the great city became calm and tranquil.

The approach of the carnival finished calming all the hot tempers and these people, frivolous and gay, although often thoughtful and profound, ran to the ball forgetting the scaffold. And that is the story of all men; the thorns of life disappear when the roses bloom.

## Chapter Twelve

Such was the revolutionary whirlwind during which Frederick and Mersburg entered Venice and went to an inn fairly close to the hotel which Adelaide occupied.

It is sad to look for one that you love, to look with so much care and difficulty and to have that person so near and yet not to be able to go and throw oneself in her arms because of not knowing that she is near.

Everybody knows about the strange things that the Venetians do during the carnival, and what is unusual is that the customs of that period are fantastic in that they are done without any real emotion. What is more strange than to see the most serious people of the city, priests, nobles, senators, the most respected old men, the most chaste women, go through the streets and canals in disguise? They go through this without giving up their serious nature and without changing their ideas on life. Thus it is neither in the mind nor in acts that gaiety lies; it is in the clothing. These good citizens are only wild because they are masked; take off the domino and the Harlequin costume and they will immediately revert to type.

Frederick from his inn, and Adelaide from her hotel wanted to take part in the festival, and so both set out without suspecting that the other was in the city, and even if they had met they would not have recognized each other.

However, Frederick had learned, since his arrival in Venice that there was a Saxon woman who had taken part in the revolution, and he had a suspicion that it was his wife. Unfortunately, Adelaide had made it hard for him to find her. Except for the shipper and a few illustrious persons of the government nobody knew her real name and she had asked these people to keep her identity secret.

Frederick kept working on this clue, and in time he learned that there was a Saxon woman who lived at the Rialto, but her name and place of birth were unknown. He called at the hotels in that neighborhood; but Adelaide had already foreseen any such requests for information, and she had left instructions to say if anybody asked for her to say that she had recently left for Germany.

Frederick did not give up immediately. He thought that if Adelaide were in Venice that he would see her in time by staying on the streets as much as possible. Since it was carnival time, it would be hard to recognize her, but he kept on and in time he was somewhat successful.

Since Adelaide was taller than the other women of Venice, this would always give Frederick a clue and one day he noticed in the middle of Saint Mark's Square a group of admirers surrounding a woman whose beauty was the subject of conversation of all. He pushed his way through the crowd and found the woman talking with the wife of the shipper. Frederick spoke to her in German. Adelaide hesitated for a moment and then answered in Italian assuring him that she only spoke that language. At that moment, Mersburg, who was with the prince, drew near Adelaide and took her by the hand and said to her in Italian:

"Watch out for the man who is speaking to you."

Adelaide knew then that it was her husband and continuing to speak in Italian and changing her voice she said that she could not stand people who spoke to her in a language she couldn't understand. Mersburg translated these words to Frederick who immediately cried out in German:

"It is she, my friend, it is she. I will not leave her until she has been unmasked."

Mersburg who pretended to translate this message into Italian told the princess to escape as quickly as possible, that her husband was furious and that he would almost certainly have her put in irons.

At this moment the wife of the shipper who understood the situation, made a sign to several of the young men who composed the group. They ran up in such a way that they separated the two women from Frederick and enabled them to escape into a narrow street. They soon found a gondola which took them home.

Frederick was greatly upset to lose sight of the woman he believed to be Adelaide and at the same time his jealousy was stimulated at the thought that all these men were so much impressed by her that they followed her around.

"My friend," he said to Mersburg, "do you believe there is a more curious situation in the world?"

"I don't see it as such," said Mersburg with the greatest sangfroid. "This woman is not Adelaide. Let's question these people and we will see if I am mistaken."

"Gentlemen," he said to several young men, "could you tell us why all of you are so much interested in this women. My friend and I have not noticed anything special about her which would require so much attention."

"You have certainly not seen her with her face uncovered," answered one of the men. "She is the most beautiful woman in Europe."

"Do you know who she is?"

As Mersburg was fairly sure what the answer would be, he asked one of the men to tell Frederick in German.

"This woman," said one of them in very poor German, "is an adventuress from Naples who has come here to make her fortune, and she picked the right time because the season is especially good for women of that kind. She is as beautiful as she is heedless. She was mixed up with the Contarini in the plot to overthrow the government. She was about to lose her life, but she was able to leave the prison through the influence of the rival of Contarino, who has become her lover. The first one lost her, the second one saved her. I am sorry, but I cannot tell you more. It is forbidden in Venice to talk about affairs of state, and perhaps we have already talked too much."

They disappeared.

"Well, my Prince," said the count smiling, "you see well that you were wrong. Would your wife have taken part in such a plot to overthrow the government? Would she be the type to play around with these young men? Whatever be her wrongs, you will agree that she is incapable of all that."

"There is only one thing I agree to, my friend," said Frederick impetuously, "it is that the woman we have just seen is Adelaide. I admit also that she is unfaithful to me and that I adore her and hate her at the same time, and if she had not fled, I would have stabbed her while falling on my knees in front of her. In my despairing love, I would plunge the dagger into that traitorous heart, the altar from which the false vows of matrimony have come."

"You are carried away by your emotions, Prince," said Mersburg... "Let's move on now, people are looking at us and your violence is causing comment."

"I will follow you. You are right. I am no longer myself. I turn myself over to you; do with me as you wish, and if you would end this life, it would be the greatest service you could do me."

The next day, Frederick, a little more calm, wanted to continue his search, and it was to the home of the shipper that he wanted to go. The count tried to keep him from going there, but without succeeding. They were in the midst of discussing this point when the prince received the following letter:

The one you seek is in Venice and is very anxious to see you, but I do not know where she lives. Have yourself taken two miles along the Brenta canal; I will try to be there. Our gondoliers will bring our two gondolas together as you will see. Not a word to anybody; the slightest indiscretion might cause everything to go wrong.

Frederick, not believing that his friend should be excluded from this confidence, showed him the note.

"What do you think of that?" said the prince. "Well, you see you were in error in not believing that she was in Venice. She is here, my dear Count, she is here, and I must see her at any price."

The Count of Mersburg did not fail to tell the prince that he thought that only scorn should be shown to such anonymous documents. But since Frederick had made a firm resolution not to leave Venice without finding the one he believed to be there, nothing could turn him from carrying out the project which this note suggested.

At the time agreed upon, the two Saxons got into their gondola and had themselves taken to the place which had been designated. Hardly had they reached this place when they heard gondoliers singing a barcarolle and soon there was an answer from another gondola. In a few instants the two boats were side by side... Heavens! What an object appeared before the eyes of a loving husband! A coffin filled the middle part of the gondola; two priests were praying beside it and a person who was hidden in such a way that his face could not be perceived threw the following note into the prince's gondola:

This is the Fate of the Princess of Saxony and the punishment which the Republic reserves for those who conspire against her. You saw her yesterday for the last time; she was arrested and taken to the place of her punishment. Profit by the example; the severity which has fallen on the wife might easily fall on the husband. Don't be in Venice tomorrow, and if you wish to destroy the Republic of Venice, you will have to come with your troops and not try to overthrow it by plots.

While Frederick was reading this fatal note, the two gondolas separated and each was soon out of sight of the other.

It took all of Mersburg's strength to prevent Frederick from throwing himself into the sea. He wanted to expire, he said, on the coffin of the only being he adored in the world.

"Let's flee, Prince," cried the count, "it is the only thing left for us to do. Think about your people and do not expose yourself to danger. Posterity would not pardon you the weakness of dying for a woman who has given you so much cause to hate her."

But love does not listen to reason, and anything attempted to extinguish it only makes it more intense. The despair of the prince was frightful.

"I will never see again the one I loved," he cried throwing himself out of the bed which had been prepared for him on his return to the inn. "I am losing her forever. The wrongs which I have committed toward her are irreparable. Oh, Mersburg, you want me to go back to a throne which I no longer share with her. What interest would all that have for me since I have lost the one who made me want it. It was only over her heart that I wanted to rule. I have lost her and I must follow her. These insolent people defy me. Well, it will be on them that I will cause to fall the effects of my just vengeance. They want war; I will give it to them. I want this country to be reduced to cinders and it will be under the ruins of its proud buildings that I will bury the one they have snatched from me."

Meanwhile preparations were made for the rapid departure of the prince when an individual brought another note. The prince opened it hurriedly and read what follows:

The woman with whom you sought to speak the other day in Saint Mark's Square has the greatest desire to carry on this conversation. Come this evening to the same place and you will meet her. She will be alone and you can talk to her at leisure.

"It is only too true, Mersburg," said the prince, "that they want me to go crazy in this detestable city. What does all that mean? If the woman on Saint Mark's Square was the princess, as I have never doubted, the princess was not in the coffin which we saw on the canal yesterday. And if she were in the coffin, then this note could not have been written for her."

"I don't see how your love can be blind to such a degree," said Mersburg, "that you cannot see through all this. It is only too true that the princess was mixed up in the conspiracy which has just agitated this city and that it is she that the Republic has punished in the frightful manner which your eyes have seen yesterday. As for this note, it is from the adventuress from Naples, and you have heard her described as such by the young men who were there."

"But this so-called Neopolitan has been taken away under our eyes, and you know that the one taken away was the Princess of Saxony going to her punishment."

"Two women could have been taken away at the same instant," said the count, "and you know that the Republic would proceed in such matters with the greatest discretion."

"So be it, but I want to get some more information about this frightful mystery. The wisest would become crazy and I am not strong enough to stand so many cruel alternatives."

"You are going to do something imprudent, Prince," answered the count, "and which might cost you dearly. Since you wish it, I agree to stay with you, but only on condition that if nothing is cleared up tomorrow, we will leave Venice immediately."

Frederick promised and went to the rendezvous.

No woman similar to the one that he was seeking appeared, but a man taking off his mask came up to the prince and said in an insolent fashion:

"You will be a dead man if you are still in Venice tomorrow morning."

"Well," said Mersburg, "once more will you believe what I told you?"

"She really is dead then," cried the prince withdrawing with the count. "I have lost her forever. I feel sure of that now."

"Oh, my dear Prince," said Mersburg seeming to share the grief of his master. "Let's cease to be blind about this misfortune. Man is like that, he will not accept the hand of fate when it rests on his shoulder... Let's leave, Prince, in order that I not have to deplore on returning to our dear country the painful loss of both of those persons who brought so much happiness to it. It seems to me that the sword is hanging over you and it should not be by the hands of executioners that the sovereign of Saxony must perish."

After a frightful night, Frederick finally consented to leave and the next day, Mersburg and he spent the night in Trieste and from there they went on to Germany.

## Chapter Thirteen

One can easily imagine that Adelaide, busy with the task of escaping from a husband whom she suspected of wanting to do her harm had no part in all that had just happened. She had indeed been at Saint Mark's Square with the wife of the shipper the day Frederick had come up to her and she had escaped quickly from that place. But none of the subsequent events had been known by her. All she did from then on was to try to find out what her husband was going to do and to try to oppose him in any way possible.

One day Signora Bianchi brought the following letter from Mersburg:

You have just escaped a great danger, Milady, and I dare to say, without trying to gain any merit in your eyes, that your tranquility is due almost entirely to me. Your husband wanted to have you abducted and making use of the influence he had in the Senate, he was going to take you back to prison in Saxony. You are the most unfortunate of women with such a husband. You cannot imagine the tricks I had to use in order to keep you from falling into his hands; I will explain all that to you at some other time. You may be pleased to know that we are leaving Venice and when you receive these words, we will be on our way. Be certain that I will not leave the prince. Will you now follow the advice which my conduct and my faithfulness to you oblige me to give you? Go back to Saxony. The Marquis of Thuringia, separated from you for too long a time, desires your return with impatience. Your husband and I will be there when you return; but do not fear anything from him as long as I will be with him. To serve you in all ways and to preserve you from all dangers will be my only duty and occupation. It is time to break your fetters and to be happy once more; but there are some precautions to take first, and I believe you will approve of what I have in mind. Come then without losing a minute. Your husband believes you are dead, and he is weeping over you; I thought it was a good plan to throw him off the track. If your sudden appearance dries his tears and returns him to his former fury, I will be there to defend you. His injustice will give more strength to the Marquis of Thuringia and we will be able to take you away from that barbarian. Do not fear him any more and appear without fail. Come to Fredericksburg as though you were a foreigner and let me know the moment you appear and leave the rest to me.

"Well, Bathilda," said Adelaide in showing her the letter, "what do you think about what he has written me?"

"Mersburg confirms what I have always thought of him, Milady, that you did not have a better friend in the world. As for the advice he gave you, as long as he guarantees that it is all right, I think you should follow it. In that way you at least will be nearer to the person you love, and it is time to break with the one who has caused you so much unhappiness. Besides, this life of adventure which we are leading has been full of dangers, and our good luck cannot keep on forever."

Another uneasiness worried the princess. She feared meeting her husband on the way if she followed him at once, and if she did not give the count time to prepare things in Fredericksburg they might not work out right.

"Then, Milady," said Bathilda, "let him take a few days lead. But let's not stay in Venice. Let's go to the first agreeable city to spend some time in order to let your husband get well ahead of you."

As soon as possible they left Venice and started on their way through Bavaria. They found that the roads were in awful shape and on several occasions had to cross streams which threatened to sweep their carriage from the road.

On one occasion as they were going along a narrow road which had a cliff on one side and a frightful precipice on the other, another carriage appeared. It seemed to be in a hurry and it looked as if the powerful horses which were rushing forward would knock their little carriage off the road. Adelaide was terrified. Her own horses became frightened now and although the other carriage had stopped, it looked as if all the danger would come from her own steeds which had begun to run rapidly along the dangerous road. The slightest pebble might have precipitated them to their destruction. All seemed lost when a man appeared from the other carriage and at a great risk of losing his own life jumped at the bridles of the two horses and succeeded in bringing them to a stop and in calming their excitement. The danger was suddenly over. What was the surprise of Adelaide in recognizing her liberator. It was Dourlach!

"What! Dourlach... Yes, it is he," cried the princess.

"Oh, Milady," said Dourlach recognizing Adelaide, "what is this new piece of good luck that I have. After having saved you from the fury of the margrave, I have the privilege of saving you in another perilous situation."

Adelaide threw herself into the arms of such a dear friend; "It is you, you whom I thought the margrave had punished with the worst kind of death. How delightful it is to find that you are still living. You must have thought that I did not treat you right at Krimpser's."

"No, I knew that you had to act as you did... But let's hurry to leave this dangerous road. The town of Regensburg is very near here and I am going there to visit a sister who will be only too happy to see you. Permit me to take you there and then once in safety, I can tell you of the events which have given me my freedom from the margrave and the means of being of service to you now."

They soon reached a river where a boat offered to the travelers a surer way of reaching Regensburg than that of the horrible roads.

They were soon at the home of Dourlach's sister who had married well in that town. After a very agreeable reception and some hours of refreshments and conversation, Dourlach told Adelaide and Bathilda that having been sent by Krimpser to the margrave, the latter after having wished to kill him and after having spread the rumor that he was dead, had suddenly changed his mind and released him on condition that he look for the Baroness of Neuhaus through all of Germany and to bring her to him as soon as he found her. But he, having no desire to carry out such a project, had come to live with his sister. He had written the margrave resigning his positions with him and asked him to try to find somebody else who could perform that task which was so repugnant to him.

"And it was just through a bit of luck," he added, "that I had some business to attend to in a nearby town and it was the short trip which has made it possible for me to meet you again and to renew the hope of persuading you to be mine."

"My dear Baron," said Adelaide, "sit here for a moment beside me and listen carefully."

Bathilda wished to retire, but her mistress kept her there.

"I am placed in a position which obliges me to state some things clearly and to explain to you just why I must act in a certain way. I owe you my life, my dear Dourlach, I know it and without this life what could I offer to a lover who already possesses my heart? Nothing without doubt. And this reasoning which I make to myself, you can make also and I can find nothing to object to. This life which you have saved belongs to you, take it; but if you are generous enough to let me have it, you must realize that it can never be linked to yours in any way except through friendship and gratitude. Some indissoluble oaths on one hand and some bonds on the other, have set up some insurmountable barriers between us."

"Ah, Milady," cried Dourlach with an accent of despair, "you are married and you have a lover; I see it all."

"I have more. I have in this moment a friend, and it is you, Dourlach, you are a friend to whom I would like to sacrifice everything... but I cannot. The oaths I have made represent all the happiness I can ever hope for; the bonds represent the torments of my life, but duty keeps me from breaking them. You may require of me anything which I can accord you without crime, and I assure you that I will try to fulfill my obligations to you."

"Nothing, Milady," cried out Dourlach in anguish, "and I can assure you that I am the most unhappy of men."

"One is never the most unhappy of men as long as one has a sincere friend and I assure you that I am your friend for life."

Since the unhappy Dourlach seemed too unconsolable, Adelaide finally admitted to him that things were not right in her own life and that she needed his moral support.

"You are unhappy, Milady? With how many torments you tear my heart."

Adelaide at this instant told him who she really was.

"Milady," said the baron throwing himself to his knees before her, "your titles do not increase my love, but they do not take anything away from it, and the one who adored the Baroness of Neuhaus will devote the rest of his life to serving the Princess of Saxony."

"I give to you all the loving qualities which a friend can expect from a friend. Misfortunes have caused me to leave my court for some time. I am now returning and I hope you will come with me and enjoy the rights which friendship gives you to my affection. You know to what point princes need such a consolation, it is so rare on the throne... Swear to me that I will always find it in you."

The unhappy baron threw himself on his knees again and swore to her that as long as she lived, his heart, which she could not accept, would be devoted to her.

After this touching scene, a calm came to both of them, and Dourlach and his sister from that time on spent all their time trying to make their royal visitor happy in their home.

After a little more than a week at Regensburg, the princess said to Dourlach that it was necessary for her to move on. The baron, far from being cured of his deep love for the princess, had learned to love her even more during this period and at the thought of her leaving, he almost fainted. Although he had known that this moment was going to arrive sooner or later, he was totally unprepared to accept it when it came. Adelaide, in her turn, shared the grief of her friend and made him swear again to come to see her at Dresden where she expected to stay for some time.

Our two travelers now left for Nuremberg with the plan of spending several days there. There existed, near Nuremberg a celebrated convent of the order of St. Benoit which had been set up by Ste. Scholastique, his sister. This religious house had just been reestablished under the strictest rules and took up again all the severity which the convent had had during the eleventh century.

Adelaide, curious to visit an establishment which might have some connection with her some day, proposed this visit to her faithful companion. Consequently, the day after their arrival in Nuremberg, the two of them obtained horses and rode alone to the convent situated in a deep valley in the midst of rough terrain. They found a small hermitage on the slope of the hill where they were obliged to leave their horses. An old hermit who lived there acted as a guide to take them down the steep path to the convent.

"You come to visit this place at the best time," the hermit said to them. "It is during this week that the holy women are giving themselves up to their most pious worship."

"Milady," said Bathilda remembering the events of their trip, "if this hermit is going to resemble the one we found on leaving Schinders' place... it is going to be hard to get out of here."

Then she turned toward the hermit.

"Holy man," she said to him, "are there any monks down there in the convent?"

"There is only the director," answered the hermit. "He is a very holy man by the name of Urbain and he is sixty years old. I am sure that he will receive you well and that you will like the way he conducts things."

While this conversation was going on, they were descending a little path full of vines, briars and broom which tangled in a disagreeable fashion in their clothes. After walking for two hours, they finally saw the convent. It was entirely surrounded by cypress trees, pines, and larches which almost hid the buildings.

"Here you are at the door of the holy place you wish to visit," said the hermit. "Allow me to withdraw; I cannot go farther. Ring and the doors will open and please address a few prayers to God for me when you are in front of the altars."

Bathilda wanted to offer some money to this good man, but he refused saying that he did such jobs through penitence, and he would not benefit from them if he took pay.

During this dialogue, Adelaide rang. A sister opened and threw herself at the feet of the princess saying:

"Whoever you may be, bless me because I am a great sinner."

Adelaide became moved and raised her up. She had such a sensitive nature that any such expression of goodness played on her heart strings.

"My sister," she said, "believe that no matter how great your sins may be, Heaven will pardon them when your repentance is known... May one come into this holy retreat? Can one become warmed at the celestial fire of your souls?" "Please tell me who you are, Milady," answered the sister, "and I will go to announce you to the abbess."

"Will you tell her that I have come here to find out more about this convent and that my name is of little consequence."

"I am going, Milady," said the sister, "and my answer will be quick in coming."

"If that poor woman is a sinner," said Bathilda, "what are

Adelaide uttered a sigh.

"Yes, my friend," she said, "we are far from that perfection."

The sister soon returned to say that the nuns were all at mass and the abbess asked them to attend while they were waiting for her to receive them.

They entered the chapel and there they were impressed by the sight of more than a hundred women on their knees, their arms held towards Heaven, reciting in this attitude sublime words which seemed to open the vault above them and to go right to their destination. With what fervor did Adelaide join them in saying this verse:

"May my enemies blush and be filled with fear; let them retire quickly and may they be covered with confusion."

How beautiful Adelaide was in this situation which was characterized by repentence, vengeance and religion! It was no longer her soul which expressed itself; it was that of the prophet which expressed itself through her. The nuns looked at her and saw the vision of beauty on her face and then still another expression came to her face when she recited the following:

"I recognize my fault; I will accuse myself in the presence of all; and the Lord will pardon at that time the enormity of my sin."

She was no longer a woman; she was an angel who merited for several instants the anger of Heaven and the pardon. Tears flooded her beautiful eyes and those who looked at her were edified by the one who had come there for edification.

As soon as the services were over, all of them received the benediction from the holy man who was conducting the ceremony. A few of them got up and threw themselves on their knees in front of the priest in accusing themselves of some lukewarmness in their holy worship.

"May God hear you, my daughters," the holy man said to them. "He is the father of mercy, and his arms are always open to the sinner and he consoles him if he is repentant."

A bell was heard, and all of them arose and going two by two through the cloister, they went to the dining room where the most frugal meal awaited them. The abbess invited the princess and her companion to sit near her, and in a few minutes the light repast was finished, and a great silence came to the room.

On leaving the dining room, the abbess invited the two visitors to go to her room where they found the director, and the conversation began. This interview was short and precise on the part of the abbess. She wanted to know the motive of their visit, and their answers convinced her that it was only pious curiosity. The director who was looking at the princess with curiosity, praised her motives with an absent-minded air. At that time a bell rang which called all the nuns to their cells. Adelaide and Bathilda were taken to two small cells where they found only the absolutely necessary things; there was no luxury of any kind.

On their awakening the director came to seek them in order to show them the whole establishment as they had requested. Going through the bedrooms, they were impressed by the severity of it all. These religious women slept in their coffins and had no cover except their clothes. They had no chair or anything on which they could sit. There was no ornament of any kind, not even a crucifix. There was no latch on their door since the supervisors were supposed to go through the whole building, even the bedrooms, during the hours of sleep.

From the bedrooms, the two women were taken to the chapel which they had not been able to see very well when they arrived the evening before. This sanctuary was just large enough to hold the nuns who were there. It had brown wainscoted walls and at the foot of a simple altar there was a tomb of black marble on which one could see a sceptre interlaced with serpents.

"Whose tomb is that?" asked Adelaide with a sort of trembling which she could not prevent.

"A Princess of Saxony who reigned a hundred years ago," answered Father Urbain. "Her crimes finally produced some remorse, and her penitence was the fruit of it. She came here to die after having drawn up the design of her tomb. You see this sceptre, Milady, the serpents which surround it prove that misfortune follows man no matter how high his position may be. You have, without doubt, heard of that princess?"

"Yes, my Father," said Adelaide much upset, "but the misfortunes which she underwent were not of the sceptre but of her conduct."

"That is true," said Urbain, "but that conduct was bad only in that it was not fitting for one who carried the sceptre. There are then special misfortunes attached to a high rank."

"And her conversion?"

"It was perfect. We believe that she is in the bosom of God who always pardons when the repentance is sincere."

"What if misfortunes force us to commit sins, Father, are these sins as serious in the eyes of the Eternal?"

"Man is always guilty of not having used all the force which he received from God to undergo the misfortunes which come to him. Let him learn to undergo these hardships and he will no longer sin. Let him reflect that to escape one misfortune he sins and falls into another even worse. If he thinks in this manner, he will be preserved from sin. Everything comes from human weakness, and this weakness comes from the lukewarmness which we have in making ourselves worthy of the graces of the eternal, and especially of asking for these graces."

"Oh, Father," said Adelaide, "anyone who could follow your advice would be sheltered from many misfortunes."

"Let that person come to our retreat," said Urbain, "and he will soon feel that calm and tranquility exist only far from men and the poisonous whirlwind of their passions. It is only in retreat that man can develop his soul and purify himself in order to be worthy of his creator. He does not even know the sweet feeling which comes with solitude; but one must be pure in order to enjoy its charms. The one who lives by himself must have nothing to fear from himself. From that moment he can be happy since he abandons all the false pleasure of this world."

Adelaide, overwhelmed, fell to her knees before the tomb of the Princess of Saxony. She did not say a word, but a sort of delirium almost suspended the circulation of her blood and associated her with the incomprehensible decrees of eternity.

"Do you believe, Father," she finally said, "that I can one day be placed in the tomb of this princess?"

Urbain looked at her attentively.

"Yes, Milady," he answered in a solemn tone, "for you are also the Princess of Saxony and you have the right to share the tomb of the one who has preceded you by a century."

"Let's go to your cell for a few instants, Father. I need to talk to you. Your presence intimidates and enlightens me. You produce on me the effect of the celestial fire which brightened the forehead of Moses and lighted the way for the Israelites in the desert. It is absolutely necessary that I know you better."

Urbain made a sign for the two women to follow him and having taken them to his humble cell, he said:

"Listen to me," he said to them, "since you wish to know who I am and how I know who you are... You remember, Milady," he said addressing Adelaide, "the frightful treatment which the unfortunate Kaunitz received when your husband suspected him so unjustly of being in love with you? Well, Milady, you see in me the father of this sad victim of the jealousy of Frederick or rather that of the cruelty of the persecutor of my family, since my wife died poisoned by the same hand which later plunged the dagger into the breast of my son. The despair into which the loss of my dear wife threw me caused me to give up life in society of man. I went into orders and have been a priest ever since. At the same time I was busy educating my son. After a while my duties and the happy results of my labors with my son brought about a lessening of my sufferings. Then suddenly came the death of my son. From that moment I gave myself up to absolute retirement from society. A churchman was needed for this convent. I had some connection with the abbess on my wife's side of the family, and I obtained this place. Since the death of my son, not having anything left except God, I have consecrated my days to serving Him. By means of the instruction which the pious souls which live here are willing to receive from me, I fortify them as well as myself in the principles which the world forgets too often. You can see, Princess, that I should know you, and it is a happiness for me to humiliate myself in front of you. For, you have had no part, Milady, in the murder of my son. I know it. It was by an atrocious wickedness that they sent him to a rendezvous which you could not have accorded since you did not even know him. Alas! all comes from the same source. Both the poison which ended the days of my wife and the dagger which stabbed my son, all I repeat, was directed by the same hand. For a long time I wanted to know who had done all this, a just vengeance made this curiosity legitimate. But now religion forbids this, and I want to die in this place without knowing those who have done me so much harm and without wishing to get my vengeance. If I took this upon myself it would be doubting the justice of Heaven, and it is in it alone which I put all my confidence. But do not believe, Milady, that I implore heaven for this vengeance. I swear by the ashes of these two beings who were so dear to me that I have never asked for anything except the happiness of which they are worthy and of their repentance and their conversion."

"Ah, holy man," said Adelaide, "allow me to weep with you over these victims of a ferocious rage, and I confess that if I go back on the throne of Saxony, there will be some pleasure to me in discovering your enemies and in avenging you."

"No, no, Milady," said Urbain, "in desiring to shed their blood, I would be as wicked as they. It is a form of enjoyment to me to be unhappy without their being so. Do not trouble the last enjoyment that I have in my retreat."

"You have as much delicacy as piety, Father, and you merit in Heaven a place which those scoundrels will never have."

"And why not, if they are repentant?"

"Venerable and unfortunate Urbain," continued the princess, "will you clarify a little this terrible adventure? Why, when I escaped from the burning fortress of Torgau, followed by Bathilda, this companion of my fate, why were we stopped by people who said they were of your family and under whose sword we thought we were going to perish?"

"I don't know, Milady. I have no relatives in the world and not even a friend to take up my defense having always hidden my misfortunes with the greatest care."

"The hand which has caused your misfortunes, Father, is the same which persecutes me. We must find out who it is."

"Let's not. Vengeance is not so sweet as pardon."

At this moment, the abbess came in to propose to the strangers to see the gardens and the works of the place. Adelaide in a low voice asked Urbain not to tell who she was. The abbess and the two visitors went out followed by the holy man. They found all the nuns digging in the ground.

"What are they doing?" asked the princess.

"Milady," answered Urbain, "they are preparing the soil which will receive them one day. They are softening it with the tears of their penitence, and at night they clothe themselves in the shroud in which they are to be buried. If this unhappy life is only a point in eternity, can one be more interested in anything than the happy instant which ends it? The one who thinks constantly of death does not die; he is already far from life; already the shadows of the night of time surround him, and there is no grief any more at the idea of death. The one who dreads death does not enjoy life. He turns his eyes back toward the path strewn with briars which he has already passed over and thinks about how much more of the path remains to be trod. The end which he has the feebleness to dread is really the dawn of the peaceful days which await him."

"And this garden, Father?"

"It is uncultivated as you see, Milady, it offers to the eyes only what is useful. The earth is a loan which God has given us to provide nourishment. Let's not abuse it in order to produce a surplus. Everything speaks here, Milady, and tells us of the feeling of wisdom and religion. This garden is the image of life; it is sown with thorns, and we find the fruit only by reaching through the thorns."

At that moment somebody came to warn Urbain that a nun was dying. Although he recommended to the abbess not to allow Adelaide to follow him, the latter insisted so much that the abbess let her go.

A cross of ashes traced at the foot of the altar received the body of the one who was giving up her soul. They stretched her out after having covered her with a shroud. Urbain, near her, spoke to her only of the happiness which she was going to receive in leaving a life so filled with thorns. This exhortation was so tender and spiritual that the dying woman cried out trying to rise:

"My Lord, deign to receive me promptly since I will find happiness only in your presence." And she died.

"You see, Milady," said Urbain, "she died happy. You don't have to show the navigator the perils of the ocean on which he has just crossed; it is the port which interests him. Let us cease to blame the happy hermits whose example I like to follow. Eternity frightens only those who do not look toward it during life."

The princess, extremely moved by all she had been seeing, was too young and too much under the influence of the passion which dominated her to profit as much from the wise words of the holy man as she should.

"I will think about all your words of wisdom, Father," she said in taking leave. "I feel that I must meditate a long time in order to be worthy of you."

Adelaide asked Urbain what she could do for the convent and for him when she would be on the throne again.

"Nothing, Milady," answered the director, "our bodies find here all that is necessary, and our souls have the peace and the tranquility which are unknown out in the world. If you will come to see us, you will give us great happiness."

"Yes, I will come back," said Adelaide in a great expression of emotion which she could not restrain, "I will come back, you can be sure of that. You have promised to receive me; come pronounce your oath on the tomb of the Princess of Saxony."

Urbain made the desired promise and Adelaide knelt to pray in the midst of her tears. The two travelers made their way back to their horses at the hermitage with the greatest difficulty and fatigue.

## Chapter Fourteen

"What do you say about what we have just seen?" said the princess to Bathilda as soon as they were on their way.

"I am very much moved. If I had not attached myself to you for life, I would have stayed."

"And if it were not for the only man I have loved, I would do likewise. I am so tired of the torments of life."

"And we haven't yet counted those to come."

"I confess, Bathilda, that I am trembling like you at the thought of what awaits us."

"However, Milady, since Mersburg is taking care of everything we should have nothing to fear."

"One is often mistaken in this world. True friends are rare especially when one is of the ruling class."

Finally, after an uneventful journey, the princess entered Fredericksburg, but not without an uneasy feeling of foreboding.

Following everything that had been suggested to her, she went into the inn disguised and sent word to the count that she awaited him. He came at once.

"Your arrival causes me the greatest joy," he said to her as soon as he saw her. "All is prepared as I told you. The Marquis of Thuringia is here. Your husband has taken again the reins of government since he has been back. Yesterday I told him of the possibility of being mistaken about your death. His surprise was mingled with a sentiment which I could not make out."

"You fear nothing from this unknown sentiment?"

"No... It is love, I believe... But he was making every effort to hide it even from himself. In making you come out of that coffin in which I put you in Venice, I noticed at once that expression of sentiment which is love, perhaps, mixed with jealousy and revenge."

"Will I see Thuringia before I see my husband?"

"You want it as much as I do, but perhaps this eagerness might jeopardize the main plan of reconciliation."

"In that case, I shall not see him."

"Remain here in your room as much as possible and if you have to go down to the dining room pick an hour when very few people are there or have your meals served up here if you can. I will come to see you tomorrow fairly early and I will tell you then of all the arrangements I have made."

It can easily be imagined how troubled Adelaide was until the reappearance of the count which was not until late in the evening.

"You are going to see Thuringia," he said to her with excitement in his voice.

"In truth, I am already sorry I said anything about seeing him. It gives me remorse."

"Such remorse is without foundation. Can one be the master of his own heart? The choice you have made of Thuringia is the work of a sensitive heart. Politics have chained you to Frederick. Should you hesitate an instant? Moreover, the ways of your husband have not attached you to him. What has he offered you since your fate has been linked to his?... cruelty, jealousy and imprisonment. He has exposed you to great unhappiness by forcing you to flee. If you had perished, as it might well have happened, he would have had your death on his conscience. Do you think you owe anything to such a man?... Come in," he suddenly said to Thuringia seeing him at the door, "you will help me to overcome the prejudices of a woman who adores you and who does not dare say so to you or to admit it to herself."

Then Thuringia fell on one knee before the princess and took her hand in his and pressed it respectfully to his lips.

"Oh, divine object of my dearest thoughts," he said tenderly, "you whom I have never ceased to adore, is it true that you dare to have the same feelings that I have? Is it true that you wish to deny these feelings even to yourself?"

"Pardon, my dear friend," she said, "pardon these fears which hold me back. Your image is no less dear because of them, but you know as well as I do the obstacles which prevent our belonging to each other, those unfortunate bonds which keep me in the arms of another."

"We can find ways," interrupted the count, "of weakening these bonds and even of nullifying them."

"I cannot consent to anything of that type," said Adelaide. "My duty forbids any such act. And certainly it will not be you, Thuringia, you who respect your duties in life, who would want me to scorn mine. The laurels with which you have recently covered your forehead during the absence of Frederick would fade if you did anything so dishonorable."

"Can you ever believe," cried Thuringia, "that it is dishonorable to love?"

"Oh, Milady," said Mersburg, "you don't love my friend as he loves you."

"Is it not loving him to cherish his glory?"

"But," said the count, "suppose Frederick puts you back in prison."

"I will escape as I did before. You will both help me. If nothing succeeds then I would rather suffer than to betray my duty."

"Ah," said Thuringia with the expression of the most tender love, "I make an oath to perish a thousand times rather than see you exposed to new misfortunes. I shall avenge you myself."

"Take that thought out of your mind at once," cried the princess. "It might be legitimate in some cases, but in this case it becomes criminal."

"I will respect his life if he does not harm you, but I will destroy him if he hurts you."

Finally, after a thousand proofs of their love, the two friends asked Adelaide to tell them the story of her travels. She did so and when she arrived at the part in which she met the father of Kaunitz she turned to Mersburg with an expression of puzzlement.

"You will have to admit that it is astonishing that the day I was waiting for Thuringia near my bird cage, it was the son of this old man who replaced him and who perished under the jealous daggers of my husband. It was fortunate for my dear Thuringia, but at the same time it is hard to explain."

For an instant Mersburg seemed to be quite upset, but he soon recovered his wits and said:

"Come. It is time to separate. I advise you, Milady, to stay here one more night and to prepare to see your husband tomorrow. He must find you here. I am preparing this surprise for him, and we shall see the results."

The next morning Mersburg wentjo see Frederick.

"I have already warned you, Milord, that we were mistaken in Venice and that she was still living. I now have additional news. She is not only living, but she is in an inn here in Fredericksburg, and she is waiting for you."

"Adelaide is really living!... Ah, my dear count, why isn't she here? What keeps her from coming into my arms?"

"The fear of finding in you the same feelings which caused you to shut her up in the fortress of Torgau."

"How can she think anything like that? It is up to me to fall at her feet, and if she suffers or has suffered it is all my fault."

"Milord, before giving way to those sentiments, you must reflea on your reputation. You are a reigning prince, and you cannot bring dishonor to your throne. You cannot share it with a wife who has a bad reputation and who is guilty of crimes."

"Crimes! What are the crimes of Adelaide?"

"Do you forget the reason for your shutting her up? If she began her misdeeds in your court with young Kaunitz who knows what she has done during such a long absence. A wife who dared to be unfaithful under the eyes of her husband, must certainly have been untrue when she was far away from him. She told him yesterday the story of her travels. There are many things in them which should be cleared up. Haven't we already heard that she was in the conspiracy in Venice only because she was the mistress of the senator who was planning it? What did she do in Baden when they knew her under an assumed name?"

"What do you think she did?"

"But, Milord, these facts are known all over Germany. She lived publicly with the margrave. And that chief of bandits in the mountains who received you with such insolence; she was his mistress. Adelaide, in a word, is a woman who would not honor your throne."

"Take me to her. She is the one who should clear all this up, and I will believe nothing which does not come from her mouth."

"Milord, I do not wish to separate you from your wife. She must appear on the throne, but she should not share your bed. Do not make of her father the Duke of Brunswick an enemy. Honor should be as sacred to you as politics. Watch over your wife as soon as you have brought her back to her position. If her conduct improves maybe she can make you forget the past. Let your indulgence speak; but it is quite rare that a woman returns to a virtuous life after having lived a life of sin. Caesar has said that his wife was above suspicion. Would this great man have spoken thus if he had not thought that the shame of a wife stains the reputation of her husband? Come, Prince, your Adelaide awaits you. Be as firm in this interview as you were when you heard about her first infidelity. It is not permitted to princes to think of love when their glory is at stake. Claude might have been a great emperor if it had not been for the acts of his wife Messalina. Especially, Prince, never show that you have had any information from me about her actions, you would take away from me the means of serving you in the future."

Frederick appeared before his wife in such a state of love, uncertainty and jealousy that he couldn't say a word when he first saw her. Mersburg left them together.

"Prince, my lord and master," said Adelaide trembling, "I was eager to see you again and to justify myself."

"To justify yourself seems to me to be hard. Perhaps your frankness will make me angry."

"It is only in listening to this frankness," answered Adelaide, "that I flatter myself to be able to convince you." Then going over the events of her life point by point, she proved her innocence in all the situations through which she passed.

"What a crime I have been guilty of in sacrificing Kaunitz," cried Frederick.

"That error was frightful, no doubt," said Adelaide, "but it was only due to an excess of jealousy and because of that it is impossible for me to blame it."

The prince then took Adelaide in his arms.

"Oh, dear half of my life," cried Frederick overcome by emotion, "then you have never ceased loving me?"

But Adelaide could not be false. She did not know how to receive this sudden forgiveness, and since she did not really feel any love for her husband, she could not pretend that she did. This situation soon became apparent to Frederick who was burning to see some real evidence of love and especially to see her tears. When he saw that she was quite cool all of his former suspicions returned. Instead of opening his heart to her, he kissed her coldly on the forehead and took her hand in his.

"Come," he said, "all of Saxony awaits you. Your presence will silence the slandering tongues."

Adelaide followed her husband, and the next day great festivities announced to all the states of Frederick the return of Adelaide and the reconciliation with her husband. Ambassadors of the Duke of Brunswick arrived laden with presents and felicitations, and everybody had a very pleasant time.

"Oh, Bathilda," said Adelaide one day to the admirable companion of her travels, now her lady of honor, "oh, my dear Bathilda, I fear that I have not been able to persuade my husband of my fidelity to him. What can you do when the heart is not in it? I don't have enough falseness in me to play the part in a convincing manner."

"In the meantime, have you noticed how the Marquis of Thuringia adores you?"

"Does he speak to you of me sometimes?"

"During the festivities, he was busy all the time serving you. If he left you for an instant, it was to speak of the happiness he had at being near all that he loved."

"And Frederick never speaks to you?"

"Very rarely, Milady. He seems to be preoccupied all the time."

"How I dread that he may be plotting something which will interfere with the tranquility of my life... And what do you think of Mersburg?"

"I continue to think that he is sincere. You have seen with what eagerness he brought you Thuringia the day after your arrival."

"I sincerely hope that we are not mistaken in him."

The proof that they were mistaken was shown in the first conversation that Mersburg had with the prince on the subject of Adelaide and was evident in a second interview which he was having with the prince at the moment that they were talking together.

"Well, Milord," said Mersburg to his master, "you have not said whether you were satisfied with the princess."

"I thought that my appearance would show you, my dear count. Haven't you seen how I treat her? Have you noticed the coolness which I show her and that Bathilda, the companion of her misconduct and whom she honors with her confidence?"

"We should not be so uneasy on the subject of your wife, Sire, perhaps we were mistaken in her conduct."

"No, Mersburg, no. Her coolness and impassiveness the day of our first interview have sufficiently enlightened me. She lowered her eyes and did not dare answer. She is guilty, I tell you, and I do not know if I am doing the right thing in keeping her beside me on the throne. She will finally dishonor me. I now have the fortress of Torgau in readiness, and I don't believe that fire will burn it this time."

"No, Sire, no, don't use that means again. It would be as dangerous as it would be useless. You would only incur the enmity of the Duke of Brunswick, and you know how important it is for the sovereigns of Germany to maintain their friendship at a time when the foreign princes want to invade our land. Remain for a while in this distant manner toward your wife which is suitable for a man of your stature and let's continue to observe her conduct. If we should catch her in the act then it will be time to punish her."

"And whom do you suspect?"

"My ideas are still too vague to be able to communicate them to you, but I am working on the matter and as soon as I discover anything I will tell you about it immediately."

Mersburg went from his interview with the prince to see Adelaide.

"Milady," he said, "the conduct of Frederick toward you begins to give me some uneasiness. If I did not feel how important it was for you to remain here, I would tell you to leave. A second absence might compromise you more than ever."

"What is there now?" cried Adelaide, uneasy, "is there some new danger for me?"

"It is always a question of the same suspicions which are producing the same effects. You did not try hard enough the other day to destroy those unfortunate suspicions. You should have defended yourself better."

"What could I do when I felt no love for him. The appearance of one wrong will make him think of a thousand. I am the unhappiest of all woman."

"I fear that he is observing Thuringia, and if he suspects him what will become of us?"

"I will flee rather than expose him to the slightest danger."

"You can do more by staying here. Your departure, useless moreover, would make your lover die of sorrow. Don't worry. I am watching over everything. If we need to take serious steps, we will have to do so."

"Great Heavens! Of what steps are you speaking?"

"I don't know yet what the circumstances will require, but in any case it will require more courage than you have shown up to now. Think that great crimes are sometimes more necessary than great virtues and that to arrive at happiness, one has to resort to certain measures."

"Ah, I never want to be happy at that price."

"You will at least let us act for you?"

"I will never consent to any crime."

"Can sovereigns ever prevent this type of crime? Oh, I despair for you if you keep on in such errors."

"But what do you mean?... Explain yourself."

"I cannot do so yet. All depends on events."

"Do nothing which could afflict my conscience."

"It is the events alone which are responsible for what happens in life." And with that the count left.

A few days later Adelaide was talking to Bathilda.

"I don't know what he means by all this nor what he wants to do, but I perceive a plot of the most serious nature. I feel that he is plotting the death of my husband, and I will never allow that his life be put in danger."

"Fear nothing, Milady, I believe too much in the sense of justice of the Marquis of Thuringia to believe him capable of such means."

"Go and see what you can find out, Bathilda. Esteem your mistress enough to know that she is incapable of being in any way the cause of any misfortune."

"I know you too well, Milady, not to be convinced of that truth."

The Marquis of Thuringia seemed to be entirely unconcerned about the fact that the prince might be jealous of him. He talked to Adelaide every chance he got. Adelaide tried to warn him of this indiscretion.

"What would be the point of not going near you? Now that you are here it is the greatest happiness in my life to be with you."

"Isn't it enough for us to see each other every day?"

"That happiness serves only to make even more intense the desire of never leaving you."

"You see that that is impossible and that we cannot even, without being wrong, think of it for an instant."

"The count seems to have more hope than you do."

"Has he said anything which could cause you to have any hope?"

"Not yet, but I see that he is profoundly busy with what interests us."

"Oh, my tender friend, let's not think about anything which might give us remorse. Even our feelings toward each other are wrong."

"I see nothing wrong in it. Didn't you love me before knowing the one who troubles now your happiness?"

"That is the only thought I have to calm my conscience. I often make use of it, but most of the time I reject it. Then I see you, and I forget everything."

"Dear and delicate friend, why has Heaven created us for each other? Who knows what it reserves for us?"

"It is a fatal destiny which could bring about our happiness only at the expense of a crime."

"Is there any crime in loving? To me the only crime is in separating two beings who love each other."

"There is," said the princess putting her hand on the heart of the marquis, "the altar where I make an oath to cherish you all my life."

"Ah, let me seal it with my hand on that hand that I want for my own. Let the one of us who will go back on that oath perish immediately."

And the most ardent kiss on that hand held so tightly became the most tender token of their eternal fidelity.

## Chapter Fifteen

The Prince of Saxony had not yet unburdened his heart to the Marquis of Thuringia. He sent for him with the intention of doing that.

"I am the most unhappy of men, my dear cousin," he said on seeing him, "I have found my wife again only to find the torment of my life. How much happier I would have been if she had always stayed in her own country, and you had not brought her here. She has come to the point of being no longer able to hide her shame. Instead of answering my reproaches, she blushes because of them and her frankness, the only virtue which she has, only serves to double the torments of my life."

"But what proofs do you have of the wrongs which you attribute to her?"

"Her embarrassment and confusion when I question her on her conduct."

"Ah, my Prince, how feeble are such proofs. Don't you know that any such accusation makes a woman blush? What modest woman would not be alarmed by such words. If it is true that you no longer suspect young Kaunitz, on whom do your suspicions now remain? Allow me to say, Prince, that your situation is the result of your own imagination. You are seriously in error and all this is causing you to be the unhappiest of men when you should be the happiest."

"I am not convinced, like you," said the prince, "of her innocence with Kaunitz. What was she going to do at that rendezvous? But even if she were not guilty, how do you excuse the fact that against my orders she left Torgau and fled all over Germany to become in turn the mistress of a margrave, a bandit and of a conspirator? Can she justify this multitude of wrongs? When I question her why does she answer only by a guilty embarrassment? No, my friend, you can never clear her name."

"Your honor," said Thuringia, "is as dear to me as my own. I have thought it my duty to get some more information about what concerns Adelaide during her travels and Bathilda has given them to me. She is a young woman incapable of trickery or deceit, and she has assured me that there was nothing reprehensible in the conduct of your wife. During the course of absence and up to the present time there is nothing to reproach her for. As for the embarrassment which your questions cause her, I assure you, my prince, that it comes only from modesty. Don't let your imagination make life miserable for you and for the best of women."

This explanation might have calmed Frederick if Mersburg, who knew how the prince could be influenced, had not come to stimulate in his heart the serpents of jealousy.

When Frederick told the count of the conversation he had just had with his cousin and of the calm which had resulted from it, the count answered:

"Certainly, I am not astonished at what you tell me, and the one who makes your wife guilty should have the greatest interest in making her seem innocent to you."

"What!? Thuringia the lover of my wife? Impossible!"

"My prince, I have discovered all. The one who brought you the daughter of the Duke of Brunswick would have liked to take her for his own wife. Both of them had the same feelings, and everything which has happened has been the result of this guilty love. The rendezvous at the bird house near which Kaunitz was placed to put you in error, the burning of Torgau and the escape which followed, the trip which he had your wife take in order to get her out of your hands, that Bathilda which he placed in her service while she was traveling; all was the result of the guilty love of your cousin and the perfidy of your wife."

"Sir," said Frederick boiling with anger, "your life is at stake if all this is not true. Furnish me with the proofs of what you say and I will overwhelm you with favors. If you are mistaken, the scaffold waits for you."

"Although these confidences should not be received by threats, I submit to them anyway and I will furnish you with the proof that you need. The two lovers are supposed to meet each other this evening near the fatal bird house where they saw each other before the imprisonment of the princess. Be there, prince, and if I am mistaken may your sword be plunged into my breast."

One can easily imagine that the scoundrel had arranged everything for the success of a plan which he had worked out to accomplish all his wishes.

Mersburg convinced Adelaide and Thuringia that it was essential to change the place where they saw each other since Thuringia had been seen too often in her apartments. He suggested that they have their rendezvous at the bird house, and as this seemed like a good idea to both of them and to be safer than Adelaide's apartments they made arrangements to be there the next day at sunset.

Thuringia arrived on time at the rendezvous and found Adelaide waiting for him. Scarcely had he arrived when he threw himself on his knees at her feet and begged her to promise that she would never give herself to anybody else except him if she lost her husband.

The imprudent Adelaide pronounced this guilty oath and sealed it with the most ardent kiss. Suddenly there was a commotion and Frederick appeared, his face dark with anger.

"Traitor," he cried seizing Thuringia, "come then and with your own hands end the days of the one whose death you await with such impatience. Come and assassinate me and break the bonds which trouble your happiness. I should sacrifice you on the very breast of the one whom you have seduced so criminally. I should by the blood drawn from your two hearts cement your two souls in an impure mixture. But I will not give you that pleasure. Guided by honor, it is only on the field of battle that I can avenge myself. Come there, and you will either have death or the one you love. I want my heart, if I die, to be presented to her every day that she lives. You will obey me, Thuringia, remember my last orders."

"Come Prince, let's go," said the rival of Frederick, "yes, let's fight this thing out. On me alone should fall all your fury; Adelaide is innocent. Fix the hour and the place, and I will show you that the one you judged worthy of replacing you on the throne is also worthy of measuring swords with you."

The two rivals separated. Frederick gave orders for the servants to take away Adelaide who had fainted and then went to his apartment.

"Oh, Mersburg," said the prince when the count appeared. "What a frightful service you have rendered me. It is indeed a service, but what a cruel one."

"Prince, I could not allow in silence any more the outrages with which you were covered. Honor and friendship have required me to reveal all this to you."

"Oh, my friend, what am I going to do with that unfortunate woman now?"

"You will no longer have the right to dispose of her," answered the count. "The outcome of the battle will decide her fate. If you have the misfortune of falling in battle, the one who will succeed you on the throne will see to it that her punishment would be commuted. If you win, then you will have to pardon her to stay in the graces of your people. Besides you have to think about the state of political events of the moment. You cannot afford to antagonize her father. Instead of thinking about her, you should be planning the fate of your people. You know that anything can happen in a duel, and you should be naming a successor in case anything happens to you."

"I have been thinking about it," said Frederick, "and here are some of my ideas. I will leave the regency to my wife. This generosity will touch her, and at least she will shed a few tears on my grave. In the same testament, I will require her to marry the one whom she considers to be my best friend and naturally that person is you."

"No, Prince, that cannot be. Adelaide loves Thuringia, and he is the one who should be on the throne."

"I cannot be generous to that point. I believe my wife is innocent, but I cannot think of Louis of Thuringia in the same way."

"Well, why not have your will read that the regent will give her hand to the one she will judge to be most worthy of the throne?"

"I consent to that!"

The will drawn up according to the form required by the laws of that time, Frederick signed it and began to prepare himself for the battle.

Mersburg went to spend a little time with Adelaide.

"Milady," he said, "we are at the most interesting epoch of your life."

"The most frightful, Sir, the most painful for my heart. Today I lose either my husband or my lover. What am I going to do in either case?"

Mersburg then told Adelaide the contents of the will. "I reign if I lose my husband by the hands of Thuringia! Or I lose my lover by the hands of my husband! I couldn't do it!"

"Reasons of state force you to do it. The prince wishes, if he dies, that you marry the man whom you judge to be the most capable to govern his people and consequently the most worthy of you. If any consideration prevents you from choosing the marquis, Milady, you are free to choose any other man you wish."

"Who can be the cause of all the misfortunes which overwhelm me?"

"It was due to an unforeseen stroke of bad luck. A squire of the prince was walking near the place of your rendezvous, and as soon as he saw what was happening, he ran to the prince whose jealousy caused him to come at once to where you were. If you had had more confidence in me I might have prevented the prince's arrival."

"Believe me, my dear count, I do not merit that reproach. Will you not be tomorrow the only friend I have?"

"In any case, Milady, I shall be the most sincere."

At that moment the trumpet rang out and the heralds came before the crowd and had them move off of the battle field. Mersburg, who had been named Marshal of the Field, brought the two contestants together and had them swear that their cause was just. He verified their arms. Then the witnesses were lined up and the two warriors appeared at opposite sides with their horses.

At the agreed-upon signal, the two men sprang on their horses and armed with their lances and protected by their shields they rode their horses rapidly at each other. For a long time the victory was not decided. Their shields sent out sparks at the terrific blows of the lances. Finally, however, a terrific blow by Thuringia struck the prince at a weak place in his armor and he fell to the middle of the arena bathed in his blood.

Thuringia jumped off his horse and ran to the one he had just knocked down trying in vain to help him. His tears mingled with the blood of his enemy. He wept on the laurels which he never wanted to harvest, but ran nevertheless to take them to the one he adored. To his surprise, she refused to see him at first, but finally agreed after Bathilda told her that she would have to see him eventually.

"Princess," said Thuringia after she had finally appeared, "there was never a victory more fateful. I am only, in your eyes, the killer of your husband and as such I have no right to ask your hand."

"Sir," said Adelaide, "I esteem you for your realization that this unfortunate victory raises barriers between you and me. They will put the scepter in my hands, but it belongs to you. The Saxons accustomed to marching under your orders will like to see in your hands this scepter which you have adorned so often with laurels. Accept it; it is worthy of you, but in fulfilling all your duties of state, forget an unfortunate woman who cannot share these glorious duties with you. Sit on the throne which belongs only to you and reign. I have no other function left except to weep. We will both be accomplishing what we can do best and the happiness of being satisfied in what we are doing is the most important thing in life."

The princess on finishing these words rushed back into her apartment. Thuringia wanted to hold her back, but she fled.

The assembly of states convoked by Adelaide the next day awaited with much interest what she was going to tell them. She went arrayed in her royal ornaments which she was wearing for the last time. She stood before the silent assembly and said in a most august and solemn tone:

"Magnanimous and respectable nation, a great event has just been traced in your records. You regret like me the loss of a sovereign who loved you like a father, and whom I revere as the wisest and most virtuous of husbands. In naming me to the throne, he leaves to me the choice of putting at the head of the government the husband I am supposed to choose who would be the most worthy of succeeding him. Naturally he had Thuringia in mind. It was he who knew so well how to lead you to glory and he who during the travels of my husband knew so well how to hold the reins of state. He, I say, is the only one capable of replacing Frederick. But in designating Thuringia for his successor, I cannot, however, present him as my husband. The wrong of the Marquis of Thuringia, linked to my own, leaves me no other course than to go into the most profound retirement where I hope you will permit me to bury myself forever." At these words, she took off the priceless ornaments which covered her. "I hope you will accept these adornments of my position. I will leave them with Thuringia. Let him ornament the forehead of the one he will select to sit beside him on the throne which can only be occupied by him. I hope that you, respectable Saxons, will honor me sometimes with your memory and will you say in pronouncing the name of one who loved you: 'She lived for our happiness since she sacrificed herself for honor'."

Tears ran down all the cheeks. They had the proof of a great feeling of sensitiveness mixed with courage, and several voices were raised to demand that she stay on the throne which her present conduct made her worthy of. But Adelaide would not accept any such demand, and she left the meeting rapidly without looking back.

Thuringia, although he was heartbroken over the decision of Adelaide, felt that his duty to his country demanded that he take over the reins of government and he was crowned the next day.

Mersburg, furious at what had happened, upset at seeing all his plans go astray, determined to overthrow Thuringia since he would no longer be able to control him now that Adelaide had gone into retirement. He formed a conspiracy and Thuringia was almost killed, but escaped without being hurt.

Mersburg was identified as the leader of the plot and brought before his peers to be tried. He admitted all his crimes in the following confession:

"If the most violent love could serve as an excuse for the blackest crimes, then perhaps I would merit a little of your pity. But I expea only death and I deserve it. Listen to my story. Another passion than the one which holds me today motivated the disastrous end of Frau von Kaunitz. She refused to have me as her lover, and her refusal so irritated me that I had her poisoned. My anger went even as far as her son and wishing to compromise the princess who had already captivated my heart and to make both her husband and her lover jealous of her, I had fall on the breast of young Kaunitz the dagger which Frederick wished to use on the lover of Adelaide. I excited more and more the jealousy of the Prince of Saxony, thinking that this means would bring about the catastrophe which I wanted.

"My main plan was to pit the husband and the lover against each other, and in that way be sure that one would perish, and then I could get rid of the other.

"The imprisonment of Adelaide at Torgau did not fulfill well enough the plans I had to make her seem guilty in the eyes of her husband. I therefore had her escape Torgau by setting the building on fire. I then took her to various places and finally had her arrested by Schinders where I was going to have her condemned for immorality. But as luck would have it, the father of Bathilda was there and helped her to escape.

"In the meantime, I was able to control the policies of Saxony to some extent by using influence with the Emperor Henry and by my friendship with Thuringia who was ruling in Saxony while I was away with Frederick. Since Frederick was about to return too soon to Saxony I turned him away by giving him new hope that he would find Adelaide. In the meantime, I was making all the arrangements to have her become mixed up in more adventures, which were always planned in such a way that my love for Adelaide and my ambition would be served, that is, I wanted to hurt her reputation so much that her husband would finally repudiate her and even Thuringia would not take her to be his wife.

"It was I who sent the margrave after her and kidnapped her. When she escaped, I had the brigand of Brenner Pass capture her. There were invisible threads which I controlled which brought her into the conspiracy of Contarino. My idea there was to keep her in prison in Venice until I could take over the throne of Saxony, and then I could ask the Venetians to turn her over to me. When she escaped from this last trap she only increased the number of accusations of infidelity which I could bring against her in Saxony. During this time I was continuing to poison Frederick's mind about her and I had Krimpser and other people by their lies convince him even more of her infidelity. I even made use of a necromancer on two occasions to help the situation.

"In the last few days, I have arranged the rendezvous of Adelaide and Thuringia and had Frederick find them there together. I was sure of everything, the combat, the death of Frederick, and the will.

"Since Adelaide was too noble and had too much grandeur to fall into my scheme, I had only daggers left to accomplish the other part of the main plan, that is to become ruler of Saxony. That, too, has failed, and so here I stand. Heaven is just; Thuringia is on the throne, and the scaffold awaits me. Have my blood flow; you owe it to posterity. Let my punishment be a lesson to the centuries to come and hasten to efface forever the traces of my infamy."

The condemnation of this criminal was soon pronounced since he had accused himself. The spectacle of his death was given to the whole city of Dresden. His death made more secure the throne of Thuringia who used the long years of his life to make the Saxons happy.

In the meantime, Adelaide had been making the preparations for her departure. She had not wanted to hurry about leaving because she had a vague feeling that she might be needed. But when she heard about the death of Mersburg and learned that the throne of Saxony was no longer in danger, she saw no longer any reason to delay her departure. She made Bathilda a handsome gift of properties which would make it possible for her to marry well, and she also settled some property on the Baron Dour lach to whom she owed so much. She then wrote to Thuringia to ask him to write letters of gratitude to the many people who had helped her in her moments of distress and also to any of those who had helped her at any time. Thuringia accomplished the last desires of a woman he had never ceased to adore and whom he held in his heart until the last sigh of his life.

The certainty that Thuringia would carry out the wishes of Adelaide was transmitted to this princess by a letter which he signed with his blood. Adelaide kissed it and put it next to her heart, then she left on the journey which would take her into the holy retreat which she had visited just before her arrival in Fredericksburg. She arrived there alone and on foot.

"I have returned to you, holy man," she said to Urbain, "you see that I have kept the word I gave you."

After having passed several days in this house, she announced her desire of taking the veil. She asked the abbess for her permission to decorate the chapel herself for that great ceremony and it was granted.

At her orders, all was draped in black. The tomb of the former princess of Saxony was opened and twenty lamps burned around it. An ebony seat was placed in front of the tomb.

Two lines of nuns appeared in the church with Urbain on one side and the abbess on the other. It was midnight. The doleful and plaintive sound of the bells warned Heaven of the sacrifice which was being prepared. Soon the nuns were bowed low and chanting de profundis in a low voice. One would say that these somber and shadowy voices were coming from the grave and were addressing to Heaven these sacred words of the prophet:

"It is from the depths that we raise our voices toward the Lord. God, listen to us, listen to us and see our tears."

After this verse, the nuns arose and their hands crossed on their chests, they listened attentively to what Adelaide was going to say.

"You who are listening to me, saintly young women," she said, "you whose place is already set aside in Heaven, do not regret the promise which you have made to detach yourselves forever from a world where man lives only in the midst of traps which drag him daily towards his destruction. You see in me the unhappy victim of these traps. Would I have gone through all the dangers which I have run if I had been brought here in my childhood to share your work and your prayers? What have I found out in the world? Lies and perfidy, treasons and betrayal, uneasiness and pain, and in the midst of all that only a few instants of pleasure the light of which was always darkened by the abyss which threatened each moment. Ah, my dear sisters, the facility of being able to keep the soul pure does not exist in this deceitful world. It seems that poisoned by the air that one breathes there, it is necessary to lose oneself and be corrupted by the evil ones who inhabit the earth. And as we are obliged to be with them, we have to pretend to be deceived. One might say that weakness which is an integral part of us leaves us no choice except to weep because of our virtue or blush because of our vices. Does one want to live in a dangerous inertia and thereby fall into life of inutility, or does one want to head into the storm and go against the current?"

"Where then is happiness?" asked Urbain.

"There," said Adelaide pointing to the tomb. "It is only there that the end of all our ills awaits us and consequently happiness. For happiness does not exist on the earth. Man dreams of it and never has it, and the being who hopes to achieve it loses it as soon as he dreams of it. Let us admit, sisters, the absence of misfortune is the only happiness that man can enjoy in this world and it is God who has made it this way in order to teach us that it is He alone who is the source of any happiness. It is only in His arms that man can even believe in happiness. Let us thank Him then when we reach the moment of going to Him. Happiness comes only when we reach the tomb because it is there only that we cease to breathe the poison of the serpents on whom we step every day. It is then, my dear sisters, this firm resolution to withdraw from the evils of life which has made me make the decision."

At these words, the abbess came near her and having put on her the dress of the order, she covered her head with the sacred veil which bringing her closer to God, separated her forever from the world.

From that day on Sister Adelaide fulfilled all the duties of the convent and followed the rules which made this order the severest in Europe. Instead of the haughty and proud princess, she now became a gentle and obedient and self-effacing nun. Always the first to arrive at chapel, the most ardent in prayer, the most active in the work in the convent, she became the example of those who had formerly been considered the models.

But so much repression of her character and so much austerity in her conduct, so much violence in her affections, still only partially extinguished, such a hard and new life for her, soon affected her health. A harsh and frequent cough racked her now thin body. They tried to get her to take medicine, but she refused.

"Oh, Father," she said to Urbain who tried to get her to take some remedies, "it is not to continue to live that I came into your convent; it is to learn to die. As I approach this last moment, my heart becomes filled with a celestial joy. Let me enjoy without fright these last moments. My soul which has come from Heaven wishes to return there and this becomes the dearest of my desires. God, who is so good, will receive me with indulgence. Ah, with what an eye of scorn I will see all the vanities which attached me to this earth. My feeble voice joining that of the angels will praise without ceasing the Lord and it is then that I will find the happiness so vainly sought on this earth. How blind and hardened is the person who refuses to admit the existence of this heavenly happiness to which I feel myself already closely linked. Oh, Father, my vision is beginning to be blurred, my eyes are dazzled by the majesty of God extending his arms to me, and I can no longer see the things of this world. Have traced at the foot of the altar that cross of ashes where I want my body stretched out like that of the Son of our Lord. While I was still too much attached to the earth I wanted to share the tomb of the princess, I now give up this frivolous honor. My hands have dug my grave under one of the willow trees in the garden. Let my remains be put there like those of my companions and if my misfortunes have inspired some pity, may your tears fall upon my tomb accompanying the prayers which you will address to Heaven."

The last words of the Princess of Saxony were:

"Oh you who will one day read the story of my life, when a woman is cruelly outraged and is only slightly guilty and gives you such an example, why will you condemn her if your crimes are greater than hers?"

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