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]
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.
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.