I.What is this our mortal lifeOtherwise than daily strife?What is all our labour here,The servitude and yoke we bear?Are they aught but vanity?Art and learning what are ye?Like a vapour all we see.II.Why, then, is thy anxious breastFilled with trouble? Be at rest!Why, then, dost thou boldly fightThe phantoms vain that mock thy sight?Is there any, small or grand,Who can payment duly handAt the creditor’s demand?III.Naked to the world I came,And I leave it just the same;The Lord has given and He takes;It is well whate’er He makes.To the Lord all praises be;I will trust Him heartily!And my near deliverance see.IV.One thing would I ask of Thee.That Thy House I once may see,And once more with song and praiseMay my pious offering raise,And magnify Thy grace received,And all that Jesus has achievedFor us who have in Him believed.V.If Thou sayest unto me,‘I have no desire in thee,There is no place for thee above;’Oh Jesus! look Thou down in love!Can I not justly to Thee say‘Let me but see Thy wounds, I pray:’God’s mercy cannot pass away.
I.
What is this our mortal lifeOtherwise than daily strife?What is all our labour here,The servitude and yoke we bear?Are they aught but vanity?Art and learning what are ye?Like a vapour all we see.
II.
Why, then, is thy anxious breastFilled with trouble? Be at rest!Why, then, dost thou boldly fightThe phantoms vain that mock thy sight?Is there any, small or grand,Who can payment duly handAt the creditor’s demand?
III.
Naked to the world I came,And I leave it just the same;The Lord has given and He takes;It is well whate’er He makes.To the Lord all praises be;I will trust Him heartily!And my near deliverance see.
IV.
One thing would I ask of Thee.That Thy House I once may see,And once more with song and praiseMay my pious offering raise,And magnify Thy grace received,And all that Jesus has achievedFor us who have in Him believed.
V.
If Thou sayest unto me,‘I have no desire in thee,There is no place for thee above;’Oh Jesus! look Thou down in love!Can I not justly to Thee say‘Let me but see Thy wounds, I pray:’God’s mercy cannot pass away.
On June 27, the Queen sent me some silk and silver, with the request that I would embroider her a flower, which was traced on parchment; she sent also another flower which was embroidered, that I might see how the work should be done, which is called the golden work. I had never before embroidered such work, for it affects the eyes quickly; but I undertook it, and said I would do it as well as I could. On July 9, I sent the flower which I had embroidered to the governess of the royal children, F. Sitzele Grubbe, with the request that she would present it most humbly to her Majesty the Queen. The Queen was much pleased with theflower, and told her that it excelled the others which certain countesses had embroidered for her.
I afterwards embroidered nine flowers in silver and silk in this golden work, and sent them to the Queen’s mistress of the robes, with the request that she would present them most humbly to her Majesty the Queen. The mistress of the robes assured me of the Queen’s favour, and told me that her Majesty was going to give me two silver flagons, but I have not heard of them yet. In the same year I embroidered a table-cover with floss silk, in a new design devised by myself, and I trimmed it with taffeta and silver fringe; this also I begged Lady Grubbe, the governess of the King’s children, to present most humbly to her Majesty, and it was graciously received. On November 29, I completed the work which I had made for my death-gear. It was embroidered with thread. On one end of the pillow I worked the following lines:
Full of anxiety and care, in many a silent night,This shroud have I been weaving with sorrowful delight!
Full of anxiety and care, in many a silent night,This shroud have I been weaving with sorrowful delight!
On the other end I embroidered the following: (N.B. The pillow was stuffed with my hair).
When some day on this hair my weary head will lie,My body will be free and my soul to God will fly.
When some day on this hair my weary head will lie,My body will be free and my soul to God will fly.
On the cloth for the head I embroidered:
I know full well, my Jesus, Thou dost live,And my frail body from the dust wilt give,And it with marvellous beauty will arrayTo stand before Thy throne on the great day.Fulfilled with heavenly joy I then shall be,And Thee, great God, in all Thy splendour see.Nor unknown wilt Thou to mine eyes appear!Help Jesus, bridegroom, be Thou ever near!
I know full well, my Jesus, Thou dost live,And my frail body from the dust wilt give,And it with marvellous beauty will arrayTo stand before Thy throne on the great day.Fulfilled with heavenly joy I then shall be,And Thee, great God, in all Thy splendour see.Nor unknown wilt Thou to mine eyes appear!Help Jesus, bridegroom, be Thou ever near!
Her Majesty the Queen was always gracious to me, and sent me again a number of silkworms that I might amuse myself with feeding them for her, and I was to return what they spun. The virtuous Queen also sent me sometimes oranges, lemons, and some of the large almanacs, and this she did through a dwarf, who is a thoroughly quick lad. His mother and father had been in the service of my deceased sister Sophia Elizabeth and my brother-in-law Count Pentz.
The governess of the royal children, F. Sitzel Grubbe, was very courteous and good to me, and sent me several times lemons, oranges, mulberries, and other fruits, according to the season of the year.
A young lady, by birth a Donep, also twice sent me fruit.
The maids of honour once sent me some entangled silk from silkworms, which they wanted to spin, and did not rightly know how to manage it; they requested me to arrange it for them. I had other occupation on hand which I was unwilling to lay aside (for I was busy collecting my heroines), but nevertheless I acceded to their wish.[E60]My captivity of nearly twenty years could not touch the heart of the Queen Dowager (though with a good conscience I can testify before God that I never gave her cause for such inclemency). My most gracious hereditary King was gracious enough several times in former years to intercede for me with his royal mother, through the high ministers of the State. Her answer at that time was very hard; she would entitle them ‘traitors,’ and, ‘as good as I was,’ and would point them to the door. All the favours which the King’s majesty showed me—the outer apartment, the large window, the money to dispose of formyself—annoyed the Queen Dowager extremely; and she made the King’s majesty feel her displeasure in the most painful manner. And as she had also learned (she had plenty of informers) that I possessed a clavicordium, this annoyed her especially, and she spoke very angrily with the King about it; on which account the prison governor came to me one day and said that the King had asked him how he had happened to procure me a clavicordium. ‘I stood abashed,’ said the prison governor, ‘and knew not what to say.’ I thought to myself, ‘You know but little of what is happening in the tower.’ I did not see him more than three times a year. I asked who had told the King of the clavicordium. He answered: ‘The old Queen; she has her spies everywhere, and she has spoken so hardly to the King that it is a shame because he gives you so much liberty;’ so saying, he seized the clavicordium just as if he were going to take it away, and said, ‘You must not have it!’ I said, ‘Let it alone! I have permission from his Majesty, my gracious Sovereign, to buy what I desire for my pastime with the money he graciously assigns me. The clavicordium is in no one’s way, and cannot harm the Queen Dowager.’ He pulled at it nevertheless, and wanted to take it down; it stood on a closet which I had bought. I said, with rather a loud voice, ‘You must let it remain until you return me the money I gave you for it; then you may do with it what you like.’ He said, ‘I will tell the King that.’ I begged him to do so. There was nothing afterwards said about it,[147]and I still have the clavicordium, though I play on it rarely. I write,and hasten to finish my heroines, so that I may have them ready, and that no sickness nor death may prevent my completing them, nor the friend to whom I confide them may leave me, and so they would never fall into your hands, my dearest children.
On September 24, M. Johan Adolf, my father confessor, was promoted; he became dean of the church of Our Lady. He bade me a very touching farewell, having administered the duties of his office to me for nearly six years, and been my consolation. God knows how unwillingly I parted with him.
At the beginning of this year H. Peder Collerus was my father confessor; he was at the time palace-preacher. He also visited me with his consolatory discourse every six weeks. He is a learned man, but not like Hornemann.
On April 3, an old sickly dog was sent to me in the Queen’s name. I fancy the ladies of the court sent it, to be quit of the trouble. A marten had bit its jaw in two, so that the tongue hung out on one side. All the teeth were gone, and a thin film covered one eye. It heard but little, and limped on one side. The worst, however, was, that one could easily see that it tried to exhibit its affection beyond its power. They told me that her Majesty the Queen had been very fond of the dog. It was a small ‘King Charles;’ its name was ‘Cavaillier.’ The Queen expressed her opinion that it would not long trouble me. I hoped so also.[E66b]
On August 12 of this year I finished the work I had undertaken, and since my prefatory remarks treated of celebrated women of every kind, both of valiant rulers and sensible sovereigns, of true, chaste, God-fearing,virtuous, unhappy, learned, and steadfast women, it seemed to me that all of these could not be reckoned as heroines; so I took some of them out and divided them into three parts, under the title, ‘The Heroines’ Praise.’ The first part is to the honour of valiant heroines. The second part speaks of true and chaste heroines. The third part of steadfast heroines. Each part has its appendix. I hope to God that this my prison work may come into your hands, my dearest children. Hereafter I intend, so God will, to collect the others: namely, the sensible, learned, god-fearing, and virtuous women; exhibiting each to view in the circumstances of her life.[E61]
I will mention from her own statement somewhat of Jonatha, who now attended on me. I will pass over the long story of how she left her mother; the fact is, that against her mother’s will she married a Danish merchant, named Jens Pedersen Holme. But her life and doings (according to her own statement) are so strange, that it may be worth while to record somewhat of them. After they were married, she says, it vexed her, and was always in her mind that she had made her mother angry, and had done very wrong. Her mother had sent her also a hard letter, which distressed her much; and she behaved refractorily towards her husband, and in many ways like a spoilt unreasonable child, sometimes even like one who had lost her reason and was desperate.
It seems also that her husband treated her as if her mind was affected, for he had her looked after like a child, and treated her as such. She told him once that she was intending to drown herself in the Peblingesö,[E62]and at another time that she would strike him dead. The husband feared neither of these threats; still he had her watched when she went out, to see which way she took. Once she had firmly resolved to drown herself in the Peblingesö, for this place pleased her; she was even on her way there, but was brought back. She struck her husband, too, once after her fashion. He had come home one day half intoxicated, and had laid down on a bed, so that his legs rested on the floor. She says she intended at the time to strike him dead; she took a stick and tried to see if he were asleep, talking loudly to herself and scolding, and touching him softly on the shinbone with the stick. He behaved as if he were asleep. Then she struck him a little harder. Upon this he seized the stick and took it away from her, and asked what she had in her mind. She answered, ‘To kill you.’ ‘He was grieved at my madness,’ she said, ‘and threw himself on his knees, praying God to govern me with His good spirit and give me reason.’ The worst is that it once came into her mind not to sleep with her husband, and she laid down on a bench in the room. For a long time he gave her fair words, but these availed nothing. At last he said, ‘Undress yourself and come and lie down, or I shall come to you.’ She paid no attention to this; so he got up, undressed her completely, slapped her with his hand, and threw her into bed. She protested that for some days she was too bruised to sit; this proved availing, and she behaved in future more reasonably.
Little at peace as she was with her husband when she had him with her, she was greatly grieved when he left her to go to the West Indies. He sent byreturn vessels all sorts of goods to sell, and she thus maintained herself comfortably.
It happened at last that the man died in the West Indies, and a person who brought her the news stated that he had been poisoned by the governor of the place named ——, at an entertainment, and this because he was on the point of returning home, and the governor was afraid that Holme might mention his evil conduct. These tidings unsettled her mind so, that she ran at night, in her mere night-dress, along the street, and squabbled with the watchmen. She went to the admiral at the Holm, and demanded justice upon the absent culprit, and accused him, though she could prove nothing.
Thus matters went on for a time, until at last she gained repose, and God ordained it that she came to me. My intercourse with her is as with a frail glass vessel, for she is weak in many respects. She often doubts of her salvation, and enumerates all her sins. She laments especially having so deeply offended her mother, and thus having drawn down a curse upon her. When this fear comes upon her, I console her with God’s word, and enter fully into the matter, showing her, from Holy Scripture, on what a repentant sinner must rely for the mercy of God. Occasionally she is troubled as to the interpretation of Holy Scripture, as all passages do not seem to her to agree, but to contradict each other. In this I help her so far as my understanding goes, so that sometimes she heartily thanks God that she is come to me, where she finds rest and consolation.
After she had been with me for a year or two, she learned that the governor, whom she suspected, had come to Copenhagen. She said to me, ‘I hear therogue is come here; I request my dismissal.’ I asked her why. ‘Because,’ she replied, ‘I will kill him.’ I could scarcely keep from laughing; but I said, ‘Jesus forbid! If you have any such design, I shall not let you go.’ And as she is a person whose like I have never known before—for she could chide with hard words, and yet at the same time she was modest and well-behaved—I tried to make her tell me and show me how she designed to take the governor’s life. (She is a small woman, delicately formed.) Then she acted as if her enemy were seated on a stool, and she had a large knife under her apron. When he said to her, ‘Woman, what do you want?’ she would plunge the knife into him, and exclaim, ‘Rogue, thou hast deserved this.’ She would not move from the place, she would gladly die, if she could only take his life. I said, ‘Still it is such a disgrace to die by the hand of the executioner.’ ‘Oh, no!’ she replied, ‘it is not a disgrace to die for an honourable deed;’ and she had an idea that any one thus dying by the hand of the executioner passed away in a more Christian manner than such as died on a bed of sickness; and that it was no sin to kill a man who, like a rogue, had murdered another. I asked her if she did not think that he sinned who killed another. ‘No,’ she replied, ‘not when he has brought it upon himself.’ I said, ‘No one may be his own judge, either by the law of God or man; and what does the fifth commandment teach us?’[E63]She answered as before, that she would gladly die if she could only take the rogue’s life. (I must add that she said she could not do it on my account, for I would not let her out.) She made a sin of that which is no sin,and that which is sin she will not regard as such. She says it is a sin to kill a dog, a cat, or a bird; the innocent animals do no harm; in fact, it is a still greater sin to let the poor beasts hunger. I asked her once whether it was a sin to eat meat. ‘No,’ she answered; ‘it is only a sin to him who has killed the animal.’ She protested that if she were obliged to marry, and had to choose between a butcher and an executioner, she would prefer the latter. She told me of various quarrels she had had with those who had either killed animals or allowed them to hunger.
One story I will not leave unmentioned, as it is very pretty. She sold, she said, one day some pigs to a butcher. When the butcher’s boy was about to bind the pigs’ feet and carry them off hanging from a pole, she was sorry for the poor pigs, and said, ‘What, will you take their life? No, I will not suffer that!’ and she threw him back his money. I asked her if she did not know that pigs were killed, and for what reason she thought the butcher had bought them. ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘I knew that well. Had he let them go on their own legs, I should have cared nothing about it; but to bind the poor beasts in this way, and to hear them cry, I could not endure that.’ It would take too long to enumerate all the extravagant whims which she related of herself. But with all this she is not foolish, and I well believe she is true to any one she loves. She served me very well, and with great care.
The above-mentioned governor[E64]was killed by some prisoners on board the vessel, when he was returning to the West Indies. By a strange chance the vessel with the murderers came to Copenhagen. (They weresentenced to death for their crime.) Jonatha declared that the governor had had only too good a death, and that it was a sin that any one should lose his life on account of it. I practise speaking the English language with Jonatha. She has forgotten somewhat of her mother tongue, since she has not spoken it for many years; and as she always reads the English Bible, and does not at once understand all the words, I help her; for I not only can perceive the sense from the preceding and following words, but also because some words resemble the French, though with another accent. And we often talk together about the interpretation of Holy Scripture. She calls herself a Calvinist, but she does not hold the opinions of Calvinists. I never dispute with her over her opinions. She goes to the Lord’s Supper in the Queen’s church[E65]. Once, when she came back to me from there, she said she had had a conversation upon religion with a woman, who had told her to her face that she was no Calvinist. I asked her of what religion the woman imagined that she was. She replied: ‘God knows that. I begged her to mind her own business, and said, that I was a Christian; I thought of your grace’s words (but I did not say them), that all those who believe on Christ and live a Christian life, are Christians, whatever name they may give to their faith.’
In this year 1684 I saw the Queen Dowager fall from the chair in which she was drawn up to the royal apartment. The chair ran down the pulleys too quickly, so that she fell on her face and knocked her knee. During this year her weakness daily increased, but she thought herself stronger than she was. She appeared at table always much dressed, and between the meals she remained in her apartments.
I kept myself patient, and wrote the following:—
Contemplation on Memory and Courage, recorded to the honour of God by the suffering Christian woman in the sixty-third year of her life, and the almost completed twenty-first year of her captivity.The vanished hours can ne’er come back again,Still may the old their youthful joys retain;The past may yet within our memory live,And courage vigour to the old may give.Yet why should I thus sport with Memory’s truth,And harrow up the fairer soil of youth?No fruit it brings, fallow and bare it lies,And the dry furrow only pain supplies!In my first youth, in honourable daysUpon such things small question did I raise.Then years advanced with trouble in their train,And spite of show my life was fraught with pain.The holy marriage bond—my rank and fame,Increased my foes and made my ill their aim.Go! honour, riches, vanish from my mind!Ye all forsook me and left nought behind.’Twas ye have brought me here thro’ years to lie;Thus can man’s envy human joy deny!My God alone, He ne’er forsook me here,My cross He lightened, and was ever near;And when my heart was yielding to despair,He spoke of peace and whispered He was there.He gave me power and ever near me stood,And all could see how truly God was good.What Courage can achieve I next will heed;He who is blessed with it, is blest indeed.To the tired frame fresh power can Courage give,Raising the weary mind anew to live;I mean that Courage Reason may instilNot the foolhardiness that leads to ill.Far oftener is it that the youth will lieHelpless, when Fortune’s favours from him fly,Than that the old man should inactive stay,Who knows full well how Fortune loves to play.Fresh Courage seizes him; from such a shieldRebound the arms malicious foes may wield.Courage imparts repose, and trifles here,Beneath its influence, as nought appear;But a vain loan, which we can only holdUntil the lender comes, and life is told.Courage pervades the frame and vigour gives,And a fresh energy each part receives;With appetite and health and cheerful mind,And calm repose in hours of sleep we find,So that no visions in ill dreams appear,And spectre forms filling the heart with fear.Courage gives honied sweetness to our foodAnd prison fare, and makes e’en death seem good.’Tis well! my mind is fresh, my limbs are sound,And no misfortune weighs me to the ground.Reason and judgment come from God alone,And the five senses unimpaired I own.The mighty God in me His power displays,Therefore join with me in a voice of praiseAnd laud His name: For Thou it is, oh God,Who in my fear and anguish nigh me stood.Almighty One, my thanks be ever thine!Let me ne’er waver nor my trust resign.Take not the courage which my hope supplies,Till my soul enters into Paradise.
Contemplation on Memory and Courage, recorded to the honour of God by the suffering Christian woman in the sixty-third year of her life, and the almost completed twenty-first year of her captivity.
The vanished hours can ne’er come back again,Still may the old their youthful joys retain;The past may yet within our memory live,And courage vigour to the old may give.Yet why should I thus sport with Memory’s truth,And harrow up the fairer soil of youth?No fruit it brings, fallow and bare it lies,And the dry furrow only pain supplies!In my first youth, in honourable daysUpon such things small question did I raise.Then years advanced with trouble in their train,And spite of show my life was fraught with pain.The holy marriage bond—my rank and fame,Increased my foes and made my ill their aim.Go! honour, riches, vanish from my mind!Ye all forsook me and left nought behind.’Twas ye have brought me here thro’ years to lie;Thus can man’s envy human joy deny!My God alone, He ne’er forsook me here,My cross He lightened, and was ever near;And when my heart was yielding to despair,He spoke of peace and whispered He was there.He gave me power and ever near me stood,And all could see how truly God was good.What Courage can achieve I next will heed;He who is blessed with it, is blest indeed.To the tired frame fresh power can Courage give,Raising the weary mind anew to live;I mean that Courage Reason may instilNot the foolhardiness that leads to ill.Far oftener is it that the youth will lieHelpless, when Fortune’s favours from him fly,Than that the old man should inactive stay,Who knows full well how Fortune loves to play.Fresh Courage seizes him; from such a shieldRebound the arms malicious foes may wield.Courage imparts repose, and trifles here,Beneath its influence, as nought appear;But a vain loan, which we can only holdUntil the lender comes, and life is told.Courage pervades the frame and vigour gives,And a fresh energy each part receives;With appetite and health and cheerful mind,And calm repose in hours of sleep we find,So that no visions in ill dreams appear,And spectre forms filling the heart with fear.Courage gives honied sweetness to our foodAnd prison fare, and makes e’en death seem good.’Tis well! my mind is fresh, my limbs are sound,And no misfortune weighs me to the ground.Reason and judgment come from God alone,And the five senses unimpaired I own.The mighty God in me His power displays,Therefore join with me in a voice of praiseAnd laud His name: For Thou it is, oh God,Who in my fear and anguish nigh me stood.Almighty One, my thanks be ever thine!Let me ne’er waver nor my trust resign.Take not the courage which my hope supplies,Till my soul enters into Paradise.
The vanished hours can ne’er come back again,Still may the old their youthful joys retain;The past may yet within our memory live,And courage vigour to the old may give.Yet why should I thus sport with Memory’s truth,And harrow up the fairer soil of youth?No fruit it brings, fallow and bare it lies,And the dry furrow only pain supplies!In my first youth, in honourable daysUpon such things small question did I raise.Then years advanced with trouble in their train,And spite of show my life was fraught with pain.The holy marriage bond—my rank and fame,Increased my foes and made my ill their aim.Go! honour, riches, vanish from my mind!Ye all forsook me and left nought behind.’Twas ye have brought me here thro’ years to lie;Thus can man’s envy human joy deny!My God alone, He ne’er forsook me here,My cross He lightened, and was ever near;And when my heart was yielding to despair,He spoke of peace and whispered He was there.He gave me power and ever near me stood,And all could see how truly God was good.
What Courage can achieve I next will heed;He who is blessed with it, is blest indeed.To the tired frame fresh power can Courage give,Raising the weary mind anew to live;I mean that Courage Reason may instilNot the foolhardiness that leads to ill.Far oftener is it that the youth will lieHelpless, when Fortune’s favours from him fly,Than that the old man should inactive stay,Who knows full well how Fortune loves to play.Fresh Courage seizes him; from such a shieldRebound the arms malicious foes may wield.Courage imparts repose, and trifles here,Beneath its influence, as nought appear;But a vain loan, which we can only holdUntil the lender comes, and life is told.Courage pervades the frame and vigour gives,And a fresh energy each part receives;With appetite and health and cheerful mind,And calm repose in hours of sleep we find,So that no visions in ill dreams appear,And spectre forms filling the heart with fear.Courage gives honied sweetness to our foodAnd prison fare, and makes e’en death seem good.’Tis well! my mind is fresh, my limbs are sound,And no misfortune weighs me to the ground.Reason and judgment come from God alone,And the five senses unimpaired I own.The mighty God in me His power displays,Therefore join with me in a voice of praiseAnd laud His name: For Thou it is, oh God,Who in my fear and anguish nigh me stood.Almighty One, my thanks be ever thine!Let me ne’er waver nor my trust resign.Take not the courage which my hope supplies,Till my soul enters into Paradise.
Written on February 28, 1684, that is the thirty-sixth anniversary since the illustrious King Christian the Fourth bade good-night to this world, and I to the prosperity of my life.
I have now reached the sixty-third year of my age, and the twentieth year, sixth month, and fifteenth day of my imprisonment. I have therefore spent the third part of my life in captivity. God be praised that so much time is past. I hope the remaining days may not be many.
Anno 1685, January 14, I amused myself with making some verses in which truth was veiled under the cloak of jest, entitled: ‘A Dog, named Cavaillier, relates his Fate.’
The rhymes, I suppose, will come into your hands, my dearest children.[E66]
On February 20, the Queen Dowager Sophia Amalia died. She did not think that death would overtake her so quickly; but when the doctor warned her that her death would not be long delayed, she requested to speak with her son. But death would not wait for the arrival of his Majesty, so that the Queen Dowager might say a word to him. She was still alive; she was sitting on a chair, but she was speechless, and soon afterwards, in the same position, she gave up her spirit.
After the death of this Queen I was much on the lips of the people. Some thought that I should obtain my liberty; others believed that I should probably be brought from the tower to some other place, but should not be set free.
Jonatha, who had learned from Ole the tower-warder, some days before the death of the Queen, that prayers were being offered up in the church for the Queen (it had, however, been going on for six weeks, that this prayer had been read from the pulpit), was, equally with Ole the tower-warder, quite depressed. Ole, who had consoled himself and her hitherto with the tidings from the Queen’s lacqueys, that the Queen went to table and was otherwise well, though she occasionally suffered from a cough, now thought that there was danger, that death might result, and that I, if the Queen died, might perhaps leave the prison. They did their best to conceal their sorrow, but without success. They occasionally shed secretly a few tears. I behaved as if I did not remark it, and as no one said anything to meabout it, I gave no opportunity for speaking on the subject. A long time previously I had said to Jonatha (as I had done before to the other women) that I did not think I should die in the tower. She remembered this and mentioned it. I said: ‘All is in God’s hand. He knows best what is needful for me, both as regards soul and body; to Him I commend myself.’ Thus Jonatha and Ole lived on between hope and fear.
On March 15, the reigning Queen kept her Easter. Jonatha came quite delighted from her Majesty’s church, saying that a noble personage had told her that I need not think of getting out of the prison, although the Queen was dead; she knew better and she insisted upon it. However often I asked as to who the personage was, she would not tell me her name. I laughed at her, and said, ‘Whoever the personage may be, she knows just as much about it as you and I do.’ Jonatha adhered to her opinion that the person knew it well. ‘What do you mean?’ I said; ‘the King himself does not know. How should others know?’ ‘Not the King! not the King!’ she said quite softly. ‘No, not the King!’ I answered. ‘He does not know till God puts it into his heart, and as good as says to him, “Now thou shalt let the prisoner free!”’ She came somewhat more to herself, but said nothing. And as she and Ole heard no more rumours concerning me, they were quite comforted.
On March 26, the funeral of the Queen Dowager took place, and her body was conveyed to Roskild.
On April 21, I supplicated the King’s Majesty in the following manner. I possessed a portrait engraving of the illustrious King Christian the Fourth, rather small and oval in form. This I illuminated with colours, andhad a carved frame made for it, which I gilded myself. On the piece at the back I wrote the following words:—
My grandson, and great namesake,Equal to me in power and state;Vouchsafe my child a hearing,And be like me in mercy great!
My grandson, and great namesake,Equal to me in power and state;Vouchsafe my child a hearing,And be like me in mercy great!
Besides this, I wrote to his Excellency Gyldenlöve, requesting him humbly to present the Supplique to the King’s majesty, and to interest himself on my behalf, and assist me to gain my liberty. His Excellency was somewhat inconvenienced at the time by his old weakness, so that he could not himself speak for me; but he begged a good friend to present the engraving with all due respect, and this was done on April 24.[E67]
Of all this Jonatha knew nothing. Peder Jensen Tötzlöff was my messenger. He has been a comfort to me in my imprisonment, and has rendered me various services, so that I am greatly bound to him. And I beg you, my dearest children, to requite him in all possible ways for the services he has rendered me.
On May 2, it became generally talked of that I should assuredly be set at liberty, and some asked the tower-warder whether I had come out the evening before, and at what time; so that Ole began to fear, and could not bear himself as bravely as he tried to do. He said to me in a sad tone: ‘My good lady! You will certainly be set at liberty. There are some who think you are already free.’ I said, ‘God will bring it to pass.’ ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘but how will it fare with me then?’ I answered, ‘You will remain tower-warder, as you now are.’ ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘butwith what pleasure?’ and he turned, unable to restrain his tears, and went away. Jonatha concluded that my deliverance was drawing near, and endeavoured to conceal her sorrow. She said, ‘Ole is greatly cast down, but I am not.’ (And the tears were standing in her eyes.) ‘It is said for certain that the King is going away the day after to-morrow. If you are set at liberty, it will be this very day.’ I said, ‘God knows.’ Jonatha expressed her opinion that I was nevertheless full of hope. I said I had been hopeful ever since the first day of my imprisonment; that God would at last have mercy on me, and regard my innocence. I had prayed to God always for patience to await the time of His succour; and God had graciously bestowed it on me. If the moment of succour had now arrived, I should pray to God for grace to acknowledge rightly His great benefits. Jonatha asked if I were not sure to be set free before the King started for Norway; that it was said for certain that the King would set out early on the following morning. I said: ‘There is no certainty as to future things. Circumstances may occur to impede the King’s journey, and it may also happen that my liberty may be prevented, even though at this hour it may perhaps be resolved upon. Still I know that my hope will not be confounded. But you do not conceal your regret, and I cannot blame you for it. You have cause for regret, for with my freedom you lose your yearly income and your maintenance.[148]Remember how often I have told you not to throw away your money so carelessly on your son. You cannot know what may happen to you in your old age. If I die, you will be plunged intopoverty; for as soon as you receive your money, you expend it on the apprenticeship of your son, who returns you no thanks for it.[149]You have yourself told me of his bad disposition, and how wrongly he has answered you when you have tried to give him good advice. Latterly he has not ventured to do so, since I read him a lecture, and threatened that I would help to send him to the House of Correction. I fear he will be a bad son to you.’ Upon this she gave free vent to her tears, and begged that if I obtained my liberty I would not abandon her. This I promised, so far as lay in my power; for I could not know what my circumstances might be.
In this way some days elapsed, and Jonatha and Ole knew not what the issue might be.
On May 19, at six o’clock in the morning, Ole knocked softly at my outer door. Jonatha went to it. Ole said softly, ‘The King is already gone; he left at about four o’clock.’ I know not if his hope was great; at any rate it did not last long. Jonatha told me Ole’s news. I wished the King’s Majesty a prosperous journey (I knew already what order he had given), and it seemed to me from her countenance she was to some extent contented. At about eight o’clock Tötzlöff came up to me and informed me that the Lord Chancellor Count Allefeldt had sent the prison governor a royal order that I was to be released from my imprisonment, and that I could leave when I pleased. (This order was signed by the King’s Majesty the day before his Majesty started.)
His Excellency had accompanied the King. Tötzlöff asked whether I wished him to lock the doors, as I wasnow free. I replied, ‘So long as I remain within the doors of my prison, I am not free. I will moreover leave properly. Lock the door and enquire what my sister’s daughter, Lady Anna Catharina Lindenow, says, whether his Excellency[E68]sent any message to her (as he promised) before he left. When Tötzlöff was gone, I said to Jonatha, ‘Now, in Jesus’ name, this very evening I shall leave. Gather your things together, and pack them up, and I will do the same with mine; they shall remain here till I can have them fetched.’ She was somewhat startled, but not cast down. She thanked God with me, and when the doors were unlocked at noon and I dined, she laughed at Ole, who was greatly depressed. I told her that Ole might well sigh, for that he would now have to eat his cabbage without bacon.
Tötzlöff brought me word from my sister’s daughter that his Excellency had sent to her to say that she was free to accompany me from the tower, if she chose. It was therefore settled that she was to come for me late the same evening.
The prison governor was in a great hurry to get rid of me, and sent the tower-warder to me towards evening, to enquire whether I would not go. I sent word that it was still too light (there would probably be some curious people who had a desire to see me).
Through a good friend I made enquiry of her Majesty the Queen, whether I might be allowed the favour of offering my humble submission to her Majesty (I could go into the Queen’s apartment through the secret passage, so that no one could see me). Her Majesty sent me word in reply that she might not speak with me.
At about ten o’clock in the evening, the prison governor opened the door for my sister’s daughter. (I had not seen him for two years.) He said, ‘Well, shall we part now?’ I answered, ‘Yes, the time is now come.’ Then he gave me his hand, and said ‘Ade!’ (Adieu). I answered in the same manner, and my niece laughed heartily.
Soon after the prison governor had gone, I and my sister’s daughter left the tower. Her Majesty the Queen thought to see me as I came out, and was standing on her balcony, but it was rather dark; moreover I had a black veil over my face. The palace-square, as far as the bridge and further, was full of people, so that we could scarcely press through to the coach.
The time of my imprisonment was twenty-one years, nine months, and eleven days.
King Frederick III. ordered my imprisonment on August 8,A.D.1663; King Christian V. gave me my liberty on May 18, 1685. God bless my most gracious King with all royal blessing, and give his Majesty health and add many years to his life.
This is finished in my prison.
On May 19, at ten o’clock in the evening, I left my prison. To God be honour and praise. He graciously vouchsafed that I should recognise His divine benefits, and never forget to record them with gratitude.
Dear children! This is the greatest part of the events worth mentioning which occurred to me within the doors of my prison. I live now in the hope that it may please God and the King’s Majesty that I may myself show you this record. God in His mercy grant it.
1685. Written at Husum[E69]June 2, where I am awaiting the return of the King’s Majesty from Norway:
A.D.1683. New Year’s Day. To Myself.
Men say that Fortune is a rare and precious thing,And they would fain that Power should homage to her bring.Yet Power herself is blind and ofttimes falleth low,Rarely to rise again, wherefore may Heaven know.To-day with humorous wiles she holds her sovereign sway,And could one only trust her, there might be goodly prey.Yet is she like to Fortune, changeful the course she flies,And both, oh earthly pilgrim, are but vain fraud and lies.The former is but frail, the other strives with care,And both alas! are subject to many a plot and snare.Thou hast laid hold on Fortune with an exultant mind,Affixed perhaps to-morrow the fatalmiswe find;Then does thy courage fail, this prefix saddens thee,Wert thou thyself Goliath or twice as brave as he.And thou who art so small—already grey with care—Thou know’st not whether evil this year thy lot may share.For Fortune frolics ever, now under, now above,Emerging here and there her varied powers to prove.All that is earthly comes and vanishes again,Therefore I cling to that which will for aye remain.
Men say that Fortune is a rare and precious thing,And they would fain that Power should homage to her bring.Yet Power herself is blind and ofttimes falleth low,Rarely to rise again, wherefore may Heaven know.To-day with humorous wiles she holds her sovereign sway,And could one only trust her, there might be goodly prey.Yet is she like to Fortune, changeful the course she flies,And both, oh earthly pilgrim, are but vain fraud and lies.The former is but frail, the other strives with care,And both alas! are subject to many a plot and snare.Thou hast laid hold on Fortune with an exultant mind,Affixed perhaps to-morrow the fatalmiswe find;Then does thy courage fail, this prefix saddens thee,Wert thou thyself Goliath or twice as brave as he.And thou who art so small—already grey with care—Thou know’st not whether evil this year thy lot may share.For Fortune frolics ever, now under, now above,Emerging here and there her varied powers to prove.All that is earthly comes and vanishes again,Therefore I cling to that which will for aye remain.
On March 14, 1683, I wrote the following:—
True is the sentence we are sometimes told:A friend is worth far more than bags of gold.Yet would I gladly ask, where do we findA friend so virtuous that he is well inclinedTo help another in his need and gloomWithout a thought of recompense to come?Naught is there new in this, for selfish careTo every child of Eve has proved a snare.Each generation hears the last complain,And each repeats the same sad tale again;—That the oppressed by the wayside may lie,When naught is gained but God’s approving eye.See, at Bethesda’s pool, how once there cameThe halting impotent, some help to claimAmong those thousands. Each of pity free,Had no hand for him in his miseryTo bring him to the angel-troubled stream.Near his last breath did the poor sufferer seem,Weary and penniless; when One aloneWho without money works His wise ownWill, turned where the helpless suppliant lay,And gently bade him rise and go his way.Children of grief, rejoice, do not despair;This Helper still is here and still will careWhat He in mercy wills. He soothes our pain,And He will help, asking for naught again.And in due time He will with gracious handUnloose thy prison bars and iron band.
True is the sentence we are sometimes told:A friend is worth far more than bags of gold.Yet would I gladly ask, where do we findA friend so virtuous that he is well inclinedTo help another in his need and gloomWithout a thought of recompense to come?Naught is there new in this, for selfish careTo every child of Eve has proved a snare.Each generation hears the last complain,And each repeats the same sad tale again;—That the oppressed by the wayside may lie,When naught is gained but God’s approving eye.
See, at Bethesda’s pool, how once there cameThe halting impotent, some help to claimAmong those thousands. Each of pity free,Had no hand for him in his miseryTo bring him to the angel-troubled stream.Near his last breath did the poor sufferer seem,Weary and penniless; when One aloneWho without money works His wise ownWill, turned where the helpless suppliant lay,And gently bade him rise and go his way.
Children of grief, rejoice, do not despair;This Helper still is here and still will careWhat He in mercy wills. He soothes our pain,And He will help, asking for naught again.And in due time He will with gracious handUnloose thy prison bars and iron band.
A.D.1684. The first day. To Peder Jensen Tötzlöff.
Welcome, thou New Year’s day, altho’ thou dost belongTo those by Brahe reckoned the evil days among,Declaring that whatever may on this day beginCan never prosper rightly, nor true success can win.Now I will only ask if from to-day I striveThe evil to avoid and henceforth good to live,Will this not bring success? Why should a purpose fail,Altho’ on this day made? why should it not prevail?Oh Brahe, I believe, when we aright begin,To-day or when it be, and God’s good favour win,The issue must be well, and all that matters hereIs to commend our ways to our Redeemer dear.Begin with Jesus Christ this as all other days.Pray that thy plans may meet with the Almighty’s praise,So may’st thou happy be, and naught that man can doCan hinder thy designs, unless God wills it so!May a rich meed of blessing be on thy head bestow’d,And the Lord Jesus Christ protect thee on thy roadWith arms of grace. Such is my wish for thee,Based on the love of God; sure, that He answers me.
Welcome, thou New Year’s day, altho’ thou dost belongTo those by Brahe reckoned the evil days among,Declaring that whatever may on this day beginCan never prosper rightly, nor true success can win.Now I will only ask if from to-day I striveThe evil to avoid and henceforth good to live,Will this not bring success? Why should a purpose fail,Altho’ on this day made? why should it not prevail?Oh Brahe, I believe, when we aright begin,To-day or when it be, and God’s good favour win,The issue must be well, and all that matters hereIs to commend our ways to our Redeemer dear.
Begin with Jesus Christ this as all other days.Pray that thy plans may meet with the Almighty’s praise,So may’st thou happy be, and naught that man can doCan hinder thy designs, unless God wills it so!May a rich meed of blessing be on thy head bestow’d,And the Lord Jesus Christ protect thee on thy roadWith arms of grace. Such is my wish for thee,Based on the love of God; sure, that He answers me.
LONDON: PRINTED BYSPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUAREAND PARLIAMENT STREET