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.
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.
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.