Anna, who was very officious, asked me, ‘Does my lady wish for anything? She will please only say so, and I will solicit it from the Queen.’ I thanked her, and said that I should like to have some of my clothes, such as two night-jackets, one lined with silk and another braided with white, my stomacher, something for my head, and above all my bone box of perfume, which I much needed. She said she would at once arrange this, which she did, for she went immediately and proffered my request. The things were all delivered to me by the prison governor at six o’clock, except my box of perfume, which had been lost, and in its place they sent me a tin box with a very bad kind of perfume. When the time arrived for the evening meal, Catharina spread a stool by the side of my bed, but I had no desire to eat. I asked for a lemon with sugar, and they gave it me. The prison governor sat down at the table with the two women, and did the part of jester, so much so that no one could have said that they were in a house of mourning, but rather in one offestivity. I inwardly prayed to God for strength and patience, that I might not forget myself. God heard my prayer, praised be His name. When the prison governor was tired of the idle talking and laughing, he bade good night after ten o’clock, and told the women to knock if they wanted anything, as the tower warder was just underneath. After he had locked both the doors, I got up, and Catharina made my bed. Anna had brought a prayer-book with her, from which I read the evening prayer, and other prayers for them; then I laid down and bid them good night. They laid on a settle-bed which had been brought in for them. I slumbered from time to time, but only for short intervals.
About six o’clock on the morning of August 10 the prison governor opened the door, to the great delight of the women, who were sincerely longing for him, especially Catharina, who was very stout; she could not endure the oppressive atmosphere, and was ill almost the whole night. When the prison governor, after greeting them, had inquired how it fared with them, and whether they were still alive, he offered them brandy, which they readily accepted. When it was seven o’clock, they requested to go home, which they did, but they first reported to the Queen all that had happened during the half-day and the night. The prison governor remained with me.
When it was near nine o’clock, he brought in a chair without saying anything. I perceived from this that visitors were coming, and I was not wrong; for immediately afterwards there entered Count Rantzow, prime minister, chancellor H. Peter Retz, Christoffer Gabel, the chancellor of the exchequer, and secretary Erick Krag, who all shook hands with meand seated themselves by my bed. Krag, who had paper, pen and ink with him, seated himself at the table. Count Rantzow whispered something to the chancellor. The chancellor upon this began to address me as on the previous occasion, saying that his Majesty the King had great cause for his treatment of me. ‘His Majesty,’ he went on to say, ‘entertains suspicion with regard to you, and that not without reason.’ I inquired in what the suspicion consisted. The chancellor said, ‘Your husband has offered the kingdom of Denmark to a foreign lord.’ I inquired if the kingdom of Denmark belonged to my husband, that he could thus offer it, and as no one answered, I continued and said, ‘Good gentlemen, you all know my lord; you know that he has been esteemed as a man of understanding, and I can assure you that when I took leave of him he was in perfect possession of his senses. Now it is easy to perceive that no sensible man would offer that which was not in his own power, and which he had no right to dispose of. He is holding no post, he has neither power nor authority; how should he, therefore, be so foolish as to make such an offer, and what lord would accept it?’
Count Rantzow said: ‘Nevertheless it is so, madame; he has offered Denmark to a foreign potentate; you know it well.’ I answered, ‘God is my witness that I know of no such thing.’ ‘Yes,’ said Count Rantzow, ‘your husband concealed nothing from you, and therefore you must know it.’ I replied, ‘My husband certainly never concealed from me anything that concerned us both. I never troubled myself in former days with that which related to his office; but that which affected us both he never concealed from me, so that I am sure, had he entertained any such design, he would not haveheld it a secret from me. And I can say, with truth, that I am not the least aware of it.’ Count Rantzow said: ‘Madame, confess it while the King still asks you to do so.’
I answered, ‘If I knew it I would gladly say so; but as truly as God lives I do not know it, and as truly am I unable to believe that my husband would have acted so foolishly, for he is a sick man. He urged me to go to England in order to demand the money that had been lent; I undertook the journey, unwillingly, chiefly because he was so very weak. He could not go up a few steps of the stairs without resting to get his breath; how should he, then, undertake a work of such labour? I can say with truth that he is not eight days without an attack, sometimes of one kind sometimes of another.’ Count Rantzow again whispered with the chancellor, and the chancellor continued: ‘Madame, say without compulsion how the matter stands, and who is privy to it; say it now, while you are asked freely to do so. His Majesty is an absolute Sovereign; he is not fettered by law; he can do as he will; say it.’ I answered: ‘I know well that his Majesty is an absolute Sovereign, and I know also, that he is a Christian and a conscientious man; therefore, his Majesty will do nothing but what he can justify before God in heaven. See, here I am! You can do with me what you will; that which I do not know I cannot say.’
Count Rantzow began again to bring forward the Maréchal de Birron, and made a long speech about it. To this I at length replied, that the Maréchal de Birron in nowise concerned me; that I had no answer to make on the matter, and that it seemed to me that it was not a case in point. Count Rantzow askedme why, when I was demanded with whom I had corresponded in the kingdom, I had not said that I had written to him and to the treasurer Gabel. To this I replied that I thought those who asked me knew it well, so that it was not necessary for me to mention it; I had only said that of which they probably did not know. Count Rantzow again whispered to the chancellor, and the chancellor said: ‘In a letter to Lady Elsse Passberg you have written respecting another state of things in Denmark,’ (as he said this, he looked at Count Rantzow and asked if it was not so, or how it was); ‘what did you mean by that, madame?’ I replied that I could not recollect what cause her letter had given me to answer it in this way; what came before or what followed, would, without a doubt, explain my meaning; if I might see the letter, it would prove at once that I had written nothing which I could not justify.
Nothing more was said with regard to it. Count Rantzow asked me what foreign ministers had been with my lord in Bruges. ‘None,’ I answered,‘that I am aware of.’ He asked further whether any Holstein noblemen had been with him. I answered, ‘I do not know.’ Then he enumerated every Prince in Germany, from the Emperor to the Prince of Holstein, and enquired respecting each separately whether any of their Ministers had been with my husband. I gave the same answer as before to each question, that I was not aware that any one of them had been with him. Then he said, ‘Now, madame, confess! I beg you; remember Maréchal de Birron! you will not be asked again.’ I was somewhat tired of hearing Birron mentioned so often, and I answered rather hastily: ‘I do not care about the Maréchalde Birron; I cannot tell what I do not know anything about.’
Secretary Krag had written somewhat hurriedly it seemed, for when at my desire he read aloud what he had written, the answers did not accord with the questions; this probably partly arose from hurry, and partly from malice, for he was not amicably inclined towards my late lord. I protested against this when he read the minutes. The chancellor agreed with me in every item, so that Krag was obliged to re-write it. After this they got up and took their leave. I requested to beg His Majesty the King to be gracious to me, and not to believe what he had been informed with regard to my husband. I could not imagine they would find that he had ever deviated from his duty. ‘Yes,’ answered Count Rantzow, ‘if you will confess, madame, and tell us who is concerned in this business and the details of it, you might perhaps find him a gracious lord and king.’ I protested by the living God that I knew nothing of it; I knew of nothing of the kind, much less of accomplices. With this they went away, after having spent nearly three hours with me, and then the prison governor and the women entered. They spread the table and brought up the meal, but I took nothing but a draught of beer. The prison governor sat down to table with the women. If he had been merry before, he was still more so now, and he told one indecent story after another.
When they had had enough of feasting and talking he went away and locked the door; he came as usual again about four o’clock in the afternoon, and let the women go out, staying with me until they returned, which generally was not for two hours. When the women were alone with me, Anna told Catharina of hergrief for her first husband, and nothing else was talked of. I behaved as if I were asleep, and I did the same when the prison governor was alone with me, and he then passed the time in singing and humming. The evening meal was also very merry for the women, for the prison governor amused them by telling them of his second marriage; how he had wooed without knowing whom, and that he did not know it until the betrothal. The story was as ludicrous as it was diffuse. I noticed that it lasted an hour and a quarter.
When he had said good night, Anna sat down on my bed and began to talk to Catharina, and said, ‘Was it not a horrible story of that treacherous design to murder the King and Queen and the whole royal family?’ Catharina answered, ‘Thank God the King and Queen and the whole family are still alive!’ ‘Yes,’ said Anna, ‘it was no merit of the traitors, though, that they are so; it was too quickly discovered; the King knew it three months before he would reveal it to the Queen. He went about sorrowfully, pondering over it, unable quite to believe it; afterwards, when he was quite certain of it, he told the Queen; then the body-guard were doubled, as you know.’ Catherina enquired how they had learnt it. Anna answered, ‘That God knows; it is kept so secret that no one is allowed as much as to ask from whom it came.’ I could not help putting in a word; it seemed to me a pity that they could not find out the informer, and it was remarkable that no one ventured to confess having given the information. Catherina said, ‘I wonder whether it is really true?’ ‘What do you mean?’ answered Anna; ‘would the King do as he is doing without knowing for certain that it is true? How can you talk so?’ I regardedthis conversation as designed to draw some words from me, so I answered but little, only saying that until now I had seen nothing which gave credibility to the report, and that therefore I felt myself at liberty not to believe it until I saw certain proof of it. Anna adhered to her statement, wondered that there could be such evil people as could wish to murder the good King, and was very diffuse on the matter.[E17]She could be at no loss for material, for she always began again from the beginning; but at last she had to stop, since she spoke alone and was not interrupted either by Catharina or by me.
I got up and requested to have my bed made, which Catharina always did. Anna attended to the light during the night, for she was more watchful than Catharina. I read aloud to them from Anna’s book, commended myself to God, and laid down to sleep. But my sleep was light, the promenades of the rats woke me, and there were great numbers of them. Hunger made them bold; they ate the candle as it stood burning. Catharina, moreover, was very uncomfortable all night, so that this also prevented my sleeping. Early on the morning of August 11 the prison governor came as usual with his brandy attentions, although they had a whole bottle with them. Catharina complained a good deal, and said she could not endure the oppressive air; that when she came in at the door it seemed as if it would stifle her; if she were to remain there a week she was certain that she would be carried out dead. The prison governor laughed at this.
The women went away, and he remained with me. He presented me Major-General von Anfeldt’s compliments,and a message from him, that I ‘should be of good courage; all would now soon be well.’ I made no reply. He enquired how I was, and whether I had slept a little; and answered himself, ‘I fancy not much.’ He asked whether I would have anything, again answering himself, ‘No, I do not think you wish for anything.’ Upon this he walked up and down, humming to himself; then he came to my bedside and said: ‘Oh, the dear King! he is indeed a kind master! Be at peace; he is a gracious sovereign, and has always held you in esteem. You are a woman, a weak instrument. Poor women are soon led away. No one likes to harm them, when they confess the truth. The dear Queen, she is indeed a dear Queen! She is not angry with you. I am sure if she knew the truth from you, she would herself pray for you. Listen! if you will write to the Queen and tell her all about the matter, and keep nothing back, I will bring you pen, ink, and paper. I have no wish, on my soul! to read it. No, God take me if I will look at it; and that you may be sure of this, I will give you wax that you may seal it. But I imagine you have probably no seal?’ As I answered him not a word, he seized my hand and shook it rather strongly, saying, ‘Do you not hear? Are you asleep?’ I raised my head threateningly; I should like to have given him a box on the ears, and I turned round to the wall.
He was angry that his design had failed, and he went on grumbling to himself for more than an hour. I could not understand a word beyond, ‘Yes, yes! you will not speak.’ Then he muttered somewhat between his teeth: ‘You will not answer; well, well, they will teach you. Yes, by God! hum, hum, hum.’ He continued thus until the tower warder, Rasmus,came and whispered something to him; then he went out. It seemed to me that there was someone speaking with him, and so far as I could perceive it must have been someone who asked him if the ink and paper should be brought up, for he answered, ‘No, it is not necessary; she will not.’ The other said, ‘Softly, softly!’ The prison governor, however, could not well speak softly, and I heard him say, ‘She cannot hear that; she is in bed.’ When he came in again he went on muttering to himself, and stamped because I would not answer; he meant it kindly; the Queen was not so angry as I imagined. He went on speaking half aloud; he wished the women would come; he did nothing else but beg Rasmus to look for them.
Soon after Rasmus came and said that they were now going up the King’s Stairs. Still almost an hour passed before they came in and released him. When they had their dinner (my own meal consisted of some slices of lemon with sugar) the prison governor was not nearly so merry as he was wont to be, though he chattered of various things that had occurred in former times, while he was a quarter-master. He also retired sooner than was his custom. The women, who remained, talked of indifferent matters. I also now and then put in a word, and asked them after their husbands and children. Anna read some prayers and hymns from her book, and thus the day passed till four o’clock, when the prison governor let them out. He had brought a book with him, which he read in a tolerably low tone, while he kept watch by me. I was well pleased at this, as it gave me rest.
At the evening meal the prison governor began amongst other conversation to tell the women that a prisoner had been brought here who was a Frenchman;he could not remember his name; he sat cogitating upon the name just as if he could not rightly hit upon it. Carl or Char, he did not know what he was called, but he had been formerly several years in Denmark. Anna enquired what sort of a man he was. He replied that he was a man who was to be made to sing,[63]but he did not know for a certainty whether he was here or not. (There was nothing in all this.) He only said this in order to get an opportunity of asking me, or to perceive whether it troubled me.
He had undoubtedly been ordered to do this; for when he was gone Anna began a conversation with Catharina upon this same Carl, and at last asked me whether we had had a Frenchman in our employ. I replied that we had had more than one. She enquired further whether there was one among them named Carl, who had long been in our service. ‘We had a servant,’ I answered, ‘a Frenchman named Charle; he had been with us a long time.’ ‘Yes, yes,’ she said, ‘it is he. But I do not think he has arrived here yet; they are looking for him.’ I said, ‘Then he is easy to find, he was at Bruges when I left that town.’ Anna said she fancied he had been in England with me, and she added, ‘That fellow knows a good deal if they get him.’ I answered, ‘Then it were to be wished that they had him for the sake of his information.’ When she perceived that I troubled myself no further about him she let the conversation drop, and spoke of my sister Elizabeth Augusta, saying that she passed her every day. She was standing in her gateway or sitting in the porch, and that she greeted her, but never uttered a word ofenquiry after her sister, though she knew well that she was waiting on me in the Tower. I said I thought my sister did not know what would be the best for her to do. ‘I cannot see,’ said Anna, ‘that she is depressed.’ I expressed my opinion that the less we grieved over things the better. Other trifles were afterwards talked of, and I concluded the day with reading, commended myself to the care of Jesus, and slept tolerably well through the night.
August 12 passed without anything in particular occurring, only that Anna tried to trouble me by saying that a chamber next to us was being put in order, for whom she did not know; they were of course expecting someone in it. I could myself hear the masons at work. On the same day Catharina said that she had known me in prosperity, and blessed me a thousand times for the kindness I had shown her. I did not remember having ever seen her. She said she had been employed in the storeroom in the service of the Princess Magdalena Sybille, and that when I had visited the Princess, and had slept in theCastle, I had sent a good round present for those in the storeroom, and that she had had a share in it, and that this she now remembered with gratitude. Anna was not pleased with the conversation, and she interrupted it three times; Catharina, however, did not answer her, but adhered to the subject till she had finished. The prison governor was not in good humour on this day also, so that neither at dinner nor at supper were any indecent stories related.
On August 13, after the women had been into the town and had returned, the prison governor opened the door at about nine o’clock, and whispered something to them. He then brought in another small seat; from thisI perceived that I was to be visited by one more than on the previous occasion. At about ten o’clock Count Rantzow, General Skack, Chancellor Retz, Treasurer Gabel, and Secretary Krag entered. They all saluted me with politeness; the four first seated themselves on low seats by my bedside, and Krag placed himself with his writing materials at the table. The Chancellor was spokesman, and said, ‘His royal Majesty, my gracious Sovereign and hereditary King, sends you word, madame, that his Majesty has great cause for all that he is doing, and that he entertains suspicions with regard to you that you are an accomplice in the treason designed by your husband; and his royal Majesty had hoped that you would confess without compulsion who have participated in it, and the real truth about it.’
When the Chancellor ceased speaking, I replied that I was not aware that I had done anything which could render me suspected; and I called God to witness that I knew of no treason, and therefore I could mention no names. Count Rantzow said, ‘Your husband has not concealed it from you, hence you know it well.’ I replied, ‘Had my husband entertained so evil a design, I believe surely he would have told me; but I can swear with a good conscience, before God in Heaven, that I never heard him speak of anything of the kind. Yes, I can truly say he never wished evil to the King in my hearing, and therefore I fully believe that this has been falsely invented by his enemies.’ Count Rantzow and the Chancellor bent their heads together across to the General, and whispered with each other for some time. At length the Chancellor asked me whether, if my husband were found guilty, I would take part in hiscondemnation. This was a remarkable question, so I reflected a little, and said, ‘If I may know on what grounds he is accused, I will answer to it so far as I know, and so much as I can.’ The Chancellor said, ‘Consider well whether you will.’ I replied as before, that I would answer for him as to all that I knew, if I were informed of what he was accused. Count Rantzow whispered with Krag, and Krag went out, but returned immediately.
Soon afterward some one (whom I do not know) came from the Chancellor’s office, bringing with him some large papers. Count Rantzow and the Chancellor whispered again. Then the Chancellor said, ‘There is nothing further to do now than to let you know what sort of a husband you have, and to let you hear his sentence.’ Count Rantzow ordered the man who had brought in the papers to read them aloud. The first paper read was to the effect that Corfitz, formerly Count of Ulfeldt, had offered the kingdom of Denmark to a foreign sovereign, and had told the same sovereign that he had ecclesiastical and lay magnates on his side, so that it was easy for him to procure the crown of Denmark for the before-mentioned sovereign.
A paper was then read which was the defence of the clergy, in which they protested that Corfitz, Count of Ulfeldt, had never had any communication with any of them; that he had at no time shown himself a friend of the clergy, and had far less offered them participation in his evil design. They assured his royal Majesty of their fidelity and subjection, &c. Next, a paper was read, written by the Burgomaster and council in Copenhagen, nearly similar in purport, that they had had no correspondence with Count Corfitz Ulfeldt, andequally assuring his royal Majesty of their humble fidelity. Next followed the reading of the unprecedented and illegal sentence which, without a hearing, had been passed on my lord. This was as unexpected and grievous as it was disgraceful, and unjustifiable before God and all right-loving men. No documents were brought forward upon which the sentence had been given. There was nothing said about prosecution or defence; there was no other foundation but mere words; that he had been found guilty of having offered the crown of Denmark to a foreign sovereign, and had told him that he had on his side ecclesiastical and lay magnates, who had shown by their signed protestations that this was not the case, for which reason he had been condemned as a criminal.
When the sentence with all the names subjoined to it had been read, the reader brought it to me, and placed it before me on the bed. Everyone can easily imagine how I felt; but few or none can conceive how it was that I was not stifled by the unexpected misery, and did not lose my sense and reason. I could not utter a word for weeping. Then a prayer was read aloud which had been pronounced from the pulpit, in which Corfitz was anathematised, and God was prayed not to allow his gray hair to go to the grave in peace. But God, who is just, did not listen to the impious prayer of the unrighteous, praised be His name for ever.
When all had been read, I bemoaned with sighs and sorrowful tears that I had ever lived to see this sad day, and I begged them, forJesus’sake, that they would allow me to see on what the hard judgment was based. Count Rantzow answered, ‘You can well imagine, madame, that there are documents uponwhich we have acted: some of your friends are in the council.’ ‘May God better it!’ I said. ‘I beg you, for God’s sake, to let me see the documents.Les apparences sont bien souvent trompeuses. What had not my husband to suffer from that Swede in Skaane, during that long imprisonment, because he was suspected of having corresponded with his Majesty, the King of Denmark, and with his Majesty’s ministers? Now, no one knows better than his Majesty, and you my good lords, how innocently he suffered at that time, and so this also may be apparently credible, and yet may not be so in truth. Might I not see the documents?’ To this no answer was given. I continued and said, ‘How is it possible that a man who must himself perceive that death is at hand should undertake such a work, and be so led away from the path of duty, when he did not do so at a time when he acknowledged no master, and when such great promises were made him by the Prince of Holstein, as the Prince’s letters show, which are now in his Majesty’s hands.’ Count Rantzow interrupted me and said, ‘We did not find those letters.’ ‘God knows,’ I replied, ‘they were there; of that I am certain.’ I said also, ‘At that time he might have done something to gratify a foreign sovereign; at that time he had power and physical vigour, and almost the entire government was in his hands; but he never looked to his own advantage, but pawned his own property to hasten the King’s coronation, so that no impediment might come between.[64]This is his reward!Good gentlemen, take an example of me, you who have seen me in prosperity, and have compassion on me. Pray his royal Majesty to be mild, and not to proceed to such severity.’
The Chancellor and Treasurer were moved by this, so that the tears came into their eyes. Count Rantzow said to the General and the Chancellor, ‘I think it is a fortnight ago since the sentence was published?’ The Chancellor answered, ‘It is seventeen days ago.’[E18]I said, ‘At that time I was still in England, and now I am asked for information on the matter! Oh, consider this, for God’s sake! and that there was no one present to speak on my husband’s behalf.’ Count Rantzow enquired whether I wished to appeal against it?I replied, ‘How am I to appeal against a judicial decree? I only beg forJesus’sake that what I say may be considered, and that I may have the satisfaction of seeing the documents upon which the sentence is based.’
Count Rantzow answered as before, that there were documents, and that some of my friends had sat in the council, and added that all had been agreed, and that not one had had anything to say against it. I dared not say what I thought. I knew well how matters are done in such absolute governments: there is no such thing as opposition, they merely say, ‘Sign, the King wishes it; and ask not wherefore, or the same condemnation awaits thee.’[65]I wassilent, and bewailed my unhappiness, which was irremediable. When Krag read aloud the minutes he had written, namely, that when I was asked whether I would participate in my husband’s sentence, I had answered that I would consider of it. I asked, ‘How was that?’ The Chancellor immediately replied, ‘No, she did not say so, but she requested to know the accusation brought against her husband.’ I repeated my words again,[66]I know not whether Krag wrote them or not; for a great part of that which I said was not written. Krag yielded too much to his feelings in the matter, and would gladly have made bad worse. He is now gone where no false writings avail; God took him away suddenly in an unclean place, and called him to judgment without warning. And Count Rantzow, who was the principal mover and inventor of that illegal sentence, the like of which was never known in Denmark, did not live to see his desire fulfilled in the execution of a wooden image.[E19]When this was done, they rose and shook hands with me. This painful visit lasted more than four hours.
They went away, leaving me full of anxiety, sighing and weeping—a sad and miserable captive woman, forsaken by all; without help, exposed to power and violence, fearing every moment that her husband might fall into their hands, and that they might vent their malice on him. God performed on that day a great miracle, by manifesting His power in my weakness, preserving my brain from bewilderment, and mytongue from overflowing with impatience. Praised be God a thousand times! I will sing Thy praise, so long as my tongue can move, for Thou wast at this time and at all times my defence, my rock, and my shield!
When the gentlemen were gone away, the prison governor came and the women, and a stool was spread by the side of my bed. The prison governor said to me, ‘Eat, Leonora; will you not eat?’ As he said this, he threw a knife to me on the bed. I took up the knife with angry mind, and threw it on the ground. He picked up the knife, saying, ‘You are probably not hungry? No, no! you have had a breakfast to-day which has satisfied you, have you not? Is it not so?’ Well, well, come dear little women (addressing the two women), let us eat something! You must be hungry, judging from my own stomach.’ When they had sat down to table, he began immediately to cram himself, letting it fall as if inadvertently from his mouth, and making so many jokes that it was sad to see how the old man could not conceal his joy at my unhappiness.
When the meal was finished, and the prison governor had gone away, Anna sat down by my bed and began to speak of the sorrow and affliction which we endure in this world, and of the joy and delights of heaven; how the pain that we suffer here is but small compared with eternal blessedness and joy, wherefore we should not regard suffering, but should rather think of dying with a good conscience, keeping it unsullied by confessing everything that troubles us, for there is no other way. ‘God grant,’ she added, ‘that no one may torment himself for another’s sake.’ After having repeated this remark several times, she said to me, ‘Isit not true, my lady?’ ‘Yes, certainly it is true,’ I replied; ‘you speak in a Christian manner, and according to the scriptures.’ ‘Why will you, then,’ she went on to say, ‘let yourself be tormented for others, and not say what you know of them?’ I asked whom she meant. She answered, ‘I do not know them.’ I replied, ‘Nor do I.’ She continued in the same strain, however, saying that she would not suffer and be tormented for the sake of others, whoever they might be; if they were guilty they must suffer; she would not suffer for them; a woman was easily led away, but happiness was more than all kindred and friends.
As she seemed unable to cease chattering, I wished to divert her a little, so I asked whether she were a clergyman’s daughter; and since she had before told me of her parentage, she resented this question all the more, and was thoroughly angry; saying, ‘If I am not a clergyman’s daughter, I am the daughter of a good honest citizen, and not one of the least. In my time, when I was still unmarried, I never thought that I should marry a shoemaker.’ I said, ‘But your first husband, too, was also a shoemaker.’ ‘That is true,’ she replied, ‘but this marriage came about in a very foolish manner,’ and she began to narrate a whole history of the matter, so that I was left in peace. Catharina paced up and down, and when Anna was silent for a little, she said, with folded hands, ‘O God, Thou who art almighty, and canst do everything, preserve this man for whom they are seeking, and never let him fall into the hands of his enemies. Oh God, hear me!’ Anna said angrily to her, ‘Catharina, do you know what you are saying? How can you speak so?’ Catharina answered, ‘Yes, I know well what I am saying. God preserve him, and let him never fallinto the hands of his enemies. Jesus, be Thou his guide!’ She uttered these words with abundant tears. Anna said, ‘I think that woman is not in her senses.’ Catharina’s kind wish increased my tears, and I said, ‘Catharina shows that she is a true Christian, and sympathises with me; God reward her, and hear her and me!’ Upon this Anna was silent, and has not been so talkative ever since. O God, Thou who art a recompenser of all that is good, remember this in favour of Catharina, and as Thou heardest her at that time, hear her prayer in future, whatever may be her request! And you, my dear children, know that if ever fortune so ordains it that you can be of any service either to her or her only son, you are bound to render it for my sake; for she was a comfort to me in my greatest need, and often took an opportunity to say a word which she thought would alleviate my sorrow.
The prison governor came as usual, about four o’clock, and let the women out, seating himself on the bench and placing the high stool with the candle in front of him. He had brought a book with him, and read aloud prayers for a happy end, prayers for the hour of death, and prayers for one suffering temporal punishment for his misdeeds. He did not forget a prayer for one who is to be burnt; in reading this he sighed, so religious had he grown in the short time. When he had read all the prayers, he got up and walked up and down, singing funeral hymns; when he knew no more, he began again with the first, till the women released him. Catharina complained that her son had been ill, and was greatly grieved about it. I entered into her sorrow, and said that she ought to mention her son’s illness to the Queen, and then another would probably be appointed in her place; and I begged her tocompose herself, as the child would probably be better again. During the evening meal the prison governor was very merry, and related all sorts of coarse stories. When he was gone, Anna read the evening prayer. I felt very ill during this night, and often turned about in bed; there was a needle in the bed, with which I scratched myself; I got it out, and still have it.[67]
On August 14, when the prison governor opened the door early, the women told him that I had been very ill in the night. ‘Well, well,’ he answered, ‘it will soon be better.’ And when the women were ready to go to the Queen (which they were always obliged to do), Anna said to Catharina, outside the door, ‘What shall we say to the Queen?’ Catharina answered: ‘What shall we say, but that she is silent and will say nothing!’ ‘You know very well that the Queen is displeased at it.’ ‘Nevertheless, we cannot tell a lie;’ answered Catharina; ‘she says nothing at all, so it would be a sin.’[68]Catharina came back to the mid-day meal, and said that the Queen had promised to appoint another in her stead; in the afternoon, she managed secretly to say a word to me about the next chamber, which she imagined was being put in readiness for me and for no one else; she bid me good night, and promised to remember me constantly in her prayers. I thanked her for her good services, and for her kind feeling towards me.
About four o’clock the prison governor let her and Anna out. He sang one hymn after another, went to the stairs, and the time appeared long to him,till six o’clock, when Anna returned with Maren Blocks. At the evening meal the prison governor again told stories of his marriage, undoubtedly for the sake of amusing Maren. Anna left me alone, and I lay quiet in silence. Maren could not find an opportunity of speaking with me the whole evening, on account of Anna. Nothing particular happened on August 15 and 16.
When the prison governor let out Anna in the morning and afternoon, Maren Blocks remained with me, and the prison governor went his own way and locked the door, so that Maren had opportunity of talking with me alone. She told me different things; among others, that the Queen had given my clothes to the three women who had undressed me, that they might distribute them amongst themselves. She asked me whether I wished to send a message to my sister Elizabeth. I thanked her, but said that I had nothing good to tell her. I asked Maren for needles and thread, in order to test her. She replied she would gladly procure them for me if she dared, but that it would risk her whole well-being if the Queen should know it; for she had so strictly forbidden that anyone should give me either pins or needles. I inquired ‘For what reason?’ ‘For this reason,’ she replied, ‘that you may not kill yourself.’ I assured her that God had enlightened me better than that I should be my own murderer. I felt that my cross came from the hand of the Lord, that He was chastising me as His child; He would also help me to bear it; I trusted in Him to do so. ‘Then I hope, dear heart,’ said Maren, ‘that you will not kill yourself; then you shall have needles and thread; but what will you sew?’ I alleged that I wished to sew some buttons onmy white night-dress, and I tore off a pair, in order to show her afterwards that I had sewn them on.
Now it happened that I had sewn up some ducats in a piece of linen round my knee; these I had kept, as I pulled off the stockings myself when they undressed me, and Anna had at my desire given me a rag, as I pretended that I had hurt my leg. I sewed this rag over the leather. They all imagined that I had some secret malady, for I lay in the linen petticoat they had given me, and went to bed in my stockings. Maren imagined that I had an issue on one leg, and she confided to me that a girl at the court, whom she mentioned by name, and who was her very good friend, had an issue of which no one knew but herself, not even the woman who made her bed. I thought to myself, you keep your friend’s secret well; I did not, however, make her any wiser, but let her believe in this case whatever she would. I was very weak on those two days, and as I took nothing more than lemon and beer, my stomach became thoroughly debilitated and refused to retain food. When Maren told the prison governor of this, he answered, ‘All right, her heart is thus getting rid of its evil.’ Anna was no longer so officious, but the prison governor was as merry as ever.
On August 17 the prison governor did not open the door before eight o’clock, and Anna asked him how it was that he had slept so long. He joked a little; presently he drew her to the door and whispered with her. He went out and in, and Anna said so loudly to Maren, that I could hear it (although she spoke as if she were whispering), ‘I am so frightened that my whole body trembles, although it does not concern me. Jesus keep me! I wish I were down below!’ Maren looked sad, but she neither answered nor spoke a word. Marencame softly up to my bed and said, ‘I am sure some one is coming to you.’ I answered, ‘Let him come, in God’s name.’ Presently I heard a running up and down stairs, and also overhead, for the Commissioners came always through the apartments, in order not to cross the square. My doors were closed again. Each time that some one ran by on the stairs, Anna shuddered and said, ‘I quite tremble.’
This traffic lasted till about eleven. When the prison governor opened the door, he said to me, ‘Leonora, you are to get up and go to the gentlemen.’ God knows that I could hardly walk, and Anna frightened me by saying to Maren, ‘Oh! the poor creature!’ Maren’s hands trembled when she put on my slippers. I could not imagine anything else than that I was to be tortured, and I consoled myself with thinking that my pain could not last long, for my body was so weary that it seemed as if God might at any moment take me away. When Maren fastened the apron over my long dress, I said: ‘They are indeed sinning heavily against me; may God give me strength.’ The prison governor hurried me, and when I was ready, he took me by the arm and led me. I would gladly have been free of his help, but I could not walk alone. He conducted me up to the next story, and there sat Count Rantzow, Skack, Retz, Gabel, and Krag, round the table.
They all rose when I entered, and I made them a reverence as well as I was able. A small low seat had been placed for me in the middle, in front of the table. The Chancellor asked me whether I had not had more letters than those taken from me in England. I answered that I had not had more; that all my letters had been then taken from me. Heasked further, whether I had at that time destroyed any letters. ‘Yes,’ I answered, ‘one I tore in two, and threw it in a closet.’ ‘Why did you do so?’ enquired Count Rantzow. ‘Because’ I replied, ‘there were cyphers in it; and although they were of no importance, I feared, notwithstanding, that they might excite suspicion.’ Count Rantzow said: ‘Supposing the pieces were still forthcoming?’ ‘That were to be wished,’ I replied, ‘for then it could be seen that there was nothing suspicious in it, and it vexed me afterwards that I had torn it in two.’ Upon this the Chancellor drew forth a sheet of paper upon which, here and there, pieces of this very letter were pasted, and handed it to Krag, who gave it to me. Count Rantzow asked me if it were not my husband’s handwriting. I answered that it was. He said: ‘A part of the pieces which you tore in two have been found, and a part are lost. All that has been found has been collected and copied.’ He then asked the Chancellor for the copy, who gave it to Count Rantzow, and he handed it to me, saying, ‘See there what is wanting, and tell us what it is that is missing.’ I took it, and looked over it and said: ‘In some places, where there are not too many words missing, I think I can guess what is lost, but where a whole sentence is wanting, I cannot know.’
Most of the letter had been collected without loss of intervening pieces, and it all consisted of mirth and jest. He was telling me that he had heard from Denmark that the Electoral Prince of Saxony was to be betrothed with the Princess of Denmark;[E20]and he joked, saying that they would grease their throats and puff out their cheeks in order that with good graceand voice they might duly trumpet forth each their own titles, and more of the same kind, all in high colouring. He described the way in which Count Rantzow contrived to let people know his titles; when he had a dinner-party, there was a man employed to read aloud his titles to the guests, asking first each separately, whether he knew his titles; if there was anyone who did not know them, the secretary must forthwith come and read them aloud.
It seemed that Count Rantzow referred all this to himself, for he asked me what my husband meant by it. I replied that I did not know that he meant anything but what he had written; he meant undoubtedly those who did such things. The Chancellor averted his face from Count Rantzow, and his lips smiled a little; Gabel also did the same. Among other things there were some remarks about the Electoral Prince, that he probably cherished the hope of inheriting the Crown of Denmark; ‘mais j’espère ... cela ne se fera point.’ Count Rantzow enquired as to the words which were wanting. I said, if I remembered rightly, the words had been, ‘qu’en 300 ans.’ He enquired further as to the expressions lacking here and there, some of which I could not remember exactly, though they were of no importance. I expressed my opinion that they could easily gather what was wanting from the preceding and following words; it was sufficiently evident that all was jest, and this was apparent also to Gabel, who said, ‘Ce n’est que raillerie.’ But Count Rantzow and the General would not allow it to pass as jest.
Skack said: ‘One often means something else under the cloak of jest, and names are used when others are intended.’ For in the letter there was something said about drinking out; there was also an allusion made tothe manners of the Swiss at table, and all the titles of the canton nobles were enumerated, from which Skack thought that the names of the cities might have another signification. I did not answer Skack; but as Count Rantzow continued to urge me to say what my husband had meant by it, I replied that I could not know whether he had had another meaning than that which was written. Skack shook his head and thought he had, so I said: ‘I know no country where the same customs are in vogue at meals as in Switzerland; if there are other places where the same customs prevail, he may perhaps have meant these also, for he is only speaking of drinking.’
Gabel said again, ‘It is only jest.’ The cyphers, for the sake of which I had torn the letter in two, were fortunately complete, and nothing was missing. Count Rantzow gave me a sheet of paper, to which pieces of my lord’s letter were pasted, and asked me what the cyphers meant. I replied, ‘I have not the key, and cannot solve them out of my head.’ He expressed his opinion that I could do it. I said I could not. ‘Well, they have been read,’ he said, ‘and we know what they signify.’ ‘All the better,’ I answered. Upon this, he gave me the interpretation to read, and the purport of it was that our son had written from Rome, asking for money, which was growing short, for the young nobleman was not at home. I gave the paper back to Count Rantzow without saying anything. Count Rantzow requested the Treasurer that he should read the letter, and Rantzow began again with his questions wherever anything was wanting, requesting that I should say what it was. I gave him the same answer as before; but when in one passage, where some words were missing, he pressedme hard to say them, and it was evident from the context that they were ironical (since an ironical word was left written), I said: ‘You can add as much of the same kind as pleases you, if one is not enough; I do not know them.’ Gabel again said, ‘Ce n’est que raillerie.’[E21]
No further questions were then made respecting the letters; but Count Rantzow enquired as to my jewels, and asked where the large diamond was which my husband had received in France.[E22]I replied that it had long been sold. He further asked where my large drop pearls where, which I had worn as a feather on my hat, and where my large pearl head-ornament was. ‘All these,’ I replied, ‘have long been sold.’ He asked further whether I had then no more jewels. I answered, ‘I have none now.’ ‘I mean,’ he said,‘elsewhere.’ I replied, ‘I left some behind.’ ‘Where, then?’ he asked. ‘At Bruges,’ I replied. Then he said: ‘I have now somewhat to ask you, madame, that concerns myself. Did you visit my sister in Paris the last time you were there?’ I replied, ‘Yes.’ He asked whether I had been with her in the convent, and what was the name of the convent. I informed him that I had been in the convent, and that it was the Convent des Filles Bleues. At this he nodded, as if to confirm it. He also wished to know whether I had seen her. I said that no one in the convent might be seen by anyone but parents; even brothers and sisters were not allowed to see them.[E23]‘That is true,’ he said, and then rose and gave me his hand. I begged him to induce his gracious Majesty to have pity on me, but he made no answer. Whenthe Treasurer Gabel gave me his hand, I begged the same favour of him. He replied, ‘Yes, if you will confess,’ and went out without waiting for a reply.
For more than three hours they had kept up the interrogation. Then the prison governor came in and said to me: ‘Now you are to remain in here; it is a beautiful chamber, and has been freshly whitewashed; you may now be contented.’ Anna and Maren also came in. God knows, I was full of care, tired and weary, and had insufferable headache; yet, before I could go to rest, I had to sit waiting until the bedstead had been taken out of the ‘Dark Church’ and brought hither. Anna occupied herself meanwhile in the Dark Church, in scraping out every hole; she imagined she might find something there, but in vain. The woman who was to remain with me alone then came in. Her pay was two rix-dollars a week; her name is Karen, the daughter of Ole. After the prison governor had supped with the woman and Maren, Anna and Maren Blocks bade me good night; the latter exhibited great affection. The prison governor bolted two doors before my innermost prison. In the innermost door there is a square hole, which is secured with iron cross-bars. The prison governor was going to attach a lock to this hole, but he forebore at Karen’s request, for she said she could not breathe if this hole were closed. He then affixed locks to the door of the outer chamber, and to the door leading to the stairs; he had, therefore, four locks and doors twice a day to lock and unlock.
I will here describe my prison. It is a chamber, seven of my paces long and six wide; there are in it two beds, a table, and two stools. It was freshly whitewashed, which caused a terrible smell; the floor, moreover was so thick with dirt, that I imagined itwas of loam, though it was really laid with bricks. It is eighteen feet high, with a vaulted ceiling, and very high up is a window which is two feet square. In front of it are double thick iron bars, besides a wire-work, which is so close that one could not put one’s little finger into the holes. This wire-work had been thus ordered with great care by Count Rantzow (so the prison governor afterwards told me), so that no pigeons might bring in a letter—a fact which he had probably read in a novel as having happened. I was weak and deeply grieved in my heart; I looked for a merciful deliverance, and an end to my sorrow, and I sat silent and uncomplaining, answering little when the woman spoke to me. Sometimes in my reverie I scratched at the wall, which made the woman imagine that I was confused in my head; she told this to the prison governor, who reported it to the Queen, and during every meal-time, when the door was open, she never failed to send messengers to enquire how it fared with me, what I said, and what I was doing.
The woman had, however, not much to tell in obedience to the oath she, according to her own statement, had taken in the presence of the prison governor. But afterwards she found some means to ingratiate herself. And as my strength daily decreased, I rejoiced at the prospect of my end, and on August 21 I sent for the prison governor, and requested him to apply for a clergyman who could give me the sacrament. This was immediately granted, and His Majesty’s Court preacher, Magister Mathias Foss, received orders to perform for me the duties of his office, and exhorted me, both on behalf of his office and in consequence of the command he had received, not to burden my conscience; I might rest assured, he said, that in this world I should neversee my husband again, and he begged me to say what I knew of the treason. I could scarcely utter a word for weeping; but I said that I could attest before God in heaven, from whom nothing is hidden, that I knew nothing of this treason. I knew well I should never see my husband again in this life; I commended him to the Almighty, who knew my innocence; I prayed God only for a blessed end and departure from this evil world; I desired nothing from the clergyman but that he should remember me in his prayers, that God might by death put an end to my affliction. The clergyman promised faithfully to grant my request. It has not pleased God to hear me in this: He has willed to prove my faith still further, by sending to me since this time much care, affliction, and adversity. He has helped me also to bear the cross, and has Himself supported its heaviest end; His name be praised for ever. When I had received the Lord’s Supper, M. Foss comforted me and bid me farewell.
I lay silently for three days after this, taking little or nothing. The prison governor often enquired whether I wished for anything to eat or drink, or whether he should say anything to the King. I thanked him, but said I required nothing.
On August 25 the prison governor importuned me at once with his conversation, expressing his belief that I entertained an evil opinion of the Queen. He inferred it from this: the day before he had said to me that His Majesty had ordered that whatever I desired from the kitchen and cellar should be at once brought to me, to which I had answered, ‘God preserve His Majesty; he is a good sovereign; may he show clemency to evil men!’ He had then said, ‘The Queen is also good,’ to which I had made no answer. He had thentried to turn the conversation to the Queen, and to hear if he could not draw out a word from me; he had said: ‘The Queen is sorry for you that you have been so led away. It grieves her that you have willed your own unhappiness; she is not angry; she pities you.’ And when I made no answer, he repeated it again, saying from time to time, ‘Yes, yes, my dear lady, it is as I say.’ I was annoyed at the talk, and said, ‘Dieu vous punisse!’ ‘Ho, ho!’ he said, misinterpreting my words, and calling Karen, he went out and closed the doors. Thus unexpectedly I got rid of him. It was ridiculous that the woman now wanted to oblige me to attend to what the prison governor had said. I begged her to remember that she was now not attending on a child (she had before been nurse to children). She could not so easily depart from her habit, and for a long time treated me as a child, until at length I made her comprehend that this was not required.
When I perceived that my stomach desired food and could retain it, I became impatient that I could not die, but must go on living in such misery. I began to dispute with God, and wanted to justify myself with Him. It seemed to me that I had not deserved such misfortune. I imagined myself far purer than David was from great sins, and yet he could say, ‘Verily I have cleansed my heart in vain, and washed my hands in innocency. For all the day long have I been plagued, and chastened every morning.’ I thought I had not deserved so exceedingly great a chastisement as that which I was receiving. I said with Job, ‘Show me wherefore thou contendest with me. Is it good unto thee that thou shouldest oppress, that thou shouldest despise the work of thine hands?’ I repeated all Job’s expressions when he tried to justify himself,and it seemed to me that I could justly apply them to myself. I cursed with him and Jeremiah the day of my birth, and was very impatient; keeping it, however, to myself, and not expressing it aloud. If at times a word escaped me, it was in German (since I had generally read the Bible in German), and therefore the woman did not understand what I was saying. I was very restless from coughing, and turned from side to side on the bed. The woman often asked me how I was. I begged her to leave me quiet and not to speak to me. I was never more comfortable than in the night when I observed that she was sleeping; then, unhindered, I could let my tears flow and give free vent to my thoughts. Then I called God to account. I enumerated everything that I had innocently suffered and endured during my life, and I enquired of God whether I had deviated from my duty? Whether I ought to have done less for my husband than I had done? Whether the present was my recompense for not having left him in his adversity? Whether I was to be now tortured, tormented, and scorned for this? Whether all the indescribable misfortunes which I had endured with him were not enough, that I had been reserved for this irremediable and great trouble? I do not wish to conceal my unreasonableness. I will confess my sins. I asked if still worse misfortunes were in store for me for which I was to live? Whether there was any affliction on earth to be compared to mine? I prayed God to put an end to my sufferings, for it redounded in no wise to his honour to let me live and be so tormented. I was after all not made of steel and iron, but of flesh and blood. I prayed that He would suggest to me, or inform me in a dream, what I was to do to shorten my misery.
When I had long thus disputed and racked my brains, and had also wept so bitterly that it seemed as if no more tears remained, I fell asleep, but awoke with terror, for I had horrible fancies in my dreams, so that I feared to sleep, and began again to bewail my misery. At length God looked down upon me with his eye of mercy, so that on August 31 I had a night of quiet sleep, and just as day was dawning I awoke with the following words on my lips: ‘My son, faint not when thou art rebuked of the Lord; for whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth.’ I uttered the last words aloud, thinking that the woman was sleeping; possibly she awoke at the moment, and she asked me whether I wished for anything. I answered ‘No.’ ‘You were speaking,’ she said, ‘and you mentioned your stockings; I could not understand the rest.’ I replied, ‘It must have been then in my sleep. I wish for nothing.’
I then lay quietly thinking. I perceived and confessed my folly, that I, who am only dust and ashes, and decay, and am only fit for the dunghill, should call God to account, should dispute with my Creator and his decrees, and should wish to censure and question them. I began to weep violently, and I prayed fervently and from my heart for mercy and forgiveness. While I had before boasted with David, and been proud of my innocence, now I confessed with him that before God there is none that doeth good; no, not one. While before I had spoken foolishly with Job, I now said with him that I had ‘uttered that I understood not; things too wonderful for me which I knew not.’ I besought God to have mercy on me, relying on his great compassion. I cited Moses, Joshua, David, Jeremiah, Job, Jonah, and others, all highly endowedmen, and yet so weak that in the time of calamity they grumbled and murmured against God. I prayed that He would in his mercy forgive me, the frailest of earthen vessels, as I could not after all be otherwise than as He had created me. All things were in his power; it was easy to Him to give me patience, as He had before imparted to me power and courage to endure hard blows and shocks. And I prayed God (after asking forgiveness of my sins) for nothing else than good patience to await the period of my deliverance. God graciously heard me. He pardoned not only my foolish sins, but He gave me that also for which I had not prayed, for day by day my patience increased. While I had often said with David, ‘Will the Lord cast off for ever? and will he be favourable no more? Is his mercy clean gone for ever? doth his promise fail for evermore? Hath God forgotten to be gracious? Hath He in anger shut up his tender mercies?’ I now continued with him, ‘This is my infirmity, but I will remember the years of the right hand of the Most High.’ I said also with Psalm cxix.: ‘It is good for me that I have been afflicted; that I might learn thy statutes.’
The power of God was working within me. Many consolatory sentences from the Holy Scriptures came into my mind; especially these:—‘If so be that we suffer with Christ, that we may be also glorified together.’ Also: ‘We know that all things work together for good to them that love God.’ Also: ‘My grace is sufficient for thee, for my strength is made perfect in weakness.’ I thought especially often of Christ’s words in St. Luke, ‘Shall not God avenge his own elect, which cry day and night unto him, though he bear long with them? I tell you that he will avenge them speedily.’ I felt in my trouble how useful it isto have learned psalms and passages from the Bible in youth. Believe me, my children, that it has been a great consolation to me in my misery. Therefore, cultivate now in your youth what your parents taught you in childhood; now, while trouble visits you less severely, so that when it comes, you may be ready to receive it and to comfort yourselves with the Word of God.
I began by degrees to feel more at peace, and to speak with the woman, and to answer the prison governor when he addressed me. The woman told me sundry things, and said that the prison governor had ordered her to tell him everything that I spoke or did, but that she was too wise to do such a thing; that she understood now better than she had done at first how to behave. He went out, but she remained shut up with me, and she would be true to me. And as it appeared that I did not at once believe what she said, she swore it solemnly, and prayed God to punish her if ever she acted falsely towards me. She stroked and patted my hand, and laid it against her cheek, and begged that I would believe her, using the words, ‘My dearest lady, you can believe me; as truly as I am a child of God, I will never deceive you! Now, is not that enough?’ I answered, ‘I will believe you;’ thinking at the same time that I would do and say nothing but what she might divulge. She was very glad that she had induced me to speak, and said, ‘When you lay so long silent, and I had no one with whom I could speak, I was sad, and determined that I would not long lead this life, even if they gave me double as much, for I should have become crazed. I was afraid for you, but still more for myself, that my head would give way.’
She went on talking in this way, introducing alsovarious merry stories. When she was young she had been in the service of a clergyman, who encouraged his domestics in the fear of God, and there she had learned prayers and sentences from the Bible by heart; she knew also the Children’s Primer, with the explanatory remarks, and sang tolerably well. She knew in some measure how she should walk before God and behave towards her neighbour; but she acted contrary to her knowledge—for she had a malicious temper. She was an elderly woman, but she liked to reckon herself as middle-aged. It appeared that in her youth she had been pretty and rather dissolute, since even now she could not lay aside her levity, but joked with the tower-warder, and the prison governor’s coachman, a man of the name of Peder, and with a prisoner named Christian (more will presently be said with regard to this prisoner; he was free to go about the tower).[69]
Maren Blocks often sent me a message through this coachman, besides various kinds of candied sugar and citron, letting me know from time to time whether anything new was occurring. All this had to be done through the woman. One day she came in when the doors were closed, and brought me a message from Maren Blocks, saying, ‘My lady, if you will now write to your children in Skaane, there is a safe opportunity for you to do so.’ I answered, ‘My children are not in Skaane, yet if I can send a message to Skaane, I have a friend there who will probably let me know how it fares with my children.’ She gave me a piece of crumpled paper and a pencil. I wrote afew words to F. Margrete Rantzow,[E24]saying that she probably knew of my miserable condition, but supposing that her friendship was not lessened by it, and begging her to let me know how my children were, and from what cause they had come to Skaane, as I had been informed was the case, though I did not believe it. This was what I wrote and gave to the woman. I heard nothing further of it, and I imagine that she had been ordered to find out to whom I wrote, &c. (They have been busy with the idea that some of you, my dear children, might come to Skaane.) I sewed up the letter or slip of paper in such a manner that it could not be opened without making it apparent. I asked the woman several times if she knew whether the letter had been sent away. She always answered that she did not know, and that with a morose expression, and at last she said (when I once more asked her to enquire of Peder), ‘I suppose that the person who ought to have it has got it.’ This answer made me reflect, and since then I asked no further.
I remained all this time in bed, partly because I had nothing with which to beguile the time, and partly because of the cold, for no stove was placed in my prison till after the New Year. Occasionally I requested the woman to manage, through Peder, that I should have a little silk or thread, that I might beguile the time by embroidering a piece of cloth that I had; but the answer I received was that he dared not. A long time afterwards it came to my knowledge that she had never asked Peder for it. There was trouble enough, however, to occupy my thoughts without my needing to employ the time in handiwork.
It was on September 2 that I heard some one moving early overhead, so I asked the woman if she knew whether there was a chamber there (for the woman went up every Saturday with the night-stool). She answered that there was a prison there like this, and outside was the rack (which is also the case). She observed that I showed signs of fear, and she said, ‘God help! Whoever it is that is up there is most assuredly to be tortured.’ I said, ‘Ask Peder, when the doors are unlocked, whether there is a prisoner there.’ She said she would do so, and meanwhile she kept asking herself and me who it might be. I could not guess; still less did I venture to confess my fear to her, which she nevertheless perceived, and therefore increased; for after she had spoken with Peder, about noon,[70]and the doors were locked, she said, ‘God knows who it is that is imprisoned there! Peder would tell me nothing.’ She said the same at the evening meal, but added that she had asked him, and that he would give no answer. I calmed myself, as I heard no more footsteps above, and I said, ‘There is no prisoner up there.’[71]‘How do you know that?’ she asked. ‘I gather it from the fact,’ I said, ‘that since this morning I have heard no one above; I think if there were anyone there, they would probably give him something to eat.’ She was not pleased that my mind was quieted, and therefore she and Peder together endeavoured to trouble me.
On the following day, when the doors were being locked after the mid-day dinner (which was generally Peder’s task), and he was pulling to my innermost door,which opens inside, he put in his head and said, ‘Casset!’ She was standing beside the door, and appeared as if she had not rightly understood him, saying, ‘Peder spoke of some one who is in prison, but I could not understand who it is.’ I understood him at once, but also behaved as if I had not. No one knows but God what a day and night I had. I turned it over in my mind. It often seemed to me that it might be that they had seized him, although Cassetta was a subject of the King of Spain; for if treason is suspected, there is no thought given as to whose subject the man suspected may be. I lay in the night secretly weeping and lamenting that the brave man should have come into trouble for my sake, because he had executed my lord’s will, and had followed me to England, where we parted, I should say, when Petcon and his company separated us and carried me away.
I lay without sleep till towards day, then I fell into a dream which frightened me. I suppose my thoughts caused it. It came before me that Cassetta was being tortured in the manner he had once described to me that a Spaniard had been tortured: four cords were fastened round his hands and feet, and each cord was made secure in a corner of the room, and a man sometimes pulled one cord and sometimes another; and since it seemed to me that Cassetta never screamed, I supposed that he was dead, and I shrieked aloud and awoke. The woman, who had long been awake, said: ‘O God! dear lady, what ails you? Are you ill? You have been groaning a long time, and now you screamed loudly.’ I replied, ‘It was in my dream; nothing ails me.’ She said further, ‘Then you have had a bad dream?’ ‘That may well be,’ I answered. ‘Oh, tell me what you have dreamt; I can interpretdreams.’ I replied, ‘When I screamed I forgot my dream, otherwise no one can interpret dreams better than I.’ I thank God I do not regard dreams; and this dream had no other cause than what I have said. When the door was locked after the mid-day meal, the woman said of herself (for I asked no further respecting the prisoners), ‘There is no one imprisoned there; shame on Peder for his nonsense!’ I asked him who was imprisoned there, and he laughed at me heartily. ‘There is no one there, so let your mind be at peace.’ I said, ‘If my misfortunes were to involve others, it would be very painful to me.’
Thus matters went on till the middle of September, and then two of our servants were brought as prisoners and placed in arrest; one Nils Kaiberg, who had acted as butler, and the other Frans, who had been in our service as a lacquey. After having been kept in prison for a few weeks and examined they were set at liberty. At the same time two Frenchmen were brought as prisoners: an old man named La Rosche, and a young man whose name I do not know. La Rosche was brought to the tower and was placed in the witch-cell; a feather-bed had been thrown down, and on this he lay; for some months he was never out of his clothes. His food consisted of bread and wine; he refused everything else. He was accused of having corresponded with Corfitz, and of having promised the King of France that he would deliver Crooneborg into his hands.[72]This information had been given by Hannibal Sehested, who was at that time in France, and he had it from a courtesan who was then intimate with Hannibal, but had formerlybeen in connection with La Rosche, and probably afterwards had quarrelled with him. There was no other proof in favour of the accusation. Probably suspicion had been raised by the fact that this La Rosche, with the other young man, had desired to see me when I was in arrest in Dover, which had been permitted, and they had paid me their respects. It is possible that he had wished to speak with me and to tell me what he had heard in London, and which, it seemed to him, excited no fears in me. But as I was playing at cards with some ladies who had come to look at me, he could not speak with me; so he asked me whether I had the book of plays which the Countess of Pembroke had published.[E25]I replied, ‘No’. He promised to send it me, and as I did not receive it, I think he had written in it some warning to me, which Braten afterwards turned to his advantage.
However all this may be, La Rosche suffered innocently, and could prove upon oath that he had never spoken with my lord in his life, and still less had corresponded with him.[73]In short, after some months of innocent suffering, he was set at liberty and sent back to France. The other young man was confined in an apartment near the servants’ hall. He had only been apprehended as a companion to the other, but no further accusation was brought against him.[E26]At first, when these men were imprisoned, there was a whispering and talking between the prison governor and the woman, and also between Peder and her; the prison governor moreover himself locked my door. I plainly perceived that there was something in the wind, but I made no enquiries.Peder at length informed the woman that they were two Frenchmen, and he said something about the affair, but not as it really was. Shortly before they were set at liberty the prison governor said, ‘I have two parle mi franço in prison; what they have done I know not.’ I made no further enquiries, but he jested and said, ‘Now I can learn French.’ ‘That will take time,’ said I.
In the same month of September died Count Rantzow. He did not live to see the execution of an effigy, which he so confidently had hoped for, being himself the one who first had introduced this kind of mockery in these countries.[E27]