# Adelaide of Brunswick/Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT
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."