Whether the woman had before thought of the candlesticks and candles which had been placed for me, or whether Chresten himself thought that it would not be proper to provide better for her, I know not, but shortly before the priest came, Chresten unlocked the outer door of my prison and said, ‘Karen, hand me out the candlestick you have, and two candles.’ Herbehaviour is not to be described: she asked if he had not spoken with her daughter, and much of the same kind (I did not at the time know what she had desired of Chresten). He made no reply to her question, but asked for the candlestick and candles. For a long time she would not give them, but cursed and scolded. I was still lying down, and I asked her if I should be her maid, and should do it for her? whether she could withhold from him what he requested? So she handed them to him through the hole of the inner door, with so many execrations against him that it was terrible to listen to. He laughed aloud, and went away. This made her still more angry. I did my best to appease her, telling her that such conduct was a most improper preparation, and holding before her the sinfulness of her behaviour. She said she thought that the sin belonged to him who had given cause for it. I asked her, at last, in what the Lord’s Supper consisted? whether it consisted in candlesticks and candles? I rebuked her for looking to externals and not to the essential; and I begged her to fall on her knees and pray heartily to God for forgiveness of her sins, that He might not impute her folly to her. She answered that she would do so, but she did not do it at once.
I imagine that the clergyman[99]was well informed by Chresten of all that concerned her, as he put to her so many questions: where she was born? whom she had served? and more of the same kind, and finally, whether she had her certificate of confession, and how long it was since she had received the Lord’s Supper? After this he confessed her in a strange manner; at first as one who had deserved to do public penance for greatsins, then as a criminal under sentence of death who was preparing for her end; at last consoling her, and performing his office. When all was over and she came in to me, I wished her joy. ‘Joy, indeed’ (she answered); ‘there is not much good in it! This does me more harm than good! If I could only get out, I would indeed go straight to the sacrament; I reckon this as nothing!’ I interrupted her quickly, and said: ‘Reflect upon what you are saying! blaspheme not God—I will not hear that! You know well what God’s Word says of those who receive Christ’s body and blood unworthily and have trodden under foot his body?’ ‘Under foot?’ said she. ‘Yes, under foot!’ I said, and I made a whole sermon upon it. She listened decently; but when I was silent, she said: ‘He looked upon me as a malefactor, and as one under sentence of death. I have never murdered anyone (I thought, we know not what);[100]why should I die? God Almighty grant’——and with this she was silent. I preached to her again, and said that she had deserved eternal death on account of her sins, and especially because she had so long kept aloof from the Lord’s table. ‘This confession,’ she said, ‘I have to thank Chresten for; Balcke was also probably concerned in it.’ And she began to curse them both. I threatened her with a second confession, if she did not restrain such words. I told her I could not justify myself before God to keep silence to it, and I said, ‘If you speak in this way to Chresten, you may be sure he will inform against you.’ This kept her somewhat in check, and she did not go out upon the stairs that noon.[101]
After that time she was not so merry by far with the man. She often complained to me that she was weak, and had strained herself lifting the new basin which Balcke had given her; she could not long hold out, she said, and she had asked the prison governor to let her go away, but that he had answered that she was to die in the tower. I said, ‘The prison governor cannot yet rightly understand you; ask Chresten to speak for you.’ This she did, but came back with the same answer. One day she said: ‘I see well, dear lady, that you would be as gladly free of me as I should be to go. What have I for all my money? I cannot enjoy it, and I cannot be of service to you.’ I said: ‘Money can do much. Give some money to the prison-governor, and then he will speak for you. Request one of the charwomen to carry the basin instead of you, and this you could pay with very little.’ She did the latter for some weeks; at length one day she said to me, ‘I have had a silver cup made for the prison governor. (Her daughter came to her on the stairs as often as she desired, and she had permission to remain downstairs the whole afternoon, under pretext of speaking with her daughter. Whether she gave him presents for this, I know not, but I was well contented to be alone. She was, however, once afraid that I should tell the priest of it.) The fact was, the prison-governor did not dare to speak for her with the King. She asked my advice on thematter. I said, ‘Remain in bed when the dinner is going on, and I will go out and speak with the prison-governor.’ This was done. At first he raised some difficulties, and said, ‘The Queen will say that there is some trick at the bottom of it.’ I said they could visit and examine the woman when she came out; that we had not been such intimate friends; that I knew the woman had been sent to wait on me; when she could do so no longer, but lay in bed, I had no attendance from her, and still less was I inclined to wait on her; she did her work for money, and there were women enough who would accept the employment.
Three days afterwards, when the King came from Fridrichsborg, the prison-governor came in and said that the woman could go down in the evening; that he had another whom Chresten had recommended, and who was said to be a well-behaved woman (which she is).
Karen the daughter of Ole therefore went down, and Karen the daughter of Nels came up in her place. And I can truly say that it was one of the happiest days during my severe imprisonment; for I was freed of a faithless, godless, lying[102]and ill-behaved woman, and I received in her stead a Christian, true, and thoroughly good (perhaps too good) woman. When the first took her departure, she said, ‘Farewell, lady! we are now both pleased.’ I answered, ‘That is perhaps one of the truest words you have ever spoken in your life.’ She made no reply, but ran as fast asshe could, so that no weakness nor illness were perceptible in her. She lived scarcely a year afterwards, suffering severe pain for six weeks in her bed, before she died; the nature of her malady I know not.
On the day after this Karen’s arrival, she sat thoroughly depressed all the afternoon. I asked her what was the matter. She said, ‘Oh! I have nothing to do, and I might not bring work with me! I weary to death.’ I enquired what work she could do. ‘Spinning,’ she answered, ‘is my work principally; I can also do plain needlework and can knit a little.’ I had nothing to help her in this way; but I drew out some ends of silk, which I had kept from what I cut off, and which are too short to work with, and other tufts of silk from night-jackets and stockings; I had made a flax-comb of small pins,[103]fastened to a piece of wood; with this I combed the silk and made it available for darning caps; and I said to her, ‘There is something for you to do; comb that for me!’ She was so heartily pleased that it was quite a delight to me. I found from her account of this and that which had occurred in her life, that she had a good heart, and that she had often been deceived owing to her credulity. She had also known me in my prosperity; she had been in the service of a counsellor’s lady who had been present at my wedding, and she could well remember the display of fireworks and other festivities; she wept as she spoke of it, and showed great sympathywith me. She was a peasant’s daughter from Jutland, but had married the quarter-master of a regiment. By degrees I felt an affection for her, and begged her to speak to Christian and to enquire how the Doctor was; I told her that Christian could occasionally perform small services for us, and could buy one thing or another for us; for he had a lad, in fact sometimes two, who executed commissions for him, but that I had never trusted the other woman, so that he had never bought anything for me; besides, the other woman had not cared to spin; but that Christian should now procure us what we wanted in return for our candles. And as she did not care to drink wine (for at each meal the woman received at that time half-a-pint of French wine), I said: ‘Give Chresten your wine as I give wine to Christian, then Chresten can let it stay with the cellar-clerk and can take it weekly, which will give him a profit on it, and then he will see nothing even if he remarks anything.’
This was done, and Christian got us two hand-distaffs. Mine was but small, but hers was a proper size. I spun a little and twisted it into thread, which is still in my possession. Christian procured her as much flax as she desired, and brought her up a whole wreath in his trousers. She spun a good deal on the hand-distaff, and I arranged my loom on a stool, which I placed on the table, fastening one beam with ribbon and cord which I had made myself, so that when the key was put into the staircase-door, I could in one pull loosen my loom and unfasten the other beam which was fastened to myself, and put all away before the inner door was opened. I made myself also a wooden skewer (I had before used a warp), so that I could weave alone; I had also obtained a real weaver’scomb; so we were very industrious, each at her own work.
The prison governor was full of foolish jokes, and played tricks such as boys enjoy; he tried to jest with the woman, but she would not join him. Almost every day he was drunk at dinner-time when he came up. Afterwards he came rarely of an evening, but sent a servant instead, who would lie and sleep on the wall in the window. He wanted to jest with me also, and opened his mouth, telling me to throw something in and see if I could hit his mouth. I laughed and said, ‘How foolish you are!’ and begged him to come nearer, and I would see if I could hit him. ‘No, no,’ said he; ‘I am not such a fool; I daresay you would box my ears.’ One day he came up with a peculiar kind of squirt, round in form like a ball, and he placed a small tube in it, so small as scarcely to be seen; it was quite pretty. When pressed in any part, the water squirted out quite high and to a distance. He was saucy, and squirted me. When he saw that I was angry, he came to me with the squirt, ran away and sat down with his mouth as wide open as possible and begged me to squirt into it if I could. I would not begin playing with him, for I knew his coarseness well from his stories, and I gave him back the squirt. When Karen was bringing in the meat, the prison governor had the squirt between his legs, and was seated on a low stool, from which he could squirt into the woman’s face; he was some distance from her, and the ball was not larger than a large plum. She knew nothing of the squirt (she is somewhat hasty in her words), and she exclaimed, ‘May God send you a misfortune, Mr. governor! Are you insulting me?’ The prison governor laughed like an insane man, so pleased was he at this.
By degrees he became less wild; he rarely came up sober, and he would lie on the woman’s bed and sleep while I dined, so that Chresten and the woman had to help him off the bed when they had woke him. The keys of the prisons lay by his side, and the principal key close by (did he not take good care of his prisoners?).[104]He was not afraid that I should murder him. One evening he was intoxicated, and behaved as such; and began, after his fashion, to try and caress me, endeavouring to feel my knee and seized the edge of my petticoat. I thrust him away with my foot, and said nothing more than: ‘When you are intoxicated, remain away from me, and do not come in, I tell you.’ He said nothing, got up and went away; but he did not come in afterwards when he was tipsy, but remained outside in the anteroom, lying down in the window, where there was a broad stone bench against the wall; there he lay and slept for some time after my doors were locked, then the coachman and Chresten came and dragged him down. Occasionally he came in when he was not drunk, and he gave me at my request some old cards, which I sewed together and made into a box. Christian covered it with thin sticks of fir, which I afterwards stitched over, and I even secretly contrived to paint it. I have it in my possession. The prison governor saw it afterwards, but he never asked where the covering hadcome from.[105]In this box (if I may call it so) I keep all my work and implements, and it stands by day on my bed.
Christian’s power increased. He waited not only outside at dinner, but he even locked my door in the face of the tower-warder. He came with the perfuming-pan into my room when the woman took away the night-stool; in fact, he subsequently became so audacious that he did everything he chose, and had full command over the prisoners below. Chresten availed himself also of the slack surveillance of the prison governor, and stayed sometimes the whole night out in the town, often coming in tipsy to supper. One evening Chresten was intoxicated, and had broken some panes of glass below with his hand, so that his fingers were bloody; he dashed my wine-cup on the ground, so that it cracked and was bent; and as the cup was quite bloody outside when he came in to me, and some blood seemed to have got into the wine, I spoke somewhat seriously with the prison governor about it. He said nothing but ‘The man is mad,’ took the cup and went himself down into the cellar, and had the cup washed and other wine put in it. How they afterwards made it up I know not. The indentations on the cup have been beaten out, but the crack on the edge is still there; this suits the cellar-clerk well, for now scarcely half a pint goes into the cup. Christian held his own manfully against the prison governor, when he had a quarrel with some of the prisoners below;and Chresten complained of this to the prison governor, who came in and wanted to place Christian in the Witch Cell; but he thrust the prison governor away, and said that he had nothing to do with him, and that he had not put him into the prison; and then harangued him in such a style that the Governor thanked God when he went away. Christian then called after him from the window, and said, ‘I know secret tricks of yours, but you know none of mine.’ (One I knew of, of which he was aware, and that not a small one. There was a corporal who had stabbed a soldier, and was sought for with the beating of drums: the prison governor concealed him for several weeks in the tower.) On the following morning Christian repented, and he feared that he might be locked up, and came to my door before it had been opened[106](it often happened that the anteroom was unlocked before the food was brought up, and always in the winter mornings, when a fire was made in the stove outside), and he begged me to speak for him with the prison governor, which I did; so that things remained as they were, and Christian was as bold as before.
The woman and I lived in good harmony together. Occasionally there were small disputes between Christian and her, but at that time they were of no importance. I quieted his anger with wine and candles. This woman had a son, who died just after she had come to me, and a daughter who is still alive; at that time she was in the service of a tailor, but she is now married to a merchant. The daughter received permissionoccasionally to come and speak with her mother on the stairs. This annoyed Christian, as he thought that through her all sorts of things were obtained; and he threatened often that he would say what he thought, though he did not know it, and this frequently troubled the woman (she easily weeps and easily laughs). I could soon comfort her. We spent our time very well. I taught her to read, beginning with A B C, for she did not know a single letter. I kept to fixed hours for teaching her. She was at the time sixty years of age. And when she could spell a little,[107]she turned the book one day over and over, and began to rub her eyes and exclaimed, ‘Oh God, how strange it is! I do not know (and she swore by God) a single letter.’ I was standing behind her, and could scarcely keep from laughing. She rubbed her eyes again, and (as she is rather hasty with her words) she pointed quickly to an O, and said, ‘Is not that an O?’ ‘Yes,’ I said, and I laughed when she turned to me. She then for the first time perceived that she was holding the book upside down; she threw herself on the bed and laughed till I thought she would burst.
One day when she was to read, and did not like to lay aside her distaff, it did not go smoothly, and she gave it up, and said, ‘Am I not foolish to wish to learn to read in my old age? What good does it do me? I have spent much money on my son to have him taught to read, and see, is he not dead?’ I knew how much she was able to do, and I let her go on speaking. She threw the book on her bed, sat down toher work, and said, ‘What do I need to learn to read in a book? I can, thank God, read my morning and evening prayer.’ (I thought to myself, ‘badly enough.’ She knew very little of her catechism.) I said (gently): ‘That is true, Karen. It is not necessary for you to learn to read a book, as you can read very nicely by heart.’ I had scarcely said this than she jumped up, took her book again, and began to spell. I neither advised her nor dissuaded her, but treated her like a good simple child.[108]
I fell ill during this year,[109]and as the prison governor no longer came in to me and sent the servant up of an evening, I begged the woman to tell him that I was ill, and that I wished a doctor to come to me. The woman told him this (for by this time he understood Danish, and the woman understood a little German), and when she said, ‘I am afraid she will die,’ he answered, ‘Why the d—— let her die!’ I had daily fevers, heat, but no shivering; and as an obstruction was the chief cause of my illness, I desired a remedy. The prison governor ridiculed the idea. When I heard this, I requested he would come to me, which he did. I spoke to him rather seriously; told him that it was not the King’s will that he should take no more care of me than he did, that he had more care for his dog than for me (which was the case). Upon this his mannerimproved, and he enquired what I wished for, and I said what I desired, and obtained it. I had become rather excited at the conversation, so that I felt weak. The woman cried and said: ‘I am afraid you will die, dear lady! and then the bad maids from the wash-house will wash your feet and hands.’ (One of the maids below had sent very uncivil messages to me.) I replied that I should not say a word against that. ‘What?’ said she angrily, ‘will you suffer that? No,’ she added with an asseveration, ‘I would not! I would not suffer it if I were in your place.’ So I said, like that philosopher, ‘Place the stick with the candlestick at my side, and with that I can keep them away from me when I am dead.’[110]This brought her to reason again, and she talked of the grave and of burial. I assured her that this did not trouble me at all; that when I was dead, it was all one to me; even if they threw my body in the sea, it would, together with my soul, appear before the throne of God at the last day, and might come off better perhaps than many who were lying in coffins mounted with silver and in splendid vaults. But that I would not say, as the prison governor did in his levity, that I should like to be buried on the hill of Valdby, in order to be able to look around me. I desired nothing else than a happy end. We spoke of the prison governor’s coarseness; of various things which he did, on account of which it would go badly with him if the Queen knew it; of his godlessness, how that when he had been to the Lord’s Supper, he said he had passed muster; and other things. There was no fear of God in him.
I requested to have the sacrament, and asked M. Buck to come to me at seven o’clock in the morning, for at about half-past eight o’clock the fever began. The priest did not come till half-past nine, when the fever heat had set in (for it began now somewhat later). When I had made my confession, he began to preach about murder and homicide; about David, who was guilty of Uriah’s death, although he had not killed him with his own hand. He spoke of sin as behoved him, and of the punishment it brings with it. ‘You,’ he said, ‘have killed General Fux, for you have bribed a servant to kill him.’ I replied, ‘That is not true! I have not done so!’ ‘Yes, truly,’ he said; ‘the servant is in Hamburg, and he says it himself.’ I replied: ‘If he has so said, he has lied, for my son gave Fux his death-blow with a stiletto. I did not know that Fux was in Bruges until I heard of his death. How could the servant, then, say that I had done it? It was not done by my order, but that I should not have rejoiced that God should have punished the villain I am free to confess.’To this he answered, ‘I should have done so myself.’ I said: ‘God knows how Fux treated us in our imprisonment at Borringholm. That is now past, and I think of it no more.’ ‘There you are right,’ he said, as he proceeded in his office. When all was over, he spoke with the prison governor outside the door of my anteroom, just in front of the door of the Dark Church, and said that I made myself ill; that I was not ill; that my face was red from pure anger; that he had spoken the truth to me, and that I had been angry in consequence. Christian was standing inside the door of the Dark Church, for at this time there were no prisoners there, and he heard the conversation, and related it to me when I began to get up again and spoke with him at the door.
Some time afterwards Christian said to me, quite secretly, ‘If you like, I will convey a message from you to your children in Skaane.’ I enquired how this could be done. He said: ‘Through my girl; she is thoroughly true; she shall go on purpose.’ He knew that I had some ducats left, for Peder the coachman had confided it to him, as he himself told me. I accepted his offer and wrote to my children, and gave him a ducat for the girl’s journey.[111]She executed the commission well, and came back with a letter from them and from my sister.[E40]The woman knew nothing of all this.
By degrees Christian began to be insolent in various ways. When he came with his boy’s pouch, in which the woman was to give him food, he would throw it at her, and he was angry if meat was not kept for himself for the evening; and when he could not at once get the pouch back again, he would curse the day when he had come to my door and had spoken with me or had communicated anything to me. She was sad, but she said nothing to me. This lasted only for a day, and then he knocked again at the door and spoke as usual of what news he had heard. The woman was sitting on the bed, crossing herself fifteen times (he could not see her, nor could he see me). When he was gone, she related how fearfully he had been swearing, &c. I said: ‘You must not regard this; in the time of the other Karen he has done as much.’ His courage daily increased. The dishes were often brought up half-an-hour before the prison-governor came. In the meanwhile Christian cut the meat, and took himself thepiece he preferred (formerly at every meal I had sent him out a piece of fish, or anything else he desired). The stupid prison governor allowed it to go on; he was glad, I imagine, that he was spared the trouble, and paid no attention to the fact that there was anything missing in the dish. I let it go on for a time, for it did not happen regularly every day. But when he wanted food for his boy, he would say nothing but ‘Some food in my boy’s pouch!’ We often laughed over this afterwards, when he was away, but not at the time, for it grew worse from day to day. He could not endure that we should laugh and be merry; if he heard anything of the kind outside, he was angry. But if one spoke despondingly, he would procure what was in his power.[112]One day he listened, and heard that we were laughing; for the woman was just relating an amusing story of the mother of a schoolboy in Frederichsborg (she had lived there); how the mother of the boy did not know how to address the schoolmaster, and called him Herr Willas.[E41]He said, ‘I am no Herr.’ ‘Then Master,’ said the woman. ‘I am no Master either,’ he said; ‘I am plain Willas.’ Then the woman said: ‘My good plain Willas! My son always licks the cream from my milk-pans when he comes home. Will you lick him in return, and that with a switch on his back?’ While we were laughing at this, he came to the door and heard the words I was saying: ‘I don’t suppose that it really so happened; one must always add something to make a good story of it.’ He imagined we were speaking of him, and that we were laughing at him. At meal-timehe said to the woman, ‘You were very merry to-day.’ She said, ‘Did you not know why? It is because I belong to the “Lætter”’[E42](that was her family name). ‘It would be a good thing,’ he said, ‘to put a stop to your laughter altogether; you have been laughing at me.’ She protested that we had not, that his name had not been mentioned (which was the case); but he would not regard it. They fell into an altercation. She told me of the conversation, and for some days he did not come to the door, and I sent him nothing; for just at that time a poor old man was my neighbour, and I sent him a drink of wine. Christian came again to the door and knocked. He complained very softly of the woman; begged that I would reprove her for what she had said to him, as he had heard his name mentioned. I protested to him that at the time we were not even thinking of him, and that I could not scold her for the words we had spoken together. I wished to have repose within our closed door. ‘Yes,’ he answered; ‘household peace is good, as the old woman said.’ With this he went away.
Afterwards he caused us all sorts of annoyance, and was again pacified. Then he wished again that I should write to Skaane.[113]I said I was satisfied to know that some of my children were with my sister; where my sons were, and how it fared with them, I did not know: I left them in God’s care. This did not satisfy him, and he spoke as if he thought I had no moremoney; but he did not at that time exactly say so. But one day, when he had one of his mad fits, he came to the door and had a can with wine (which I gave him at almost every meal) in his hand, and he said: ‘Can you see me?’ (for there was a cleft in the outermost door, but at such a distance one could not clearly see through). ‘Here I am with my cup of wine, and I am going to drink your health for the last time.’ I asked: ‘Why for the last time?’ ‘Yes,’ he swore, coming nearer to the door and saying: ‘I will do no more service for you; so I know well that I shall get no more wine.’ I said, ‘I thank you for the services you have rendered me; I desire no more from you, but nevertheless you may still get your wine.’ ‘No!’ he said; ‘no more service! there is nothing more to be fetched.’ ‘That is true,’ I answered. ‘You do not know me,’ said he; ‘I am not what you think; it is easy to start with me, but it is not easy to get rid of me.’ I laughed a little, and said: ‘You are far better than you make yourself out to be. To-morrow you will be of another mind.’
He continued to describe himself as very wicked (it was, however, far from as bad as he really is). I could do nothing else but laugh at him. He drank from the can, and sat himself down on the stool outside. I called him and begged him to come to the door, as I wanted to speak with him. There he sat like a fool, saying to himself: ‘Should I go to the door? No,’ and he swore with a terrible oath, ‘that I will not do! Oh yes, to the door! No, Christian, no!’ laughing from time to time immoderately, and shouting out that the devil might take him and tear him in pieces the day on which he should go to my door or render me a service. I went away from the door and sat downhorrified at the man’s madness and audacity. Some days passed in silence, and he would accept no wine. No food was offered to him, for he continued, in the same way as before, to cut the meat before the prison governor came up. As the prison governor at this time occasionally again came in to me and talked with me, I requested him that Christian, as a prisoner, should not have the liberty of messing my food. This was, therefore, forbidden him in future.
Some days afterwards he threw the pouch to the woman on the stairs, and said: ‘Give me some food for to-night in my lad’s pouch.’[114]This was complied with with the utmost obedience, and a piece of meat was placed in the pouch. This somewhat appeased him, so that at noon he spoke with the woman, and even asked for a drink of wine; but he threatened the woman that he would put an end to the laughing. I did not fear the evil he could do to me, but this vexatious life was wearisome. I allowed no wine to be offered to him, unless he asked for some. He was in the habit every week of procuring me the newspapers[E43]for candles, and as he did not bring me the newspapers for the candles of the first week, I sent him no more. He continued to come every Saturday with the perfuming-pan, and to lock my door. When he came in with the fumigating stuff, he fixed his eyes upon the wall, and would not look at me. I spoke to him once and asked after the doctor, and he made no reply.
Thus it went on for some weeks; then he became appeased, and brought the woman the papers from the time that he had withheld them, all rolled up together and fastened with a thread. When the prison governor came in during the evening and sat and talked (he was slightly intoxicated), and Chresten had gone to the cellar, the woman gave him back the papers, thanking him in my name, and saying that the papers were of no interest to me; I had done without them for so many weeks, and could continue to do so. He was so angry that he tore the papers in two with his teeth, tore open his coat so that the buttons fell on the floor, threw some of the papers into the fire, howled, screamed, and gnashed with his teeth. I tried to find something over which I could laugh with the prison governor, and I spoke as loud as I could, in order to drown Christian’s voice.[115]The woman came in as pale as a corpse, and looked at me. I signed to her that she should go out again. Then Christian came close to my door and howled, throwing his slippers up into the air, and then against my door, repeating this frequently. When he heard Chresten coming up with the cups, he threw himself on the seat on which the prison governor was accustomed to lie, and again struck his slippers against the wall. Chresten gazed at him with astonishment, as he stood with the cups in his hand. He saw well that there was something amiss between the woman and Christian, and that the woman was afraid; he could not, however, guess the cause, nor could he find it out; he thought, moreover, that it had nothing to do with me, since I was laughing and talking with the prisongovernor. When the doors were closed, the lamentations found free vent. The woman said that he had threatened her; he would forbid her daughter coming on the stairs and carrying on her talk, and doing other things that she ought not. I begged her to be calm; told her he was now in one of his mad fits, but that it would pass away; that he would hesitate before he said anything of it, for that he would be afraid that what he had brought up to her would also come to light, and then he would himself get into misfortune for his trouble; that the prison governor had given her daughter leave to come to her, and to whom therefore should he complain? (I thought indeed in my own mind that if he adhered to his threat, he would probably find some one else to whom he could complain, as he had so much liberty; he could bring in and out what he chose, and could speak with whom he desired in the watchman’s gallery.) She wept, was very much affected, and talked with but little sense, and said: ‘If I have no peace for him, I will—yes, I will—.’ She got no further, and could not get out what she would do. I smiled, and said at last: ‘Christian is mad. I will put a stop to it to-morrow: let me deal with him! Sleep now quietly!’
She fell asleep afterwards, but I did not do so very quickly, thinking what might follow such wild fits. Next day towards noon I told her what she was to say to Christian; she was to behave as if she were dissatisfied, and begin to upbraid him and to say, ‘The devil take you for all you have taught her! She has pulled off her slippers just as you do, and strikes me on the head with them. She is angry and no joke, and she took all the pretty stuff she had finished and threw it into the night-stool. “There,” said she, “no one shall have any advantage of that.”’ At this he laughed like a fool,for it pleased him. ‘Is she thoroughly angry?’ he asked. ‘Yes,’ she replied; ‘she is indeed.’ At this he laughed aloud on the stairs, so that I heard it. For a fortnight he behaved tolerably well, now and then demanding wine and food; and he came moreover to the door and related, among other things, how he had heard that the prince (now our king) was going to be married. I had also heard it, though I did not say so, for the prison governor had told me of it, and besides I received the papers without him. And as I asked him no questions, he went away immediately, saying afterwards to the woman, ‘She is angry and so am I. We will see who first will want the other.’ He threatened the woman very much. She wished that I would give him fair words. I told her that he was not of that character that one could get on with him by always showing the friendly side.[116]As he by degrees became more insolent than could be tolerated, I said one day to the prison governor that I was surprised that he could allow a prisoner to unlock and lock my doors, and to do that which was really the office of the tower-warder; and I asked him whether it did not occur to him that under such circumstances I might manage to get out, if I chose to do so without the King’s will? Christian was a prisoner, under sentence of death; he had already offered to get me out of the tower. The prison governor sat and stared like one who does not rightly understand, and he made no reply but ‘Yes, yes!’ but he acted in conformity with my warning, so that either he himself locked and unlocked, or Chresten did so. (I have seen Christian snatching the keys out ofChresten’s hand and locking my door, and this at the time when he began to make himself so angry.)
If Christian had not been furious before, he became so now, especially at the time that Chresten came in with the perfuming-pan when the woman was above. He would then stand straight before me in the anteroom, looking at me like a ghost and gnashing his teeth; and when he saw that I took the rest of the fumigating stuff from Chresten’s hand (which he had always himself given me in paper), he burst into a defiant laugh. When the doors were unlocked in the evening, and Christian began talking with the woman, he said: ‘Karen, tell her ladyship that I will make out a devilish story with you both. I have with my own eyes seen Chresten giving her a letter. Ay, that was why she did not let me go in with the perfuming-pan, because I would not undertake her message to Skaane. Ay, does she get the newspapers also from him? Yes, tell her, great as are the services I have rendered her, I will now prepare a great misfortune for her.’ God knows what a night I had! Not because I feared his threat, for I did not in the least regard his words; he himself would have suffered the most by far. But the woman was so sad that she did nothing but lament and moan, chiefly about her daughter, on account of the disgrace it would be to her if they put her mother into the Dark Church, nay even took her life. Then she remembered that her daughter had spoken with her on the stairs, and she cried out again: ‘Oh my daughter! my daughter! She will get into the house of correction!’ For some time I said nothing more than ‘Calm yourself; it will not be as bad as you think,’ as I perceived that she was not capable of listening to reason, for she at once exclaimed ‘Ach!ach!’ as often as I tried to speak, sitting up in bed and holding her head between her two hands and crying till she was almost deluged. I thought, ‘When there are no more tears to come, she will probably stop.’
I said at length, when she was a little appeased: ‘The misfortune with which the man threatens us cannot be averted by tears. Calm yourself and lie down to sleep. I will do the same, and I will pray God to impart to me His wise counsel for the morrow.’ This quieted her a little; but when I thought she was sleeping, she burst forth again with all the things that she feared; she had brought in to me slips of paper, knife and scissors, and other things furnished by him contrary to order. I answered only from time to time: ‘Go to sleep, go to sleep! I will talk with you to-morrow!’ It was of no avail. The clock struck two, when she was still wanting to talk, and saying, ‘It will go badly with the poor old man down below!’[117]I made as if I were asleep, but the whole night, till five o’clock and longer, no sleep came to my eyes.
When the door was unlocked at noon, I had already intimated to her what she was to say to Christian, and had given her to understand that he thought to receive money from her and candles from me by his threats,and that he wanted to force us to obey his pleasure; but that he had others to deal with than he imagined. She was only to behave as if she did not care for his talk, and was to say nothing but ‘Good day,’ unless he spoke to her; and if he enquired what I had said, she was to act as if she did not remember that she was to tell me anything. If he repeated his message, she was to say: ‘I am not going to say anything to her about that. Are you still as foolish as you were last night? Do what you choose!’ and then go away. This conversation took place, and he threatened her worse than before. The woman remained steadfast, but she was thoroughly cast down when our doors were locked; still, as she has a light heart, she often laughed with the tears in her eyes. I knew well that Christian would try to recover favour again by communicating me all kind of news in writing, but I had forbidden the woman to take his slips of paper, so that he got very angry. I begged her to tell him that he had better restrain himself if he could; that if he indulged his anger, it would be worse for him. At this he laughed ironically, and said, ‘Tell her, it will be worse for her. Whatever I have done for her, she has enticed me to by giving me wine: tell her so. I will myself confess everything; and if I come to the rack and wheel, Chresten shall get into trouble. He brought her letters from her children.’ (The rogue well knew that I had not allowed the woman to be cognisant neither of the fact that he had conveyed for me a message to Skaane to my children, nor of the wax in which the tower keys were impressed; this was why he spoke so freely to her.) When our doors were locked, this formed the subject of our conversation. I laughed at it, and asked the woman what disgracecould be so great as to be put on the wheel; I regarded it as thoughtless talk, for such it was, and I begged her to tell him that he need not trouble himself to give himself up, as I would relieve him of the trouble, and (if he chose) tell the prison governor everything on the following day that he had done for me; he had perhaps forgotten something, but that I could well remember it all.
When the woman told him this, he made no answer, but ran down, kept quiet for some days, and scarcely spoke to the woman. One Saturday, when the woman had gone upstairs with the night-stool, he went up to her and tried to persuade her to accept a slip of paper for me, but she protested that she dare not. ‘Then tell her,’ he said, ‘that she is to give me back the scissors and the knife which I have given her. I will have them, and she shall see what I can do. You shall both together get into trouble!’ She came down as white as a corpse, so that I thought she had strained herself. She related the conversation and his request, and begged me much to give him back the things, and that then he would be quiet. I said: ‘What is the matter with you? are you in your senses? Does he not say that we shall get into trouble if he gets the scissors and knife back again? Now is not the time to give them to him. Do you not understand that he is afraid I shall let the things be seen? My work, he thinks, is gone, and the papers are no longer here, so that there is nothing with which he can be threatened except these things. You must not speak with him this evening. If he says anything, do not answer him.’ In the evening he crept in, and said in the anteroom to her, ‘Bring me the scissors and the knife!’ She made no answer. On the following morning, towards noon,I begged her to tell him that I had nothing of his; that I had paid for both the scissors and knife, and that more than double their value. He was angry at the message, and gnashed with his teeth. She went away from him, and avoided as much as possible speaking with him alone. When he saw that the woman would not take a slip of paper from him, he availed himself of a moment when the prison governor was not there, and threw in a slip of paper to me on the floor. A strange circumstance was near occurring this time: for just as he was throwing in the paper, the prison governor’s large shaggy dog passed in, and the paper fell on the dog’s back, but it fell off again in the corner, where the dog was snuffling.
Upon the paper stood the words: ‘Give me the knife and scissors back, or I will bring upon you as much misfortune as I have before rendered you good service, and I will pay for the knife and scissors if I have to sell my trousers for it. Give them to me at once!’ For some days he went about like a lunatic, since I did not answer him, nor did I send him a message through the woman; so that Chresten asked the woman what she had done to Christian, as he went about below gnashing his teeth and howling like a madman. She replied that those below must best know what was the matter with him; that he must see he was spoken with in a very friendly manner here. At noon on Good Friday, 1667,[118]he was very angry, swore and cursed himself if he did not give himself up, repeating all that he had said before, and adding that I had enticed him with wine and meat, and had deceived him with candles and good words. That he cared but little what happened to him; he would gladlydie by the hand of the executioner; but that I, and she, and Chresten, should not escape without hurt.
The afternoon was not very cheerful to us. The woman was depressed. I begged her to be calm, told her there was no danger in such madness, though it was very annoying, and harder to bear than my captivity; but that still I would be a match for the rogue. She took her book and read, and I sat down and wrote a hymn upon Christ’s sufferings, to the tune ‘As the hart panteth after the water-springs.’[119]
Christian had before been in the habit of bringing me coloured eggs on Easter-Eve; at this time he was not so disposed. When the door was locked, I said to Chresten, ‘Do not forget the soft-boiled eggs to-morrow.’ When the dinner was brought up on Easter-Day, and the eggs did not come at once (they were a side dish), Christian looked at me, and made a long nose at me three or four times. (I was accustomed to go up and down in front of the door of my room when it was unlocked.) I remained standing, and looked at him, and shrugged my shoulders a little. Soon after these grimaces, Chresten came with a dish full of soft-boiled eggs. Christian cast down his eyes at first, then he raised them to me, expecting, perhaps, that I should make a long nose at him in return; but I intended nothing less. When the woman went to the stairs, he said, ‘There were no coloured eggs there.’ She repeated this to me at once, so that I begged her to say that I ate the soft-boiled eggs and kept the coloured ones, as he might see (and I sent him one ofthe last year’s, on which I had drawn some flowers; he had given it to me himself for some candles). He accepted it, but wrote me a note in return, which was very extraordinary. It was intended to be a highflown composition about the egg and the hen. He tried to be witty, but it had no point. I cannot now quite remember it, except that he wrote that I had sent him a rotten egg; that his egg would be fresh, while mine would be rotten.[120]He threw the slip of paper into my room. I made no answer to it. Some days passed again, and he said nothing angry; then he recommenced. I think he was vexed to see Chresten often receive my wine back again in the cup. At times I presented it to the prison governor. Moreover, he received no food, either for himself or his boy. One day he said to the woman, ‘What do you think the prison governor would say if he knew that you give the prisoners some of his food to eat?’ (The food which came from my table was taken down to the prison governor.) ‘Tell her that!’The woman asked whether she was to say so to me, as a message from him. ‘As whose message otherwise?’ he answered. I sent him word that I could take as much as I pleased of the food brought me: that it was not measured out and weighed for me, and that those who had a right to it could do what they liked with what I did not require, as it belonged to no one. On this point he could not excite our fear. Then he came back again one day to the old subject, that he would have the scissors and the knife, and threatening to give himself up; and as it wasalmost approaching the time when I received the Lord’s Supper, I said to the woman: ‘Tell him once for all, if he cannot restrain himself I will inform against him as soon as the priest comes, and the first Karen shall be made to give evidence; she shall, indeed, be brought forward, for she had no rest on his account until I entered into his proposals. Whether voluntarily or under compulsion, she shall say the truth, and then we shall see who gets into trouble.’ He might do, I sent word, whatever he liked, but I would be let alone; he might spare me his notes, or I would produce them. When the woman told him this, he thought a little, and then asked, ‘Does she say so?’ ‘Yes,’ said the woman, ‘she did. She said still further: “What does he imagine? Does he think that I, as a prisoner who can go nowhere, will suffer for having accepted the services of a prisoner who enjoys a liberty which does not belong to him?”’ He stood and let his head hang down, and made no answer at all. This settled the fellow, and from that time I have not heard one unsuitable word from him. He spoke kindly and pleasantly with the woman on the stairs, related what news he had heard, and was very officious; and when she once asked him for his cup to give him some wine, he said sadly, ‘I have not deserved any wine.’ The woman said he could nevertheless have some wine, and that I desired no more service from him. So he received wine from time to time, but nothing to eat.[121]On the day that I received the Lord’s Supper, he came to the door and knocked softly. I went to the door. He saluted me and wished me joy in a very nice manner, and said that heknew I had forgiven those who had done aught against me. I answered in the affirmative, and gave no further matter for questions; nor did he, but spoke of other trivialities, and then went away. Afterwards he came daily to the door, and told me what news he had heard; he also received wine and meat again. He told me, among other things, that many were of opinion that all the prisoners would be set at liberty at the wedding of the prince (our present king) which was then talked of; that the bride was to arrive within a month (it was the end of April when this conversation took place), and that the wedding was to be at the palace.
The arrival of the bride was delayed till the beginning of June, and then the wedding was celebrated in the palace at Nykjöbing in Falster. Many were of opinion that it took place there in order that the bride might not intercede for me and the doctor.[122]When the bride was to be brought to Copenhagen, I said to Christian: ‘Now is the time for you to gain your liberty. Let your girl wait and fall on one knee before the carriage of the bride and hold out a supplication, and then I am sure you will gain your liberty.’ He asked how the girl should come to be supplicating for him. I said, ‘As your bride—’ ‘No (and he swore with a terrible oath), she is not that! She imagines it, perhaps, but (he swore again) I will not have her.’ ‘Then leave her in the idea,’ I said, ‘and let her make her supplication as for her bridegroom.’ ‘Yes,’ he said, in a crestfallen tone, ‘she may do that.’ It was done, as I had advised, and Christian was set at liberty on June 11, 1667. He did not bid me good-bye, and didnot even send me a message through the tower-warder or the boy. His gratitude to the girl was that he smashed her window that very evening, and made such a drunken noise in the street, that he was locked up in the Town-hall cellar.[123]He came out, however, on the following day. His lad Paaske took leave of his master. When he asked him whether he should say anything from him to us, he answered, ‘Tell them that I send them to the devil.’ Paaske, who brought this message, said he had answered Christian, ‘Half of that is intended for me’ (for Christian had already suspected that Paaske had rendered services to the woman). We had a hearty laugh over this message; for I said that if Paaske was to have half of it, I should get nothing. We were not a little glad that we were quit of this godless man.
We lived on in repose throughout the year 1668. I wrote and was furnished with various handiwork, so that Chresten bought nothing for me but a couple of books, and these I paid doubly and more than doubly with candles. Karen remained with me the first time more than three years; and as her daughter was then going to be married, and she wished to be at the wedding, she spoke to me as to how it could be arranged, for she would gladly have a promise of returning to me when the woman whom I was to have in her stead went away. I did not know whether this could be arranged; but I felt confident that I could effect her exit without her feigning herself ill. The prison governor had already then as clerk Peder Jensen Tötzlöff,[E44]who now and then performed his duties.To this man I made the proposal, mentioning at the same time with compassion the ill health of the woman. I talked afterwards with the prison governor himself about it, and he was quite satisfied; for he not only liked this Karen very much, but he had moreover a woman in the house whom he wished to place with me instead.
Karen,Nils’daughter, left me one evening in 1669, and a German named Cathrina ——[E45]came in her place. Karen took her departure with many tears. She had wept almost the whole day, and I promised to do my utmost that she should come to me when the other went away. Cathrina had been among soldiers from her youth up; she had married a lieutenant at the time the prison governor was a drummer, and had stood godmother to one of his sons. She had fallen into poverty after her husband’s death, and had sat and spun with the wife of the prison governor for her food. She was greatly given to drinking, and her hands trembled so that she could not hold the cup, but was obliged to support it against her person, and the soup-plate also. The prison governor told me before she came up that her hands occasionally trembled a little, but not always—that she had been ill a short time before, and that it would probably pass off. When I asked herself how it came on, she said she had had it for many years. I said, ‘You are not a woman fit to wait upon me; for if I should be ill, as I was a year or somewhat less ago, you could not properly attend to me.’ She fell at once down on her knees, wept bitterly, and prayed for God’s sake that she might remain; that she was a poor widow, and that she had promised the prison governor half the money she wasto earn; she would pray heartily to God that I might not be ill, and that she would be true to me, aye, even die for me.
It seemed to me that this last was too much of an exaggeration for me to believe it (she kept her word, however, and did what I ordered her, and I was not ill during her time). She did not care to work. She generally laid down when she had eaten, and drew the coverlid over her eyes, saying ‘Now I can see nothing.’ When she perceived that I liked her to talk, she related whole comedies in her way, often acting them, and representing various personages. If she began to tell a story, and I said in the middle of her narrative, ‘This will have a sorrowful ending,’ she would say, ‘No, it ends pleasantly,’ and she would give her story a good ending. She would do the reverse, if I said the contrary. She would dance also before me, and that for four persons, speaking as she did so for each whom she was representing, and pinching together her mouth and fingers. She called comedians ‘Medicoants.’ Various things occurred during her time, which prevented me from looking at her and listening to her as much as she liked.[124]
It happened that Walter,[E46]who in consequence of Dina’s affair had been exiled from Denmark, came over from Sweden and remained incognito at Copenhagen. He was arrested and placed in the tower here, below on the ground floor. He was suspected of beingengaged in some plot. At the same time a French cook and a Swedish baker were imprisoned with him, who were accused of having intended to poison the King and Queen. The Swede was placed in the Witch Cell, immediately after Walter’s arrest. Some days elapsed before I was allowed to know of Walter’s arrival, but I knew of it nevertheless. One day at noon, when Walter and the Frenchman were talking aloud (for they were always disputing with each other), I asked the prison governor who were his guests down below, who were talking French. He answered that he had some of various nations, and related who they were, but why they were imprisoned he knew not, especially in Walter’s case.
The two before-mentioned quarrelled together, so that Walter was placed in the Witch Cell with the Swede, and theFrenchmanwas conveyed to the Dark Church, where he was ill, and never even came to the peep-hole in the door, but lay just within. I dared not send him anything, on account of the accusation against him. Walter was imprisoned for a long time, and the Frenchman was liberated. When M. Bock came to me, to give me Christ’s body and blood, I told him before receiving the Lord’s Supper of Walter’s affair, which had been proved, but I mentioned to him that at the time I had been requested to leave Denmark throughUldrichChristian Gyldenlöve. Gyldenlöve had sworn to me that the king was at the time not thoroughly convinced of the matter, and I had complained that his Majesty had not taken pains to convince himself; and I requested the priest to ask the Stadtholder to manage that Walter should now be examined in Dina’s affair, and that he and I should be confronted together in the presence of some ministers;that this could be done without any great noise, for the gentlemen could come through the secret passage into the tower. The priest promised to arrange this;[125]he did so, and on the third day after Walter was placed in the Dark Church, so that I expected for a long time every day that we should be examined, but it was prevented by the person whose interest it was to prevent it.[E47]
Walter remained imprisoned,[126]and quarrelled almost daily with Chresten, calling him a thief and a robber. (Chresten had found some ducats which Walter had concealed under a stool; the foolish Walter allowed the Swede to see that he hid ducats and an ink-bottle between the girths under the stool, and he afterwards struck the Swede, who betrayed him.) Chresten slyly allowed Walter to take a little exercise in the hall of the tower, and in the meanwhile he searched the stool. It may well be imagined that at the everlasting scolding Chresten was annoyed, and he did not procure Walter particularly good food from the kitchen; so that sometimes he could not eat either of the two dishes ordered for him; and when Walter said one day, ‘If you would give me only one dish of which I could eat, it would be quite enough,’ Chresten arranged it so that Walter only received one dish, and often could not eat of that. (This was to Chresten’s own damage, for hewas entitled to the food that was left; but he was ready to forego this, so long as he could annoy the others.)
Once Chresten came to him with a dish of rice-porridge, and began at once to quarrel with him, so that the other became angry (just as children do), and would eat nothing. Chresten carried the porridge away again directly, and laughed heartily. I said to Chresten, in the prison governor’s presence, ‘Though God has long delayed to punish Walter, his punishment is all the heavier now, for he could scarcely have fallen into more unmerciful hands than yours.’ He laughed heartily at this, and the prison governor did the same. And as there is a hole passing from the Dark Church into the outer room, those who are inside there can call upstairs, so that one can plainly hear what is said. So Walter one day called to the prison governor, and begged him to give him a piece of roast meat; the prison governor called to him, ‘Yes, we will roast a rat for you!’ I sent him a piece of roast meat through Chresten; when he took it, and heard that I had sent it to him, he wept.
Thus the time passed, I had always work to do, and I wrote also a good deal.[127]The priest was tired of administering the Lord’s Supper to me, and he let me wait thirteen and fourteen days; when he did come, he performed his officepar manière d’acquit. I said nothing about it, but the woman, who is a German, also received the Lord’s Supper from him; she made much of it, especially once (the last time he confessed her); for then I waited four days for him before it suited him to come, and at last he came. It was Wednesday, about nine o’clock. He never greeted us, nor did he wishme joy to the act I intended to perform. This time he said, as he shook hands, ‘I have not much time to wait, I have a child to baptise.’ I knew well that this could not be true, but I answered ‘In God’s name!’ When he was to receive the woman’s confession, he would not sit down, but said ‘Now go on, I have no time,’ and scarcely gave her time to confess, absolved her quickly, and read the consecrating service at posthaste speed. When he was gone, the woman was very impatient, and said that she had received the holy communion in the field from a military chaplain, with the whole company (since they were ready to attack the enemy on the following day), but that the priest had not raced through God’s word as this one had done; she had gained nothing from it.
I comforted her as well as I could, read and sang to her, told her she should repent and be sorry for her sins, and labour to amend her ways, and not be distracted by the want of devotion in the priest; she could appropriate to herself Christ’s sufferings and merits for the forgiveness of her sins, for the priest had given her his body and blood in the bread and wine. ‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘I shall, with God’s will, be a better Christian.’ I said ‘Will you keep what you have promised me?’ Her vow was, not to drink herself tipsy, as she had once done. I will not omit to mention this. She received, as I have before said, half a pint of French wine at each meal, and I half a measure of Rhine wine. She could drink both portions without being quite intoxicated, for at her meal she drank the French wine and lay down; and when she got up in the afternoon she drank my wine.[128]In the evening she kept my wine forbreakfast, but once she had in her cup both my wine and her own, so that at noon she had two half-pints of wine; she sat there and drank it so quietly, and I paid no attention to her, being at the moment engaged in a speculation about a pattern which I wanted to knit; at length I looked at her because it was so long before she laid down; then she turned over all the vessels, one after another, and there was nothing in them. I accosted her and said, ‘How is it? have you drank all the wine?’ She could scarcely answer. She tried to stand up, and could not. ‘To bed, you drunken sow,’ said I. She tried to move, but could not; she was sick, and crept along by the wall to fetch a broom. When she had the broom, she could do nothing with it. I told her to crawl into bed and lie down; she crawled along and fell with her face on the bed, while her feet were on the ground. There she was sick again, and remained so lying, and slept. It is easy to imagine how I felt.
She slept in this way for a couple of hours, but still did not quite sleep off her intoxication; for when she wanted afterwards to clean herself and the room, she remained for a long time sitting on a low stool, the broom between her knees and her hair about her ears. She took off her bodice to wash it, and so she sat with her bosom uncovered, an ugly sight; she kept bemoaning herself, praying to God to help her, as she was nigh unto death. I was angry, but I could scarcely help laughing at this sad picture. When the moaning and lamenting were over, I said angrily, ‘Yes, may Godhelp you, you drunkard; to the guards’ station you ought to go; I will not have such a drunkard about me; go and sleep it out, and don’t let me hear you talk of God when you are not sober, for then God is far from you and the d——l is near!’ (I laughed afterwards at myself.) She laid down again, and about four o’clock she was quite sober, made herself perfectly clean, and sat quietly weeping. Then she threw herself with great excitement at my feet, clung to them, howled and clamoured, and begged for God’s sake that I would forgive her this once, and that it should never happen again; said how she had kept the wine &c.; that if I would only keep her half a year, she would have enough to purchase her admission into the hospital at Lübeck.
I thought I would take good care that she did not get so much again at once, and also that perhaps if I had another in her place she might be worse in other things. Karen could not have come at this time, for her daughter was expecting her confinement, and I knew that she would then not be quiet. So I promised her to keep her for the time she mentioned. She kept her word moreover, and I so arrangeditsix weeks later that she received no more wine, and from this time the woman received no wine; my wine alone could not hurt her. She was quite intimate with Walter. She had known him formerly, and Chresten was of opinion that he had given her all his money before he was ill; for he said that Walter had no money any longer. What there was in it I know not. Honest she was not, for she stole from me first a brass knitting-pin, which I used at that time; it was formed like a bodkin, and the woman never imagined but that it was gold. As my room is not large, it could soonbe searched, but I looked for three days and could not find the pin. I was well aware that she had it, for it is not so small as not to be seen, so I said afterwards, ‘This brass pin is of no great importance; I can get another for two pence.’ The next day she showed me the pin, in a large crevice on the floor between the stones. But when she afterwards, shortly before she left, found one of my gold earrings which I had lost, and which undoubtedly had been left on the pillow, for it was a snake ring, this was never returned, say what I would about it. She made a show of looking for it in the dirt outside; she knew I dared not say that I had missed it.
The prison governor at this time came up but rarely; Peder Jensen waited on me.[129]His Majesty was ill for a short time, and died suddenly on February 9, 1670. And as on the same day at twelve o’clock the palace bell tolled, I was well aware what this indicated, though the woman was not. We conversed on the subject, who it might be. She could perceive that I was sad, and she said: ‘That might be for the King, for the last time I saw him on the stairs, getting out of the carriage, he could only move with difficulty, and I said to myself that it would soon be over with him. If he is dead, you will have your liberty, that is certain.’ I was silent, and thought otherwise, which was the case. About half-past four o’clock the fire was generally lighted inthe outside stove, and this was done by a lad whom Chresten at that time employed. I called him to the door and asked him why the bell had tolled for a whole hour at noon. He answered, ‘I may not say; I am forbidden.’ I said that I would not betray him. He then told me that the King had died in the morning. I gave free vent to my tears, which I had restrained, at which the woman was astonished, and talked for a long time.
I received all that she said in silence, for I never trusted her. I begged her to ask Chresten, when he unlocked the door, what the tolling intimated. She did so, but Chresten answered that he did not know. The prison governor came up the same evening, but he did not speak with me. He came up also the next day at noon. I requested to speak with him, and enquired why the bell had sounded. He answered ironically, ‘What is that to you? Does it not ring every day?’ I replied somewhat angrily: ‘What it is to me God knows! This I know, that the castle bell is not tolled for your equals!’ He took off his hat and made me a bow, and said, ‘Your ladyship desires nothing else?’ I answered, ‘St. Martin comes for you too.’[E49]‘St. Martin?’ he said, and laughed, and went away and went out to Walter, standing for a long time whispering with him in front of the hole; I could see him, as he well knew.[130]He was undoubtedly telling him of the King’s death, and giving him hope that he would beliberated from prison. God designed it otherwise. Walter was ill, and lay for a long time in great misery. He behaved very badly to Chresten; took the dirt from the floor and threw it into the food; spat into the beer, and allowed Chresten to see him do so when he carried the can away. Every day Chresten received the titles of thief and rogue, so that it may easily be imagined how Chresten tormented him. When I sent him some meat, either stewed or roasted, Chresten came back with it and said he would not have it. I begged Chresten to leave it with him, and he would probably eat it later. This he did once, and then Chresten showed me how full it was of dirt and filth.[131]
When Chresten had to turn Walter in bed, the latter screamed so pitifully that I felt sympathy with him, and begged Chresten not to be so unmerciful to him. He laughed and said, ‘He is a rogue.’ I said, ‘Then he is in his master’s hands.’ This pleased Chresten well. Walter suffered much pain; at length God released him. His body was left in the prison until his brother came, who ordered it to be buried in the German Church. When I heard that Karen could come to me again, and the time was over which I had promised the other to keep her, Cathrina went down and Karen returned to me. This was easily effected, for the prison governor was not well pleased with Cathrina; she gave him none of her money, as she had promised, but only empty words in its place, such as that he was not in earnest, and that he surely did not wish to have anything from her, &c.[132]The prison governorbegan immediately to pay me less respect, when he perceived that my liberation was not expected.
When the time came at which I was accustomed to receive the holy communion, I begged the prison governor that he should manage that I should have the court preacher, D. Hans Læt, as the former court preacher, D. Mathias Foss, had come to me on the first occasion in my prison. The prison governor stated my desire, and his Majesty assented. D. Hans Læt was already in the tower, down below, but he was called back because the Queen Dowager (who was still in the palace) would not allow it; and the prison governor sent me word, through Peder Jensen, that the King had said I was to be content with the clergyman to whom I was accustomed, so that the necessary preparation for the Lord’s Supper was postponed till the following day, when Mag. Buck came to me and greeted me in an unusual manner, congratulating me in a long oration on my intention, saluting me ‘your Grace.’ When he was seated, he said, ‘I should have been glad if D. Hans Læt had come in my place.’ I replied, ‘I had wished it also.’ ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I know well why you wished it so. You wish to know things, and that is forbidden me. You have already caused one man to lose his employ.’ I asked him whether I had ever desired to know anything from him? ‘No,’ he replied, ‘you know well that you would learn nothing from me; for that reason you have asked me nothing.’ ‘Does the Herr Mag, then,’ I said, ‘mean that I desired D. Hans Læt in order to hear news of him?’ He hesitated a little, and then said, ‘You wanted to have D. Hans Læt in order that he might speak for you with the King.’ I said, ‘There may perhaps be something in that.’ Upon this he began to swear all kinds of oaths (suchas I have never heard before),[133]that he had spoken for me. (I thought: ‘I have no doubt you have spoken of me, but not in my favour.’) He had given me a book which I still have; it is ‘St. Augustini Manuali;’ the Statholder Gabel had bought it, as he said more than once, protesting by God that it had cost the Herr Statholder a rix-dollar. (I thought of the 5,000 rix-dollars which Gabel received, that we might be liberated from our confinement at Borringholm, but I said nothing; perhaps for this reason he repeated the statement so often.) I asked him whom I had caused to lose his employ. He answered, ‘Hans Balcke.[134]He told you that Treasurer Gabel was Statholder, and he ought not to have done so.’ I said, ‘I do not believe that Balcke knew that he ought not to say it, for he did not tell it to me as a secret. One might say just as well that H. Magister had caused Balcke to lose his place.’ He was very angry at this, and various disputes arose on the subject. He began again just as before, that I wanted to have D. Læt, he knew why. I said, ‘I did not insist specially on having D. Læt; but if not him, the chaplain of the castle, or another.’ He asked, ‘Why another?’ I replied, ‘Because it is not always convenient to the Herr Magister. I have been obliged to wait for him ten, twelve, and even fourteen days, and the last time he administered his office in great haste, so that it is not convenient for him to come when I require him.’ He sat turning over my words,not knowing what to answer, and at last he said; ‘You think it will go better with you now because King Frederick is dead. No, you deceive yourself! It will go worse with you, it will go worse with you!’ And as he was growing angry, I became more composed and I asked gently why so, and from what could he infer it? He answered, ‘I infer it from the fact that you have not been able to get your will in desiring another clergyman and confessor; so I assure you things will not be better with you. If King Frederick is dead, King Christian is alive.’ I said: ‘That is a bad foundation; your words of threatening have no basis. If I have not this time been able to obtain another confessor, it does not follow that I shall not have another at another time. And what have I done, that things should go worse with me?’ He was more and more angry, and exclaimed aloud several times, ‘Worse, yes, it will be worse!’ Then I also answered angrily, ‘Well, then let it come.’