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.
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.
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.