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.
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]
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.
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.