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.
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.
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.