E-text prepared by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net) from scanned images of public domain material
generously made available by the Google Books Library Project
(http://books.google.com/)



Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
      file which includes the original illustrations.
      See 38128-h.htm or 38128-h.zip:
      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/38128/38128-h/38128-h.htm)
      or
      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/38128/38128-h.zip)


      Images of the original pages are available through
      the the Google Books Library Project. See
      http://books.google.com/books?vid=MaYBAAAAQAAJ&id


Transcriber's note:

      Obvious typographical errors have been corrected, but
      otherwise the original spelling has generally been retained,
      even where several different spellings have been used to
      refer to the same person.

      The printed book contained footnotes and endnotes. The
      endnotes have been treated as footnotes, and marked with
      anchors prefixed by E, as in [E01]. When one endnote is
      referenced twice, the second occurence is marked by adding
      a b, as in [E12b], and the text of the endnote is repeated
      in the appropriate place.

      The printed book contained a few features, such as Greek
      text and illustrations, that could not be reproduced in this
      format. These have been marked in the text using {curly
      braces}.

      A list of corrections is at the end of this e-book.





MEMOIRS OF  LEONORA CHRISTINA

Daughter of Christian IV. of Denmark

Written During Her Imprisonment in the Blue Tower at Copenhagen
1663-1685

Translated by F. E. Bunnètt







London
Henry S. King & Co., 65 Cornhill
1872

London: Printed by
Spottiswoode and Co., New-Street Square
and Parliament Street

All rights reserved




PREFACE.


In placing the present translation of LEONORA CHRISTINA ULFELDT'S
Memoirs before the English reading public, a few words are due from
the Publishers, in order to explain the relation between this edition
and those which have been brought out in Denmark and in Germany.

The original autograph manuscript of Leonora Christina's record of
her sufferings in her prison, written between the years 1674 and
1685, belongs to her descendant the Austrian Count Joh. Waldstein,
and it was discovered only a few years ago. It was then, at the
desire of Count Waldstein, brought to Copenhagen by the Danish
Minister at Vienna, M. Falbe, in order that its authenticity might be
thoroughly verified by comparison with documents preserved in the
Danish archives and libraries, and known to be in the hand-writing of
the illustrious authoress. When the existence of this interesting
historic and literary relic had become known in Denmark, a desire to
see it published was naturally expressed on all sides, and to this
the noble owner most readily acceded.

Thus the first Danish edition came to light in 1869, promoted in
every way by Count Waldstein. The editor was Mr. Sophus Birket-Smith,
assistant librarian of the University Library at Copenhagen, who
enriched the edition with a historical introduction and copious
notes. A second Danish edition appeared a few months later; and in
1871 a German translation of the Memoir was edited by M. Ziegler,
with a new introduction and notes, founded partly on the first Danish
edition, partly on other printed sources, to which were added
extracts from some papers found in the family archives of Count
Waldstein, and which were supposed to possess the interest of
novelty.

The applause with which this edition was received in Germany
suggested the idea of an English version, and it was at first
intended merely to translate M. Ziegler's book into English. During
the progress of the work, however, it was found preferable to adopt
the second Danish edition as the basis of the English edition. The
translation which had been made from M. Ziegler's German, has been
carefully compared with the Danish original, so as to remove any
defects arising from the use of the German translation, and give it
the same value as a translation made direct from the Danish; a new
introduction and notes have been added, for which the Danish editor,
Mr. Birket-Smith has supplied the materials; and instead of the
fragments of Ulfeldt's Apology and of an extract from Leonora
Christina's Autobiography found in the German edition, a complete
translation of the Autobiography to the point where Leonora's Memoir
of her sufferings in prison takes up the thread of the narrative, has
been inserted, made from the original French text, recently published
by Mr. S. Birket-Smith. As a matter of course the preface of Count
Waldstein, which appears in this edition, is the one prefixed to the
Danish edition. The manuscript itself of the record of Leonora
Christina's sufferings in prison was commenced in 1674, and was at
first intended to commemorate only what had happened during the
preceding ten years of her captivity; it was afterwards extended to
embrace the whole period down to 1685, and subjected to a revision
which resulted in numerous additions and alterations. As, however,
these do not seem to have been properly worked in by the authoress
herself, the Memoir is here rendered, as in the Danish edition, in
its original, more perfect shape, and the subsequent alterations made
the subject of foot notes.




 PREFACE
 TO
 THE DANISH EDITION.


When, in the summer of 1858, I visited the graves of my Danish
ancestors of the family of Ulfeldt, in the little village church at
Quærndrup, near the Castle of Egeskov, on the island of Fyn, I
resolved to honour the memory of my pious ancestress Leonora
Christina, and thus fulfil the duty of a descendant by publishing
this autograph manuscript which had come to me amongst the heirlooms
left by my father.

It is well known that the last male representative of the family of
Ulfeldt, the Chancellor of the Court and Realm of Her Majesty the
Empress Maria Theresia, had only two daughters. One of them,
Elizabeth, married Georg Christian, Count Waldstein, while the
younger married Count Thun.

Out of special affection for her younger son Emanuel (my late
father), my grandmother bequeathed all that referred to the Ulfeldts
to him, and the manuscript which I now--in consequence of requests
from various quarters, also from high places--give to publicity by
the learned assistance of Mr. Sophus Birket-Smith, thus came to me
through direct descent from her father:

'Corfitz, Count of Ulfeldt of the holy Roman Empire, Lord of the
lordships Költz-Jenikau, Hof-Kazof, Brödlich, Odaslowitz, and the
fief Zinltsch, Knight of the Golden Vliess, First Treasurer of the
hereditary lands in Bohemia, Ambassador at the Ottoman Porte,
afterwards Chancellor of the Court and the Empire, sworn Privy
Councillor and first Lord Steward of his Imperial and Royal Majesty
Carolus VI., as well as of His Imperial Roman and Royal Majesty of
Hungary, Bohemia,' &c.

We add: the highly honoured paternal guide of Her Majesty the Queen
Empress Maria Theresia, of glorious memory, during the first year of
her government, until the time when the gifted Prince Kaunitz, whose
genius sometimes even was too much for this, morally noble lady,
became her successor.

I possess more than eleven imposing, closely written folio volumes,
which contain the manuscripts of the Chancellor of the Empire, his
negociations with the Sublime Porte, afterwards with the
States-General of the Netherlands, as well as the ministerial
protocols from the whole time that he held the office of Imperial
Chancellor; all of which prove his great industry and love of order,
while the original letters and annotations of his exalted mistress,
which are inserted in these same volumes, testify to the sincere,
almost childlike confidence with which she honoured him.

But this steady and circumspect statesman was the direct grandson of
the restless and proud

CORFITZ, first Count of Ulfeldt of the Roman Empire, High Steward of
the Realm in Denmark, &c., and of his devoted and gifted wife LEONORA
CHRISTINA, through their son

LEO, Imperial Count Ulfeldt, Privy Councillor, Field-marshal, and
Viceroy in Catalonia of the Emperor Carl VI., and his wife, a born
Countess of Zinzendorf.

I preserved, therefore with great care this manuscript, as well as
all other relics and little objects which had belonged to my Danish
ancestress, whose exalted character and sufferings are so highly
calculated to inspire sympathy, interest, and reverence. Amongst
these objects are several writings, such as fragments of poems,
prayers, needlework executed in prison (some embroidered with hair of
a fair colour); a christening robe with cap worked in gold, probably
used at the christening of her children; a very fine Amulet of
Christian IV. in blue enamel, and many portraits; amongst others the
original picture in oil of which a copy precedes the title page, &c.
&c.

Considering that the manuscript has been handed down directly from my
ancestors from generation to generation in direct line, I could not
personally have any doubt as to its genuineness. Nevertheless I
yielded to the suggestions of others, in order to have the
authenticity of the manuscript thoroughly tested. In what way this
was done will be seen from the Introduction of the Editor.

Though the final verdict of history may not yet have been given on
Corfitz Ulfeldt, yet--tempus omnia sanat--yon ominous pillar, which
was to perpetuate the memory of his crime into eternity, has been put
aside as rubbish and left to oblivion. Noble in forgetting and
pardoning, the great nation of the North has given a bright example
to those who still refuse to grant to Albert, Duke of Friedland--the
great general who saved the Empire from the danger that threatened it
from the North--the place which this hero ought to occupy in the
Walhalla at Vienna.

But as to the fiery temper of Corfitz and the mysterious springs
which govern the deeds and thoughts of mankind, it may be permitted
to me, his descendant, to cherish the belief, which is almost
strengthened into a conviction, that a woman so highly gifted, of so
noble sentiments, as Leonora appears to us, would never have been
able to cling with a love so true, and so enduring through all the
changes of life, to a man who was unworthy of it.

                                    JOH. COUNT WALDSTEIN.

  Cairo: December 8, 1868.




CONTENTS.


                                                         PAGE

 INTRODUCTION                                               1

 AUTOBIOGRAPHY                                             31

 A RECORD OF THE SUFFERINGS OF THE IMPRISONED COUNTESS:--

   PREFACE (TO MY CHILDREN)                                87

   A REMINISCENCE OF ALL THAT OCCURRED TO ME, LEONORA
     CHRISTINA, IN THE BLUE TOWER, FROM AUGUST 8 OF THE
     YEAR 1663, TO JUNE 11 OF THE YEAR 1674               102




 MEMOIRS
 OF
 LEONORA CHRISTINA.




INTRODUCTION.


Amongst the women celebrated in history, LEONORA CHRISTINA, the
heroine as well as the authoress of the Memoirs which form the
subject of this volume, occupies a conspicuous place, as one of the
noblest examples of every womanly virtue and accomplishment,
displayed under the most trying vicissitudes of fortune. Born the
daughter of a King, married to one of the ablest statesmen of his
time, destined, as it seemed, to shine in the undisturbed lustre of
position and great qualities, she had to spend nearly twenty-two
years in a prison, in the forced company--more cruel to her than
solitary confinement--of male and female gaolers of the lowest order,
and for a long time deprived of every means of rendering herself
independent of these surroundings by intellectual occupation. She had
to suffer alone, and innocently, for her husband's crimes; whatever
these were, she had no part in them, and she endured persecution
because she would not forsake him in his misfortune. Leonora
Christina was the victim of despotism guided by personal animosity,
and she submitted with a Christian meekness and forbearance which
would be admirable in any, but which her exalted station and her
great mental qualities bring out in doubly strong relief.

It is to these circumstances, which render the fate of Leonora so
truly tragic, as well as to the fact that we have her own authentic
and trustworthy account before us, that the principal charm of this
record is due. Besides this, it affords many incidental glimpses of
the customs and habits of the time, nor is it without its purely
historical interest. Leonora and her husband, Corfits Ulfeldt, were
intimately connected with the principal political events in the North
of Europe at their time; even the more minute circumstances of their
life have, therefore, a certain interest.

No wonder that the history of this illustrious couple has formed, and
still forms, the theme both of laborious scientific researches and of
poetical compositions. Amongst the latter we may here mention in
passing a well-known novel by Rousseau de la Valette,[01] because it
has had the undeserved honour of being treated by a modern writer as
an historical source, to the great detriment of his composition.
Documents which have originated from these two personages are of
course of great value. Besides letters and public documents, there
exist several accounts written by both Corfits Ulfeldt and Leonora
referring to their own life and actions. Ulfeldt published in 1652 a
defence of his political conduct, and composed, shortly before his
death, another, commonly called the 'Apology of Ulfeldt,' which has
not yet been printed entirely, but of which an extract was published
in 1695 in the supplement of the English edition of Rousseau de la
Valette's book. Some extracts from an incomplete copy discovered by
Count Waldstein in 1870, in the family archives at the Castle of
Palota, were published with the German edition of Leonora's Memoir;
complete copies exist in Copenhagen and elsewhere. Leonora Christina,
who was an accomplished writer, has composed at least four partial
accounts of her own life. One of them, referring to a journey in
1656, to be mentioned hereafter, has been printed long ago; of
another, which treated of her and Ulfeldt's imprisonment at Bornholm,
no copy has yet been discovered. The third is her Autobiography,
carried down to 1673, of which an English version follows this
Introduction; it was written in the Blue Tower, in the form of a
letter to the Danish antiquarian, Otto Sperling, jun., who wished to
make use of it for his work, 'De feminis doctis.'[02]

 [01] _Le Comte d'Ulfeld, Grand Maistre de Danemarc._ _Nouvelle
 historique_, i.-ii. Paris, 1678. 8vo. An English translation, with
 a supplement, appeared 1695: _The Life of Count Ulfeldt, Great
 Master of Denmark, and of the Countess Eleonora his Wife._ Done out
 of French. With a supplement. London. 1695. 8vo.

 Another novel by the same author, called _Casimir King of Poland_,
 is perhaps better known in this country, through a translation by
 F. Spence in vol. ii. of _Modern Novels_, 1692.

 [02] It is by a slip of memory that Mr. Birket Smith, in his first
 Danish edition of Leonora Christina's memoir of her life in prison,
 describes this work under the name of _De feminis eruditis_.

About a century ago a so-called Autobiography of Leonora was
published in Copenhagen, but it was easily proved to be a forgery; in
fact, the original of her own work existed in the Danish archives,
and had been described by the historian Andreas Höier. It has now
been lost, it is supposed, in the fire which destroyed the Castle of
Christiansborg in 1794, but a complete copy exists in Copenhagen, as
well as several extracts in Latin; another short extract in French
belongs to Count Waldstein. Finally, Leonora Christina wrote the
memoir of her sufferings in the prison of the Blue Tower from
1663-1685, of which the existence was unknown until discovered by
Count Waldstein, and given to the public in the manner indicated in
the Preface.

In introducing these memoirs to the English public, a short sketch of
the historical events and the persons to whom they refer may not be
unwelcome, particularly as Leonora herself touches only very lightly
on them, and principally describes her own personal life.

_Leonora Christina_ was a daughter of _King Christian IV._ of Denmark
and _Kirstine Munk_. His Queen, Anna Catherine, born a princess of
Brandenburg, died in 1612, leaving three princes (four other children
died early), and in 1615 the King contracted a morganatic marriage
with Kirstine Munk, a lady of an ancient and illustrious noble
family. Leonora was born July 18 (new style), 1621, at the Castle of
Fredriksborg, so well known to all who have visited Denmark, which
the King had built twenty miles north of Copenhagen, in a beautiful
part of the country, surrounded by smiling lakes and extensive
forests. But little is known of her childhood beyond what she tells
herself in her Autobiography. Already in her eighth year she was
promised to her future husband, Corfits Ulfeldt, and in 1636 the
wedding was celebrated with great splendour, Leonora being then
fifteen years old. The family of Ulfeldt has been known since the
close of the fourteenth century. Corfits' father had been Chancellor
of the Realm, and somewhat increased the family possessions, though
he sold the ancient seat of the family, Ulfeldtsholm, in Fyen, to
Lady Ellen Marsvin, Kirstine Munk's mother. He had seventeen
children, of whom Corfits was the seventh; and so far Leonora made
only a poor marriage. But her husband's great talents and greater
ambition made up for this defect. Of his youth nothing is known with
any certainty, except that he travelled abroad, as other young
noblemen of his time, studied at Padua, and acquired considerable
proficiency in foreign languages.[03] He became a favourite of
Christian IV., at whose Court he had every opportunity for displaying
his social talents. At the marriage of the elected successor to the
throne, the King's eldest son, Christian, with the Princess Magdalene
Sibylle of Saxony, in 1634, Corfits Ulfeldt acted as maréchal to the
special Ambassador Count d'Avaux, whom Louis XIII. had sent to
Copenhagen on that occasion, in which situation Ulfeldt won golden
opinions,[04] and he was one of the twelve noblemen whom the King on
the wedding-day made Knights of the Elephant. After a visit to Paris
in 1635, in order to be cured of a wound in the leg which the Danish
physicians could not heal, he obtained the sanction of the King for
his own marriage with Leonora, which was solemnised at the Castle of
Copenhagen, on October 9, 1636, with as much splendour as those of
the princes and princesses. Leonora was the favourite daughter of
Christian IV., and as far as royal favour could ensure happiness, it
might be said to be in store for the newly-married pair.

 [03] La Valette's account of his participation in the Thirty Years'
 War is entirely fictitious, as almost all that he tells of
 Ulfeldt's travels, &c.

 [04] See _Caroli Ogerii Ephemerides sive, Iter Danicum, Svecicum,
 Polonicum, &c._ Paris, 1656. 8vo. p. 36, 37, 40, by D'Avaux's
 secretary, Ogier.

As we have stated, Ulfeldt was a poor nobleman; and it is
characteristic of them both that one of her first acts was to ask him
about his debts, which he could not but have incurred living as he
had done, and to pay them by selling her jewels and ornaments, to the
amount of 36,000 dollars, or more than 7,000_l._ in English
money--then a very large sum. But the King's favour soon procured him
what he wanted; he was made a member of the Great Council, Governor
of Copenhagen, and Chancellor of the Exchequer.

He executed several diplomatic missions satisfactorily; and when, in
1641, he was sent to Vienna as special Ambassador, the Emperor of
Germany, Ferdinand III., made him a Count of the German Empire.
Finally, in 1643, he was made Lord High Steward of Denmark, the
highest dignity and most responsible office in the kingdom. He was
now at the summit of power and influence, and if he had used his
talents and opportunities in the interests of his country, he might
have earned the everlasting gratitude of his King and his people.

But he was not a great man, though he was a clever and ambitious man.
He accumulated enormous wealth, bought extensive landed estates,
spent considerable sums in purchasing jewels and costly furniture,
and lived in a splendid style; but it was all at the cost of the
country. In order to enrich himself, he struck base coin (which
afterwards was officially reduced to its proper value, 8 per cent.
below the nominal value), and used probably other unlawful means for
this purpose, while the Crown was in the greatest need of money. At
the same time he neglected the defences of the country in a shameful
manner, and when the Swedish Government, in December 1643, suddenly
ordered its army, which then stood in Germany, engaged in the Thirty
Years' War, to attack Denmark without any warning, there were no
means of stopping its victorious progress. In vain the veteran King
collected a few vessels and compelled the far more numerous Swedish
fleet to fly, after a furious battle near Femern, where he himself
received twenty-three wounds, and where two of Ulfeldt's brothers
fell fighting at his side; there was no army in the land, because
Corfits, at the head of the nobility, had refused the King the
necessary supplies. And, although the peace which Ulfeldt concluded
with Sweden and Holland at Brömsebro, in 1645, might have been still
more disastrous than it was, if the negotiation had been entrusted to
less skilful hands, yet there was but too much truth in the
reproachful words of the King, when, after ratifying the treaties, he
tossed them to Corfits saying, 'There you have them, such as you have
made them!'

From this time the King began to lose his confidence in Ulfeldt,
though the latter still retained his important offices. In the
following year he went to Holland and to France on a diplomatic
mission, on which occasion he was accompanied by Leonora. Everywhere
their personal qualities, their relationship to the sovereign, and
the splendour of their appearance, procured them the greatest
attention and the most flattering reception. While at the Hague
Leonora gave birth to a son, whom the States-General offered to grant
a pension for life of a thousand florins, which, however, Ulfeldt
wisely refused. In Paris they were loaded with presents; and in the
Memoirs of Madame Langloise de Motteville on the history of Anna of
Austria (ed. of Amsterdam, 1783, ii. 19-22) there is a striking
_récit_ of the appearance and reception of Ulfeldt and Leonora at
the French Court. On their way home Leonora took an opportunity of
making a short trip to London, which capital she wished to see, while
her husband waited for her in the Netherlands.

If, however, this journey brought Ulfeldt and his wife honours and
presents on the part of foreigners, it did not give satisfaction at
home. The diplomatic results of the mission were not what the King
had hoped, and he even refused to receive Ulfeldt on his return. Soon
the turning-point in his career arrived. In 1648 King Christian IV.
died, under circumstances which for a short time concentrated
extraordinary power in Ulfeldt's hands, but of which he did not make
a wise use.

Denmark was then still an elective monarchy, and the nobles had
availed themselves of this and other circumstances to free themselves
from all burdens, and at the same time to deprive both the Crown and
the other Estates of their constitutional rights to a very great
extent. All political power was virtually vested in the Council of
the Realm, which consisted exclusively of nobles, and there remained
for the king next to nothing, except a general supervision of the
administration, and the nomination of the ministers. Every successive
king had been obliged to purchase his election by fresh concessions
to the nobles, and the sovereign was little more than the president
of an aristocratic republic. Christian IV. had caused his eldest son
Christian to be elected successor in his own lifetime; but this
prince died in 1647, and when the King himself died in 1648, the
throne was vacant.

As Lord High Steward, Ulfeldt became president of the regency, and
could exercise great influence on the election. He did not exert
himself to bring this about very quickly, but there is no ground for
believing that he meditated the election either of himself or of his
brother-in-law, Count Valdemar, as some have suggested. The children
of Kirstine Munk being the offspring of a morganatic marriage, had
not of course equal rank with princes and princesses; but in
Christian IV.'s lifetime they received the same honours, and Ulfeldt
made use of the interregnum to obtain the passage of a decree by the
Council, according them rank and honours equal with the princes of
the royal house.

But as the nobles were in nowise bound to choose a prince of the same
family, or even a prince at all, this decree cannot be interpreted as
evidence of a design to promote the election of Count Valdemar. The
overtures of the Duke of Gottorp, who attempted to bribe Ulfeldt to
support his candidature, were refused by him, at least according to
his own statement. But Ulfeldt did make use of his position to extort
a more complete surrender of the royal power into the hands of the
nobility than any king had yet submitted to, and the new King,
Fredrik III., was compelled to promise, amongst other things, to fill
up any vacancy amongst the ministers with one out of three candidates
proposed by the Council of the Realm. The new King, Fredrik III.,
Christian IV.'s second son, had never been friendly to Ulfeldt. This
last action of the High Steward did not improve the feelings with
which he regarded him, and when the coronation had taken place (for
which Ulfeldt advanced the money), he expressed his thoughts at the
banquet in these words: 'Corfitz, you have to-day bound my hands; who
knows, who can bind yours in return?' The new Queen, a Saxon
princess, hated Ulfeldt and the children of Kirstine Munk on account
of their pretensions, but particularly Leonora Christina, whose
beauty and talents she heartily envied.

Nevertheless Ulfeldt retained his high offices for some time, and in
1649 he went again to Holland on a diplomatic mission, accompanied by
his wife. It is remarkable that the question which formed the
principal subject of the negotiation on that occasion was one which
has found its proper solution only in our days--namely, that of a
redemption of the Sound dues. This impost, levied by the Danish Crown
on all vessels passing the Sound, weighed heavily on the shipping
interest, and frequently caused disagreement between Denmark and the
governments mostly interested in the Baltic trade, particularly
Sweden and the Dutch republic.

It was with especial regard to the Sound dues that the Dutch
Government was constantly interfering in the politics of the North,
with a view of preventing Denmark becoming too powerful; for which
purpose it always fomented discord between Denmark and Sweden, siding
now with the one, now with the other, but rather favouring the design
of Sweden to conquer the ancient Danish provinces, Skaane, &c., which
were east of the Sound, and which now actually belong to Sweden.
Corfits Ulfeldt calculated that, if the Dutch could be satisfied on
the point of the Sound dues, their unfavourable interference might be
got rid of; and for this purpose he proposed to substitute an annual
payment by the Dutch Government for the payment of the dues by the
individual ships. Christian IV. had never assented to this idea, and
of course the better course would have been the one adopted in
1857--namely, the redemption of the dues by all States at once for a
proportionate consideration paid once for all. Still the leading
thought was true, and worthy of a great statesman.

Ulfeldt concluded a treaty with Holland according to his views, but
it met with no favour at Copenhagen, and on his return he found that
in his absence measures had been taken to restrict his great power;
his conduct of affairs was freely criticised, and his enemies had
even caused the nomination of a committee to investigate his past
administration, more particularly his financial measures.

At the same time the new Court refused Leonora Christina and the
other children of Kirstine Munk the princely honours which they had
hitherto enjoyed. Amongst other marks of distinction, Christian IV.
had granted his wife and her children the title of Counts and
Countesses of Slesvig and Holstein, but Fredrik III. declined to
acknowledge it, although it could have no political importance, being
nothing but an empty title, as neither Kirstine Munk nor her children
had anything whatever to do with either of these principalities.
Ulfeldt would not suffer himself to be as it were driven from his
high position by these indications of disfavour on the part of the
King and the Queen (the latter was really the moving spring in all
this), but he resolved to show his annoyance by not going to Court,
where his wife did not now receive the usual honours.

This conduct only served to embolden those who desired to oust him
from his lucrative offices, not because they were better patriots,
but because they hoped to succeed him. For this purpose a false
accusation was brought against Ulfeldt and Leonora Christina, to the
effect that they had the intention of poisoning the King and the
Queen. Information on this plot was given to the Queen personally, by
a certain Dina Vinhowers, a widow of questionable reputation, who
declared that she had an illicit connection with Ulfeldt, and that
she had heard a conversation on the subject between Corfits Ulfeldt
and Leonora, when on a clandestine visit in the High Steward's house.
She was prompted by a certain Walter, originally a son of a
wheelwright, who by bravery in the war had risen from the ranks to
the position of a colonel, and who in his turn was evidently a tool
in the hands of other parties. The information was graciously
received at Court; but Dina, who, as it seems, was a person of weak
or unsound mind, secretly, without the knowledge of her employers,
warned Ulfeldt and Leonora Christina of some impending danger, thus
creating a seemingly inextricable confusion.

At length Ulfeldt demanded a judicial investigation, which was at
once set on foot, but in which, of course, he occupied the position
of a defendant on account of Dina's information. In the end Dina was
condemned to death and Walter was exiled. But the statements of the
different persons implicated, and particularly of Dina herself at
different times, were so conflicting, that the matter was really
never entirely cleared up, and though Ulfeldt was absolved of all
guilt, his enemies did their best in order that some suspicion might
remain. If Ulfeldt had been wise, he might probably have turned this
whole affair to his own advantage; but he missed the opportunity.
Utterly absurd as the accusation was, he seems to have felt very
keenly the change of his position, and on the advice of Leonora, who
did not doubt that some other expedient would be tried by his
enemies, perhaps with more success, he resolved to leave Denmark
altogether.

After having sent away the most valuable part of his furniture and
movable property, and placed abroad his amassed capital, he left
Copenhagen secretly and at night, on July 14, 1651, three days after
the execution of Dina. The gates of the fortress were closed at a
certain hour every evening, but he had a key made for the eastern
gate, and ere sunrise he and Leonora, who was disguised as a valet,
were on board a vessel on their way to Holland. The consequences of
this impolitic flight were most disastrous. He had not laid down his
high offices, much less rendered an account of his administration;
nothing was more natural than to suppose that he wished to avoid an
investigation. A few weeks later a royal summons was issued, calling
upon him to appear at the next meeting of the Diet, and answer for
his conduct; his offices, and the fiefs with which he had been
beneficed, were given to others, and an embargo was laid on his
landed estates.

Leonora Christina describes in her Autobiography how Ulfeldt
meanwhile first went to Holland, and thence to Sweden, where Queen
Christina, who certainly was not favourably disposed to Denmark,
received Ulfeldt with marked distinction, and promised him her
protection. But she does not tell how Ulfeldt here used every
opportunity for stirring up enmity against Denmark, both in Sweden
itself and in other countries, whose ambassadors he tried to bring
over to his ideas. On this painful subject there can be no doubt
after the publication of so many authentic State Papers of that time,
amongst which we may mention the reports of Whitelock, the envoy of
Cromwell, to whom Ulfeldt represented that Denmark was too weak to
resist an attack, and that the British Government might easily obtain
the abolition of the Sound dues by war.

It seems, however, as if Ulfeldt did all this merely to terrify the
Danish King into a reconciliation with him on terms honourable and
advantageous to the voluntarily exiled magnate. Representations were
several times made with such a view by the Swedish Government, and in
1656 Leonora Christina herself undertook a journey to Copenhagen, in
order to arrange the matter. But the Danish Government was
inaccessible to all such attempts.

This attitude was intelligible enough, for not only had Ulfeldt left
Denmark in the most unceremonious manner, but in 1652 he published in
Stralsund a defence against the accusations of which he had been the
subject, full of gross insults against the King; and in the following
year he had issued an insolent protest against the royal summons to
appear and defend himself before the Diet, declaring himself a
Swedish subject. But, above all, the influence of the Queen was too
great to allow of any arrangement with Ulfeldt. The King was entirely
led by her; she, from her German home, was filled with the most
extravagant ideas of absolute despotism, and hated the free speech
and the independent spirit prevailing among the Danish nobility, of
which Ulfeldt in that respect was a true type. Leonora Christina was
compelled to return in 1656, without even seeing the King, and as a
fugitive. It is of this journey that she has given a Danish account,
besides the description in the Autobiography.

It may be questioned whether it would not have been wise, if
possible, to conciliate this dangerous man; but at any rate it was
not done, and Ulfeldt was, no doubt, still more exasperated. Queen
Christina had then resigned, and her successor, Carl Gustav, shortly
after engaged in a war in Poland. The Danish Government, foolishly
overrating its strength, took the opportunity for declaring war
against Sweden, in the hope of regaining some of the territory lost
in 1645. But Carl Gustav, well knowing that the Poles could not carry
the war into Sweden, immediately turned his whole force against
Denmark, where he met with next to no resistance. Ulfeldt was then
living at Barth, in Pommerania, an estate which he held in mortgage
for large sums of money advanced to the Swedish Government. Carl
Gustav summoned Ulfeldt to follow him, and Ulfeldt obeyed the summons
against the advice of Leonora Christina, who certainly did not desire
her native country to be punished for the wrongs, if such they were,
inflicted upon her by the Court.

The war had been declared on June 1, 1657; in August Ulfeldt issued a
proclamation to the nobility in Jutland, calling on them to transfer
their allegiance to the Swedish King. In the subsequent winter a most
unusually severe frost enabled the Swedish army to cross the Sounds
and Belts on the ice, Ulfeldt assisting its progress by persuading
the commander of the fortress of Nakskov to surrender without
resistance; and in February the Danish Government had to accept such
conditions of peace as could be obtained from the Swedish King, who
had halted a couple of days' march from Copenhagen. By this peace
Denmark surrendered all her provinces to the east of the Sound
(Skaane, &c.), which constituted one-third of the ancient Danish
territory, and which have ever since belonged to Sweden, besides her
fleet, &c.

But the greatest humiliation was that the negotiation on the Swedish
side was entrusted to Ulfeldt, who did not fail to extort from the
Danish Crown the utmost that the neutral powers would allow. For
himself he obtained restitution of his estates, freedom to live in
Denmark unmolested, and a large indemnity for loss of income of his
estates since his flight in 1651. The King of Sweden also rewarded
him with the title of a Count of Sölvitsborg and with considerable
estates in the provinces recently wrested from Denmark. Ulfeldt
himself went to reside at Malmö, the principal town in Skaane,
situated on the Sound, just opposite Copenhagen, and here he was
joined by Leonora Christina.

In her Autobiography Leonora does not touch on the incidents of the
war, but she describes how her anxiety for her husband's safety did
not allow her to remain quietly at Barth, and how she was afterwards
called to her mother's sick-bed, which she had to leave in order to
nurse her husband, who fell ill at Malmö. We may here state that
Kirstine Munk had fallen into disgrace, when Leonora was still a
child, on account of her flagrant infidelity to the King, her
paramour being a German Count of Solms. Kirstine Munk left the Court
voluntarily in 1629,[05] shortly after the birth of a child, whom the
King would not acknowledge as his own; and after having stayed with
her mother for a short time, she took up her residence at the old
manor of Boller, in North Jutland, where she remained until her death
in 1658.

 [05] La Valette's account of a lawsuit instituted by the King
 against Kirstine Munk, in which she was defended by Ulfeldt--of
 Ulfeldt's duel with Hannibal Sehested, afterwards his
 brother-in-law, &c.--is entirely fictitious. No such things took
 place.

Various attempts were made to reconcile Christian IV. to her, but he
steadily refused, and with very good reason: he was doubtless well
aware that Kirstine Munk, as recently published diplomatic documents
prove, had betrayed his political secrets to Gustav Adolf, the King
of Sweden, and he considered her presence at Court very dangerous.
Her son-in-law was now openly in the service of another Swedish king,
but the friendship between them was not of long duration. Ulfeldt
first incurred the displeasure of Carl Gustav by heading the
opposition of the nobility in the newly acquired provinces against
certain imposts laid on them by the Swedish King, to which they had
not been liable under Danish rule. Then other causes of disagreement
arose. Carl Gustav, regretting that he had concluded a peace, when in
all probability he might have conquered the whole of Denmark,
recommenced the war, and laid siege to Copenhagen. But the Danish
people now rose as one man; foreign assistance was obtained; the
Swedes were everywhere beaten; and if the Dutch, who were bound by
treaty to assist Denmark, had not refused their co-operation in
transferring the Danish troops across the Sound, all the lost
provinces might easily have been regained.

The inhabitants in some of these provinces also rose against their
new rulers. Amongst others, the citizens of Malmö, where Ulfeldt at
the time resided, entered into a conspiracy to throw off the Swedish
dominion; but it was betrayed, and Ulfeldt was indicated as one of
the principal instigators, although he himself had accepted their
forced homage to the Swedish King, as his deputy. Very probably he
had thought that, if he took a part in the rising, he might, if this
were successful, return to Denmark, having as it were thus wiped out
his former crimes, but having also shown his countrymen what a
terrible foe he could be. As it was, Denmark was prevented by her own
allies from regaining her losses, and Ulfeldt was placed in custody
in Malmö, by order of Carl Gustav, in order that his conduct might be
subjected to a rigorous examination.

Ulfeldt was then apparently seized with a remarkable malady, a kind
of apoplexy, depriving him of speech, and Leonora Christina conducted
his defence. She wrote three lengthy, vigorous, and skilful replies
to the charges, which still exist in the originals. He was acquitted,
or rather escaped by a verdict of Not Proven; but as conscience makes
cowards, he contrived to escape before the verdict was given. Leonora
Christina describes all this in her Autobiography, according to which
Ulfeldt was to go to Lubeck, while she would go to Copenhagen, and
try to put matters straight there. Ulfeldt, however, changed his plan
without her knowledge, and also repaired to Copenhagen, where they
were both arrested and sent to the Castle of Hammershuus, on the
island of Bornholm in the Baltic, an ancient fortress, now a most
picturesque ruin, perched at the edge of perpendicular rocks,
overhanging the sea, and almost surrounded by it.

The Autobiography relates circumstantially, and no doubt truthfully,
the cruel treatment to which they were here subjected by the
governor, a Major-General Fuchs. After a desperate attempt at escape,
they were still more rigorously guarded, and at length they had to
purchase their liberty by surrendering the whole of their property,
excepting one estate in Fyen. Ulfeldt had to make the most humble
apologies, and to promise not to leave the island of Fyen, where this
estate was situated, without special permission. He was also
compelled to renounce on the part of his wife the title of a Countess
of Slesvig-Holstein, which Fredrik III. had never acknowledged. She
never made use of that title afterwards, nor is she generally known
by it in history. Corfits Ulfeldt being a Count of the German Empire,
of course Leonora and her children were, and remained, Counts and
Countesses of Ulfeldt. This compromise was effected in 1661.

Having been conveyed to Copenhagen, Ulfeldt could not obtain an
audience of the King, and he was obliged, kneeling, to tender renewed
oath of allegiance before the King's deputies, Count Rantzow, General
Hans Schack, the Chancellor Redtz, and the Chancellor of the
Exchequer, Christofer Gabel, all of whom are mentioned in Leonora's
account of her subsequent prison life.

A few days after, Corfits Ulfeldt and Leonora Christina left
Copenhagen, which he was never to see again, she only as a prisoner.
They retired to the estate of Ellensborg, in Fyen, which they had
still retained. This was the ancient seat of the Ulfeldts, which
Corfits' father had sold to Ellen Marsvin, Leonora Christina's
grandmother, and which had come to Leonora through her mother. In the
meanwhile it had been renamed and rebuilt such as it stands to this
day, a picturesque pile of buildings in the Elizabethan style. Here
Ulfeldt might have ended his stormy life in quiet, but his thirst for
revenge left him no peace. Besides this, a great change had taken
place in Denmark. The national revival which followed the renewal of
the war by Carl Gustav in 1658 led to a total change in the form of
government.

It was indisputable that the selfishness of the nobles, who refused
to undertake any burden for the defence of the country, was the main
cause of the great disasters that had befallen Denmark. The abolition
of their power was loudly called for, and the Queen so cleverly
turned this feeling to account, that the remedy adopted was not the
restoration of the other classes of the population to their
legitimate constitutional influence, but the entire abolition of the
constitution itself, and the introduction of hereditary, unlimited
despotism. The title 'hereditary king,' which so often occurs in
Danish documents and writings from that time, also in Leonora's
Memoir, has reference to this change. Undoubtedly this was very
little to Ulfeldt's taste. Already, in the next year after his
release, 1662, he obtained leave to go abroad for his health. But,
instead of going to Spaa, as he had pretended, he went to Amsterdam,
Bruges, and Paris, where he sought interviews with Louis XIV. and the
French ministers; he also placed himself in communication with the
Elector of Brandenburg, with a view of raising up enemies against his
native country. The Elector gave information to the Danish
Government, whilst apparently lending an ear to Ulfeldt's
propositions.

When a sufficient body of evidence had been collected, it was laid
before the High Court of Appeal in Copenhagen, and judgment given in
his absence, whereby he was condemned to an ignominious death as a
traitor, his property confiscated, his descendants for ever exiled
from Denmark, and a large reward offered for his apprehension. The
sentence is dated July 24, 1663. Meanwhile Ulfeldt had been staying
with his family at Bruges. One day one of his sons, Christian, saw
General Fuchs, who had treated his parents so badly at Hammershuus,
driving through the city in a carriage; immediately he leaped on to
the carriage and killed Fuchs on the spot. Christian Ulfeldt had to
fly, but the parents remained in Bruges, where they had many friends.

It was in the following spring, on May 24, 1663, that Leonora
Christina, much against her own inclination, left her husband--as it
proved, not to see him again alive. Ulfeldt had on many occasions
used his wealth in order to gain friends, by lending them
money--probably the very worst method of all. It is proved that at
his death he still held bonds for more than 500,000 dollars, or
100,000_l._, which he had lent to various princes and noblemen, and
which were never paid. Amongst others he had lent the Pretender,
afterwards Charles II., a large sum, about 20,000 patacoons, which at
the time he had raised with some difficulty. He doubted not that the
King of England, now that he was able to do it, would recognise the
debt and repay it; and he desired Leonora, who, through her father,
was cousin of Charles II., once removed, to go to England and claim
it. She describes this journey in her Autobiography.

The Danish Government, hearing of her presence in England, thought
that Ulfeldt was there too, or hoped at any rate to obtain possession
of important documents by arresting her, and demanded her
extradition. The British Government ostensibly refused, but underhand
it gave the Danish minister, Petcum, every assistance. Leonora was
arrested in Dover, where she had arrived on her way back,
disappointed in the object of her journey. She had obtained enough
and to spare of fair promises, but no money; and by secretly giving
her up to the Danish Government, Charles II. in an easy way quitted
himself of the debt, at the same time that he pleased the King of
Denmark, without publicly violating political propriety. Leonora's
account of the whole affair is confirmed in every way by the light
which other documents throw upon the matter, particularly by the
extracts contained in the Calendar of State Papers, Domestic Series,
of the reign of Charles II., 1663-64.

Leonora was now conducted to Copenhagen, where she was confined in
the Blue Tower--a square tower surmounted by a blue spire, which
stood in the court of the royal castle, and was used as a prison for
grave offenders (see the engraving). At this point the Memoir of her
sufferings in the prison takes up the thread of her history, and we
need not here dwell upon its contents.

As soon as Ulfeldt heard that the Brandenburg Government had betrayed
him, and that sentence had been passed on him in Copenhagen, he left
Bruges. No doubt the arrest of Leonora in England was a still greater
blow to him. The Spanish Government would probably have surrendered
him to the Danish authorities, and he had to flee from place to
place, pursued by Danish agents demanding his extradition, and men
anxious to earn the reward offered for his apprehension, dead or
alive. His last abode was Basle, where he passed under a feigned
name, until a quarrel between one of his sons and a stranger caused
the discovery of their secret. Not feeling himself safe, Ulfeldt left
Basle, alone, at night, in a boat descending the Rhine; but he never
reached his destination. He was labouring under a violent attack on
the chest, and the night air killed him. He breathed his last in the
boat, on February 20, 1664. The boatmen, concluding from the gold and
jewels which they found on him that he was a person of consequence,
brought the body on shore, and made the matter known in Basle, from
whence his sons came and buried him under a tree in a field--no one
knows the spot.

Meanwhile the punishment of beheading and quartering had been
executed on a wooden effigy in Copenhagen. His palace was demolished,
and the site laid out in a public square, on which a pillar of
sandstone was erected as an everlasting monument of his crimes. This
pillar was taken away in 1842, and the name was changed from Ulfeldt
Square to Greyfriars Square, as an indication of the forgetting and
forgiving spirit of the time, or perhaps rather because the treason
of Ulfeldt was closely connected with the ancient jealousy between
Danes and Swedes, of which the present generation is so anxious to
efface the traces.

His children had to seek new homes elsewhere. Christian, who killed
Fuchs, became a Roman Catholic and died as an abbé; and none of them
continued the name, except the youngest son Leo, who went into the
service of the German Emperor, and rose to the highest dignities. His
son Corfits likewise filled important offices under Charles VI. and
Maria Theresa, but left no sons. His two daughters married
respectively a Count Waldstein and a Count Thun, whose descendants
therefore now represent the family of Ulfeldt.

Leonora Christina remained in prison for twenty-two years--that is,
until the death of Sophia Amalia, the Queen of Fredrik III. This
King, as well as his son Christian V., would willingly have set her
at liberty; but the influence of the Queen over her husband and son
was so strong that only her death, which occurred in 1685, released
Leonora.

The Memoir of her life in prison terminates with this event, and her
after-life does not offer any very remarkable incidents.
Nevertheless, a few details, chiefly drawn from a MS. in the Royal
Library at Copenhagen, recently published by Mr. Birket Smith, may
serve to complete the historical image of this illustrious lady. The
MS. in question is from the hand of a Miss Urne, of an ancient Danish
family, who managed the household of Leonora from 1685 to her death
in 1698. A royal manor, formerly a convent, at Maribo, on the island
of Laaland, was granted to Leonora shortly after her release from the
Blue Tower, together with a sufficient pension for a moderate
establishment.

'The first occupation of the Countess,' says Miss Urne, 'was
devotion; for which purpose her household was assembled in a room
outside her bed-chamber. In her daily morning prayer there was this
passage: "May the Lord help all prisoners, console the guilty, and
save the innocent!" After that she remained the whole forenoon in her
bedchamber, occupied in reading and writing. She composed a book
entitled the "Ornament of Heroines," which Countess A. C. Ulfeldt and
Count Leon took away with them, together with many other rare
writings. Her handiwork is almost indescribable, and without an
equal; such as embroidering in silk, gold embroidery, and turning in
amber and ivory.'

It will be seen from Leonora's own Memoir that needlework was one of
her principal occupations in her prison. Count Waldstein still
possesses some of her work; in the Church of Maribo an altar-cloth
embroidered by her existed still some time ago; and at the Castle of
Rosenborg, in Copenhagen, there is a portrait of Christian V. worked
by Leonora in silk, in return for which present the King increased
her annual pension. Miss Urne says that she sent all her work to
Elizabeth Bek, a granddaughter of Leonora, who lived with her for
some years. But she refused to send her Leonora's Postille, or manual
of daily devotion, which had been given Leonora on New Year's Day, in
the last year of her captivity, by the castellan, Torslev, who is
mentioned in Leonora's Memoir, and who had taught her to turn ivory,
&c. This book has disappeared; but amongst the relics of Leonora
Christina, the Royal Library at Copenhagen preserves some leaves
which had been bound up with it, and contain verses, &c., by Leonora,
and other interesting matter.

Her MS. works were taken to Vienna after her death. It is not known
what has become of some of them. A copy of the first part of the book
on heroines exists in Copenhagen. Miss Urne says that she possessed
fragments of a play composed by her and acted at Maribo Kloster; also
the younger Sperling speaks of such a composition in Danish verse;
but the MS. seems to be lost now.

Several of Leonora's relations stayed with her from time to time at
Maribo; amongst them the above-mentioned Elizabeth Bek, whose mother,
Leonora Sophie, famous for her beauty, had married Lave Bek, the head
of an ancient Danish family in Skaane. After Ulfeldt's death Lave Bek
demanded of the Swedish Government the estates which Carl Gustav had
given to Ulfeldt in 1658, but which the Swedish Government had
afterwards confiscated, without any legal ground. Leonora Christina
herself memorialised the Swedish King on the subject, and at least
one of her memorials on the subject, dated May 23, 1693, still
exists; but it was not till 1735 that these estates were given up to
Lave Bek's sons. Leonora's eldest daughter, Anne Catherina, lived
with her mother at Maribo for several years, and was present at her
death. She had married Casetta, a Spanish nobleman, mentioned by
Leonora Christina in her Memoir, who was with her in England when she
was arrested. After the death of Casetta and their children, Anne
Catherina Ulfeldt came to live with her mother. She followed her
brother to Vienna, where she died. It was she who transmitted the MS.
of Leonora's Memoir of her life in the Blue Tower to the brother,
with the following letter, which is still preserved with the MS.:--

  'This book treats of what has happened to our late lady mother in
  her prison. I have not been able to persuade myself to burn it,
  although the reading of it has given me little pleasure, inasmuch
  as all those events concern her miserable state. After all, it is
  not without its use to know how she has been treated; but it is
  not needful that it should come into the hands of strangers, for
  it might happen to give pleasure to those of our enemies who
  still remain.'

The letter is addressed 'A Monsieur, Monsieur le Comte d'Ulfeldt,'
&c., but without date or signature. The handwriting is, however, that
of Anne Catherina Ulfeldt, and she had probably sent it off to Vienna
for safety immediately after her mother's death, before she knew that
her brother would come to Maribo himself. Miss Urne says, in the MS.
referred to, that the King had ordered that he was to be informed
immediately of Leonora's demise, in order that she might be buried
according to her rank and descent; but she had beforehand requested
that her funeral might be quite plain. Her coffin, as well as those
of three children who had died young, and whose coffins had been
provisionally placed in a church at Copenhagen, was immured in a
vault in the church of Maribo; but when this was opened some forty
years ago, no trace of Leonora's mortal remains could be found,
though those of the children were there: from which it is concluded
that a popular report, to the effect that the body had been secretly
carried abroad, contains more truth than was formerly supposed. Count
Waldstein states that in the family vault at Leitsmischl, there is
one metal coffin without any inscription, and which may be hers. If
so, Leonora has, as it were, after her death followed her husband
into exile. At any rate, the final resting-place of neither of them
is known with certainty.




 AUTOBIOGRAPHY
 OF
 LEONORA CHRISTINA

 1673.




AUTOBIOGRAPHY.


Sir,[06]--To satisfy your curiosity, I will give you a short account
of the life of her about whom you desire to be informed. She was born
at Fredericksborg, in the year 1621, on June 11.[07] When she was six
weeks old her grandmother took her with her to Dalum, where she
remained until the age of four years; her first master there being
Mr. Envolt, afterward a priest at Roeskild. About six months after
her return to the Court, her father sent her to Holland to his
cousin, a Duchess of Brunswick, who had married Count Ernest of
Nassau, and lived at Lewarden.

 [06] This autobiographical sketch is written in the form of a
 letter to Dr. Otto Sperling the younger, the son of Corfits
 Ulfeldt's old friend, who was for some years Leonora's
 fellow-prisoner in the Blue Tower.

 [07] It is curious that Leonora seems for a long time to have been
 under a mistake as to the date of her birthday. The right date is
 July 18, new style.

Her sister Sophia, who was two years and a half older than herself,
and her brother, who was a year younger, had gone to the aforesaid
Duchess nearly a year before. I must not forget to mention the first
mischances that befell her at her setting out. She went by sea in one
of the royal ships of war; having been two days and a night at sea,
at midnight such a furious tempest arose that they all had given up
any hope of escaping. Her tutor, Wichmann Hassebart (afterwards
Bishop of Fyn), who attended her, woke her and took her in his arms,
saying, with tears, that they should both die together, for he loved
her tenderly. He told her of the danger, that God was angry, and that
they would all be drowned. She caressed him, treating him like a
father (after her usual wont), and begged him not to grieve; she was
assured that God was not angry, that He would see they would not be
drowned, beseeching him again and again to believe her. Wichmann shed
tears at her simplicity, and prayed to God to save the rest for her
sake, and for the sake of the hope that she, an innocent girl,
reposed in Him. God heard him, and after having lost the two
mainmasts, they entered at dawn of day the harbour of Fleckeröe,[08]
where they remained for six weeks.

 [08] On the South Coast of Norway.

Having received orders to proceed by sea, they pursued their route
and arrived safely. Her sister being informed of her arrival, and
being told that she had come with a different retinue to
herself--with a suite of gentlemen, lady preceptor, servants and
attendants, &c.--she burst into tears, and said that she was not
surprised that this sister always insinuated herself and made herself
a favourite, and that she would be treated there too as such. M.
Sophia was not mistaken in this; for her sister was in greater favour
with the Duchess, with her governess, and with many others, than she
was herself. Count Ernest alone took the side of M. Sophia, and this
rather for the sake of provoking his wife, who liked dispute; for M.
Sophia exhibited her obstinacy even towards himself. She did all the
mischief she could to her sister, and persuaded her brother to do the
same.

To amuse you I will tell you of her first innocent predilections.
Count Ernest had a son of about eleven or twelve years of age; he
conceived an affection for her, and having persuaded her that he
loved her, and that she would one day be his wife, but that this must
be kept secret, she fancied herself already secretly his wife. He
knew a little drawing, and by stealth he instructed her; he even
taught her some Latin words. They never missed an opportunity of
retiring from company and conversing with each other.

This enjoyment was of short duration for her; for a little more than
a year afterwards she fell ill of small-pox, and as his elder
brother, William, who had always ridiculed these affections, urged
him to see his well-beloved in the condition in which she was, in
order to disgust him with the sight, he came one day to the door to
see her, and was so startled that he immediately became ill, and died
on the ninth day following. His death was kept concealed from her.
When she was better she asked after him, and she was made to believe
that he was gone away with his mother (who was at this time at
Brunswick), attending the funeral of her mother. His body had been
embalmed, and had been placed in a glass case. One day her preceptor
made her go into the hall where his body lay, to see if she
recognised it; he raised her in his arms to enable her to see it
better. She knew her dear Moritz at once, and was seized with such a
shock that she fell fainting to the ground. Wichmann in consequence
carried her hastily out of the hall to recover her, and as the dead
boy wore a garland of rosemary, she never saw these flowers without
crying, and had an aversion to their smell, which she still retains.

As the wars between Germany and the King of Denmark had been the
cause of the removal of his aforesaid children, they were recalled
to Denmark when peace was concluded. At the age of seven years and
two months she was affianced to a gentleman of the King's Chamber.
She began very early to suffer for his sake. Her governess was at
this time Mistress Anne Lycke, Qvitzow's mother. Her daughter, who
was maid of honour, had imagined that this gentleman made his
frequent visits for love of her. Seeing herself deceived, she did not
know in what manner to produce estrangement between the lovers; she
spoke, and made M. Sophia speak, of the gentleman's poverty, and
amused herself with ridiculing the number of children in the family.
She regarded all this with indifference, only declaring once that she
loved him, poor as he was, better than she loved her rich
gallant.[09]

 [09] Count Christian Pentz, to whom Sophia was married in 1634.

At last they grew weary of this, and found another opportunity for
troubling her--namely, the illness of her betrothed, resulting from a
complaint in his leg; they presented her with plaisters, ointments,
and such like things, and talked together of the pleasure of being
married to a man who had his feet diseased, &c. She did not answer a
word either for good or bad, so they grew weary of this also. A year
and a half after they had another governess, Catharina Sehestedt,
sister of Hannibal.[10] M. Sophia thus lost her second, and her
sister had a little repose in this quarter.

 [10] Hannibal Sehestedt afterwards married Leonora's younger sister
 Christiana; he became a powerful antagonist of Ulfeldt, and is
 mentioned often in the following Memoir.

When our lady was about twelve years old, Francis Albert, Duke of
Saxony,[11] came to Kolding to demand her in marriage. The King
replied that she was no longer free, that she was already betrothed;
but the Duke was not satisfied with this, and spoke to herself, and
said a hundred fine things to her: that a Duke was far different to a
gentleman. She told him she always obeyed the King, and since it had
pleased the King to promise her to a gentleman, she was well
satisfied. The Duke employed the governess to persuade her, and the
governess introduced him to her brother Hannibal, then at the Court,
and Hannibal went with post-horses to Möen, where her betrothed was,
who did not linger long on the road in coming to her. This was the
beginning of the friendship between Monsieur and Hannibal, which
afterwards caused so much injury to Monsieur. But he had not needed
to trouble himself, for the Duke never could draw from her the
declaration that she would be ready to give up her betrothed if the
King ordered her to do so. She told him she hoped the King would not
retract from his first promise. The Duke departed ill satisfied, on
the very day the evening of which the betrothed arrived. (Four years
afterwards they quarrelled on this subject in the presence of the
King, who appeased them with his authority.)

 [11] Frantz Albrecht, Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg, the same who in the
 Thirty Years' War alternately served the Protestants and the
 Imperialists. In the battle of Lützen he was near Gustav Adolf when
 he fell, and he was regarded by many as the one who treacherously
 fired the fatal shot.

It happened the following winter at Skanderborg that the governess
had a quarrel with the language-master, Alexandre de Cuqvelson, who
taught our lady and her sisters the French language, writing,
arithmetic, and dancing. M. Sophia was not studious; moreover, she
had very little memory; for her heart was too much devoted to her
dolls, and as she perceived that the governess did not punish her
when Alexandre complained of her, she neglected everything, and took
no trouble about her studies. Our lady imagined she knew enough when
she knew as much as her sister. As this had lasted some time, the
governess thought she could entrap Alexandre; she accused him to the
King, said that he treated the children badly, rapped their fingers,
struck them on the hand, called them bad names, &c., and with all
this they could not even read, much less speak, the French language.
Besides this, she wrote the same accusations to the betrothed of our
lady. The betrothed sent his servant Wolff to Skanderborg, with
menaces to Alexandre. At the same time Alexandre was warned that the
King had sent for the prince,[12] to examine his children, since the
father-confessor was not acquainted with the language.

 [12] That is, the King's eldest son Christian, who was elected his
 successor, but died before him.

The tutor was in some dismay; he flattered our lady, implored her to
save him, which she could easily do, since she had a good memory, so
that he could prove by her that it was not his fault that M. Sophia
was not more advanced. Our lady did not yield readily, but called to
his remembrance how one day, about half a year ago, she had begged
him not to accuse her to the governess, but that he had paid no
attention to her tears, though he knew that the governess treated
them shamefully. He begged her for the love of Jesus, wept like a
child, said that he should be ruined for ever, that it was an act of
mercy, that he would never accuse her, and that from henceforth she
should do nothing but what she wished. At length she consented, said
she would be diligent, and since she had yet three weeks before her,
she learnt a good deal by heart.[13] Alexandre told her one day,
towards the time of the examination, that there was still a great
favour she could render him: if she would not repeat the little
things which had passed at school-time; for he could not always pay
attention to every word that he said when M. Sophia irritated him,
and if he had once taken the rod to hit her fingers when she had not
struck her sister strongly enough, he begged her for the love of God
to pardon it. (It should be mentioned that he wished the one to
strike the other when they committed faults, and the one who
corrected the other had to beat her, and if she did not do so
strongly enough, he took the office upon himself; thus he had often
beaten our lady.)

 [13] In the margin the following addition is inserted: 'She had at
 that time an unusual memory. She could at one and the same time
 recite one psalm by heart, write another, and attend to the
 conversation. She had tried this more than once, but I think that
 she has thereby spoilt her memory, which is not now so good.'

She made excuses, said that she did not dare to tell a lie if they
asked her, but that she would not accuse him of herself. This promise
did not wholly satisfy him; he continued his entreaties, and assured
her that a falsehood employed to extricate a friend from danger was
not a sin, but was agreeable to God; moreover, it was not necessary
for her to say anything, only not to confess what she had seen and
heard. She said that the governess would treat her ill; so he replied
that she should have no occasion to do so, for that he would never
complain to her. Our lady replied that the governess would find
pretext enough, since she was inclined to ill-treat the children; and
anyhow, the other master who taught them German was a rude man, and
an old man who taught them the spinette was a torment, therefore she
had sufficient reason for fear. He did not give way, but so persisted
in his persuasion that she promised everything.

When the prince arrived the governess did not forget to besiege him
with her complaints, and to beg him to use his influence that the
tutor might be dismissed. At length the day of the examination having
come, the governess told her young ladies an hour before that they
were to say how villanously he had treated them, beaten them, &c. The
prince came into the apartments of the ladies accompanied by the
King's father-confessor (at that time Dr. Ch(r)estien Sar); the
governess was present the whole time.

They were first examined in German. M. Sophia acquitted herself very
indifferently, not being able to read fluently. The master
Christoffre excused her, saying that she was timid. When it came to
Alexandre's turn to show what his pupils could do, M. Sophia could
read little or nothing. When she stammered in reading, the governess
looked at the prince and laughed aloud. There was no difference in
the gospel, psalms, proverbs, or suchlike things. The governess was
very glad, and would have liked that the other should not have been
examined. But when it came to her turn to read in the Bible, and she
did not hesitate, the governess could no longer restrain herself, and
said, 'Perhaps it is a passage she knows by heart that you have made
her read.' Alexandre begged the governess herself to give the lady
another passage to read. The governess was angry at this also, and
said, 'He is ridiculing me because I do not know French.' The prince
then opened the Bible and made her read other passages, which she
did as fluently as before. In things by heart she showed such
proficiency that the prince was too impatient to listen to all.

It was then Alexandre's turn to speak, and to say that he hoped His
Highness would graciously consider that it was not his fault that M.
Sophia was not more advanced. The governess interrupted him saying,
'You are truly the cause of it, for you treat her ill!' and she began
a torrent of accusations, asking M. Sophia if they were not true. She
answered in the affirmative, and that she could not conscientiously
deny them. Then she asked our lady if they were not true. She replied
that she had never heard nor seen anything of the kind. The
governess, in a rage, said to the Prince, 'Your highness must make
her speak the truth; she dares not do so, for Alexandre's sake.'

The Prince asked her if Alexandre had never called her bad names--if
he had never beaten her. She replied, 'Never.' He asked again if she
had not seen nor heard that he had ill-treated her sister. She
replied, 'No, she had never either heard or seen it.' At this the
governess became furious; she spoke to the prince in a low voice; the
prince replied aloud, 'What do you wish me to do? I have no order
from the King to constrain her to anything.' Well, Alexandre gained
his cause; the governess could not dislodge him, and our lady gained
more than she had imagined in possessing the affection of the King,
the goodwill of the Prince, of the priest, and of all those who knew
her. But the governess from that moment took every opportunity of
revenging herself on our lady.

At length she found one, which was rather absurd. The old Jean
Meinicken, who taught our lady the spinette, one day, in a passion,
seized the fingers of our lady and struck them against the
instrument; without remembering the presence of her governess, she
took his hand and retaliated so strongly that the strings broke. The
governess heard with delight the complaints of the old man. She
prepared two rods; she used them both, and, not satisfied with that,
she turned the thick end of one, and struck our lady on the thigh,
the mark of which she bears to the present day. More than two months
elapsed before she recovered from the blow; she could not dance, nor
could she walk comfortably for weeks after. This governess did her so
much injury that at last our lady was obliged to complain to her
betrothed, who had a quarrel with the governess at the wedding of M.
Sophia, and went straight to the King to accuse her; she was at once
dismissed, and the four children, the eldest of which was our lady,
went with the princess[14] to Niköping, to pass the winter there,
until the king could get another governess. The King, who had a good
opinion of the conduct of our lady, who at this time was thirteen
years and four months old, wrote to her and ordered her to take care
of her sisters. Our lady considered herself half a governess, so she
took care not to set them a bad example. As to study, she gave no
thought to it at this time; she occupied herself in drawing and
arithmetic, of which she was very fond, and the princess, who was
seventeen years of age, delighted in her company. Thus this winter
passed very agreeably for her.

 [14] Namely, Magdalena Sybilla of Saxony, then newly married
 (October 5, 1634) to Prince Christian, the eldest son and elected
 successor of Christian IV. M. Sophia's wedding to Chr. Pentz was
 celebrated on the 10th of the same month.

At the approach of the Diet, which sat eight days after Pentecost,
the children came to Copenhagen, with the prince and princess, and
had as governess a lady of Mecklenburg of the Blixen family, the
mother of Philip Barstorp who is still alive. After the Diet, the
king made a journey to Glückstad in two days and a half, and our lady
accompanied him; it pleased the King that she was not weary, and that
she could bear up against inconveniences and fatigues. She afterwards
made several little journeys with the King, and she had the good
fortune occasionally to obtain the pardon of some poor criminals, and
to be in favour with the king.

Our lady having attained the age of fifteen years and about four
months, her betrothed obtained permission for their marriage, which
was celebrated (with more pomp than the subsequent weddings of her
sisters), on October 9, 1636. The winter after her marriage she was
with her husband at Möen, and as she knew that her husband's father
had not left him any wealth, she asked him concerning his debts, and
conjured him to conceal nothing from her. He said to her, 'If I tell
you the truth it will perhaps frighten you.' She declared it would
not, and that she would supply what was needful from her ornaments,
provided he would assure her that he had told her everything. He did
so, and found that she was not afraid to deprive herself of her gold,
silver, and jewels, in order to pay a sum of thirty-six thousand
rix-dollars. On April 21, 1637, she went with her husband to
Copenhagen in obedience to the order of the king, who gave him the
post of V.R.[15] He was again obliged to incur debt in purchasing a
house and in setting up a larger establishment.

 [15] V.R. probably stands for Viceroy, by which term Leonora no
 doubt indicates the post of Governor of Copenhagen.

There would be no end were I to tell you all the mischances that
befell her during the happy period of her marriage, and of all the
small contrarieties which she endured; but since I am assured that
this history will not be seen by anyone, and that you will not keep
it after having read it, I will tell you a few points which are
worthy of attention. Those who were envious of the good fortune of
our lady could not bear that she should lead a tranquil life, nor
that she should be held in esteem by her father and King; I may call
him thus, for the King conferred on her more honours than were due to
her from him. Her husband loved and honoured her, enacting the lover
more than the husband.

She spent her time in shooting, riding, tennis, in learning drawing
in good earnest from Charles v. Mandern, in playing the viol, the
flute, the guitar, and she enjoyed a happy life. She knew well that
jealousy is a plague, and that it injures the mind which harbours it.
Her relations tried to infuse into her head that her husband loved
elsewhere, especially M. Elizabet, and subsequently Anna, sister of
her husband, who was then in her house. M. Elizabet began by
mentioning it as a secret, premising that no one could tell her and
warn her, except her who was her sister.

As our lady at first said nothing and only smiled, M. Elis... said:
'The world says that you know it well, but that you will not appear
to do so.' She replied with a question: 'Why did she tell her a
thing as a secret, which she herself did not believe to be a secret
to her? but she would tell her a secret that perhaps she did not
know, which was, that she had given her husband permission to spend
his time with others, and when she was satisfied the remainder would
be for others; that she believed there were no such jealous women as
those who were insatiable, but that a wisdom was imputed to her,
which she did not possess; she begged her, however, to be wise enough
not to interfere with matters which did not concern her, and if she
heard others mentioning it (as our lady had reason to believe that
this was her own invention) that she would give them a reprimand. M.
Elis... was indignant and went away angry, but Anna, Monsieur's
sister, who was in the house, adopted another course. She drew round
her the handsomest women in the town, and then played the procuress,
spoke to her brother of one particularly, who was a flirt, and who
was the handsomest, and offered him opportunities, &c. As she saw
that he was proof against it, she told him (to excite him) that his
wife was jealous, that she had had him watched where he went when he
had been drinking with the King, to know whether he visited this
woman; she said that his wife was angry, because the other woman was
so beautiful, said that she painted, &c.

The love borne to our lady by her husband made him tell her all, and,
moreover, he went but rarely afterwards to his sister's apartments,
from which she could easily understand that the conversation had not
been agreeable to him; but our lady betrayed nothing of the matter,
visited her more than before, caressed this lady more than any other,
and even made her considerable presents. (Anna remained in her house
as long as she lived.)

All this is of small consideration compared with the conduct of her
own brother. It is well known to you that the Biel... were very
intimate in our lady's house. It happened that her brother made a
journey to Muscovy, and that the youngest of the Biel... was in his
suite. As this was a very lawless youth, and, to say the truth, badly
brought up, he not only at times failed in respect to our lady's
brother, but freely expressed his sentiments to him upon matters
which did not concern him; among other things, he spoke ill of the
Holstein noblemen, naming especially one, who was then in waiting on
the King, who he said had deceived our lady's brother. The matter
rested there for more than a year after their return from this
journey. The brother of our lady and Biel... played cards together,
and disputed over them; upon this the brother of our lady told the
Holstein nobleman what Biel... had said of him more than a year
before, which B. did not remember, and swore that he had never said.
The Holstein nobleman said insulting things against Biel....

Our lady conversed with her brother upon the affair, and begged him
to quiet the storm he had raised, and to consider how it would cause
an ill-feeling with regard to him among the nobility, and that it
would seem that he could not keep to himself what had been told him
in secret; it would be very easy for him to mend the matter. Her
brother replied that he could never retract what he had said, and
that he should consider the Holstein nobleman as a villain if he did
not treat B. as a rogue.

At length the Holstein nobleman behaved in such a manner as to
constrain B. to send him a challenge. B. was killed by his adversary
with the sword of our lady's brother, which she did not know till
afterwards. At noon of the day on which B. had been killed in the
morning, our lady went to the castle to visit her little twin
sisters; her brother was there, and came forward, laughing loudly and
saying, 'Do you know that Ran... has killed B...?' She replied, 'No,
that I did not know, but I knew that you had killed him. Ran... could
do nothing less than defend himself, but you placed the sword in his
hand.' Her brother, without answering a word, mounted his horse and
went to seek his brother-in-law, who was speaking with our old
friend,[16] told him he was the cause of B.'s death, and that he had
done so because he had understood that his sister loved him, and that
he did not believe that his brother-in-law was so blind as not to
have perceived it. The husband of our lady did not receive this
speech in the way the other had imagined, and said, 'If you were not
her brother, I would stab you with this poniard,' showing it to him.
'What reason have you for speaking thus?' The good-for-nothing fellow
was rather taken aback at this, and knew not what to say, except that
B... was too free and had no respect in his demeanour; and that this
was a true sign of love. At length, after some discussion on both
sides, the brother of our lady requested that not a word might be
said to his sister.

 [16] The old friend is Dr. Otto Sperling, sen., a physician in
 extensive practice at Copenhagen, and intimate friend of Ulfeldt.
 Mr. Biel... signifies most probably a certain Christian Bielke,
 whose portrait still exists at Rosenborg Castle, in Copenhagen,
 with an inscription that he was killed in a duel by Bartram Rantzau
 on Easter eve 1642. If this date is true, Bielke cannot have
 accompanied Leonora's brother Count Valdemar on his journey to
 Russia, as this journey only took place in 1643. Count Valdemar was
 to marry a Russian princess, but it was broken off on his refusing
 to join the Greek church.

As soon as she returned home, her husband told her everything in the
presence of our old friend, but ordered her to feign ignorance. This
was all the more easy for her, as her husband gave no credence to it,
but trusted in her innocence. She let nothing appear, but lived with
her brother as before. But some years after, her brother ill-treated
his own mother, and her side being taken by our lady, they were in
consequence not good friends.

In speaking to you of the occupations of our lady, after having
reached the age of twenty-one or thereabouts, I must tell you she had
a great desire to learn Latin. She had a very excellent master,[17]
whom you know, and who taught her for friendship as well as with good
will. But she had so many irons in the fire, and sometimes it was
necessary to take a journey, and a yearly accouchement (to the number
of ten) prevented her making much progress; she understood a little
easy Latin, but attempted nothing difficult; she then learnt a little
Italian, which she continued studying whenever an opportunity
presented itself.

 [17] Dr. Otto Sperling, senior.

I will not speak of her short journeys to Holstein, Jutland, &c.; but
in the year 1646 she made a voyage with her husband by sea, in the
first place to Holland, where she gave birth to a son six weeks after
her arrival at the Hague. From thence she went with her husband to
France, first to Paris and afterwards to Amiens; there they took
leave of the King and of the Queen Mother, Regent, and as they were
returning by Dunkirk she had the curiosity to see England, and
begged her husband to permit her to cross over with a small suite, to
which he consented, since one of the royal vessels lay in the roads.
She took a nobleman with her who knew the language, our old friend, a
servant, and the valet of the aforesaid nobleman, and this was the
whole of her retinue. She embarked, and her husband planned to pass
through Flanders and Brabant, and to await her at Rotterdam. As she
was on the vessel a day and night, and the wind did not favour them,
she resolved to land and to follow her husband, fancying she could
reach him in time to see Flanders and Brabant; she had not visited
these countries before, having passed from Holland by sea to Calais.

She found her husband at Ostend, and travelled with him to Rotterdam;
from thence she pursued her former plan, embarked at Helvoot-Sluys,
and arrived at Duns, went to London, and returned by Dover, making
the whole voyage in ten days, and she was again enceinte. She was an
object of suspicion in London. The Prince Palatine, then Elector of
Heidelberg,[18] belonged to the party opposed to the beheaded King,
who was then a prisoner; and they watched her and surrounded her with
spies, so she did not make a long sojourn in London. Nothing else was
imagined, when it was known she had been there, but that she had
letters from the King of Dan... for the King of Engl.... She returned
with her husband to Dan....

 [18] Prince Ruprecht, Duke of Cumberland, nephew of Charles I.

In the year 1648 fortune abandoned our lady, for on February 28 the
King was taken from her by death. She had the happiness, however, of
attending upon him until his last breath. Good God, when I think of
what this good King said to her the first day, when she found him
ill in bed at Rosenborg, and wept abundantly, my heart is touched. He
begged her not to weep, caressed her, and said: 'I have placed you so
securely that no one can move you.' Only too much has she felt the
contrary of the promise of the King who succeeded him, for when he
was Duke and visited her at her house, a few days after the death of
the King, finding her in tears, he embraced her, saying: 'I will be a
father to you, do not weep.' She kissed his hand without being able
to speak. I find that some fathers have been unnatural towards their
children.

In the year 1649 she made another voyage with her husband to Holland,
and at the Hague gave birth to a daughter. When her husband returned
from this journey, he for the first time perceived the designs of
Hannibal, of Gerstorp, and Wibe, but too late. He absented himself
from business, and would not listen to what his wife told him. Our
old friend shared the opinion of our lady, adducing very strong
reason for it, but all in vain; he said, that he would not be a
perpetual slave for the convenience of his friends. His wife spoke as
a prophet to him, told him that he would be treated as a slave when
he had ceased to have authority, that they would suspect him, and
envy his wealth; all of which took place, though I shall make no
recital of it, since these events are sufficiently known to you.

We will now speak a little of the events which occurred afterwards.
When they had gained their cause,[19] our lady feared that the strong
party which they had then overcome would not rest without ruining
them utterly at any cost; so she advised her husband to leave the
country, since he had the King's permission to do so,[20] and to save
his life, otherwise his enemies would contrive some other invention
which would succeed better. He consented to this at length, and they
took their two eldest children with them, and went by sea to
Amsterdam. At Utrecht they left the children with the servants and a
female attendant, and our lady disguised herself in male attire and
followed her husband, who took the route to Lubeck, and from thence
by sea to Sweden, to ask the protection of Queen Christina, which he
received; and as the Queen knew that his wife was with him in
disguise, she requested to see her, which she did.

 [19] Namely, the process against Dina. _See_ Introduction.

 [20] Ulfeldt had not really the permission of the King to leave the
 country in the way he did. These words must therefore be understood
 to mean that the favourable termination of the trial concerning
 Dina's accusations had liberated Ulfeldt from the special
 obligation to remain in Copenhagen, which his position in reference
 to that case imposed upon him.

The husband of our lady purposed to remain some time in Pomerania,
and the Queen lent him a vessel to convey him thither. Having been
three days at sea, the wind carried them towards Dantzig, and not
being able to enter the town, for it was too late, they remained
outside the gates at a low inn. An adventure fit for a novel here
happened to our lady. A girl of sixteen, or a little more, believing
that our lady was a young man, threw herself on her neck with
caresses, to which our lady responded, and played with the girl, but,
as our lady perceived what the girl meant, and that she could not
satisfy her, she turned her over to Charles, a man of their suite,
thinking he would answer her purpose; he offered the girl his
attentions, but she repelled him rudely, saying, she was not for him,
and went again to our lady, accosting her in the same way. Our lady
got rid of her, but with difficulty however, for she was somewhat
impudent, and our lady did not dare to leave her apartment. For the
sake of amusing you, I must tell you, what now occurs to me, that in
the fort before Stade, the name of which has escaped me, our lady
played with two soldiers for drink, and her husband, who passed for
her uncle, paid the expenses; the soldiers, willing to lose for the
sake of gaining the beer, and astonished that she never lost, were,
however, civil enough to present her with drink.

We must return to Dantzig. The husband of our lady, finding himself
near Thoren, desired to make an excursion there, but his design was
interrupted by two men, one who had formerly served in Norway as
Lieutenant-Colonel, and a charlatan who called himself Dr. Saar, and
who had been expelled from Copenhagen. They asked the Mayor of the
town to arrest these two persons, believing that our lady was Ebbe
Wl....[21] They were warned by their host that these persons said
they were so-and-so, and that these gentlemen were at the door to
prevent their going out. Towards evening they grew tired of keeping
guard, and went away. Before dawn the husband of our lady went out of
the house first, and waited at the gate, and our lady with the two
servants went in a coach to wait at the other gate until it was
opened; thus they escaped this time.

 [21] That is, Ebbe Ulfeldt,--a relative of Corfitz who left Denmark
 in 1651 and afterwards lived in Sweden.

They went by land to Stralsund, where our lady resumed her own
attire, after having been in disguise twelve weeks and four days, and
having endured many inconveniences, not having gone to bed all the
time, except at Stockholm, Dantzig, and Stettin. She even washed the
clothes, which inconvenienced her much. The winter that they passed
at Stralsund, her husband taught her, or rather began to teach her,
Spanish. In the spring they again made a voyage to Stockholm, at the
desire of Queen Chr.... This good Queen, who liked intrigue, tried to
excite jealousy and to make people jealous, but she did not succeed.
They were in Sweden until after the abdication of the Queen, and the
wedding and coronation of King Charles and Queen Hedevig, which was
in the year 1654. They returned to Pomerania for a visit to Barth,
which they possessed as a mortgage. There, our lady passed her time
in study, sometimes occupied with a Latin book, sometimes with a
Spanish one. She translated a small Spanish work, entitled _Matthias
de los Reyos_; but this book since fell into the hands of others, as
well as the first part of _Cleopatre_, which she had translated from
the French, with matters of greater value.

In the year 1657,[22] her husband persuaded her to make a voyage to
Dannem... to try and gain an audience with the King, and see if she
could not obtain some payment from persons who owed them money. Our
lady found various pleas for not undertaking this voyage, seeing a
hundred difficulties against its successful issue; but her husband
besought her to attempt it, and our old friend shared her husband's
opinion that nothing could be done to her, that she was under the
protection of the King of Sweden, and not banished from Dan... with
similar arguments. At length she yielded, and made the journey in the
winter, travelling in a coach with six horses, a secretary, a man on
horseback, a female attendant, a page and a lacquey--that was all.
She went first to see her mother in Jutland, and remained there three
days; this was immediately known at the Court.

 [22] This date is erroneous; the journey took place in November and
 December 1656.

When she had passed the Belt, and was within cannon-shot of Corsör,
she was met by Uldrich Chr. Guldenl...,[23] who was on the point of
going to Jutland to fetch her. He returned with his galley and
landed; she remained in her vessel, waiting for her carriage to be
put on shore. Guld... impatient, could not wait so long, and sent the
burgomaster Brant to tell her to come ashore, as he had something to
say to her. She replied that if he had anything to say to her, he
ought to show her the attention of coming to her. Brant went with
this answer; awaiting its issue, our lady looked at her attendants
and perceived a change in them all. Her female attendant was seized
with an attack from which she suffers still, a trembling of the head,
while her eyes remained fixed. The secretary trembled so that his
teeth chattered. Charles was quite pale, as were all the others. Our
lady spoke to them, and asked them why they were afraid; for her they
had nothing to fear, and less for themselves. The secretary answered,
'They will soon let us know that.' Brant returned with the same
message, with the addition that Gul... was bearer of the King's
order, and that our lady ought to come to him at the Castle to hear
the King's order. She replied that she respected the King's order
there as well as at the castle; that she wished that Gul... would
please to let her know there the order of His Majesty; and when
Brant tried to persuade her, saying continually, 'Oh! do give in, do
give in!' she used the same expression, and said also, 'Beg Gul... to
give in,' &c. At length she said, 'Give me sufficient time to have
two horses harnessed, for I cannot imagine he would wish me to go on
foot.'

 [23] U.C. Gyldenlöve, illegitimate son of Christian IV. and
 half-brother of Leonora.

When she reached the castle she had the coach pulled up. Brant came
forward to beg her to enter the castle; she refused, and said she
would not enter; that if he wished to speak to her he must come to
her, that she had come more than half-way. Brant went, and returned
once again, but she said the same, adding that he might do all that
seemed good to him, she should not stir from the spot. At length the
good-for-nothing fellow came down, and when he was ready to speak to
her, she opened the coach and got out. He said a few polite words to
her, and then presented her with an order from the King, written in
the chancery, the contents of which were, that she must hasten to
depart from the King's territory, or she would have to thank herself
for any ill that might befall her. Having read the order she bowed,
and returned him the order, which was intended to warn her, saying,
'That she hoped to have been permitted to kiss the King's hand, but
as her enemies had hindered this happiness by such an order, there
was nothing left for her but to obey in all humility, and thanking
His Majesty most humbly for the warning, she would hasten as quickly
as possible to obey His Majesty's commands. She asked if she were
permitted to take a little refreshment, for that they had had
contrary winds and had been at sea all day. Gul... answered in the
negative, that he did not dare to give her the permission; and since
she had obeyed with such great submission, he would not show her the
other order that he had, asking her at the same moment if she wished
to see this other order? She said, no; that she would abide by the
order that she had seen, and that she would immediately embark on
board her ferry-boat to return. Gul... gave her his hand, and begged
her to make use of his galley.

She did so. They went half the way without speaking; at length Gul...
broke the silence, and they entered into conversation. He told her
that the King had been made to believe that she had assembled a
number of noblemen at her mother's house, and that he had orders to
disperse this cabal. They had a long conversation together, and spoke
of Dina's affair; he said the King did not yet know the real truth of
it. She complained that the King had not tried to know it. At length
they arrived by night at Nyborg. Gul... accompanied her to her
hostelry, and went to his own, and an hour afterwards sent
Scherning[24] to tell her that at dawn of day she must be ready, in
order that they might arrive at Assens the next evening, which it was
impossible to do with her own horses, as they did not arrive till
morning. She assented, saying she would act in obedience to his
orders, began talking with Scherning, and conversed with him about
other matters. I do not know how, but she gained his good graces, and
he prevailed so far with Gul... that Gul... did not hasten her
unduly. Towards nine o'clock the next morning he came to tell her
that he did not think it necessary to accompany her further, but he
hoped she would follow the King's order, and begged her to speak with
Kay v. Ahlefeld at Haderslef, when she was passing through; he had
received orders as to what he had to do. She promised this, and
Gul... returned to Copenhagen, placing a man with our lady to watch
her.

 [24] Probably Povl Tscherning, a well-known man of the time, who
 held the office of Auditor-General.

Our lady did not think it necessary to speak to Kay v. Ahlefeld, for
she had nothing to say to him, and she did not want to see more
orders; she passed by Haderslef, and went to Apenrade, and awaited
there for ten days[25] a letter from Gul... which he had promised to
write to her; when she saw that he was not going to keep his word she
started on her way to Slesvig, halting half way with the intention of
dining. Holst, the clerk of the bailiwick of Flensborg, here arrived
in a coach with two arquebuses larger and longer than halberds. He
gave orders to close the bar of Boy..., sent to the village, which is
quite close, that the peasants should hold themselves ready with
their spears and arms, and made four persons who were in the tavern
take the same arms, that is, large poles. Afterwards he entered and
made a long speech, with no end of compliments to our lady, to while
away the time. The matter was, that the governor[26] desired her to
go to Flensborg, as he had something to say to her, and he hoped she
would do him the pleasure to rest a night at Flensborg.

 [25] In order to understand how she could wait for ten days at
 Apenrade, it must be borne in mind that the duchy of Slesvig was at
 that time divided into several parts, of which some belonged to the
 King, others to the Duke of Gottorp. Haderslev and Flensborg
 belonged to the King, but Apenrade to the Duke; in this town,
 therefore, she was safe from the pursuit of the Danish authorities.

 [26] The governor of Flensborg at that time was Detlef v. Ahlefeld,
 the same who in 1663 was sent to Königsberg to receive information
 from the court of Brandenburg on the last intrigues of Ulfeldt.

Our lady replied that she had not the pleasure of his acquaintance,
and therefore she thought he took her for someone else; if she could
oblige him in anything she would remain at Slesvig the following day,
in order to know in what she could serve him. No, it was not that; he
repeated his request. She ordered Charles to have the horses put to.
Holst understood this, which was said in French, and begged her for
the love of God not to set out; he had orders not to let her depart.
'You,' said she, in a somewhat haughty tone, 'who are you? With what
authority do you speak thus?' He said he had no written order, but by
word of mouth, and that his governor would soon arrive; he begged her
for the love of God to pardon him. He was a servant, he was willing
to be trodden under her feet. She said: 'It is not for you to pay me
compliments, still less to detain me, since you cannot show me the
King's order, but it is for me to think what I ought to do.'

She went out and ordered her lacquey, who was the only determined one
of her suite, to make himself master of Holst's chariot and
arquebuses. Holst followed her, begging her a hundred times, saying,
'I do not dare to let you pass, I do not dare to open the bar.' She
said, 'I do not ask you to open;' she got into the coach. Holst put
his hand upon the coach-door and sang the old song. Our lady, who had
always pistols in her carriage when she travelled, drew out one and
presented it to him saying, 'Draw back, or I will give you the
contents of this.' He was not slow in letting go his hold; then she
threw a patacoon to those who were to restrain her, saying, 'Here is
something for drink; help in letting the carriage pass the fosse!'
which they immediately did.

Not a quarter of an hour after she had gone, the governor arrived
with another chariot. There were two men and four guns in each
chariot. Our lady was warned of the pursuit; she begged her two
coachmen, whom she had for herself and her baggage, to dispute them
the road as much as they could; she ordered Charles always to remain
at the side of her carriage, in order that she might throw herself
upon the horse if she saw that they gained ground. She took off her
furred robe. They disputed the road up to the bridge, which separated
the territory of the King from that of the Duke.

When she had passed the bridge she stopped, put on her robe, and
alighted. The others paused on the other side of the bridge to look
at her, and thus she escaped again for this time.[27] But it was
amusing to see how the secretary perspired, what fright he was in; he
did not afterwards pretend to bravery, but freely confessed that he
was half dead with fear. She returned to Barth, and found her husband
very very ill. Our old friend had almost given up all hope of his
recovery, but her presence acted as a miracle; he was sufficiently
strong in the morning to be taken out of bed, to the great surprise
of our old friend.

 [27] The clerk Holst was shortly after, when the Swedes occupied
 Flensborg, put to a heavy ransom by Ulfeldt, in punishment of his
 conduct to Leonora. Documents which still exist show that he
 applied to the Danish Government for compensation, but apparently
 in vain.

Just as our lady was thinking of passing some days in tranquillity,
occupied in light study, in trifling work, distillations,
confectionery, and such like things, her husband mixed himself in the
wars. The King of Sweden sent after him to Stettin; he told his wife
that he would have nothing to do with them. He did not keep his word,
however; he did not return to Barth, but went straight off with the
King. She knew he was not provided with anything; she saw the danger
to which he was exposed, she wished to share it; she equipped herself
in haste, and, without his sending for her, went to join him at
Ottensen. He wished to persuade her to return to Hamburgh, and spoke
to her of the great danger; she said the danger was the reason why
she wished to bear him company, and to share it with him; so she went
with him, and passed few days without uneasiness, especially when
Friderichsodde was taken; she feared for both husband and son. There
she had the happiness of reconciling the C. Wrangel and the C.
Jaques,[28] which her husband had believed impossible, not having
been able to succeed. She had also the good fortune to cure her
eldest son and eight of her servants of a malignant fever named
Sprinckeln; there was no doctor at that time with the army, our old
friend having left.

 [28] Count Jakob Casimir de la Gardie, a Swedish nobleman. Count
 Wrangel was the Swedish General.

When her husband passed with the King to Seeland, she remained at
Fyen. The day that she had resolved to set out on the following to
return to Schone, a post arrived with news that her mother was at the
point of death and wished to speak to her; she posted to Jutland,
found Madame very ill and with no hope of life. She had only been
there one night, when her husband sent a messenger to say that if she
wished to see him alive she must lose no time. Our lady was herself
ill; she had to leave her mother, who was already half dead; she had
to take her last farewell in great sorrow, and to go with all speed
to seek her husband, who was very ill at Malmöe. Two days afterwards
she received the tidings of her mother's death, and as soon as the
health of her husband permitted it, she went to Jutland to give the
necessary orders for her mother's funeral. She returned once more to
Schone before the burial; after the funeral[29] she went to
Copenhagen and revisited Malmöe one day before the King of Sweden
began the war for the second time and appeared before Kopenh....

 [29] The funeral took place with great pomp in the church of St.
 Knud, at Odense, on June 23, 1658, together with that of Sophia
 Elizabeth, Leonora's sister, who is mentioned in the beginning of
 the Autobiography.

In the year 1659 the King of Sweden ordered her husband to be
arrested at Malmöe. She went immediately to Helsingör to speak to the
King, but had not the happiness of speaking to him; on the contrary,
the King sent two of his counsellors to tell her that she was free to
choose whether she would return to her estates and superintend them,
or go back to Malmöe and be arrested with her husband. She thanked
His Majesty very humbly for the favour of the choice; she chose to
suffer with her husband, and was glad to have the happiness of
serving him in his affliction, and bearing the burden with him which
would lighten it to him.

She returned to Malmöe with these news; her husband exhibited too
much grief that she was not permitted to solicit on his behalf, and
she consoled him as well as she was able. A few days after, an
officer came to their house and irritated her husband so much by his
impertinent manner that he had a fit of apoplexy. Our lady was
overwhelmed with sorrow; she sent for the priest the next morning,
made her husband receive the holy communion, and received it herself.
She knew not at what hour she might be a widow; no one came to see
her, no one in consequence consoled her, and she had to console
herself. She had a husband who was neither living nor dead; he ate
and drank; he spoke, but no one could understand him.

About eight months after, the King began to take proceedings against
her husband, and in order to make her answer for her husband they
mixed her up in certain points as having asked for news: whence the
young lady was taken whom her husband brought to Copenhagen? who was
Trolle? and that she had kept the property of a Danish nobleman in
her house.[30] Since her husband was ill, the King graciously
permitted her to answer for him; thus they proceeded with her for
nine weeks in succession; she had no other assistance in copying her
defence than her eldest daughter, then very young. She was permitted
to make use of Wolff, for receiving the accusations and taking back
the replies, but he wrote nothing for her. If you are interested in
knowing the proceedings, Kield[31] can give you information
respecting them.

 [30] The young lady was Birgitte Rantzau, who was engaged to
 Korfits Trolle, a Danish nobleman, who had been very active in
 preparing the intended rising of the citizens of Malmöe against the
 Swedes. Ulfeldt was accused of having favoured and assisted this
 design (_see_ the Introduction), and he had brought Trolle's bride
 over to Copenhagen, or accompanied them thither.

 [31] Wolf and Kield were servants of Ulfeldt.

When the proceedings had lasted so many weeks, and she had answered
with regard to the conversations which it was said her husband had
had with one and another, they fancied that her husband feigned
illness. Four doctors were sent with the commandant to visit the sick
man, and they found that he was really ill; not content with this,
they established the Court in his house, for they were ashamed to
make her come to them. They caused the city magistrate to come,
placing him on one side of the hall, and on the other the Danish
noblemen who were under arrest, all as witnesses; eight Commissioners
sat at a round table, the lawyer in front of the table and two clerks
at another table; having made these arrangements, our lady was
desired to enter.

We must mention, in the first place, that two of the delinquents who
were executed afterwards, and another, together with one of the
servants of her husband, were brought there. The principal
delinquents were summoned first, and afterwards the others, to take
an oath that they would speak the truth. We must mention that these
gentlemen were already condemned, and were executed a few days
afterwards. When the lawyer had said that they had now taken their
oaths according to the law, our lady said, 'Post festum! After having
proceeded against my husband so many weeks, having based everything
on the tattle of these delinquents, you come, after they are
condemned to suffer for their trespasses, and make them take an oath.
I do not know if this is conformable to law!'

The lawyer made no reply to this, and, thinking to confuse our lady,
said that he found things contrary the one to the other, cited
passages, leaves, lines, and asked her if she could make these things
agree. She, having at that time a good memory, remembered well what
her own judgment had dictated to her, and said that they would not
find her replies what the lawyer said, but so-and-so, and asked that
they should be read openly, which was done. The lawyer made three
attempts of the same kind; when they saw there was nothing to be
gained by this, the Commissioners attacked her three at a time, one
putting one question and another, another. She said to them quietly,
'Messieurs, with your permission, let one speak at a time, for I am
but one, and I cannot answer three at once!' At which they were all a
little ashamed.

The principal point to which they adhered was, that her husband was a
vassal by oath, and a servant of the King, with which assertion they
parried every objection. She proved that it was not so, that her
husband was neither vassal nor a servant; he had his lands under the
King just as many Swedes had elsewhere, without on that account being
vassals; that he had never taken an oath of fidelity to the King of
Sweden, but that he had shown him much fidelity; that he owed him no
obligation--this she showed by a letter from the King, in which he
thanked him for his services, and hoped so to act that he would
render him still more. She shut the mouth of the delinquent,[32] and
begged the Commissioners to reflect on what she had said.

 [32] The person alluded to is a Bartholomæus Mikkelsen, who was
 executed as ringleader of the conspiracy.

When all was over, after the space of three hours, she requested that
the protocol might be read before her. The President said that she
need have no doubt the protocol was correct, that she should have a
copy of it, that they now understood the matter, and would make a
faithful report of it to the King. No sentence was passed, and they
remained under arrest. The King of Sweden died, and peace was
concluded, but they remained under arrest. A friend came to inform
them, one day, that there was a vessel of war in the roads, which was
to take them to Finland. When she saw her husband a little recovered,
that he could use his judgment, she advised him to escape and go to
Lubeck. She would go to Copenhagen and try to arrange the matter. He
consented to it, and she contrived to let him out in spite of all
the guards round the house (thirty-six in number).

When she received the news that he had passed and could reckon that
he was on his way to Lubeck, she escaped also, and went straight to
Copenh.... Having arrived there, she found her husband arrived before
her; she was much surprised and vexed, fearing what happened
afterwards, but he had flattered himself so with the comfortable hope
that he would enter into the good graces of the King. The next day
they were both arrested and brought to Borringh...[33]; her husband
was ill; on arriving at Borr... they placed him on a litter and
brought him from the town to the castle, a distance of about two
leagues.

 [33] Bornholm. (_See_ the Introduction.)

It would weary you to tell you of all that passed at Borr... If you
take pleasure in knowing it, there is a man in Hamburgh who can tell
it you.[34] I will tell you, however, a part and the chief of what I
remember concerning it. At Rönne, the town where they disembarked at
Borringh----, our lady wrote to the King and to the Queen in the name
of her husband, who was ill, as I have already said, and gave the
memorials to Colonel Rantzou, who promised to deliver them, and who
gave hopes of success.[35] There Fos arrived and conveyed them to the
Castle of Hammershuus. The governor Fos saw that our lady had a small
box with her, and was seized with the desire to know what was in it
and to possess himself of it. He sent one Dina, the wife of the
warder to our lady, to offer to procure a boat for their escape.
There is no doubt she accepted the offer, and promised in return
five hundred crowns. This was enough for Fos; he went one night with
the Major to their apartment, thundered like a madman, said that they
wished to betray him, &c.; the end of the farce was, that he took the
box, but, for the sake of a little ceremony, he sealed it with her
husband's seal, promising to keep it for its safety.

 [34] She refers no doubt to a servant who accompanied them of the
 name of Pflügge.

 [35] The original of this letter to the King exists still.

About three weeks after, he took the two prisoners to walk a little
in the fields; the husband would not go, but the wife went out to
take the air. The traitor gave her a long history of his past
adventures, how many times he had been in prison, some instances of
how great lords had been saved by the assistance of those they had
gained over, and made their fortune. He thought they would do the
same. She said she had not much to dispose of, but besides that, they
would find other means for rewarding such a service. He said he would
think of it, that he had nothing to lose in Dan....

After various discussions from day to day, her husband wished her to
offer him 20,000 rix-dollars; this sum seemed to him too little, and
he asked 50,000 dollars. She said that she could easily promise it,
but could not keep her word, but provided it was twenty she would pay
it. He asked for a security; her husband had a note which would give
security, but our lady did not think it good that he should see this
note, and told Fos that in her box there was a letter that could
secure it; she did not know that he had already opened the box. Some
days after, she asked him if he had made up his mind? He said, 'I
will not do it for less than 50,000, and there is no letter in your
box which would secure it to me. I have opened it; to-morrow I will
send it to Copenh....' She asked him quietly if he had done right in
breaking her husband's seal; he answered rudely that he would take
the responsibility.

Towards autumn, Hannibal and the other heirs of our lady's mother
sent to her husband to notify to him that they could not longer delay
dividing the inheritance, and since they knew that he had in his
possession papers of importance, they requested to be informed of
them. Her husband stated in his reply that Fos had taken his letters,
and that in a rude manner. This answer having been read in the
presence of Fos, he flew in a thundering rage, used abusive language
first to the husband and then to the wife, her husband having firmly
promised our lady not to dispute with this villain, for she feared
some evil might result, but to leave her to answer, for Fos would be
answered.

She was not angry; she ridiculed him and his invectives. At length he
told her that she had offered him 20,000 dollars to induce him to
become a traitor; she replied with calmness, 'If it had been 50,000,
what then?' Fos leapt into the air like an enraged animal, and said
that she lied like a ----, &c. She was not moved, but said 'You speak
like an ass!' Upon this he loaded her with abuse, and then retracted
all that he had just said. She said quite quietly, 'I am not going to
appeal to these gentlemen who are present (there were four) to be
witnesses, for this is an affair that will never be judicially
settled, and nothing can efface this insult but blood.' 'Oh!' said
he, seizing his sword, and drawing it a little out of the scabbard,
'this is what I wear for you, madam.' She, smiling, drew the bodkin
from her hair, saying, 'Here are all the arms at present which I
have for you.' He manifested a little shame, and said that it was not
for her but her sons, if she still had four.[36] She, moreover,
ridiculed him, and said that it was no use his acting the brave
there. In short, books could be filled with all the quarrels between
these two persons from time to time. He shouted at times with all his
might, he spoke like a torrent, and foamed at the mouth, and the next
moment he would speak low like another man. When he shouted so
loudly, our lady said, 'The fever is attacking him again!' He was
enraged at this.

 [36] It will be remembered from the Introduction that Fuchs was
 killed two years after by one of Leonora's sons at Bruges.

Some weeks afterwards he came to visit them, and assumed a humble
manner. Our lady took no notice of it, and spoke with him on
indifferent subjects; but her husband would not speak to him, and
never afterwards was he able to draw from him more than a few words.
Towards Christmas, Fos treated the prisoners very ill, more so than
formerly, so that Monsieur sent the servant to beg him to treat him
as a gentleman and not as a peasant. Fos went to them immediately,
after having abused Monsieur's servant; and as he entered, Monsieur
left the apartment and went into another, and refused to give him his
hand. Fos was enraged at this, and would not remain, nor would he
speak a word to our lady, who begged him to hear her. A moment after,
he caused the door to be bolted, so that they could not go out to
take the air, for they before had free access to a loft. At every
Festival he devised means of annoying them; he closed all the
windows, putting to some bars of iron, and to others wooden framework
and boxes; and as to their food, it was worse than ever. They had to
endure that winter in patience; but as they perceived that Fos's
design was that they should die of hunger, they resolved to hazard an
escape, and made preparation through the winter, in order to escape
as soon as the thaw would set in.

Our lady, who had three pairs of sheets that her children had sent
her, undid some articles of clothing and made cordage and a sail; she
sewed them with silk, for she had no thread. Her husband and the
servant worked at the oars. When the moon was favourable to them in
the month of April, they wished to carry out the plan they had been
projecting for so long a time. Our lady was the first to make the
descent: the height was seventy-two feet; she went on to the ravelin
to await the others. Some time elapsed before her husband came, so
she returned, and at last she heard a great noise among the ropes,
her husband having lost a shoe in his descent. They had still to wait
for the valet; he had forgotten the cord, and said that he could not
carry it with him.

It was necessary to descend the rampart into the moats, which were
dry; the height is about forty feet. Our lady was the first to
descend; she helped her husband, for his strength was already
failing. When they were all three in the fosse, the moon was obscured
and a little rain fell. This was unfortunate, as they could not see
which road to take. Her husband said it would be better to remain
where they were till daylight, for they might break their necks in
descending the rocks. The servant said he knew the way, as he had
observed it when the window was free; that he would go in front. He
went in advance, gliding in a sitting position, after him our lady,
and then her husband; they could not see an inch before them; the man
fell from an incredible height, and did not speak; our lady stopped,
shouted to him, and asked him to answer if he was alive.

He was some time before he answered, so she and her husband
considered him dead; at length he answered, and said he should never
get out of this ravine; our lady asked him if he judged the depth to
be greater than one of the cords could reach? She would tie two
together, and throw the end to him to draw him up. He said that one
cord would be sufficient, but that she could not draw him up, that
she would not be strong enough; she said she could, she would hold
firm, and he should help himself with his knees. He took courage, and
she drew him up; the greatest marvel was, that on each side of her
there was a precipice deeper than that over which he fell, and that
she had nothing by which to support herself, except a small
projection, which they believed to be of earth, against which she
placed her left foot, finding no resting-place for the right one.

We can truly say that God had granted her his protection, for to
escape from such a danger, and draw another out of it, could not have
been done by unaided man. Our fool Fos explained it otherwise, and
used it for his own purposes, saying that without the assistance of
the devil it would have been impossible to stand firm in such a
place, still less to assist another; he impressed this so well on the
Queen, that she is still of the opinion that our lady exercises
sorcery. Fos would take the glory from God to give it to the devil,
and this calumny has to be endured with many others. But let us
return to our miserable fugitives, whom we left in the fosse. Our
lady, who had shouted to her husband not to advance, as soon as she
heard the valet fall, called to him to keep back, turn quietly, and
to climb upwards, for that there was no passage there; this was done,
and they remounted the fosse and kept themselves quiet. Her husband
wished that they should remain there, since they did not know which
road to take.

While they were deliberating, the moon shone forth a little, and our
lady saw where she was, and she remembered a good passage which she
had seen on the day when she walked out with the governor; she
persuaded her husband to follow her; he complained of his want of
strength; she told him that God would assist him, and that he did not
require great strength to let himself glide down, that the passage
was not difficult, and that in ascending on the opposite side, which
was not high, the valet and herself could assist him. He resolved,
but he found it difficult enough; at length, however, they succeeded;
they had then to go half a quarter of a league to reach the place
where the boats were.

Her husband, wearied out, could not walk, and begged her, for the
love of God, to leave him where he was; he was ready to die; she
consoled him, and gave him restoratives, and told him that he had but
a little step to make; he begged her to leave him there, and to save
herself with the servant: she would find means afterwards to rescue
him from prison. She said no, she would not abandon him; that he knew
well the opportunities she had had to escape before, if she had
wished to forsake him; that she would never quit him nor leave him in
the hands of this tyrant; that if Fos ventured to touch him, she was
resolved on avenging herself upon him.

After having taken a little breath, he began again to proceed. Our
lady, who was loaded with so many ropes and clothes, could scarcely
walk, but necessity gave her strength. She begged her husband to lean
on her and on the valet, so he supported himself between them, and in
this way arrived where the boats were; but too late, for it was
already day. As our lady saw the patrol coming in the distance, she
begged her husband to stop there with the valet, saying that she
would go forward in advance, which she did. She was scarcely a
musket-shot distant from a little town where the major lodged, when
she spoke with the guard, and asked them after the major. One of them
went for the major, whose name was Kratz.

The major saw our lady with great consternation; he asked after her
husband. She told him where he was, and in a few words she requested
that he would go to the castle and tell Major-General Fos that his
ill-treatment had been the cause of the desperate resolution they had
taken, and to beg him not to ill-treat them; they were at present
sick at heart; they could not endure anything; she begged him to
consider that those who had resolved to face more than one form of
death, would not fear it in any shape. Kratz conducted the prisoners
to his house, mounted his horse, and went in search of the governor,
who was still in bed, and told him the affair.

The governor got out of bed like a furious creature, swore, menaced;
after having recovered a little, the major told him what our lady had
begged him to say. Then he was for some time thoughtful, and said, 'I
confess it; they had reason to seek their liberty, for otherwise
they would never have had it.' He did not immediately come for the
prisoners, for he had another apartment prepared for them. As he
entered, he assumed a pleasant manner, and asked if they ought to be
there; he did not say an unkind word, but, on the contrary, said he
should have done the same. They were conducted to the Royal Hall to
warm themselves, for they were all wet with the rain; our lady had
then an opportunity of speaking to the valet, and of taking from him
the papers that he had, which contained all that had passed during
the time of their imprisonment,[37] and she counselled the valet to
lay aside the arms that he had upon him, and that if he had anything
which he wished to secure that he would deliver it up to her keeping.
The valet gave her what she asked, followed her orders, threw away
his arms, but as regarded his own papers he would not give them up,
for he did not share her fears; but he knew afterwards, for Fos
caused him to be entirely stripped, and took away everything from
him, and made him pay well for having noted down the dishes that they
had on the first day of the Festivals, and on the rest.

 [37] This account of what happened during their imprisonment at
 Hammershuus, written by Leonora herself, is also mentioned in her
 Record of her prison-life in the Blue Tower. But no copy of it has
 yet come to light. Uhlfeldt's so-called apology contains much
 information on this subject.

At length towards evening our lady and her husband were conveyed into
another apartment, and the valet into the body-guard loaded with
irons. They were there together thirteen weeks, until Fos received
orders from the Court to separate them; meanwhile, he encased the
prisons in iron. I may well use such a term, for he caused plates of
iron to be placed on the walls, double bars and irons round the
windows.[38] When he had permission to separate them, he entered one
day to begin a quarrel, and spoke of the past; our lady begged him
not to say more, but he would go on; he was determined to quarrel. He
said to her, 'Madame, you are so haughty, I will humble you; I will
make you so--so small,' and he made a measurement with his hand from
the floor. 'You have been lifted up and I will bring you down.' She
laughed, and said, 'You may do with me whatever you will, but you can
never humble me so that I shall cease to remember that you were a
servant of a servant of the King my father;' at last, he so forgot
himself as to hold his fist in her face. She said to him, keeping her
hand on her knife which she had in her pocket, 'Make use of your foul
mouth and accursed tongue, but keep your hands quiet.' He drew back,
and made a profound bow in ridicule, calling her 'your grace,' asked
her pardon, and what he had to fear. She said, 'You have nothing to
fear; if you take liberties, you will meet with resistance--feeble
enough, but such as I have strength to give you.'

 [38] Fuchs' own report on this subject still exists, and in it he
 estimates the iron employed at three tons.

After some further invectives, he said farewell, and begged they
might be good friends; he came once more and conducted himself in the
same manner, but less violently. He said to a captain who was
present, of the name of Bolt, that he did it expressly in order to
have a quarrel with her husband, that he might revenge himself for
her conduct upon him, but that her husband would not speak to him. At
length the unhappy day of their separation came, and Fos entered to
tell them that they must be prepared to bid each other a final
farewell, for that he had orders to separate them, and in this life
they would never see each other again; he gave them an hour to
converse together for the last time. You can easily imagine what
passed in this hour; but as they had been prepared for this
separation weeks before, having been warned of it by their guard with
whom they could talk, it did not surprise them. Our lady had gained
over four of the guards, who were ready to let them escape easily
enough, but her husband would not undertake it, always saying that he
had no strength, but that she might do it. Well, they had to abide by
it; after this sad day[39] they were separated, he in one prison
below and she in another above, one above another, bars before the
windows, he without a servant, and she without a waiting woman.

 [39] The precise date was June 15, 1661, but the order for their
 separation is dated already on the 4th of April.

About three weeks after, our lady fell ill; she requested a woman or
girl to wait upon her, and a priest. Fos sent answer, with regard to
a woman or girl to wait upon her, he did not know anyone who would do
it, but that there was a wench who had killed her child, and who
would soon be beheaded, and if she wished for her, she could have
her. As to a priest, he had no orders, and she would have no priest
even if death were on her lips. Our lady said nothing but 'Patience;
I commend it to God.' Our lady had the happiness of being able to
give her husband signs daily, and to receive such, and when the wind
was not too strong they could speak to one another. They spoke
Italian together, and took their opportunity before the reveille.
Towards the close of the governorship of this villain, he was
informed of this. He then had a kind of machine made which is used to
frighten the cattle from the corn in the summer, and which makes a
great noise, and he desired the sentinel to move this machine in
order to hinder them hearing each other.

Fifteen days before Count Rantzow came to Borringholm to treat with
them, Fos had news of it from Copenhagen from his intimate friend
Jaques P...; he visited our lady, told her on entering that her
children had been expelled from Skaane by the Swedes; our lady said,
'Well, the world is wide, they will find a place elsewhere.' He then
told her that Bolt had come from Copenhagen with the tidings that
they would never be let at liberty; she replied, 'Never is a long
time; this imprisonment will not last a hundred years, much less an
eternity--in the twinkling of an eye much may change; the hand of
God, in whom are the hearts of kings, can change everything.' He
said, 'You have plenty of hope; you think perhaps if the King died,
you would be free?' She replied, 'God preserve the King. I believe
that he will give me liberty, and no one else.' He chatted about a
great many things, and played the flatterer.

At length Count Rantzow came and made a stay at Borringh... of eleven
weeks. He visited the prisoners, and did them the favour of having
the husband to dine with him, and in the evening our lady supped with
him, and he conferred with them separately. Our lady asked him of
what she was accused; he replied, 'Will you ask that? that is not the
way to get out of Borringholm; do you know that you have said the
King is your brother? and kings do not recognise either sisters or
brothers.' She replied, 'To whom had I need to say that the King is
my brother? who is so ignorant in Denmark as not to know that? I have
always known, and know still, the respect that is due to the King; I
have never given him any other title than my King and Lord; I have
never called him my brother, in speaking of him; kings are gracious
enough to recognise their sisters and brothers as such; for example,
the King of England gives the title of sister to his brother's wife,
although she is of very mediocre extraction.[40] Rantzow replied,
'Our King does not wish it, and he does not know yet the truth about
Dina's affair.' She said, 'I think the King does not wish to know.'
He replied, 'Indeed, by God he desires with all his heart to be
informed of it.' She answered, 'If the King will desire Walter to
tell him, and this with some earnestness, he will be informed of it.'
Rantzow made no reply.

 [40] Leonora alludes to the wife of the then Duke of York,
 afterwards James II., who was the daughter of Lord Edward
 Clarendon.

When he had concluded everything with her husband, whom he had
obliged to yield up all his possessions, Rantzow acquainted our lady
with the fact; she said that her husband had power to give up what
was his, but that the half belonged to her, and that this she would
not give up, not being able to answer for it before God nor before
her children; she had committed no crime; liberty should be given to
her husband for the half of their lands, and that if the King thought
he could retain her with a good conscience she would endure it.
Rantzow with a serious air replied, 'Do not think that your husband
will ever be set at liberty, if you do not sign with him.' She said
that the conditions were too severe; that they should do better for
their children to die as prisoners, God and all the world knowing
their innocence, than to leave so many children beggars. Rantzow
said, 'If you die in prison, all your lands and property are
forfeited, and your children will have nothing; but at this moment
you can have your liberty, live with your husband; who knows, the
King may still leave you an estate, and may always show you favour,
when he sees that you yield to his will.' Our lady said that since
there was no other prospect for her husband's liberty, she would
consent. Rantzow ordered her husband and herself separately to place
in writing the complaints they had to bring forward against Fos, and
all that had happened with regard to their attempt at escape; which
was done. Our lady was gracious in her demeanour to Fos, but her
husband could not make up his mind even to speak to him. Rantzow
returned to Copenh... and eighteen days afterwards the galley of
Gabel came with orders to the new governor (Lieutenant-Colonel
Lytkens, a very well-bred man and brave soldier, his wife a noble
lady of the Manteuffel family, very polite and pretty), that he
should make the prisoners sign the papers sent, and when the
signature was done, should send them on together.

The governor sent first to the husband, as was befitting, who made
difficulties about signing because they had added points here and
there, and among other things principally this, that they were never
to plead against Fos. The husband said he would rather die. The good
governor went in search of the wife and told her everything, begging
her to speak to her husband from the window; when he knew that she
had spoken to him, he would return. She thanked the governor, and
when he had gone out she spoke to her husband, and persuaded him to
sign. Then the governor made her sign also; and after that, towards
nine o'clock in the evening, her husband came to her, having been
separated just twenty-six weeks.[41] They were separated on a
Saturday, and they met again on a Saturday. Fos was still at the
castle; it is easy to believe that he was in great rage. Time does
not permit to dwell on it. Two days afterwards they embarked and came
to Copenhagen, and were received on the Custom-house pier by C.
Rantzow and Gabel. The Queen knew nothing of it. When she was told of
it she was so angry that she would not go to table. In a few words
the King held his ground, and as she would not accept the thanks of
Monsieur and his wife, the King ordered her to receive them in
writing. They spent the Christmas of 1660 in the house of C. Rantzow.
Afterwards they went to Fyen, to the estate of Ellensborg, which was
graciously left to them.[42]

 [41] The apology of Uhlfeldt contains an account of this whole
 transaction. He states that when he asked his wife through the
 window whether they ought to sign and live rather than die in
 prison, which would otherwise be their lot, Leonora answered with
 the following Latin verse:

     Rebus in adversis facile est contemnere mortem,
     Fortius ille facit, qui miser esse potest.
     Accidit in puncto, quod non speratur in anno.

 [42] Ellensborg was the ancient seat of the Ulfeldt family, which
 had been sold to Ellen Marsvin, Leonora's grandmother, and Leonora
 inherited it from her mother. It is now called Holckenhavn, and the
 seat of Count Holck.

Her husband having permission to go to France to take the waters for
eighteen months, left Ell... with his family in the month of June
1662, and landed at Amsterdam. Our lady went from thence to Bruges to
hire a house, and returned to Amsterdam. Her daughter Helena fell ill
of the small-pox; she remained with her, and her husband and the
other children went to Bruges. When her daughter had recovered, she
went to rejoin her husband and children. She accompanied her husband,
who went to France. Having arrived at Paris, the doctors did not
find it advisable that he should take the waters, and he returned to
Bruges. Her husband begged our lady to make a journey to England, and
to take her eldest son with her. She raised obstacles, and showed him
plainly that she should obtain nothing; that she should only be at
great expense. She had examples before her which showed her that the
King of England would never pay her husband. He would not have been
turned from his purpose at this time but for their son's rencontre
with Fos, which prevented the journey that winter, and postponed the
misfortunes of our lady, though it did not ultimately prevent them.

But towards the spring the same design was again brought forward; our
lady was assisted by the nobleman who followed her afterwards[43] in
dissuading her husband; but no reasoning could avail; he believed the
King could not forget the benefits received, and refuse to pay his
cousin. Our lady prepared for her departure, since her husband wished
it. The day that she bade him her last farewell--a fatal day,
indeed--her husband's heart did not tell him that these would be the
last embraces he would give her, for he was so satisfied and so full
of joy that she and all were astonished. She, on the contrary, was
sad. The last day of their intercourse was May 24, 1663. She had many
contretemps at first, and some time elapsed before she had the honour
of speaking to the King.

 [43] Namely Casetta, a Spanish nobleman, who afterwards married
 their daughter Anna Katherine, but both he and their children died
 soon. (_See_ the Introduction.)

The King greeted her after the fashion of the country, treated her as
his cousin,[44] and promised her all sorts of satisfaction; that he
would send his secretary[45] to her to see her papers, which he did.
The secretary made her fine promises, but the time was always
postponed. The minister resident, Petkum, minister of the King of
Danem..., came to visit her (he had placed some obstacles in the way
of her demands, from what was told her). She showed him her papers,
informed him of the affair, told him that the King of Denmark had had
all the papers in his hands, and had graciously returned them. The
traitor made a semblance of understanding the affair, and promised
that he would himself help in securing the payment of her demands.
But this Judas always intended to betray her, asking her if she did
not like to make excursions, speaking to her of beautiful houses,
gardens and parks, and offering her his coach. But our lady was not
inclined to make excursions.

 [44] Charles the Second's Grandmother, Anna, the Queen of James I.
 was sister of Leonora Christina's father, Christian IV.

 [45] Sir Henry Bennet, afterwards Lord Arlington.

When he saw that he could not catch her in this way, he obtained an
order to arrest her. Our poor lady knew nothing of all this; she had
letter upon letter from her husband requesting her return. She took
leave of the King by letter, gave her papers to a lawyer[46] upon a
receipt, and set out from London. Having arrived at Dover, and
intending to embark the same evening for Flanders, a lieutenant of
the name of Braten[47] appeared, who came to show her an order from
the King of Anglet... which she read herself, the purport of which
was that the governor was to arrest such a lady, and to place her in
the castle till further orders. She asked the reason why. He said
that she had left without permission from the King. She told him
that she had taken leave of the King by letter, and had spoken the
day before her departure with the Prime Minister and Vice-Admiral
Aschew,[48] who had bade her farewell.[49]

 [46] A certain Mr. Mowbray.

 [47] Elsewhere she writes the name Broughton.

 [48] Sir George Askew.

 [49] Compare with this account the following extracts in the
 _Calendar of State Papers_, domestic series, 1663, 1664, pp. 196,
 197, 200:--

 1663--_July 8._--Warrant to Captain Strode, governor of Dover
 Castle, to detain Elionora Christiana, Countess of Uhlfeldt, with
 her husband, if he be found with her, and their servants; to keep
 her close prisoner, and secure all her papers, according to
 instructions to be given by Thos. Parnell.

 _July 8._--Warrant to Thos. Parnell to observe the movements of the
 said Countess of Uhlfeldt; to seize her should she attempt to embark
 at Gravesend with her papers, and to detain her close prisoner.

 (_July_).--Instructions (by Sec. Bennet) to Thos. Parnell, to go to
 Dover Castle to deliver instructions, and assist in their execution,
 relative to a certain lady (the Countess of Uhlfeldt), who is not to
 be permitted to depart, whether she have a pass or not; but to be
 invited, or if needful compelled, to lodge at the castle, where the
 best accommodation is to be provided for her. It is suspected that
 her husband lies concealed in the kingdom, and will also try to pass
 with his lady, but he also is to be detained, and her servants also.

 _July 11._--Thos. Parnell to Williamson. 'Found the Countess (of
 Uhlfeldt) at Dover, and by the aid of the Lieut.-Governor sent the
 searcher to her inn, to demand her pass. She said she had none, not
 knowing it would be wanted. She submitted patiently to be taken to
 the castle, and lodged there till a message was sent to town. The
 Regent's gentleman, the bearer will give an account of all things.'

When she came to the castle, the emissary of Petkum presented
himself, by name Peter Dreyer. Then the Lieutenant said, 'It is the
King of Danemarc who has ordered you to be arrested.' She asked the
cause. He replied, 'You undoubtedly set out incognito from
Danemarck.' She replied to this that the King of Danem... had given
her husband leave of absence for a term of eighteen months, which had
not yet expired. They ordered her boxes and those of the nobleman who
accompanied her to be opened, and they took all the papers.
Afterwards Dreyer spoke to her, and she asked him why she was
treated thus? He said he did not know the real cause, but that he
believed it was for the death of Fos, and that she was believed to
have been the cause of his death. They always mentioned this to her,
and no other cause.

This double traitor Braten enacted the gallant, entertained her, made
her speak English (as she was bolder in speaking this language than
any other), for she had just begun to learn it well, having had a
language-master in London. One day he told that they intended
conducting her to Danemarck. She told him there was no need to send
her to Danem...; she could go there very well by herself. He said,
'You know yourself what suits you; if you will not go there
willingly, I will manage so that you may go to Flanders.' She did not
see that this was feasible, even if he was willing; she spoke with
him as to the means, saw that he did not satisfy her, and did not
trust his conversation; as he was cunning, he made her believe that
the King wished her to go secretly, and that he would take it all
upon himself; that the King had his reasons why he did not wish to
deliver her into the hands of the King of Danem....

This deception had such good colouring, for she had written several
times to the King during her arrest, and had begged him not to reward
her husband's services by a long arrest, only speaking of what she
had done at the Hague for him: she had taken her jewels and rings and
given them to him, when his host would not any longer supply him with
food.[50] Her claim was not small; it exceeded 20,000 patacoons.[51]

 [50] Several letters written by Leonora during her imprisonment at
 Dover to Charles II., Sir Henry Bennet, &c., are printed in a
 Danish periodical, _Danske Samlinger_, vol. vi.

 [51] Reckoning the patacoon to 4s. 8d., this claim would be nearly
 5,000_l._

Our lady allowed herself to be persuaded that the King of England
wished her to leave secretly. The traitor Braten told her that he
thought it best that she should disguise herself as a man. She said
that there was no necessity she should disguise herself; that no one
would pursue her; and even if it were so, that she would not go in
disguise with any man who was not her husband. After having been
detained seventeen days at Dover, she allowed herself to be conducted
by Braten, at night, towards the ramparts, descended by a high ladder
which broke during her descent, passed the fosse, which was not
difficult; on the other side there was a horse waiting for her, but
the nobleman, her attendant, and the nobleman's valet, went on foot;
they would not allow her valet to go with them; Braten made an excuse
of not being able to find him, and that time pressed; it was because
they were afraid that there would be an effort at defence.

When she arrived where the traitors were, her guide gave a signal by
knocking two stones one against another. At this, four armed men
advanced; Petkum and Dreyer were a little way off; one held a pistol
to her breast, the other a sword, and said, 'I take you prisoner.'
The other two traitors said, 'We will conduct you to Ostend.' She had
always suspected treachery, and had spoken with her companion, in
case it happened, what it would be best to do, to give herself up or
to defend herself? She decided on allowing herself to be betrayed
without a struggle, since she had no reason to fear that her life
would be attempted because her son had avenged the wrong done to his
parents. Thus she made no resistance, begged them not to take so much
trouble, that she would go of herself; for two men held her with so
much force that they hurt her arm. They came with a bottle of dry
wine to quench her thirst, but she would not drink; she had a good
way to go on foot, for she would not again mount the horse.

She showed some anger towards her guide, begged him in English to
give her respects to the governor,[52] but to convey to the traitor
Braten all the abuse that she could hurriedly call to mind in this
language, which was not quite familiar to her. She advanced towards
the boat; the vessel which was to convey her was in the roads, near
the Downs. She bade farewell to the nobleman. She had two bracelets
with diamonds which she wished to give him to convey to her children;
but as he feared they would be taken from him, she replaced them
without troubling him with them. She gave a pistol to her servant,
and a mariner then carried her to the boat; she was placed in an
English frigate that Petkum had hired, and Dreyer went with her.[53]
She was thirteen days on the road, and arrived near the Custom-house
pier on August 8, 1663, at nine o'clock in the morning.

 [52] Leonora did not know that the governor of the castle was in
 the plot.

 [53] Additional light is thrown on the arrest of Leonora Christina
 at Dover by the following extracts in the _Calendar of State
 Papers_, p. 224, 225:--

 _August 1_, _Whitehall_.--(Sec. Bennet) to Capt. Strode. The King is
 satisfied with his account of the lady's escape and his own
 behaviour; continue the same mask, of publishing His Majesty's
 displeasure against all who contributed to it, especially his
 lieutenant, and this more particularly in presence of M. Cassett,
 lest he may suspect connivance. Cassett is to continue prisoner some
 time. The Danish Resident is satisfied with the discretion used, but
 says his point would not have been secured had the lady gone to sea
 without interruption.

 _August 1_?--Account (proposed to be sent to the Gazette?) relative
 to Count Uhlfeldt--recording his submission in 1661, the present
 sentence against him, his further relapse into crime after a solemn
 recantation, also signed by his wife who was his accomplice, though
 her blood saved her from sharing his sentence, but who has now
 betrayed herself into the hands of the King of Denmark. She was in
 England when the conspiracy against the King of Denmark's life was
 detected. The King of England had her movements watched, when she
 suddenly went off without a pass, for want of which she was stayed
 by the Governor of Dover Castle, who accommodated her in the castle.
 The Resident of Denmark posted to Dover, and secured the master of a
 ship then in the road, with whom he expected her to tamper, which
 she did, escaped through the castle window, and entering a shallop
 to go on board, was seized and conveyed to Denmark. With note (by
 Lord Chancellor Clarendon) that he is not satisfied with this
 account, but will prepare a better for another week.

[The remaining part of the Autobiography treats of the commencement
of her imprisonment in the Blue Tower, which forms the subject of the
following Memoir.]




 A RECORD
 OF
 THE SUFFERINGS OF THE IMPRISONED COUNTESS
 LEONORA CHRISTINA.




PREFACE.

_TO MY CHILDREN._


Beloved children, I may indeed say with Job, 'Oh, that my grief were
thoroughly weighed, and my calamity laid in the balances together!
For now it would be heavier than the sand of the sea.' My sufferings
are indeed great and many; they are heavy and innumerable. My mind
has long been uncertain with regard to this history of my sufferings,
as I could not decide whether I ought not rather to endeavour to
forget them than to bear them in memory. At length, however, certain
reasons have induced me, not only to preserve my sorrow in my own
memory, but to compose a record of it, and to direct it to you, my
dear children.[54]

 [54] In the margin is added: 'As I now hope that what I write may
 come into your hands, my captivity during the last three years also
 having been much lightened.'

The first of these reasons is the remembrance of the omnipotence of
God; for I cannot recall to mind my sorrow and grief, my fears and
distresses, without at the same time remembering the almighty power
of God, who in all my sufferings, my misery, my affliction, and
anxiety, has been my strength and help, my consolation and
assistance; for never has God laid a burden upon me, without at the
same time giving me strength in proportion, so that the burden,
though it has weighed me down and heavily oppressed me, has not
overwhelmed me and crushed me; for which I praise and extol through
eternity the almighty power of the incomprehensible God.

I wish, therefore, not alone to record my troubles and to thank God
for His gracious support in all the misfortunes that have befallen
me, but also to declare to you, my dear children, God's goodness to
me, that you may not only admire with me the inconceivable help of
the Almighty, but that you may be able to join with me in rendering
Him thanks. For you may say with reason that God has dealt
wonderfully with me; that He was mighty in my weakness and has shown
His power in me, the frailest of His instruments. For how would it
have been possible for me to resist such great, sudden, and
unexpected misfortunes, had not His spirit imparted to me strength?
It was God who Himself entered with me into the Tower-gate; it was He
who extended to me His hand, and wrestled for me in that prison cell
for malefactors, which is called 'the Dark Church.'

Since then, now for almost eleven years, He has always been within
the gate of my prison as well as of my heart; He has strengthened me,
comforted me, refreshed me, and often even cheered me. God has done
wonderful things in me, for it is more than inconceivable that I
should have been able to survive the great misfortunes that have
befallen me, and at the same time should have retained my reason,
sense, and understanding. It is a matter of the greatest wonder that
my limbs are not distorted and contracted from lying and sitting,
that my eyes are not dim and even wholly blind from weeping, and from
smoke and soot; that I am not short-breathed from candle smoke and
exhalation, from stench and close air. To God alone be the honour!

The other cause that impels me is the consolation it will be to you,
my dear children, to be assured through this account of my sufferings
that I suffer innocently; that nothing whatever has been imputed to
me, nor have I been accused of anything for which you, my dear
children, should blush or cast down your eyes in shame. I suffer for
having loved a virtuous lord and husband, and for not having
abandoned him in misfortune. I was suspected of being privy to an act
of treason for which he has never been prosecuted according to law,
much less convicted of it, and the cause of the accusation was never
explained to me, humbly and sorrowfully as I desired that it should
be. Let it be your consolation, my dear children, that I have a
gracious God, a good conscience, and can boldly maintain that I have
never committed a dishonourable act. 'This is thankworthy,' says the
apostle St. Peter, 'if a man for conscience toward God endure grief,
suffering wrongfully.' I suffer, thank God, not for my misdeeds, for
that were no glory to me; yet I can boast that from my youth up I
have been a bearer of the cross of Christ, and had incredibly secret
sufferings, which were very heavy to endure at such an early age.

Although this record of my sufferings contains and reveals nothing
more than what has occurred to me in this prison, where I have now
been for eleven years, I must not neglect in this preface briefly to
recall to your minds, my dear children, my earlier misfortunes,
thanking God at the same time that I have overcome them.

Not only you, my dear children, know, but it is known throughout the
whole country, what great sorrow and misfortune Dina and Walter, with
their powerful adherents, inflicted on our house in the year 1651.

Although I will not mention the many fatiguing and difficult
journeys, the perils by sea, and various dangers which I have endured
in foreign countries, I will only remind you of that journey which my
lord requested me to undertake to Denmark, contrary to my wish, in
the year 1657.[E01] It was winter time, and therefore difficult and
dangerous. I endured scorn and persecution; and had not God given me
courage and taken it from him who was to have arrested me, I should
not at that time have escaped the misery of captivity.

 [E01] This journey really took place in November and December,
 1656.

You will remember, my dear children, what I suffered and endured
during fourteen months in custody at Malmöe; how the greatest favour
which His Majesty, King Charles X. of Sweden, at that time showed me,
was that he left it to my free will, either to remain at liberty,
taking care of our property, or to be in prison with my lord. I
acknowledged the favour, and chose the latter as my duty, esteeming
it a happiness to be allowed to console and to serve my anxious
husband, afflicted as he subsequently was by illness. I accepted it
also as a favour that I was allowed (when my lord could not do it
himself on account of illness) to appear before the tribunal in his
stead. What anxiety and sorrow I had for my sick lord, what trouble,
annoyance and distress, the trial caused me (it was carried on daily
for more than nine weeks), is known to the most high God, who was my
consolation, assistance, and strength, and who inspired me with
heart and courage to defend the honour of my lord in the presence of
his judges.

You will probably not have forgotten how quickly one misfortune
followed another, how one sorrow was scarcely past when a greater one
followed in its track; we fared, according to the words of the poet:

    Incidit in Scyllam, qui vult vitare Charibdin.

We escaped custody and then fell into strict captivity, without doubt
by the dispensation of God, who inspired my lord with the idea of
repairing, contrary to our agreement, to Copenhagen instead of
Lübeck. No pen can describe how sorrowful I was when, contrary to all
expectation, I met my lord in Copenhagen, when I had imagined him
escaped from the power and violence of all his enemies. I expected
just that which my lord did not believe would happen, but which
followed immediately--namely, our arrest. The second day after my
arrival (which they had waited for) we were apprehended and conveyed
to Bornholm, where we were in close imprisonment for seventeen
months. I have given a full description of what I suffered, and this
I imagine is in your keeping, my dear children; and from it you see
what I and my sick lord endured; how often I warded off greater
misery, because my lord could not always brook patiently the bad
treatment of the governor, Adolf Foss, who called himself Fux.

It was hard and bitter indeed to be scorned and scoffed at by a
peasant's son; to have to suffer hunger at his will, and to be
threatened and harassed by him; but still harder and more bitter was
it to be sick beneath his power, and to hear from him the words that
even if death were on my lips no minister of God's word should come
to me. Oh monstrous tyranny! His malice was so thoroughly beyond all
bounds, that he could not endure that we should lighten each other's
cross; and for this reason he contrived, after the lapse of eleven
months, to have us separated from each other, and to place us each in
the hardest confinement.

My husband (at that time already advancing in years) without a
servant, and I without an attendant, was only allowed a light so long
as the evening meal lasted. I cannot forbear bitterly recalling to
mind the six months of long and hard separation, and the sad farewell
which we took of each other; for to all human sight there was no
other prospect than that which the governor announced to us--namely,
that we were seeing and speaking with each other for the last time in
this world. God knows best how hard our sufferings were, for it was
He who consoled us, who gave us hope contrary to all expectation, and
who inspired me with courage when the governor visited me and
endeavoured to fill me with despair.

God confirmed my hope. Money and property loosened the bonds of our
captivity, and we were allowed to see and speak with each other once
more. Sad as my lord had been when we were separated at Borringholm,
he was joyous when two years afterwards he persuaded me to undertake
the English journey, not imagining that this was to part us for ever.
My lord, who entertained too good an opinion of the King of England,
thought that now that he had come to the throne he would remember not
only his great written and spoken promises, but that he would also
bear in mind how, at the time of his need and exile, I had drawn the
rings from my fingers and had pawned them for meals for him and his
servants. But how unwillingly I undertook this journey is well known
to some of you, my dear children, as I was well aware that from an
ungrateful person there is nothing else to be expected but
ingratitude. I had the example of others by whom to take warning; but
it was thus destined to be.

Bitter bread was in store for me, and bitter gall was to fill my cup
in the Blue Tower of Copenhagen Castle; thither was I to go to eat it
and drink it out. It is not unknown to you how falsely the King of
England acted towards me; how well he received me on my arrival; how
he welcomed me with a Judas kiss and addressed me as his cousin; and
how both he himself and all his high ministers assured me of the
royal favour, and promised me payment of the money advanced. You know
how cunningly (at the desire of His Majesty the King of Denmark) he
had me arrested at Dover, and subsequently sent me word through the
traitor Lieutenant Braten that he would let me escape secretly, at
the same time delivering me into the hand of the Danish Minister
Simon Petcon, who had me arrested by eight armed men; keeping aloof,
however, himself, and never venturing to come near me. They held
sword and pistol to my breast, and two of them took me between them
and placed me in a boat, which conveyed me to a vessel held in
readiness by the said Minister; a man of the name of Peter Dreyer
having received orders to conduct me to Copenhagen.

From this period this record of my suffering begins. It contains all
that happened to me within the gates of the Blue Tower. Reflect, my
dear children, on these hard sufferings; but remember also God's
great goodness towards me. Verily, He has freed me from six
calamities; rest assured that He will not leave me to perish in the
seventh. No! for the honour of His name, He will mightily deliver me.

The narrative of my sufferings is sad to hear, and must move the
hardest heart to pity; yet in reading it, do not be more saddened
than can be counterbalanced by joy. Consider my innocence, courage,
and patience; rejoice over these.

I have passed over various petty vexations and many daily annoyances
for the sake of brevity, although the smallest of them rankled sore
in the wounds of my bitter sorrow.

I acknowledge my weaknesses, and do not shrink from confessing them
to you. I am a human being, and am full of human imperfections. Our
first emotions are not under our own power; we are often overhasty
before we are able to reflect. God knows that I have often made
myself deaf and blind, in order not to be carried away by passion. I
am ashamed to mention and to enumerate the unchaste language, bad
words and coarse invectives, of the prison governor Johan Jaeger, of
Kresten Maansen, the tower warder, of Karen the daughter of Ole, and
of Catharina Wolff; they would offend courtly ears. Yet I can assure
you they surpass everything that can be imagined as indecent, ugly,
churlish and unbecoming; for coarse words and foul language were the
tokens of their friendliness and clemency, and disgusting oaths were
the ornament and embellishment of their untruthfulness; so that their
intercourse was most disagreeable to me. I was never more glad than
when the gates were closed between me and those who were to guard me.
Then I had only the woman alone, whom I brought to silence,
sometimes amicably, and at others angrily and with threats.

I have also had, and have still, pleasant intercourse with persons
whose services and courtesies I shall remember as long as I live.
You, my dear children, will also repay them to every one as far as
you are able.

You will find also in this record of my sufferings two of the chief
foes of our house, namely Jörgen Walter and Jörgen Skröder,[E02] with
regard to whom God has revenged me, and decreed that they should have
need of me, and that I should comfort them. Walter gives me cause to
state more respecting him than was my intention.

 [E02] This man was a German by birth, but settled in Denmark, where
 he was nobilitated under the name of Lövenklau. His bad conduct
 obliged him to leave the country, and he went to Sweden, where he
 had lived before he came to Denmark, and where Ulfeldt, then in
 Sweden, procured him an appointment as a colonel in the army. This
 kindness he repaid by informing the Danish Government against
 Ulfeldt in 1654, in consequence of which he was not only allowed to
 return to Denmark, but even obtained a lucrative office in Norway.
 Here he quarrelled with the viceroy, Niels Trolle, and tried to
 serve him as he had served Ulfeldt; but he failed to establish his
 accusations against Trolle, and was condemned into the forfeiture
 of his office and of his patent of nobility. He then left Denmark
 at least for a season, and how he came to apply to Leonora
 Christina for assistance is not known, as she has omitted to
 mention it in the Memoir itself, though she evidently intended to
 do so.

Of the psalms and hymns which I have composed and translated, I only
insert a few, in order that you, my dear children, may see and know
how I have ever clung steadfastly to God, who has been and still is
my wall of defence against every attack, and my refuge in every kind
of misfortune and adversity. Do not regard the rhymes; they are not
according to the rules which poets make; but regard the matter, the
sense, and the purport. Nor have I left my other small pastime
unmentioned, for you may perceive the repose of my mind from the fact
that I have had no unemployed hours; even a rat, a creature so
abominable to others, affording me amusement.

I have recorded two observations, which though they treat of small
and contemptible animals, yet are remarkable, and I doubt whether any
naturalist hitherto has observed them. For I do not think it has been
recorded hitherto that there exists a kind of caterpillar which
brings forth small living grubs like itself, nor either that a flea
gives birth to a fully-formed flea, and not that a nit comes from a
nit.[55]

 [55] A pen has afterwards been drawn through this paragraph, but
 the observations occur in the manuscript.

In conclusion, I beg you, my dear children, not to let it astonish
you that I would not avail myself of the opportunity by which I might
have gained my freedom. If you rightly consider it, it would not have
been expedient either for you or me. I confess that if my deceased
lord had been alive, I should not only have accepted the proposal,
but I should have done my utmost to have escaped from my captivity,
in order to go in quest of him, and to wait on him and serve him till
his last breath; my duty would have required this. But since he was
at that time in rest and peace with God, and needed no longer any
human service, I have with reason felt that self-obtained liberty
would have been in every respect more prejudicial than useful to us,
and that this would not be the way to gain the possessions taken from
us, for which reason I refused it and endeavoured instead to seek
repose of mind and to bear patiently the cross laid upon me. If God
so ordains it, and it is His divine will that through royal mercy I
should obtain my freedom, I will joyfully exert myself for you, my
beloved children, to the utmost of my ability, and prove in deed that
I have never deviated from my duty, and that I am no less a good and
right-minded mother than I have been a faithful wife. Meanwhile let
God's will be your will. He will turn and govern all things so that
they may benefit you and me in soul and body, to whose safe keeping I
confidently recommend you all, praying that He will be your father
and mother, your counsellor and guide. Pray in return for me, that
God may direct me by His good spirit, and grant me patience in the
future as heretofore. This is all that is requested from you by,

My dearly beloved children, your affectionate mother,

                                    LEONORA CHRISTINA, V.E.G.

Written in the Blue Tower, anno 1674, the 18th of July, the eleventh
year of imprisonment, my birthday, and fifty-third year of my
age.[56]

 [56] The conclusion of the Preface, from the words 'Meanwhile let
 the will of God,' etc. has afterwards been erased, when the
 manuscript was continued beyond the date assigned in the Preface;
 and the following paragraphs, 'I bear also in mind,' etc. were
 intended to form a new conclusion, but do not seem to have been
 properly worked in.

       *       *       *       *       *

I bear also in mind, with the greatest humility and gratitude, our
gracious hereditary King's favour towards me, immediately after His
Majesty came to the throne. I remember also the sympathy of our most
gracious Queen Regent, and of Her Highness the Electoral Princess of
Saxony in my unfortunate fate; also the special favour of Her Majesty
the Queen.

I have also not forgotten to bear duly in mind the favour shown
towards me by Her Majesty the Queen Mother, the virtuous Landgravine
of Hesse.

I have also recorded various things which occurred in my imprisonment
during the period from the year 1663 to the year 1674, intending with
these to conclude the record of my sufferings; as I experienced a
pleasure, and often consoled myself, in feeling that it is better to
remain innocently in captivity than to be free and to have deserved
imprisonment. I remember having read that captivity has served many
as a protection from greater dangers, and has guarded them from
falling into the hands of their enemies. There have been some who
have escaped from their prison and immediately after have been
murdered. There have also been some who have had a competence in
prison and afterwards have suffered want in freedom. Innocent
imprisonment does not diminish honour, but rather increases it. Many
a one has acquired great learning in captivity, and has gained a
knowledge of things which he could not master before. Yes,
imprisonment leads to heaven. I have often said to myself: 'Comfort
thyself, thou captive one, thou art happy.'

Since the year 1674 constituted only half the period of my captivity,
I have added in this record of my sufferings some facts that occurred
since that time within my prison-gates. I am on the eve of my
liberty, May 19, 1685. To God alone be the honour, who has moved His
Royal Majesty to justice! I will here mention those of whose death I
have been informed during my captivity.

1. The Prime Minister of His Majesty, Count Christian of
Rantzow[E03], died in the month of September, 1663. He did not live
to drink the health of our Princess and of the Electoral Prince of
Saxony at the feast of their betrothal. Still less did he live long
enough to see a wooden effigy quartered in mockery of my lord,
according to his suggestion. Death was very bitter to him.

 [E03] This Count Rantzow was the same who had negotiated the
 compromise with Ulfeldt and Leonora at Bornholm in 1661, and in
 fact brought it about. It was currently reported in Copenhagen at
 the time that he had received a large sum of money from Ulfeldt on
 that occasion, and he afterwards showed his friendly disposition
 towards him by promising him to intercede with the King for
 Christian Ulfeldt when the latter had killed Fuchs. Leonora,
 however, speaks of him as an enemy probably because he presided in
 the High Court of Appeal which condemned Ulfeldt as a traitor. But
 the facts of the case left him scarcely any other alternative than
 that of judging as he did, nor would it have been surprising if
 Ulfeldt's last conduct had altered Rantzow's feelings towards him.
 Rantzow also presided in the commission which examined Leonora in
 the Blue Tower.

2. The Mistress of the Robes of the Queen Dowager, who was so severe
on me in my greatest sorrow, had a long and painful illness; she said
with impatience that the pain of hell was not greater than her pain.
Her screams could often be heard in the tower. She was carried on a
bed into the town, and died there.

3. The death of Able Catherine was very painful. As she had formerly
sought for letters on the private parts of my person, so she was
afterwards herself handled by the surgeons, as she had boils all over
her. She was cut and burnt. She endured all this pain, hoping to
live, but neither the art of the surgeons nor the visits of the Queen
could save her from death.[E04]

 [E04] Abel Catharina is mentioned in the Memoir itself as the
 person who searched Leonora when she first entered her prison, and
 did so in a very unbecoming manner; she acted, however, under the
 orders of the Mistress of the Robes, M. v. Haxthausen. Abel
 Catharina is otherwise chiefly known as the founder of a charity
 for old women in Copenhagen, which still bears her name.

4. Secretary Erich Krag, who had displayed the malice of his heart in
my imprisonment in the 'Dark Church,' was snatched away by death in a
place of impurity. He was lively and well, had invited guests to
dinner, sat and wrote at his table, went out to obey the necessities
of nature, and was found dead by his attendants when they had waited
some time for him.

5. Major-General Fridrich von Anfeldte,[E05] who had more than once
manifested his delight at my misfortunes, died as he had lived. He
was a godless man and a blasphemer. He fell a victim to jealousy, and
went mad, because another obtained an honorary title which he had
coveted; this was indeed little enough to deprive him of sense and
reason. He would hear nothing of God, nor would he be reconciled with
God. Both Queens, the Queen Dowager and the Queen Regent, persuaded
him at length to be so. When he had received the sacrament, he said,
'Now your Majesties have had your desire; but what is the good of
it?' He continued to curse and to swear, and so died.

 [E05] This name is mis-spelt for Ahlefeldt. This officer received
 Leonora on her arrival at Copenhagen, as she relates herself. He
 had distinguished himself in the siege of Copenhagen in 1659, and
 died as a Lieutenant-General.

6. General Schak died after a long illness.

7. Chancellor Peter Retz likewise.

8. His Royal Majesty King Friedrich III.'s death accelerated the
death of the Stadtholder Cristoffer Gabel. He felt that the hate of
the Queen Dowager could injure him greatly, and he desired death. God
heard him.[E06]

 [E06] Christoffer Gabel is mentioned several times in the
 Autobiography. He was an influential man at the time, in great
 favour at court, and he had a great part in effecting the release
 of Ulfeldt from the prison at Bornholm, for which he, according to
 Leonora's statement, received 5,000 dollars from Ulfeldt. Both he
 and Reedtz were members of the court which condemned Ulfeldt.

9. It has pleased God that I should be myself a witness of Walter's
miserable death; indeed, that I should compassionate him. When I
heard him scream, former times came to my mind, and I often thought
how a man can allow himself to be led to do evil to those from whom
he had only received kindness and honour.

10. Magister Buch, my father-confessor, who acted so ill to me,
suffered much pain on his bed of languishing. He was three days
speechless before he died.

11. When the rogue and blasphemer, Christian, who caused me so much
annoyance in my captivity, had regained his liberty and returned to
his landlord, Maans Armfeld in Jutland, he came into dispute with the
parish priest, who wanted him to do public penance for having seduced
a woman. The rogue set fire to the parsonage; the minister's wife was
burnt to death in trying to save some of her property, and all the
minister's possessions were left in ashes. The minister would not
bring the rogue to justice. He commended him to the true Judge, and
left vengeance to Him. The incendiary's conscience began to be
awakened; for a long time he lived in dread, and was frightened if he
saw anyone coming at all quickly, and he would call out and say
tremblingly, 'Now they are going to take me!' and would run hither
and thither, not knowing where to go. At length he was found dead on
the field, having shot himself; for a long rifle was found lying
between his legs, the barrel towards his breast, and a long ramrod in
his hand, with which he had touched the trigger. He did not,
therefore, die in as Christian a manner as if he had perished under
the hand of the executioner, of which he had so lightly said that he
should not care for it at all, so long as he could bring someone else
into trouble.




A RECORD OF SUFFERING;

_OR, A REMINISCENCE OF ALL THAT OCCURRED TO ME, LEONORA CHRISTINA, IN
THE BLUE TOWER, FROM AUGUST 8 OF THE YEAR 1663, TO JUNE 11[57] OF THE
YEAR 1674._

 [57] Afterwards altered to anno 1685, the 19th of May.


The past is rarely remembered without sorrow, for it has been either
better or worse than the present. If it was more joyous, more happy,
and full of honour, its remembrance justly saddens us, and in
proportion as the present is full of care, unhappiness, and
dishonour. If past times were sadder, more miserable, and more
deplorable than the present, the remembrance of them is equally
sorrowful, for we recover and feel once more all the past misfortunes
and adversities which have been endured in the course of time. But
all things have, as it were, two handles by which they may be raised,
as Epictetus says. The one handle, he says, is bearable; the other is
not bearable; and it rests with our will which handle we grasp, the
bearable or the unbearable one. If we grasp the bearable one, we can
recall all that is transitory, however sad and painful it may have
been, rather with joy than with sorrow.[E07] So I will seize the
bearable handle, and in the name of Jesus I will pass rapidly through
my memory, and recount all the wretchedness and misery, all the
grief, scorn and suffering, contempt and adversity, which have
befallen me in this place, and which I have overcome with God's help.
I will, moreover, in no wise grieve over it; but, on the contrary, I
will remind myself at every step of the goodness of God, and will
thank the Most High who has been constantly near me with His mighty
help and consolation; who has ruled my heart, that it should not
depart from God; who has preserved my mind and my reason, that it has
not become obscured; who has maintained my limbs in their power and
natural strength, and even has given, and still gives me, repose of
mind and joyfulness. To Thee, incomprehensible God, be honour and
praise for ever!

 [E07] The passage alluded to occurs in Epictet's Encheiridion,
 chap. 43 (in some editions chap. 65), where he says: 'Every matter
 has two handles, one by which it may be carried (or endured), the
 other by which it cannot be carried (or endured). If thy brother
 has done thee injury, do not lay hold of this matter from the fact
 that he has done thee an injury, for this is the handle by which it
 cannot be carried (or endured); but rather from this side: that he
 is thy brother, educated with thee; and thou wilt lay hold of the
 matter from that side from which it may be managed.' It is easily
 seen how Leonora makes use of the double meaning of the Greek word
 {phorêtos}, which is equally well used of an object which can be
 carried in the literal physical sense, and of a matter which can be
 endured or borne with.

 {Illustration:
  DAS ALTE SCHLOSS IN COPENHAGEN MIT DEM BLAUEN THURM.
  THE OLD CASTLE OF COPENHAGEN.
  SHOWING THE BLUE TOWER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE BACK-GROUND.}

And now to proceed with my design. I consider it necessary to begin
the record of my sufferings with the commencement of the day which
concluded with the fatal evening of my captivity, and to mention
somewhat of that which befell me on the vessel. After the captain had
cast anchor a little outside the pier of St. Anna, on August 8, 1663,
at nine o'clock in the forenoon, he was sent on shore with letters by
Peter Dreyer, who was commissioned by Petcon, at that time the
minister resident in England, of his Majesty the King of Denmark, to
take charge of me. I dressed myself and sat down in one of the cabins
of the sailors on the deck, with a firm resolution to meet
courageously all that lay before me;[58] yet I in no wise expected
what happened; for although I had a good conscience, and had nothing
evil with which to reproach myself, I had at various times asked the
before-mentioned Peter Dreyer the reason why I had been thus brought
away. To this question he always gave me the reply which the traitor
Braten had given me at Dover (when I asked of him the cause of my
arrest); namely, that I was, perhaps, charged with the death of
Major-General Fux, and, that it was thought I had persuaded my son
to slay him; saying, that he knew of no other cause. At twelve
o'clock Nils Rosenkrantz, at that time Lieutenant-Colonel, and Major
Steen Anderson Bilde, came on board with some musketeers.
Lieutenant-Colonel Rosenkrantz did not salute me. The Major walked up
and down and presently passed near me. I asked him, en passant, what
was the matter? He gave me no other answer than, 'Bonne mine, mauvais
jeu;' which left me just as wise as before. About one o'clock Captain
Bendix Alfeldt came on board with several more musketeers, and after
he had talked some time with Peter Dreyer, Dreyer came to me and
said, 'It is ordered that you should go into the cabin.' I said,
'Willingly;' and immediately went. Soon after, Captain Alfeldt came
in to me, and said he had orders to take from me my letters, my gold,
silver, money, and my knife. I replied, 'Willingly.' I took off my
bracelets and rings, gathered in a heap all my gold, silver, and
money, and gave it to him. I had nothing written with me, except
copies of the letters which I had addressed to the King of England,
notes respecting one thing or another relating to my journey, and
some English vocabularies; these I also gave up to him. All these
Alfeldt placed in a silver utensil which I had with me, sealed it in
my presence, and left the vessel with it. An hour, or somewhat more,
afterwards, Major-General Friderich von Anfeldt,[59] Commandant in
Copenhagen, arrived, and desired that I should come to him outside
the cabin. I obeyed immediately. He greeted me, gave me his hand, and
paid me many compliments, always speaking French. He was pleased to
see me in health, he feared the sea might have inconvenienced me; I
must not allow the time to seem long to me; I should soon be
accommodated otherwise. I caught at the last word and said, smiling,
'Monsieur says otherwise, but not better.' 'Yes, indeed,' he replied,
'you shall be well accommodated; the noblest in the kingdom will
visit you.' I understood well what he meant by this, but I answered:
'I am accustomed to the society of great people, therefore that will
not appear strange to me.' Upon this, he called a servant and asked
for the before-mentioned silver utensil (which Captain Alfeldt had
taken away with him). The paper which Captain Alfeldt had sealed over
it was torn off. The Major-General turned to me, and said: 'Here you
have your jewels, your gold, silver, and money back; Captain Alfeldt
made a mistake--they were only letters which he had orders to demand,
and these only have been taken out, and have been left at the Castle;
you may dispose of the rest as you wish yourself.' 'In God's name,' I
answered, 'am I, therefore, at liberty to put on again my bracelets
and rings?' 'O Jesus,' he said, 'they are yours; you may dispose of
them as you choose.' I put on the bracelets and rings, and gave the
rest to my attendant. The Major-General's delight not only appeared
in his countenance, but he was full of laughter, and was overflowing
with merriment. Among other things he said that he had had the
honour of making the acquaintance of two of my sons; that he had been
in their society in Holland; and he praised them warmly. I
complimented him in return, as was proper, and I behaved as if I
believed that he was speaking in good faith. He indulged in various
jokes, especially with my attendant; said that she was pretty, and
that he wondered I could venture to keep such a pretty maiden; when
Holstein ladies kept pretty maids it was only to put their husbands
in good humour; he held a long discourse on how they managed, with
other unmannerly jests which he carried on with my attendant. I
answered nothing else than that he probably spoke from experience. He
said all kinds of foolish jokes to my servant, but she did not answer
a word. Afterwards the prison governor told me that he (von Anfeldt)
had made the King believe, at first, that my attendant was my
daughter, and that the King had been long of that opinion. At length,
after a long conversation, the Major-General took his leave, saying
that I must not allow the time to seem long to me; that he should
soon come again; and he asked what he should say to his Majesty the
King. I begged him to recommend me in the best manner to their
Majesties' favour, adding that I knew not well what to say or for
what to make request, as I was ignorant of what intentions they had
with regard to me. Towards three o'clock Major-General von Anfeldt
returned; he was full of laughter and merriment, and begged me to
excuse him for being so long away. He hoped the time had not appeared
long to me; I should soon get to rest; he knew well that the people
(with this he pointed to the musketeers, who stood all along both
sides of the vessel) were noisy, and inconvenienced me, and that
rest would be best for me. I answered that the people did not
inconvenience me at all; still I should be glad of rest, since I had
been at sea for thirteen days, with rather bad weather. He went on
with his compliments, and said that when I came into the town his
wife would do herself the honour of waiting on me, and, 'as it seems
to me,' he continued, 'that you have not much luggage with you, and
perhaps, not the clothes necessary, she will procure for you whatever
you require.' I thanked him, and said that the honour was on my side
if his wife visited me, but that my luggage was as much as I required
at the time; that if I needed anything in the future, I hoped she
might be spared this trouble; that I had not the honour of knowing
her, but I begged him, nevertheless, to offer her my respects. He
found various subjects of discourse upon Birgitte Speckhans[E08] and
other trifles, to pass away the time; but it is not worth the trouble
to recall them to mind, and still less to write them down. At last a
message came that he was to conduct me from the vessel, when he said
to me with politeness: 'Will it please you, madame, to get into this
boat, which is lying off the side of the ship?' I answered, 'I am
pleased to do anything that I must do, and that is commanded by His
Majesty the King.' The Major-General went first into the boat, and
held out his hand to me; the Lieutenant-Colonel Rosenkrantz, Captain
Alfeldt, Peter Dreyer, and my attendant, went with me in the boat.
And as a great crowd of people had assembled to look at the
spectacle, and many had even gone in boats in order to see me as they
wished, he never took his eyes off me; and when he saw that I turned
sometimes to one side and sometimes to another, in order to give them
this pleasure, he said, 'The people are delighted.' I saw no one
truly who gave any signs of joy, except himself, so I answered, 'He
who rejoices to-day, cannot know that he may not weep to-morrow; yet
I see, that, whether for joy or sorrow, the people are assembling in
crowds, and many are gazing with amazement at one human being.' When
we were advanced a little further, I saw the well-known wicked
Birgitte Ulfeldt,[E09] who exhibited great delight. She was seated in
an open carriage; behind her was a young man, looking like a student.
She was driving along the shore. When I turned to that side, she was
in the carriage and laughed with all her might, so that it sounded
loudly. I looked at her for some time, and felt ashamed of her
impudence, and at the disgrace which she was bringing on herself; but
for the rest, this conduct did not trouble me more than the barking
of the dogs, for I esteemed both equally.[60] The Major-General went
on talking incessantly, and never turned his eyes from me; for he
feared (as he afterwards said) that I should throw myself into the
water. (He judged me by himself; he could not endure the change of
fortune, as his end testified, for it was only on account of an
honorary title which another received in his stead that he lost his
mind. He did not know that I was governed by another spirit than he,
which gave me strength and courage, whilst the spirit he served led
him into despair.[61]) When the boat arrived at the small pier near
the office of the Exchequer, Captain Alfeldt landed and gave me his
hand, and conducted me up towards the castle bridge. Regiments of
horse and foot were drawn up in the open place outside the castle;
musketeers were standing on both sides as I walked forwards. On the
castle bridge stood Jockum Walburger, the prison governor, who went
before me; and as the people had placed themselves in a row on either
side up to the King's Stairs, the prison governor made as if he were
going thither; but he turned round abruptly, and said to Alfeldt,
'This way,' and went to the gate of the Blue Tower; stood there for
some time and fumbled with the key; acted as if he could not unlock
it, in order that I might remain as long as possible a spectacle to
the people. And as my heart was turned to God, and I had placed all
my confidence in the Most High, I raised my eyes to heaven, sought
strength, power, and safety from thence, and it was graciously
vouchsafed me. (One circumstance I will not leave unnoticed--namely,
that as I raised my eyes to heaven, a screaming raven flew over the
Tower, followed by a flock of doves, which were flying in the same
direction.) At length, after a long delay, the prison governor opened
the Tower gate, and I was conducted into the Tower by the
before-mentioned Captain Alfeldt. My attendant, who was preparing to
follow me, was called back by Major-General von Anfeldt, and told to
remain behind. The prison governor went up the stairs, and showed
Alfeldt the way to a prison for malefactors, to which the name of the
'Dark Church' has been given. There Alfeldt quitted me with a sigh
and a slight reverence. I can truly say of him that his face
expressed pity, and that he obeyed the order unwillingly. The clock
was striking half-past five when Jockum closed the door of my prison.
I found before me a small low table, on which stood a brass
candlestick with a lighted candle, a high chair, two small chairs, a
fir-wood bedstead without hangings and with old and hard bedding, a
night-stool and chamber utensil. At every side to which I turned I
was met with stench; and no wonder, for three peasants who had been
imprisoned here, and had been removed on that very day, and placed
elsewhere, had used the walls for their requirements. Soon after the
door had been closed, it was opened again, and there entered Count
Christian Rantzow, Prime Minister, Peter Zetz, Chancellor,
Christoffer von Gabel, at that time Chancellor of the Exchequer, and
Erich Krag, at that time Secretary, all of whom gave me their hands
with civility. The Chancellor spoke and said: 'His Royal Majesty, my
gracious master and hereditary king, sends you word, madame, that His
Majesty has great cause for what he is doing against you, as you will
learn.' I replied: 'It is much to be regretted by me, if cause should
be found against me; I will, however, hope that it may not be of such
a kind that His Majesty's displeasure may be lasting. When I know the
cause I can defend myself.' Count Rantzow answered: 'You will obtain
permission to defend yourself.' He whispered something to the
Chancellor, upon which the Chancellor put a few questions: first,
Whether on my last journey I had been in France with my husband? To
which I answered in the affirmative. Then, What my husband was doing
there? To which I replied, that he was consulting physicians about
his health, whether it would be serviceable to him to use the warm
baths in the country, which no one would advise him to do; he had
even been dissuaded from trying them by a doctor in Holland of the
name of Borro,[E10] when he had asked his opinion. Thirdly, What I
had purposed doing in England? To this I replied that my intention
had been to demand payment of a sum of money which the King of
England owed us, and which we had lent him in the time of his
misfortune. Fourthly, Who had been in England with me? I mentioned
those who were with me in England--namely, a nobleman named Cassetta,
my attendant who had come hither with me, a lacquey named Frantz, who
had remained in England, and the nobleman's servant. Fifthly, Who
visited my husband in Bruges? I could not exactly answer this, as my
lord received his visits in a private chamber, where I was not
admitted. Count Rantzow said, 'You know, I suppose, who came to him
oftenest?' I answered, that the most frequent visitors among those I
knew were two brothers named Aranda,[E11] the before-mentioned
Cassetta, and a nobleman named Ognati. Sixthly the Chancellor asked,
With whom I had corresponded here in the country? To which I
answered, that I had written to H. Hendrick Bielcke, to Olluff
Brockenhuuss, Lady Elsse Passberg, and Lady Marie Ulfeldt;[E12] I did
not remember any more. Count Rantzow enquired if I had more letters
than those which I had given up? To which I answered in the negative,
that I had no more. He asked further, Whether I had more jewels with
me than those he had seen? I answered that I had two strings of
small round pearls on my hat, and a ring with a diamond, which I had
given a lieutenant named Braten in Dover (it was he who afterwards
betrayed me). Count Rantzow asked, How much the pearls might have
been worth? This I could not exactly say. He said, that he supposed I
knew their approximate value. I said they might be worth 200
rix-dollars, or somewhat more. Upon this they were all silent for a
little. I complained of the severity of my imprisonment, and that I
was so badly treated. Count Rantzow answered, 'Yes Madame, His Royal
Majesty has good cause for it; if you will confess the truth, and
that quickly, you may perhaps look for mercy. Had Maréchal de
Birron[E13] confessed the matter respecting which he was interrogated
by order of the King, when the royal mercy was offered to him if he
would speak the truth, it would not have fared with him as it did. I
have heard as a truth that the King of France would have pardoned him
his crime, had he confessed at once; therefore, bethink yourself,
madame!' I answered, 'Whatever I am asked by order of His Majesty,
and whatever I am cognizant of, I will gladly say in all submission.'
Upon this Count Rantzow offered me his hand, and I reminded him in a
few words of the severity of my imprisonment. Count Rantzow promised
to mention this to the King. Then the others shook hands with me and
went away. My prison was closed for a little. I therefore profited by
the opportunity, and concealed here and there in holes, and among the
rubbish, a gold watch, a silver pen which gave forth ink and was
filled with ink, and a scissor-sheath worked with silver and
tortoiseshell. This was scarcely done when the door was again
opened, and there entered the Queen's Mistress of the Robes, her
woman of the bed-chamber, and the wife of the commissariat clerk,
Abel Catharina. I knew the last. She and the Queen's woman of the
bed-chamber carried clothes over their arm; these consisted of a long
dressing-gown stitched with silk, made of flesh-coloured taffeta and
lined with white silk, a linen under-petticoat, printed over with a
black lace pattern, a pair of silk stockings, a pair of slippers, a
shift, an apron, a night-dress, and two combs. They made me no
greeting. Abel Cath. spoke for them, and said: 'It is the command of
Her Majesty the Queen that we should take away your clothes, and that
you should have these in their place.' I answered, 'In God's name!'
Then they removed the pad from my head, in which I had sown up rings
and many loose diamonds. Abel Cath. felt all over my head to see if
anything was concealed in my hair; then she said to the others,
'There is nothing there; we do not require the combs.' Abel Cath.
demanded the bracelets and rings, which were a second time taken from
me. I took them off and gave them to them, except one small ring
which I wore on the last joint of my little finger, and which could
not be worth more than a rix-dollar, this I begged to be allowed to
keep. 'No,' said the Mistress of the Robes, 'You are to retain
nothing.' Abel Cath. said, 'We are strictly forbidden to leave you
the smallest thing; I have been obliged to swear upon my soul to the
Queen that I would search you thoroughly, and not leave you the
smallest thing; but you shall not lose it; they will all be sealed up
and kept for you, for this I swear the Queen has said.' 'Good, good,
in God's name!' I answered. She drew off all my clothes. In my
under-petticoat I had concealed some ducats under the broad gold
lace; there was a small diamond ornament in my silk camisole, in the
foot of my stockings there were some Jacobuses', and there were
sapphires in my shoes. When she attempted to remove my chemise, I
begged to be allowed to retain it. No; she swore upon her soul that
she dared not. She stripped me entirely, and the Mistress of the
Robes gave Abel Cath. a nod, which she did not at once understand; so
the Mistress of the Robes said: 'Do you not remember your orders?'
Upon this, Abel Cath. searched my person still more closely, and said
to the lady in waiting: 'No, by God! there is nothing there.' I said:
'You act towards me in an unchristian and unbecoming manner.' Abel
Cath. answered: 'We are only servants; we must do as we are ordered;
we are to search for letters and for nothing else; all the rest will
be given back to you; it will be well taken care of.' After they had
thus despoiled me, and had put on me the clothes they had brought,
the servant of the Mistress of the Robes came in and searched
everywhere with Abel Cath., and found every thing that I had
concealed. God blinded their eyes so that they did not observe my
diamond earrings, nor some ducats which had been sown into leather
round one of my knees; I also saved a diamond worth 200 rix-dollars;
while on board the ship I had bitten it out of the gold, and thrown
the gold in the sea; the stone I had then in my mouth.[62]

 [58] In the margin is added: 'I had a ring on with a table-diamond
 worth 200 rix-dollars. I bit this out, threw the gold in the sea,
 and kept the stone in my mouth. It could not be observed by my
 speech that there was anything in my mouth.'

 [59] That is the Aulefeldt mentioned in the Preface under the name
 of Anfeldt.

 [E08] Birgitte Speckhans was the wife of Frants v. Speckhans,
 master of ceremonies, afterwards Privy Councillor, &c. She had
 formerly been in the service of Leonora Christina, who was then at
 the height of her position, and ever afterwards proved herself a
 friend of her and Ulfeldt. It was in her house that they stayed
 after escaping from Malmöe, and she kept some of their movable
 goods for them during their imprisonment at Hammershuus.

 [E09] Birgitte Ulfeldt was a younger sister of Corfitz, who, in a
 letter to Sperling, declares her to be his and Leonora's bitterest
 enemy. What is known of her life is certainly not to her advantage.

 [60] In the margin is added: 'The sorrow manifested by many would
 far rather have depressed me; for several people, both men and
 women, shed tears, even those whom I did not know.'

 [61] This paragraph was afterwards struck out, the contents being
 transferred to the Preface.

 [E10] This is the famous Jos. Borro or Burrhus, physician and
 alchymist. He is often mentioned in books of the seventeenth
 century, on account of his wonderful cures and alleged knowledge of
 the art of making gold. In 1667 he came to Denmark, where King
 Fredrik III. spent considerable sums on the establishment of large
 laboratories for him, in a building which is still known as 'The
 Gold-house.'

 [E11] D'Aranda was one of the most influential families in Bruges.
 One of them, by name Bernard, was some time in the Danish army,
 afterwards secretary to Corfitz Ulfeldt, and employed by him in
 diplomatic missions. He died in 1658, but when Ulfeldt came to
 Bruges in 1662 he lived for some time with one of Bernard's
 brothers.

 [E12] H. Bielke was Admiral of the realm; his wife was an Ulfeldt,
 and it was he who procured Corfitz Ulfeldt his leave of absence in
 1662, of which he made such regretable use. He, too, was one of the
 judges that convicted him. Oluf Brokkenhuus was Corfitz Ulfeldt's
 brother-in-law; Elizabeth Parsbjerg was the widow of his elder
 brother Lauridts Ulfeldt. Marie Ulfeldt was sister of Corfitz.

 [E13] Charles de Goutant, Duc de Biron, a celebrated French
 General, some time favourite of Henry IV. King of France, was found
 guilty of conspiring against his master with the courts of Spain
 and Savoy. Henry IV. forgave him, but he recommenced his intrigues.
 It is supposed that the King would have forgiven him a second time
 if he had confessed his crime; but he refused to do so, and was
 beheaded in 1602.

 [62] This passage was afterwards altered thus: 'God blinded their
 eyes so that they did not perceive my earrings, in each of which
 there is a large rose diamond, and from which I have now removed
 the stones. The gold, which is in form of a serpent, is still in my
 ears. They also did not perceive that something was fastened round
 my knee.'

The Mistress of the Robes was very severe; they could not search
thoroughly enough for her. She laughed at me several times, and
could not endure that I sat down, asking whether I could not stand,
and whether anything was the matter with me. I answered, 'There is
only too much the matter with me, yet I can stand when it is
necessary.' (It was no wonder that the Mistress of the Robes could so
well execute the order to plunder, for she had frequently accompanied
her deceased husband. Colonel Schaffshaussen[E14], in war.) When she
had searched every part thoroughly, they took all my clothes, except
a taffeta cap for the head, and went away. Then the prison governor
came in with his hat on, and said, 'Leonora, why have you concealed
your things?' I answered him not a word; for I had made the
resolution not to answer him, whatever he might say; his qualities
were known to me; I was aware that he was skilful in improving a
report, and could twist words in the manner he thought would be
acceptable, to the damage of those who were in trouble. He asked
again with the same words, adding 'Do you not hear?' I looked at him
over my shoulder, and would not allow his disrespect to excite me.
The table was then spread, and four dishes were brought in, but I had
no appetite, although I had eaten little or nothing the whole day.

 [E14] This lady is known under the name of Haxthausen; and
 Schaffshausen is probably a mistake on Leonora's part, although of
 course she may have been married to an officer of this name before
 she married N. v. Haxthausen. She was a German by birth.

An hour afterwards, when the dishes had been carried away, a girl
came in named Maren Blocks, and said that she had orders from the
Queen to remain the night with me. The prison governor joked a good
deal with the before-mentioned Maren, and was very merry, indulging
in a good deal of loose talk. At last, when it was nearly ten
o'clock, he said good night and closed the two doors of my prison,
one of which is cased with copper. When Maren found herself alone
with me, she pitied my condition, and informed me that many, whom she
mentioned by name (some of whom were known to me) had witnessed my
courage with grief and tears, especially the wife of H. Hendrick
Bielcke[E12b], who had fainted with weeping. I said, 'The good people
have seen me in prosperity; it is no wonder that they deplore the
instability of fortune;' and I wished that God might preserve every
one of those from misfortune, who had taken my misfortune to heart. I
consoled myself with God and a good conscience; I was conscious of
nothing wrong, and I asked who she was, and whom she served? She said
she was in the Queen's private kitchen, and had the silver in her
keeping (from which I concluded that she had probably to clean the
silver, which was the case). She said that the Queen could get no one
who would be alone with me, for that I was considered evil; it was
said also that I was very wise, and knew future events. I answered,
'If I possessed this wisdom, I scarcely think that I should have come
in here, for I should then have been able to guard myself against
it.' Maren said we might know things and still not be able to guard
against them.

 [E12b] H. Bielke was Admiral of the realm; his wife was an Ulfeldt,
 and it was he who procured Corfitz Ulfeldt his leave of absence in
 1662, of which he made such regretable use. He, too, was one of the
 judges that convicted him. Oluf Brokkenhuus was Corfitz Ulfeldt's
 brother-in-law; Elizabeth Parsbjerg was the widow of his elder
 brother Lauridts Ulfeldt. Marie Ulfeldt was sister of Corfitz.

She told me also that the Queen had herself spoken with her, and had
said to her, 'You are to be this night with Leonora; you need not be
afraid, she can now do no evil. With all her witchcraft she is now in
prison and has nothing with her; and if she strikes you, I give you
leave to strike her back again till the blood comes.' Maren said
also, 'The Queen knows well that my mind has been affected by acute
illness, and therefore she wished that I should be with you.' So
saying she threw her arms round my neck as I was sitting, and
caressed me in her manner, saying, 'Strike me, dear heart, strike
me!' 'I will not,' she swore, 'strike again.' I was rather alarmed,
fearing that the frenzy might come on. She said further that when she
saw me coming over the bridge, she felt as if her heart would burst.
She informed me with many words how much she loved me, and how the
maid of honour, Carisius, who was standing with her in the window,
had praised me, and wished to be able to do something for my
deliverance, with many such words and speeches. I accepted the
unusual caress, as under the circumstances I could not help it, and
said that it would be contrary to all justice to offer blows to one
who manifested such great affection as she had done, especially to
one of her sex; adding, that I could not think how the Queen had
imagined that I struck people, as I had never even given a box on the
ears to a waiting-woman. I thanked her for her good opinion of me,
and told her that I hoped all would go well, dark as things looked;
that I would hold fast to God, who knew my innocence, and that I had
done nothing unjustifiable; that I would commend my cause to Him, and
I did not doubt that He would rescue me: if not immediately He would
do so some day, I was well assured.

Maren began to speak of different things; among others of my sister
Elizabeth Augusta[E15], how she had sat in her porch as I had been
conveyed past as a prisoner, and had said that if I were guilty there
was nothing to say against it, but that if I were innocent they were
going too far. I said nothing to this, nor did I answer anything to
much other tittle-tattle. She began to speak of her own persecution,
which she did with great diffuseness, interspersing it with other
stories, so that the conversation (in the present circumstances) was
very wearisome to me; I was besides very tired, and worn out with
care, so I said I would try to sleep and bid her good-night. My
thoughts prevented me from sleeping. I reflected on my present
condition, and could in no wise reconcile myself to it, or discover
the cause of such a great misfortune. It was easy to perceive that
somewhat besides Fux's death was imputed to me, since I was treated
with such disrespect.

 [E15] Elizabeth Augusta, a younger sister of Leonora, married Hans
 Lindenow, a Danish nobleman, who died in the siege of Copenhagen,
 1659.

When I had long lain with my face to the wall, I turned round and
perceived that Maren was silently weeping, so I asked her the reason
of her tears. She denied at first that she was crying, but afterwards
confessed that she had fallen into thinking over this whole affair.
It had occurred to her that she had heard so much of Lady Leonora and
her splendour, &c., of how the King loved her, and how every one
praised her, &c., and now she was immured in this execrable thieves'
prison, into which neither sun nor moon shone, and where there was a
stench enough to poison a person only coming in and out, far more one
who had to remain in it. I thought the cause of her weeping was that
she should be shut up with me in the terrible prison; so I consoled
her, and said that she would only remain with me until another had
been fixed upon, since she was in other service; but that I for my
part did not now think of past times, as the present gave me
sufficient to attend to; if I were to call to mind the past, I would
remember also the misfortunes of great men, emperors, kings,
princes, and other high personages, whose magnificence and prosperity
had far exceeded mine, and whose misfortunes had been far greater
than mine; for they had fallen into the hands of tyrants, who had
treated them inhumanly, but this king was a Christian king, and a
conscientious man, and better thoughts would occur to him when he had
time to reflect, for my adversaries now left him no leisure to do so.
When I said this, she wept even more than before, but said nothing,
thinking in herself (as she declared to me some days afterwards) that
I did not know what an infamous sentence had been pronounced upon my
late lord,[E16] and weeping all the more because I trusted the King
so firmly. Thus we went on talking through the night.

 [E16] That Leonora here speaks of her husband as her 'late lord,'
 is due only to the fact that the Memoir was not written till after
 his death; at the time of these events he was still alive.

On the morning of August 9, at six o'clock, the prison governor came
in, bade me good morning, and enquired whether we would have some
brandy. I answered nothing. He asked Maren whether I was asleep; she
replied that she did not know, came up to my bed, and put the same
question to me. I thanked her, adding that it was a kind of drink
which I had never tasted. The prison governor chattered with Maren,
was very merry considering the early hour, told her his dreams, which
he undoubtedly invented merely for the sake of talking. He told her,
secretly, that she was to come to the Queen, and ordered her to say
aloud that she wished to go out a little. He said that he would
remain with me in the meanwhile, until she returned, which he did,
speaking occasionally to me, and asking me whether I wished for
anything? whether I had slept? whether Maren had watched well? But
he got no answer, so that the time seemed very long to him. He went
out towards the stairs and came back again, sang a morning psalm,
screamed out sometimes to one, and sometimes to another, though he
knew they were not there.

There was a man named Jon who helped to bring up the meals with
Rasmus the tower warder, and to him he called more than forty times
and that in a singing tone, changing his key from high to low, and
screaming occasionally as loud as he could, and answering himself
'Father, he is not here! by God, he is not here!' then laughing at
himself; and then he began calling again either for Jon or for
Rasmus, so that it seemed to me that he had been tasting the brandy.
About eight o'clock Maren came back, and said that at noon two women
would come to relieve her. After some conversation between the prison
governor and Maren, he went out and shut the doors. Maren told me how
the Queen had sent for her, and asked her what I was doing, and that
she answered that I was lying down quietly, and not saying anything.
The Queen had asked whether I wept much. Maren replied, 'Yes indeed,
she weeps silently.' 'For,' continued Maren, 'if I had said that you
did not weep, the Queen would have thought that you had not yet
enough to weep for.' Maren warned me that one of the two women who
were to watch me was the wife of the King's shoemaker, a German, who
was very much liked by the Queen. Her Majesty had employed her to
attend Uldrich Christian Gyldenlöwe in the severe and raving illness
of which he died, and this woman had much influence with the Queen.
With regard to the other woman, Maren had no idea who she might be,
but the last-mentioned had spoken with the Queen in Maren's presence,
and had said that she did not trust herself to be alone with me. The
women did not come before four o'clock in the afternoon. The prison
governor accompanied them, and unlocked the door for them. The first
was the wife of the shoemaker, a woman named Anna, who generally
would not suffer anybody else to speak. The other was the wife of the
King's groom, a woman named Catharina, also a German. After greeting
me, Anna said that her Majesty the Queen had ordered them to pass a
day or two with me and wait upon me. 'In God's name,' I answered.

Anna, who was very officious, asked me, 'Does my lady wish for
anything? She will please only say so, and I will solicit it from the
Queen.' I thanked her, and said that I should like to have some of my
clothes, such as two night-jackets, one lined with silk and another
braided with white, my stomacher, something for my head, and above
all my bone box of perfume, which I much needed. She said she would
at once arrange this, which she did, for she went immediately and
proffered my request. The things were all delivered to me by the
prison governor at six o'clock, except my box of perfume, which had
been lost, and in its place they sent me a tin box with a very bad
kind of perfume. When the time arrived for the evening meal,
Catharina spread a stool by the side of my bed, but I had no desire
to eat. I asked for a lemon with sugar, and they gave it me. The
prison governor sat down at the table with the two women, and did the
part of jester, so much so that no one could have said that they were
in a house of mourning, but rather in one of festivity. I inwardly
prayed to God for strength and patience, that I might not forget
myself. God heard my prayer, praised be His name. When the prison
governor was tired of the idle talking and laughing, he bade good
night after ten o'clock, and told the women to knock if they wanted
anything, as the tower warder was just underneath. After he had
locked both the doors, I got up, and Catharina made my bed. Anna had
brought a prayer-book with her, from which I read the evening prayer,
and other prayers for them; then I laid down and bid them good night.
They laid on a settle-bed which had been brought in for them. I
slumbered from time to time, but only for short intervals.

About six o'clock on the morning of August 10 the prison governor
opened the door, to the great delight of the women, who were
sincerely longing for him, especially Catharina, who was very stout;
she could not endure the oppressive atmosphere, and was ill almost
the whole night. When the prison governor, after greeting them, had
inquired how it fared with them, and whether they were still alive,
he offered them brandy, which they readily accepted. When it was
seven o'clock, they requested to go home, which they did, but they
first reported to the Queen all that had happened during the half-day
and the night. The prison governor remained with me.

When it was near nine o'clock, he brought in a chair without saying
anything. I perceived from this that visitors were coming, and I was
not wrong; for immediately afterwards there entered Count Rantzow,
prime minister, chancellor H. Peter Retz, Christoffer Gabel, the
chancellor of the exchequer, and secretary Erick Krag, who all shook
hands with me and seated themselves by my bed. Krag, who had paper,
pen and ink with him, seated himself at the table. Count Rantzow
whispered something to the chancellor. The chancellor upon this began
to address me as on the previous occasion, saying that his Majesty
the King had great cause for his treatment of me. 'His Majesty,' he
went on to say, 'entertains suspicion with regard to you, and that
not without reason.' I inquired in what the suspicion consisted. The
chancellor said, 'Your husband has offered the kingdom of Denmark to
a foreign lord.' I inquired if the kingdom of Denmark belonged to my
husband, that he could thus offer it, and as no one answered, I
continued and said, 'Good gentlemen, you all know my lord; you know
that he has been esteemed as a man of understanding, and I can assure
you that when I took leave of him he was in perfect possession of his
senses. Now it is easy to perceive that no sensible man would offer
that which was not in his own power, and which he had no right to
dispose of. He is holding no post, he has neither power nor
authority; how should he, therefore, be so foolish as to make such an
offer, and what lord would accept it?'

Count Rantzow said: 'Nevertheless it is so, madame; he has offered
Denmark to a foreign potentate; you know it well.' I answered, 'God
is my witness that I know of no such thing.' 'Yes,' said Count
Rantzow, 'your husband concealed nothing from you, and therefore you
must know it.' I replied, 'My husband certainly never concealed from
me anything that concerned us both. I never troubled myself in former
days with that which related to his office; but that which affected
us both he never concealed from me, so that I am sure, had he
entertained any such design, he would not have held it a secret from
me. And I can say, with truth, that I am not the least aware of it.'
Count Rantzow said: 'Madame, confess it while the King still asks you
to do so.'

I answered, 'If I knew it I would gladly say so; but as truly as God
lives I do not know it, and as truly am I unable to believe that my
husband would have acted so foolishly, for he is a sick man. He urged
me to go to England in order to demand the money that had been lent;
I undertook the journey, unwillingly, chiefly because he was so very
weak. He could not go up a few steps of the stairs without resting to
get his breath; how should he, then, undertake a work of such labour?
I can say with truth that he is not eight days without an attack,
sometimes of one kind sometimes of another.' Count Rantzow again
whispered with the chancellor, and the chancellor continued: 'Madame,
say without compulsion how the matter stands, and who is privy to it;
say it now, while you are asked freely to do so. His Majesty is an
absolute Sovereign; he is not fettered by law; he can do as he will;
say it.' I answered: 'I know well that his Majesty is an absolute
Sovereign, and I know also, that he is a Christian and a
conscientious man; therefore, his Majesty will do nothing but what he
can justify before God in heaven. See, here I am! You can do with me
what you will; that which I do not know I cannot say.'

Count Rantzow began again to bring forward the Maréchal de Birron,
and made a long speech about it. To this I at length replied, that
the Maréchal de Birron in nowise concerned me; that I had no answer
to make on the matter, and that it seemed to me that it was not a
case in point. Count Rantzow asked me why, when I was demanded with
whom I had corresponded in the kingdom, I had not said that I had
written to him and to the treasurer Gabel. To this I replied that I
thought those who asked me knew it well, so that it was not necessary
for me to mention it; I had only said that of which they probably did
not know. Count Rantzow again whispered to the chancellor, and the
chancellor said: 'In a letter to Lady Elsse Passberg you have written
respecting another state of things in Denmark,' (as he said this, he
looked at Count Rantzow and asked if it was not so, or how it was);
'what did you mean by that, madame?' I replied that I could not
recollect what cause her letter had given me to answer it in this
way; what came before or what followed, would, without a doubt,
explain my meaning; if I might see the letter, it would prove at once
that I had written nothing which I could not justify.

Nothing more was said with regard to it. Count Rantzow asked me what
foreign ministers had been with my lord in Bruges. 'None,' I
answered, 'that I am aware of.' He asked further whether any Holstein
noblemen had been with him. I answered, 'I do not know.' Then he
enumerated every Prince in Germany, from the Emperor to the Prince of
Holstein, and enquired respecting each separately whether any of
their Ministers had been with my husband. I gave the same answer as
before to each question, that I was not aware that any one of them
had been with him. Then he said, 'Now, madame, confess! I beg you;
remember Maréchal de Birron! you will not be asked again.' I was
somewhat tired of hearing Birron mentioned so often, and I answered
rather hastily: 'I do not care about the Maréchal de Birron; I
cannot tell what I do not know anything about.'

Secretary Krag had written somewhat hurriedly it seemed, for when at
my desire he read aloud what he had written, the answers did not
accord with the questions; this probably partly arose from hurry, and
partly from malice, for he was not amicably inclined towards my late
lord. I protested against this when he read the minutes. The
chancellor agreed with me in every item, so that Krag was obliged to
re-write it. After this they got up and took their leave. I requested
to beg His Majesty the King to be gracious to me, and not to believe
what he had been informed with regard to my husband. I could not
imagine they would find that he had ever deviated from his duty.
'Yes,' answered Count Rantzow, 'if you will confess, madame, and tell
us who is concerned in this business and the details of it, you might
perhaps find him a gracious lord and king.' I protested by the living
God that I knew nothing of it; I knew of nothing of the kind, much
less of accomplices. With this they went away, after having spent
nearly three hours with me, and then the prison governor and the
women entered. They spread the table and brought up the meal, but I
took nothing but a draught of beer. The prison governor sat down to
table with the women. If he had been merry before, he was still more
so now, and he told one indecent story after another.

When they had had enough of feasting and talking he went away and
locked the door; he came as usual again about four o'clock in the
afternoon, and let the women go out, staying with me until they
returned, which generally was not for two hours. When the women were
alone with me, Anna told Catharina of her grief for her first
husband, and nothing else was talked of. I behaved as if I were
asleep, and I did the same when the prison governor was alone with
me, and he then passed the time in singing and humming. The evening
meal was also very merry for the women, for the prison governor
amused them by telling them of his second marriage; how he had wooed
without knowing whom, and that he did not know it until the
betrothal. The story was as ludicrous as it was diffuse. I noticed
that it lasted an hour and a quarter.

When he had said good night, Anna sat down on my bed and began to
talk to Catharina, and said, 'Was it not a horrible story of that
treacherous design to murder the King and Queen and the whole royal
family?' Catharina answered, 'Thank God the King and Queen and the
whole family are still alive!' 'Yes,' said Anna, 'it was no merit of
the traitors, though, that they are so; it was too quickly
discovered; the King knew it three months before he would reveal it
to the Queen. He went about sorrowfully, pondering over it, unable
quite to believe it; afterwards, when he was quite certain of it, he
told the Queen; then the body-guard were doubled, as you know.'
Catherina enquired how they had learnt it. Anna answered, 'That God
knows; it is kept so secret that no one is allowed as much as to ask
from whom it came.' I could not help putting in a word; it seemed to
me a pity that they could not find out the informer, and it was
remarkable that no one ventured to confess having given the
information. Catherina said, 'I wonder whether it is really true?'
'What do you mean?' answered Anna; 'would the King do as he is doing
without knowing for certain that it is true? How can you talk so?' I
regarded this conversation as designed to draw some words from me,
so I answered but little, only saying that until now I had seen
nothing which gave credibility to the report, and that therefore I
felt myself at liberty not to believe it until I saw certain proof of
it. Anna adhered to her statement, wondered that there could be such
evil people as could wish to murder the good King, and was very
diffuse on the matter.[E17] She could be at no loss for material, for
she always began again from the beginning; but at last she had to
stop, since she spoke alone and was not interrupted either by
Catharina or by me.

 [E17] When the sentence on Ulfeldt had become publicly known, the
 most absurd rumours circulated in Copenhagen, and found their way
 to foreign newspapers. For instance _the kingdom's_ Intelligencer,
 No. 33, Aug. 10-17, 1663, says, in a correspondence from Hamburg:
 'They say the traitors intended to set Copenhagen on fire in divers
 places, and also the fleet, to destroy the King and family, to blow
 up the King's palace, and deliver the crown over to another.' The
 Government itself, on hearing of Ulfeldt's plots, made great
 military preparations.

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

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

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

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

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

 [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