did. Anna attended to the light during the night, for she was more

watchful than Catharina. I read aloud to them from Anna's book, commended myself to God, and laid down to sleep. But my sleep was light, the promenades of the rats woke me, and there were great numbers of them. Hunger made them bold; they ate the candle as it stood burning. Catharina, moreover, was very uncomfortable all night, so that this also prevented my sleeping. Early on the morning of August 11 the prison governor came as usual with his brandy attentions, although they had a whole bottle with them. Catharina complained a good deal, and said she could not endure the oppressive air; that when she came in at the door it seemed as if it would stifle her; if she were to remain there a week she was certain that she would be carried out dead. The prison governor laughed at this.

The women went away, and he remained with me. He presented me Major-General von Anfeldt's compliments, and a message from him, that I 'should be of good courage; all would now soon be well.' I made no reply. He enquired how I was, and whether I had slept a little; and answered himself, 'I fancy not much.' He asked whether I would have anything, again answering himself, 'No, I do not think you wish for anything.' Upon this he walked up and down, humming to himself; then he came to my bedside and said: 'Oh, the dear King! he is indeed a kind master! Be at peace; he is a gracious sovereign, and has always held you in esteem. You are a woman, a weak instrument. Poor women are soon led away. No one likes to harm them, when they confess the truth. The dear Queen, she is indeed a dear Queen! She is not angry with you. I am sure if she knew the truth from you, she would herself pray for you. Listen! if you will write to the Queen and tell her all about the matter, and keep nothing back, I will bring you pen, ink, and paper. I have no wish, on my soul! to read it. No, God take me if I will look at it; and that you may be sure of this, I will give you wax that you may seal it. But I imagine you have probably no seal?' As I answered him not a word, he seized my hand and shook it rather strongly, saying, 'Do you not hear? Are you asleep?' I raised my head threateningly; I should like to have given him a box on the ears, and I turned round to the wall.

He was angry that his design had failed, and he went on grumbling to himself for more than an hour. I could not understand a word beyond, 'Yes, yes! you will not speak.' Then he muttered somewhat between his teeth: 'You will not answer; well, well, they will teach you. Yes, by God! hum, hum, hum.' He continued thus until the tower warder, Rasmus, came and whispered something to him; then he went out. It seemed to me that there was someone speaking with him, and so far as I could perceive it must have been someone who asked him if the ink and paper should be brought up, for he answered, 'No, it is not necessary; she will not.' The other said, 'Softly, softly!' The prison governor, however, could not well speak softly, and I heard him say, 'She cannot hear that; she is in bed.' When he came in again he went on muttering to himself, and stamped because I would not answer; he meant it kindly; the Queen was not so angry as I imagined. He went on speaking half aloud; he wished the women would come; he did nothing else but beg Rasmus to look for them.

Soon after Rasmus came and said that they were now going up the King's Stairs. Still almost an hour passed before they came in and released him. When they had their dinner (my own meal consisted of some slices of lemon with sugar) the prison governor was not nearly so merry as he was wont to be, though he chattered of various things that had occurred in former times, while he was a quarter-master. He also retired sooner than was his custom. The women, who remained, talked of indifferent matters. I also now and then put in a word, and asked them after their husbands and children. Anna read some prayers and hymns from her book, and thus the day passed till four o'clock, when the prison governor let them out. He had brought a book with him, which he read in a tolerably low tone, while he kept watch by me. I was well pleased at this, as it gave me rest.

At the evening meal the prison governor began amongst other conversation to tell the women that a prisoner had been brought here who was a Frenchman; he could not remember his name; he sat cogitating upon the name just as if he could not rightly hit upon it. Carl or Char, he did not know what he was called, but he had been formerly several years in Denmark. Anna enquired what sort of a man he was. He replied that he was a man who was to be made to sing,[63] but he did not know for a certainty whether he was here or not. (There was nothing in all this.) He only said this in order to get an opportunity of asking me, or to perceive whether it troubled me.

[63] That is, give information.

He had undoubtedly been ordered to do this; for when he was gone Anna began a conversation with Catharina upon this same Carl, and at last asked me whether we had had a Frenchman in our employ. I replied that we had had more than one. She enquired further whether there was one among them named Carl, who had long been in our service. 'We had a servant,' I answered, 'a Frenchman named Charle; he had been with us a long time.' 'Yes, yes,' she said, 'it is he. But I do not think he has arrived here yet; they are looking for him.' I said, 'Then he is easy to find, he was at Bruges when I left that town.' Anna said she fancied he had been in England with me, and she added, 'That fellow knows a good deal if they get him.' I answered, 'Then it were to be wished that they had him for the sake of his information.' When she perceived that I troubled myself no further about him she let the conversation drop, and spoke of my sister Elizabeth Augusta, saying that she passed her every day. She was standing in her gateway or sitting in the porch, and that she greeted her, but never uttered a word of enquiry after her sister, though she knew well that she was waiting on me in the Tower. I said I thought my sister did not know what would be the best for her to do. 'I cannot see,' said Anna, 'that she is depressed.' I expressed my opinion that the less we grieved over things the better. Other trifles were afterwards talked of, and I concluded the day with reading, commended myself to the care of Jesus, and slept tolerably well through the night.

August 12 passed without anything in particular occurring, only that Anna tried to trouble me by saying that a chamber next to us was being put in order, for whom she did not know; they were of course expecting someone in it. I could myself hear the masons at work. On the same day Catharina said that she had known me in prosperity, and blessed me a thousand times for the kindness I had shown her. I did not remember having ever seen her. She said she had been employed in the storeroom in the service of the Princess Magdalena Sybille, and that when I had visited the Princess, and had slept in the Castle, I had sent a good round present for those in the storeroom, and that she had had a share in it, and that this she now remembered with gratitude. Anna was not pleased with the conversation, and she interrupted it three times; Catharina, however, did not answer her, but adhered to the subject till she had finished. The prison governor was not in good humour on this day also, so that neither at dinner nor at supper were any indecent stories related.

On August 13, after the women had been into the town and had returned, the prison governor opened the door at about nine o'clock, and whispered something to them. He then brought in another small seat; from this I perceived that I was to be visited by one more than on the previous occasion. At about ten o'clock Count Rantzow, General Skack, Chancellor Retz, Treasurer Gabel, and Secretary Krag entered. They all saluted me with politeness; the four first seated themselves on low seats by my bedside, and Krag placed himself with his writing materials at the table. The Chancellor was spokesman, and said, 'His royal Majesty, my gracious Sovereign and hereditary King, sends you word, madame, that his Majesty has great cause for all that he is doing, and that he entertains suspicions with regard to you that you are an accomplice in the treason designed by your husband; and his royal Majesty had hoped that you would confess without compulsion who have participated in it, and the real truth about it.'

When the Chancellor ceased speaking, I replied that I was not aware that I had done anything which could render me suspected; and I called God to witness that I knew of no treason, and therefore I could mention no names. Count Rantzow said, 'Your husband has not concealed it from you, hence you know it well.' I replied, 'Had my husband entertained so evil a design, I believe surely he would have told me; but I can swear with a good conscience, before God in Heaven, that I never heard him speak of anything of the kind. Yes, I can truly say he never wished evil to the King in my hearing, and therefore I fully believe that this has been falsely invented by his enemies.' Count Rantzow and the Chancellor bent their heads together across to the General, and whispered with each other for some time. At length the Chancellor asked me whether, if my husband were found guilty, I would take part in his condemnation. This was a remarkable question, so I reflected a little, and said, 'If I may know on what grounds he is accused, I will answer to it so far as I know, and so much as I can.' The Chancellor said, 'Consider well whether you will.' I replied as before, that I would answer for him as to all that I knew, if I were informed of what he was accused. Count Rantzow whispered with Krag, and Krag went out, but returned immediately.

Soon afterward some one (whom I do not know) came from the Chancellor's office, bringing with him some large papers. Count Rantzow and the Chancellor whispered again. Then the Chancellor said, 'There is nothing further to do now than to let you know what sort of a husband you have, and to let you hear his sentence.' Count Rantzow ordered the man who had brought in the papers to read them aloud. The first paper read was to the effect that Corfitz, formerly Count of Ulfeldt, had offered the kingdom of Denmark to a foreign sovereign, and had told the same sovereign that he had ecclesiastical and lay magnates on his side, so that it was easy for him to procure the crown of Denmark for the before-mentioned sovereign.

A paper was then read which was the defence of the clergy, in which they protested that Corfitz, Count of Ulfeldt, had never had any communication with any of them; that he had at no time shown himself a friend of the clergy, and had far less offered them participation in his evil design. They assured his royal Majesty of their fidelity and subjection, &c. Next, a paper was read, written by the Burgomaster and council in Copenhagen, nearly similar in purport, that they had had no correspondence with Count Corfitz Ulfeldt, and equally assuring his royal Majesty of their humble fidelity. Next followed the reading of the unprecedented and illegal sentence which, without a hearing, had been passed on my lord. This was as unexpected and grievous as it was disgraceful, and unjustifiable before God and all right-loving men. No documents were brought forward upon which the sentence had been given. There was nothing said about prosecution or defence; there was no other foundation but mere words; that he had been found guilty of having offered the crown of Denmark to a foreign sovereign, and had told him that he had on his side ecclesiastical and lay magnates, who had shown by their signed protestations that this was not the case, for which reason he had been condemned as a criminal.

When the sentence with all the names subjoined to it had been read, the reader brought it to me, and placed it before me on the bed. Everyone can easily imagine how I felt; but few or none can conceive how it was that I was not stifled by the unexpected misery, and did not lose my sense and reason. I could not utter a word for weeping. Then a prayer was read aloud which had been pronounced from the pulpit, in which Corfitz was anathematised, and God was prayed not to allow his gray hair to go to the grave in peace. But God, who is just, did not listen to the impious prayer of the unrighteous, praised be His name for ever.

When all had been read, I bemoaned with sighs and sorrowful tears that I had ever lived to see this sad day, and I begged them, for Jesus' sake, that they would allow me to see on what the hard judgment was based. Count Rantzow answered, 'You can well imagine, madame, that there are documents upon which we have acted: some of your friends are in the council.' 'May God better it!' I said. 'I beg you, for God's sake, to let me see the documents. Les apparences sont bien souvent trompeuses. What had not my husband to suffer from that Swede in Skaane, during that long imprisonment, because he was suspected of having corresponded with his Majesty, the King of Denmark, and with his Majesty's ministers? Now, no one knows better than his Majesty, and you my good lords, how innocently he suffered at that time, and so this also may be apparently credible, and yet may not be so in truth. Might I not see the documents?' To this no answer was given. I continued and said, 'How is it possible that a man who must himself perceive that death is at hand should undertake such a work, and be so led away from the path of duty, when he did not do so at a time when he acknowledged no master, and when such great promises were made him by the Prince of Holstein, as the Prince's letters show, which are now in his Majesty's hands.' Count Rantzow interrupted me and said, 'We did not find those letters.' 'God knows,' I replied, 'they were there; of that I am certain.' I said also, 'At that time he might have done something to gratify a foreign sovereign; at that time he had power and physical vigour, and almost the entire government was in his hands; but he never looked to his own advantage, but pawned his own property to hasten the King's coronation, so that no impediment might come between.[64] This is his reward! Good gentlemen, take an example of me, you who have seen me in prosperity, and have compassion on me. Pray his royal Majesty to be mild, and not to proceed to such severity.'

[64] In the margin the following explanatory note is added: 'When his Majesty (Christian IV.) was dead, there was no prince elected, so that the States were free to choose the king whom they desired, wherefore the Duke of Holstein, Duke Frederick, promised my deceased lord that if he would contrive that he should be elected king, the land of Fyen should belong to him and a double alliance between his children and ours should be concluded. But my lord rejected this proposal and would not assist in dispossessing the son of Christian IV. of the kingdom. The prince had obtained several votes, but my lord contested them.'

The Chancellor and Treasurer were moved by this, so that the tears came into their eyes. Count Rantzow said to the General and the Chancellor, 'I think it is a fortnight ago since the sentence was published?' The Chancellor answered, 'It is seventeen days ago.'[E18] I said, 'At that time I was still in England, and now I am asked for information on the matter! Oh, consider this, for God's sake! and that there was no one present to speak on my husband's behalf.' Count Rantzow enquired whether I wished to appeal against it? I replied, 'How am I to appeal against a judicial decree? I only beg for Jesus' sake that what I say may be considered, and that I may have the satisfaction of seeing the documents upon which the sentence is based.'

[E18] The sentence on Ulfeldt was given on July 24, but probably not published till a few days later.

Count Rantzow answered as before, that there were documents, and that some of my friends had sat in the council, and added that all had been agreed, and that not one had had anything to say against it. I dared not say what I thought. I knew well how matters are done in such absolute governments: there is no such thing as opposition, they merely say, 'Sign, the King wishes it; and ask not wherefore, or the same condemnation awaits thee.'[65] I was silent, and bewailed my unhappiness, which was irremediable. When Krag read aloud the minutes he had written, namely, that when I was asked whether I would participate in my husband's sentence, I had answered that I would consider of it. I asked, 'How was that?' The Chancellor immediately replied, 'No, she did not say so, but she requested to know the accusation brought against her husband.' I repeated my words again,[66] I know not whether Krag wrote them or not; for a great part of that which I said was not written. Krag yielded too much to his feelings in the matter, and would gladly have made bad worse. He is now gone where no false writings avail; God took him away suddenly in an unclean place, and called him to judgment without warning. And Count Rantzow, who was the principal mover and inventor of that illegal sentence, the like of which was never known in Denmark, did not live to see his desire fulfilled in the execution of a wooden image.[E19] When this was done, they rose and shook hands with me. This painful visit lasted more than four hours.

[65] It had happened as I thought. There were some in the council who refused to sign, some because they had not been present at the time of the procedure, and others because they had not seen on what the sentence was founded; but they were nevertheless compelled to sign with the others, on the peril of the king's displeasure. [Marginal note.]

[66] In the margin is added, 'and asked whether I was permitted to appeal against this sentence. All were silent.'

[E19] A line has been drawn in the MS. through the two last paragraphs, and their contents transferred to the continuation of the Preface.

They went away, leaving me full of anxiety, sighing and weeping--a sad and miserable captive woman, forsaken by all; without help, exposed to power and violence, fearing every moment that her husband might fall into their hands, and that they might vent their malice on him. God performed on that day a great miracle, by manifesting His power in my weakness, preserving my brain from bewilderment, and my tongue from overflowing with impatience. Praised be God a thousand times! I will sing Thy praise, so long as my tongue can move, for Thou wast at this time and at all times my defence, my rock, and my shield!

When the gentlemen were gone away, the prison governor came and the women, and a stool was spread by the side of my bed. The prison governor said to me, 'Eat, Leonora; will you not eat?' As he said this, he threw a knife to me on the bed. I took up the knife with angry mind, and threw it on the ground. He picked up the knife, saying, 'You are probably not hungry? No, no! you have had a breakfast to-day which has satisfied you, have you not? Is it not so?' Well, well, come dear little women (addressing the two women), let us eat something! You must be hungry, judging from my own stomach.' When they had sat down to table, he began immediately to cram himself, letting it fall as if inadvertently from his mouth, and making so many jokes that it was sad to see how the old man could not conceal his joy at my unhappiness.

When the meal was finished, and the prison governor had gone away, Anna sat down by my bed and began to speak of the sorrow and affliction which we endure in this world, and of the joy and delights of heaven; how the pain that we suffer here is but small compared with eternal blessedness and joy, wherefore we should not regard suffering, but should rather think of dying with a good conscience, keeping it unsullied by confessing everything that troubles us, for there is no other way. 'God grant,' she added, 'that no one may torment himself for another's sake.' After having repeated this remark several times, she said to me, 'Is it not true, my lady?' 'Yes, certainly it is true,' I replied; 'you speak in a Christian manner, and according to the scriptures.' 'Why will you, then,' she went on to say, 'let yourself be tormented for others, and not say what you know of them?' I asked whom she meant. She answered, 'I do not know them.' I replied, 'Nor do I.' She continued in the same strain, however, saying that she would not suffer and be tormented for the sake of others, whoever they might be; if they were guilty they must suffer; she would not suffer for them; a woman was easily led away, but happiness was more than all kindred and friends.

As she seemed unable to cease chattering, I wished to divert her a little, so I asked whether she were a clergyman's daughter; and since she had before told me of her parentage, she resented this question all the more, and was thoroughly angry; saying, 'If I am not a clergyman's daughter, I am the daughter of a good honest citizen, and not one of the least. In my time, when I was still unmarried, I never thought that I should marry a shoemaker.' I said, 'But your first husband, too, was also a shoemaker.' 'That is true,' she replied, 'but this marriage came about in a very foolish manner,' and she began to narrate a whole history of the matter, so that I was left in peace. Catharina paced up and down, and when Anna was silent for a little, she said, with folded hands, 'O God, Thou who art almighty, and canst do everything, preserve this man for whom they are seeking, and never let him fall into the hands of his enemies. Oh God, hear me!' Anna said angrily to her, 'Catharina, do you know what you are saying? How can you speak so?' Catharina answered, 'Yes, I know well what I am saying. God preserve him, and let him never fall into the hands of his enemies. Jesus, be Thou his guide!' She uttered these words with abundant tears. Anna said, 'I think that woman is not in her senses.' Catharina's kind wish increased my tears, and I said, 'Catharina shows that she is a true Christian, and sympathises with me; God reward her, and hear her and me!' Upon this Anna was silent, and has not been so talkative ever since. O God, Thou who art a recompenser of all that is good, remember this in favour of Catharina, and as Thou heardest her at that time, hear her prayer in future, whatever may be her request! And you, my dear children, know that if ever fortune so ordains it that you can be of any service either to her or her only son, you are bound to render it for my sake; for she was a comfort to me in my greatest need, and often took an opportunity to say a word which she thought would alleviate my sorrow.

The prison governor came as usual, about four o'clock, and let the women out, seating himself on the bench and placing the high stool with the candle in front of him. He had brought a book with him, and read aloud prayers for a happy end, prayers for the hour of death, and prayers for one suffering temporal punishment for his misdeeds. He did not forget a prayer for one who is to be burnt; in reading this he sighed, so religious had he grown in the short time. When he had read all the prayers, he got up and walked up and down, singing funeral hymns; when he knew no more, he began again with the first, till the women released him. Catharina complained that her son had been ill, and was greatly grieved about it. I entered into her sorrow, and said that she ought to mention her son's illness to the Queen, and then another would probably be appointed in her place; and I begged her to compose herself, as the child would probably be better again. During the evening meal the prison governor was very merry, and related all sorts of coarse stories. When he was gone, Anna read the evening prayer. I felt very ill during this night, and often turned about in bed; there was a needle in the bed, with which I scratched myself; I got it out, and still have it.[67]

[67] In the margin: 'The feather-bed had an old cover, and was fresh filled when I was lying in the roads; the needle, in the hurry, had therefore been left in.'

On August 14, when the prison governor opened the door early, the women told him that I had been very ill in the night. 'Well, well,' he answered, 'it will soon be better.' And when the women were ready to go to the Queen (which they were always obliged to do), Anna said to Catharina, outside the door, 'What shall we say to the Queen?' Catharina answered: 'What shall we say, but that she is silent and will say nothing!' 'You know very well that the Queen is displeased at it.' 'Nevertheless, we cannot tell a lie;' answered Catharina; 'she says nothing at all, so it would be a sin.'[68] Catharina came back to the mid-day meal, and said that the Queen had promised to appoint another in her stead; in the afternoon, she managed secretly to say a word to me about the next chamber, which she imagined was being put in readiness for me and for no one else; she bid me good night, and promised to remember me constantly in her prayers. I thanked her for her good services, and for her kind feeling towards me.

[68] In the margin: 'I myself heard this conversation.'

About four o'clock the prison governor let her and Anna out. He sang one hymn after another, went to the stairs, and the time appeared long to him, till six o'clock, when Anna returned with Maren Blocks. At the evening meal the prison governor again told stories of his marriage, undoubtedly for the sake of amusing Maren. Anna left me alone, and I lay quiet in silence. Maren could not find an opportunity of speaking with me the whole evening, on account of Anna. Nothing particular happened on August 15 and 16.

When the prison governor let out Anna in the morning and afternoon, Maren Blocks remained with me, and the prison governor went his own way and locked the door, so that Maren had opportunity of talking with me alone. She told me different things; among others, that the Queen had given my clothes to the three women who had undressed me, that they might distribute them amongst themselves. She asked me whether I wished to send a message to my sister Elizabeth. I thanked her, but said that I had nothing good to tell her. I asked Maren for needles and thread, in order to test her. She replied she would gladly procure them for me if she dared, but that it would risk her whole well-being if the Queen should know it; for she had so strictly forbidden that anyone should give me either pins or needles. I inquired 'For what reason?' 'For this reason,' she replied, 'that you may not kill yourself.' I assured her that God had enlightened me better than that I should be my own murderer. I felt that my cross came from the hand of the Lord, that He was chastising me as His child; He would also help me to bear it; I trusted in Him to do so. 'Then I hope, dear heart,' said Maren, 'that you will not kill yourself; then you shall have needles and thread; but what will you sew?' I alleged that I wished to sew some buttons on my white night-dress, and I tore off a pair, in order to show her afterwards that I had sewn them on.

Now it happened that I had sewn up some ducats in a piece of linen round my knee; these I had kept, as I pulled off the stockings myself when they undressed me, and Anna had at my desire given me a rag, as I pretended that I had hurt my leg. I sewed this rag over the leather. They all imagined that I had some secret malady, for I lay in the linen petticoat they had given me, and went to bed in my stockings. Maren imagined that I had an issue on one leg, and she confided to me that a girl at the court, whom she mentioned by name, and who was her very good friend, had an issue of which no one knew but herself, not even the woman who made her bed. I thought to myself, you keep your friend's secret well; I did not, however, make her any wiser, but let her believe in this case whatever she would. I was very weak on those two days, and as I took nothing more than lemon and beer, my stomach became thoroughly debilitated and refused to retain food. When Maren told the prison governor of this, he answered, 'All right, her heart is thus getting rid of its evil.' Anna was no longer so officious, but the prison governor was as merry as ever.

On August 17 the prison governor did not open the door before eight o'clock, and Anna asked him how it was that he had slept so long. He joked a little; presently he drew her to the door and whispered with her. He went out and in, and Anna said so loudly to Maren, that I could hear it (although she spoke as if she were whispering), 'I am so frightened that my whole body trembles, although it does not concern me. Jesus keep me! I wish I were down below!' Maren looked sad, but she neither answered nor spoke a word. Maren came softly up to my bed and said, 'I am sure some one is coming to you.' I answered, 'Let him come, in God's name.' Presently I heard a running up and down stairs, and also overhead, for the Commissioners came always through the apartments, in order not to cross the square. My doors were closed again. Each time that some one ran by on the stairs, Anna shuddered and said, 'I quite tremble.'

This traffic lasted till about eleven. When the prison governor opened the door, he said to me, 'Leonora, you are to get up and go to the gentlemen.' God knows that I could hardly walk, and Anna frightened me by saying to Maren, 'Oh! the poor creature!' Maren's hands trembled when she put on my slippers. I could not imagine anything else than that I was to be tortured, and I consoled myself with thinking that my pain could not last long, for my body was so weary that it seemed as if God might at any moment take me away. When Maren fastened the apron over my long dress, I said: 'They are indeed sinning heavily against me; may God give me strength.' The prison governor hurried me, and when I was ready, he took me by the arm and led me. I would gladly have been free of his help, but I could not walk alone. He conducted me up to the next story, and there sat Count Rantzow, Skack, Retz, Gabel, and Krag, round the table.

They all rose when I entered, and I made them a reverence as well as I was able. A small low seat had been placed for me in the middle, in front of the table. The Chancellor asked me whether I had not had more letters than those taken from me in England. I answered that I had not had more; that all my letters had been then taken from me. He asked further, whether I had at that time destroyed any letters. 'Yes,' I answered, 'one I tore in two, and threw it in a closet.' 'Why did you do so?' enquired Count Rantzow. 'Because' I replied, 'there were cyphers in it; and although they were of no importance, I feared, notwithstanding, that they might excite suspicion.' Count Rantzow said: 'Supposing the pieces were still forthcoming?' 'That were to be wished,' I replied, 'for then it could be seen that there was nothing suspicious in it, and it vexed me afterwards that I had torn it in two.' Upon this the Chancellor drew forth a sheet of paper upon which, here and there, pieces of this very letter were pasted, and handed it to Krag, who gave it to me. Count Rantzow asked me if it were not my husband's handwriting. I answered that it was. He said: 'A part of the pieces which you tore in two have been found, and a part are lost. All that has been found has been collected and copied.' He then asked the Chancellor for the copy, who gave it to Count Rantzow, and he handed it to me, saying, 'See there what is wanting, and tell us what it is that is missing.' I took it, and looked over it and said: 'In some places, where there are not too many words missing, I think I can guess what is lost, but where a whole sentence is wanting, I cannot know.'

Most of the letter had been collected without loss of intervening pieces, and it all consisted of mirth and jest. He was telling me that he had heard from Denmark that the Electoral Prince of Saxony was to be betrothed with the Princess of Denmark;[E20] and he joked, saying that they would grease their throats and puff out their cheeks in order that with good grace and voice they might duly trumpet forth each their own titles, and more of the same kind, all in high colouring. He described the way in which Count Rantzow contrived to let people know his titles; when he had a dinner-party, there was a man employed to read aloud his titles to the guests, asking first each separately, whether he knew his titles; if there was anyone who did not know them, the secretary must forthwith come and read them aloud.

[E20] Leonora refers to the betrothal of Prince Johan George of Saxony and Anna Sophia, the eldest daughter of Fredrik III., of which an account occurs in the sequel.

It seemed that Count Rantzow referred all this to himself, for he asked me what my husband meant by it. I replied that I did not know that he meant anything but what he had written; he meant undoubtedly those who did such things. The Chancellor averted his face from Count Rantzow, and his lips smiled a little; Gabel also did the same. Among other things there were some remarks about the Electoral Prince, that he probably cherished the hope of inheriting the Crown of Denmark; 'mais j'espère ... cela ne se fera point.' Count Rantzow enquired as to the words which were wanting. I said, if I remembered rightly, the words had been, 'qu'en 300 ans.' He enquired further as to the expressions lacking here and there, some of which I could not remember exactly, though they were of no importance. I expressed my opinion that they could easily gather what was wanting from the preceding and following words; it was sufficiently evident that all was jest, and this was apparent also to Gabel, who said, 'Ce n'est que raillerie.' But Count Rantzow and the General would not allow it to pass as jest.

Skack said: 'One often means something else under the cloak of jest, and names are used when others are intended.' For in the letter there was something said about drinking out; there was also an allusion made to the manners of the Swiss at table, and all the titles of the canton nobles were enumerated, from which Skack thought that the names of the cities might have another signification. I did not answer Skack; but as Count Rantzow continued to urge me to say what my husband had meant by it, I replied that I could not know whether he had had another meaning than that which was written. Skack shook his head and thought he had, so I said: 'I know no country where the same customs are in vogue at meals as in Switzerland; if there are other places where the same customs prevail, he may perhaps have meant these also, for he is only speaking of drinking.'

Gabel said again, 'It is only jest.' The cyphers, for the sake of which I had torn the letter in two, were fortunately complete, and nothing was missing. Count Rantzow gave me a sheet of paper, to which pieces of my lord's letter were pasted, and asked me what the cyphers meant. I replied, 'I have not the key, and cannot solve them out of my head.' He expressed his opinion that I could do it. I said I could not. 'Well, they have been read,' he said, 'and we know what they signify.' 'All the better,' I answered. Upon this, he gave me the interpretation to read, and the purport of it was that our son had written from Rome, asking for money, which was growing short, for the young nobleman was not at home. I gave the paper back to Count Rantzow without saying anything. Count Rantzow requested the Treasurer that he should read the letter, and Rantzow began again with his questions wherever anything was wanting, requesting that I should say what it was. I gave him the same answer as before; but when in one passage, where some words were missing, he pressed me hard to say them, and it was evident from the context that they were ironical (since an ironical word was left written), I said: 'You can add as much of the same kind as pleases you, if one is not enough; I do not know them.' Gabel again said, 'Ce n'est que raillerie.'[E21]

[E21] A copy of the fragments which had been recovered of this letter is still in existence.

No further questions were then made respecting the letters; but Count Rantzow enquired as to my jewels, and asked where the large diamond was which my husband had received in France.[E22] I replied that it had long been sold. He further asked where my large drop pearls where, which I had worn as a feather on my hat, and where my large pearl head-ornament was. 'All these,' I replied, 'have long been sold.' He asked further whether I had then no more jewels. I answered, 'I have none now.' 'I mean,' he said, 'elsewhere.' I replied, 'I left some behind.' 'Where, then?' he asked. 'At Bruges,' I replied. Then he said: 'I have now somewhat to ask you, madame, that concerns myself. Did you visit my sister in Paris the last time you were there?' I replied, 'Yes.' He asked whether I had been with her in the convent, and what was the name of the convent. I informed him that I had been in the convent, and that it was the Convent des Filles Bleues. At this he nodded, as if to confirm it. He also wished to know whether I had seen her. I said that no one in the convent might be seen by anyone but parents; even brothers and sisters were not allowed to see them.[E23] 'That is true,' he said, and then rose and gave me his hand. I begged him to induce his gracious Majesty to have pity on me, but he made no answer. When the Treasurer Gabel gave me his hand, I begged the same favour of him. He replied, 'Yes, if you will confess,' and went out without waiting for a reply.

[E22] Ulfeldt received this present probably in 1647, when in France as ambassador, on which occasion Queen Anna is known to have presented to Leonora a gold watch set with diamonds of great value.

[E23] The lady alluded to is Helvig Margaretha Elizabeth Rantzow, widow of the famous General Josias Rantzow, who died as a maréchal of France. She had become a Romanist, and took the veil after her husband's death. Subsequently she founded the new order of the Annunciata. In 1666 the first convent of this order, of which she was abbess, removed to Hildesheim, where she died in 1706.

For more than three hours they had kept up the interrogation. Then the prison governor came in and said to me: 'Now you are to remain in here; it is a beautiful chamber, and has been freshly whitewashed; you may now be contented.' Anna and Maren also came in. God knows, I was full of care, tired and weary, and had insufferable headache; yet, before I could go to rest, I had to sit waiting until the bedstead had been taken out of the 'Dark Church' and brought hither. Anna occupied herself meanwhile in the Dark Church, in scraping out every hole; she imagined she might find something there, but in vain. The woman who was to remain with me alone then came in. Her pay was two rix-dollars a week; her name is Karen, the daughter of Ole. After the prison governor had supped with the woman and Maren, Anna and Maren Blocks bade me good night; the latter exhibited great affection. The prison governor bolted two doors before my innermost prison. In the innermost door there is a square hole, which is secured with iron cross-bars. The prison governor was going to attach a lock to this hole, but he forebore at Karen's request, for she said she could not breathe if this hole were closed. He then affixed locks to the door of the outer chamber, and to the door leading to the stairs; he had, therefore, four locks and doors twice a day to lock and unlock.

I will here describe my prison. It is a chamber, seven of my paces long and six wide; there are in it two beds, a table, and two stools. It was freshly whitewashed, which caused a terrible smell; the floor, moreover was so thick with dirt, that I imagined it was of loam, though it was really laid with bricks. It is eighteen feet high, with a vaulted ceiling, and very high up is a window which is two feet square. In front of it are double thick iron bars, besides a wire-work, which is so close that one could not put one's little finger into the holes. This wire-work had been thus ordered with great care by Count Rantzow (so the prison governor afterwards told me), so that no pigeons might bring in a letter--a fact which he had probably read in a novel as having happened. I was weak and deeply grieved in my heart; I looked for a merciful deliverance, and an end to my sorrow, and I sat silent and uncomplaining, answering little when the woman spoke to me. Sometimes in my reverie I scratched at the wall, which made the woman imagine that I was confused in my head; she told this to the prison governor, who reported it to the Queen, and during every meal-time, when the door was open, she never failed to send messengers to enquire how it fared with me, what I said, and what I was doing.

The woman had, however, not much to tell in obedience to the oath she, according to her own statement, had taken in the presence of the prison governor. But afterwards she found some means to ingratiate herself. And as my strength daily decreased, I rejoiced at the prospect of my end, and on August 21 I sent for the prison governor, and requested him to apply for a clergyman who could give me the sacrament. This was immediately granted, and His Majesty's Court preacher, Magister Mathias Foss, received orders to perform for me the duties of his office, and exhorted me, both on behalf of his office and in consequence of the command he had received, not to burden my conscience; I might rest assured, he said, that in this world I should never see my husband again, and he begged me to say what I knew of the treason. I could scarcely utter a word for weeping; but I said that I could attest before God in heaven, from whom nothing is hidden, that I knew nothing of this treason. I knew well I should never see my husband again in this life; I commended him to the Almighty, who knew my innocence; I prayed God only for a blessed end and departure from this evil world; I desired nothing from the clergyman but that he should remember me in his prayers, that God might by death put an end to my affliction. The clergyman promised faithfully to grant my request. It has not pleased God to hear me in this: He has willed to prove my faith still further, by sending to me since this time much care, affliction, and adversity. He has helped me also to bear the cross, and has Himself supported its heaviest end; His name be praised for ever. When I had received the Lord's Supper, M. Foss comforted me and bid me farewell.

I lay silently for three days after this, taking little or nothing. The prison governor often enquired whether I wished for anything to eat or drink, or whether he should say anything to the King. I thanked him, but said I required nothing.

On August 25 the prison governor importuned me at once with his conversation, expressing his belief that I entertained an evil opinion of the Queen. He inferred it from this: the day before he had said to me that His Majesty had ordered that whatever I desired from the kitchen and cellar should be at once brought to me, to which I had answered, 'God preserve His Majesty; he is a good sovereign; may he show clemency to evil men!' He had then said, 'The Queen is also good,' to which I had made no answer. He had then tried to turn the conversation to the Queen, and to hear if he could not draw out a word from me; he had said: 'The Queen is sorry for you that you have been so led away. It grieves her that you have willed your own unhappiness; she is not angry; she pities you.' And when I made no answer, he repeated it again, saying from time to time, 'Yes, yes, my dear lady, it is as I say.' I was annoyed at the talk, and said, 'Dieu vous punisse!' 'Ho, ho!' he said, misinterpreting my words, and calling Karen, he went out and closed the doors. Thus unexpectedly I got rid of him. It was ridiculous that the woman now wanted to oblige me to attend to what the prison governor had said. I begged her to remember that she was now not attending on a child (she had before been nurse to children). She could not so easily depart from her habit, and for a long time treated me as a child, until at length I made her comprehend that this was not required.

When I perceived that my stomach desired food and could retain it, I became impatient that I could not die, but must go on living in such misery. I began to dispute with God, and wanted to justify myself with Him. It seemed to me that I had not deserved such misfortune. I imagined myself far purer than David was from great sins, and yet he could say, 'Verily I have cleansed my heart in vain, and washed my hands in innocency. For all the day long have I been plagued, and chastened every morning.' I thought I had not deserved so exceedingly great a chastisement as that which I was receiving. I said with Job, 'Show me wherefore thou contendest with me. Is it good unto thee that thou shouldest oppress, that thou shouldest despise the work of thine hands?' I repeated all Job's expressions when he tried to justify himself, and it seemed to me that I could justly apply them to myself. I cursed with him and Jeremiah the day of my birth, and was very impatient; keeping it, however, to myself, and not expressing it aloud. If at times a word escaped me, it was in German (since I had generally read the Bible in German), and therefore the woman did not understand what I was saying. I was very restless from coughing, and turned from side to side on the bed. The woman often asked me how I was. I begged her to leave me quiet and not to speak to me. I was never more comfortable than in the night when I observed that she was sleeping; then, unhindered, I could let my tears flow and give free vent to my thoughts. Then I called God to account. I enumerated everything that I had innocently suffered and endured during my life, and I enquired of God whether I had deviated from my duty? Whether I ought to have done less for my husband than I had done? Whether the present was my recompense for not having left him in his adversity? Whether I was to be now tortured, tormented, and scorned for this? Whether all the indescribable misfortunes which I had endured with him were not enough, that I had been reserved for this irremediable and great trouble? I do not wish to conceal my unreasonableness. I will confess my sins. I asked if still worse misfortunes were in store for me for which I was to live? Whether there was any affliction on earth to be compared to mine? I prayed God to put an end to my sufferings, for it redounded in no wise to his honour to let me live and be so tormented. I was after all not made of steel and iron, but of flesh and blood. I prayed that He would suggest to me, or inform me in a dream, what I was to do to shorten my misery.

When I had long thus disputed and racked my brains, and had also wept so bitterly that it seemed as if no more tears remained, I fell asleep, but awoke with terror, for I had horrible fancies in my dreams, so that I feared to sleep, and began again to bewail my misery. At length God looked down upon me with his eye of mercy, so that on August 31 I had a night of quiet sleep, and just as day was dawning I awoke with the following words on my lips: 'My son, faint not when thou art rebuked of the Lord; for whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth.' I uttered the last words aloud, thinking that the woman was sleeping; possibly she awoke at the moment, and she asked me whether I wished for anything. I answered 'No.' 'You were speaking,' she said, 'and you mentioned your stockings; I could not understand the rest.' I replied, 'It must have been then in my sleep. I wish for nothing.'

I then lay quietly thinking. I perceived and confessed my folly, that I, who am only dust and ashes, and decay, and am only fit for the dunghill, should call God to account, should dispute with my Creator and his decrees, and should wish to censure and question them. I began to weep violently, and I prayed fervently and from my heart for mercy and forgiveness. While I had before boasted with David, and been proud of my innocence, now I confessed with him that before God there is none that doeth good; no, not one. While before I had spoken foolishly with Job, I now said with him that I had 'uttered that I understood not; things too wonderful for me which I knew not.' I besought God to have mercy on me, relying on his great compassion. I cited Moses, Joshua, David, Jeremiah, Job, Jonah, and others, all highly endowed men, and yet so weak that in the time of calamity they grumbled and murmured against God. I prayed that He would in his mercy forgive me, the frailest of earthen vessels, as I could not after all be otherwise than as He had created me. All things were in his power; it was easy to Him to give me patience, as He had before imparted to me power and courage to endure hard blows and shocks. And I prayed God (after asking forgiveness of my sins) for nothing else than good patience to await the period of my deliverance. God graciously heard me. He pardoned not only my foolish sins, but He gave me that also for which I had not prayed, for day by day my patience increased. While I had often said with David, 'Will the Lord cast off for ever? and will he be favourable no more? Is his mercy clean gone for ever? doth his promise fail for evermore? Hath God forgotten to be gracious? Hath He in anger shut up his tender mercies?' I now continued with him, 'This is my infirmity, but I will remember the years of the right hand of the Most High.' I said also with Psalm cxix.: 'It is good for me that I have been afflicted; that I might learn thy statutes.'

The power of God was working within me. Many consolatory sentences from the Holy Scriptures came into my mind; especially these:--'If so be that we suffer with Christ, that we may be also glorified together.' Also: 'We know that all things work together for good to them that love God.' Also: 'My grace is sufficient for thee, for my strength is made perfect in weakness.' I thought especially often of Christ's words in St. Luke, 'Shall not God avenge his own elect, which cry day and night unto him, though he bear long with them? I tell you that he will avenge them speedily.' I felt in my trouble how useful it is to have learned psalms and passages from the Bible in youth. Believe me, my children, that it has been a great consolation to me in my misery. Therefore, cultivate now in your youth what your parents taught you in childhood; now, while trouble visits you less severely, so that when it comes, you may be ready to receive it and to comfort yourselves with the Word of God.

I began by degrees to feel more at peace, and to speak with the woman, and to answer the prison governor when he addressed me. The woman told me sundry things, and said that the prison governor had ordered her to tell him everything that I spoke or did, but that she was too wise to do such a thing; that she understood now better than she had done at first how to behave. He went out, but she remained shut up with me, and she would be true to me. And as it appeared that I did not at once believe what she said, she swore it solemnly, and prayed God to punish her if ever she acted falsely towards me. She stroked and patted my hand, and laid it against her cheek, and begged that I would believe her, using the words, 'My dearest lady, you can believe me; as truly as I am a child of God, I will never deceive you! Now, is not that enough?' I answered, 'I will believe you;' thinking at the same time that I would do and say nothing but what she might divulge. She was very glad that she had induced me to speak, and said, 'When you lay so long silent, and I had no one with whom I could speak, I was sad, and determined that I would not long lead this life, even if they gave me double as much, for I should have become crazed. I was afraid for you, but still more for myself, that my head would give way.'

She went on talking in this way, introducing also various merry stories. When she was young she had been in the service of a clergyman, who encouraged his domestics in the fear of God, and there she had learned prayers and sentences from the Bible by heart; she knew also the Children's Primer, with the explanatory remarks, and sang tolerably well. She knew in some measure how she should walk before God and behave towards her neighbour; but she acted contrary to her knowledge--for she had a malicious temper. She was an elderly woman, but she liked to reckon herself as middle-aged. It appeared that in her youth she had been pretty and rather dissolute, since even now she could not lay aside her levity, but joked with the tower-warder, and the prison governor's coachman, a man of the name of Peder, and with a prisoner named Christian (more will presently be said with regard to this prisoner; he was free to go about the tower).[69]

[69] When I took my meals, the woman had opportunity of talking with the three men. The coachman helped the tower-warder Rasmus to bring up the food. [Marginal note.]

Maren Blocks often sent me a message through this coachman, besides various kinds of candied sugar and citron, letting me know from time to time whether anything new was occurring. All this had to be done through the woman. One day she came in when the doors were closed, and brought me a message from Maren Blocks, saying, 'My lady, if you will now write to your children in Skaane, there is a safe opportunity for you to do so.' I answered, 'My children are not in Skaane, yet if I can send a message to Skaane, I have a friend there who will probably let me know how it fares with my children.' She gave me a piece of crumpled paper and a pencil. I wrote a few words to F. Margrete Rantzow,[E24] saying that she probably knew of my miserable condition, but supposing that her friendship was not lessened by it, and begging her to let me know how my children were, and from what cause they had come to Skaane, as I had been informed was the case, though I did not believe it. This was what I wrote and gave to the woman. I heard nothing further of it, and I imagine that she had been ordered to find out to whom I wrote, &c. (They have been busy with the idea that some of you, my dear children, might come to Skaane.) I sewed up the letter or slip of paper in such a manner that it could not be opened without making it apparent. I asked the woman several times if she knew whether the letter had been sent away. She always answered that she did not know, and that with a morose expression, and at last she said (when I once more asked her to enquire of Peder), 'I suppose that the person who ought to have it has got it.' This answer made me reflect, and since then I asked no further.

[E24] Margrete Rantzow was the sister of that Birgitte Rantzow to whom there is an allusion in the Autobiography of Leonora, where she relates the examination to which she was subjected at Malmöe. Margrete's husband was Ove Thott, a nobleman in Skaane, who had taken an important part in the preparations for a rising against the Swedes, in which Corfitz Ulfeldt was implicated.

I remained all this time in bed, partly because I had nothing with which to beguile the time, and partly because of the cold, for no stove was placed in my prison till after the New Year. Occasionally I requested the woman to manage, through Peder, that I should have a little silk or thread, that I might beguile the time by embroidering a piece of cloth that I had; but the answer I received was that he dared not. A long time afterwards it came to my knowledge that she had never asked Peder for it. There was trouble enough, however, to occupy my thoughts without my needing to employ the time in handiwork.

It was on September 2 that I heard some one moving early overhead, so I asked the woman if she knew whether there was a chamber there (for the woman went up every Saturday with the night-stool). She answered that there was a prison there like this, and outside was the rack (which is also the case). She observed that I showed signs of fear, and she said, 'God help! Whoever it is that is up there is most assuredly to be tortured.' I said, 'Ask Peder, when the doors are unlocked, whether there is a prisoner there.' She said she would do so, and meanwhile she kept asking herself and me who it might be. I could not guess; still less did I venture to confess my fear to her, which she nevertheless perceived, and therefore increased; for after she had spoken with Peder, about noon,[70] and the doors were locked, she said, 'God knows who it is that is imprisoned there! Peder would tell me nothing.' She said the same at the evening meal, but added that she had asked him, and that he would give no answer. I calmed myself, as I heard no more footsteps above, and I said, 'There is no prisoner up there.'[71] 'How do you know that?' she asked. 'I gather it from the fact,' I said, 'that since this morning I have heard no one above; I think if there were anyone there, they would probably give him something to eat.' She was not pleased that my mind was quieted, and therefore she and Peder together endeavoured to trouble me.

[70] I could not see when she spoke with any one, for she did so on the stairs. [Marginal note.]

[71] In the margin is added: 'There was none.'

On the following day, when the doors were being locked after the mid-day dinner (which was generally Peder's task), and he was pulling to my innermost door, which opens inside, he put in his head and said, 'Casset!' She was standing beside the door, and appeared as if she had not rightly understood him, saying, 'Peder spoke of some one who is in prison, but I could not understand who it is.' I understood him at once, but also behaved as if I had not. No one knows but God what a day and night I had. I turned it over in my mind. It often seemed to me that it might be that they had seized him, although Cassetta was a subject of the King of Spain; for if treason is suspected, there is no thought given as to whose subject the man suspected may be. I lay in the night secretly weeping and lamenting that the brave man should have come into trouble for my sake, because he had executed my lord's will, and had followed me to England, where we parted, I should say, when Petcon and his company separated us and carried me away.

I lay without sleep till towards day, then I fell into a dream which frightened me. I suppose my thoughts caused it. It came before me that Cassetta was being tortured in the manner he had once described to me that a Spaniard had been tortured: four cords were fastened round his hands and feet, and each cord was made secure in a corner of the room, and a man sometimes pulled one cord and sometimes another; and since it seemed to me that Cassetta never screamed, I supposed that he was dead, and I shrieked aloud and awoke. The woman, who had long been awake, said: 'O God! dear lady, what ails you? Are you ill? You have been groaning a long time, and now you screamed loudly.' I replied, 'It was in my dream; nothing ails me.' She said further, 'Then you have had a bad dream?' 'That may well be,' I answered. 'Oh, tell me what you have dreamt; I can interpret dreams.' I replied, 'When I screamed I forgot my dream, otherwise no one can interpret dreams better than I.' I thank God I do not regard dreams; and this dream had no other cause than what I have said. When the door was locked after the mid-day meal, the woman said of herself (for I asked no further respecting the prisoners), 'There is no one imprisoned there; shame on Peder for his nonsense!' I asked him who was imprisoned there, and he laughed at me heartily. 'There is no one there, so let your mind be at peace.' I said, 'If my misfortunes were to involve others, it would be very painful to me.'

Thus matters went on till the middle of September, and then two of our servants were brought as prisoners and placed in arrest; one Nils Kaiberg, who had acted as butler, and the other Frans, who had been in our service as a lacquey. After having been kept in prison for a few weeks and examined they were set at liberty. At the same time two Frenchmen were brought as prisoners: an old man named La Rosche, and a young man whose name I do not know. La Rosche was brought to the tower and was placed in the witch-cell; a feather-bed had been thrown down, and on this he lay; for some months he was never out of his clothes. His food consisted of bread and wine; he refused everything else. He was accused of having corresponded with Corfitz, and of having promised the King of France that he would deliver Crooneborg into his hands.[72] This information had been given by Hannibal Sehested, who was at that time in France, and he had it from a courtesan who was then intimate with Hannibal, but had formerly been in connection with La Rosche, and probably afterwards had quarrelled with him. There was no other proof in favour of the accusation. Probably suspicion had been raised by the fact that this La Rosche, with the other young man, had desired to see me when I was in arrest in Dover, which had been permitted, and they had paid me their respects. It is possible that he had wished to speak with me and to tell me what he had heard in London, and which, it seemed to him, excited no fears in me. But as I was playing at cards with some ladies who had come to look at me, he could not speak with me; so he asked me whether I had the book of plays which the Countess of Pembroke had published.[E25] I replied, 'No'. He promised to send it me, and as I did not receive it, I think he had written in it some warning to me, which Braten afterwards turned to his advantage.

[72] Did not this accord well with the statement that my lord had offered the kingdom of Denmark to two potentates? [Marginal note.]

[E25] The book in question is probably Philip Sidney's work, 'The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia,' a famous book of its time, which Leonora, who does not seem to have known it, has understood to be a book by the Countess of Pembroke. It is true, however, that Philip's sister, Mary Sidney, Countess of Pembroke, had translated a French play, Antonius (1592, and again 1595).

However all this may be, La Rosche suffered innocently, and could prove upon oath that he had never spoken with my lord in his life, and still less had corresponded with him.[73] In short, after some months of innocent suffering, he was set at liberty and sent back to France. The other young man was confined in an apartment near the servants' hall. He had only been apprehended as a companion to the other, but no further accusation was brought against him.[E26] At first, when these men were imprisoned, there was a whispering and talking between the prison governor and the woman, and also between Peder and her; the prison governor moreover himself locked my door. I plainly perceived that there was something in the wind, but I made no enquiries. Peder at length informed the woman that they were two Frenchmen, and he said something about the affair, but not as it really was. Shortly before they were set at liberty the prison governor said, 'I have two parle mi franço in prison; what they have done I know not.' I made no further enquiries, but he jested and said, 'Now I can learn French.' 'That will take time,' said I.

[73] In the margin is noted: 'I had never seen La Rosche nor his companion till I did so at Dover.'

[E26] La Roche Tudesquin had some time been in the Danish army, but had returned to France when Hannibal Sehested, while in Paris as Ambassador from the King of Denmark, received information from a certain Demoiselle Langlois that La Roche was implicated in a conspiracy for surrendering the principal Danish fortresses to a foreign prince. He and a friend of his, Jaques Beranger, were arrested in Brussels in September 1663, but not, as Leonora says, immediately brought to Copenhagen. The Spanish Government did not consent to their extradition till the following year, and they were not placed in the Blue Tower till June 1664. La Roche seems to have been guilty of peculation while in the Danish service, but the accusation of treason seems to have been unfounded.

In the same month of September died Count Rantzow. He did not live to see the execution of an effigy, which he so confidently had hoped for, being himself the one who first had introduced this kind of mockery in these countries.[E27]

[E27] In the MS. a pen is drawn through this paragraph, of which the contents were to form part of the Preface. The date of Count Rantzow is moreover not correctly given; he died on November 8, five days before the execution of Ulfeldt's effigy.

On October 9 our Princess Anna Sophia was betrothed to the Electoral Prince of Saxony. On the morning of the day on which the festivities were to take place I said to the woman, 'To-day we shall fast till evening.' For I thought they would not think of me, and that I should not receive any of the remains until the others had been treated, at any rate, to dinner. She wished to know the reason why we were to fast. I answered, 'You shall know it this evening.' I lay and thought of the change of fortune: that I, who twenty-eight years ago had enjoyed as great state as the Princess, should now be lying a captive, close by the very wall where my bridal chamber had been; thank God, that it afflicted me but little. Towards noonday, when the trumpets and kettledrums were sounding, I said, 'Now they are conducting the bride across the square to the great hall.' 'How do you know that?' said the woman. 'I know it,' I said; 'my spirit tells me so.' 'What sort of spirit is that?' she asked. 'That I cannot tell you,' I replied. And as the trumpets blew every time that a new course of dishes and sweets were produced, I mentioned it; and before they were served the kettledrums were sounded. And as they were served on the square in front of the kitchen, I said each time, 'We shall have no dinner yet.' When it was nearly three o'clock, the woman said, 'My stomach is quite shrunk up; when shall we have dinner?' I answered, 'Not for a long time yet; the second course is only now on the table; we shall have something at about seven o'clock, and not before.' It was as I said. About half-past seven the prison governor came and excused himself, saying that he had asked for the dinner, but that all hands in the kitchen were occupied. The woman, who had always entertained the idea that I was a witch, was now confirmed in her opinion.[74]

[74] In the margin is added: 'The prison governor told the woman about the magnificence of the festivity and Peder also told her of it, so that it seemed to her that I could know somewhat from customs of former times.'

On the following day knights were dubbed, and each time when the trumpets blew I did not only say, 'Now they have made a knight' (for I could hear the herald calling from the window, though I could not understand what he said), but even who had been made a knight; for this I guessed, knowing who were in the Council who were not knights before; and because it was as I said, the woman believed for certain that I was an enchantress. I perceived this, as she put questions to me concerning things which I could not know, and to which I often gave equivocal answers. I thought perhaps that the fear she had that I could know what would happen might hinder her from entangling me with lies. Since then she whispered much less with the prison governor. She told of a person whom she regarded as a witch, whose power, however, consisted in nothing else than in the science of curing French pox, and causing the miscarriage of bad women, and other improprieties. She had had much intercourse with this woman.

Some time after the departure of the Electoral Prince it was determined that a wooden effigy should be subjected to capital punishment, and on the forenoon my chamber was opened, swept, cleaned, and strewed with sand.[75] When it was opened, towards noon, and the woman had been on the stairs, talking with the coachman, she came in, and walking up to my bed, stood as if startled, and said hurriedly, 'Oh, Jesus! Lady, they are bringing your husband!' The news terrified me, which she observed; for as she uttered it, I raised myself in the bed and stretched out my right arm, and was not able to draw it back again at once. Perhaps this vexed her, for I remained sitting in this way and not speaking a word; so she said, 'My dearest lady, it is your husband's effigy.' To this I said, 'May God punish you!' She then gave full vent to her evil tongue, and expressed her opinion that I deserved punishment, and not she, and used many unprofitable words. I was quite silent, for I was very weak, and scarcely knew where I was. In the afternoon I heard a great murmuring of people in the inner palace square, and I saw the effigy brought across the street by the executioner on a wheelbarrow, and placed in the tower below my prison.

[75] The Queen wished that this wooden statue should be brought into my outer chamber, and so placed in front of the door that it would tumble into me when my inner door was opened; but the King would not permit it. [Addition in the margin.]

The next morning, at about nine o'clock, the effigy was wofully treated by the executioner, but no sound came from it. At the mid-day meal the prison governor told the woman how the executioner had cut off its head, and had divided the body into four quarters, which were then placed on four wheels, and attached to the gallows, while the head was exhibited on the town hall. The prison governor stood in the outer chamber, but he narrated all this in a loud tone, so that I might hear it, and repeated it three times.[E28] I lay and thought what I should do; I could not show that I made but little of it, for then something else perhaps would be devised to trouble me, and in the hurry I could think of nothing else than saying to the woman with sadness, 'Oh, what a shame! speak to the prison governor and tell him to beg the King to allow the effigy to be taken down and not to remain as it is!' The woman went out, and spoke softly with the prison governor; but he answered aloud and said, 'Yes, indeed, taken down! There will be more put up; yes, more up;' and kept on repeating these words a good while.

[E28] The execution took place on November 13. The King's order concerning it to the prison governor, Jochum Waltpurger, exists still. It is to this effect: 'V. G. T., Know that you have to command the executioner in our name, that to-day, November 13, he is to take the effigy of Corfitz, formerly called Count of Ulfeldt, from the Blue Tower where it is now, and bring it on a car to the ordinary place in the square in front of the castle; and when he has come to the place of justice, strike off the right hand and the head, whereafter he is to divide the body into four parts on the spot, and carry them away with him, whilst the head is to be placed on a spike on the Blue Tower for remembrance and execration.' The order was afterwards altered in this particular, that the head was to be placed on the town hall, and the four parts of the body one at each of the gates of the city. The executioner was subsequently ordered to efface the arms of Corfitz and his wife wherever they occurred in the town; for instance, on their pews in the churches. Leonora states in her Autobiography that the prison governor some time after told her that the Queen had desired that the effigy should be placed in the antechamber of Leonora's prison, and that she should be ordered to see it there; but that the king refused his consent.

I lay silently thinking; I said nothing, but indulged in my own reflections. Sometimes I consoled myself, and hoped that this treatment of the effigy was a token that they could not get the man; then again fear asserted its sway. I did not care for the dishonour, for there are too many instances of great men in France whose effigies have been burnt by the executioner, and who subsequently arrived again at great honour.

When the door was unlocked again for the evening meal, there was a whispering between the prison governor and the woman. A lacquey was also sent, who stood outside the outer door and called the prison governor to him (my bed stands just opposite the doors, and thus when all three doors are opened I can see the staircase door, which is the fourth). I do not know what the woman can have told the prison governor, for I had not spoken all day, except to ask her to give me what I required; I said, moreover, nothing more than this for several days, so that the prison governor grew weary of enquiring longer of the woman; for she had nothing to communicate to him respecting me, and she tormented him always with her desire to get away; she could not longer spend her life in this way.

But as she received no other consolation from him than that he swore to her that she would never get away as long as she lived, for some days she did nothing else than weep; and since I would not ask her why she wept, she came one day up to my bedside crying, and said, 'I am a miserable being!' I asked her why? what ailed her? 'I ail enough,' she answered; 'I have been so stupid, and have allowed myself to be shut up here for the sake of money, and now you are cross with me and will not speak with me.' I said, 'What am I to say? you wish perhaps to have something to communicate to the prison governor?' Upon this she began to call down curses on herself if she had ever repeated to the prison governor a word that I had said or done; she wished I could believe her and speak with her; why should she be untrue to me? we must at any rate remain together as long as we lived. She added many implorations as to my not being angry; I had indeed cause to be so; she would in future give me no cause for anger, for she would be true to me. I thought, 'You shall know no more than is necessary.'

I let her go on talking and relating the whole history of her life--such events as occur among peasants. She had twice married cottagers, and after her last widowhood she had been employed as nurse to the wife of Holger Wind, so that she had no lack of stories. By her first husband she had had a child, who had never reached maturity, and her own words led me to have a suspicion that she had herself helped to shorten the child's days; for once when she was speaking of widows marrying again, she said among other things, 'Those who wish to marry a second time ought not to have children, for in that case the husband is never one with the wife.' I had much to say against this, and I asked her what a woman was to do who had a child by her first husband. She answered quickly, 'Put a pillow on its head.' This I could only regard as a great sin, and I explained it to her. 'What sin could there be,' she said, 'when the child was always sickly, and the husband angry in consequence?' I answered as I ought, and she seemed ill at ease. Such conversation as this gave me no good reason to believe in the fidelity which she had promised me.

The woman then took a different tack, and brought me word from the coachman of all that was occurring. Maren Blocks sent me a prayer-book through her, and that secretly, for I was allowed no book of any kind, nor any needles and pins; respecting these the woman had by the Queen's order taken an oath to the prison governor. Thus the year passed away. On New Year's day, 1664, the woman wished me a happy year. I thanked her, and said, 'That is in God's hands.' 'Yes,' she said, 'if He wills it.' 'And if He does not will it,' I answered, 'it will not be, and then He will give me patience to bear my heavy cross.' 'It is heavy,' she said, 'even to me; what must it not be to you? May it only remain as it is, and not be worse with you!' It seemed to me as if it could not be worse, but better; for death, in whatever form, would put an end to my misery. 'Yes,' she said, 'is it not all one how one dies?' 'That is true,' I answered; 'one dies in despair, another with free courage.' The prison governor did not say a word to me that day. The woman had a long talk with the coachman; she no doubt related to him our conversation.

In the month of March the prison governor came in and assumed a particularly gentle manner, and said, among other things, 'Now you are a widow; now you can tell the state of all affairs.' I answered him with a question, 'Can widows tell the state of all affairs?' He laughed and said, 'I do not mean that; I mean this treason!' I answered, 'You can ask others about it who know of it; I know of no treason.' And as it seemed to him that I did not believe that my husband was dead,[E29] he took out a newspaper and let me read it, perhaps chiefly because my husband was badly treated in it. I did not say much about it--nothing more than, 'Writers of newspapers do not always speak the truth.' This he might take as he liked.

[E29] The date of Ulfeldt's death is variously given as the 20th or the 27th of February, 1664. The latter date is given in a letter from his son Christian to Sperling, and elsewhere, (for instance, in a short Latin Biography of Ulfeldt called 'Machinationes Cornificii Ulefeldii,' published soon after); but the better evidence points to the earlier date. Christian Ulfeldt was not, it seems, at Basle at the time, and may have made a mistake as to the date, though he indicates the right day of the week (a Saturday), or he may have had reason for purposely making a misleading statement. In Copenhagen the report of his death was long suspected to be a mere trick.

I lay there silently hoping that it might be so, that my husband had by death escaped his enemies; and I thought with the greatest astonishment that I should have lived to see the day when I should wish my lord dead; then sorrowful thoughts took possession of me, and I did not care to talk. The woman imagined that I was sad because my lord was dead, and she comforted me, and that in a reasonable manner; but the remembrance of past times was only strengthened by her consolatory remarks, and for a long time my mind could not again regain repose. Your condition, my dearest children, troubled me. You had lost your father, and with him property and counsel. I am captive and miserable, and cannot help you, either with counsel or deed; you are fugitives and in a foreign land. For my three eldest sons I am less anxious than for my daughters and my youngest son.[E30] I sat up whole nights in my bed, for I could not sleep, and when I have headache I cannot lay my head on the pillow. From my heart I prayed to God for a gracious deliverance. It has not pleased God to grant this, but He gave me patience to bear my heavy cross.

[E30] Ulfeldt and Leonora had twelve children in all, of which seven were alive when Corfitz died; and it so happened as, explained before, that the youngest, Leo, was the only one who continued the name. It is from him that Count Waldstein, the owner of the MS., is descended.

My cross was so much heavier to me at first, as it was strictly forbidden to give me either knife, scissors, thread, or anything that might have beguiled the time to me. Afterwards, when my mind became a little calmer, I began to think of something wherewith to occupy myself; and as I had a needle, as I have before mentioned, I took off the ribands of my night-dress, which were broad flesh-coloured taffeta. With the silk I embroidered the piece of cloth that I had with different flowers worked in small stitches. When this was finished, I drew threads out of my sheet, twisted them, and sewed with them. When this was nearly done, the woman said one day, 'What will you do now when this is finished?' I answered, 'Oh, I shall get something to do; if it is brought to me by the ravens, I shall have it.' Then she asked me if I could do anything with a broken wooden spoon. I answered, 'Perhaps you know of one?' After having laughed a while, she drew one forth, the bowl of which was half broken off. 'I could indeed make something with that,' I said, 'if I had only a tool for the purpose. Could you persuade the prison governor or Peder the coachman to lend me a knife?' 'I will beg for one,' she answered, 'but I know well that they will not.' That she said something about it to the prison governor I could perceive from his answer, for he replied aloud, 'She wants no knife; I will cut her food for her. She might easily injure herself with one.'[76]

[76] In the margin is this note: 'Once when I asked the prison governor for some scissors to cut my nails, he answered, and that loudly, "What! what! her nails shall grow like eagles' claws, and her hair like eagles' feathers!" I know well what I thought--if I had only claws and wings!'

What she said to the coachman I know not (this I know, that she did not desire me to obtain a knife, for she was afraid of me, as I afterwards discovered). The woman brought the answer from the coachman that he dared not for his life. I said, 'If I can but have a piece of glass, I will see what I can make that is useful with the piece of spoon.' I begged her to look in a corner in the outermost room, where all rubbish was thrown; this she did, and found not only glass, but even a piece of a pewter cover which had belonged to a jug. By means of the glass I formed the spoon handle into a pin with two prongs, on which I made riband, which I still have in use (the silk for this riband I took from the border of my night-dress). I bent the piece of pewter in such a manner that it afterwards served me as an inkstand. It also is still in my keeping. As a mark of fidelity, the woman brought me at the same time a large pin, which was a good tool for beginning the division between the prongs, which I afterwards scraped with glass.

She asked me whether I could think of anything to play with, as the time was so long to her. I said, 'Coax Peder, and he will bring you a little flax for money and a distaff.' 'What!' she answered, 'shall I spin? The devil may spin! For whom should I spin?' I said, 'To beguile the time, I would spin, if I only had what is necessary for it.' 'That you may not have, dear lady,' said she; 'I have done the very utmost for you in giving you what I have done.' 'If you wish something to play with,' said I, 'get some nuts, and we will play with them.' She did so, and we played with them like little children. I took three of the nuts, and made them into dice, placing two kinds of numbers on each, and we played with these also. And that we might know the {circled dot} which I made with the large pin,[77] I begged her to procure for me a piece of chalk, which she did, and I rubbed chalk into it. These dice were lost, I know not how; my opinion is that the coachman got possession of them, perhaps at the time that he cheated the woman out of the candles and sugar left. For he came to her one day at noon quite out of breath, and said she was to give him the candles and the sugar which he had brought her from Maren Blocks, and whatever there was that was not to be seen, as our quarters were to be searched. She ran out with the things under her apron, and never said anything to me about it until the door was locked. I concealed on myself, as well as I was able, my pin, my silk, and the pieces of sewing with the needle and pin. Nothing came of the search, and it was only a _ruse_ of the coachman, in order to get the candles that were left, for which she often afterwards abused him, and also for the sugar.

[77] I removed my nails with the needle, scratching them till they came away. I let the nail of the little finger of my right hand grow, in order to see how long it would become; but I knocked it off unawares, and I still have it. [Marginal note.]

I was always at work, so long as I had silk from my night-dress and stockings, and I netted on the large pin, so that it might last a long time. I have still some of the work in my possession, as well as the bobbins, which I made out of wooden pegs. By means of bags filled with sand I made cords which I formed into a bandage (which is worn out), for I was not allowed a corset, often as I begged for one; the reason why is unknown to me. I often beguiled the time with the piece of chalk, painting with it on a piece of board and on the table, wiping it away again, and making rhymes and composing hymns. The first of these, however, I composed before I had the chalk. I never sang it, but repeated it to myself.

A morning hymn, to the tune, 'Ieg wil din Priiss ud Synge'[E31]:--

[E31] This hymn-tune is still in use in the Danish Church.

I

God's praise I will be singing In every waking hour. My grateful tribute bringing To magnify his power; And his almighty love, His angel watchers sending, My couch with mercy tending, And watching from above.

II

In salt drops streaming ever The tears flowed from my eyes; I often thought I never Should see the morning rise. Yet has the Lord instilled Sleep in his own good pleasure; And sleep in gracious measure Has his command fulfilled.

III

Oh Christ! Lord of the living, Thine armour place on me, Which manly vigour giving, Right valiant shall I be, 'Gainst Satan, death, and sin. And every carnal feeling, That nought may come concealing Thy sway my heart within.

IV

Help me! Thy arms extending; My cross is hard and sore: Support its heaviest ending, Or I can bear no more. Too much am I oppressed! My trust is almost waning With pain and vain complaining! Thine arrows pierce my breast.

V

In mercy soothe the sorrow That weighs the fatherless; Vouchsafe a happier morrow, And all my children bless! Strength to their father yield, In their hard fate respect them, From enemies protect them; My strength, be Thou their shield.

VI

I am but dust and ashes, Yet one request I crave: Let me not go at unawares Into the silent grave. With a clear mind and breast My course in this world closing, Let me, on Thee reposing, Pass to Thy land of rest.

I composed the following hymn in German and often sang it, as they did not understand German; a hymn, somewhat to the air of 'Was ist doch auff dieser Welt, das nicht fehlt?' &c.:--

I

Reason speaketh to my soul: Fret not Soul, Thou hast a better goal! It is not for thee restricted That with thee Past should be All the wrongs inflicted.

II

Why then shouldst thou thus fret thee, Anxiously, Ever sighing, mournfully? Thou canst not another sorrow Change with this, For that is Which shall be on the morrow.

III

Loss of every earthly gain Bringeth pain; Fresh courage seek to obtain! Much was still superfluous ceded, Nature's call After all Makes but little needed.

IV

Is the body captive here? Do not fear: Thou must not hold all too dear; Thou art free--a captive solely; Can no tower Have the power Thee to fetter wholly?

V

All the same is it at last When thou hast The long path of striving past, And thou must thy life surrender; Death comes round, Whether found On couch hard or tender.

VI

Courage then, my soul, arise! Heave no sighs That nought yet thy rest supplies! God will not leave thee in sorrow: Well He knows When He chose Help for thee to borrow.

Thus I peacefully beguiled the time, until Doctor Otto Sperling[E32] was brought to the tower; his prison is below the 'dark church.' His fate is pitiable. When he was brought to the tower his feet and hands were chained in irons. The prison governor, who had formerly not been friendly with him, rejoiced heartily at the doctor's misfortune, and that he had fallen into his hands, so that the whole evening he did nothing but sing and hum. He said to the woman, 'My Karen, will you dance? I will sing.' He left the doctor to pass the night in his irons. We could hear that a prisoner had been brought in from the murmuring, and the concourse of people, as well as from the locking of the prison, which was below mine (where iron bolts were placed against the door).[78] The joy exhibited by the prison governor excited my fear, also that he not only himself opened and shut my door, but that he prevented the woman from going out on the stairs, by leaning against the outermost door of my prison. The coachman stood behind the prison governor making signs; but as the prison governor turned from side to side, I could not rightly see him.

[E32] Dr. Otto Sperling, the elder, is often alluded to in the Autobiography of Leonora as 'notre vieillard;' he was a faithful friend of Ulfeldt, and in 1654 he settled in Hamburg, where he educated Corfitz's youngest son Leo. He was implicated in Ulfeldt's intrigues, and a compromising correspondence between them fell into the hands of the Spanish Government, which placed it at the disposal of Hannibal Sehested when he passed through the Netherlands on his way home from his mission to France in 1663. In order to obtain possession of Sperling's person, the Danish authorities used the ruse of sending a Danish officer to his house in Hamburg, and request him to visit professionally a sick person just across the Danish frontier, paying in advance a considerable fee. Sperling, who did not suspect the transaction, was arrested immediately on crossing the boundary, and brought to Copenhagen. He was condemned to death July 28, 1664; but the sentence was commuted, and he died in the Blue Tower December 25, 1681. Otto Sperling, jun., to whom Leonora sent the MS. of her Autobiography, and who often visited her at Maribo, was his son.

[78] The prison cell is outside that in which the doctor is immured. It is quite dark where he is. [Note in the margin.]

On the following day, at about eight o'clock, I heard the iron bolts drawn and the door below opened; I could also hear that the inner prison was opened (the doctor was then taken out for examination). The woman said, 'There is certainly a prisoner there; who can it be?' I said: 'It seems indeed that a prisoner has been brought in, for the prison governor is so merry. You will find it out from Peder; if not to-day, another time. I pity the poor man, whoever he may be.' (God knows my heart was not as courageous as I appeared.) When my door was opened at noon (which was after twelve o'clock, for they did not open my door till the doctor had been conveyed to his cell again), the prison governor was still merrier than usual, and danced about and sang, 'Cheer up! courage! It will come to pass!'

When he had cut up the dinner, he leaned against the outer door of my prison and prevented the woman from going out, saying to me, 'I am to salute you from the Major-General von Alfeldt; he says all will now soon be well, and you may console yourself. Yes, yes, all will now soon be well!' I behaved as if I received his words in their apparent meaning, and I begged him to thank the Major-General for his consolation; and then he repeated the same words, and added, 'Yes, indeed! he said so.' I replied with a question: 'What may it arise from that the Major-General endeavours to cheer me? May God cheer him in return! I never knew him before.' To this the prison governor made no answer at all. While the prison governor was talking with me, the coachman was standing behind him, and showed by gestures how the prisoner had been bound hand and foot, that he had a beard and a calotte on his head, and a handkerchief round his neck. This could not make me wiser than I was, but it could indeed grieve me still more. At the evening meal the woman was again prevented speaking with the coachman, and the coachman again made the same signs, for the prison governor was standing in his usual place; but he said nothing, nor did I.[79] On the following morning the Doctor was again brought up for examination, and the prison governor behaved as before. As he stood there ruminating, I asked him who the prisoner below was. He answered that there was no one below. I let the matter rest for the time, and as we proceeded to speak of other things, the woman slipped out to Peder, who told her quickly who it was. Some days went by in the same manner. When sentence had been pronounced on the Doctor, and his execution was being postponed,[80] and I said nothing to the prison governor but when he accosted me, he came in and said: 'I see that you can judge that there is a prisoner below. It is true, but I am forbidden to tell you who it is!' I answered: 'Then I do not desire to know.' He began to feel some compassion, and said: 'Don't fret, my dear lady; it is not your husband, nor your son, nor daughter, nor brother-in-law, nor any relative; it is a bird which ought to sing,[81] and will not, but he must, he must!' I said: 'I ought to be able to guess from your words who it is. If the bird can sing what can ring in their ears, he will probably do so; but he cannot sing a melody which he does not know!' Upon this he was silent, and turned away and went out.

[79] In the margin is added: 'When the prison governor was singing to himself on those first days, he said, "You must sing, my bird; where is your velvet robe?" laughing at the same time most heartily. I inferred from that song who it was.'

[80] In the margin is added: 'In order to grieve the Doctor and to frighten him, the prison governor unlocked his cell early on the morning after sentence had been passed, and behaved as if the priest were coming to him.'

[81] That is, give information.

By degrees all became quiet with regard to the Doctor, and no more was said about the matter, and the prison governor came in from time to time when the door was opened, and often made himself merry with the woman, desiring her to make a curtsey to him, and showing her how she should place her feet and carry her body, after the fashion of a dancing-master. He related also different things that had occurred in former times, some of them evidently intended to sadden me with the recollection of my former prosperity: all that had happened at my wedding, how the deceased King had loved me. He gave long accounts of this, not forgetting how I was dressed, and all this he said for the benefit of no one else but myself, for the woman meanwhile stood on the stairs talking with the tower warder, the coachman, and the prisoner Christian.

Maren Blocks, who constantly from time to time sent me messages and kept me informed of what was going on, also intimated to me that she was of opinion that I could practise magic, for she wrote me a slip of paper[82] with the request that I should sow dissension between the Lady Carisse and an Alfelt, explaining at length that Alfelt was not worthy of her, but that Skinckel was a brave fellow (Carisse afterwards married Skinckel). As the letter was open, the coachman knew its contents, and the woman also. I was angry at it, but I said nothing. The woman could easily perceive that I was displeased at it, and she said, 'Lady, I know well what Maren wishes.' I replied, 'Can you help her in it?' 'No,' she declared, and laughed heartily. I asked what there was to laugh at. 'I am laughing,' said she, 'because I am thinking of the clever Cathrine, of whom I have spoken before, who once gave advice to some one desiring to sow discord between good friends.' I enquired what advice she had given. She said that they must collect some hairs in a place where two cats had been fighting, and throw these between the two men whom it was desired to set at variance. I enquired whether the trick succeeded. She replied, 'It was not properly tried.' 'Perhaps,' I said, 'the cats were not both black?' 'Ho, ho!' said she, 'I see that you know how it should be done.' 'I have heard more than that,' I replied; 'show her the trick, and you will get some more sugar-candy, but do not let yourself be again cheated of it by Peder as you were lately. Seriously, however, Peder must beg Maren Blocks to spare me such requests!' That she as well as Maren believed that I could practise magic was evident in many ways. My own remarks often gave cause for this. I remembered how my deceased lord used to say (when in his younger days he wished to make anyone imagine that he understood the black art), that people feared those of whom they had this opinion, and never ventured to do them harm. It happened one day at the mid-day meal, when the prison governor was sitting talking with me, that the woman carried on a long conversation on the stairs with the others respecting the witches who had been seized in Jutland, and that the supreme judge in Jutland at that time sided with the witches and said they were not witches.[E33] When the door was locked we had much talk about witches, and she said, 'This judge is of your opinion, that it is a science and not magic.' I said, as I had before said, that some had more knowledge than others, and that some used their knowledge to do evil; although it might happen naturally and not with the devil's art, still it was not permitted in God's Word to use nature for evil purposes; it was also not fair to give the devil the honour which did not belong to him. We talked on till she grew angry, laid down and slept a little, and thus the anger passed away.

[82] In the margin is added: 'Peder had some time before thrown into me eight ducats in a paper, saying, as he closed the door, "Your maid!" And as the woman knew it, I gave her one of them and Peder one. I know not whether my maid had given him more; she had many more concealed on her person.'

[E33] The name of this judge was Villum Lange, and it is a curious coincidence that a letter from him of a somewhat later time (1670), has been found in one of the archives, in which he speaks of this very affair, and in which he expresses himself very much in the sense here indicated.

Some days after she said: 'Your maid is sitting below in the prison governor's room, and asks with much solicitude after you and what you are doing. I have told Peder of what you have sewed, and of the ribbons you have made, but he has promised solemnly not to mention it to anyone except to Maren, Lars' daughter; she would like so much to be here with you.' I replied: 'It would be no good for her to sit with me in prison; it would only destroy her own happiness; for who knows how long I may live?' I related of this same waiting-maid that she had been in my employ since she was eight years old, all that I had had her taught, and how virtuous she was. To this she replied, 'The girl will like to see what you have sewed; you shall have it again directly.' I handed it to her, and the first time the doors were unlocked she gave it to the prison governor, who carried it to the Queen. (Two years afterwards the prison governor told me this himself, and that when the King had said, 'She might have something given her to do,' the Queen had answered, 'That is not necessary. It is good enough for her! She has not wished for anything better.') I often enquired for the piece of sewing, but was answered that Peder was not able to get it back from the girl.

Late in the autumn the prison governor began to sicken: he was ill and could not do much, so he let the coachman frequently come alone to lock and unlock both the doctor's door below and mine. The iron bars were no longer placed before the outermost prison below, but four doors were locked upon me. One day, when Peder was locking up, he threw me a skein of silk,[83] saying, 'Make me some braces for my breeches out of it.' I appeared not to have heard, and asked the woman what it was that he had said. She repeated the same words. I behaved as if I did not believe it, and laughed, saying, 'If I make the braces for him, he will next wish that you should fasten them to his breeches.' A good deal of absurd chatter followed. As meal-time was approaching, I said to the woman, 'Give Peder back his silk, and say that I have never before made a pair of braces; I do not know how they are made.' (Such things I had to endure with smiles.)

[83] In the margin is added: 'As my linen was washed in the servants' hall, it once happened that a maid there must unawares have forgotten a whole skein of thread in a clean chemise, at which I said to the woman: "You see how the ravens bring me thread!" She was angry and abused me; I laughed, and answered her jestingly.'

At the time that our former palace here in the city (which we had ceded by a deed when we were imprisoned at Borringholm) was pulled down, and a pillar (or whatever it is) was raised to my lord's shame, the prison governor came in when he unlocked at noon, and seated himself on my bed (I was somewhat indisposed at the time), and began to talk of former times (I knew already that they were pulling down the palace), enumerating everything the loss of which he thought might sadden me, even to my coach and the horses. 'But,' he said, 'all this is nothing compared with the beautiful palace!' (and he praised it to the utmost); 'it is now down, and not one stone is left on another. Is not that a pity, my dear lady?' I replied: 'The King can do what he will with his own; the palace has not been ours for some time.' He continued bewailing the beautiful house and the garden buildings which belonged to it. I asked him what had become of Solomon's temple? Not a stone of that beautiful building was now to be found; not even could the place be pointed out where the temple and costly royal palace had once stood. He made no answer, hung his head, and pondered a little, and went out. I do not doubt he has reported what I said. Since that day he began to behave himself more and more courteously, saying even that His Majesty had ordered him to ask me whether I wished for anything from the kitchen, the cellar, or the confectioner, as it should be given me; that he had also been ordered to bring me twice a week confectionery and powdered sugar, which was done.[84] I begged the prison governor to thank the King's Majesty for the favour shown me, and praised, as was proper, the King's goodness most humbly. The prison governor would have liked to praise the Queen had he only been able to find cause for so doing; he said, 'The Queen is also a dear Queen!' I made no answer to this. He came also some time afterwards with an order from the King that I should ask for any clothes and linen I required: this was written down, and I received it later, except a corset, and that the Queen would not allow me. I never could learn the cause of this. The Queen also was not well pleased that I obtained a bottle-case with six small bottles, in which was sprinkling-water, headwater, and a cordial. All this, she said, I could well do without; but when she saw that in the lid there was an engraving representing the daughter of Herod with the head of St. John on a charger, she laughed and said, 'That will be a cordial to her!' This engraving set me thinking that Herodias had still sisters on earth.

[84] In the margin is added: 'I wrote different things from the Bible on the paper in which the sugar was given me. My ink-bottle was made of the piece of pewter lid which the woman had found, the ink was made from the smoke of the candle collected on a spoon, and the pen from a fowl's feather cut by the piece of glass. I have this still in my possession.'

The prison governor continued his politeness, and lent me at my desire a German Bible, saying at the same time, 'This I do out of kindness, I have no order to do so; the Queen does not know it.' 'I believe that,' I replied, and thanked him; but I am of opinion that the King knew it well. Some days afterwards Maren Blocks sent for her prayer-book back again. I had taught the woman a morning and evening prayer by heart, and all the morning and evening hymns, which she repeated to me night and morning. I offered to teach her to read if she would procure an A B C. She laughed at this jeeringly, and said, 'People would think me crazed if I were to learn to read now.' I tried to persuade her by argument, in order that I might thus get something to beguile the time with; but far from it; she knew as much as she needed. I sought everywhere for something to divert my thoughts, and as I perceived that the potter, when he had placed the stove, had left a piece of clay lying outside in the other room, I begged the woman to give it to me.

The prison governor saw that she had taken it, but did not ask the reason. I mixed the clay with beer, and made various things, which I frequently altered again into something else; among other things I made the portraits of the prison governor and the woman, and small jugs and vases. And as it occurred to me to try whether I were able to make anything on which I could place a few words to the King, so that the prison governor should not observe it (for I knew well that the woman did not always keep silence; she would probably some time say what I did), I moulded a goblet over the half of the glass in which wine was brought to me, made it round underneath, placed it on three knobs, and wrote the King's name on the side--underneath the bottom these words ... il y a un ... un Auguste.[E34]

[E34] The words 'under the bottom ... to ... Auguste,' inclusive, have been struck out in the MS., and it has been impossible to read more than what here is rendered. In the Autobiography, where the same occurrence is related, Leonora says that she put on it the names both of the King and of the Queen; that on the bottom she wrote to the Queen, and that it was the Queen who discovered the inscription; from which it would appear that the Queen at all events was included in her ingeniously contrived supplique.

I kept it for a long time, not knowing in what way I could manage to get it reported what I was doing, since the woman had solemnly sworn to me not to mention it: so I said one day: 'Does the prison governor ask you what I am doing?' 'Yes, indeed he does,' she replied, 'but I say that you are doing nothing but reading the Bible.' I said: 'You may ingratiate yourself in his favour and say that I am making portraits in clay; there is no reason that he should not know that.' She did so, and three days after he came to me, and was quite gentle, and asked how I passed my time. I answered, 'In reading the Bible.' He expressed his opinion that I must weary of this. I said I liked at intervals to have something else to do, but that this was not allowed me. He enquired what I had wanted the clay for, which the woman had brought in to me; he had seen it when she had brought it in. I said, 'I have made some small trifles.' He requested to see them. So I showed him first the woman's portrait; that pleased him much, as it resembled her; then a small jug, and last of all the goblet. He said at once: 'I will take all this with me and let the King see it; you will perhaps thus obtain permission to have somewhat provided you for pastime,'[85] I was well satisfied. This took place at the mid-day meal. At supper he did not come in. The next day he said to me: 'Well, my dear lady, you have nearly brought me into trouble!' 'How so?' I asked. 'I took the King a petition from you! the Queen did not catch sight of it, but the King saw it directly and said, "So you are now bringing me petitions from Leonora?" I shrank back with terror, and said, "Gracious King! I have brought nothing in writing!" "See here!" exclaimed the King, and he pointed out to me some French writing at the bottom of the goblet. The Queen asked why I had brought anything written that I did not understand. I asserted that I had paid no attention to it, and begged for pardon. The good King defended me, and the _invention_ did not please him ill. Yes, yes, my dear lady! be assured that the King is a gracious sovereign to you, and if he were certain that your husband were dead, you would not remain here!' I was of opinion that my enemies well knew that my husband was dead. I felt that I must therefore peacefully resign myself to the will of God and the King.

[85] In the margin is added: 'The prison governor told me afterwards that the clay things were placed in the King's art-cabinet, besides a rib of mutton, which I used as a knife, which he also gave to the King; hoping (he said) in this way to obtain a knife for me.'

I received nothing which might have beguiled the time to me, except that which I procured secretly, and the prison governor has since then never enquired what I was doing, though he came in every evening and sat for some time talking with me; he was weak, and it was a labour to him to mount so many steps. Thus we got through the year together.

The prison governor gradually began to feel pity for me, and gave me a book which is very pretty, entitled 'Wunderwerck.'[E35] It is a folio, rather old, and here and there torn; but I was well pleased with the gift. And as he sat long of an evening with me, frequently till nine o'clock, talking with me, the malicious woman was irritated.[86] She said to Peder, 'If I were in the prison governor's place, I would not trust her in the way he does. He is weak; what if she were now to run out and take the knife which is lying on the table outside, and were to stab him? She could easily take my life, so I sit in there with my life hanging on a thread.'

[E35] This book was doubtless the German translation of Conr. Lycosthenes' work, 'Prodigiorum ac Ostentorum Chronicon.' It is an amusing illustrated volume, much read in its time. The translation in question appeared in Basle, 1557.

[86] In the margin is added: 'The day that the prison governor had taken away the clay things the woman was very angry with me, because I gave him a small jug which I had made; she said it was made in ridicule of her, the old slut with the jug! I ought to have given him the cat which I had also made. I said, "I can still do so."'

Absurd as the idea was, the knife was not only in consequence hidden under the table, but the prison governor for a long time did not venture to come to me, but sat outside by my outermost door and talked there just as long as before, so that I was no gainer.[87] (I did not know what the woman had said till three years afterwards, when it was mentioned by the prisoner Christian, who had heard the woman's chatter.)

[87] In the margin is added: 'At first when the prison governor's fear was so great, he did not venture to be alone in the outer room. Peder and the tower warder were not allowed both to leave him at the same time. I did not know the reason for this.'

One day when the prison governor intended to go to the holy communion, he stood outside my outermost door and took off his hat, and begged for my forgiveness; he knew, he said, that he had done much to annoy me, but that he was a servant. I answered, 'I forgive you gladly!' Then he went away, and Peder closed the door. The woman said something to Peder about the prison governor, but I could not understand what. Probably she was blaming the prison governor, for she was so angry that she puffed; she could not restrain her anger, but said: 'Fye upon the old fool! The devil take him! I ought to beg pardon too? No' (she added with an oath), 'I would not do it for God's bitter death! No! no!' and she spat on the ground. I said afterwards: 'What does it matter to you that the prison governor asks me for my friendship? Do you lose anything by it? If you will not live like a Christian and according to the ordinances of the Church, do not at any rate be angry with one who does. Believe assuredly that God will punish you, if you do not repent of what evil you have done and will not be reconciled with your adversaries before you seek to be reconciled with God!'

She thought that he had done nothing else than what he was ordered to do. I said, 'You good people know best yourselves what has been ordered you.' She asked, 'Do I do anything to you?' I answered, 'I know not what you do. You can tell any amount of untruths about me without my knowing it.' Upon this she began a long story, swearing by and asserting her fidelity; she had never lied to anyone nor done anyone a wrong. I said: 'I hear; you are justifying yourself with the Pharisee.' She started furiously from her seat and said, 'What! do you abuse me as a Pharisee?' 'Softly, softly!' I said; 'while only one of us is angry, it is of no consequence; but if I get angry also, something may come of it!' She sat down with an insolent air, and said, 'I should well imagine that you are not good when you are angry! It is said of you that in former days you could bear but little, and that you struck at once. But now'----(with this she was silent). 'What more?' I said. 'Do you think I could not do anything to anyone if I chose, just as well as then, if anyone behaved to me in a manner that I could not endure? Now much more than then! You need not refuse me a knife because I may perhaps kill you; I could do so with my bare hands. I can strangle the strongest fellow with my bare hands, if I can seize him unawares, and what more could happen to me than is happening? Therefore only keep quiet!'

She was silent, and assumed no more airs; she was cast down, and did not venture to complain to the prison governor. What she said to the others on the stairs I know not, but when she came in, when the room was locked at night, she had been weeping.[88]

[88] In the margin is added: 'Some time after this dispute I had a quarrel with her about some beer, which she was in the habit of emptying on the floor, saying, "This shall go to the subterraneous folk." I had forbidden her to do so, but she did it again, so I took her by the head and pushed it back with my hand. She was frightened, for this feels just as if one's head was falling off. I said, "That is a foretaste."'

On Sunday at noon I congratulated[E36] the prison governor and said: 'You are happy! You can reconcile yourself with God, and partake of His body and blood; this is denied to me (I had twice during two years requested spiritual consolation, but had received in answer that I could not sin as I was now in prison; that I did not require religious services). And as I talked upon this somewhat fully with the prison governor, I said that those who withheld from me the Lord's Supper must take my sins upon themselves; that one sinned as much in thought as in word and deed; so the prison governor promised that he would never desist from desiring that a clergyman should come to me; and asked whom I wished for. I said: 'The King's Court preacher, whom I had in the beginning of my troubles.' He said: 'That could scarcely be.' I was satisfied whoever it was.

[E36] This custom of congratulating persons who intend to communicate, or just have done so, is still retained by many of the older generation in Denmark.

A month afterwards I received the holy communion from the German clergyman, M. Hieronimus Buk, who behaved very properly the first time, but spoke more about the law than the gospel. The prison governor congratulated me, and I thanked him, for he had brought it about.

1665. In this year, on Whitsun-eve, the prison governor ordered May-trees to be placed in my inner prison, and also in the anteroom. I broke small twigs from the branches, rubbed off the bark with glass, softened them in water, laid them to press under a board, which was used for carrying away the dirt from the floor, and thus made them flat, then fastened them together and formed them into a weaver's reed. Peder the coachman was then persuaded to give me a little coarse thread, which I used for a warp. I took the silk from the new silk stockings which they had given me, and made some broad ribbons of it (The implements and a part of the ribbons are still in my possession.) One of the trees (which was made of the thick end of a branch which Peder had cut off) was tied to the stove, and the other I fastened to my own person. The woman held the warp: she was satisfied, and I have no reason to think that she spoke about it, for the prison governor often lamented that I had nothing with which to beguile the time, and he knew well that this had been my delight in former times, &c.[89]

[89] In the margin is added: 'I made the snuffers serve as scissors. When Balcke came to me and brought me at my desire material for drawers, and requested to know the size, I said I could make them myself. He laughed, and said, "Who will cut them out?" I replied I could do it myself with the snuffers. He begged to see me do it, and looked on with no little astonishment.'

He remained now again a long time with me after meals, for his fear had passed away, or he had, perhaps, forgotten, as his memory began to fail him. He said then many things which he ought not. He declined perceptibly, and was very weak; he would remain afterwards sitting outside, reading aloud, and praying God to spare his life. 'Yes,' he would say, 'only a few years!' When he had some alleviation, he talked unceasingly. Creeping along the wall to the door, he said, 'I should like to know two things: one is, who will be prison governor after me? The other is, who is to to have my Tyrelyre?' (That was Tyre, his wife.) I replied: 'That is a knowledge which you cannot obtain now, especially who will woo your wife. You might, perhaps, have already seen both, but at your age you may yet have long to live.' 'Oh!' said he, 'God grant it!' and looked up to the window. 'Do you think so, my dear lady?' 'Yes, I do,' I replied. A few days afterwards, he begged me again to forgive him, if he had done me any wrong since the last time, for he wished to make reconciliation with God before he became weaker, and he wept and protested, saying, 'It indeed grieves me still that I should have often annoyed you, and you comfort me.' On Sunday at noon I congratulated him on his spiritual feast.

Thus he dragged on with great difficulty for about fourteen days, and as I heard that two men were obliged almost to carry him up the stairs, I sent him word that he might remain below on the ground floor of the tower, and that he might rest assured I would go nowhere. He thanked me, crawled up for the last time to my door, and said, 'If I did that and the Queen heard of it, my head would answer for it.' I said: 'Then confess your weakness and remain in bed. It may be better again; another could meanwhile attend for you.' He took off his cap in recognition of my advice, and bade me farewell. I have never seen him again since then. One day afterwards he crawled up in the tower-chamber, but came no farther.

A man of the name of Hans Balcke was appointed in his place to keep watch over the prisoners. He was very courteous. He was a cabinet-maker by trade; his father, who had also been a cabinet-maker, had worked a good deal for me in the days of my prosperity. This man had travelled for his trade both in Italy and Germany, and knew a little Italian. I found intercourse with him agreeable, and as he dined in the anteroom outside, in the tower, I begged him to dine with me, which he did for fourteen days. One day, when he carved the joint outside, I sent him word requesting him to come in. He excused himself, which appeared strange to me.

After he had dined, he said that Peder the coachman had jeered at him, and that he had been forbidden to dine with me. When he afterwards remained rather long with me talking, I begged him myself to go, so that this also might not be forbidden. He had on one occasion a large pin stuck in his sleeve, and I begged him for it. He said, 'I may not give it you, but if you take it yourself, I can't help it.' So I took it, and it has often been of use to me. He gave me several books to read, and was in every way courteous and polite. His courtesy was probably the reason why the prisons were not long entrusted to him, for he was also very good to Doctor Sperling, giving him slices of the meat which came up to me, and other good food. In his childhood he had been a playfellow of the doctor's children. He talked also occasionally a long time with the doctor, both on unlocking and locking his door, which did not please the servants.[90] The prison governor lay constantly in bed; he endeavoured as often as he could to come up again, but there was little prospect of it. So long as the keys were not taken from him, he was satisfied.

[90] In the margin is added: 'While Balcke filled the place of prison governor, he drank my wine at every meal, which had formerly fallen to the tower warder, the coachman, or the prisoner Christian, when the old prison governor had not wished for it, so that this also contributed to Balcke's dismissal.'

My maid Maren, Lars' daughter, had risen so high in favour at court, that she often sat in the women's apartment, and did various things. One day the woman said to me, 'That is a very faithful maiden whom you have! She speaks before them up there in a manner you would never believe.' I replied: 'I have permitted her to say all she knows. I have no fear of her calumniating me.' 'Have you not?' she said ironically. 'Why does she throw herself, then, on her bare knees, and curse herself if she should think of returning to you?' I said: 'She wished to remain with me (according to your own statement), but she was not allowed; so she need not curse herself.' 'Why then do you think,' said she, 'that she is so much in favour at court?' 'Do you mean,' I replied, 'that if anyone is in favour at court, it is because their lips are full of lies? I am assured my maid has calumniated no one, least of all me; I am not afraid.'

The woman was angry, and pouted in consequence for some time. Some weeks afterwards Maren, Lars' daughter, was set at liberty, and became waiting-maid to the Countess Friis: and Balcke brought me some linen which she still had belonging to me. The woman was not a little angry at this, especially as I said: 'So faithful I perceive is my maid to me, that she will not keep the linen, which she might easily have done, for I could not know whether it had not been taken from her with the rest.'

All my guards were very ill satisfied with Balcke, especially the woman, who was angry for several reasons. He slighted her, she said, for he had supplied a basin for the night-stool which was heavier than the former one (which leaked); but she was chiefly angry because he told her that she lived like a heathen, since she never went to the sacrament. For when I once received the holy communion, while Balcke was attending to me, he asked her if she would not wish to communicate also, to which she answered, 'I do not know German.' Balcke said, 'I will arrange that the clergyman shall come to you whose office it is to administer the Lord's Supper to the prisoners.' She replied that in this place she could not go with the proper devotion: if she came out, she would go gladly. Balcke admonished her severely, as a clergyman might have done. When the door was closed, she gave vent to puffing and blowing, and she always unfastened her jacket when she was angry.

I said nothing, but I thought the evil humour must have vent, or she will be choked; and this was the case, for she abused Balcke with the strongest language that occurred to her. She used unheard-of curses, which were terrible to listen to: among others, 'God damn him for ever, and then I need not curse him every day.' Also, 'May God make him evaporate like the dew before the sun!' I could not endure this cursing, and I said, 'Are you cursing this man because he held before you the word of God, and desires that you should be reconciled with God and repent your sins?' 'I do not curse him for that,' she said, 'but on account of the heavy basin which the accursed fellow has given me, and which I have to carry up the steep stairs;[91] the devil must have moved him to choose it! Does he want to make a priest of himself? Well, he is probably faultless, the saucy fellow!' and she began again with her curses.

[91] In the margin: 'It is indeed a bad flight of stairs to the place where the basin was emptied.'

I reproved her and said: 'If he now knew that you were cursing him in this way, do you not think he would bring it about that you must do penitence? It is now almost two years since you were at the Lord's table, and you can have the clergyman and you will not.' This softened her a little, and she said, 'How should he know it, unless you tell him?' I said, 'What passes here and is said here concerns no one but us two; it is not necessary that others should know.' With this all was well; she lay down to sleep, and her anger passed away; but the hate remained.

The prison governor continued to lie in great pain, and could neither live nor die. One day at noon, when Balcke unlocked (it was just twenty weeks since he had come to me), a man came in with him, very badly dressed, in a grey, torn, greasy coat, with few buttons that could be fastened, with an old hat to which was attached a drooping feather that had once been white but was now not recognisable from dirt. He wore linen stockings and a pair of worn-out shoes fastened with packthread.[92] Balcke went to the table outside and carved the joint; he then went to the door of the outer apartment, stood with his hat in his hand, made a low reverence, and said, 'Herewith I take my departure; this man is to be prison governor.' I enquired whether he would not come again to me. He replied, 'No, not after this time.' Upon this I thanked him for his courteous attendance, and wished him prosperity.[93]

[92] In the margin is added: 'Gabel had said (I was afterwards informed) that I was frightened at the appearance of the man, and thought it was the executioner. I did not regard him as such, but as a poor cavalier, and I imagined he was to undertake the duties which Peder the coachman performed.'

[93] In the margin: 'Balcke has waited upon me for twenty weeks, and he was accused of having told me what happened outside. In proof of this it was alleged that he had told me that Gabel had been made Statholder, to whom I afterwards gave this title in M. Buck's hearing. Balcke one day could not restrain himself from laughing, for while he was standing and talking with me, the woman and the man were standing on the stairs outside, chuckling and laughing; and he said, "Outside there is the chatter market. Why does not Peder so arrange it that it is forbidden? You can get to know all that goes on in the world without me."'

Peder the coachman locked the door, and the new prison governor, whose name was Johan Jäger,[E37] never appeared before me the whole day, nor during the evening. I said to the woman in the morning, 'Ask Peder who the man is;' which she did, and returned to me with the answer that it was the man who had taken the Doctor prisoner; and that now he was to be prison governor, but that he had not yet received the keys. Not many days passed before he came with the Lord Steward to the old prison governor, and the keys were taken from the old man and given to him. The old man lived only to the day after this occurred. In both respects his curiosity was satisfied; he saw the man who was to be prison governor after him (to his grief), and the doctor who attended him obtained his Tyrelyre before the year was ended.

[E37] It was a Colonel Hagedorn that entrapped and arrested Dr. Sperling, and Jäger played only a subordinate part in that transaction. He is stated to have been a cousin of Gabel, and to have been formerly a commander in the navy. He was appointed prison governor on June 12, 1665, and Balcke therefore doubtless only held the appointment provisionally.

The new prison governor Jäger[E37b] did not salute me for several weeks, and never spoke to me. He rarely locked my doors, but he generally opened them himself. At length one day, when he had got new shoes on, he took his hat off when he had opened the door, and said 'Good morning.' I answered him, 'Many thanks.' The woman was very pleased while this lasted. She had her free talk with Peder the coachman (who still for a couple of months came to the tower as before) and with the prisoner Christian, who had great freedom, and obtained more and more freedom in this prison governor's time, especially as Rasmus the tower-warder was made gatekeeper, and a man of the name of Chresten was appointed in his place. Among other idle talk which she repeated to me, she said that this prison governor was forbidden to speak with me. I said, 'I am very glad, as he then can tell no lies about me.' I am of opinion that he did not venture to speak with me so long as Peder brought up the food to the tower, and was in waiting there; for when he had procured Peder's dismissal on account of stealing, he came in afterwards from time to time. The very first time he was intoxicated. He knew what Peder had said of Balcke, and he informed me of it.[94]

[E37b] It was a Colonel Hagedorn that entrapped and arrested Dr. Sperling, and Jäger played only a subordinate part in that transaction. He is stated to have been a cousin of Gabel, and to have been formerly a commander in the navy. He was appointed prison governor on June 12, 1665, and Balcke therefore doubtless only held the appointment provisionally.

[94] In the margin is added: 'While Balcke waited on me, a folding table was brought in for the bread and glasses, and also for the woman's food, which she did not take till the doors had been locked. There was nothing there before but the night-stool to place the dishes on: that was the woman's table.'

Before I mention anything of the prisoner Christian's designs against me, I will in a few words state the crime for which he was in prison. He had been a lacquey in the employ of Maans Armfelt. With some other lacqueys he had got into a quarrel with a man who had been a father to Christian, and who had brought him up from his youth and had taken the utmost care of him. The man was fatally wounded, and called out in the agonies of death: 'God punish thee, Christian! What a son you have been! It was your hand that struck me!' The other lacqueys ran away, but Christian was seized. His dagger was found bloody. He denied, and said it was not he who had stabbed the man. He was sentenced to death; but as the dead man's widow would not pay for the execution, Christian remained for the time in prison, and his master paid for his maintenance. He had been there three years already when I came to the prison, and three times he was removed; first from the Witch Cell to the Dark Church; and then here where I am imprisoned.[95] When I was brought here, he was placed where the Doctor is, and when the Doctor was brought in, Christian was allowed to go freely about the tower. He wound the clock for the tower-warder, locked and unlocked the cells below, and had often even the keys of the tower.

[95] In the margin is added: 'At that time there was a large double window with iron grating, which was walled up when I was brought here; and Christian told me afterwards how the maids in the store-room had supplied him with many a can of beer, which he had drawn up by a cord.'

I remember once, when Rasmus the tower-warder was sitting at dinner with the prison governor in my outermost cell, and the prison governor wished to send Peder on a message, he said to Rasmus: 'Go and open! I want Peder to order something. 'Father,' said Rasmus, 'Christian has the key.' 'Indeed!' said the prison governor; 'that is pretty work!' And there it rested, for Rasmus said, 'I am perfectly sure that Christian will not go away.' Thus by degrees Christian's freedom and power increased after Peder the coachman left, and he waited on the prison governor at meals in my outermost room.

One day, when the woman had come down from above, where she had been emptying the utensils in my room, and the doors were locked, she said to me: 'This Christian who is here has been just speaking with me upstairs. He says he cannot describe the Doctor's miserable condition, how severe is his imprisonment, and what bad food he gets, since Balcke left. He has no longer any candle except during meal-time, and no light reaches him but through the hole in his door leading into the outer room. He begged me to tell you of it; his eyes were full of tears, such great pity had he for him.' I said: 'That is all that one can do, and it is the duty of a Christian to sympathise with the misfortune of one's neighbour. The poor man must have patience as well as I, and we must console ourselves with a good conscience. The harder he suffers the sooner comes the end; he is an old man.'

Two days afterwards she came again with some talk from Christian. The Doctor sent me his compliments, and he asked constantly if I was well; she said also, that Christian would give him anything I liked to send him. I regarded this as a snare, but I said that Christian could take a piece of roast meat when the prison governor was with me, and that he should look about for something into which wine could be poured, and then she could secretly give some from my glass, and beg Christian to give my compliments to the Doctor. This was accepted, and I had rest for a few days. Christian conformed entirely to the woman, caused a dispute between her and the tower-warder, and made it immediately right again; so that there was no lack of chatter. At last she said one day: 'That is an honest fellow, this Christian! He has told me how innocently he got into prison and was sentenced. He is afraid that you may think he eats and drinks all that you send to the Doctor. He swore with a solemn oath that he would be true to you, if you would write a word to the Doctor.[96] I hope you do not doubt my fidelity!' and she began to swear and to curse herself if she would deceive me. She said, he had taken a no less solemn oath, before she believed him. I said: 'I have nothing to write to him. I do not know what I have to write.' 'Oh!' said she, 'write only two words, so that the old man may see that he can trust him! If you wish for ink, Christian can give you some.' I replied: 'I have something to write with, if I choose to do so, and I can write without ink and paper.'

[96] In the margin is this note: 'Christian had at that time given me some pieces of flint which are so sharp that I can cut fine linen with them by the thread. The pieces are still in my possession, and with this implement I executed various things.'

This she could not understand; so I took some pieces of sugared almonds, and made some letters on them with the large pin, placing on four almonds the words: _non ti fidar_! I divided the word _fidar_, and placed half on each almond. I had in this way rest for a day, and somewhat to beguile the time. Whether the Doctor could not see what was written on the almonds, or whether he wished to test Christian's fidelity, I know not, but Christian brought the woman a slip of paper from the Doctor to me, full of lamentations at our condition, and stating that my daughter Anna Cathrina, or else Cassetta, were the cause of his misfortune.

I wished to know more of this, so I wrote to him desiring information (we wrote to each other in Italian). He replied that one or the other had left his letter lying somewhere on the table, where it was found and despatched; for that a letter of his was the cause of his misfortune. I wrote back to him that it was not credible, but that he was suspected of having corresponded with my lord, and hence his letters had been seized. The more I tried to impress this upon him the more opinionated he became,[97] and he wrote afterwards saying that it was a scheme of Cassetta's to get him into the net, in order to bring me out of it. When he began to write in this way, I acquired a strange opinion of him, and fancied he was trying to draw something out of me which he could bring forward; and I reflected for some days whether I should answer. At last I answered him in this strain, that no one knew better than he that I was not aware of any treason; that the knowledge as to how his correspondence with my lord had become known was of no use to him; that I had no idea why he was sentenced, and that no sentence had been passed on me. Some weeks elapsed before the Doctor wrote. At last he communicated to me in a few words the sentence passed upon him, and we corresponded from time to time with each other.

[97] In the margin is added: 'Such is his character.'

The prison governor became gradually more accessible, came in at every meal-time, and related all sorts of jokes and buffooneries, which he had carried on in his youth: how he had been a drummer, and had made a Merry Andrew of himself for my brother-in-law Count Pentz, and how he had enacted a dog for the sake of favour and money, and had crawled under the table, frightening the guests and biting a dog for a ducat's reward. When he had been drinking (which was often the case) he juggled and played Punch, sometimes a fortune-teller, and the like.

When Chresten the tower-warder, and Christian the prisoner, heard the prison governor carrying on his jokes, they did the same, and made such a noise with the woman in the antechamber that we could not hear ourselves speak. She sat on Christian's lap, and behaved herself in a wanton manner. One day she was not very well, and made herself some warm beer and bread, placing it outside on the stove. The prison governor was sitting with me and talking, Chresten and Christian were joking with her outside, and Christian was to stir the warm beer and bread, and taste if it was hot enough. Chresten said to Christian, 'Drink it up if you are thirsty.' The words were no sooner said than the deed was done, and almost at the same moment the prison governor got up and went away. When the door was locked, the woman seemed to be almost fainting. I thought she was ill, and I was fearful that she might die suddenly, and that the guilt of her death might be laid on me, and I asked quickly, 'Are you ill?' She answered, 'I am bad enough,' confirming it with a terrible oath and beginning to unbutton her jacket. Then I saw that she was angry, and I knew well that she would give vent to a burst of execrations, which was the case.

She cursed and scolded those who had so treated her; a poor sick thing as she was, and she had not had anything to eat or drink all day. I said, 'Be quiet, and you shall have some warm beer.' She swore with a solemn oath, asking how it was to be got here? it was summer and there was no fire in the stove, and it was no use calling, as no one could hear. I said, 'If you will be silent, I will cause the pot to boil.' 'Yes,' and she swore with another fearful oath, 'I can indeed be silent, and will never speak of it.' So I made her take three pieces of brick, which were lying behind the night-stool, and place on these her pot of beer and bread (everything that she was to do was to be done in silence; she might not answer me with words but only with signs, when I asked her anything). She sat down besides the pot, stirring it with a spoon. I sat always on my bed during the day, and then the table was placed before me. I had a piece of chalk, and I wrote various things on the table, asking from time to time whether the pot boiled. She kept peeping in and shaking her head. When I had asked three times and she turned to me and saw that I was laughing, she behaved herself like a mad woman, throwing the spoon from her hand, turning over the stool, tearing open her jacket, and exclaiming, 'The devil may be jeered at like this!' I said, 'You are not worthy of anything better, as you believe that I can practise magic.' 'Oh (and she repeated a solemn oath) had I not believed that you could practise magic, I should never have consented to be locked up with you; do you know that?' I reflected for a moment what answer to give, but I said nothing, smiled, and let her rave on.

Afterwards she wept and bemoaned her condition. 'Now, now,' I said, 'be quiet! I will make the pot boil without witchcraft.' And as we had a tinder-box, I ordered her to strike a light, and to kindle three ends of candles, which she was to place under the pot. This made the pot boil, and she kissed her hand to me and was very merry. Once or twice afterwards I gave her leave to warm beer in this way: it could not always be done, for if the wind blew against the window (which was opened with a long pike) the smoke could not pass away. I said, 'Remember your oath and do not talk of what takes place here, or the lights will be taken from us; at any rate we shall lose some of them.' She asserted that she would not. I heard nothing of it at the time, but some years afterwards I found that she had said that I had taken up two half-loose stones from the floor (this was afterwards related in another manner by a clergyman, as will be mentioned afterwards). She had also said that I had climbed up and looked at the rope-dancers in the castle square, which was true. For as Chresten one day told the woman that rope-dancers would be exhibiting in the inner castle yard, and she informed me of it and enquired what they were, and I explained to her, she lamented that she could not get a sight of them. I said it could easily be done, if she would not talk about it afterwards. She swore, as usual, with an oath that she would not. So I took the bedclothes from the bed and placed the boards on the floor and set the bed upright in front of the window, and the night-stool on the top of it. In order to get upon the bedstead, the table was placed at the side, and a stool by the table in order to get upon the table, and a stool upon the table, in order to get upon the night-stool, and a stool on the night-stool, so that we could stand and look comfortably, though not both at once. I let her climb up first, and I stood and took care that the bed did not begin to give way; she was to keep watch when I was on the top. I knew, moreover, well that the dancers did not put forth their utmost skill at first.[98]

[98] In the margin is added: 'These rope-dancers did things that I had never seen before. One had a basket attached to each leg, and in each basket was a boy of five years of age, and a woman fell upon the rope and jumped up again. But during the time of the other woman, I saw a man suspended by his chin and springing back upon the rope.'

I could see the faces of the King and Queen: they were standing in the long hall, and I wondered afterwards that they never turned their eyes to the place where I stood. I did not let the woman perceive that I saw them. During this woman's time I once had a desire to see the people go to the castle-church and return from it. The bed was again placed upright, and I sat for a long time on the top, until everyone had come out of church. The woman did not venture to climb up; she said that she had been afraid enough the last time, and was glad when she had come down.

The first time I received the holy communion during this prison governor's time, two brass candlesticks which did not match were brought in, with tallow candles. This displeased the woman, though she said nothing to me. But when at length she was compelled to take the sacrament, after more than three years had elapsed since she had been at the Lord's table, she begged Chresten, the tower-warder, to go to her daughter (who was in the service of a carpenter in the town), and to get the loan of a pair of beautiful brass candlesticks and a couple of wax candles. If she could also procure for her a fine linen cloth, she was to do her best; she would pay for it.

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.' Her behaviour 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 great sins, 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]

[99] In the margin is added: 'This was the priest who attended to the prisoners, and as he confessed her in the anteroom, I heard every word said by him, but not her replies.'

[100] In the margin is added: 'Her child.'

[101] In the margin is added: 'She was in every respect a malicious woman, and grudged a little meat to any prisoner. A poor sacristan was my neighbour in the Dark Church, and I gave her a piece of meat for him. She would not take it to him, which she could easily have done without anyone seeing. When I saw the meat afterwards, I found fault with her. Then she said, "Why should I give it to him? He has never given me anything. I get nothing for it." I said, "You give nothing of your own away." This sacristan was imprisoned because he had taken back his own horse, the man to whom he had sold it not having paid him. He sang all day long, and on Sunday he went through the service like a clergyman, with the responses, &c.'

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 the matter. 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 as she 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.

[102] In the margin is added: 'She had begged Chresten, for more than half a year before she left, to tell the prison-governor that her life hung on a thread; that I had a ball of clay in my handkerchief, and that I had threatened to break her head to pieces with it (I had said one day that a person with a ball of that kind could kill another). She invented several similar lies, as I subsequently heard.'

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 sympathy with 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.'

[103] In the margin is added: 'The pins I had obtained some time ago from the first woman. She had procured them with some needles, and, thinking to hide them from me, she carried them in her bosom in a paper and forgot them. In the evening when she dropped her petticoat to go to bed, the paper fell on the floor. I knew from the sound what it was. One Saturday, when she went upstairs with the night-stool, I took the pins out of her box, and she never ventured to ask for them; she saw me using them afterwards, and said nothing about them.'

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's comb; 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 had come 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.

[104] In the margin is noted: 'I said one day to the woman, "Were it not for the Queen, who would make the King angry with me, I would retaliate upon the prison governor for having decoyed Doctor Sperling. I would take the keys when he was sleeping, and wait for Chresten to come with the cups, and then I would go up the King's stairs and take the keys to the King, just as the lacquey did with the old prison-governor. But I should gain nothing from this King, and perhaps should be still more strictly confined."'

[105] In the margin is noted: 'At first, when this Karen did not know the prison governor, she did not venture so boldly to the prisoners in the Dark Church to give them anything, for she said, "The prison governor stares at me so." I said, "It is with him as with little children; they look staring at a thing, and do not know what it is." It is the case with him, he does not trouble himself about anything.'

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.

[106] In the margin is added: 'The hinges of my outer door are so far from the wall that they are open more than a hand's breadth, so that I have got in large things between them; and above they are still more open, and when I put my arm through the peep-hole of the inner door and stretch it out, I can reach to the top of the outer one, though the woman cannot.'

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 permission occasionally 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.

[107] In the margin: 'She has a curious manner of spelling. She cannot spell a word of three syllables; for when she has to add the two syllables to the third, she has forgotten the first. If I urge her, however, she can read the word correctly when she has spelt the first syllable. She spells words of two syllables and reads those of four.'

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 to her 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]

[108] In the margin: 'Once she asked me whether she could not get a book in which there was neither _q_ nor _x_, for she could not remember these letters. I answered, "Yes, if you will yourself have such a book printed."'

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 manner improved, 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.

[109] In the margin of the MS. is added: 'When this Karen came to me she left me no peace till I allowed her to clean the floor; for I feared that which happened, namely that the smell would cause sickness. In one place there was an accumulation of dirt a couple of feet thick. When she had loosened it, it had to remain till the door was opened. I went to bed, threw the bed-clothes over my head, and held my nose.'[E38]

[E38] 'Anno 1666, soon after Karen, Nil's daughter, came to me, we first discovered that there was a stone floor to my prison chamber, as she broke loose a piece of rubbish cemented together, and the stones were apparent. I had before thought it a loam floor. The former Karen, Ole's daughter, was one of those who spread the dirt but do not take it away. This Karen tormented me unceasingly, almost daily, that we must remove it everywhere, and that at once--it would soon be done. I was of opinion that it would make us ill if it was done all at once, as we required water to soften it, and the stench in this oppressive hole would cause sickness, but that it would be easier and less uncomfortable to remove one piece after another. She adhered to her opinion and to her desire, and thought that she could persuade the prison governor and the tower-warder to let the door remain open till all had been made clean. But when the tower-warder had brought in a tub of water, he locked the door. I went to bed and covered my face closely, while she scraped and swept up the dirt. The quantity of filth was incredible. It had been collecting for years, for this had been a malefactors' prison, and the floor had never been cleaned. She laid all the dirt in a heap in the corner, and there was as much as a cartload. It was left there until evening at supper-time, when the doors were opened. It was as I feared: we were both ill. The woman recovered first, for she could get out into the air, but I remained in the oppressive hole, where there was scarcely light. We gained this from it, that we were tormented day and night with numbers of fleas, and they came to her more than to me, so much so that she was often on the point of weeping. I laughed and made fun of it, saying that she would now have always something to do, and would have enough to beguile the time. We could not, however, work. The fleas were thick on our stockings, so that the colour of the stockings was not to be perceived, and we wiped them off into the water-basin. I then discovered that one flea produces another. For when I examined them, and how they could swim, I perceived that some small feet appeared behind the flea, and I thought it was a peculiar kind. At last I saw what it was, and I took the flea from which the small one was emerging on my finger, and it left behind evidences of birth: it hopped immediately, but the mother remained a little, until she recovered herself, and the first time she could not hop so far. This amusement I had more than once, till the fleas came to an end. Whether all fleas are born in this manner I cannot tell, but that they are produced from dirt and loam I have seen in my prison, and I have observed how they become gradually perfect and of the peculiar colour of the material from which they have been generated. I have seen them pair.'

It is scarcely necessary to say that, as far as natural history is concerned, Leonora has committed a mistake.

[110] In the margin is added: 'On the stick there was a tin candlestick, which was occasionally placed at the side of my bed. I used it for fixing my knitting.'[E39]

[E39] Leonora alludes to an anecdote told by 'Cicero in Tuscul. Quæst. lib. i. c. 43.' He recounts that the cynic Diogenes had ordered that his body should not be buried after his death but left uninterred. His friends asked, 'As a prey to birds and wild beasts?' 'Not at all,' answered Diogenes; place a stick by me, wherewith I may drive them away.' 'But how can you?' rejoined these; 'you won't know!' 'But what then,' was his reply, 'concern the attacks of the wild beasts me, when I don't feel them?'

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.

[111] In the margin: 'The girl was a prostitute to whom he had promised marriage, and the tower-warder--both the former one and Chresten--let her in to Christian, went out himself, and left them alone.'

[E40] This sister was Hedvig, who married Ebbe Ulfeldt, a relative of Corfitz Ulfeldt. He was obliged to leave Denmark in 1651, on account of irregularities in the conduct of his office, and went to Sweden, where he became a major-general in the army. He is the person alluded to in the Autobiography. Several of Leonora's children lived in Sweden with their relatives after the death of Corfitz Ulfeldt; but in 1668 the Danish Government obtained that they were forbidden the country.

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 the piece 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-time he 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.

[112] In the margin: 'In the time of his good humour he had procured me, for money and candles, all that I desired, so that I had both knife and scissors, besides silk, thread, and various things to beguile the time. This vexed him afterwards.'

[E41] The title 'Herr' was then only given to noblemen and clergy. Master means 'magister,' and was an academical title.

[E42] The original has here an untranslatable play upon words. _Leth_ is a family name; and the woman says 'I am one of the Letter (the Leths),' but laughter is in Danish 'Latter.'

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 more money; 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.'

[113] In the margin: 'Immediately after the girl had been in Skaane, he gave her a box full of pieces of wax, on which were the impressions of all the tower keys; and amongst them was written, "My girl will have these made in Skaane." I had this from the woman, who was just then carrying up the night-stool, and on the following Saturday I gave the box back with many thanks, saying I did not care to escape from the tower in this way. This did not please him, as I well saw.'

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 down horrified 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.

[114] In the margin is added: 'At this time there was a peasant imprisoned in the Dark Church for having answered the bailiff of the manor with bad language. I sent him food. He was a great rogue. I know not whether he were incited by others, but he told Karen that if I would write to my children, he would take care of the letter. I sent him word that I thanked him; I had nothing to say to them and nothing to write with. The rogue answered, "Ah so! Ah so!"'

[E43] The newspapers in question were probably German papers which were published in Copenhagen at that time weekly, or even twice a week; the Danish _Mercurius_ (a common title for newspapers) was a monthly publication.

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 prison governor. 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!'

[115] In the margin: 'It was wonderful that the governor did not hear the noise which Christian made. He was telling me, I remember, at the time, how he had frightened one of the court servants with a mouse in a box.'

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 of Chresten's hand and locking my door, and this at the time when he began to make himself so angry.)

[116] In the margin is added: 'He enticed the prison governor to throw a kitten that I had down from the top of the tower, and he laughed at me ironically as he told the woman of his manly act, and said, "The cat was mangy! the cat was mangy!" I would not let him see that it annoyed me.'

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.

[117] In the margin is added: '1666. While Karen, Nil's daughter, waited on me, a Nuremberger was my neighbour in the Dark Church; he was accused of having coined base money. She carried food to him every day. He sang and read day and night, and sang very well. He sang the psalm 'Incline thine ear unto me, O Lord,' slowly at my desire. I copied it, and afterwards translated it into Danish. And as he often prayed aloud at night and confessed his sins, praying God for forgiveness and exclaiming again and again, 'Thou must help me, God! Yes, God, thou must help me, or thou art no God. Thou must be gracious;' thus hindering me from sleep, I sent him word through Karen to pray more softly, which he did. He was taken to the Holm for some weeks, and was then set at liberty.

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 disgrace could 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 gladly die by the hand of the executioner; but that I, and she, and Chresten, should not escape without hurt.

[118] In the MS. this date '1667' is in the _margin_, not in the text.

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]

[119] In the margin is added: 'This very hymn was afterwards the cause of Christian's being again well-behaved, as he subsequently himself told me, for he heard me one day singing it, and he said that his heart was touched, and that tears filled his eyes. I had at that time no other writing-materials than I have before mentioned.'

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 of the 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 was almost 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 he knew 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.

[120] What he meant by it I know not; perhaps he meant that I should die in misery, and that he should live in freedom. That anticipation has been just reversed, for his godless life in his liberty threw him subsequently into despair, so that he shot himself. Whether God will give me freedom in this world is known to Him alone.

[121] In the margin is added: 'He could not prevent his boy Paaske from having a piece of meat placed for him in front of the door.'

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 did not 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.

[122] In the margin is added: 'The bride had supplicated for me at Nykjöbing, but had not gained her object. This was thought to be dangerous both for the land and people.'

[123] In the margin is added: 'It was a Sunday; this was the honour he showed to God. He went into the wine-house instead of into God's house. He came out about twelve o'clock.'

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.

[E44] His name was Torslev; see the Introduction and the Autobiography.

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 was to 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.

[E45] The name is in blanco; she was probably the Catharina Wolf which is mentioned in the Preface.

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]

[124] In the margin is added: 'A few months after she had come to me, she had an attack of ague. She wept, and was afraid. I was well satisfied with her, and thought I would see what faith could do, so I wrote something on a slip of paper and hung it round her neck. The fever left her, and she protested that all her bodily pains passed all at once into her legs when I hung the paper round her neck. Her legs immediately became much swollen.'

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 being engaged 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.

[E46] Walter's participation in the plot of Dina is mentioned in the Introduction. He was then ordered to leave the country, but afterwards obtained a pardon and permission to return. He does not seem to have availed himself of this till the year 1668; but his conduct was very suspicious, and he was at once arrested and placed in the Blue Tower, where he died towards the end of April 1670.

The two before-mentioned quarrelled together, so that Walter was placed in the Witch Cell with the Swede, and the Frenchman was 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 through Uldrich Christian 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]

[125] In the margin is added: 'When the priest left me, he spoke with Walter in front of the grated hole, told him of my desire, and its probable result. Walter laughed ironically, and said, "My hair will not stand on end for fear of that matter being mooted again. The Queen knows that full well. Say that too!" While Walter was in the Witch Cell hole, he had written to the Queen, but the King received the paper.'

[E47] Leonora alludes, no doubt, to the Queen Sophia Amalia.

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 he was entitled to the food that was left; but he was ready to forego this, so long as he could annoy the others.)

[126] In the margin is noted: 'I looked through a hole in my outermost door at the time that Walter was brought up in the Dark Church. He wept aloud. I afterwards saw him once in front of the hole of the door of his cell. He was very dirty, and had a large beard full of dirt, very clotted.'

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 office _par 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 wish me 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.

[127] In the margin is added: 'From books which had been secretly lent me, and I did so with the pen and ink I have before mentioned, on any pieces of paper which I happened to procure.'

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 for breakfast, 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.

[128] In the margin is noted: 'Chresten was not well satisfied with the woman, for in her time he never received a draught of wine, so that he once stole the wine from her can and substituted something impure in its place; at this she made a great noise, begged me for God's sake to give her leave to strike Chresten with the can. She did not gain permission to do so; she told Chresten afterwards that she had not dared to do it, for my sake. She had a great scar on one cheek, which a soldier had once given her for a similar act.'

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 God help 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 arranged it six 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 soon be 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 in the 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.

[129] In the margin is added: 'At this time I had six prisoners for my neighbours. Three were peasants from Femeren, who were accused of having exported some sheep; the other three were Danish. They were divided in two parties, and as the Danes were next the door, I gave them some food; they had moreover been imprisoned some time before the others. When the Danes, according to their custom, sang the morning and evening psalms, the Germans growled forth with all their might another song in order to drown their voices; they generally sang the song of Dorothea.' [E48]

[E48] The song of St. Dorothea exists in many German and Danish versions.

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 be liberated 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]

[E49] The feast of St. Martin is supposed the proper time for killing pigs in Denmark. It is reported that when Corfitz Uldfeldt, in 1652, had published a defence of his conduct previously to his leaving Denmark the year before, he sent a copy to Peder Vibe, one of his principal adversaries, with this inscription:--

Chaque pourceau a son St. Martin; Tu n'échapperas pas, mais auras le tien.

[130] In the margin is added: 'As I was to receive clothes, I asked for mourning clothes. Then the prison governor asked me for whom I wished to mourn, and this in a most ironical manner. I answered: "It is not for your aunt; it is not for me to mourn for her, although your aunt has been dead long. I think you have as good reason for wearing mourning as I." He said he would report it. I did not receive them at once.'

[131] In the margin is added: 'Chresten showed me once some bread, from which Walter had taken the crumb, and had filled it full of straw and dirt, in fact, of the very worst kind.'

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 governor began immediately to pay me less respect, when he perceived that my liberation was not expected.

[132] In the margin is added; 'The prison governor also severely reprimanded the woman because she had told me that the King was dead; that it would not go as well with me as I thought. She gave him word for word.'

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 (such as 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.'

[133] In the margin is added: 'Among his terrible curses was one that his tongue might be paralysed if he had not spoken for me. The following year God struck him with paralysis of the tongue; he had a stroke from anger, and lived eight days afterwards; he was in his senses, but he was not able to speak, and he died; but he lived to see the day when another clergyman administered the holy communion to me.'

[134] In the margin is added: 'I saw now that this was the cause of Balcke's dismissal.'

Upon this he was quite silent, and I said: 'You have given me a good preparation; now, in God's name!' Then I made my confession, and he administered his office and went away without any other farewell than giving me his hand. I learned afterwards that before M. Buck came to me he went to the prison governor, who was in bed, and begged him to tell Knud, who was at that time page of the chamber,[E50] what a sacramental woman I was; how I had dug a hole in the floor in order to speak with the doctor (which was an impossibility), and how I had practised climbing up and looking out on the square. He begged him several times to tell this to the page of the chamber: 'That is a sacramental woman!'[135]

[E50] This Knud was the favourite of King Christian V., Adam Levin Knuth, one of the many Germans who then exercised a most unfavourable influence on the affairs of Denmark.

[135] In the margin is added: 'Chresten, who was ill satisfied both with Karen and with me, gave us a different title one day, when he was saying something to one of the house-servants, upon which the latter asked him who had said it? Chresten answered, 'She who is kept up there for her.' When I was told of this, I laughed and said, 'That is quite right, we are two "shes."'

In the end of April in the same year my door was opened one afternoon, and the prison governor came in with some ladies, who kept somewhat aside until he had said, 'Here are some of the maids of honour, who are permitted to speak to you.' There came in first a young lady whom I did not know. Next appeared the Lady Augusta of Glücksburg, whom I recognised at once, as she was but little altered. Next followed the Electoral Princess of Saxony, whom I at once recognised from her likeness to her royal father, and last of all our gracious Queen, whom I chiefly looked at, and found the lineaments of her countenance just as Peder Jensen had described them. I saw also a large diamond on her bracelet, and one on her finger, where her glove was cut. Her Majesty supported herself against the folding table as soon as she had greeted me. Lady Augusta ran up and down into every corner, and the Electoral Princess remained at the door. Lady Augusta said: 'Fye, what a disgusting room this is! I could not live a day in it. I wonder that you have been able to endure it so long.' I answered, 'The room is such as pleases God and his Majesty, and so long as God will I shall be able to endure it.' She began a conversation with the prison governor, who was half tipsy, and spoke with him about Balcke's marriage, whose wedding with his third wife was taking place on that very day; she spoke against marrying so often, and the prison governor replied with various silly speeches. She asked me if I was plagued with fleas. I replied that I could furnish her with a regiment of fleas, if she would have them. She replied hastily with an oath, and swore that she did not want them.

Her question made me somewhat ironical, and I was annoyed at the delight she exhibited at my miserable condition; so when she asked me whether I had body or wall lice, I answered her with a question, and enquired whether my brother-in-law Hanibal Sehested was still alive? This question made her somewhat draw in, for she perceived that I knew her. She made no answer. The Electoral Princess, who probably had heard of my brother-in-law's intrigues with Lady Augusta,[E51] went quickly up to the table (the book lay on it, in which Karen used to read, and which she had brought in with her), took the book, opened it and asked whether it was mine. I replied that it belonged to the woman whom I had taught to read, and as I gave the Electoral Princess her fitting title of Serene Highness, Lady Augusta said: 'You err! You are mistaken; she is not the person whom you think.' I answered, 'I am not mistaken.' After this she said no more, but gave me her hand without a word. The gracious Queen looked sadly on, but said nothing. When her Majesty gave me her hand, I kissed it and held it fast, and begged her Majesty to intercede for me, at any rate for some alleviation of my captivity. Her Majesty replied not with words, but with a flood of tears. The virtuous Electoral Princess cried also; she wept very sorrowfully. And when they had reached the anteroom and my door was closed, both the Queen and the Electoral Princess said, 'It is a sin to treat her thus!' They shuddered; and each said, 'Would to God that it rested with me! she should not stay there.' Lady Augusta urged them to go away, and mentioned it afterwards to the Queen Dowager, who said that I had myself to thank for it; I had deserved to be worse treated than this.

[E51] Hannibal Sehested was dead already in 1666, as Leonora was no doubt well aware. The whole passage seems to indicate that he is supposed to have had some love-intrigue with the duchess. Nothing has transpired on this subject from other sources, but it is certain that her husband, Duke Ernst Gynther, for some time at least, was very unfriendly disposed to Hannibal Sehested.

When the King's funeral was over, and the Queen Dowager had left the castle, I requested the prison governor that he should execute my message and solicit another clergyman for me, either the chaplain of the castle or the arsenal chaplain, or the one who usually attended to the prisoners; for if I could get no other than M. Buck, they must take the sin on their own heads, for that I would not again confess to him. A short time elapsed, but at length the chaplain of the castle, at that time M. Rodolff Moth, was assigned me. God, who has ever stood by me in all my adversity, and who in my sorrow and distress has sent me unexpected consolation, gave me peculiar comfort in this man. He consoled me with the Word of God; he was a learned and conversable man, and he interceded for me with his Majesty. The first favour which he obtained for me was, that I was granted another apartment on July 16, 1671, and Bishop D. Jesper's postil.

He afterwards by degrees obtained still greater favours for me. I received 200 rix-dollars as a gift, to purchase such clothes for myself as I desired, and anything I might wish for to beguile the time.[136]

[136] In the margin is noted: 'Some of my money I expended on books, and it is remarkable that I obtained from M. Buck's books (which were sold by auction) among others the great Martilegium, in folio, which he would not lend me. I excerpted and translated various matters from Spanish, Italian, French, and German authors. I especially wrote out and translated into Danish the female personages of different rank and origin, who were mentioned with praise by the authors as valiant, true, chaste and sensible, patient, steadfast and scholarly.' [E52]

[E52] The Martilegium was probably a German history of Martyrs, entitled 'Martilogium (for martyrologium) der Heiligen' (Strasburg 1484, fol.). The extracts to which she refers were no doubt her earliest collections for her work on Heroines.

In this year her Majesty the Queen became pregnant, and her Majesty's mother, the Landgravine of Hesse, came to be with her in her confinement. On September 6 her Serene Highness visited me in my prison, at first wishing to remain incognito. She had with her a Princess of Curland, who was betrothed to the son of the Landgravine; her lady in waiting, a Wallenstein by birth; and the wife of her master of the household. The Landgravine greeted me with a kiss, and the others followed her example. I did not at that time recognise the wife of the master of the household, but she had known me formerly in my prosperity at the Hague, when she had been in the service of the Countess Leuenstein, and the tears stood in her eyes.

The Landgravine lamented my hard fate and my unhappy circumstances. I thanked her Serene Highness for the gracious sympathy she felt with me, and said that she might help much in alleviating my fetters, if not in liberating me from them entirely. The Landgravine smiled and said, 'I see well you take me for another than I am.' I said, 'Your Serene Highness's deportment and appearance will not allow you to conceal your rank, were you even in peasant's attire.' This pleased her; she laughed and jested, and said she had not thought of that. The lady in waiting agreed with me, and said that I had spoken very justly in saying that I had recognised her by her royal appearance. Upon this the Landgravine said, 'You do not know her?' pointing to the Princess of Curland. She then said who she was, and afterwards who her lady in waiting was, and also the wife of the master of the household, who was as I have before mentioned. She spoke of the pity which this lady felt for me, and added 'Et moy pas moins.' I thanked her 'Altesse très-humblement et la prioit en cette occasion de faire voir sa généreuse conduite.' Her Serene Highness looked at the prison governor as though she would say that we might speak French too long; she took off her glove and gave me her hand, pressing mine and saying, 'Croyez-moy, je fairez mon possible.' I kissed her Serene Highness's hand, and she then took leave of me with a kiss.

The virtuous Landgravine kept her word, but could effect nothing. When her Majesty the Queen was in the perils of childbirth, she went to the King and obtained from him a solemn promise that if the Queen gave birth to a son I should receive my liberty. On October 11, in the night between one and two o'clock, God delivered her Majesty in safety of our Crown Prince. When all present were duly rejoicing at the Prince's birth, the Landgravine said, 'Oh! will not the captive rejoice!' The Queen Dowager enquired 'Why?' The Landgravine related the King's promise. The Queen Dowager was so angry that she was ill. She loosened her jacket, and said she would return home; that she would not wait till the child was baptised. Her coach appeared in the palace square. The King at length persuaded her to remain till the baptism was over, but he was obliged to promise with an oath that I should not be liberated. This vexed the virtuous Landgravine not a little, that the Queen should have induced her son to break his promise; and she persisted in saying that a king ought to keep his vow. The Queen Dowager answered, 'My son has before made a vow, and this he has broken by his promise to your Serene Highness.' The Landgravine said at last: 'If I cannot bring about the freedom of the prisoner, at least let her, at my request, be removed to a better place, with somewhat more liberty. It is not to the King's reputation that she is imprisoned there. She is, after all, a king's daughter, and I know that much injustice is done to her.' The Queen Dowager was annoyed at these words, and said, 'Now, she shall not come out; she shall remain where she is!' The Landgravine answered, 'If God will, she will assuredly come out, even though your Majesty may will it not;' so saying, she rose and went out.

On October 18 the lady in waiting, Wallenstein, sent for Peder Jensen Tötzlöff, and delivered to him by command a book entitled, D. Heinrich Müller's 'Geistliche Erquickstunden,'[E53] which he gave me with a gracious message from the Landgravine. On the same day I sent her Serene Highness, through Tötzlöff, my dutiful thanks, and Tötzlöff took the book back to the lady in waiting, with the request that she would endeavour to prevail on her Highness to show me the great favour of placing her name and motto in the book, in remembrance of her Highness's generosity and kindness. I lamented my condition in this also, that from such a place I could not spread abroad her Serene Highness's praise and estimable benefits, and make the world acquainted with them; but that I would do what I could, and I would include her Serene Highness and all her family in my prayers for their welfare both of soul and body. (This I have done, and will do, so long as God spares my life.)

[E53] 'Hours of Spiritual Refreshment.' This very popular book of devotion was first published in 1664, and had an extraordinary run both in Germany and, through translations, in Denmark. The last Danish extract of it was published in 1846, and reached the third edition in 1856.

On October 23 I received the book back through Tötzlöff, and I found within it the following lines, written by the Landgravine's own hand:

1671.

Ce qui n'est pas en ta puissance Ne doit point troubler ton repos; Tu balances mal à propos Entre la crainte et l'espérance. Laisse faire ton Dieu et ton roy, Et suporte avec passience ce qu'il résoud pour toy.

Je prie Dieu de vous faire cette grâce, et que je vous puisse tesmoigner combien je suis,

Madame, vostre très-affectionée à vous servir, {Monogram}

The book is still in my possession, and I sent word through Tötzlöff to the lady in waiting to request her to convey my most humble thanks to her Highness; and afterwards, when the Landgravine was about to start on her journey, to commend me to her Serene Highness's favour.

In the same year, 1671, Karen, Nils' daughter, left me on account of ill health. For one night a woman was with me named Margrete, who was a serf from Holstein. She had run away from her master. She was a very awkward peasant woman, so towards evening on the following day she was sent away, and in her place there came a woman named Inger, a person of loose character. This woman gave herself out as the widow of a non-commissioned officer, and that she had long been in service at Hamburg, and nursed lying-in women. It happened with her, as is often the case, that one seeks to obtain a thing, and that to one's own vexation. Chresten had spoken for this woman with the prison governor, and had praised her before me, but the prison governor took upon another recommendation the before-mentioned Margrete. So long as there was hope that the Landgravine might obtain my freedom, this woman was very amenable, but afterwards she began by degrees to show what was in her, and that it was not for nothing that she resembled Dina.

She caused me annoyance of various kinds, which I received with patience, thinking within myself that it was another trial imposed by God upon me, and Dina's intrigues often came into my mind, and I thought, 'Suppose she should devise some Dina plot?' (She is capable of it, if she had only an instigator, as Dina had.) Among other annoyances, which may not be reckoned among the least, was this: I was one day not very well, having slept but little or not at all during the night, and I had lain down to sleep on the bed in the day; and she would give me no rest, but came softly past me in her socks, and in order to wake me teased a dog which I had,[137] so that he growled. I asked her why she grudged my sleeping? She answered, 'I did not know that you were asleep.' 'Why, then,' I said, 'did you go by in your stockings?' She replied, 'If you saw that, then you were not asleep,' and she laughed heartily by herself. (She sat always in front of my table with her back turned to me; whether it was because she had lost one eye that she sat in that position to the light, I know not.)

[137] In the margin is added: 'This dog was of an Icelandic breed, not pretty, but very faithful and sagacious. He slept every afternoon on the stool, and when she had fallen asleep, she let her hands hang down. Then the dog would get up and run softly and bite her finger till the blood came. If she threw down her slippers, he would take one and sit upon it. She never got it back again without a bloody finger.'

I did not care for any conversation with her, so I lay still; and when she thought I was asleep, she got up again and teased the dog. I said, 'You tax my patience sorely; but if once my passion rises, you will certainly get something which will astonish you, you base accursed thing!' 'Base accursed thing,' she repeated to herself with a slight laugh. I prayed to God that he would restrain me, so that I might not lay violent hands on this base creature. And as I had the other apartment (as I have before mentioned),[138] I went out and walked up and down between four and five o'clock. She washed and splashed outside, and spilled the water exactly where I was walking. I told her several times to leave her splashing, as she spilled the water in all directions on the floor, so that I made my clothes dirty, and often there was not a drop of water for my dog to drink, and the tower-warder had to fetch her water from the kitchen spring. This was of no avail. One day it occurred to her, just as the bell had sounded four, to go out and pour all the water on the floor, and then come back again. When I went to the door, I perceived what she had done. Without saying a word, I struck her first on one cheek and then on the other, so that the blood ran from her nose and mouth, and she fell against her bench, and knocked the skin from her shin-bone. She began to be abusive, and said she had never in her life had such a box on her ears. I said immediately, 'Hold your tongue, or you will have another like it! I am now only a little angry, but if you make me really angry I shall strike you harder.' She was silent for the time, but she caused me all the small annoyance she could.

[138] In the margin is this note: 'In the year 1672, on the 4th May, one of the house-servants was arrested for stealing. Adam Knudt, at that time gentleman of the chamber, himself saw him take several ducats early one morning from the King's trousers, which were hanging against the walls. He was at first for some hours my neighbour in the Dark Church. He was then placed in the Witch Cell, and as he was to be tortured, he received secret warning of it (which was forbidden), so that when the executioner came he was found to have hung himself. That is to say, he was said to have hung himself, though to all appearance this was not possible; he was found with a cloth round his neck, which was a swaddling-cloth belonging to one of Chresten, the tower-warder's, children. Chresten became my neighbour, and was ostensibly brought to justice, but he was acquitted and reinstated in his office.

I received it all with gentleness, fearing that I might lay violent hands on her. She scarcely knew what to devise to cause me vexation; she had a silver thimble on which a strange name was engraved; she had found it, she said, in a dust-heap in the street. I once asked her where she had found some handkerchiefs which she had of fine Dutch linen, with lace on them, which likewise were marked with another name; they were embroidered with blue silk, and there was a different name on each. She had bought them, she said, at an auction at Hamburg.[139] I thought that the damage she had received on one of her eyes might very likely have arisen from her having 'found' something of that kind,[E54] and as I soon after asked her by what accident she had injured her eye, she undoubtedly understood my question well, for she was angry and rather quiet, and said, 'What injury? There is nothing the matter with my eye; I can, thank God, see with both.' I let the matter rest there. Soon after this conversation she came down one day from upstairs, feeling in her pocket, though she said nothing until the afternoon, when the doors were locked, and then she looked through all her rubbish, saying 'If I only knew where it could be?' I asked what she was looking for. 'My thimble,' she said. 'You will find it,' I said; 'only look thoroughly!' And as she had begun to look for it in her pockets before she had required it, I thought she might have drawn it out of her pocket with some paper which she used, and which she had bought. I said this, but it could not be so.

[139] In the margin is added: 'She was so proud of her knowledge of German that when she sang a morning hymn (which, however rarely happened) she interspersed it with German words. I once asked her if she knew what her mother's cat was called in Danish, and I said something at which she was angry.

[E54] It was a common superstition that persons who understood the art of showing by magic the whereabouts of stolen goods, had the power, by use of their formulas alone, to deprive the thief of an eye.

On the following day, towards noon, she again behaved as if she were looking for it upstairs; and when the door was closed she began to give loose to her tongue, and to make a long story about the thimble, where it could possibly be. 'There was no one here, and no one came in except us two;' and she gave me to understand that I had taken it; she took her large box which she had, and rummaged out everything that was in it, and said, 'Now you can see that I have not got it.' I said that I did not care about it, whether she had it or no, but that I saw that she accused me of stealing. She adhered to it, and said, 'Who else could have taken it? There is no one else here, and I have let you see all that is mine, and it is not there.' Then for the first time I saw that she wished that I should let her see in the same manner what I had in my cardbox, for she had never seen anything of the work which I had done before her time. I said, 'I do not care at all what you do with your thimble, and I respect myself too much to quarrel with you or to mind your coarse and shameless accusation. I have, thank God, enough in my imprisonment to buy what I require, &c. But as you perhaps have stolen it, you now imagine that it has been stolen again from you, if it be true that you have lost it.' To this she made no answer, so that I believe she had it herself, and only wanted by this invention to gain a sight of my things. As it was the Christmas month and very cold, and Chresten was lighting a fire in the stove before the evening meal, I said to him in her presence, 'Chresten, you are fortunate if you are not, like me, accused of stealing, for you might have found her thimble upstairs without having had it proclaimed from the pulpit; it was before found by Inger, and not announced publicly.'

This was like a spark to tinder, and she went to work like a frantic being, using her shameless language. She had not stolen it, but it had been stolen from her; and she cursed and swore. Chresten ordered her to be silent. He desired her to remember who I was, and that she was in my service. She answered, 'I will not be silent, not if I were standing before the King's bailiff!' The more gently I spoke, the more angry was she; at length I said, 'Will you agree with me in one wish?--that the person who last had the thimble in her possession may see no better with her left eye than she sees with her right.' She answered with an oath that she could see with both eyes. I said, 'Well, then, pray God with me that she may be blind in both eyes who last had it.' She growled a little to herself and ran into the inner room, and said no more of her thimble, nor did I. God knows that I was heartily weary of this intercourse.

I prayed God for patience, and thought 'This is only a trial of patience. God spares me from other sorrow which I might have in its stead.' I could not avail myself of the occasion of her accusing me of theft to get rid of her, but I saw another opportunity not far off. The prison governor came one day to me with some thread which was offered for sale, rather coarse, but fit for making stockings and night-waistcoats. I bought two pounds of it, and he retained a pound, saying, 'I suppose the woman can make me a pair of stockings with it?' I answered in the affirmative (for she could do nothing else but knit). When he was gone, she said, 'There will be a pair of stockings for me here also, for I shall get no other pay.' I said, 'That is surely enough.' The stockings for the prison governor were finished. She sat one day half asleep, and made a false row round the stocking below the foot. I wanted her to undo it. 'No,' said she, 'it can remain as it is; he won't know but that it is the fashion in Hamburg.'[140]

[140] In the margin is added: 'There was no similar row on the other stocking. The prison governor never mentioned it.'

When his stockings were finished, she began a pair for herself of the same thread, and sat and exulted that it was the prison governor's thread. This, it seemed to me, furnished me with an opportunity of getting rid of her. And as the prison governor rarely came up, and she sent him down the stockings by Tötzlöff, I begged Tötzlöff to contrive that the prison governor should come up to me, and that he should seat himself on the woman's bed and arrange her pillow as if he wanted to lean against it (underneath it lay her wool). This was done. The prison governor came up, took the knitting in his hand, and said to Inger, 'Is this another pair of stockings for me?' 'No, Mr. Prison governor,' she answered, 'they are for me. You have got yours. I have already sent you them.' 'But,' said he, 'this is of my thread; it looks like my thread.' She protested that it was not his thread. As he went down to fetch his stockings and the scales, she said to me, 'That is not his thread; it is mine now,' and laughed heartily. I thought, 'Something more may come of this.'

The prison governor came with the scales and his stockings, compared one thread with the other, and the stockings weighed scarcely half a pound. He asked her whether she had acted rightly? She continued to assert that it was her thread; that she had bought it in Hamburg, and had brought it here. The prison governor grew angry, and said that she lied, and called her a bitch. She swore on the other hand that it was not his thread; that she would swear it by the Sacrament. The prison governor went away; such an oath horrified him. I was perfectly silent during this quarrel. When the prison governor had gone, I said to the woman, 'God forbid! how could you say such words? Do you venture to swear a falsehood by the Sacrament, and to say it in my presence, when I know that it is the prison governor's thread? What a godless creature you are!' She answered, with a half ridiculous expression of face, 'I said I would take the Sacrament upon it, but I am not going to do so.' 'Oh Dina!' I thought, 'you are not like her for nothing; God guard me from you!' And I said, 'Do you think that such light words are not a sin, and that God will not punish you for them?' She assumed an air of authority, and said, 'Is the thread of any consequence? I can pay for it; I have not stolen it from him; he gave it to me himself. I have only done what the tailors do; they do not steal; it is given to them. He did not weigh out the thread for me.' I answered her no more than 'You have taken it from him; I shall trouble myself no more about it;' but I begged Tötzlöff to do all he could that I should be rid of her, and have another in her place of a good character.

Tötzlöff heard that Karen had a desire to return to me; he told me so. The prison governor was satisfied with the arrangement. It was kept concealed from Inger till all was so settled that Karen could come up one evening at supper-time. When the prison governor had unlocked the door, and had established himself in the inner room, and the woman had come out, he said: 'Now, Inger, pack your bundle! You are to go.' 'Yes, Mr. Prison governor,' she answered, and laughed, and brought the food to me, and told me what the prison governor had said, saying at the same time, 'That is his joke.' 'I heard well,' I answered, 'what he said; it is not his joke, it is his real earnestness.' She did not believe it; at any rate she acted as if she did not, and smiled, saying, 'He cannot be in earnest;' and she went out and asked the prison governor whether he was in earnest. He said, 'Go! go! there is no time for gossip!' She came into me again, and asked if I wished to be rid of her. I answered, 'Yes.' 'Why so?' she asked. I answered: 'It would take me too long to explain; the other woman who is to remain here is below.' 'At any rate,' said she, 'let me stay here over the night.' ('Ah, Dina!' I thought.) 'Not a quarter of an hour!' I answered; 'go and pack your things! That is soon done!' She did so, said no word of farewell, and went out of the door.

Thus Karen came to me for the third time, but she did not remain an entire year, on account of illness.[141]

[141] In the margin is noted: 'I must remember one thing about Karen, Nil's daughter. When anything gave her satisfaction, she would take up her book directly and read. I asked her whether she understood what she read. "Yes, of course," she answered, "as truly as God will bless you! When a word comes that I don't understand, I pass it over." I smiled a little in my own mind, but said nothing.'

In the year 1673 M. Moth became vice-bishop in Fyn. I lost much in him, and in his place came H. Emmeke Norbye, who became court preacher, and who had formerly been a comrade of Griffenfeldt; but Griffenfeldt did not acknowledge him subsequently, so that he could achieve nothing for me with Griffenfeldt.[E55] He one day brought me as answer (when I sent him word among other things that his Majesty would be gracious if only some one would speak for me), 'It would be as if a pistol had been placed at the King's heart, and he were to forgive it.'

[E55] Griffenfeldt, who was then at the height of his power, was the son of a wine-merchant, by name Schumacher, but had risen by his talents alone to the highest dignities. He was ennobled under the name of Griffenfeldt, and was undoubtedly the ablest statesman Denmark ever possessed. Eventually he was thrust from his high position by an intrigue set on foot by German courtiers and backed by foreign influence. He was accused of treason and kept in prison from 1676 to 1698, the year before he died, to the great, perhaps irreparable damage, of his native country. The principal witness against him was a German doctor, Mauritius, a professional spy, who had served the Danish Government in this capacity. The year after the fall of Griffenfeld, he was himself arrested on a charge of perjury, forgery, and high treason, and placed in the Blue Tower; he was convicted and conducted to Bornholm, where he died. But Griffenfeldt, who had been convicted on his false testimony, was not liberated. Griffenfeldt's ability and patriotism cannot be doubted, but his personal character was not without blemish; and it is a fact that in his prosperity he disclaimed all connection with his earlier friends, and even his near relations.

In the same year my sister Elisabeth Augusta sent me a message through Tötzlöff and enquired whether I had a fancy for any fruit, as she would send me some. I was surprised at the message, which came to me from my sister in the tenth year of my captivity, and I said, 'Better late than never!' I sent her no answer.

One funny thing I will yet mention, which occurred in the time of Karen, Nil's daughter. Chresten, who had to make a fire in the stove an hour before supper (since it had no flue), so that the smoke could pass out at the staircase door before I supped, did not come one evening before six o'clock, and was then quite tipsy. And as I was sitting at the time near the stove in the outer apartment on a log of wood, which had been hewed as a seat, I said it was late to make the fire, as he must now go into the kitchen. He paid no attention to my gentle remark, until I threatened him with hard words, and ordered him to take the wood out. He was angry, and would not use the tongs to take the wood out, nor would he permit Karen to take them out with the tongs; but he tore them out with his hands, and said, 'Nothing can burn me.' And as some little time elapsed before the wood was extinguished, he began to fear that it would give little satisfaction if he so long delayed fetching the meal. He seated himself flat on the ground and was rather dejected; presently he burst out and said, 'Oh God, you who have had house and lands, where are you now sitting?' I said, 'On a log of wood!' He answered, 'I do not mean your ladyship!' I asked, 'Whom does your worship mean, then?' He replied, 'I mean Karen.' I laughed, and said no more.

To enumerate all the contemptuous conduct I endured would be too lengthy, and not worth the trouble. One thing I will yet mention of the tower-warder Chresten, who caused me great annoyance at the end of this tenth year of my imprisonment. Among other annoyances he once struck my dog, so that it cried. I did not see it, but I heard it, and the woman told me it was he who had struck the dog. I was greatly displeased at it. He laughed at this, and said, 'It is only a dog.' I gave him to understand that he struck the dog because he did not venture to strike me. He laughed heartily at the idea, and I said, 'I do not care for your anger so long as the prison governor is my friend' (this conversation took place while I was at a meal, and the prison governor was sitting with me, and Chresten was standing at the door of my apartment, stretching out his arms.) I said, 'The prison governor and you will both get into heavy trouble, if I choose. Do you hear that, good people?' (I knew of too many things, which they wished to hide, in more than one respect.) The prison governor sat like one deaf and dumb, and remained seated, but Chresten turned away somewhat ashamed, without saying another word. He had afterwards some fear of me, when he was not too intoxicated; for at such times he cared not what he said, as regards high or low. He was afterwards insolent to the woman, and said he would strike the dog, and that I should see him do so. This, however, he did not do.

Chresten's fool-hardiness increased, so that Peder Tötzlöff informed the prison governor of his bad behaviour, and of my complaints of the wild doings of the prisoners, who made such a noise by night that I could not sleep for it, for Chresten spent the night at his home, and allowed the prisoners to do as they chose. Upon this information, the prison governor placed a padlock upon the tower door at night, so that Chresten could not get out until the door was unlocked in the morning. This annoyed him, and he demanded his discharge, which he received on April 24, 1674; and in his place there came a man named Gert, who had been in the service of the prison governor as a coachman.

In this year, the ---- May, I wrote a spiritual 'Song in Remembrance of God's Goodness,' after the melody 'Nun ruhen alle Wälder.'

I.

My heart! True courage find! God's goodness bear in mind, And how He, ever nigh, Helps me my load to bear, Nor utterly despair Tho' in such heavy bonds I lie.

II.

Ne'er from my thoughts shall stray How once I lingering lay In the dark dungeon cell; My cares and bitter fears, And ridicule and tears, And God the Lord upheld me well.

III.

Think on my misery And sad captivity Thro' many a dreary year! Yet nought my heart distresses; The Lord He proves and blesses, And He protects me even here!

IV.

Come heart and soul elate! And let me now relate The wonders of God's skill! He was my preservation In danger and temptation, And kept me from impending ill.

V.

The end seemed drawing near, I wrung my hands with fear, Yet has He helped me e'er; My refuge and my guide, On Him I have relied, And He has ever known my care.

VI.

Thanks to Thee, fount of good! Thou canst no evil brood, Thy blows are fatherly; When cruel power oppressed me, Thy hand has ever blessed me, And Thou has sheltered me!

VII.

Before Thee, Lord, I lie; Give me my liberty Before my course is run; Thy Gracious Hands extend And let my suffering end! Yet not my will, but Thine, be done.

In this year, on July 25, his royal Majesty was gracious enough to have a large window made again in my inner apartment; it had been walled up when I had been brought into this chamber. A stove was also placed there, the flue of which passed out into the square. The prison governor was not well satisfied at this, especially as he was obliged to be present during the work; this did not suit his laziness. My doors were open during the time; it was twelve days before the work was finished. He grumbled, and did not wish that the window should be made as low as it had been before I was imprisoned here; I persuaded the mason's journeyman to cut down the wall as low as it had before been, which the prison governor perceived from the palace square, and he came running up and scolded, and was thoroughly angry. But it was not to be changed, for the window-frame was already made. I asked him what it mattered to him if the window was a stone lower; it did not go lower than the iron grating, and it had formerly been so. He would have his will, so that the mason walled it up a stone higher while the prison governor was there, and removed it again afterwards, for the window-frame, which was ready, would not otherwise have fitted.

In the same year Karen, Nil's daughter, left me for the third and last time, and in her stead came a woman named Barbra, the widow of a bookbinder. She is a woman of a melancholy turn. Her conscience is aroused sometimes, so that she often enumerates her own misdeeds (but not so great as they have been, and as I have found out by enquiry). She had two children, and it seems from her own account that she was to some extent guilty of their death, for she says: 'Who can have any care for a child when one does not love its father?' She left her husband two years before he died, and repaired to Hamburg, supporting herself by spinning; she had before been in the service of a princess as a spinning-maid. Her father is alive, and was bookbinder to the King's Majesty; he has just now had a stroke of paralysis, and is lying very ill. She has no sympathy with her father, and wishes him dead (which would perhaps be the best thing for him); but it vexes me that she behaves so badly to her sister, who is the wife of a tailor, and I often tell her that in this she is committing a double sin; for the needy sister comes from time to time for something to eat. If she does not come exactly on the evening which she has agreed upon, she gets nothing, and the food is thrown away upstairs. When at some length I place her sin before her, she says, 'That meat is bad.' I ask her why she let it get bad, and did not give it in time to her sister. To this she answers that her sister is not worthy of it. I predict evil things which will happen to her in future, as they have done to others whom I enumerate to her. At this she throws back her head and is silent.

At this time her Majesty the Queen sent me some silkworms to beguile the time. When they had finished spinning, I sent them back to her Majesty in a box which I had covered with carnation-coloured satin, upon which I had embroidered a pattern with gold thread. Inside, the box was lined with white taffeta. In the lid I embroidered with black silk a humble request that her Majesty would loose my bonds, and would fetter me anew with the hand of favour. Her Majesty the virtuous Queen would have granted my request had it rested with her.

The prison governor became gradually more sensible and accommodating, drank less wine, and made no jokes. I had peace within my doors. The woman sat during the day outside in the other apartment, and lay there also in the night, so that I began not to fret so much over my hard fate. I passed the year with reading, writing, and composing.

For some time past, immediately after I had received the yearly pension, I had bought for myself not only historical works in various languages, but I had gathered and translated from them all the famous female personages, who were celebrated as true, chaste, sensible, valorous, virtuous, God-fearing, learned, and steadfast; and in anno 1675, on January 9, I amused myself with making some rhymes to M. Thomas Kingo, under the title, 'To the much-famed Poet M. Thomas Kingo, a Request from a Danish Woman in the name of all Danish Women.' The request was this, that he would exhibit in befitting honour the virtuous and praiseworthy Danish women. There are, indeed, virtuous women belonging to other nations, but I requested only his praise of the Danish. This never reached Kingo; but if my good friend to whom I entrust these papers still lives, it will fall probably into your hands, my beloved children.

In the same year, on May 11, I wrote in rhyme a controversial conversation between Sense and Reason; entitled, 'Controversial Thoughts by the Captive Widow, or the Dispute between Sense and Reason.'

Nothing else occurred this year within the doors of my prison which is worth recording, except one event--namely, when the outermost door of the anteroom was unlocked in the morning for the sake of sweeping away the dirt and bringing in fresh water, and the tower-warder occasionally let it stand open till meal-time and then closed it again, it happened that a fire broke out in the town and the bells were tolled. I and the woman ran up to the top of the tower to see where it was burning.

When I was on the stairs which led up to the clock-work, the prison governor came, and with him was a servant from the silver-chamber. He first perceived my dog, then he saw somewhat of the woman, and thought probably that I was there also; he was so wise as not to come up the stairs, but remained below at the lowest holes, from whence one can look out over the town, and left me time enough to get down again and shut my door. Gert was sorry, and came afterwards to the door and told me of his distress. I consoled him, and said there was nothing to fear. Before the prison governor opened the door at noon, he struck Gert with his stick, so that he cried, and the prison governor said with an oath, 'Thou shalt leave.' When the prison governor came in, I was the first to speak, and I said: 'It is not right in you to beat the poor devil; he could not help it. The executioner came up as he was going to lock my door, and that made him forget to do so.' He threatened Gert severely, and said, 'I should not have minded it so much had not that other servant been with me.'

The words at once occurred to me which he had said to me a long time before, namely that no woman could be silent, but that all men could be silent (when he had asserted this, I had thought, if this be so, then my adversaries might believe that I, had I known of anything which they had in view, should not have been able to keep silence). So I now answered him thus: 'Well, and what does that signify? It was a man; they can all keep silence; there is no harm done.' He could not help laughing, and said, 'Well, you are good enough.' I then talked to him, and assured him that I had no desire to leave the tower without the King's will, even though day and night all the tower doors were left open, and I also said that I could have got out long ago, if that had been my design. Gert continued in his service, and the prison governor never told Gert to shut me in in the morning.[142]

[142] In the margin is noted: 'At my desire the prison governor gave me a rat whose tail he had cut off; this I placed in a parrot's cage, and gave it food, so that it grew very tame. The woman grudged me this amusement; and as the cage hung in the outer apartment, and had a wire grating underneath, so that the dirt might fall out, she burned the rat with a candle from below. It was easy to perceive it, but she denied it.'

At this time I had bought myself a clavicordium, and as Barbra could sing well, I played psalms and she sang, so that the time was not long to us. She taught me to bind books, so far as I needed.[E56]

[E56] The MS. itself is bound in a very primitive manner, which renders it probable that Leonora has done it herself.

My father confessor, H. Emmeke, became a preacher at Kiöge anno 1676. In the same year my pension was increased, and I received yearly 250 rix-dollars. It stands in the order that the 200 rix-dollars were to be used for the purchase of clothes and the remaining fifty to buy anything which might beguile the time.[E57] God bless and keep his gracious Majesty, and grant that he may live to enjoy many happy years.

[E57] It appears from the State accounts that ever since the year 1672 a sum of 250 dollars a year had been placed at her disposal. It would seem, therefore, that somehow or other a part of them had been unlawfully abstracted by someone during the first years.

Brant was at this time treasurer.

On December 17 in this same year Barbra left me, and married a bookbinder's apprentice; but she repented it afterwards. And as her husband died a year and a half after her marriage, and that suddenly, suspicion fell upon Barbra. She afterwards went to her brother's house and fell ill. Her conscience was awakened, and she sent for Tötzlöff and told almost in plain terms that she had poisoned her husband, and begged him to tell me so. I was not much astonished at it, for according to her own account she had before killed her own children; but I told Peder Tötzlöff that he was not to speak of it; if God willed that it should be made known, it would be so notwithstanding; the brother and the maid in the house knew it; he was not to go there again, even if she sent a message to him. She became quite insane, and lay in a miserable condition. The brother subsequently had her removed to the plague-house.

In Barbra's place there came to me a woman named Sitzel, daughter of a certain Klemming; Maren Blocks had brought about her employment, as Sitzel owed her money. She is a dissolute woman, and Maren gave her out as a spinster; she had a white cap on her head when she came up. Sitzel's debt to Maren had arisen in this way: that Maren--since Sitzel could make buttons, and the button-makers had quarrelled with her--obtained for her a royal licence in order to free her from the opposition of the button-makers, under the pretext that she was sickly. When the door was locked in the evening, I requested to see the royal licence which Maren had obtained for her. And when I saw that she was styled in it the sickly woman, I asked her what her infirmity was. She replied that she had no infirmity. 'Why, then,' I asked, 'have you given yourself out as sickly?' She answered, 'That was Maren Block's doing, in order to get for me the royal licence.' 'In the licence,' I said, 'you are spoken of as a married woman, and not as a spinster; have you, then, been seduced?' She hung her head and said softly, 'Yes.'

I was not satisfied. I said, 'Maren Block has obtained the royal licence for you by lies, and has brought you to me by lies; what, then, can I expect from your service?' She begged my pardon, promised to serve me well, and never to act contrary to my wishes. She is a dangerous person; there is nothing good in her; bold and shameless, she is not even afraid of fighting a man. She struck two button-makers one day, who wanted to take away her work, till they were obliged to run away. With me she had no opportunity of thus displaying her evil passions, but still they were perceptible in various ways. One day I warded off a scuffle between her and Maren Blocks; for when Maren Blocks had got back the money which she had expended on the royal licence for Sitzel, she wanted to remove her from me, and to bring another into her place; but I sent word to Maren Blocks that she must not imagine she could send me another whom I must take. It was enough that she had done this time.[143]

[143] In the margin stood originally the following note, which has afterwards been struck out: 'In this year, 1676, the prison governor married for the third time; he married a woman who herself had had two husbands. Anno 1677, Aug. 9, died my sister Elisabeth Augusta.'

In the place of H. Emmeke Norbye, H. Johan Adolf Borneman became palace-preacher; a very learned and sensible man, who now became my father confessor, and performed the duties of his office for the first time on April 10, 1677.

On October 9, in the same year, my father confessor was Magister Hendrich Borneman, dean of the church of Our Lady (a learned and excellent man), his brother H. Johan Adolf Borneman having accompanied the King's Majesty on a journey.

I have, thank God, spent this year in repose: reading, writing, and composing various things.

Anno 1678 it was brought about for me that my father-confessor, H. Johan Adolf Borneman, should come to me every six weeks and preach a short sermon.

In this year, on Easter-Day, Agneta Sophia Budde was brought to the tower. Her prison was above my innermost apartment. She was accused of having designed to poison the Countess Skeel; and as she was a young person, and had a waiting-woman in her attendance who was also young, they clamoured to such an extent all day that I had no peace for them. I said nothing, however, about it, thinking she would probably be quiet when she knew that her life was at stake. But no! she was merry to the day on which she was executed![144]

[144] On a piece of paper which is fastened to the MS. by a pin is the following note referring to the same matter: 'On March 4, in the same year 1678, a woman named Lucia, who had been in the service of Lady Rigitze Grubbe, became my neighbour. She was accused by Agneta Sophia Budde, as the person who at the instigation of her mistress had persuaded her to poison Countess F. Birrete Skeel, and that Lucia had brought her the poison. There was evidence as to the person from whom Lucia had bought the poison. This woman was a steady faithful servant. She received everything that was imposed upon her with the greatest patience, and held out courageously in the Dark Cell. She had two men as companions, both of whom cried, moaned and wept. From the Countess Skeel (who had to supply her with food) meat was sent her which was full of maggots and mouldy bread. I took pity on her (not for the sake of her mistress, for she had rendered me little good service, and had rewarded me evil for the benefits of former times, but out of sympathy). And I sent her meat and drink and money that she might soften Gert, who was too hard to her. She was tortured, but would not confess any thing of what she was accused, and always defended her mistress. She remained a long time in prison.[E58]

[E58] The acts of this famous trial are still in existence. Originally the quarrel arose out of the fact that the Countess Parsberg (born Skeel) had obtained a higher rank than Lady Grubbe, and was further envenomed by some dispute about a window in the house of the latter which looked down on the courtyard of the Countess's house. Regitze Grubbe (widow of Hans Ulrik Gyldenlöve, natural son of Christian IV. and half-brother of Ulrik Christian Gyldenlöve, as well as of Leonora Christina), persuaded another noble lady, Agnete Budde, through a servant, to poison Countess Parsberg. Miss Budde was beheaded, the girl Lucie was exiled, and Lady Grubbe relegated for life to the island of Bornholm.

In the same year, on the morning of July 9, the tower-warder Gert was killed by a thief who was under sentence of death, and to whom he had allowed too great liberty. I will mention this incident somewhat more in detail, as I had advised Gert not to give this prisoner so much liberty; but to his own misfortune he paid no attention to my advice. This thief had broken by night into the house of a clergyman, and had stolen a boiling-copper, which he had carried on his head to Copenhagen; he was seized with it at the gate in the morning, and was placed here in the tower. He was condemned to be hanged (he had committed various other thefts). The priest allowed the execution to be delayed; he did not wish to have him hanged. Then it was said he was to go to the Holm; but he remained long in prison. At first, and until the time that his going to the Holm was talked of, he was my neighbour in the Dark Church; he behaved quite as a God-fearing man, read (apparently) with devotion, and prayed to God for forgiveness of his sins with most profound sighs. The rogue knew that I could hear him, and I sent him occasionally something to eat. Gert took pity on him, and allowed him to go by day about the basement story of the tower, and shut him up at night again.

Afterwards he allowed him also at night to remain below. And as I had seen the thief once or twice when my door stood open, and he went past, it seemed to me that he had a murderous countenance; and for this reason, when I heard that the thief was not placed of an evening in the Dark Church, I said to Gert that he ventured too far, in letting him remain below at night; that there was roguery lurking in him; that he would certainly some day escape, and then, on his account, Gert would get into trouble. Gert was not of opinion that the thief wished to run away; he had no longer any fear of being hanged; he had been so delighted that he was to go to the Holm, there was no danger in it. I thought 'That is a delight which does not reach further than the lips,' and I begged him that he would lock him up at night. No; Gert feared nothing; he even went farther, and allowed the thief to go up the tower instead of himself, and attend to the clock-work.

Three days before the murder took place, I spoke with Gert, when he unlocked my door in the morning, of the danger to which he exposed himself by the liberty he allowed the thief, but Gert did not fear it. Meanwhile my dog placed himself exactly in front of Gert, and howled in his face. When we were at dinner, the dog ran down and howled three times at the tower-warder's door. Never before had I heard the dog howl.

On July 19 (as I have said), when Gert's unfortunate morning had arrived, the thief came down from the clock-work, and said that he could not manage it alone, as the cords were entangled. The rogue had an iron rod ready above, in order to effect his project. Gert went upstairs, but was carried down. The thief ran down after Gert was dead, opened his box, took out the money, and went out of the tower.

It was a Friday, and the bells were to be rung for service. Those whose duty it was to ring them knocked at the tower door, but no one opened. Tötzlöff came with the principal key and opened, and spoke to me and wondered that Gert was not there at that time of the day. I said: 'All is not right; this morning between four and five I was rather unwell, and I heard three people going upstairs and after a time two coming down again.' Tötzlöff locked my door and went down. Just then one of the ringers came down, and informed them that Gert was lying upstairs dead. When the dead man was examined, he had more than one wound, but all at the back of the head. He was a very bold man, courageous, and strong; one man could not be supposed to have done this to him.

The thief was seized the same evening, and confessed how it had happened: that, namely, a prisoner who was confined in the Witch Cell, a licentiate of the name of Moritius, had persuaded him to it. This same Moritius had great enmity against Gert. It is true that Gert took too much from him weekly for his food. But it is also true that this Moritius was a very godless fellow; the priest who confesses him gives him no good character. I believe, indeed, that Moritius was an accessory, but I believe also that another prisoner, who was confined in the basement of the tower, had a hand in the game. For who should have locked the tower-door again after the imprisoned thief, had not one of these done so? For when the key was looked for, it was found hidden above in the tower; this could not have been done by the thief after he was out of the tower. The thief, moreover, could not have unlocked Gert's box and taken his money without the knowledge of Moritius. The other prisoner must also have been aware of it. It seems to me that it was hushed up, in order that no more should die for this murder; for the matter was not only not investigated as was befitting, but the thief was confined down below in the tower. He was bound with iron fetters, but Moritius could speak with him everyday: and for this reason the thief departed from his earlier statement, and said that he alone had committed the murder. He was executed on August 8, and Moritius was taken to Borringholm, and kept as a prisoner there.[E55b]

[E55b] Griffenfeldt, who was then at the height of his power, was the son of a wine-merchant, by name Schumacher, but had risen by his talents alone to the highest dignities. He was ennobled under the name of Griffenfeldt, and was undoubtedly the ablest statesman Denmark ever possessed. Eventually he was thrust from his high position by an intrigue set on foot by German courtiers and backed by foreign influence. He was accused of treason and kept in prison from 1676 to 1698, the year before he died, to the great, perhaps irreparable damage, of his native country. The principal witness against him was a German doctor, Mauritius, a professional spy, who had served the Danish Government in this capacity. The year after the fall of Griffenfeld, he was himself arrested on a charge of perjury, forgery, and high treason, and placed in the Blue Tower; he was convicted and conducted to Bornholm, where he died. But Griffenfeldt, who had been convicted on his false testimony, was not liberated. Griffenfeldt's ability and patriotism cannot be doubted, but his personal character was not without blemish; and it is a fact that in his prosperity he disclaimed all connection with his earlier friends, and even his near relations.

In Gert's place a tower-warder of the name of Johan, a Norwegian, was appointed--a very simple man. The servants about court often made a fool of him. The imprisoned young woman and her attendant did so the first time after his arrival that the attendant had to perform some menial offices upstairs. The place to which she had to go was not far from the door of their prison. The tower-warder went down in the meanwhile, and left the door open. They ran about and played. When they heard him coming up the stairs, they hid themselves. He found the prison empty, and was grieved and lamented. The young woman giggled like a child, and thus he found her behind a door. Johan was glad, and told me the story afterwards. I asked why he had not remained with them. 'What,' he answered, 'was I to remain at their dirty work?' There was nothing to say in reply to such foolish talk.

I had repose within my doors, and amused myself with reading, writing and various handiwork, and began to make and embroider my shroud, for which I had bought calico, white taffeta, and thread.

On April 7 a young lad escaped from the tower, who had been confined on the lower story with iron fetters round his legs. This prisoner found opportunity to loosen his fetters, and knew, moreover, that the booby Johan was wont to keep the tower key under his pillow. He kept an iron pin in readiness to unlock the door of the room when the tower-warder was asleep; he opened it gently, took the key, locked in the booby again, and quitted the tower. The simple man was placed in confinement, but after the expiration of six weeks he was set at liberty.

In his place there came a man named Olle Mathison, who was from Skaane; he had his wife with him in the tower. Towards the end of this year, on December 25, I became ill of a fever, and D. Mynchen received orders to visit me and to take me under his care--an order which he executed with great attention. He is a very sensible man, mild and judicious in his treatment. Ten days after I recovered my usual health.

In the beginning of the year 1680 Sitzel, Klemming's daughter, was persuaded by Maren Blocks to betroth herself to one of the King's body-guard. She left me on November 26. In her place I had a woman named Margrete. When I first saw her, she appeared to me somewhat suspicious, and it seemed to me that she was with child; however, I made no remark till the last day of the month of January. Then I put a question to her from which she could perceive my opinion. She answered me with lies, but I interrupted her at once; and she made use of a special trick, which it is not fit to mention here, in order to prove her false assertion; but her trick could not stand with me, and she was subsequently obliged to confess it. I asked her as to the father of the child (I imagined that it was the King's groom of the chamber, who had been placed in arrest in the prison governor's room, but I did not say so). She did not answer my question at the time, but said she was not so far advanced; that her size was owing rather to stoutness than to the child, as it was at a very early stage.

This woman, before she came to me, had been in the service of the prison governor's wife, and the prison governor had told me she was married. So it happened that I one day asked her of her life and doings; upon which she told me of her past history, where she had served, and that she had had two bastards, each by a different father; and pointing to herself, she added: 'A father shall also acknowledge this one, and that a brave father! You know him well!' I said, 'I have seen the King's groom of the chamber in the square, but I do not know him.' She laughed and answered (in her mother-tongue), 'No, by God, that is not he; it is the good prison governor.' I truly did not believe it. She protested it, and related some minute details to me.

I thought I had better get rid of her betimes, and I requested to speak with the prison governor's wife, who at once came to me. I told her my suspicion with regard to the woman, and on what I based my suspicion; but I made no remark as to what the woman had confessed and said to me. I begged the prison governor's wife to remove the woman from me as civilly as she could. She was surprised at my words, and doubted if there was truth in them. I said, 'Whether it be so or not, remove her; the sooner the better.' She promised that it should be done, but it was not. Margrete seemed not to care that it was known that she was with child; she told the tower-warder of it, and asked him one day, 'Ole, how was it with your wife when she had twins?' Ole answered: 'I know nothing about it. Ask Anne!' Margrete said that from certain symptoms she fancied she might have twins.

One day, when she was going to sew a cloth on the arms of my arm-chair, she said, 'That angel of God is now moving!' And as the wife of the prison governor did not adhere to her word, and Margrete's sister often came to the tower, I feared that the sister might secretly convey her something to remove the child (which was no doubt subsequently the case), so I said one day to Margrete: 'You say that the prison governor is your child's father, but you do not venture to say so to himself.' 'Yes!' she said with an oath, 'as if I would not venture! Do you imagine that I will not have something from him for the support of my child?' 'Then I will send for him,' I said, 'on purpose to hear what he will say.' (It was at that time a rare occurrence for the prison governor to come to me.) She begged me to do so; he could not deny, she said, that he was the father of her child. The prison governor came at my request. I began my speech in the woman's presence, and said that Margrete, according to her own statement, was with child; who the father was, he could enquire if he chose. He asked her whether she was with child? She answered, 'Yes, and you are the father of it.' 'O!' he said, and laughed, 'what nonsense!' She adhered to what she had said, protested that no other was the child's father, and related the circumstances of how it had occurred. The prison governor said, 'The woman is mad!' She gave free vent to her tongue, so that I ordered her to go out; then I spoke with the prison governor alone, and begged him speedily to look about for another woman for me, before it came to extremities with her. I supposed he would find means to stop her tongue. I told him the truth in a few words--that he had brought his paramour to wait on me. He answered, 'She lies, the malicious woman! I have ordered Tötzlöff already to look about for another. My wife has told me what you said to her the other day.' After this conversation the prison governor went away. Peder Tötzlöff told me that an English woman had desired to be with me, but could not come before Easter.

Four days afterwards Margrete began to complain that she felt ill, and said to me in the forenoon, 'I think it will probably go badly with me; I feel so ill.' I thought at once of what I had feared, namely of what the constant visits of her sister indicated, and I sent immediately to Peder Tötzlöff, and when he came to me I told him of my suspicion respecting Margrete, and begged him to do his utmost to procure me the English woman that very day. Meanwhile Margrete went up stairs, and remained there about an hour and a quarter, and came down looking like a corpse, and said, 'Now it will be all right with me.' What I thought I would not say (for I knew that if I had enquired the cause of her bad appearance she would have at once acknowledged it all, and I did not want to know it), so I said, 'If you keep yourself quiet, all will be well. Another woman is coming this evening.' This did not please her; she thought she could now well remain. I paid no regard to this nor to anything else she said, but adhered to it--that another woman was coming. This was arranged, and in the evening of March 15 Margrete left, and in her place came an English woman, named Jonatha, who had been married to a Dane named Jens Pedersen Holme.

When Margrete was gone, I was blamed by the wife of the prison governor, who said that I had persuaded Margrete to affirm that her husband was the father of Margrete's child.

Although it did not concern me, I will nevertheless mention the deceitful manner in which the good people subsequently brought about this Margrete's marriage. They informed a bookbinder's apprentice that she had been married, and they showed both him and the priest, who was to give them the nuptial benediction, her sister's marriage certificate.[145]

[145] In the margin is added: 'Ole the tower-warder was cudgelled on his back by the prison governor when Margrete was gone, and he was charged with having said what Margrete had informed him respecting her size.'

In the same year, on the morning of Christmas Day, God loosened D. Otto Sperling's heavy bonds, after he had been imprisoned in the Blue Tower seventeen years, eight months, twenty-four days, at the age of eighty years minus six days. He had long been ill, but never confined to his bed. Doctor München twice visited him with his medicaments. He would not allow the tower-warder at any time to make his bed, and was quite angry if Ole offered to do so, and implied that the doctor was weak. He allowed no one either to be present when he laid down. How he came on the floor on Christmas night is not known; he lay there, knocking on the ground. The tower-warder could not hear his knocking, for he slept far from the doctor's room; but a prisoner who slept on the ground floor heard it, and knocked at the tower-warder's door and told him that the doctor had been knocking for some time. When Ole came in, he found the doctor lying on the floor, half dressed, with a clean shirt on. He was still alive, groaned a good deal, but did not speak. Ole called a prisoner to help him, and they lifted him on the bed and locked the door again. In the morning he was found dead, as I have said.

A.D. 1682, in the month of April, I was sick and confined to my bed from a peculiar malady which had long troubled me--a stony matter had coagulated and had settled low down in my intestines. Doctor München used all available means to counteract this weakness; but he could not believe that it was of the nature I thought and informed him; for I was perfectly aware it was a stone which had settled in the duct of the intestines. He was of opinion, if it were so, that the medicaments which he used would remove it.[146] At this time the doctor was obliged to travel with his Majesty to Holstein. I used the remedies according to Doctor München's directions, but things remained just as before. It was not till the following morning that the remedies produced their effect; and then, besides other matter, a large stone was evacuated, and I struck a piece out of it with a hammer in order to see what it was inside; I found it to be composed of a substance like rays, having the appearance of being gilded in some places and in others silvered. It is almost half a finger in length and full three fingers thick, and it is still in my possession. When Doctor München returned, I sent him word how it was with me. He was at the time with the governess of the royal children, F. Sitzele Grubbe. Doctor München desired Tötzlöff to request me to let him see the stone. I sent him word that if he would come to me, he should see it. I would not send it to him, for I well knew that I should never get it again.

[146] In the margin is added: 'Other natural matter was evacuated, but the stone stuck fast in the duct, and seemed to be round, for I could not gain hold of it with an instrument I had procured for the purpose.'

A.D. 1682, June 11, I wrote the following spiritual song.

It can be sung to the melody, 'Siunge wii af Hiærtens-Grund.'[E59]

[E59] This tune is still in use in Denmark; it is known in the Latin church as 'in natali Domini.'

I.

What is this our mortal life Otherwise 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 breast Filled with trouble? Be at rest! Why, then, dost thou boldly fight The phantoms vain that mock thy sight? Is there any, small or grand, Who can payment duly hand At 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 praise May my pious offering raise, And magnify Thy grace received, And all that Jesus has achieved For 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 the flower, 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!

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.

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 array To 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 for myself--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.

[E60] 'I have in my imprisonment also gained some experience with regard to caterpillars. It amused me at one time to watch their changes. The worms were apparently all of one sort, striped alike, and of similar colour. But butterflies did not come from all. It was quite pretty to see how a part when they were about to change, pressed against something, whatever it might be, and made themselves steady with a thread (like silkworm's silk) on each side, passing it over the back about fifty times, always at the same place, and often bending the back to see if the threads were strong enough; if not, they passed still more threads round them. When this was done, they rapidly changed their form and became stout, with a snout in front pointed at the end, not unlike the fish called knorr by the Dutch; they have also similar fins on the back, and a similar head. In this form they remain for sixteen days, and then a white butterfly comes out. But of some caterpillars small worms like maggots come out on both sides, whitish, broad at one end and pointed at the other. These surround themselves with a web with great rapidity, each by itself. Then the worm spins over them tolerably thickly, turning them round till they are almost like a round ball. In this it lies till it is quite dried up; it eats nothing, and becomes as tiny as a fly before it dies. Twelve days afterwards small flies come out of the ball, and then the ball looks like a small bee-hive. I have seen a small living worm come out of the neck of the caterpillar (this I consider the rarest), but it did not live long, and ate nothing. The mother died immediately after the little one had come out.'

It is perhaps not unnecessary to add that this observation, which is correct as to facts, refers to the habits of certain larvæ of wasps which live as parasites in caterpillars.

[147] In the margin is added: 'The prison governor told me afterwards that the King laughed when he had told his Majesty my answer about the clavicordium, and had said, "Yes, yes."'

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]

[E66b] This poem still exists, and is printed in the second volume of Hofman's work on Danish noblemen. It is intended to convey an account of her own and her husband's fate.

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]

[E61] It has been stated already that a copy of the first part of this work is still preserved. Amongst the heroines here treated of are modern historical personages, as Queen Margaret of Denmark, Thyre Danobod who built the Dannevirke, Elizabeth of England, and Isabella of Castilia, besides mythical and classic characters, as Penthesilea, Queen of the Amazons, Marpesia, Tomyris, Zenobia, Artemisia, Victorina, etc. There existed not a few works of this kind--we need only mention Boccacio's 'Donne Illustri,' in which many of these last personages also occur.

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.

[E62] The Peblingesö is one of three lakes which surround Copenhagen on the land-side, in a semicircle.

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 by return 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 the rogue 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.

[E63] The Lutheran Church has retained the division of the Commandments used in the Roman Church; and the Commandment against murder is therefore here described as the fifth, whilst in the English catechism it is the sixth.

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 were sentenced 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.'

[E64] The name of this governor, which is not mentioned by Leonora, was Jörgen Iversen, the first Danish governor of St. Thomas. In 1682 he returned to the colony from Copenhagen on board a vessel which was to bring some prisoners over to St. Thomas. Very soon after their departure, some of the prisoners and of the crew raised a mutiny, killed the captain and some of the passengers, amongst them the ex-governor Iversen. But one of the prisoners who had not been in the plot afterwards got the mastery of the vessel, and returned to Copenhagen. The vessel struck on a rock, near the Swedish coast, but the crew were saved and sent home to Copenhagen by the Swedish Government, and the murderers were then executed.

[E65] The Queen's church was a room in the castle where service was held according to the Calvinist rite.

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 days Upon 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 instil Not the foolhardiness that leads to ill. Far oftener is it that the youth will lie Helpless, 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 shield Rebound 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 hold Until 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 food And 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 praise And 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]

[E66] This poem still exists, and is printed in the second volume of Hofman's work on Danish noblemen. It is intended to convey an account of her own and her husband's fate.

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 me about 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, and had 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!

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]

[E67] This picture is still preserved at the Castle of Rosenbourg, in Copenhagen.

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, 'but with 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 into poverty; 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.

[148] In the margin is added: 'The woman who attended on me received eight rix-dollars monthly.'

[149] In the margin: 'She had him learn wood-carving.'

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 was now 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.

[E68] The Excellency alluded to is Ulrik Frederik Gyldenlöve, a natural son of Frederik III. Anna Catharina Lindenow was daughter of Leonora's sister, Elizabeth Augusta, who married Hans Lindenow.

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:

[E69] This Husum is a village just outside Copenhagen, where Leonora remained for some months before she went to Maribo, as is proved by a letter from her dated Husum, September 18, 1685. Of course the last paragraphs must have been added after she left her prison, and the passage 'This is finished in my prison' refers, at any rate, only to what precedes.

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 fatal _mis_ we 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 find A friend so virtuous that he is well inclined To help another in his need and gloom Without a thought of recompense to come? Naught is there new in this, for selfish care To 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 came The halting impotent, some help to claim Among those thousands. Each of pity free, Had no hand for him in his misery To bring him to the angel-troubled stream. Near his last breath did the poor sufferer seem, Weary and penniless; when One alone Who without money works His wise own Will, 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 care What He in mercy wills. He soothes our pain, And He will help, asking for naught again. And in due time He will with gracious hand Unloose 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 belong To those by Brahe reckoned the evil days among, Declaring that whatever may on this day begin Can never prosper rightly, nor true success can win. Now I will only ask if from to-day I strive The 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 here Is 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 do Can 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 road With arms of grace. Such is my wish for thee, Based on the love of God; sure, that He answers me.

LONDON: PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE AND PARLIAMENT STREET

* * * * *

Transcriber's note:

The following corrections were made:

p. 53: length the good-for-nothing[good-for nothing] fellow came down, and

p. 55: there for ten days[25] a letter from Gul...[Gl...] which he

p. 56: patacoon[patacon] to those who were to restrain her, saying,

p. 59: came to see her, no one in consequence[consequenec] consoled her,

p. 61: When the lawyer had said that they[t hey] had now taken

p. 64: lose in Dan...[Den...].

p. 67: It was necessary[neccessary] to descend the rampart into the

p. 92: he persuaded[pursuaded] me to undertake the English journey,

p. 106: with my attendant. I answered nothing else than[then] that

p. 114: silk camisole[camisolle], in the foot of my stockings there were

p. 132: Castle[Cstale], I had sent a good round present for those in

p. 135: sad day, and I begged them, for Jesus'[Jesu's] sake, that

p. 137: decree? I only beg for Jesus'[Jesu's] sake that what I say

p. 172: might easily injure herself with one.'[[76]]

p. 174: Synge'[[E31]]:--

p. 230: of listening to reason, for she at once exclaimed ‘Ach[!]

p. 239: Karen, Nils'[Nil's] daughter, left me one evening in 1669,

p. 241: and the Frenchman[Frenchmen] was conveyed to the Dark Church,

p. 241: through Uldrich[Udrich] Christian Gyldenlöve. Gyldenlöve

p. 246: her word moreover, and I so arranged it[at] six weeks

p. 259: In the same year, 1671, Karen, Nils'[Nil's] daughter, left

p. 264: silent, not if I were standing before the King's bailiff![?][']

p. 268: in the time of Karen, Nils'[Nil's] daughter. Chresten, who

p. 272: In the same year Karen, Nils'[Nil's] daughter, left me for

p. 276: and a half after her marriage, and that suddenly, suspicion[suspipicion]

p. 300: Supper in the Queen's church[[E65]]. Once, when she came

p. 311: [60] In[in] the margin is added: ‘The sorrow manifested by many would far

p. 311: [117] In the margin is added: ‘1666. While Karen, Nils'[Nil's] daughter, waited

p. 311: Nils'[Nil's] daughter. When anything gave her satisfaction, she would take

p. 311: to set Copenhagen[Copenagen] on fire in divers places, and also the

p. 311: Autobiography[Autobiograpy] of Leonora as ‘notre vieillard;' he was a faithful

p. 311: which placed it at the disposal of Hannibal Sehested[Schested] when he

p. 311: [E38] ‘Anno 1666, soon after Karen, Nils'[Nil's] daughter, came to me,

p. 311: [E51] Hannibal Sehested[Schested] was dead already in 1666, as Leonora

p. 311: disposed to Hannibal Sehested[Schested].

p. 311: entitled ‘Martilogium (for martyrologium[matyrologium]) der Heiligen' (Strasburg