On October 9 our Princess Anna Sophia was betrothed to the Electoral Prince of Saxony. On the morning of the day on which the festivities were to take place I said to the woman, ‘To-day we shall fast till evening.’ For I thought they would not think of me, and that I should not receive any of the remains until the others had been treated, at any rate, to dinner. She wished to know the reason why we were to fast. I answered, ‘You shall know it this evening.’ I lay and thought of the change of fortune: that I, who twenty-eight years ago had enjoyed as great state as the Princess, should now be lying a captive, close by the very wall where my bridal chamber had been; thank God, that it afflicted me but little. Towards noonday, when the trumpets and kettledrums were sounding, I said, ‘Now they are conducting the bride across the square to the great hall.’ ‘How do you know that?’ said the woman. ‘I know it,’ I said; ‘my spirit tells me so.’ ‘What sort of spirit is that?’ sheasked. ‘That I cannot tell you,’ I replied. And as the trumpets blew every time that a new course of dishes and sweets were produced, I mentioned it; and before they were served the kettledrums were sounded. And as they were served on the square in front of the kitchen, I said each time, ‘We shall have no dinner yet.’ When it was nearly three o’clock, the woman said, ‘My stomach is quite shrunk up; when shall we have dinner?’ I answered, ‘Not for a long time yet; the second course is only now on the table; we shall have something at about seven o’clock, and not before.’ It was as I said. About half-past seven the prison governor came and excused himself, saying that he had asked for the dinner, but that all hands in the kitchen were occupied. The woman, who had always entertained the idea that I was a witch, was now confirmed in her opinion.[74]
On the following day knights were dubbed, and each time when the trumpets blew I did not only say, ‘Now they have made a knight’ (for I could hear the herald calling from the window, though I could not understand what he said), but even who had been made a knight; for this I guessed, knowing who were in the Council who were not knights before; and because it was as I said, the woman believed for certain that I was an enchantress. I perceived this, as she put questions to me concerning things which I could not know, and to which I often gave equivocal answers. I thought perhaps that the fear she had that I could know what would happen might hinder her from entangling me with lies. Since then she whispered much lesswith the prison governor. She told of a person whom she regarded as a witch, whose power, however, consisted in nothing else than in the science of curing French pox, and causing the miscarriage of bad women, and other improprieties. She had had much intercourse with this woman.
Some time after the departure of the Electoral Prince it was determined that a wooden effigy should be subjected to capital punishment, and on the forenoon my chamber was opened, swept, cleaned, and strewed with sand.[75]When it was opened, towards noon, and the woman had been on the stairs, talking with the coachman, she came in, and walking up to my bed, stood as if startled, and said hurriedly, ‘Oh, Jesus! Lady, they are bringing your husband!’ The news terrified me, which she observed; for as she uttered it, I raised myself in the bed and stretched out my right arm, and was not able to draw it back again at once. Perhaps this vexed her, for I remained sitting in this way and not speaking a word; so she said, ‘My dearest lady, it is your husband’s effigy.’ To this I said, ‘May God punish you!’ She then gave full vent to her evil tongue, and expressed her opinion that I deserved punishment, and not she, and used many unprofitable words. I was quite silent, for I was very weak, and scarcely knew where I was. In the afternoon I heard a great murmuring of people in the inner palace square, and I saw the effigy brought across the street by the executioner on a wheelbarrow, and placed in the tower below my prison.
The next morning, at about nine o’clock, theeffigy waswofullytreated by the executioner, but no sound came from it. At the mid-day meal the prison governor told the woman how the executioner had cut off its head, and had divided the body into four quarters, which were then placed on four wheels, and attached to the gallows, while the head was exhibited on the town hall. The prison governor stood in the outer chamber, but he narrated all this in a loud tone, so that I might hear it, and repeated it three times.[E28]I lay and thought what I should do; I could not show that I made but little of it, for then something else perhaps would be devised to trouble me, and in the hurry I could think of nothing else than saying to the woman with sadness, ‘Oh, what a shame! speak to the prison governor and tell him to beg the King to allow the effigy to be taken down and not to remain as it is!’ The woman went out, and spoke softly with the prison governor; but he answered aloud and said, ‘Yes, indeed, taken down! There will be more put up; yes, more up;’ and kept on repeating these words a good while.
I lay silently thinking; I said nothing, but indulged in my own reflections. Sometimes I consoled myself, and hoped that this treatment of the effigy was a token that they could not get the man; then again fear asserted its sway. I did not care for the dishonour, for there are too many instances of great men in France whose effigies have been burnt by the executioner, and who subsequently arrived again at great honour.
When the door was unlocked again for the evening meal, there was a whispering between the prisongovernor and the woman. A lacquey was also sent, who stood outside the outer door and called the prison governor to him (my bed stands just opposite the doors, and thus when all three doors are opened I can see the staircase door, which is the fourth). I do not know what the woman can have told the prison governor, for I had not spoken all day, except to ask her to give me what I required; I said, moreover, nothing more than this for several days, so that the prison governor grew weary of enquiring longer of the woman; for she had nothing to communicate to him respecting me, and she tormented him always with her desire to get away; she could not longer spend her life in this way.
But as she received no other consolation from him than that he swore to her that she would never get away as long as she lived, for some days she did nothing else than weep; and since I would not ask her why she wept, she came one day up to my bedside crying, and said, ‘I am a miserable being!’ I asked her why? what ailed her? ‘I ail enough,’ she answered; ‘I have been so stupid, and have allowed myself to be shut up here for the sake of money, and now you are cross with me and will not speak with me.’ I said, ‘What am I to say? you wish perhaps to have something to communicate to the prison governor?’ Upon this she began to call down curses on herself if she had ever repeated to the prison governor a word that I had said or done; she wished I could believe her and speak with her; why should she be untrue to me? we must at any rate remain together as long as we lived. She added many implorations as to my not being angry; I had indeed cause to be so; she would in future give me no cause for anger, for she would be true to me. I thought, ‘You shall know no more than is necessary.’
I let her go on talking and relating the whole history of her life—such events as occur among peasants. She had twice married cottagers, and after her last widowhood she had been employed as nurse to the wife of Holger Wind, so that she had no lack of stories. By her first husband she had had a child, who had never reached maturity, and her own words led me to have a suspicion that she had herself helped to shorten the child’s days; for once when she was speaking of widows marrying again, she said among other things, ‘Those who wish to marry a second time ought not to have children, for in that case the husband is never one with the wife.’ I had much to say against this, and I asked her what a woman was to do who had a child by her first husband. She answered quickly, ‘Put a pillow on its head.’ This I could only regard as a great sin, and I explained it to her. ‘What sin could there be,’ she said, ‘when the child was always sickly, and the husband angry in consequence?’ I answered as I ought, and she seemed ill at ease. Such conversation as this gave me no good reason to believe in the fidelity which she had promised me.
The woman then took a different tack, and brought me word from the coachman of all that was occurring. Maren Blocks sent me a prayer-book through her, and that secretly, for I was allowed no book of any kind, nor any needles and pins; respecting these the woman had by the Queen’s order taken an oath to the prison governor. Thus the year passed away. On New Year’s day, 1664, the woman wished me a happy year. I thanked her, and said, ‘That is in God’s hands.’ ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘if He wills it.’ ‘And if He does not will it,’ I answered, ‘it will not be, and then He will give me patience to bear my heavy cross.’ ‘It is heavy,’ shesaid, ‘even to me; what must it not be to you? May it only remain as it is, and not be worse with you!’ It seemed to me as if it could not be worse, but better; for death, in whatever form, would put an end to my misery. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘is it not all one how one dies?’ ‘That is true,’ I answered; ‘one dies in despair, another with free courage.’ The prison governor did not say a word to me that day. The woman had a long talk with the coachman; she no doubt related to him our conversation.
In the month of March the prison governor came in and assumed a particularly gentle manner, and said, among other things, ‘Now you are a widow; now you can tell the state of all affairs.’ I answered him with a question, ‘Can widows tell the state of all affairs?’ He laughed and said, ‘I do not mean that; I mean this treason!’ I answered, ‘You can ask others about it who know of it; I know of no treason.’ And as it seemed to him that I did not believe that my husband was dead,[E29]he took out a newspaper and let me read it, perhaps chiefly because my husband was badly treated in it. I did not say much about it—nothing more than, ‘Writers of newspapers do not always speak the truth.’ This he might take as he liked.
I lay there silently hoping that it might be so, that my husband had by death escaped his enemies; and I thought with the greatest astonishment that I should have lived to see the day when I should wish my lord dead; then sorrowful thoughts took possession of me, and I did not care to talk. The woman imagined that I was sad because my lord was dead, and she comforted me, and that in areasonable manner; but the remembrance of past times was only strengthened by her consolatory remarks, and for a long time my mind could not again regain repose. Your condition, my dearest children, troubled me. You had lost your father, and with him property and counsel. I am captive and miserable, and cannot help you, either with counsel or deed; you are fugitives and in a foreign land. For my three eldest sons I am less anxious than for my daughters and my youngest son.[E30]I sat up whole nights in my bed, for I could not sleep, and when I have headache I cannot lay my head on the pillow. From my heart I prayed to God for a gracious deliverance. It has not pleased God to grant this, but He gave me patience to bear my heavy cross.
My cross was so much heavier to me at first, as it was strictly forbidden to give me either knife, scissors, thread, or anything that might have beguiled the time to me. Afterwards, when my mind became a little calmer, I began to think of something wherewith to occupy myself; and as I had a needle, as I have before mentioned, I took off the ribands of my night-dress, which were broad flesh-coloured taffeta. With the silk I embroidered the piece of cloth that I had with different flowers worked in small stitches. When this was finished, I drew threads out of my sheet, twisted them, and sewed with them. When this was nearly done, the woman said one day, ‘What will you do now when this is finished?’ I answered, ‘Oh, I shall get something to do; if it is brought to me by the ravens, I shall have it.’ Then she asked me if I could do anything with a broken wooden spoon. I answered,‘Perhaps you know of one?’ After having laughed a while, she drew one forth, the bowl of which was half broken off. ‘I could indeed make something with that,’ I said, ‘if I had only a tool for the purpose. Could you persuade the prison governor or Peder the coachman to lend me a knife?’ ‘I will beg for one,’ she answered, ‘but I know well that they will not.’ That she said something about it to the prison governor I could perceive from his answer, for he replied aloud, ‘She wants no knife; I will cut her food for her. She might easily injure herself with one.’[76]
What she said to the coachman I know not (this I know, that she did not desire me to obtain a knife, for she was afraid of me, as I afterwards discovered). The woman brought the answer from the coachman that he dared not for his life. I said, ‘If I can but have a piece of glass, I will see what I can make that is useful with the piece of spoon.’ I begged her to look in a corner in the outermost room, where all rubbish was thrown; this she did, and found not only glass, but even a piece of a pewter cover which had belonged to a jug. By means of the glass I formed the spoon handle into a pin with two prongs, on which I made riband, which I still have in use (the silk for this riband I took from the border of my night-dress). I bent the piece of pewter in such a manner that it afterwards served me as an inkstand. It also is still in my keeping. As a mark of fidelity, the woman brought me at the same time a large pin, which was a good tool for beginning the division between the prongs, which I afterwards scraped with glass.
She asked me whether I could think of anything to play with, as the time was so long to her. I said, ‘Coax Peder, and he will bring you a little flax for money and a distaff.’ ‘What!’ she answered, ‘shall I spin? The devil may spin! For whom should I spin?’ I said, ‘To beguile the time, I would spin, if I only had what is necessary for it.’ ‘That you may not have, dear lady,’ said she; ‘I have done the very utmost for you in giving you what I have done.’ ‘If you wish something to play with,’ said I, ‘get some nuts, and we will play with them.’ She did so, and we played with them like little children. I took three of the nuts, and made them into dice, placing two kinds of numbers on each, and we played with these also. And that we might know the ⊙ which I made with the large pin,[77]I begged her to procure for me a piece of chalk, which she did, and I rubbed chalk into it. These dice were lost, I know not how; my opinion is that the coachman got possession of them, perhaps at the time that he cheated the woman out of the candles and sugar left. For he came to her one day at noon quite out of breath, and said she was to give him the candles and the sugar which he had brought her from Maren Blocks, and whatever there was that was not to be seen, as our quarters were to be searched. She ran out with the things under her apron, and never said anything to me about it until the door was locked. I concealed on myself, as well as I was able, my pin, my silk, and the pieces of sewing with the needle and pin. Nothing came of the search, and it was only aruseof the coachman, in order to get the candles that were left, for which she often afterwards abused him, and also for the sugar.
I was always at work, so long as I had silk from my night-dress and stockings, and I netted on the large pin, so that it might last a long time. I have still some of the work in my possession, as well as the bobbins, which I made out of wooden pegs. By means of bags filled with sand I made cords which I formed into a bandage (which is worn out), for I was not allowed a corset, often as I begged for one; the reason why is unknown to me. I often beguiled the time with the piece of chalk, painting with it on a piece of board and on the table, wiping it away again, and making rhymes and composing hymns. The first of these, however, I composed before I had the chalk. I never sang it, but repeated it to myself.
A morning hymn, to the tune, ‘Ieg wil din Priiss ud Synge’[E31]:—
IGod’s praise I will be singingIn every waking hour.My grateful tribute bringingTo magnify his power;And his almighty love,His angel watchers sending,My couch with mercy tending,And watching from above.IIIn salt drops streaming everThe tears flowed from my eyes;I often thought I neverShould see the morning rise.Yet has the Lord instilledSleep in his own good pleasure;And sleep in gracious measureHas his command fulfilled.IIIOh Christ! Lord of the living,Thine armour place on me,Which manly vigour giving,Right valiant shall I be,‘Gainst Satan, death, and sin.And every carnal feeling,That nought may come concealingThy sway my heart within.IVHelp me! Thy arms extending;My cross is hard and sore:Support its heaviest ending,Or I can bear no more.Too much am I oppressed!My trust is almost waningWith pain and vain complaining!Thine arrows pierce my breast.VIn mercy soothe the sorrowThat weighs the fatherless;Vouchsafe a happier morrow,And all my children bless!Strength to their father yield,In their hard fate respect them,From enemies protect them;My strength, be Thou their shield.VII am but dust and ashes,Yet one request I crave:Let me not go at unawaresInto the silent grave.With a clear mind and breastMy course in this world closing,Let me, on Thee reposing,Pass to Thy land of rest.
I
God’s praise I will be singingIn every waking hour.My grateful tribute bringingTo magnify his power;And his almighty love,His angel watchers sending,My couch with mercy tending,And watching from above.
II
In salt drops streaming everThe tears flowed from my eyes;I often thought I neverShould see the morning rise.Yet has the Lord instilledSleep in his own good pleasure;And sleep in gracious measureHas his command fulfilled.
III
Oh Christ! Lord of the living,Thine armour place on me,Which manly vigour giving,Right valiant shall I be,‘Gainst Satan, death, and sin.And every carnal feeling,That nought may come concealingThy sway my heart within.
IV
Help me! Thy arms extending;My cross is hard and sore:Support its heaviest ending,Or I can bear no more.Too much am I oppressed!My trust is almost waningWith pain and vain complaining!Thine arrows pierce my breast.
V
In mercy soothe the sorrowThat weighs the fatherless;Vouchsafe a happier morrow,And all my children bless!Strength to their father yield,In their hard fate respect them,From enemies protect them;My strength, be Thou their shield.
VI
I am but dust and ashes,Yet one request I crave:Let me not go at unawaresInto the silent grave.With a clear mind and breastMy course in this world closing,Let me, on Thee reposing,Pass to Thy land of rest.
I composed the following hymn in German and often sang it, as they did not understand German; a hymn,somewhat to the air of ‘Was ist doch auff dieser Welt, das nicht fehlt?’ &c.:—
IReason speaketh to my soul:Fret not Soul,Thou hast a better goal!It is not for thee restrictedThat with theePast should beAll the wrongs inflicted.IIWhy then shouldst thou thus fret thee,Anxiously,Ever sighing, mournfully?Thou canst not another sorrowChange with this,For that isWhich shall be on the morrow.IIILoss of every earthly gainBringeth pain;Fresh courage seek to obtain!Much was still superfluous ceded,Nature’s callAfter allMakes but little needed.IVIs the body captive here?Do not fear:Thou must not hold all too dear;Thou art free—a captive solely;Can no towerHave the powerThee to fetter wholly?VAll the same is it at lastWhen thou hastThe long path of striving past,And thou must thy life surrender;Death comes round,Whether foundOn couch hard or tender.VICourage then, my soul, arise!Heave no sighsThat nought yet thy rest supplies!God will not leave thee in sorrow:Well He knowsWhen He choseHelp for thee to borrow.
I
Reason speaketh to my soul:Fret not Soul,Thou hast a better goal!It is not for thee restrictedThat with theePast should beAll the wrongs inflicted.
II
Why then shouldst thou thus fret thee,Anxiously,Ever sighing, mournfully?Thou canst not another sorrowChange with this,For that isWhich shall be on the morrow.
III
Loss of every earthly gainBringeth pain;Fresh courage seek to obtain!Much was still superfluous ceded,Nature’s callAfter allMakes but little needed.
IV
Is the body captive here?Do not fear:Thou must not hold all too dear;Thou art free—a captive solely;Can no towerHave the powerThee to fetter wholly?
V
All the same is it at lastWhen thou hastThe long path of striving past,And thou must thy life surrender;Death comes round,Whether foundOn couch hard or tender.
VI
Courage then, my soul, arise!Heave no sighsThat nought yet thy rest supplies!God will not leave thee in sorrow:Well He knowsWhen He choseHelp for thee to borrow.
Thus I peacefully beguiled the time, until Doctor Otto Sperling[E32]was brought to the tower; his prison is below the ‘dark church.’ His fate is pitiable. When he was brought to the tower his feet and hands were chained in irons. The prison governor, who had formerly not been friendly with him, rejoiced heartily at the doctor’s misfortune, and that he had fallen into his hands, so that the whole evening he did nothing but sing and hum. He said to the woman, ‘My Karen, will you dance? I will sing.’ He left the doctor to pass the night in his irons. We could hear that a prisoner had been brought in from the murmuring, and the concourse of people, as well as from the locking of the prison, which was below mine (where iron bolts were placed against the door).[78]The joy exhibited by the prison governor excited my fear, also that he not only himself opened and shut my door, but that he prevented the woman from going out on the stairs, by leaning against the outermost door of my prison. The coachman stood behind the prison governor makingsigns; but as the prison governor turned from side to side, I could not rightly see him.
On the following day, at about eight o’clock, I heard the iron bolts drawn and the door below opened; I could also hear that the inner prison was opened (the doctor was then taken out for examination). The woman said, ‘There is certainly a prisoner there; who can it be?’ I said: ‘It seems indeed that a prisoner has been brought in, for the prison governor is so merry. You will find it out from Peder; if not to-day, another time. I pity the poor man, whoever he may be.’ (God knows my heart was not as courageous as I appeared.) When my door was opened at noon (which was after twelve o’clock, for they did not open my door till the doctor had been conveyed to his cell again), the prison governor was still merrier than usual, and danced about and sang, ‘Cheer up! courage! It will come to pass!’
When he had cut up the dinner, he leaned against the outer door of my prison and prevented the woman from going out, saying to me, ‘I am to salute you from the Major-General von Alfeldt; he says all will now soon be well, and you may console yourself. Yes, yes, all will now soon be well!’ I behaved as if I received his words in their apparent meaning, and I begged him to thank the Major-General for his consolation; and then he repeated the same words, and added, ‘Yes, indeed! he said so.’ I replied with a question: ‘What may it arise from that the Major-General endeavours to cheer me? May God cheer him in return! I never knew him before.’ To this the prison governor made no answer at all. While the prison governor was talking with me, the coachman was standing behind him, and showed bygestures how the prisoner had been bound hand and foot, that he had a beard and a calotte on his head, and a handkerchief round his neck. This could not make me wiser than I was, but it could indeed grieve me still more. At the evening meal the woman was again prevented speaking with the coachman, and the coachman again made the same signs, for the prison governor was standing in his usual place; but he said nothing, nor did I.[79]On the following morning the Doctor was again brought up for examination, and the prison governor behaved as before. As he stood there ruminating, I asked him who the prisoner below was. He answered that there was no one below. I let the matter rest for the time, and as we proceeded to speak of other things, the woman slipped out to Peder, who told her quickly who it was. Some days went by in the same manner. When sentence had been pronounced on the Doctor, and his execution was being postponed,[80]and I said nothing to the prison governor but when he accosted me, he came in and said: ‘I see that you can judge that there is a prisoner below. It is true, but I am forbidden to tell you who it is!’ I answered: ‘Then I do not desire to know.’ He began to feel some compassion, and said: ‘Don’t fret, my dear lady; it is not your husband, nor your son, nor daughter, nor brother-in-law, nor any relative; it is a bird which ought to sing,[81]and will not, but he must, he must!’ I said: ‘I ought to be ableto guess from your words who it is. If the bird can sing what can ring in their ears, he will probably do so; but he cannot sing a melody which he does not know!’ Upon this he was silent, and turned away and went out.
By degrees all became quiet with regard to the Doctor, and no more was said about the matter, and the prison governor came in from time to time when the door was opened, and often made himself merry with the woman, desiring her to make a curtsey to him, and showing her how she should place her feet and carry her body, after the fashion of a dancing-master. He related also different things that had occurred in former times, some of them evidently intended to sadden me with the recollection of my former prosperity: all that had happened at my wedding, how the deceased King had loved me. He gave long accounts of this, not forgetting how I was dressed, and all this he said for the benefit of no one else but myself, for the woman meanwhile stood on the stairs talking with the tower warder, the coachman, and the prisoner Christian.
Maren Blocks, who constantly from time to time sent me messages and kept me informed of what was going on, also intimated to me that she was of opinion that I could practise magic, for she wrote me a slip of paper[82]with the request that I should sow dissension between the Lady Carisse and an Alfelt, explaining at length that Alfelt was not worthy of her, but that Skinckel was a brave fellow (Carisse afterwards married Skinckel). As the letter was open, the coachman knew its contents, andthe woman also. I was angry at it, but I said nothing. The woman could easily perceive that I was displeased at it, and she said, ‘Lady, I know well what Maren wishes.’ I replied, ‘Can you help her in it?’ ‘No,’ she declared, and laughed heartily. I asked what there was to laugh at. ‘I am laughing,’ said she, ‘because I am thinking of the clever Cathrine, of whom I have spoken before, who once gave advice to some one desiring to sow discord between good friends.’ I enquired what advice she had given. She said that they must collect some hairs in a place where two cats had been fighting, and throw these between the two men whom it was desired to set at variance. I enquired whether the trick succeeded. She replied, ‘It was not properly tried.’ ‘Perhaps,’ I said, ‘the cats were not both black?’ ‘Ho, ho!’ said she, ‘I see that you know how it should be done.’ ‘I have heard more than that,’ I replied; ‘show her the trick, and you will get some more sugar-candy, but do not let yourself be again cheated of it by Peder as you were lately. Seriously, however, Peder must beg Maren Blocks to spare me such requests!’ That she as well as Maren believed that I could practise magic was evident in many ways. My own remarks often gave cause for this. I remembered how my deceased lord used to say (when in his younger days he wished to make anyone imagine that he understood the black art), that people feared those of whom they had this opinion, and never ventured to do them harm. It happened one day at the mid-day meal, when the prison governor was sitting talking with me, that the woman carried on a long conversation on the stairs with the others respecting the witches who had been seized in Jutland, and that the supreme judge in Jutland atthat time sided with the witches and said they were not witches.[E33]When the door was locked we had much talk about witches, and she said, ‘This judge is of your opinion, that it is a science and not magic.’ I said, as I had before said, that some had more knowledge than others, and that some used their knowledge to do evil; although it might happen naturally and not with the devil’s art, still it was not permitted in God’s Word to use nature for evil purposes; it was also not fair to give the devil the honour which did not belong to him. We talked on till she grew angry, laid down and slept a little, and thus the anger passed away.
Some days after she said: ‘Your maid is sitting below in the prison governor’s room, and asks with much solicitude after you and what you are doing. I have told Peder of what you have sewed, and of the ribbons you have made, but he has promised solemnly not to mention it to anyone except to Maren, Lars’ daughter; she would like so much to be here with you.’ I replied: ‘It would be no good for her to sit with me in prison; it would only destroy her own happiness; for who knows how long I may live?’ I related of this same waiting-maid that she had been in my employ since she was eight years old, all that I had had her taught, and how virtuous she was. To this she replied, ‘The girl will like to see what you have sewed; you shall have it again directly.’ I handed it to her, and the first time the doors were unlocked she gave it to the prison governor, who carried it to the Queen. (Two years afterwards the prison governor told me this himself, and that when the King had said, ‘She might have something given her to do,’ the Queen had answered, ‘Thatis not necessary. It is good enough for her! She has not wished for anything better.’) I often enquired for the piece of sewing, but was answered that Peder was not able to get it back from the girl.
Late in the autumn the prison governor began to sicken: he was ill and could not do much, so he let the coachman frequently come alone to lock and unlock both the doctor’s door below and mine. The iron bars were no longer placed before the outermost prison below, but four doors were locked upon me. One day, when Peder was locking up, he threw me a skein of silk,[83]saying, ‘Make me some braces for my breeches out of it.’ I appeared not to have heard, and asked the woman what it was that he had said. She repeated the same words. I behaved as if I did not believe it, and laughed, saying, ‘If I make the braces for him, he will next wish that you should fasten them to his breeches.’ A good deal of absurd chatter followed. As meal-time was approaching, I said to the woman, ‘Give Peder back his silk, and say that I have never before made a pair of braces; I do not know how they are made.’ (Such things I had to endure with smiles.)
At the time that our former palace here in the city (which we had ceded by a deed when we were imprisoned at Borringholm) was pulled down, and a pillar (or whatever it is) was raised to my lord’s shame, the prison governor came in when he unlocked at noon, and seated himself on my bed (I was somewhat indisposed at the time), and began to talk of former times (I knew already that they were pulling down the palace),enumerating everything the loss of which he thought might sadden me, even to my coach and the horses. ‘But,’ he said, ‘all this is nothing compared with the beautiful palace!’ (and he praised it to the utmost); ‘it is now down, and not one stone is left on another. Is not that a pity, my dear lady?’ I replied: ‘The King can do what he will with his own; the palace has not been ours for some time.’ He continued bewailing the beautiful house and the garden buildings which belonged to it. I asked him what had become of Solomon’s temple? Not a stone of that beautiful building was now to be found; not even could the place be pointed out where the temple and costly royal palace had once stood. He made no answer, hung his head, and pondered a little, and went out. I do not doubt he has reported what I said. Since that day he began to behave himself more and more courteously, saying even that His Majesty had ordered him to ask me whether I wished for anything from the kitchen, the cellar, or the confectioner, as it should be given me; that he had also been ordered to bring me twice a week confectionery and powdered sugar, which was done.[84]I begged the prison governor to thank the King’s Majesty for the favour shown me, and praised, as was proper, the King’s goodness most humbly. The prison governor would have liked to praise the Queen had he only been able to find cause for so doing; he said, ‘The Queen is also a dear Queen!’ I made no answer to this. He came also some time afterwards with an order from theKing that I should ask for any clothes and linen I required: this was written down, and I received it later, except a corset, and that the Queen would not allow me. I never could learn the cause of this. The Queen also was not well pleased that I obtained a bottle-case with six small bottles, in which was sprinkling-water, headwater, and a cordial. All this, she said, I could well do without; but when she saw that in the lid there was an engraving representing the daughter of Herod with the head of St. John on a charger, she laughed and said, ‘That will be a cordial to her!’ This engraving set me thinking that Herodias had still sisters on earth.
The prison governor continued his politeness, and lent me at my desire a German Bible, saying at the same time, ‘This I do out of kindness, I have no order to do so; the Queen does not know it.’ ‘I believe that,’ I replied, and thanked him; but I am of opinion that the King knew it well. Some days afterwards Maren Blocks sent for her prayer-book back again. I had taught the woman a morning and evening prayer by heart, and all the morning and evening hymns, which she repeated to me night and morning. I offered to teach her to read if she would procure an A B C. She laughed at this jeeringly, and said, ‘People would think me crazed if I were to learn to read now.’ I tried to persuade her by argument, in order that I might thus get something to beguile the time with; but far from it; she knew as much as she needed. I sought everywhere for something to divert my thoughts, and as I perceived that the potter, when he had placed the stove, had left a piece of clay lying outside in the other room, I begged the woman to give it to me.
The prison governor saw that she had taken it, butdid not ask the reason. I mixed the clay with beer, and made various things, which I frequently altered again into something else; among other things I made the portraits of the prison governor and the woman, and small jugs and vases. And as it occurred to me to try whether I were able to make anything on which I could place a few words to the King, so that the prison governor should not observe it (for I knew well that the woman did not always keep silence; she would probably some time say what I did), I moulded a goblet over the half of the glass in which wine was brought to me, made it round underneath, placed it on three knobs, and wrote the King’s name on the side—underneath the bottom these words ...il y a un ... un Auguste.[E34]
I kept it for a long time, not knowing in what way I could manage to get it reported what I was doing, since the woman had solemnly sworn to me not to mention it: so I said one day: ‘Does the prison governor ask you what I am doing?’ ‘Yes, indeed he does,’ she replied, ‘but I say that you are doing nothing but reading the Bible.’ I said: ‘You may ingratiate yourself in his favour and say that I am making portraits in clay; there is no reason that he should not know that.’ She did so, and three days after he came to me, and was quite gentle, and asked how I passed my time. I answered, ‘In reading the Bible.’ He expressed his opinion that I must weary of this. I said I liked at intervals to have something else to do, but that this was not allowed me. He enquired what I had wanted the clay for, which the woman had brought in to me; he had seen it when she had brought it in. I said, ‘I have made some small trifles.’ He requested to seethem. So I showed him first the woman’s portrait; that pleased him much, as it resembled her; then a small jug, and last of all the goblet. He said at once: ‘I will take all this with me and let the King see it; you will perhaps thus obtain permission to have somewhat provided you for pastime,’[85]I was well satisfied. This took place at the mid-day meal. At supper he did not come in. The next day he said to me: ‘Well, my dear lady, you have nearly brought me into trouble!’ ‘How so?’ I asked. ‘I took the King a petition from you! the Queen did not catch sight of it, but the King saw it directly and said, “So you are now bringing me petitions from Leonora?” I shrank back with terror, and said, “Gracious King! I have brought nothing in writing!” “See here!” exclaimed the King, and he pointed out to me some French writing at the bottom of the goblet. The Queen asked why I had brought anything written that I did not understand. I asserted that I had paid no attention to it, and begged for pardon. The good King defended me, and theinventiondid not please him ill. Yes, yes, my dear lady! be assured that the King is a gracious sovereign to you, and if he were certain that your husband were dead, you would not remain here!’ I was of opinion that my enemies well knew that my husband was dead. I felt that I must therefore peacefully resign myself to the will of God and the King.
I received nothing which might have beguiled the time to me, except that which I procured secretly, and the prison governor has since then never enquired whatI was doing, though he came in every evening and sat for some time talking with me; he was weak, and it was a labour to him to mount so many steps. Thus we got through the year together.
The prison governor gradually began to feel pity for me, and gave me a book which is very pretty, entitled ‘Wunderwerck.’[E35]It is a folio, rather old, and here and there torn; but I was well pleased with the gift. And as he sat long of an evening with me, frequently till nine o’clock, talking with me, the malicious woman was irritated.[86]She said to Peder, ‘If I were in the prison governor’s place, I would not trust her in the way he does. He is weak; what if she were now to run out and take the knife which is lying on the table outside, and were to stab him? She could easily take my life, so I sit in there with my life hanging on a thread.’
Absurd as the idea was, the knife was not only in consequence hidden under the table, but the prison governor for a long time did not venture to come to me, but sat outside by my outermost door and talked there just as long as before, so that I was no gainer.[87](I did not know what the woman had said till three years afterwards, when it was mentioned by the prisoner Christian, who had heard the woman’s chatter.)
One day when the prison governor intended to go tothe holy communion, he stood outside my outermost door and took off his hat, and begged for my forgiveness; he knew, he said, that he had done much to annoy me, but that he was a servant. I answered, ‘I forgive you gladly!’ Then he went away, and Peder closed the door. The woman said something to Peder about the prison governor, but I could not understand what. Probably she was blaming the prison governor, for she was so angry that she puffed; she could not restrain her anger, but said: ‘Fye upon the old fool! The devil take him! I ought to beg pardon too? No’ (she added with an oath), ‘I would not do it for God’s bitter death! No! no!’ and she spat on the ground. I said afterwards: ‘What does it matter to you that the prison governor asks me for my friendship? Do you lose anything by it? If you will not live like a Christian and according to the ordinances of the Church, do not at any rate be angry with one who does. Believe assuredly that God will punish you, if you do not repent of what evil you have done and will not be reconciled with your adversaries before you seek to be reconciled with God!’
She thought that he had done nothing else than what he was ordered to do. I said, ‘You good people know best yourselves what has been ordered you.’ She asked, ‘Do I do anything to you?’ I answered, ‘I know not what you do. You can tell any amount of untruths about me without my knowing it.’ Upon this she began a long story, swearing by and asserting her fidelity; she had never lied to anyone nor done anyone a wrong. I said: ‘I hear; you are justifying yourself with the Pharisee.’ She started furiously from her seat and said, ‘What! do you abuse me as a Pharisee?’ ‘Softly, softly!’ Isaid; ‘while only one of us is angry, it is of no consequence; but if I get angry also, something may come of it!’ She sat down with an insolent air, and said, ‘I should well imagine that you are not good when you are angry! It is said of you that in former days you could bear but little, and that you struck at once. But now’——(with this she was silent). ‘What more?’ I said. ‘Do you think I could not do anything to anyone if I chose, just as well as then, if anyone behaved to me in a manner that I could not endure? Now much more than then! You need not refuse me a knife because I may perhaps kill you; I could do so with my bare hands. I can strangle the strongest fellow with my bare hands, if I can seize him unawares, and what more could happen to me than is happening? Therefore only keep quiet!’
She was silent, and assumed no more airs; she was cast down, and did not venture to complain to the prison governor. What she said to the others on the stairs I know not, but when she came in, when the room was locked at night, she had been weeping.[88]
On Sunday at noon I congratulated[E36]the prison governor and said: ‘You are happy! You can reconcile yourself with God, and partake of His body and blood; this is denied to me (I had twice during two years requested spiritual consolation, but had received in answer that I could not sin as I was now in prison; that I did not require religious services). And as I talkedupon this somewhat fully with the prison governor, I said that those who withheld from me the Lord’s Supper must take my sins upon themselves; that one sinned as much in thought as in word and deed; so the prison governor promised that he would never desist from desiring that a clergyman should come to me; and asked whom I wished for. I said: ‘The King’s Court preacher, whom I had in the beginning of my troubles.’ He said: ‘That could scarcely be.’ I was satisfied whoever it was.
A month afterwards I received the holy communion from the German clergyman, M. Hieronimus Buk, who behaved very properly the first time, but spoke more about the law than the gospel. The prison governor congratulated me, and I thanked him, for he had brought it about.
1665. In this year, on Whitsun-eve, the prison governor ordered May-trees to be placed in my inner prison, and also in the anteroom. I broke small twigs from the branches, rubbed off the bark with glass, softened them in water, laid them to press under a board, which was used for carrying away the dirt from the floor, and thus made them flat, then fastened them together and formed them into a weaver’s reed. Peder the coachman was then persuaded to give me a little coarse thread, which I used for a warp. I took the silk from the new silk stockings which they had given me, and made some broad ribbons of it (The implements and a part of the ribbons are still in my possession.) One of the trees (which was made of the thick end of a branch which Peder had cut off) was tied to the stove, and the other I fastened to my own person. The woman held the warp: she was satisfied, and I have no reason to think that she spoke about it, for theprison governor often lamented that I had nothing with which to beguile the time, and he knew well that this had been my delight in former times, &c.[89]
He remained now again a long time with me after meals, for his fear had passed away, or he had, perhaps, forgotten, as his memory began to fail him. He said then many things which he ought not. He declined perceptibly, and was very weak; he would remain afterwards sitting outside, reading aloud, and praying God to spare his life. ‘Yes,’ he would say, ‘only a few years!’ When he had some alleviation, he talked unceasingly. Creeping along the wall to the door, he said, ‘I should like to know two things: one is, who will be prison governor after me? The other is, who is to to have my Tyrelyre?’ (That was Tyre, his wife.) I replied: ‘That is a knowledge which you cannot obtain now, especially who will woo your wife. You might, perhaps, have already seen both, but at your age you may yet have long to live.’ ‘Oh!’ said he, ‘God grant it!’ and looked up to the window. ‘Do you think so, my dear lady?’ ‘Yes, I do,’ I replied. A few days afterwards, he begged me again to forgive him, if he had done me any wrong since the last time, for he wished to make reconciliation with God before he became weaker, and he wept and protested, saying, ‘It indeed grieves me still that I should have often annoyed you, and you comfort me.’ On Sunday at noon I congratulated him on his spiritual feast.
Thus he dragged on with great difficulty for aboutfourteen days, and as I heard that two men were obliged almost to carry him up the stairs, I sent him word that he might remain below on the ground floor of the tower, and that he might rest assured I would go nowhere. He thanked me, crawled up for the last time to my door, and said, ‘If I did that and the Queen heard of it, my head would answer for it.’ I said: ‘Then confess your weakness and remain in bed. It may be better again; another could meanwhile attend for you.’ He took off his cap in recognition of my advice, and bade me farewell. I have never seen him again since then. One day afterwards he crawled up in the tower-chamber, but came no farther.
A man of the name of Hans Balcke was appointed in his place to keep watch over the prisoners. He was very courteous. He was a cabinet-maker by trade; his father, who had also been a cabinet-maker, had worked a good deal for me in the days of my prosperity. This man had travelled for his trade both in Italy and Germany, and knew a little Italian. I found intercourse with him agreeable, and as he dined in the anteroom outside, in the tower, I begged him to dine with me, which he did for fourteen days. One day, when he carved the joint outside, I sent him word requesting him to come in. He excused himself, which appeared strange to me.
After he had dined, he said that Peder the coachman had jeered at him, and that he had been forbidden to dine with me. When he afterwards remained rather long with me talking, I begged him myself to go, so that this also might not be forbidden. He had on one occasion a large pin stuck in his sleeve, and I begged him for it. He said, ‘I may not give it you, but if you take it yourself, I can’t help it.’ So I tookit, and it has often been of use to me. He gave me several books to read, and was in every way courteous and polite. His courtesy was probably the reason why the prisons were not long entrusted to him, for he was also very good to Doctor Sperling, giving him slices of the meat which came up to me, and other good food. In his childhood he had been a playfellow of the doctor’s children. He talked also occasionally a long time with the doctor, both on unlocking and locking his door, which did not please the servants.[90]The prison governor lay constantly in bed; he endeavoured as often as he could to come up again, but there was little prospect of it. So long as the keys were not taken from him, he was satisfied.
My maid Maren, Lars’ daughter, had risen so high in favour at court, that she often sat in the women’s apartment, and did various things. One day the woman said to me, ‘That is a very faithful maiden whom you have! She speaks before them up there in a manner you would never believe.’ I replied: ‘I have permitted her to say all she knows. I have no fear of her calumniating me.’ ‘Have you not?’ she said ironically. ‘Why does she throw herself, then, on her bare knees, and curse herself if she should think of returning to you?’ I said: ‘She wished to remain with me (according to your own statement), but she was not allowed; so she need not curse herself.’ ‘Why then do you think,’ said she, ‘that she is so much in favour at court?’ ‘Do you mean,’ I replied, ‘that if anyone is in favour at court, it is because their lips are full oflies? I am assured my maid has calumniated no one, least of all me; I am not afraid.’
The woman was angry, and pouted in consequence for some time. Some weeks afterwards Maren, Lars’ daughter, was set at liberty, and became waiting-maid to the Countess Friis: and Balcke brought me some linen which she still had belonging to me. The woman was not a little angry at this, especially as I said: ‘So faithful I perceive is my maid to me, that she will not keep the linen, which she might easily have done, for I could not know whether it had not been taken from her with the rest.’
All my guards were very ill satisfied with Balcke, especially the woman, who was angry for several reasons. He slighted her, she said, for he had supplied a basin for the night-stool which was heavier than the former one (which leaked); but she was chiefly angry because he told her that she lived like a heathen, since she never went to the sacrament. For when I once received the holy communion, while Balcke was attending to me, he asked her if she would not wish to communicate also, to which she answered, ‘I do not know German.’ Balcke said, ‘I will arrange that the clergyman shall come to you whose office it is to administer the Lord’s Supper to the prisoners.’ She replied that in this place she could not go with the proper devotion: if she came out, she would go gladly. Balcke admonished her severely, as a clergyman might have done. When the door was closed, she gave vent to puffing and blowing, and she always unfastened her jacket when she was angry.
I said nothing, but I thought the evil humour must have vent, or she will be choked; and this was the case, for she abused Balcke with the strongest languagethat occurred to her. She used unheard-of curses, which were terrible to listen to: among others, ‘God damn him for ever, and then I need not curse him every day.’ Also, ‘May God make him evaporate like the dew before the sun!’ I could not endure this cursing, and I said, ‘Are you cursing this man because he held before you the word of God, and desires that you should be reconciled with God and repent your sins?’ ‘I do not curse him for that,’ she said, ‘but on account of the heavy basin which the accursed fellow has given me, and which I have to carry up the steep stairs;[91]the devil must have moved him to choose it! Does he want to make a priest of himself? Well, he is probably faultless, the saucy fellow!’ and she began again with her curses.
I reproved her and said: ‘If he now knew that you were cursing him in this way, do you not think he would bring it about that you must do penitence? It is now almost two years since you were at the Lord’s table, and you can have the clergyman and you will not.’ This softened her a little, and she said, ‘How should he know it, unless you tell him?’ I said, ‘What passes here and is said here concerns no one but us two; it is not necessary that others should know.’ With this all was well; she lay down to sleep, and her anger passed away; but the hate remained.
The prison governor continued to lie in great pain, and could neither live nor die. One day at noon, when Balcke unlocked (it was just twenty weeks since he had come to me), a man came in with him, very badly dressed, in a grey, torn, greasy coat, with few buttons that could be fastened, with an old hat to which wasattached a drooping feather that had once been white but was now not recognisable from dirt. He wore linen stockings and a pair of worn-out shoes fastened with packthread.[92]Balcke went to the table outside and carved the joint; he then went to the door of the outer apartment, stood with his hat in his hand, made a low reverence, and said, ‘Herewith I take my departure; this man is to be prison governor.’ I enquired whether he would not come again to me. He replied, ‘No, not after this time.’ Upon this I thanked him for his courteous attendance, and wished him prosperity.[93]
Peder the coachman locked the door, and the new prison governor, whose name was Johan Jäger,[E37]never appeared before me the whole day, nor during the evening. I said to the woman in the morning, ‘Ask Peder who the man is;’ which she did, and returned to me with the answer that it was the man who had taken the Doctor prisoner; and that now he was to be prison governor, but that he had not yet received the keys. Not many days passed before he came with the Lord Steward to the old prison governor, and the keys were taken from the old man and given to him. Theold man lived only to the day after this occurred. In both respects his curiosity was satisfied; he saw the man who was to be prison governor after him (to his grief), and the doctor who attended him obtained his Tyrelyre before the year was ended.
The new prison governor Jäger[E37b]did not salute me for several weeks, and never spoke to me. He rarely locked my doors, but he generally opened them himself. At length one day, when he had got new shoes on, he took his hat off when he had opened the door, and said ‘Good morning.’ I answered him, ‘Many thanks.’ The woman was very pleased while this lasted. She had her free talk with Peder the coachman (who still for a couple of months came to the tower as before) and with the prisoner Christian, who had great freedom, and obtained more and more freedom in this prison governor’s time, especially as Rasmus the tower-warder was made gatekeeper, and a man of the name of Chresten was appointed in his place. Among other idle talk which she repeated to me, she said that this prison governor was forbidden to speak with me. I said, ‘I am very glad, as he then can tell no lies about me.’ I am of opinion that he did not venture to speak with me so long as Peder brought up the food to the tower, and was in waiting there; for when he had procured Peder’s dismissal on account of stealing, he came in afterwards from time to time. The very first time he was intoxicated. He knew what Peder had said of Balcke, and he informed me of it.[94]
Before I mention anything of the prisoner Christian’sdesigns against me, I will in a few words state the crime for which he was in prison. He had been a lacquey in the employ of Maans Armfelt. With some other lacqueys he had got into a quarrel with a man who had been a father to Christian, and who had brought him up from his youth and had taken the utmost care of him. The man was fatally wounded, and called out in the agonies of death: ‘God punish thee, Christian! What a son you have been! It was your hand that struck me!’ The other lacqueys ran away, but Christian was seized. His dagger was found bloody. He denied, and said it was not he who had stabbed the man. He was sentenced to death; but as the dead man’s widow would not pay for the execution, Christian remained for the time in prison, and his master paid for his maintenance. He had been there three years already when I came to the prison, and three times he was removed; first from the Witch Cell to the Dark Church; and then here where I am imprisoned.[95]When I was brought here, he was placed where the Doctor is, and when the Doctor was brought in, Christian was allowed to go freely about the tower. He wound the clock for the tower-warder, locked and unlocked the cells below, and had often even the keys of the tower.
I remember once, when Rasmus the tower-warder was sitting at dinner with the prison governor in my outermost cell, and the prison governor wished to send Peder on a message, he said to Rasmus: ‘Go and open! I want Peder to order something.‘Father,’ said Rasmus, ‘Christian has the key.’ ‘Indeed!’ said the prison governor; ‘that is pretty work!’ And there it rested, for Rasmus said, ‘I am perfectly sure that Christian will not go away.’ Thus by degrees Christian’s freedom and power increased after Peder the coachman left, and he waited on the prison governor at meals in my outermost room.
One day, when the woman had come down from above, where she had been emptying the utensils in my room, and the doors were locked, she said to me: ‘This Christian who is here has been just speaking with me upstairs. He says he cannot describe the Doctor’s miserable condition, how severe is his imprisonment, and what bad food he gets, since Balcke left. He has no longer any candle except during meal-time, and no light reaches him but through the hole in his door leading into the outer room. He begged me to tell you of it; his eyes were full of tears, such great pity had he for him.’ I said: ‘That is all that one can do, and it is the duty of a Christian to sympathise with the misfortune of one’s neighbour. The poor man must have patience as well as I, and we must console ourselves with a good conscience. The harder he suffers the sooner comes the end; he is an old man.’
Two days afterwards she came again with some talk from Christian. The Doctor sent me his compliments, and he asked constantly if I was well; she said also, that Christian would give him anything I liked to send him. I regarded this as a snare, but I said that Christian could take a piece of roast meat when the prison governor was with me, and that he should look about for something into which wine could be poured, and then she could secretly give some from my glass, and beg Christian to give my compliments to theDoctor. This was accepted, and I had rest for a few days. Christian conformed entirely to the woman, caused a dispute between her and the tower-warder, and made it immediately right again; so that there was no lack of chatter. At last she said one day: ‘That is an honest fellow, this Christian! He has told me how innocently he got into prison and was sentenced. He is afraid that you may think he eats and drinks all that you send to the Doctor. He swore with a solemn oath that he would be true to you, if you would write a word to the Doctor.[96]I hope you do not doubt my fidelity!’ and she began to swear and to curse herself if she would deceive me. She said, he had taken a no less solemn oath, before she believed him. I said: ‘I have nothing to write to him. I do not know what I have to write.’ ‘Oh!’ said she, ‘write only two words, so that the old man may see that he can trust him! If you wish for ink, Christian can give you some.’ I replied: ‘I have something to write with, if I choose to do so, and I can write without ink and paper.’
This she could not understand; so I took some pieces of sugared almonds, and made some letters on them with the large pin, placing on four almonds the words:non ti fidar! I divided the wordfidar, and placed half on each almond. I had in this way rest for a day, and somewhat to beguile the time. Whether the Doctor could not see what was written on the almonds, or whether he wished to test Christian’s fidelity, I know not, but Christian brought the woman a slip of paper from the Doctor to me, full of lamentations at our condition,and stating that my daughter Anna Cathrina, or else Cassetta, were the cause of his misfortune.
I wished to know more of this, so I wrote to him desiring information (we wrote to each other in Italian). He replied that one or the other had left his letter lying somewhere on the table, where it was found and despatched; for that a letter of his was the cause of his misfortune. I wrote back to him that it was not credible, but that he was suspected of having corresponded with my lord, and hence his letters had been seized. The more I tried to impress this upon him the more opinionated he became,[97]and he wrote afterwards saying that it was a scheme of Cassetta’s to get him into the net, in order to bring me out of it. When he began to write in this way, I acquired a strange opinion of him, and fancied he was trying to draw something out of me which he could bring forward; and I reflected for some days whether I should answer. At last I answered him in this strain, that no one knew better than he that I was not aware of any treason; that the knowledge as to how his correspondence with my lord had become known was of no use to him; that I had no idea why he was sentenced, and that no sentence had been passed on me. Some weeks elapsed before the Doctor wrote. At last he communicated to me in a few words the sentence passed upon him, and we corresponded from time to time with each other.
The prison governor became gradually more accessible, came in at every meal-time, and related all sorts of jokes and buffooneries, which he had carried on in his youth: how he had been a drummer, and had made a Merry Andrew of himself for my brother-in-law Count Pentz, and how he had enacted a dog for the sake offavour and money, and had crawled under the table, frightening the guests and biting a dog for a ducat’s reward. When he had been drinking (which was often the case) he juggled and played Punch, sometimes a fortune-teller, and the like.
When Chresten the tower-warder, and Christian the prisoner, heard the prison governor carrying on his jokes, they did the same, and made such a noise with the woman in the antechamber that we could not hear ourselves speak. She sat on Christian’s lap, and behaved herself in a wanton manner. One day she was not very well, and made herself some warm beer and bread, placing it outside on the stove. The prison governor was sitting with me and talking, Chresten and Christian were joking with her outside, and Christian was to stir the warm beer and bread, and taste if it was hot enough. Chresten said to Christian, ‘Drink it up if you are thirsty.’ The words were no sooner said than the deed was done, and almost at the same moment the prison governor got up and went away. When the door was locked, the woman seemed to be almost fainting. I thought she was ill, and I was fearful that she might die suddenly, and that the guilt of her death might be laid on me, and I asked quickly, ‘Are you ill?’ She answered, ‘I am bad enough,’ confirming it with a terrible oath and beginning to unbutton her jacket. Then I saw that she was angry, and I knew well that she would give vent to a burst of execrations, which was the case.
She cursed and scolded those who had so treated her; a poor sick thing as she was, and she had not had anything to eat or drink all day. I said, ‘Be quiet, and you shall have some warm beer.’ She swore with a solemn oath, asking how it was to be got here? it wassummer and there was no fire in the stove, and it was no use calling, as no one could hear. I said, ‘If you will be silent, I will cause the pot to boil.’ ‘Yes,’ and she swore with another fearful oath, ‘I can indeed be silent, and will never speak of it.’ So I made her take three pieces of brick, which were lying behind the night-stool, and place on these her pot of beer and bread (everything that she was to do was to be done in silence; she might not answer me with words but only with signs, when I asked her anything). She sat down besides the pot, stirring it with a spoon. I sat always on my bed during the day, and then the table was placed before me. I had a piece of chalk, and I wrote various things on the table, asking from time to time whether the pot boiled. She kept peeping in and shaking her head. When I had asked three times and she turned to me and saw that I was laughing, she behaved herself like a mad woman, throwing the spoon from her hand, turning over the stool, tearing open her jacket, and exclaiming, ‘The devil may be jeered at like this!’ I said, ‘You are not worthy of anything better, as you believe that I can practise magic.’ ‘Oh (and she repeated a solemn oath) had I not believed that you could practise magic, I should never have consented to be locked up with you; do you know that?’ I reflected for a moment what answer to give, but I said nothing, smiled, and let her rave on.
Afterwards she wept and bemoaned her condition. ‘Now, now,’ I said,‘be quiet! I will make the pot boil without witchcraft.’ And as we had a tinder-box, I ordered her to strike a light, and to kindle three ends of candles, which she was to place under the pot. This made the pot boil, and she kissed her hand to me and was very merry. Once or twice afterwards I gave herleave to warm beer in this way: it could not always be done, for if the wind blew against the window (which was opened with a long pike) the smoke could not pass away. I said, ‘Remember your oath and do not talk of what takes place here, or the lights will be taken from us; at any rate we shall lose some of them.’ She asserted that she would not. I heard nothing of it at the time, but some years afterwards I found that she had said that I had taken up two half-loose stones from the floor (this was afterwards related in another manner by a clergyman, as will be mentioned afterwards). She had also said that I had climbed up and looked at the rope-dancers in the castle square, which was true. For as Chresten one day told the woman that rope-dancers would be exhibiting in the inner castle yard, and she informed me of it and enquired what they were, and I explained to her, she lamented that she could not get a sight of them. I said it could easily be done, if she would not talk about it afterwards. She swore, as usual, with an oath that she would not. So I took the bedclothes from the bed and placed the boards on the floor and set the bed upright in front of the window, and the night-stool on the top of it. In order to get upon the bedstead, the table was placed at the side, and a stool by the table in order to get upon the table, and a stool upon the table, in order to get upon the night-stool, and a stool on the night-stool, so that we could stand and look comfortably, though not both at once. I let her climb up first, and I stood and took care that the bed did not begin to give way; she was to keep watch when I was on the top. I knew, moreover, well that the dancers did not put forth their utmost skill at first.[98]
I could see the faces of the King and Queen: they were standing in the long hall, and I wondered afterwards that they never turned their eyes to the place where I stood. I did not let the woman perceive that I saw them. During this woman’s time I once had a desire to see the people go to the castle-church and return from it. The bed was again placed upright, and I sat for a long time on the top, until everyone had come out of church. The woman did not venture to climb up; she said that she had been afraid enough the last time, and was glad when she had come down.
The first time I received the holy communion during this prison governor’s time, two brass candlesticks which did not match were brought in, with tallow candles. This displeased the woman, though she said nothing to me. But when at length she was compelled to take the sacrament, after more than three years had elapsed since she had been at the Lord’s table, she begged Chresten, the tower-warder, to go to her daughter (who was in the service of a carpenter in the town), and to get the loan of a pair of beautiful brass candlesticks and a couple of wax candles. If she could also procure for her a fine linen cloth, she was to do her best; she would pay for it.