CHAPTER ONE
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,[1] 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.
- ↑ Wittekind, the great leader of the Brunswickians, lived in the ninth century.