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Transcriber’s note

Obvious word errors have been corrected, but otherwise the original spelling has generally been retained, even where several different spellings have been used to refer to the same person. A [list of corrections] can be found after the book.

The printed book contained footnotes and endnotes—these have all be placed at the end of the ebook.

Table of Contents of the Ebook

Henry S. King & Co., 65, Cornhill

MEMOIRS OF
LEONORA CHRISTINA

DAUGHTER of CHRISTIAN IV. of DENMARK

WRITTEN DURING HER IMPRISONMENT IN THE BLUE TOWER AT COPENHAGEN
1663—1685

Translated by F. E. Bunnètt

LONDON
Henry S. King & Co., 65 Cornhill
1872

LONDON: PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
AND PARLIAMENT STREET

All rights reserved

PREFACE.

In placing the present translation of Leonora Christina Ulfeldt’s Memoirs before the English reading public, a few words are due from the Publishers, in order to explain the relation between this edition and those which have been brought out in Denmark and in Germany.

The original autograph manuscript of Leonora Christina’s record of her sufferings in her prison, written between the years 1674 and 1685, belongs to her descendant the Austrian Count Joh. Waldstein, and it was discovered only a few years ago. It was then, at the desire of Count Waldstein, brought to Copenhagen by the Danish Minister at Vienna, M. Falbe, in order that its authenticity might be thoroughly verified by comparison with documents preserved in the Danish archives and libraries, and known to be in the hand-writing of the illustrious authoress. When the existence of this interesting historic and literary relic had become known in Denmark, a desire to see it published was naturally expressed on all sides, and to this the noble owner most readily acceded.

Thus the first Danish edition came to light in 1869, promoted in every way by Count Waldstein. The editor was Mr. Sophus Birket-Smith, assistant librarian of the University Library at Copenhagen, who enriched the edition with a historical introduction and copious notes. A second Danish edition appeared a few months later; and in 1871 a German translation of the Memoir was edited by M. Ziegler, with a new introduction and notes, founded partly on the first Danish edition, partly on other printed sources, to which were added extracts from some papers found in the family archives of Count Waldstein, and which were supposed to possess the interest of novelty.

The applause with which this edition was received in Germany suggested the idea of an English version, and it was at first intended merely to translate M. Ziegler’s book into English. During the progress of the work, however, it was found preferable to adopt the second Danish edition as the basis of the English edition. The translation which had been made from M. Ziegler’s German, has been carefully compared with the Danish original, so as to remove any defects arising from the use of the German translation, and give it the same value as a translation made direct from the Danish; a new introduction and notes have been added, for which the Danish editor, Mr. Birket-Smith has supplied the materials; and instead of the fragments of Ulfeldt’s Apology and of an extract from Leonora Christina’s Autobiography found in the German edition, a complete translation of the Autobiography to the point where Leonora’s Memoir of her sufferings in prison takes up the thread of the narrative, has been inserted, made from the original French text, recently published by Mr. S. Birket-Smith. As a matter of course the preface of Count Waldstein, which appears in this edition, is the one prefixed to the Danish edition. The manuscript itself of the record of Leonora Christina’s sufferings in prison was commenced in 1674, and was at first intended to commemorate only what had happened during the preceding ten years of her captivity; it was afterwards extended to embrace the whole period down to 1685, and subjected to a revision which resulted in numerous additions and alterations. As, however, these do not seem to have been properly worked in by the authoress herself, the Memoir is here rendered, as in the Danish edition, in its original, more perfect shape, and the subsequent alterations made the subject of foot notes.


PREFACE
TO
THE DANISH EDITION.

When, in the summer of 1858, I visited the graves of my Danish ancestors of the family of Ulfeldt, in the little village church at Quærndrup, near the Castle of Egeskov, on the island of Fyn, I resolved to honour the memory of my pious ancestress Leonora Christina, and thus fulfil the duty of a descendant by publishing this autograph manuscript which had come to me amongst the heirlooms left by my father.

It is well known that the last male representative of the family of Ulfeldt, the Chancellor of the Court and Realm of Her Majesty the Empress Maria Theresia, had only two daughters. One of them, Elizabeth, married Georg Christian, Count Waldstein, while the younger married Count Thun.

Out of special affection for her younger son Emanuel (my late father), my grandmother bequeathed all that referred to the Ulfeldts to him, and the manuscript which I now—in consequence of requests from various quarters, also from high places—give to publicity by the learned assistance of Mr. Sophus Birket-Smith, thus came to me through direct descent from her father:

‘Corfitz, Count of Ulfeldt of the holy Roman Empire, Lord of the lordships Költz-Jenikau, Hof-Kazof, Brödlich, Odaslowitz, and the fief Zinltsch, Knight of the Golden Vliess, First Treasurer of the hereditary lands in Bohemia, Ambassador at the Ottoman Porte, afterwards Chancellor of the Court and the Empire, sworn Privy Councillor and first Lord Steward of his Imperial and Royal Majesty Carolus VI., as well as of His Imperial Roman and Royal Majesty of Hungary, Bohemia,’ &c.

We add: the highly honoured paternal guide of Her Majesty the Queen Empress Maria Theresia, of glorious memory, during the first year of her government, until the time when the gifted Prince Kaunitz, whose genius sometimes even was too much for this, morally noble lady, became her successor.

I possess more than eleven imposing, closely written folio volumes, which contain the manuscripts of the Chancellor of the Empire, his negociations with the Sublime Porte, afterwards with the States-General of the Netherlands, as well as the ministerial protocols from the whole time that he held the office of Imperial Chancellor; all of which prove his great industry and love of order, while the original letters and annotations of his exalted mistress, which are inserted in these same volumes, testify to the sincere, almost childlike confidence with which she honoured him.

But this steady and circumspect statesman was the direct grandson of the restless and proud

Corfitz, first Count of Ulfeldt of the Roman Empire, High Steward of the Realm in Denmark, &c., and of his devoted and gifted wife Leonora Christina, through their son

Leo, Imperial Count Ulfeldt, Privy Councillor, Field-marshal, and Viceroy in Catalonia of the Emperor Carl VI., and his wife, a born Countess of Zinzendorf.

I preserved, therefore with great care this manuscript, as well as all other relics and little objects which had belonged to my Danish ancestress, whose exalted character and sufferings are so highly calculated to inspire sympathy, interest, and reverence. Amongst these objects are several writings, such as fragments of poems, prayers, needlework executed in prison (some embroidered with hair of a fair colour); a christening robe with cap worked in gold, probably used at the christening of her children; a very fine Amulet of Christian IV. in blue enamel, and many portraits; amongst others the original picture in oil of which a copy precedes the title page, &c. &c.

Considering that the manuscript has been handed down directly from my ancestors from generation to generation in direct line, I could not personally have any doubt as to its genuineness. Nevertheless I yielded to the suggestions of others, in order to have the authenticity of the manuscript thoroughly tested. In what way this was done will be seen from the Introduction of the Editor.

Though the final verdict of history may not yet have been given on Corfitz Ulfeldt, yet—tempus omnia sanat—yon ominous pillar, which was to perpetuate the memory of his crime into eternity, has been put aside as rubbish and left to oblivion. Noble in forgetting and pardoning, the great nation of the North has given a bright example to those who still refuse to grant to Albert, Duke of Friedland—the great general who saved the Empire from the danger that threatened it from the North—the place which this hero ought to occupy in the Walhalla at Vienna.

But as to the fiery temper of Corfitz and the mysterious springs which govern the deeds and thoughts of mankind, it may be permitted to me, his descendant, to cherish the belief, which is almost strengthened into a conviction, that a woman so highly gifted, of so noble sentiments, as Leonora appears to us, would never have been able to cling with a love so true, and so enduring through all the changes of life, to a man who was unworthy of it.

Joh. Count Waldstein.

Cairo: December 8, 1868.

CONTENTS.

Page

MEMOIRS
OF
LEONORA CHRISTINA.

INTRODUCTION.

Amongst the women celebrated in history, Leonora Christina, the heroine as well as the authoress of the Memoirs which form the subject of this volume, occupies a conspicuous place, as one of the noblest examples of every womanly virtue and accomplishment, displayed under the most trying vicissitudes of fortune. Born the daughter of a King, married to one of the ablest statesmen of his time, destined, as it seemed, to shine in the undisturbed lustre of position and great qualities, she had to spend nearly twenty-two years in a prison, in the forced company—more cruel to her than solitary confinement—of male and female gaolers of the lowest order, and for a long time deprived of every means of rendering herself independent of these surroundings by intellectual occupation. She had to suffer alone, and innocently, for her husband’s crimes; whatever these were, she had no part in them, and she endured persecution because she would not forsake him in his misfortune. Leonora Christina was the victim of despotism guided by personal animosity, and she submitted with a Christian meekness and forbearance which would be admirable in any, but which her exalted station and her great mental qualities bring out in doubly strong relief.

It is to these circumstances, which render the fate of Leonora so truly tragic, as well as to the fact that we have her own authentic and trustworthy account before us, that the principal charm of this record is due. Besides this, it affords many incidental glimpses of the customs and habits of the time, nor is it without its purely historical interest. Leonora and her husband, Corfits Ulfeldt, were intimately connected with the principal political events in the North of Europe at their time; even the more minute circumstances of their life have, therefore, a certain interest.

No wonder that the history of this illustrious couple has formed, and still forms, the theme both of laborious scientific researches and of poetical compositions. Amongst the latter we may here mention in passing a well-known novel by Rousseau de la Valette,[1] because it has had the undeserved honour of being treated by a modern writer as an historical source, to the great detriment of his composition. Documents which have originated from these two personages are of course of great value. Besides letters and public documents, there exist several accounts written by both Corfits Ulfeldt and Leonora referring to their own life and actions. Ulfeldt published in 1652 a defence of his political conduct, and composed, shortly before his death, another, commonly called the ‘Apology of Ulfeldt,’ which has not yet been printed entirely, but of which an extract was published in 1695 in the supplement of the English edition of Rousseau de la Valette’s book. Some extracts from an incomplete copy discovered by Count Waldstein in 1870, in the family archives at the Castle of Palota, were published with the German edition of Leonora’s Memoir; complete copies exist in Copenhagen and elsewhere. Leonora Christina, who was an accomplished writer, has composed at least four partial accounts of her own life. One of them, referring to a journey in 1656, to be mentioned hereafter, has been printed long ago; of another, which treated of her and Ulfeldt’s imprisonment at Bornholm, no copy has yet been discovered. The third is her Autobiography, carried down to 1673, of which an English version follows this Introduction; it was written in the Blue Tower, in the form of a letter to the Danish antiquarian, Otto Sperling, jun., who wished to make use of it for his work, ‘De feminis doctis.’[2]

About a century ago a so-called Autobiography of Leonora was published in Copenhagen, but it was easily proved to be a forgery; in fact, the original of her own work existed in the Danish archives, and had been described by the historian Andreas Höier. It has now been lost, it is supposed, in the fire which destroyed the Castle of Christiansborg in 1794, but a complete copy exists in Copenhagen, as well as several extracts in Latin; another short extract in French belongs to Count Waldstein. Finally, Leonora Christina wrote the memoir of her sufferings in the prison of the Blue Tower from 1663-1685, of which the existence was unknown until discovered by Count Waldstein, and given to the public in the manner indicated in the Preface.

In introducing these memoirs to the English public, a short sketch of the historical events and the persons to whom they refer may not be unwelcome, particularly as Leonora herself touches only very lightly on them, and principally describes her own personal life.

Leonora Christina was a daughter of King Christian IV. of Denmark and Kirstine Munk. His Queen, Anna Catherine, born a princess of Brandenburg, died in 1612, leaving three princes (four other children died early), and in 1615 the King contracted a morganatic marriage with Kirstine Munk, a lady of an ancient and illustrious noble family. Leonora was born July 18 (new style), 1621, at the Castle of Fredriksborg, so well known to all who have visited Denmark, which the King had built twenty miles north of Copenhagen, in a beautiful part of the country, surrounded by smiling lakes and extensive forests. But little is known of her childhood beyond what she tells herself in her Autobiography. Already in her eighth year she was promised to her future husband, Corfits Ulfeldt, and in 1636 the wedding was celebrated with great splendour, Leonora being then fifteen years old. The family of Ulfeldt has been known since the close of the fourteenth century. Corfits’ father had been Chancellor of the Realm, and somewhat increased the family possessions, though he sold the ancient seat of the family, Ulfeldtsholm, in Fyen, to Lady Ellen Marsvin, Kirstine Munk’s mother. He had seventeen children, of whom Corfits was the seventh; and so far Leonora made only a poor marriage. But her husband’s great talents and greater ambition made up for this defect. Of his youth nothing is known with any certainty, except that he travelled abroad, as other young noblemen of his time, studied at Padua, and acquired considerable proficiency in foreign languages.[3] He became a favourite of Christian IV., at whose Court he had every opportunity for displaying his social talents. At the marriage of the elected successor to the throne, the King’s eldest son, Christian, with the Princess Magdalene Sibylle of Saxony, in 1634, Corfits Ulfeldt acted as maréchal to the special Ambassador Count d’Avaux, whom Louis XIII. had sent to Copenhagen on that occasion, in which situation Ulfeldt won golden opinions,[4] and he was one of the twelve noblemen whom the King on the wedding-day made Knights of the Elephant. After a visit to Paris in 1635, in order to be cured of a wound in the leg which the Danish physicians could not heal, he obtained the sanction of the King for his own marriage with Leonora, which was solemnised at the Castle of Copenhagen, on October 9, 1636, with as much splendour as those of the princes and princesses. Leonora was the favourite daughter of Christian IV., and as far as royal favour could ensure happiness, it might be said to be in store for the newly-married pair.

As we have stated, Ulfeldt was a poor nobleman; and it is characteristic of them both that one of her first acts was to ask him about his debts, which he could not but have incurred living as he had done, and to pay them by selling her jewels and ornaments, to the amount of 36,000 dollars, or more than 7,000l. in English money—then a very large sum. But the King’s favour soon procured him what he wanted; he was made a member of the Great Council, Governor of Copenhagen, and Chancellor of the Exchequer.

He executed several diplomatic missions satisfactorily; and when, in 1641, he was sent to Vienna as special Ambassador, the Emperor of Germany, Ferdinand III., made him a Count of the German Empire. Finally, in 1643, he was made Lord High Steward of Denmark, the highest dignity and most responsible office in the kingdom. He was now at the summit of power and influence, and if he had used his talents and opportunities in the interests of his country, he might have earned the everlasting gratitude of his King and his people.

But he was not a great man, though he was a clever and ambitious man. He accumulated enormous wealth, bought extensive landed estates, spent considerable sums in purchasing jewels and costly furniture, and lived in a splendid style; but it was all at the cost of the country. In order to enrich himself, he struck base coin (which afterwards was officially reduced to its proper value, 8 per cent. below the nominal value), and used probably other unlawful means for this purpose, while the Crown was in the greatest need of money. At the same time he neglected the defences of the country in a shameful manner, and when the Swedish Government, in December 1643, suddenly ordered its army, which then stood in Germany, engaged in the Thirty Years’ War, to attack Denmark without any warning, there were no means of stopping its victorious progress. In vain the veteran King collected a few vessels and compelled the far more numerous Swedish fleet to fly, after a furious battle near Femern, where he himself received twenty-three wounds, and where two of Ulfeldt’s brothers fell fighting at his side; there was no army in the land, because Corfits, at the head of the nobility, had refused the King the necessary supplies. And, although the peace which Ulfeldt concluded with Sweden and Holland at Brömsebro, in 1645, might have been still more disastrous than it was, if the negotiation had been entrusted to less skilful hands, yet there was but too much truth in the reproachful words of the King, when, after ratifying the treaties, he tossed them to Corfits saying, ‘There you have them, such as you have made them!’

From this time the King began to lose his confidence in Ulfeldt, though the latter still retained his important offices. In the following year he went to Holland and to France on a diplomatic mission, on which occasion he was accompanied by Leonora. Everywhere their personal qualities, their relationship to the sovereign, and the splendour of their appearance, procured them the greatest attention and the most flattering reception. While at the Hague Leonora gave birth to a son, whom the States-General offered to grant a pension for life of a thousand florins, which, however, Ulfeldt wisely refused. In Paris they were loaded with presents; and in the Memoirs of Madame Langloise de Motteville on the history of Anna of Austria (ed. of Amsterdam, 1783, ii. 19-22) there is a striking récit of the appearance and reception of Ulfeldt and Leonora at the French Court. On their way home Leonora took an opportunity of making a short trip to London, which capital she wished to see, while her husband waited for her in the Netherlands.

If, however, this journey brought Ulfeldt and his wife honours and presents on the part of foreigners, it did not give satisfaction at home. The diplomatic results of the mission were not what the King had hoped, and he even refused to receive Ulfeldt on his return. Soon the turning-point in his career arrived. In 1648 King Christian IV. died, under circumstances which for a short time concentrated extraordinary power in Ulfeldt’s hands, but of which he did not make a wise use.

Denmark was then still an elective monarchy, and the nobles had availed themselves of this and other circumstances to free themselves from all burdens, and at the same time to deprive both the Crown and the other Estates of their constitutional rights to a very great extent. All political power was virtually vested in the Council of the Realm, which consisted exclusively of nobles, and there remained for the king next to nothing, except a general supervision of the administration, and the nomination of the ministers. Every successive king had been obliged to purchase his election by fresh concessions to the nobles, and the sovereign was little more than the president of an aristocratic republic. Christian IV. had caused his eldest son Christian to be elected successor in his own lifetime; but this prince died in 1647, and when the King himself died in 1648, the throne was vacant.

As Lord High Steward, Ulfeldt became president of the regency, and could exercise great influence on the election. He did not exert himself to bring this about very quickly, but there is no ground for believing that he meditated the election either of himself or of his brother-in-law, Count Valdemar, as some have suggested. The children of Kirstine Munk being the offspring of a morganatic marriage, had not of course equal rank with princes and princesses; but in Christian IV.’s lifetime they received the same honours, and Ulfeldt made use of the interregnum to obtain the passage of a decree by the Council, according them rank and honours equal with the princes of the royal house.

But as the nobles were in nowise bound to choose a prince of the same family, or even a prince at all, this decree cannot be interpreted as evidence of a design to promote the election of Count Valdemar. The overtures of the Duke of Gottorp, who attempted to bribe Ulfeldt to support his candidature, were refused by him, at least according to his own statement. But Ulfeldt did make use of his position to extort a more complete surrender of the royal power into the hands of the nobility than any king had yet submitted to, and the new King, Fredrik III., was compelled to promise, amongst other things, to fill up any vacancy amongst the ministers with one out of three candidates proposed by the Council of the Realm. The new King, Fredrik III., Christian IV.’s second son, had never been friendly to Ulfeldt. This last action of the High Steward did not improve the feelings with which he regarded him, and when the coronation had taken place (for which Ulfeldt advanced the money), he expressed his thoughts at the banquet in these words: ‘Corfitz, you have to-day bound my hands; who knows, who can bind yours in return?’ The new Queen, a Saxon princess, hated Ulfeldt and the children of Kirstine Munk on account of their pretensions, but particularly Leonora Christina, whose beauty and talents she heartily envied.

Nevertheless Ulfeldt retained his high offices for some time, and in 1649 he went again to Holland on a diplomatic mission, accompanied by his wife. It is remarkable that the question which formed the principal subject of the negotiation on that occasion was one which has found its proper solution only in our days—namely, that of a redemption of the Sound dues. This impost, levied by the Danish Crown on all vessels passing the Sound, weighed heavily on the shipping interest, and frequently caused disagreement between Denmark and the governments mostly interested in the Baltic trade, particularly Sweden and the Dutch republic.

It was with especial regard to the Sound dues that the Dutch Government was constantly interfering in the politics of the North, with a view of preventing Denmark becoming too powerful; for which purpose it always fomented discord between Denmark and Sweden, siding now with the one, now with the other, but rather favouring the design of Sweden to conquer the ancient Danish provinces, Skaane, &c., which were east of the Sound, and which now actually belong to Sweden. Corfits Ulfeldt calculated that, if the Dutch could be satisfied on the point of the Sound dues, their unfavourable interference might be got rid of; and for this purpose he proposed to substitute an annual payment by the Dutch Government for the payment of the dues by the individual ships. Christian IV. had never assented to this idea, and of course the better course would have been the one adopted in 1857—namely, the redemption of the dues by all States at once for a proportionate consideration paid once for all. Still the leading thought was true, and worthy of a great statesman.

Ulfeldt concluded a treaty with Holland according to his views, but it met with no favour at Copenhagen, and on his return he found that in his absence measures had been taken to restrict his great power; his conduct of affairs was freely criticised, and his enemies had even caused the nomination of a committee to investigate his past administration, more particularly his financial measures.

At the same time the new Court refused Leonora Christina and the other children of Kirstine Munk the princely honours which they had hitherto enjoyed. Amongst other marks of distinction, Christian IV. had granted his wife and her children the title of Counts and Countesses of Slesvig and Holstein, but Fredrik III. declined to acknowledge it, although it could have no political importance, being nothing but an empty title, as neither Kirstine Munk nor her children had anything whatever to do with either of these principalities. Ulfeldt would not suffer himself to be as it were driven from his high position by these indications of disfavour on the part of the King and the Queen (the latter was really the moving spring in all this), but he resolved to show his annoyance by not going to Court, where his wife did not now receive the usual honours.

This conduct only served to embolden those who desired to oust him from his lucrative offices, not because they were better patriots, but because they hoped to succeed him. For this purpose a false accusation was brought against Ulfeldt and Leonora Christina, to the effect that they had the intention of poisoning the King and the Queen. Information on this plot was given to the Queen personally, by a certain Dina Vinhowers, a widow of questionable reputation, who declared that she had an illicit connection with Ulfeldt, and that she had heard a conversation on the subject between Corfits Ulfeldt and Leonora, when on a clandestine visit in the High Steward’s house. She was prompted by a certain Walter, originally a son of a wheelwright, who by bravery in the war had risen from the ranks to the position of a colonel, and who in his turn was evidently a tool in the hands of other parties. The information was graciously received at Court; but Dina, who, as it seems, was a person of weak or unsound mind, secretly, without the knowledge of her employers, warned Ulfeldt and Leonora Christina of some impending danger, thus creating a seemingly inextricable confusion.

At length Ulfeldt demanded a judicial investigation, which was at once set on foot, but in which, of course, he occupied the position of a defendant on account of Dina’s information. In the end Dina was condemned to death and Walter was exiled. But the statements of the different persons implicated, and particularly of Dina herself at different times, were so conflicting, that the matter was really never entirely cleared up, and though Ulfeldt was absolved of all guilt, his enemies did their best in order that some suspicion might remain. If Ulfeldt had been wise, he might probably have turned this whole affair to his own advantage; but he missed the opportunity. Utterly absurd as the accusation was, he seems to have felt very keenly the change of his position, and on the advice of Leonora, who did not doubt that some other expedient would be tried by his enemies, perhaps with more success, he resolved to leave Denmark altogether.

After having sent away the most valuable part of his furniture and movable property, and placed abroad his amassed capital, he left Copenhagen secretly and at night, on July 14, 1651, three days after the execution of Dina. The gates of the fortress were closed at a certain hour every evening, but he had a key made for the eastern gate, and ere sunrise he and Leonora, who was disguised as a valet, were on board a vessel on their way to Holland. The consequences of this impolitic flight were most disastrous. He had not laid down his high offices, much less rendered an account of his administration; nothing was more natural than to suppose that he wished to avoid an investigation. A few weeks later a royal summons was issued, calling upon him to appear at the next meeting of the Diet, and answer for his conduct; his offices, and the fiefs with which he had been beneficed, were given to others, and an embargo was laid on his landed estates.

Leonora Christina describes in her Autobiography how Ulfeldt meanwhile first went to Holland, and thence to Sweden, where Queen Christina, who certainly was not favourably disposed to Denmark, received Ulfeldt with marked distinction, and promised him her protection. But she does not tell how Ulfeldt here used every opportunity for stirring up enmity against Denmark, both in Sweden itself and in other countries, whose ambassadors he tried to bring over to his ideas. On this painful subject there can be no doubt after the publication of so many authentic State Papers of that time, amongst which we may mention the reports of Whitelock, the envoy of Cromwell, to whom Ulfeldt represented that Denmark was too weak to resist an attack, and that the British Government might easily obtain the abolition of the Sound dues by war.

It seems, however, as if Ulfeldt did all this merely to terrify the Danish King into a reconciliation with him on terms honourable and advantageous to the voluntarily exiled magnate. Representations were several times made with such a view by the Swedish Government, and in 1656 Leonora Christina herself undertook a journey to Copenhagen, in order to arrange the matter. But the Danish Government was inaccessible to all such attempts.

This attitude was intelligible enough, for not only had Ulfeldt left Denmark in the most unceremonious manner, but in 1652 he published in Stralsund a defence against the accusations of which he had been the subject, full of gross insults against the King; and in the following year he had issued an insolent protest against the royal summons to appear and defend himself before the Diet, declaring himself a Swedish subject. But, above all, the influence of the Queen was too great to allow of any arrangement with Ulfeldt. The King was entirely led by her; she, from her German home, was filled with the most extravagant ideas of absolute despotism, and hated the free speech and the independent spirit prevailing among the Danish nobility, of which Ulfeldt in that respect was a true type. Leonora Christina was compelled to return in 1656, without even seeing the King, and as a fugitive. It is of this journey that she has given a Danish account, besides the description in the Autobiography.

It may be questioned whether it would not have been wise, if possible, to conciliate this dangerous man; but at any rate it was not done, and Ulfeldt was, no doubt, still more exasperated. Queen Christina had then resigned, and her successor, Carl Gustav, shortly after engaged in a war in Poland. The Danish Government, foolishly overrating its strength, took the opportunity for declaring war against Sweden, in the hope of regaining some of the territory lost in 1645. But Carl Gustav, well knowing that the Poles could not carry the war into Sweden, immediately turned his whole force against Denmark, where he met with next to no resistance. Ulfeldt was then living at Barth, in Pommerania, an estate which he held in mortgage for large sums of money advanced to the Swedish Government. Carl Gustav summoned Ulfeldt to follow him, and Ulfeldt obeyed the summons against the advice of Leonora Christina, who certainly did not desire her native country to be punished for the wrongs, if such they were, inflicted upon her by the Court.

The war had been declared on June 1, 1657; in August Ulfeldt issued a proclamation to the nobility in Jutland, calling on them to transfer their allegiance to the Swedish King. In the subsequent winter a most unusually severe frost enabled the Swedish army to cross the Sounds and Belts on the ice, Ulfeldt assisting its progress by persuading the commander of the fortress of Nakskov to surrender without resistance; and in February the Danish Government had to accept such conditions of peace as could be obtained from the Swedish King, who had halted a couple of days’ march from Copenhagen. By this peace Denmark surrendered all her provinces to the east of the Sound (Skaane, &c.), which constituted one-third of the ancient Danish territory, and which have ever since belonged to Sweden, besides her fleet, &c.

But the greatest humiliation was that the negotiation on the Swedish side was entrusted to Ulfeldt, who did not fail to extort from the Danish Crown the utmost that the neutral powers would allow. For himself he obtained restitution of his estates, freedom to live in Denmark unmolested, and a large indemnity for loss of income of his estates since his flight in 1651. The King of Sweden also rewarded him with the title of a Count of Sölvitsborg and with considerable estates in the provinces recently wrested from Denmark. Ulfeldt himself went to reside at Malmö, the principal town in Skaane, situated on the Sound, just opposite Copenhagen, and here he was joined by Leonora Christina.

In her Autobiography Leonora does not touch on the incidents of the war, but she describes how her anxiety for her husband’s safety did not allow her to remain quietly at Barth, and how she was afterwards called to her mother’s sick-bed, which she had to leave in order to nurse her husband, who fell ill at Malmö. We may here state that Kirstine Munk had fallen into disgrace, when Leonora was still a child, on account of her flagrant infidelity to the King, her paramour being a German Count of Solms. Kirstine Munk left the Court voluntarily in 1629,[5] shortly after the birth of a child, whom the King would not acknowledge as his own; and after having stayed with her mother for a short time, she took up her residence at the old manor of Boller, in North Jutland, where she remained until her death in 1658.

Various attempts were made to reconcile Christian IV. to her, but he steadily refused, and with very good reason: he was doubtless well aware that Kirstine Munk, as recently published diplomatic documents prove, had betrayed his political secrets to Gustav Adolf, the King of Sweden, and he considered her presence at Court very dangerous. Her son-in-law was now openly in the service of another Swedish king, but the friendship between them was not of long duration. Ulfeldt first incurred the displeasure of Carl Gustav by heading the opposition of the nobility in the newly acquired provinces against certain imposts laid on them by the Swedish King, to which they had not been liable under Danish rule. Then other causes of disagreement arose. Carl Gustav, regretting that he had concluded a peace, when in all probability he might have conquered the whole of Denmark, recommenced the war, and laid siege to Copenhagen. But the Danish people now rose as one man; foreign assistance was obtained; the Swedes were everywhere beaten; and if the Dutch, who were bound by treaty to assist Denmark, had not refused their co-operation in transferring the Danish troops across the Sound, all the lost provinces might easily have been regained.

The inhabitants in some of these provinces also rose against their new rulers. Amongst others, the citizens of Malmö, where Ulfeldt at the time resided, entered into a conspiracy to throw off the Swedish dominion; but it was betrayed, and Ulfeldt was indicated as one of the principal instigators, although he himself had accepted their forced homage to the Swedish King, as his deputy. Very probably he had thought that, if he took a part in the rising, he might, if this were successful, return to Denmark, having as it were thus wiped out his former crimes, but having also shown his countrymen what a terrible foe he could be. As it was, Denmark was prevented by her own allies from regaining her losses, and Ulfeldt was placed in custody in Malmö, by order of Carl Gustav, in order that his conduct might be subjected to a rigorous examination.

Ulfeldt was then apparently seized with a remarkable malady, a kind of apoplexy, depriving him of speech, and Leonora Christina conducted his defence. She wrote three lengthy, vigorous, and skilful replies to the charges, which still exist in the originals. He was acquitted, or rather escaped by a verdict of Not Proven; but as conscience makes cowards, he contrived to escape before the verdict was given. Leonora Christina describes all this in her Autobiography, according to which Ulfeldt was to go to Lubeck, while she would go to Copenhagen, and try to put matters straight there. Ulfeldt, however, changed his plan without her knowledge, and also repaired to Copenhagen, where they were both arrested and sent to the Castle of Hammershuus, on the island of Bornholm in the Baltic, an ancient fortress, now a most picturesque ruin, perched at the edge of perpendicular rocks, overhanging the sea, and almost surrounded by it.

The Autobiography relates circumstantially, and no doubt truthfully, the cruel treatment to which they were here subjected by the governor, a Major-General Fuchs. After a desperate attempt at escape, they were still more rigorously guarded, and at length they had to purchase their liberty by surrendering the whole of their property, excepting one estate in Fyen. Ulfeldt had to make the most humble apologies, and to promise not to leave the island of Fyen, where this estate was situated, without special permission. He was also compelled to renounce on the part of his wife the title of a Countess of Slesvig-Holstein, which Fredrik III. had never acknowledged. She never made use of that title afterwards, nor is she generally known by it in history. Corfits Ulfeldt being a Count of the German Empire, of course Leonora and her children were, and remained, Counts and Countesses of Ulfeldt. This compromise was effected in 1661.

Having been conveyed to Copenhagen, Ulfeldt could not obtain an audience of the King, and he was obliged, kneeling, to tender renewed oath of allegiance before the King’s deputies, Count Rantzow, General Hans Schack, the Chancellor Redtz, and the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Christofer Gabel, all of whom are mentioned in Leonora’s account of her subsequent prison life.

A few days after, Corfits Ulfeldt and Leonora Christina left Copenhagen, which he was never to see again, she only as a prisoner. They retired to the estate of Ellensborg, in Fyen, which they had still retained. This was the ancient seat of the Ulfeldts, which Corfits’ father had sold to Ellen Marsvin, Leonora Christina’s grandmother, and which had come to Leonora through her mother. In the meanwhile it had been renamed and rebuilt such as it stands to this day, a picturesque pile of buildings in the Elizabethan style. Here Ulfeldt might have ended his stormy life in quiet, but his thirst for revenge left him no peace. Besides this, a great change had taken place in Denmark. The national revival which followed the renewal of the war by Carl Gustav in 1658 led to a total change in the form of government.

It was indisputable that the selfishness of the nobles, who refused to undertake any burden for the defence of the country, was the main cause of the great disasters that had befallen Denmark. The abolition of their power was loudly called for, and the Queen so cleverly turned this feeling to account, that the remedy adopted was not the restoration of the other classes of the population to their legitimate constitutional influence, but the entire abolition of the constitution itself, and the introduction of hereditary, unlimited despotism. The title ‘hereditary king,’ which so often occurs in Danish documents and writings from that time, also in Leonora’s Memoir, has reference to this change. Undoubtedly this was very little to Ulfeldt’s taste. Already, in the next year after his release, 1662, he obtained leave to go abroad for his health. But, instead of going to Spaa, as he had pretended, he went to Amsterdam, Bruges, and Paris, where he sought interviews with Louis XIV. and the French ministers; he also placed himself in communication with the Elector of Brandenburg, with a view of raising up enemies against his native country. The Elector gave information to the Danish Government, whilst apparently lending an ear to Ulfeldt’s propositions.

When a sufficient body of evidence had been collected, it was laid before the High Court of Appeal in Copenhagen, and judgment given in his absence, whereby he was condemned to an ignominious death as a traitor, his property confiscated, his descendants for ever exiled from Denmark, and a large reward offered for his apprehension. The sentence is dated July 24, 1663. Meanwhile Ulfeldt had been staying with his family at Bruges. One day one of his sons, Christian, saw General Fuchs, who had treated his parents so badly at Hammershuus, driving through the city in a carriage; immediately he leaped on to the carriage and killed Fuchs on the spot. Christian Ulfeldt had to fly, but the parents remained in Bruges, where they had many friends.

It was in the following spring, on May 24, 1663, that Leonora Christina, much against her own inclination, left her husband—as it proved, not to see him again alive. Ulfeldt had on many occasions used his wealth in order to gain friends, by lending them money—probably the very worst method of all. It is proved that at his death he still held bonds for more than 500,000 dollars, or 100,000l., which he had lent to various princes and noblemen, and which were never paid. Amongst others he had lent the Pretender, afterwards Charles II., a large sum, about 20,000 patacoons, which at the time he had raised with some difficulty. He doubted not that the King of England, now that he was able to do it, would recognise the debt and repay it; and he desired Leonora, who, through her father, was cousin of Charles II., once removed, to go to England and claim it. She describes this journey in her Autobiography.

The Danish Government, hearing of her presence in England, thought that Ulfeldt was there too, or hoped at any rate to obtain possession of important documents by arresting her, and demanded her extradition. The British Government ostensibly refused, but underhand it gave the Danish minister, Petcum, every assistance. Leonora was arrested in Dover, where she had arrived on her way back, disappointed in the object of her journey. She had obtained enough and to spare of fair promises, but no money; and by secretly giving her up to the Danish Government, Charles II. in an easy way quitted himself of the debt, at the same time that he pleased the King of Denmark, without publicly violating political propriety. Leonora’s account of the whole affair is confirmed in every way by the light which other documents throw upon the matter, particularly by the extracts contained in the Calendar of State Papers, Domestic Series, of the reign of Charles II., 1663-64.

Leonora was now conducted to Copenhagen, where she was confined in the Blue Tower—a square tower surmounted by a blue spire, which stood in the court of the royal castle, and was used as a prison for grave offenders (see the engraving). At this point the Memoir of her sufferings in the prison takes up the thread of her history, and we need not here dwell upon its contents.

As soon as Ulfeldt heard that the Brandenburg Government had betrayed him, and that sentence had been passed on him in Copenhagen, he left Bruges. No doubt the arrest of Leonora in England was a still greater blow to him. The Spanish Government would probably have surrendered him to the Danish authorities, and he had to flee from place to place, pursued by Danish agents demanding his extradition, and men anxious to earn the reward offered for his apprehension, dead or alive. His last abode was Basle, where he passed under a feigned name, until a quarrel between one of his sons and a stranger caused the discovery of their secret. Not feeling himself safe, Ulfeldt left Basle, alone, at night, in a boat descending the Rhine; but he never reached his destination. He was labouring under a violent attack on the chest, and the night air killed him. He breathed his last in the boat, on February 20, 1664. The boatmen, concluding from the gold and jewels which they found on him that he was a person of consequence, brought the body on shore, and made the matter known in Basle, from whence his sons came and buried him under a tree in a field—no one knows the spot.

Meanwhile the punishment of beheading and quartering had been executed on a wooden effigy in Copenhagen. His palace was demolished, and the site laid out in a public square, on which a pillar of sandstone was erected as an everlasting monument of his crimes. This pillar was taken away in 1842, and the name was changed from Ulfeldt Square to Greyfriars Square, as an indication of the forgetting and forgiving spirit of the time, or perhaps rather because the treason of Ulfeldt was closely connected with the ancient jealousy between Danes and Swedes, of which the present generation is so anxious to efface the traces.

His children had to seek new homes elsewhere. Christian, who killed Fuchs, became a Roman Catholic and died as an abbé; and none of them continued the name, except the youngest son Leo, who went into the service of the German Emperor, and rose to the highest dignities. His son Corfits likewise filled important offices under Charles VI. and Maria Theresa, but left no sons. His two daughters married respectively a Count Waldstein and a Count Thun, whose descendants therefore now represent the family of Ulfeldt.

Leonora Christina remained in prison for twenty-two years—that is, until the death of Sophia Amalia, the Queen of Fredrik III. This King, as well as his son Christian V., would willingly have set her at liberty; but the influence of the Queen over her husband and son was so strong that only her death, which occurred in 1685, released Leonora.

The Memoir of her life in prison terminates with this event, and her after-life does not offer any very remarkable incidents. Nevertheless, a few details, chiefly drawn from a MS. in the Royal Library at Copenhagen, recently published by Mr. Birket Smith, may serve to complete the historical image of this illustrious lady. The MS. in question is from the hand of a Miss Urne, of an ancient Danish family, who managed the household of Leonora from 1685 to her death in 1698. A royal manor, formerly a convent, at Maribo, on the island of Laaland, was granted to Leonora shortly after her release from the Blue Tower, together with a sufficient pension for a moderate establishment.

‘The first occupation of the Countess,’ says Miss Urne, ‘was devotion; for which purpose her household was assembled in a room outside her bed-chamber. In her daily morning prayer there was this passage: “May the Lord help all prisoners, console the guilty, and save the innocent!” After that she remained the whole forenoon in her bedchamber, occupied in reading and writing. She composed a book entitled the “Ornament of Heroines,” which Countess A. C. Ulfeldt and Count Leon took away with them, together with many other rare writings. Her handiwork is almost indescribable, and without an equal; such as embroidering in silk, gold embroidery, and turning in amber and ivory.’

It will be seen from Leonora’s own Memoir that needlework was one of her principal occupations in her prison. Count Waldstein still possesses some of her work; in the Church of Maribo an altar-cloth embroidered by her existed still some time ago; and at the Castle of Rosenborg, in Copenhagen, there is a portrait of Christian V. worked by Leonora in silk, in return for which present the King increased her annual pension. Miss Urne says that she sent all her work to Elizabeth Bek, a granddaughter of Leonora, who lived with her for some years. But she refused to send her Leonora’s Postille, or manual of daily devotion, which had been given Leonora on New Year’s Day, in the last year of her captivity, by the castellan, Torslev, who is mentioned in Leonora’s Memoir, and who had taught her to turn ivory, &c. This book has disappeared; but amongst the relics of Leonora Christina, the Royal Library at Copenhagen preserves some leaves which had been bound up with it, and contain verses, &c., by Leonora, and other interesting matter.

Her MS. works were taken to Vienna after her death. It is not known what has become of some of them. A copy of the first part of the book on heroines exists in Copenhagen. Miss Urne says that she possessed fragments of a play composed by her and acted at Maribo Kloster; also the younger Sperling speaks of such a composition in Danish verse; but the MS. seems to be lost now.

Several of Leonora’s relations stayed with her from time to time at Maribo; amongst them the above-mentioned Elizabeth Bek, whose mother, Leonora Sophie, famous for her beauty, had married Lave Bek, the head of an ancient Danish family in Skaane. After Ulfeldt’s death Lave Bek demanded of the Swedish Government the estates which Carl Gustav had given to Ulfeldt in 1658, but which the Swedish Government had afterwards confiscated, without any legal ground. Leonora Christina herself memorialised the Swedish King on the subject, and at least one of her memorials on the subject, dated May 23, 1693, still exists; but it was not till 1735 that these estates were given up to Lave Bek’s sons. Leonora’s eldest daughter, Anne Catherina, lived with her mother at Maribo for several years, and was present at her death. She had married Casetta, a Spanish nobleman, mentioned by Leonora Christina in her Memoir, who was with her in England when she was arrested. After the death of Casetta and their children, Anne Catherina Ulfeldt came to live with her mother. She followed her brother to Vienna, where she died. It was she who transmitted the MS. of Leonora’s Memoir of her life in the Blue Tower to the brother, with the following letter, which is still preserved with the MS.:—

‘This book treats of what has happened to our late lady mother in her prison. I have not been able to persuade myself to burn it, although the reading of it has given me little pleasure, inasmuch as all those events concern her miserable state. After all, it is not without its use to know how she has been treated; but it is not needful that it should come into the hands of strangers, for it might happen to give pleasure to those of our enemies who still remain.’

The letter is addressed ‘A Monsieur, Monsieur le Comte d’Ulfeldt,’ &c., but without date or signature. The handwriting is, however, that of Anne Catherina Ulfeldt, and she had probably sent it off to Vienna for safety immediately after her mother’s death, before she knew that her brother would come to Maribo himself. Miss Urne says, in the MS. referred to, that the King had ordered that he was to be informed immediately of Leonora’s demise, in order that she might be buried according to her rank and descent; but she had beforehand requested that her funeral might be quite plain. Her coffin, as well as those of three children who had died young, and whose coffins had been provisionally placed in a church at Copenhagen, was immured in a vault in the church of Maribo; but when this was opened some forty years ago, no trace of Leonora’s mortal remains could be found, though those of the children were there: from which it is concluded that a popular report, to the effect that the body had been secretly carried abroad, contains more truth than was formerly supposed. Count Waldstein states that in the family vault at Leitsmischl, there is one metal coffin without any inscription, and which may be hers. If so, Leonora has, as it were, after her death followed her husband into exile. At any rate, the final resting-place of neither of them is known with certainty.


AUTOBIOGRAPHY
OF
LEONORA CHRISTINA
1673.


AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

Sir,[6]—To satisfy your curiosity, I will give you a short account of the life of her about whom you desire to be informed. She was born at Fredericksborg, in the year 1621, on June 11.[7] When she was six weeks old her grandmother took her with her to Dalum, where she remained until the age of four years; her first master there being Mr. Envolt, afterward a priest at Roeskild. About six months after her return to the Court, her father sent her to Holland to his cousin, a Duchess of Brunswick, who had married Count Ernest of Nassau, and lived at Lewarden.

Her sister Sophia, who was two years and a half older than herself, and her brother, who was a year younger, had gone to the aforesaid Duchess nearly a year before. I must not forget to mention the first mischances that befell her at her setting out. She went by sea in one of the royal ships of war; having been two days and a night at sea, at midnight such a furious tempest arose that they all had given up any hope of escaping. Her tutor, Wichmann Hassebart (afterwards Bishop of Fyn), who attended her, woke her and took her in his arms, saying, with tears, that they should both die together, for he loved her tenderly. He told her of the danger, that God was angry, and that they would all be drowned. She caressed him, treating him like a father (after her usual wont), and begged him not to grieve; she was assured that God was not angry, that He would see they would not be drowned, beseeching him again and again to believe her. Wichmann shed tears at her simplicity, and prayed to God to save the rest for her sake, and for the sake of the hope that she, an innocent girl, reposed in Him. God heard him, and after having lost the two mainmasts, they entered at dawn of day the harbour of Fleckeröe,[8] where they remained for six weeks.

Having received orders to proceed by sea, they pursued their route and arrived safely. Her sister being informed of her arrival, and being told that she had come with a different retinue to herself—with a suite of gentlemen, lady preceptor, servants and attendants, &c.—she burst into tears, and said that she was not surprised that this sister always insinuated herself and made herself a favourite, and that she would be treated there too as such. M. Sophia was not mistaken in this; for her sister was in greater favour with the Duchess, with her governess, and with many others, than she was herself. Count Ernest alone took the side of M. Sophia, and this rather for the sake of provoking his wife, who liked dispute; for M. Sophia exhibited her obstinacy even towards himself. She did all the mischief she could to her sister, and persuaded her brother to do the same.

To amuse you I will tell you of her first innocent predilections. Count Ernest had a son of about eleven or twelve years of age; he conceived an affection for her, and having persuaded her that he loved her, and that she would one day be his wife, but that this must be kept secret, she fancied herself already secretly his wife. He knew a little drawing, and by stealth he instructed her; he even taught her some Latin words. They never missed an opportunity of retiring from company and conversing with each other.

This enjoyment was of short duration for her; for a little more than a year afterwards she fell ill of small-pox, and as his elder brother, William, who had always ridiculed these affections, urged him to see his well-beloved in the condition in which she was, in order to disgust him with the sight, he came one day to the door to see her, and was so startled that he immediately became ill, and died on the ninth day following. His death was kept concealed from her. When she was better she asked after him, and she was made to believe that he was gone away with his mother (who was at this time at Brunswick), attending the funeral of her mother. His body had been embalmed, and had been placed in a glass case. One day her preceptor made her go into the hall where his body lay, to see if she recognised it; he raised her in his arms to enable her to see it better. She knew her dear Moritz at once, and was seized with such a shock that she fell fainting to the ground. Wichmann in consequence carried her hastily out of the hall to recover her, and as the dead boy wore a garland of rosemary, she never saw these flowers without crying, and had an aversion to their smell, which she still retains.

As the wars between Germany and the King of Denmark had been the cause of the removal of his aforesaid children, they were recalled to Denmark when peace was concluded. At the age of seven years and two months she was affianced to a gentleman of the King’s Chamber. She began very early to suffer for his sake. Her governess was at this time Mistress Anne Lycke, Qvitzow’s mother. Her daughter, who was maid of honour, had imagined that this gentleman made his frequent visits for love of her. Seeing herself deceived, she did not know in what manner to produce estrangement between the lovers; she spoke, and made M. Sophia speak, of the gentleman’s poverty, and amused herself with ridiculing the number of children in the family. She regarded all this with indifference, only declaring once that she loved him, poor as he was, better than she loved her rich gallant.[9]

At last they grew weary of this, and found another opportunity for troubling her—namely, the illness of her betrothed, resulting from a complaint in his leg; they presented her with plaisters, ointments, and such like things, and talked together of the pleasure of being married to a man who had his feet diseased, &c. She did not answer a word either for good or bad, so they grew weary of this also. A year and a half after they had another governess, Catharina Sehestedt, sister of Hannibal.[10] M. Sophia thus lost her second, and her sister had a little repose in this quarter.

When our lady was about twelve years old, Francis Albert, Duke of Saxony,[11] came to Kolding to demand her in marriage. The King replied that she was no longer free, that she was already betrothed; but the Duke was not satisfied with this, and spoke to herself, and said a hundred fine things to her: that a Duke was far different to a gentleman. She told him she always obeyed the King, and since it had pleased the King to promise her to a gentleman, she was well satisfied. The Duke employed the governess to persuade her, and the governess introduced him to her brother Hannibal, then at the Court, and Hannibal went with post-horses to Möen, where her betrothed was, who did not linger long on the road in coming to her. This was the beginning of the friendship between Monsieur and Hannibal, which afterwards caused so much injury to Monsieur. But he had not needed to trouble himself, for the Duke never could draw from her the declaration that she would be ready to give up her betrothed if the King ordered her to do so. She told him she hoped the King would not retract from his first promise. The Duke departed ill satisfied, on the very day the evening of which the betrothed arrived. (Four years afterwards they quarrelled on this subject in the presence of the King, who appeased them with his authority.)

It happened the following winter at Skanderborg that the governess had a quarrel with the language-master, Alexandre de Cuqvelson, who taught our lady and her sisters the French language, writing, arithmetic, and dancing. M. Sophia was not studious; moreover, she had very little memory; for her heart was too much devoted to her dolls, and as she perceived that the governess did not punish her when Alexandre complained of her, she neglected everything, and took no trouble about her studies. Our lady imagined she knew enough when she knew as much as her sister. As this had lasted some time, the governess thought she could entrap Alexandre; she accused him to the King, said that he treated the children badly, rapped their fingers, struck them on the hand, called them bad names, &c., and with all this they could not even read, much less speak, the French language. Besides this, she wrote the same accusations to the betrothed of our lady. The betrothed sent his servant Wolff to Skanderborg, with menaces to Alexandre. At the same time Alexandre was warned that the King had sent for the prince,[12] to examine his children, since the father-confessor was not acquainted with the language.

The tutor was in some dismay; he flattered our lady, implored her to save him, which she could easily do, since she had a good memory, so that he could prove by her that it was not his fault that M. Sophia was not more advanced. Our lady did not yield readily, but called to his remembrance how one day, about half a year ago, she had begged him not to accuse her to the governess, but that he had paid no attention to her tears, though he knew that the governess treated them shamefully. He begged her for the love of Jesus, wept like a child, said that he should be ruined for ever, that it was an act of mercy, that he would never accuse her, and that from henceforth she should do nothing but what she wished. At length she consented, said she would be diligent, and since she had yet three weeks before her, she learnt a good deal by heart.[13] Alexandre told her one day, towards the time of the examination, that there was still a great favour she could render him: if she would not repeat the little things which had passed at school-time; for he could not always pay attention to every word that he said when M. Sophia irritated him, and if he had once taken the rod to hit her fingers when she had not struck her sister strongly enough, he begged her for the love of God to pardon it. (It should be mentioned that he wished the one to strike the other when they committed faults, and the one who corrected the other had to beat her, and if she did not do so strongly enough, he took the office upon himself; thus he had often beaten our lady.)

She made excuses, said that she did not dare to tell a lie if they asked her, but that she would not accuse him of herself. This promise did not wholly satisfy him; he continued his entreaties, and assured her that a falsehood employed to extricate a friend from danger was not a sin, but was agreeable to God; moreover, it was not necessary for her to say anything, only not to confess what she had seen and heard. She said that the governess would treat her ill; so he replied that she should have no occasion to do so, for that he would never complain to her. Our lady replied that the governess would find pretext enough, since she was inclined to ill-treat the children; and anyhow, the other master who taught them German was a rude man, and an old man who taught them the spinette was a torment, therefore she had sufficient reason for fear. He did not give way, but so persisted in his persuasion that she promised everything.

When the prince arrived the governess did not forget to besiege him with her complaints, and to beg him to use his influence that the tutor might be dismissed. At length the day of the examination having come, the governess told her young ladies an hour before that they were to say how villanously he had treated them, beaten them, &c. The prince came into the apartments of the ladies accompanied by the King’s father-confessor (at that time Dr. Ch(r)estien Sar); the governess was present the whole time.

They were first examined in German. M. Sophia acquitted herself very indifferently, not being able to read fluently. The master Christoffre excused her, saying that she was timid. When it came to Alexandre’s turn to show what his pupils could do, M. Sophia could read little or nothing. When she stammered in reading, the governess looked at the prince and laughed aloud. There was no difference in the gospel, psalms, proverbs, or suchlike things. The governess was very glad, and would have liked that the other should not have been examined. But when it came to her turn to read in the Bible, and she did not hesitate, the governess could no longer restrain herself, and said, ‘Perhaps it is a passage she knows by heart that you have made her read.’ Alexandre begged the governess herself to give the lady another passage to read. The governess was angry at this also, and said, ‘He is ridiculing me because I do not know French.’ The prince then opened the Bible and made her read other passages, which she did as fluently as before. In things by heart she showed such proficiency that the prince was too impatient to listen to all.

It was then Alexandre’s turn to speak, and to say that he hoped His Highness would graciously consider that it was not his fault that M. Sophia was not more advanced. The governess interrupted him saying, ‘You are truly the cause of it, for you treat her ill!’ and she began a torrent of accusations, asking M. Sophia if they were not true. She answered in the affirmative, and that she could not conscientiously deny them. Then she asked our lady if they were not true. She replied that she had never heard nor seen anything of the kind. The governess, in a rage, said to the Prince, ‘Your highness must make her speak the truth; she dares not do so, for Alexandre’s sake.’

The Prince asked her if Alexandre had never called her bad names—if he had never beaten her. She replied, ‘Never.’ He asked again if she had not seen nor heard that he had ill-treated her sister. She replied, ‘No, she had never either heard or seen it.’ At this the governess became furious; she spoke to the prince in a low voice; the prince replied aloud, ‘What do you wish me to do? I have no order from the King to constrain her to anything.’ Well, Alexandre gained his cause; the governess could not dislodge him, and our lady gained more than she had imagined in possessing the affection of the King, the goodwill of the Prince, of the priest, and of all those who knew her. But the governess from that moment took every opportunity of revenging herself on our lady.

At length she found one, which was rather absurd. The old Jean Meinicken, who taught our lady the spinette, one day, in a passion, seized the fingers of our lady and struck them against the instrument; without remembering the presence of her governess, she took his hand and retaliated so strongly that the strings broke. The governess heard with delight the complaints of the old man. She prepared two rods; she used them both, and, not satisfied with that, she turned the thick end of one, and struck our lady on the thigh, the mark of which she bears to the present day. More than two months elapsed before she recovered from the blow; she could not dance, nor could she walk comfortably for weeks after. This governess did her so much injury that at last our lady was obliged to complain to her betrothed, who had a quarrel with the governess at the wedding of M. Sophia, and went straight to the King to accuse her; she was at once dismissed, and the four children, the eldest of which was our lady, went with the princess[14] to Niköping, to pass the winter there, until the king could get another governess. The King, who had a good opinion of the conduct of our lady, who at this time was thirteen years and four months old, wrote to her and ordered her to take care of her sisters. Our lady considered herself half a governess, so she took care not to set them a bad example. As to study, she gave no thought to it at this time; she occupied herself in drawing and arithmetic, of which she was very fond, and the princess, who was seventeen years of age, delighted in her company. Thus this winter passed very agreeably for her.

At the approach of the Diet, which sat eight days after Pentecost, the children came to Copenhagen, with the prince and princess, and had as governess a lady of Mecklenburg of the Blixen family, the mother of Philip Barstorp who is still alive. After the Diet, the king made a journey to Glückstad in two days and a half, and our lady accompanied him; it pleased the King that she was not weary, and that she could bear up against inconveniences and fatigues. She afterwards made several little journeys with the King, and she had the good fortune occasionally to obtain the pardon of some poor criminals, and to be in favour with the king.

Our lady having attained the age of fifteen years and about four months, her betrothed obtained permission for their marriage, which was celebrated (with more pomp than the subsequent weddings of her sisters), on October 9, 1636. The winter after her marriage she was with her husband at Möen, and as she knew that her husband’s father had not left him any wealth, she asked him concerning his debts, and conjured him to conceal nothing from her. He said to her, ‘If I tell you the truth it will perhaps frighten you.’ She declared it would not, and that she would supply what was needful from her ornaments, provided he would assure her that he had told her everything. He did so, and found that she was not afraid to deprive herself of her gold, silver, and jewels, in order to pay a sum of thirty-six thousand rix-dollars. On April 21, 1637, she went with her husband to Copenhagen in obedience to the order of the king, who gave him the post of V.R.[15] He was again obliged to incur debt in purchasing a house and in setting up a larger establishment.

There would be no end were I to tell you all the mischances that befell her during the happy period of her marriage, and of all the small contrarieties which she endured; but since I am assured that this history will not be seen by anyone, and that you will not keep it after having read it, I will tell you a few points which are worthy of attention. Those who were envious of the good fortune of our lady could not bear that she should lead a tranquil life, nor that she should be held in esteem by her father and King; I may call him thus, for the King conferred on her more honours than were due to her from him. Her husband loved and honoured her, enacting the lover more than the husband.

She spent her time in shooting, riding, tennis, in learning drawing in good earnest from Charles v. Mandern, in playing the viol, the flute, the guitar, and she enjoyed a happy life. She knew well that jealousy is a plague, and that it injures the mind which harbours it. Her relations tried to infuse into her head that her husband loved elsewhere, especially M. Elizabet, and subsequently Anna, sister of her husband, who was then in her house. M. Elizabet began by mentioning it as a secret, premising that no one could tell her and warn her, except her who was her sister.

As our lady at first said nothing and only smiled, M. Elis... said: ‘The world says that you know it well, but that you will not appear to do so.’ She replied with a question: ‘Why did she tell her a thing as a secret, which she herself did not believe to be a secret to her? but she would tell her a secret that perhaps she did not know, which was, that she had given her husband permission to spend his time with others, and when she was satisfied the remainder would be for others; that she believed there were no such jealous women as those who were insatiable, but that a wisdom was imputed to her, which she did not possess; she begged her, however, to be wise enough not to interfere with matters which did not concern her, and if she heard others mentioning it (as our lady had reason to believe that this was her own invention) that she would give them a reprimand. M. Elis... was indignant and went away angry, but Anna, Monsieur’s sister, who was in the house, adopted another course. She drew round her the handsomest women in the town, and then played the procuress, spoke to her brother of one particularly, who was a flirt, and who was the handsomest, and offered him opportunities, &c. As she saw that he was proof against it, she told him (to excite him) that his wife was jealous, that she had had him watched where he went when he had been drinking with the King, to know whether he visited this woman; she said that his wife was angry, because the other woman was so beautiful, said that she painted, &c.

The love borne to our lady by her husband made him tell her all, and, moreover, he went but rarely afterwards to his sister’s apartments, from which she could easily understand that the conversation had not been agreeable to him; but our lady betrayed nothing of the matter, visited her more than before, caressed this lady more than any other, and even made her considerable presents. (Anna remained in her house as long as she lived.)

All this is of small consideration compared with the conduct of her own brother. It is well known to you that the Biel... were very intimate in our lady’s house. It happened that her brother made a journey to Muscovy, and that the youngest of the Biel... was in his suite. As this was a very lawless youth, and, to say the truth, badly brought up, he not only at times failed in respect to our lady’s brother, but freely expressed his sentiments to him upon matters which did not concern him; among other things, he spoke ill of the Holstein noblemen, naming especially one, who was then in waiting on the King, who he said had deceived our lady’s brother. The matter rested there for more than a year after their return from this journey. The brother of our lady and Biel... played cards together, and disputed over them; upon this the brother of our lady told the Holstein nobleman what Biel... had said of him more than a year before, which B. did not remember, and swore that he had never said. The Holstein nobleman said insulting things against Biel....

Our lady conversed with her brother upon the affair, and begged him to quiet the storm he had raised, and to consider how it would cause an ill-feeling with regard to him among the nobility, and that it would seem that he could not keep to himself what had been told him in secret; it would be very easy for him to mend the matter. Her brother replied that he could never retract what he had said, and that he should consider the Holstein nobleman as a villain if he did not treat B. as a rogue.

At length the Holstein nobleman behaved in such a manner as to constrain B. to send him a challenge. B. was killed by his adversary with the sword of our lady’s brother, which she did not know till afterwards. At noon of the day on which B. had been killed in the morning, our lady went to the castle to visit her little twin sisters; her brother was there, and came forward, laughing loudly and saying, ‘Do you know that Ran... has killed B...?’ She replied, ‘No, that I did not know, but I knew that you had killed him. Ran... could do nothing less than defend himself, but you placed the sword in his hand.’ Her brother, without answering a word, mounted his horse and went to seek his brother-in-law, who was speaking with our old friend,[16] told him he was the cause of B.’s death, and that he had done so because he had understood that his sister loved him, and that he did not believe that his brother-in-law was so blind as not to have perceived it. The husband of our lady did not receive this speech in the way the other had imagined, and said, ‘If you were not her brother, I would stab you with this poniard,’ showing it to him. ‘What reason have you for speaking thus?’ The good-for-nothing fellow was rather taken aback at this, and knew not what to say, except that B... was too free and had no respect in his demeanour; and that this was a true sign of love. At length, after some discussion on both sides, the brother of our lady requested that not a word might be said to his sister.

As soon as she returned home, her husband told her everything in the presence of our old friend, but ordered her to feign ignorance. This was all the more easy for her, as her husband gave no credence to it, but trusted in her innocence. She let nothing appear, but lived with her brother as before. But some years after, her brother ill-treated his own mother, and her side being taken by our lady, they were in consequence not good friends.

In speaking to you of the occupations of our lady, after having reached the age of twenty-one or thereabouts, I must tell you she had a great desire to learn Latin. She had a very excellent master,[17] whom you know, and who taught her for friendship as well as with good will. But she had so many irons in the fire, and sometimes it was necessary to take a journey, and a yearly accouchement (to the number of ten) prevented her making much progress; she understood a little easy Latin, but attempted nothing difficult; she then learnt a little Italian, which she continued studying whenever an opportunity presented itself.

I will not speak of her short journeys to Holstein, Jutland, &c.; but in the year 1646 she made a voyage with her husband by sea, in the first place to Holland, where she gave birth to a son six weeks after her arrival at the Hague. From thence she went with her husband to France, first to Paris and afterwards to Amiens; there they took leave of the King and of the Queen Mother, Regent, and as they were returning by Dunkirk she had the curiosity to see England, and begged her husband to permit her to cross over with a small suite, to which he consented, since one of the royal vessels lay in the roads. She took a nobleman with her who knew the language, our old friend, a servant, and the valet of the aforesaid nobleman, and this was the whole of her retinue. She embarked, and her husband planned to pass through Flanders and Brabant, and to await her at Rotterdam. As she was on the vessel a day and night, and the wind did not favour them, she resolved to land and to follow her husband, fancying she could reach him in time to see Flanders and Brabant; she had not visited these countries before, having passed from Holland by sea to Calais.

She found her husband at Ostend, and travelled with him to Rotterdam; from thence she pursued her former plan, embarked at Helvoot-Sluys, and arrived at Duns, went to London, and returned by Dover, making the whole voyage in ten days, and she was again enceinte. She was an object of suspicion in London. The Prince Palatine, then Elector of Heidelberg,[18] belonged to the party opposed to the beheaded King, who was then a prisoner; and they watched her and surrounded her with spies, so she did not make a long sojourn in London. Nothing else was imagined, when it was known she had been there, but that she had letters from the King of Dan... for the King of Engl.... She returned with her husband to Dan....

In the year 1648 fortune abandoned our lady, for on February 28 the King was taken from her by death. She had the happiness, however, of attending upon him until his last breath. Good God, when I think of what this good King said to her the first day, when she found him ill in bed at Rosenborg, and wept abundantly, my heart is touched. He begged her not to weep, caressed her, and said: ‘I have placed you so securely that no one can move you.’ Only too much has she felt the contrary of the promise of the King who succeeded him, for when he was Duke and visited her at her house, a few days after the death of the King, finding her in tears, he embraced her, saying: ‘I will be a father to you, do not weep.’ She kissed his hand without being able to speak. I find that some fathers have been unnatural towards their children.

In the year 1649 she made another voyage with her husband to Holland, and at the Hague gave birth to a daughter. When her husband returned from this journey, he for the first time perceived the designs of Hannibal, of Gerstorp, and Wibe, but too late. He absented himself from business, and would not listen to what his wife told him. Our old friend shared the opinion of our lady, adducing very strong reason for it, but all in vain; he said, that he would not be a perpetual slave for the convenience of his friends. His wife spoke as a prophet to him, told him that he would be treated as a slave when he had ceased to have authority, that they would suspect him, and envy his wealth; all of which took place, though I shall make no recital of it, since these events are sufficiently known to you.

We will now speak a little of the events which occurred afterwards. When they had gained their cause,[19] our lady feared that the strong party which they had then overcome would not rest without ruining them utterly at any cost; so she advised her husband to leave the country, since he had the King’s permission to do so,[20] and to save his life, otherwise his enemies would contrive some other invention which would succeed better. He consented to this at length, and they took their two eldest children with them, and went by sea to Amsterdam. At Utrecht they left the children with the servants and a female attendant, and our lady disguised herself in male attire and followed her husband, who took the route to Lubeck, and from thence by sea to Sweden, to ask the protection of Queen Christina, which he received; and as the Queen knew that his wife was with him in disguise, she requested to see her, which she did.

The husband of our lady purposed to remain some time in Pomerania, and the Queen lent him a vessel to convey him thither. Having been three days at sea, the wind carried them towards Dantzig, and not being able to enter the town, for it was too late, they remained outside the gates at a low inn. An adventure fit for a novel here happened to our lady. A girl of sixteen, or a little more, believing that our lady was a young man, threw herself on her neck with caresses, to which our lady responded, and played with the girl, but, as our lady perceived what the girl meant, and that she could not satisfy her, she turned her over to Charles, a man of their suite, thinking he would answer her purpose; he offered the girl his attentions, but she repelled him rudely, saying, she was not for him, and went again to our lady, accosting her in the same way. Our lady got rid of her, but with difficulty however, for she was somewhat impudent, and our lady did not dare to leave her apartment. For the sake of amusing you, I must tell you, what now occurs to me, that in the fort before Stade, the name of which has escaped me, our lady played with two soldiers for drink, and her husband, who passed for her uncle, paid the expenses; the soldiers, willing to lose for the sake of gaining the beer, and astonished that she never lost, were, however, civil enough to present her with drink.

We must return to Dantzig. The husband of our lady, finding himself near Thoren, desired to make an excursion there, but his design was interrupted by two men, one who had formerly served in Norway as Lieutenant-Colonel, and a charlatan who called himself Dr. Saar, and who had been expelled from Copenhagen. They asked the Mayor of the town to arrest these two persons, believing that our lady was Ebbe Wl....[21] They were warned by their host that these persons said they were so-and-so, and that these gentlemen were at the door to prevent their going out. Towards evening they grew tired of keeping guard, and went away. Before dawn the husband of our lady went out of the house first, and waited at the gate, and our lady with the two servants went in a coach to wait at the other gate until it was opened; thus they escaped this time.

They went by land to Stralsund, where our lady resumed her own attire, after having been in disguise twelve weeks and four days, and having endured many inconveniences, not having gone to bed all the time, except at Stockholm, Dantzig, and Stettin. She even washed the clothes, which inconvenienced her much. The winter that they passed at Stralsund, her husband taught her, or rather began to teach her, Spanish. In the spring they again made a voyage to Stockholm, at the desire of Queen Chr.... This good Queen, who liked intrigue, tried to excite jealousy and to make people jealous, but she did not succeed. They were in Sweden until after the abdication of the Queen, and the wedding and coronation of King Charles and Queen Hedevig, which was in the year 1654. They returned to Pomerania for a visit to Barth, which they possessed as a mortgage. There, our lady passed her time in study, sometimes occupied with a Latin book, sometimes with a Spanish one. She translated a small Spanish work, entitled Matthias de los Reyos; but this book since fell into the hands of others, as well as the first part of Cleopatre, which she had translated from the French, with matters of greater value.

In the year 1657,[22] her husband persuaded her to make a voyage to Dannem... to try and gain an audience with the King, and see if she could not obtain some payment from persons who owed them money. Our lady found various pleas for not undertaking this voyage, seeing a hundred difficulties against its successful issue; but her husband besought her to attempt it, and our old friend shared her husband’s opinion that nothing could be done to her, that she was under the protection of the King of Sweden, and not banished from Dan... with similar arguments. At length she yielded, and made the journey in the winter, travelling in a coach with six horses, a secretary, a man on horseback, a female attendant, a page and a lacquey—that was all. She went first to see her mother in Jutland, and remained there three days; this was immediately known at the Court.

When she had passed the Belt, and was within cannon-shot of Corsör, she was met by Uldrich Chr. Guldenl...,[23] who was on the point of going to Jutland to fetch her. He returned with his galley and landed; she remained in her vessel, waiting for her carriage to be put on shore. Guld... impatient, could not wait so long, and sent the burgomaster Brant to tell her to come ashore, as he had something to say to her. She replied that if he had anything to say to her, he ought to show her the attention of coming to her. Brant went with this answer; awaiting its issue, our lady looked at her attendants and perceived a change in them all. Her female attendant was seized with an attack from which she suffers still, a trembling of the head, while her eyes remained fixed. The secretary trembled so that his teeth chattered. Charles was quite pale, as were all the others. Our lady spoke to them, and asked them why they were afraid; for her they had nothing to fear, and less for themselves. The secretary answered, ‘They will soon let us know that.’ Brant returned with the same message, with the addition that Gul... was bearer of the King’s order, and that our lady ought to come to him at the Castle to hear the King’s order. She replied that she respected the King’s order there as well as at the castle; that she wished that Gul... would please to let her know there the order of His Majesty; and when Brant tried to persuade her, saying continually, ‘Oh! do give in, do give in!’ she used the same expression, and said also, ‘Beg Gul... to give in,’ &c. At length she said, ‘Give me sufficient time to have two horses harnessed, for I cannot imagine he would wish me to go on foot.’

When she reached the castle she had the coach pulled up. Brant came forward to beg her to enter the castle; she refused, and said she would not enter; that if he wished to speak to her he must come to her, that she had come more than half-way. Brant went, and returned once again, but she said the same, adding that he might do all that seemed good to him, she should not stir from the spot. At length the [good-for-nothing] fellow came down, and when he was ready to speak to her, she opened the coach and got out. He said a few polite words to her, and then presented her with an order from the King, written in the chancery, the contents of which were, that she must hasten to depart from the King’s territory, or she would have to thank herself for any ill that might befall her. Having read the order she bowed, and returned him the order, which was intended to warn her, saying, ‘That she hoped to have been permitted to kiss the King’s hand, but as her enemies had hindered this happiness by such an order, there was nothing left for her but to obey in all humility, and thanking His Majesty most humbly for the warning, she would hasten as quickly as possible to obey His Majesty’s commands. She asked if she were permitted to take a little refreshment, for that they had had contrary winds and had been at sea all day. Gul... answered in the negative, that he did not dare to give her the permission; and since she had obeyed with such great submission, he would not show her the other order that he had, asking her at the same moment if she wished to see this other order? She said, no; that she would abide by the order that she had seen, and that she would immediately embark on board her ferry-boat to return. Gul... gave her his hand, and begged her to make use of his galley.

She did so. They went half the way without speaking; at length Gul... broke the silence, and they entered into conversation. He told her that the King had been made to believe that she had assembled a number of noblemen at her mother’s house, and that he had orders to disperse this cabal. They had a long conversation together, and spoke of Dina’s affair; he said the King did not yet know the real truth of it. She complained that the King had not tried to know it. At length they arrived by night at Nyborg. Gul... accompanied her to her hostelry, and went to his own, and an hour afterwards sent Scherning[24] to tell her that at dawn of day she must be ready, in order that they might arrive at Assens the next evening, which it was impossible to do with her own horses, as they did not arrive till morning. She assented, saying she would act in obedience to his orders, began talking with Scherning, and conversed with him about other matters. I do not know how, but she gained his good graces, and he prevailed so far with Gul... that Gul... did not hasten her unduly. Towards nine o’clock the next morning he came to tell her that he did not think it necessary to accompany her further, but he hoped she would follow the King’s order, and begged her to speak with Kay v. Ahlefeld at Haderslef, when she was passing through; he had received orders as to what he had to do. She promised this, and Gul... returned to Copenhagen, placing a man with our lady to watch her.

Our lady did not think it necessary to speak to Kay v. Ahlefeld, for she had nothing to say to him, and she did not want to see more orders; she passed by Haderslef, and went to Apenrade, and awaited there for ten days[25] a letter from [Gul...] which he had promised to write to her; when she saw that he was not going to keep his word she started on her way to Slesvig, halting half way with the intention of dining. Holst, the clerk of the bailiwick of Flensborg, here arrived in a coach with two arquebuses larger and longer than halberds. He gave orders to close the bar of Boy..., sent to the village, which is quite close, that the peasants should hold themselves ready with their spears and arms, and made four persons who were in the tavern take the same arms, that is, large poles. Afterwards he entered and made a long speech, with no end of compliments to our lady, to while away the time. The matter was, that the governor[26] desired her to go to Flensborg, as he had something to say to her, and he hoped she would do him the pleasure to rest a night at Flensborg.

Our lady replied that she had not the pleasure of his acquaintance, and therefore she thought he took her for someone else; if she could oblige him in anything she would remain at Slesvig the following day, in order to know in what she could serve him. No, it was not that; he repeated his request. She ordered Charles to have the horses put to. Holst understood this, which was said in French, and begged her for the love of God not to set out; he had orders not to let her depart. ‘You,’ said she, in a somewhat haughty tone, ‘who are you? With what authority do you speak thus?’ He said he had no written order, but by word of mouth, and that his governor would soon arrive; he begged her for the love of God to pardon him. He was a servant, he was willing to be trodden under her feet. She said: ‘It is not for you to pay me compliments, still less to detain me, since you cannot show me the King’s order, but it is for me to think what I ought to do.’

She went out and ordered her lacquey, who was the only determined one of her suite, to make himself master of Holst’s chariot and arquebuses. Holst followed her, begging her a hundred times, saying, ‘I do not dare to let you pass, I do not dare to open the bar.’ She said, ‘I do not ask you to open;’ she got into the coach. Holst put his hand upon the coach-door and sang the old song. Our lady, who had always pistols in her carriage when she travelled, drew out one and presented it to him saying, ‘Draw back, or I will give you the contents of this.’ He was not slow in letting go his hold; then she threw a [patacoon] to those who were to restrain her, saying, ‘Here is something for drink; help in letting the carriage pass the fosse!’ which they immediately did.

Not a quarter of an hour after she had gone, the governor arrived with another chariot. There were two men and four guns in each chariot. Our lady was warned of the pursuit; she begged her two coachmen, whom she had for herself and her baggage, to dispute them the road as much as they could; she ordered Charles always to remain at the side of her carriage, in order that she might throw herself upon the horse if she saw that they gained ground. She took off her furred robe. They disputed the road up to the bridge, which separated the territory of the King from that of the Duke.

When she had passed the bridge she stopped, put on her robe, and alighted. The others paused on the other side of the bridge to look at her, and thus she escaped again for this time.[27] But it was amusing to see how the secretary perspired, what fright he was in; he did not afterwards pretend to bravery, but freely confessed that he was half dead with fear. She returned to Barth, and found her husband very very ill. Our old friend had almost given up all hope of his recovery, but her presence acted as a miracle; he was sufficiently strong in the morning to be taken out of bed, to the great surprise of our old friend.

Just as our lady was thinking of passing some days in tranquillity, occupied in light study, in trifling work, distillations, confectionery, and such like things, her husband mixed himself in the wars. The King of Sweden sent after him to Stettin; he told his wife that he would have nothing to do with them. He did not keep his word, however; he did not return to Barth, but went straight off with the King. She knew he was not provided with anything; she saw the danger to which he was exposed, she wished to share it; she equipped herself in haste, and, without his sending for her, went to join him at Ottensen. He wished to persuade her to return to Hamburgh, and spoke to her of the great danger; she said the danger was the reason why she wished to bear him company, and to share it with him; so she went with him, and passed few days without uneasiness, especially when Friderichsodde was taken; she feared for both husband and son. There she had the happiness of reconciling the C. Wrangel and the C. Jaques,[28] which her husband had believed impossible, not having been able to succeed. She had also the good fortune to cure her eldest son and eight of her servants of a malignant fever named Sprinckeln; there was no doctor at that time with the army, our old friend having left.

When her husband passed with the King to Seeland, she remained at Fyen. The day that she had resolved to set out on the following to return to Schone, a post arrived with news that her mother was at the point of death and wished to speak to her; she posted to Jutland, found Madame very ill and with no hope of life. She had only been there one night, when her husband sent a messenger to say that if she wished to see him alive she must lose no time. Our lady was herself ill; she had to leave her mother, who was already half dead; she had to take her last farewell in great sorrow, and to go with all speed to seek her husband, who was very ill at Malmöe. Two days afterwards she received the tidings of her mother’s death, and as soon as the health of her husband permitted it, she went to Jutland to give the necessary orders for her mother’s funeral. She returned once more to Schone before the burial; after the funeral[29] she went to Copenhagen and revisited Malmöe one day before the King of Sweden began the war for the second time and appeared before Kopenh....

In the year 1659 the King of Sweden ordered her husband to be arrested at Malmöe. She went immediately to Helsingör to speak to the King, but had not the happiness of speaking to him; on the contrary, the King sent two of his counsellors to tell her that she was free to choose whether she would return to her estates and superintend them, or go back to Malmöe and be arrested with her husband. She thanked His Majesty very humbly for the favour of the choice; she chose to suffer with her husband, and was glad to have the happiness of serving him in his affliction, and bearing the burden with him which would lighten it to him.

She returned to Malmöe with these news; her husband exhibited too much grief that she was not permitted to solicit on his behalf, and she consoled him as well as she was able. A few days after, an officer came to their house and irritated her husband so much by his impertinent manner that he had a fit of apoplexy. Our lady was overwhelmed with sorrow; she sent for the priest the next morning, made her husband receive the holy communion, and received it herself. She knew not at what hour she might be a widow; no one came to see her, no one in [consequence] consoled her, and she had to console herself. She had a husband who was neither living nor dead; he ate and drank; he spoke, but no one could understand him.

About eight months after, the King began to take proceedings against her husband, and in order to make her answer for her husband they mixed her up in certain points as having asked for news: whence the young lady was taken whom her husband brought to Copenhagen? who was Trolle? and that she had kept the property of a Danish nobleman in her house.[30] Since her husband was ill, the King graciously permitted her to answer for him; thus they proceeded with her for nine weeks in succession; she had no other assistance in copying her defence than her eldest daughter, then very young. She was permitted to make use of Wolff, for receiving the accusations and taking back the replies, but he wrote nothing for her. If you are interested in knowing the proceedings, Kield[31] can give you information respecting them.

When the proceedings had lasted so many weeks, and she had answered with regard to the conversations which it was said her husband had had with one and another, they fancied that her husband feigned illness. Four doctors were sent with the commandant to visit the sick man, and they found that he was really ill; not content with this, they established the Court in his house, for they were ashamed to make her come to them. They caused the city magistrate to come, placing him on one side of the hall, and on the other the Danish noblemen who were under arrest, all as witnesses; eight Commissioners sat at a round table, the lawyer in front of the table and two clerks at another table; having made these arrangements, our lady was desired to enter.

We must mention, in the first place, that two of the delinquents who were executed afterwards, and another, together with one of the servants of her husband, were brought there. The principal delinquents were summoned first, and afterwards the others, to take an oath that they would speak the truth. We must mention that these gentlemen were already condemned, and were executed a few days afterwards. When the lawyer had said that [they] had now taken their oaths according to the law, our lady said, ‘Post festum! After having proceeded against my husband so many weeks, having based everything on the tattle of these delinquents, you come, after they are condemned to suffer for their trespasses, and make them take an oath. I do not know if this is conformable to law!’

The lawyer made no reply to this, and, thinking to confuse our lady, said that he found things contrary the one to the other, cited passages, leaves, lines, and asked her if she could make these things agree. She, having at that time a good memory, remembered well what her own judgment had dictated to her, and said that they would not find her replies what the lawyer said, but so-and-so, and asked that they should be read openly, which was done. The lawyer made three attempts of the same kind; when they saw there was nothing to be gained by this, the Commissioners attacked her three at a time, one putting one question and another, another. She said to them quietly, ‘Messieurs, with your permission, let one speak at a time, for I am but one, and I cannot answer three at once!’ At which they were all a little ashamed.

The principal point to which they adhered was, that her husband was a vassal by oath, and a servant of the King, with which assertion they parried every objection. She proved that it was not so, that her husband was neither vassal nor a servant; he had his lands under the King just as many Swedes had elsewhere, without on that account being vassals; that he had never taken an oath of fidelity to the King of Sweden, but that he had shown him much fidelity; that he owed him no obligation—this she showed by a letter from the King, in which he thanked him for his services, and hoped so to act that he would render him still more. She shut the mouth of the delinquent,[32] and begged the Commissioners to reflect on what she had said.

When all was over, after the space of three hours, she requested that the protocol might be read before her. The President said that she need have no doubt the protocol was correct, that she should have a copy of it, that they now understood the matter, and would make a faithful report of it to the King. No sentence was passed, and they remained under arrest. The King of Sweden died, and peace was concluded, but they remained under arrest. A friend came to inform them, one day, that there was a vessel of war in the roads, which was to take them to Finland. When she saw her husband a little recovered, that he could use his judgment, she advised him to escape and go to Lubeck. She would go to Copenhagen and try to arrange the matter. He consented to it, and she contrived to let him out in spite of all the guards round the house (thirty-six in number).

When she received the news that he had passed and could reckon that he was on his way to Lubeck, she escaped also, and went straight to Copenh.... Having arrived there, she found her husband arrived before her; she was much surprised and vexed, fearing what happened afterwards, but he had flattered himself so with the comfortable hope that he would enter into the good graces of the King. The next day they were both arrested and brought to Borringh...[33]; her husband was ill; on arriving at Borr... they placed him on a litter and brought him from the town to the castle, a distance of about two leagues.

It would weary you to tell you of all that passed at Borr... If you take pleasure in knowing it, there is a man in Hamburgh who can tell it you.[34] I will tell you, however, a part and the chief of what I remember concerning it. At Rönne, the town where they disembarked at Borringh——, our lady wrote to the King and to the Queen in the name of her husband, who was ill, as I have already said, and gave the memorials to Colonel Rantzou, who promised to deliver them, and who gave hopes of success.[35] There Fos arrived and conveyed them to the Castle of Hammershuus. The governor Fos saw that our lady had a small box with her, and was seized with the desire to know what was in it and to possess himself of it. He sent one Dina, the wife of the warder to our lady, to offer to procure a boat for their escape. There is no doubt she accepted the offer, and promised in return five hundred crowns. This was enough for Fos; he went one night with the Major to their apartment, thundered like a madman, said that they wished to betray him, &c.; the end of the farce was, that he took the box, but, for the sake of a little ceremony, he sealed it with her husband’s seal, promising to keep it for its safety.

About three weeks after, he took the two prisoners to walk a little in the fields; the husband would not go, but the wife went out to take the air. The traitor gave her a long history of his past adventures, how many times he had been in prison, some instances of how great lords had been saved by the assistance of those they had gained over, and made their fortune. He thought they would do the same. She said she had not much to dispose of, but besides that, they would find other means for rewarding such a service. He said he would think of it, that he had nothing to lose in [Dan...].

After various discussions from day to day, her husband wished her to offer him 20,000 rix-dollars; this sum seemed to him too little, and he asked 50,000 dollars. She said that she could easily promise it, but could not keep her word, but provided it was twenty she would pay it. He asked for a security; her husband had a note which would give security, but our lady did not think it good that he should see this note, and told Fos that in her box there was a letter that could secure it; she did not know that he had already opened the box. Some days after, she asked him if he had made up his mind? He said, ‘I will not do it for less than 50,000, and there is no letter in your box which would secure it to me. I have opened it; to-morrow I will send it to Copenh....’ She asked him quietly if he had done right in breaking her husband’s seal; he answered rudely that he would take the responsibility.

Towards autumn, Hannibal and the other heirs of our lady’s mother sent to her husband to notify to him that they could not longer delay dividing the inheritance, and since they knew that he had in his possession papers of importance, they requested to be informed of them. Her husband stated in his reply that Fos had taken his letters, and that in a rude manner. This answer having been read in the presence of Fos, he flew in a thundering rage, used abusive language first to the husband and then to the wife, her husband having firmly promised our lady not to dispute with this villain, for she feared some evil might result, but to leave her to answer, for Fos would be answered.

She was not angry; she ridiculed him and his invectives. At length he told her that she had offered him 20,000 dollars to induce him to become a traitor; she replied with calmness, ‘If it had been 50,000, what then?’ Fos leapt into the air like an enraged animal, and said that she lied like a ——, &c. She was not moved, but said ‘You speak like an ass!’ Upon this he loaded her with abuse, and then retracted all that he had just said. She said quite quietly, ‘I am not going to appeal to these gentlemen who are present (there were four) to be witnesses, for this is an affair that will never be judicially settled, and nothing can efface this insult but blood.’ ‘Oh!’ said he, seizing his sword, and drawing it a little out of the scabbard, ‘this is what I wear for you, madam.’ She, smiling, drew the bodkin from her hair, saying, ‘Here are all the arms at present which I have for you.’ He manifested a little shame, and said that it was not for her but her sons, if she still had four.[36] She, moreover, ridiculed him, and said that it was no use his acting the brave there. In short, books could be filled with all the quarrels between these two persons from time to time. He shouted at times with all his might, he spoke like a torrent, and foamed at the mouth, and the next moment he would speak low like another man. When he shouted so loudly, our lady said, ‘The fever is attacking him again!’ He was enraged at this.

Some weeks afterwards he came to visit them, and assumed a humble manner. Our lady took no notice of it, and spoke with him on indifferent subjects; but her husband would not speak to him, and never afterwards was he able to draw from him more than a few words. Towards Christmas, Fos treated the prisoners very ill, more so than formerly, so that Monsieur sent the servant to beg him to treat him as a gentleman and not as a peasant. Fos went to them immediately, after having abused Monsieur’s servant; and as he entered, Monsieur left the apartment and went into another, and refused to give him his hand. Fos was enraged at this, and would not remain, nor would he speak a word to our lady, who begged him to hear her. A moment after, he caused the door to be bolted, so that they could not go out to take the air, for they before had free access to a loft. At every Festival he devised means of annoying them; he closed all the windows, putting to some bars of iron, and to others wooden framework and boxes; and as to their food, it was worse than ever. They had to endure that winter in patience; but as they perceived that Fos’s design was that they should die of hunger, they resolved to hazard an escape, and made preparation through the winter, in order to escape as soon as the thaw would set in.

Our lady, who had three pairs of sheets that her children had sent her, undid some articles of clothing and made cordage and a sail; she sewed them with silk, for she had no thread. Her husband and the servant worked at the oars. When the moon was favourable to them in the month of April, they wished to carry out the plan they had been projecting for so long a time. Our lady was the first to make the descent: the height was seventy-two feet; she went on to the ravelin to await the others. Some time elapsed before her husband came, so she returned, and at last she heard a great noise among the ropes, her husband having lost a shoe in his descent. They had still to wait for the valet; he had forgotten the cord, and said that he could not carry it with him.

It was [necessary] to descend the rampart into the moats, which were dry; the height is about forty feet. Our lady was the first to descend; she helped her husband, for his strength was already failing. When they were all three in the fosse, the moon was obscured and a little rain fell. This was unfortunate, as they could not see which road to take. Her husband said it would be better to remain where they were till daylight, for they might break their necks in descending the rocks. The servant said he knew the way, as he had observed it when the window was free; that he would go in front. He went in advance, gliding in a sitting position, after him our lady, and then her husband; they could not see an inch before them; the man fell from an incredible height, and did not speak; our lady stopped, shouted to him, and asked him to answer if he was alive.

He was some time before he answered, so she and her husband considered him dead; at length he answered, and said he should never get out of this ravine; our lady asked him if he judged the depth to be greater than one of the cords could reach? She would tie two together, and throw the end to him to draw him up. He said that one cord would be sufficient, but that she could not draw him up, that she would not be strong enough; she said she could, she would hold firm, and he should help himself with his knees. He took courage, and she drew him up; the greatest marvel was, that on each side of her there was a precipice deeper than that over which he fell, and that she had nothing by which to support herself, except a small projection, which they believed to be of earth, against which she placed her left foot, finding no resting-place for the right one.

We can truly say that God had granted her his protection, for to escape from such a danger, and draw another out of it, could not have been done by unaided man. Our fool Fos explained it otherwise, and used it for his own purposes, saying that without the assistance of the devil it would have been impossible to stand firm in such a place, still less to assist another; he impressed this so well on the Queen, that she is still of the opinion that our lady exercises sorcery. Fos would take the glory from God to give it to the devil, and this calumny has to be endured with many others. But let us return to our miserable fugitives, whom we left in the fosse. Our lady, who had shouted to her husband not to advance, as soon as she heard the valet fall, called to him to keep back, turn quietly, and to climb upwards, for that there was no passage there; this was done, and they remounted the fosse and kept themselves quiet. Her husband wished that they should remain there, since they did not know which road to take.

While they were deliberating, the moon shone forth a little, and our lady saw where she was, and she remembered a good passage which she had seen on the day when she walked out with the governor; she persuaded her husband to follow her; he complained of his want of strength; she told him that God would assist him, and that he did not require great strength to let himself glide down, that the passage was not difficult, and that in ascending on the opposite side, which was not high, the valet and herself could assist him. He resolved, but he found it difficult enough; at length, however, they succeeded; they had then to go half a quarter of a league to reach the place where the boats were.

Her husband, wearied out, could not walk, and begged her, for the love of God, to leave him where he was; he was ready to die; she consoled him, and gave him restoratives, and told him that he had but a little step to make; he begged her to leave him there, and to save herself with the servant: she would find means afterwards to rescue him from prison. She said no, she would not abandon him; that he knew well the opportunities she had had to escape before, if she had wished to forsake him; that she would never quit him nor leave him in the hands of this tyrant; that if Fos ventured to touch him, she was resolved on avenging herself upon him.

After having taken a little breath, he began again to proceed. Our lady, who was loaded with so many ropes and clothes, could scarcely walk, but necessity gave her strength. She begged her husband to lean on her and on the valet, so he supported himself between them, and in this way arrived where the boats were; but too late, for it was already day. As our lady saw the patrol coming in the distance, she begged her husband to stop there with the valet, saying that she would go forward in advance, which she did. She was scarcely a musket-shot distant from a little town where the major lodged, when she spoke with the guard, and asked them after the major. One of them went for the major, whose name was Kratz.

The major saw our lady with great consternation; he asked after her husband. She told him where he was, and in a few words she requested that he would go to the castle and tell Major-General Fos that his ill-treatment had been the cause of the desperate resolution they had taken, and to beg him not to ill-treat them; they were at present sick at heart; they could not endure anything; she begged him to consider that those who had resolved to face more than one form of death, would not fear it in any shape. Kratz conducted the prisoners to his house, mounted his horse, and went in search of the governor, who was still in bed, and told him the affair.

The governor got out of bed like a furious creature, swore, menaced; after having recovered a little, the major told him what our lady had begged him to say. Then he was for some time thoughtful, and said, ‘I confess it; they had reason to seek their liberty, for otherwise they would never have had it.’ He did not immediately come for the prisoners, for he had another apartment prepared for them. As he entered, he assumed a pleasant manner, and asked if they ought to be there; he did not say an unkind word, but, on the contrary, said he should have done the same. They were conducted to the Royal Hall to warm themselves, for they were all wet with the rain; our lady had then an opportunity of speaking to the valet, and of taking from him the papers that he had, which contained all that had passed during the time of their imprisonment,[37] and she counselled the valet to lay aside the arms that he had upon him, and that if he had anything which he wished to secure that he would deliver it up to her keeping. The valet gave her what she asked, followed her orders, threw away his arms, but as regarded his own papers he would not give them up, for he did not share her fears; but he knew afterwards, for Fos caused him to be entirely stripped, and took away everything from him, and made him pay well for having noted down the dishes that they had on the first day of the Festivals, and on the rest.

At length towards evening our lady and her husband were conveyed into another apartment, and the valet into the body-guard loaded with irons. They were there together thirteen weeks, until Fos received orders from the Court to separate them; meanwhile, he encased the prisons in iron. I may well use such a term, for he caused plates of iron to be placed on the walls, double bars and irons round the windows.[38] When he had permission to separate them, he entered one day to begin a quarrel, and spoke of the past; our lady begged him not to say more, but he would go on; he was determined to quarrel. He said to her, ‘Madame, you are so haughty, I will humble you; I will make you so—so small,’ and he made a measurement with his hand from the floor. ‘You have been lifted up and I will bring you down.’ She laughed, and said, ‘You may do with me whatever you will, but you can never humble me so that I shall cease to remember that you were a servant of a servant of the King my father;’ at last, he so forgot himself as to hold his fist in her face. She said to him, keeping her hand on her knife which she had in her pocket, ‘Make use of your foul mouth and accursed tongue, but keep your hands quiet.’ He drew back, and made a profound bow in ridicule, calling her ‘your grace,’ asked her pardon, and what he had to fear. She said, ‘You have nothing to fear; if you take liberties, you will meet with resistance—feeble enough, but such as I have strength to give you.’

After some further invectives, he said farewell, and begged they might be good friends; he came once more and conducted himself in the same manner, but less violently. He said to a captain who was present, of the name of Bolt, that he did it expressly in order to have a quarrel with her husband, that he might revenge himself for her conduct upon him, but that her husband would not speak to him. At length the unhappy day of their separation came, and Fos entered to tell them that they must be prepared to bid each other a final farewell, for that he had orders to separate them, and in this life they would never see each other again; he gave them an hour to converse together for the last time. You can easily imagine what passed in this hour; but as they had been prepared for this separation weeks before, having been warned of it by their guard with whom they could talk, it did not surprise them. Our lady had gained over four of the guards, who were ready to let them escape easily enough, but her husband would not undertake it, always saying that he had no strength, but that she might do it. Well, they had to abide by it; after this sad day[39] they were separated, he in one prison below and she in another above, one above another, bars before the windows, he without a servant, and she without a waiting woman.

About three weeks after, our lady fell ill; she requested a woman or girl to wait upon her, and a priest. Fos sent answer, with regard to a woman or girl to wait upon her, he did not know anyone who would do it, but that there was a wench who had killed her child, and who would soon be beheaded, and if she wished for her, she could have her. As to a priest, he had no orders, and she would have no priest even if death were on her lips. Our lady said nothing but ‘Patience; I commend it to God.’ Our lady had the happiness of being able to give her husband signs daily, and to receive such, and when the wind was not too strong they could speak to one another. They spoke Italian together, and took their opportunity before the reveille. Towards the close of the governorship of this villain, he was informed of this. He then had a kind of machine made which is used to frighten the cattle from the corn in the summer, and which makes a great noise, and he desired the sentinel to move this machine in order to hinder them hearing each other.

Fifteen days before Count Rantzow came to Borringholm to treat with them, Fos had news of it from Copenhagen from his intimate friend Jaques P...; he visited our lady, told her on entering that her children had been expelled from Skaane by the Swedes; our lady said, ‘Well, the world is wide, they will find a place elsewhere.’ He then told her that Bolt had come from Copenhagen with the tidings that they would never be let at liberty; she replied, ‘Never is a long time; this imprisonment will not last a hundred years, much less an eternity—in the twinkling of an eye much may change; the hand of God, in whom are the hearts of kings, can change everything.’ He said, ‘You have plenty of hope; you think perhaps if the King died, you would be free?’ She replied, ‘God preserve the King. I believe that he will give me liberty, and no one else.’ He chatted about a great many things, and played the flatterer.

At length Count Rantzow came and made a stay at Borringh... of eleven weeks. He visited the prisoners, and did them the favour of having the husband to dine with him, and in the evening our lady supped with him, and he conferred with them separately. Our lady asked him of what she was accused; he replied, ‘Will you ask that? that is not the way to get out of Borringholm; do you know that you have said the King is your brother? and kings do not recognise either sisters or brothers.’ She replied, ‘To whom had I need to say that the King is my brother? who is so ignorant in Denmark as not to know that? I have always known, and know still, the respect that is due to the King; I have never given him any other title than my King and Lord; I have never called him my brother, in speaking of him; kings are gracious enough to recognise their sisters and brothers as such; for example, the King of England gives the title of sister to his brother’s wife, although she is of very mediocre extraction.[40] Rantzow replied, ‘Our King does not wish it, and he does not know yet the truth about Dina’s affair.’ She said, ‘I think the King does not wish to know.’ He replied, ‘Indeed, by God he desires with all his heart to be informed of it.’ She answered, ‘If the King will desire Walter to tell him, and this with some earnestness, he will be informed of it.’ Rantzow made no reply.

When he had concluded everything with her husband, whom he had obliged to yield up all his possessions, Rantzow acquainted our lady with the fact; she said that her husband had power to give up what was his, but that the half belonged to her, and that this she would not give up, not being able to answer for it before God nor before her children; she had committed no crime; liberty should be given to her husband for the half of their lands, and that if the King thought he could retain her with a good conscience she would endure it. Rantzow with a serious air replied, ‘Do not think that your husband will ever be set at liberty, if you do not sign with him.’ She said that the conditions were too severe; that they should do better for their children to die as prisoners, God and all the world knowing their innocence, than to leave so many children beggars. Rantzow said, ‘If you die in prison, all your lands and property are forfeited, and your children will have nothing; but at this moment you can have your liberty, live with your husband; who knows, the King may still leave you an estate, and may always show you favour, when he sees that you yield to his will.’ Our lady said that since there was no other prospect for her husband’s liberty, she would consent. Rantzow ordered her husband and herself separately to place in writing the complaints they had to bring forward against Fos, and all that had happened with regard to their attempt at escape; which was done. Our lady was gracious in her demeanour to Fos, but her husband could not make up his mind even to speak to him. Rantzow returned to Copenh... and eighteen days afterwards the galley of Gabel came with orders to the new governor (Lieutenant-Colonel Lytkens, a very well-bred man and brave soldier, his wife a noble lady of the Manteuffel family, very polite and pretty), that he should make the prisoners sign the papers sent, and when the signature was done, should send them on together.

The governor sent first to the husband, as was befitting, who made difficulties about signing because they had added points here and there, and among other things principally this, that they were never to plead against Fos. The husband said he would rather die. The good governor went in search of the wife and told her everything, begging her to speak to her husband from the window; when he knew that she had spoken to him, he would return. She thanked the governor, and when he had gone out she spoke to her husband, and persuaded him to sign. Then the governor made her sign also; and after that, towards nine o’clock in the evening, her husband came to her, having been separated just twenty-six weeks.[41] They were separated on a Saturday, and they met again on a Saturday. Fos was still at the castle; it is easy to believe that he was in great rage. Time does not permit to dwell on it. Two days afterwards they embarked and came to Copenhagen, and were received on the Custom-house pier by C. Rantzow and Gabel. The Queen knew nothing of it. When she was told of it she was so angry that she would not go to table. In a few words the King held his ground, and as she would not accept the thanks of Monsieur and his wife, the King ordered her to receive them in writing. They spent the Christmas of 1660 in the house of C. Rantzow. Afterwards they went to Fyen, to the estate of Ellensborg, which was graciously left to them.[42]

Her husband having permission to go to France to take the waters for eighteen months, left Ell... with his family in the month of June 1662, and landed at Amsterdam. Our lady went from thence to Bruges to hire a house, and returned to Amsterdam. Her daughter Helena fell ill of the small-pox; she remained with her, and her husband and the other children went to Bruges. When her daughter had recovered, she went to rejoin her husband and children. She accompanied her husband, who went to France. Having arrived at Paris, the doctors did not find it advisable that he should take the waters, and he returned to Bruges. Her husband begged our lady to make a journey to England, and to take her eldest son with her. She raised obstacles, and showed him plainly that she should obtain nothing; that she should only be at great expense. She had examples before her which showed her that the King of England would never pay her husband. He would not have been turned from his purpose at this time but for their son’s rencontre with Fos, which prevented the journey that winter, and postponed the misfortunes of our lady, though it did not ultimately prevent them.

But towards the spring the same design was again brought forward; our lady was assisted by the nobleman who followed her afterwards[43] in dissuading her husband; but no reasoning could avail; he believed the King could not forget the benefits received, and refuse to pay his cousin. Our lady prepared for her departure, since her husband wished it. The day that she bade him her last farewell—a fatal day, indeed—her husband’s heart did not tell him that these would be the last embraces he would give her, for he was so satisfied and so full of joy that she and all were astonished. She, on the contrary, was sad. The last day of their intercourse was May 24, 1663. She had many contretemps at first, and some time elapsed before she had the honour of speaking to the King.

The King greeted her after the fashion of the country, treated her as his cousin,[44] and promised her all sorts of satisfaction; that he would send his secretary[45] to her to see her papers, which he did. The secretary made her fine promises, but the time was always postponed. The minister resident, Petkum, minister of the King of Danem..., came to visit her (he had placed some obstacles in the way of her demands, from what was told her). She showed him her papers, informed him of the affair, told him that the King of Denmark had had all the papers in his hands, and had graciously returned them. The traitor made a semblance of understanding the affair, and promised that he would himself help in securing the payment of her demands. But this Judas always intended to betray her, asking her if she did not like to make excursions, speaking to her of beautiful houses, gardens and parks, and offering her his coach. But our lady was not inclined to make excursions.

When he saw that he could not catch her in this way, he obtained an order to arrest her. Our poor lady knew nothing of all this; she had letter upon letter from her husband requesting her return. She took leave of the King by letter, gave her papers to a lawyer[46] upon a receipt, and set out from London. Having arrived at Dover, and intending to embark the same evening for Flanders, a lieutenant of the name of Braten[47] appeared, who came to show her an order from the King of Anglet... which she read herself, the purport of which was that the governor was to arrest such a lady, and to place her in the castle till further orders. She asked the reason why. He said that she had left without permission from the King. She told him that she had taken leave of the King by letter, and had spoken the day before her departure with the Prime Minister and Vice-Admiral Aschew,[48] who had bade her farewell.[49]

When she came to the castle, the emissary of Petkum presented himself, by name Peter Dreyer. Then the Lieutenant said, ‘It is the King of Danemarc who has ordered you to be arrested.’ She asked the cause. He replied, ‘You undoubtedly set out incognito from Danemarck.’ She replied to this that the King of Danem... had given her husband leave of absence for a term of eighteen months, which had not yet expired. They ordered her boxes and those of the nobleman who accompanied her to be opened, and they took all the papers. Afterwards Dreyer spoke to her, and she asked him why she was treated thus? He said he did not know the real cause, but that he believed it was for the death of Fos, and that she was believed to have been the cause of his death. They always mentioned this to her, and no other cause.

This double traitor Braten enacted the gallant, entertained her, made her speak English (as she was bolder in speaking this language than any other), for she had just begun to learn it well, having had a language-master in London. One day he told that they intended conducting her to Danemarck. She told him there was no need to send her to Danem...; she could go there very well by herself. He said, ‘You know yourself what suits you; if you will not go there willingly, I will manage so that you may go to Flanders.’ She did not see that this was feasible, even if he was willing; she spoke with him as to the means, saw that he did not satisfy her, and did not trust his conversation; as he was cunning, he made her believe that the King wished her to go secretly, and that he would take it all upon himself; that the King had his reasons why he did not wish to deliver her into the hands of the King of Danem....

This deception had such good colouring, for she had written several times to the King during her arrest, and had begged him not to reward her husband’s services by a long arrest, only speaking of what she had done at the Hague for him: she had taken her jewels and rings and given them to him, when his host would not any longer supply him with food.[50] Her claim was not small; it exceeded 20,000 patacoons.[51]

Our lady allowed herself to be persuaded that the King of England wished her to leave secretly. The traitor Braten told her that he thought it best that she should disguise herself as a man. She said that there was no necessity she should disguise herself; that no one would pursue her; and even if it were so, that she would not go in disguise with any man who was not her husband. After having been detained seventeen days at Dover, she allowed herself to be conducted by Braten, at night, towards the ramparts, descended by a high ladder which broke during her descent, passed the fosse, which was not difficult; on the other side there was a horse waiting for her, but the nobleman, her attendant, and the nobleman’s valet, went on foot; they would not allow her valet to go with them; Braten made an excuse of not being able to find him, and that time pressed; it was because they were afraid that there would be an effort at defence.

When she arrived where the traitors were, her guide gave a signal by knocking two stones one against another. At this, four armed men advanced; Petkum and Dreyer were a little way off; one held a pistol to her breast, the other a sword, and said, ‘I take you prisoner.’ The other two traitors said, ‘We will conduct you to Ostend.’ She had always suspected treachery, and had spoken with her companion, in case it happened, what it would be best to do, to give herself up or to defend herself? She decided on allowing herself to be betrayed without a struggle, since she had no reason to fear that her life would be attempted because her son had avenged the wrong done to his parents. Thus she made no resistance, begged them not to take so much trouble, that she would go of herself; for two men held her with so much force that they hurt her arm. They came with a bottle of dry wine to quench her thirst, but she would not drink; she had a good way to go on foot, for she would not again mount the horse.

She showed some anger towards her guide, begged him in English to give her respects to the governor,[52] but to convey to the traitor Braten all the abuse that she could hurriedly call to mind in this language, which was not quite familiar to her. She advanced towards the boat; the vessel which was to convey her was in the roads, near the Downs. She bade farewell to the nobleman. She had two bracelets with diamonds which she wished to give him to convey to her children; but as he feared they would be taken from him, she replaced them without troubling him with them. She gave a pistol to her servant, and a mariner then carried her to the boat; she was placed in an English frigate that Petkum had hired, and Dreyer went with her.[53] She was thirteen days on the road, and arrived near the Custom-house pier on August 8, 1663, at nine o’clock in the morning.

[The remaining part of the Autobiography treats of the commencement of her imprisonment in the Blue Tower, which forms the subject of the following Memoir.]

A RECORD
OF
THE SUFFERINGS OF THE IMPRISONED COUNTESS
LEONORA CHRISTINA.


PREFACE.
TO MY CHILDREN.

Beloved children, I may indeed say with Job, ‘Oh, that my grief were thoroughly weighed, and my calamity laid in the balances together! For now it would be heavier than the sand of the sea.’ My sufferings are indeed great and many; they are heavy and innumerable. My mind has long been uncertain with regard to this history of my sufferings, as I could not decide whether I ought not rather to endeavour to forget them than to bear them in memory. At length, however, certain reasons have induced me, not only to preserve my sorrow in my own memory, but to compose a record of it, and to direct it to you, my dear children.[54]

The first of these reasons is the remembrance of the omnipotence of God; for I cannot recall to mind my sorrow and grief, my fears and distresses, without at the same time remembering the almighty power of God, who in all my sufferings, my misery, my affliction, and anxiety, has been my strength and help, my consolation and assistance; for never has God laid a burden upon me, without at the same time giving me strength in proportion, so that the burden, though it has weighed me down and heavily oppressed me, has not overwhelmed me and crushed me; for which I praise and extol through eternity the almighty power of the incomprehensible God.

I wish, therefore, not alone to record my troubles and to thank God for His gracious support in all the misfortunes that have befallen me, but also to declare to you, my dear children, God’s goodness to me, that you may not only admire with me the inconceivable help of the Almighty, but that you may be able to join with me in rendering Him thanks. For you may say with reason that God has dealt wonderfully with me; that He was mighty in my weakness and has shown His power in me, the frailest of His instruments. For how would it have been possible for me to resist such great, sudden, and unexpected misfortunes, had not His spirit imparted to me strength? It was God who Himself entered with me into the Tower-gate; it was He who extended to me His hand, and wrestled for me in that prison cell for malefactors, which is called ‘the Dark Church.’

Since then, now for almost eleven years, He has always been within the gate of my prison as well as of my heart; He has strengthened me, comforted me, refreshed me, and often even cheered me. God has done wonderful things in me, for it is more than inconceivable that I should have been able to survive the great misfortunes that have befallen me, and at the same time should have retained my reason, sense, and understanding. It is a matter of the greatest wonder that my limbs are not distorted and contracted from lying and sitting, that my eyes are not dim and even wholly blind from weeping, and from smoke and soot; that I am not short-breathed from candle smoke and exhalation, from stench and close air. To God alone be the honour!

The other cause that impels me is the consolation it will be to you, my dear children, to be assured through this account of my sufferings that I suffer innocently; that nothing whatever has been imputed to me, nor have I been accused of anything for which you, my dear children, should blush or cast down your eyes in shame. I suffer for having loved a virtuous lord and husband, and for not having abandoned him in misfortune. I was suspected of being privy to an act of treason for which he has never been prosecuted according to law, much less convicted of it, and the cause of the accusation was never explained to me, humbly and sorrowfully as I desired that it should be. Let it be your consolation, my dear children, that I have a gracious God, a good conscience, and can boldly maintain that I have never committed a dishonourable act. ‘This is thankworthy,’ says the apostle St. Peter, ‘if a man for conscience toward God endure grief, suffering wrongfully.’ I suffer, thank God, not for my misdeeds, for that were no glory to me; yet I can boast that from my youth up I have been a bearer of the cross of Christ, and had incredibly secret sufferings, which were very heavy to endure at such an early age.

Although this record of my sufferings contains and reveals nothing more than what has occurred to me in this prison, where I have now been for eleven years, I must not neglect in this preface briefly to recall to your minds, my dear children, my earlier misfortunes, thanking God at the same time that I have overcome them.

Not only you, my dear children, know, but it is known throughout the whole country, what great sorrow and misfortune Dina and Walter, with their powerful adherents, inflicted on our house in the year 1651.

Although I will not mention the many fatiguing and difficult journeys, the perils by sea, and various dangers which I have endured in foreign countries, I will only remind you of that journey which my lord requested me to undertake to Denmark, contrary to my wish, in the year 1657.[E1] It was winter time, and therefore difficult and dangerous. I endured scorn and persecution; and had not God given me courage and taken it from him who was to have arrested me, I should not at that time have escaped the misery of captivity.

You will remember, my dear children, what I suffered and endured during fourteen months in custody at Malmöe; how the greatest favour which His Majesty, King Charles X. of Sweden, at that time showed me, was that he left it to my free will, either to remain at liberty, taking care of our property, or to be in prison with my lord. I acknowledged the favour, and chose the latter as my duty, esteeming it a happiness to be allowed to console and to serve my anxious husband, afflicted as he subsequently was by illness. I accepted it also as a favour that I was allowed (when my lord could not do it himself on account of illness) to appear before the tribunal in his stead. What anxiety and sorrow I had for my sick lord, what trouble, annoyance and distress, the trial caused me (it was carried on daily for more than nine weeks), is known to the most high God, who was my consolation, assistance, and strength, and who inspired me with heart and courage to defend the honour of my lord in the presence of his judges.

You will probably not have forgotten how quickly one misfortune followed another, how one sorrow was scarcely past when a greater one followed in its track; we fared, according to the words of the poet:

Incidit in Scyllam, qui vult vitare Charibdin.

We escaped custody and then fell into strict captivity, without doubt by the dispensation of God, who inspired my lord with the idea of repairing, contrary to our agreement, to Copenhagen instead of Lübeck. No pen can describe how sorrowful I was when, contrary to all expectation, I met my lord in Copenhagen, when I had imagined him escaped from the power and violence of all his enemies. I expected just that which my lord did not believe would happen, but which followed immediately—namely, our arrest. The second day after my arrival (which they had waited for) we were apprehended and conveyed to Bornholm, where we were in close imprisonment for seventeen months. I have given a full description of what I suffered, and this I imagine is in your keeping, my dear children; and from it you see what I and my sick lord endured; how often I warded off greater misery, because my lord could not always brook patiently the bad treatment of the governor, Adolf Foss, who called himself Fux.

It was hard and bitter indeed to be scorned and scoffed at by a peasant’s son; to have to suffer hunger at his will, and to be threatened and harassed by him; but still harder and more bitter was it to be sick beneath his power, and to hear from him the words that even if death were on my lips no minister of God’s word should come to me. Oh monstrous tyranny! His malice was so thoroughly beyond all bounds, that he could not endure that we should lighten each other’s cross; and for this reason he contrived, after the lapse of eleven months, to have us separated from each other, and to place us each in the hardest confinement.

My husband (at that time already advancing in years) without a servant, and I without an attendant, was only allowed a light so long as the evening meal lasted. I cannot forbear bitterly recalling to mind the six months of long and hard separation, and the sad farewell which we took of each other; for to all human sight there was no other prospect than that which the governor announced to us—namely, that we were seeing and speaking with each other for the last time in this world. God knows best how hard our sufferings were, for it was He who consoled us, who gave us hope contrary to all expectation, and who inspired me with courage when the governor visited me and endeavoured to fill me with despair.

God confirmed my hope. Money and property loosened the bonds of our captivity, and we were allowed to see and speak with each other once more. Sad as my lord had been when we were separated at Borringholm, he was joyous when two years afterwards he [persuaded] me to undertake the English journey, not imagining that this was to part us for ever. My lord, who entertained too good an opinion of the King of England, thought that now that he had come to the throne he would remember not only his great written and spoken promises, but that he would also bear in mind how, at the time of his need and exile, I had drawn the rings from my fingers and had pawned them for meals for him and his servants. But how unwillingly I undertook this journey is well known to some of you, my dear children, as I was well aware that from an ungrateful person there is nothing else to be expected but ingratitude. I had the example of others by whom to take warning; but it was thus destined to be.

Bitter bread was in store for me, and bitter gall was to fill my cup in the Blue Tower of Copenhagen Castle; thither was I to go to eat it and drink it out. It is not unknown to you how falsely the King of England acted towards me; how well he received me on my arrival; how he welcomed me with a Judas kiss and addressed me as his cousin; and how both he himself and all his high ministers assured me of the royal favour, and promised me payment of the money advanced. You know how cunningly (at the desire of His Majesty the King of Denmark) he had me arrested at Dover, and subsequently sent me word through the traitor Lieutenant Braten that he would let me escape secretly, at the same time delivering me into the hand of the Danish Minister Simon Petcon, who had me arrested by eight armed men; keeping aloof, however, himself, and never venturing to come near me. They held sword and pistol to my breast, and two of them took me between them and placed me in a boat, which conveyed me to a vessel held in readiness by the said Minister; a man of the name of Peter Dreyer having received orders to conduct me to Copenhagen.

From this period this record of my suffering begins. It contains all that happened to me within the gates of the Blue Tower. Reflect, my dear children, on these hard sufferings; but remember also God’s great goodness towards me. Verily, He has freed me from six calamities; rest assured that He will not leave me to perish in the seventh. No! for the honour of His name, He will mightily deliver me.

The narrative of my sufferings is sad to hear, and must move the hardest heart to pity; yet in reading it, do not be more saddened than can be counterbalanced by joy. Consider my innocence, courage, and patience; rejoice over these.

I have passed over various petty vexations and many daily annoyances for the sake of brevity, although the smallest of them rankled sore in the wounds of my bitter sorrow.

I acknowledge my weaknesses, and do not shrink from confessing them to you. I am a human being, and am full of human imperfections. Our first emotions are not under our own power; we are often overhasty before we are able to reflect. God knows that I have often made myself deaf and blind, in order not to be carried away by passion. I am ashamed to mention and to enumerate the unchaste language, bad words and coarse invectives, of the prison governor Johan Jaeger, of Kresten Maansen, the tower warder, of Karen the daughter of Ole, and of Catharina Wolff; they would offend courtly ears. Yet I can assure you they surpass everything that can be imagined as indecent, ugly, churlish and unbecoming; for coarse words and foul language were the tokens of their friendliness and clemency, and disgusting oaths were the ornament and embellishment of their untruthfulness; so that their intercourse was most disagreeable to me. I was never more glad than when the gates were closed between me and those who were to guard me. Then I had only the woman alone, whom I brought to silence, sometimes amicably, and at others angrily and with threats.

I have also had, and have still, pleasant intercourse with persons whose services and courtesies I shall remember as long as I live. You, my dear children, will also repay them to every one as far as you are able.

You will find also in this record of my sufferings two of the chief foes of our house, namely Jörgen Walter and Jörgen Skröder,[E2] with regard to whom God has revenged me, and decreed that they should have need of me, and that I should comfort them. Walter gives me cause to state more respecting him than was my intention.

Of the psalms and hymns which I have composed and translated, I only insert a few, in order that you, my dear children, may see and know how I have ever clung steadfastly to God, who has been and still is my wall of defence against every attack, and my refuge in every kind of misfortune and adversity. Do not regard the rhymes; they are not according to the rules which poets make; but regard the matter, the sense, and the purport. Nor have I left my other small pastime unmentioned, for you may perceive the repose of my mind from the fact that I have had no unemployed hours; even a rat, a creature so abominable to others, affording me amusement.

I have recorded two observations, which though they treat of small and contemptible animals, yet are remarkable, and I doubt whether any naturalist hitherto has observed them. For I do not think it has been recorded hitherto that there exists a kind of caterpillar which brings forth small living grubs like itself, nor either that a flea gives birth to a fully-formed flea, and not that a nit comes from a nit.[55]

In conclusion, I beg you, my dear children, not to let it astonish you that I would not avail myself of the opportunity by which I might have gained my freedom. If you rightly consider it, it would not have been expedient either for you or me. I confess that if my deceased lord had been alive, I should not only have accepted the proposal, but I should have done my utmost to have escaped from my captivity, in order to go in quest of him, and to wait on him and serve him till his last breath; my duty would have required this. But since he was at that time in rest and peace with God, and needed no longer any human service, I have with reason felt that self-obtained liberty would have been in every respect more prejudicial than useful to us, and that this would not be the way to gain the possessions taken from us, for which reason I refused it and endeavoured instead to seek repose of mind and to bear patiently the cross laid upon me. If God so ordains it, and it is His divine will that through royal mercy I should obtain my freedom, I will joyfully exert myself for you, my beloved children, to the utmost of my ability, and prove in deed that I have never deviated from my duty, and that I am no less a good and right-minded mother than I have been a faithful wife. Meanwhile let God’s will be your will. He will turn and govern all things so that they may benefit you and me in soul and body, to whose safe keeping I confidently recommend you all, praying that He will be your father and mother, your counsellor and guide. Pray in return for me, that God may direct me by His good spirit, and grant me patience in the future as heretofore. This is all that is requested from you by,

My dearly beloved children, your affectionate mother,

Leonora Christina, V.E.G.

Written in the Blue Tower, anno 1674, the 18th of July, the eleventh year of imprisonment, my birthday, and fifty-third year of my age.[56]

I bear also in mind, with the greatest humility and gratitude, our gracious hereditary King’s favour towards me, immediately after His Majesty came to the throne. I remember also the sympathy of our most gracious Queen Regent, and of Her Highness the Electoral Princess of Saxony in my unfortunate fate; also the special favour of Her Majesty the Queen.

I have also not forgotten to bear duly in mind the favour shown towards me by Her Majesty the Queen Mother, the virtuous Landgravine of Hesse.

I have also recorded various things which occurred in my imprisonment during the period from the year 1663 to the year 1674, intending with these to conclude the record of my sufferings; as I experienced a pleasure, and often consoled myself, in feeling that it is better to remain innocently in captivity than to be free and to have deserved imprisonment. I remember having read that captivity has served many as a protection from greater dangers, and has guarded them from falling into the hands of their enemies. There have been some who have escaped from their prison and immediately after have been murdered. There have also been some who have had a competence in prison and afterwards have suffered want in freedom. Innocent imprisonment does not diminish honour, but rather increases it. Many a one has acquired great learning in captivity, and has gained a knowledge of things which he could not master before. Yes, imprisonment leads to heaven. I have often said to myself: ‘Comfort thyself, thou captive one, thou art happy.’

Since the year 1674 constituted only half the period of my captivity, I have added in this record of my sufferings some facts that occurred since that time within my prison-gates. I am on the eve of my liberty, May 19, 1685. To God alone be the honour, who has moved His Royal Majesty to justice! I will here mention those of whose death I have been informed during my captivity.

1. The Prime Minister of His Majesty, Count Christian of Rantzow[E3], died in the month of September, 1663. He did not live to drink the health of our Princess and of the Electoral Prince of Saxony at the feast of their betrothal. Still less did he live long enough to see a wooden effigy quartered in mockery of my lord, according to his suggestion. Death was very bitter to him.

2. The Mistress of the Robes of the Queen Dowager, who was so severe on me in my greatest sorrow, had a long and painful illness; she said with impatience that the pain of hell was not greater than her pain. Her screams could often be heard in the tower. She was carried on a bed into the town, and died there.

3. The death of Able Catherine was very painful. As she had formerly sought for letters on the private parts of my person, so she was afterwards herself handled by the surgeons, as she had boils all over her. She was cut and burnt. She endured all this pain, hoping to live, but neither the art of the surgeons nor the visits of the Queen could save her from death.[E4]

4. Secretary Erich Krag, who had displayed the malice of his heart in my imprisonment in the ‘Dark Church,’ was snatched away by death in a place of impurity. He was lively and well, had invited guests to dinner, sat and wrote at his table, went out to obey the necessities of nature, and was found dead by his attendants when they had waited some time for him.

5. Major-General Fridrich von Anfeldte,[E5] who had more than once manifested his delight at my misfortunes, died as he had lived. He was a godless man and a blasphemer. He fell a victim to jealousy, and went mad, because another obtained an honorary title which he had coveted; this was indeed little enough to deprive him of sense and reason. He would hear nothing of God, nor would he be reconciled with God. Both Queens, the Queen Dowager and the Queen Regent, persuaded him at length to be so. When he had received the sacrament, he said, ‘Now your Majesties have had your desire; but what is the good of it?’ He continued to curse and to swear, and so died.

6. General Schak died after a long illness.

7. Chancellor Peter Retz likewise.

8. His Royal Majesty King Friedrich III.’s death accelerated the death of the Stadtholder Cristoffer Gabel. He felt that the hate of the Queen Dowager could injure him greatly, and he desired death. God heard him.[E6]

9. It has pleased God that I should be myself a witness of Walter’s miserable death; indeed, that I should compassionate him. When I heard him scream, former times came to my mind, and I often thought how a man can allow himself to be led to do evil to those from whom he had only received kindness and honour.

10. Magister Buch, my father-confessor, who acted so ill to me, suffered much pain on his bed of languishing. He was three days speechless before he died.

11. When the rogue and blasphemer, Christian, who caused me so much annoyance in my captivity, had regained his liberty and returned to his landlord, Maans Armfeld in Jutland, he came into dispute with the parish priest, who wanted him to do public penance for having seduced a woman. The rogue set fire to the parsonage; the minister’s wife was burnt to death in trying to save some of her property, and all the minister’s possessions were left in ashes. The minister would not bring the rogue to justice. He commended him to the true Judge, and left vengeance to Him. The incendiary’s conscience began to be awakened; for a long time he lived in dread, and was frightened if he saw anyone coming at all quickly, and he would call out and say tremblingly, ‘Now they are going to take me!’ and would run hither and thither, not knowing where to go. At length he was found dead on the field, having shot himself; for a long rifle was found lying between his legs, the barrel towards his breast, and a long ramrod in his hand, with which he had touched the trigger. He did not, therefore, die in as Christian a manner as if he had perished under the hand of the executioner, of which he had so lightly said that he should not care for it at all, so long as he could bring someone else into trouble.

A RECORD OF SUFFERING;

OR, A REMINISCENCE OF ALL THAT OCCURRED TO ME, LEONORA CHRISTINA, IN THE BLUE TOWER, FROM AUGUST 8 OF THE YEAR 1663, TO JUNE 11[57] OF THE YEAR 1674.

The past is rarely remembered without sorrow, for it has been either better or worse than the present. If it was more joyous, more happy, and full of honour, its remembrance justly saddens us, and in proportion as the present is full of care, unhappiness, and dishonour. If past times were sadder, more miserable, and more deplorable than the present, the remembrance of them is equally sorrowful, for we recover and feel once more all the past misfortunes and adversities which have been endured in the course of time. But all things have, as it were, two handles by which they may be raised, as Epictetus says. The one handle, he says, is bearable; the other is not bearable; and it rests with our will which handle we grasp, the bearable or the unbearable one. If we grasp the bearable one, we can recall all that is transitory, however sad and painful it may have been, rather with joy than with sorrow.[E7] So I will seize the bearable handle, and in the name of Jesus I will pass rapidly through my memory, and recount all the wretchedness and misery, all the grief, scorn and suffering, contempt and adversity, which have befallen me in this place, and which I have overcome with God’s help. I will, moreover, in no wise grieve over it; but, on the contrary, I will remind myself at every step of the goodness of God, and will thank the Most High who has been constantly near me with His mighty help and consolation; who has ruled my heart, that it should not depart from God; who has preserved my mind and my reason, that it has not become obscured; who has maintained my limbs in their power and natural strength, and even has given, and still gives me, repose of mind and joyfulness. To Thee, incomprehensible God, be honour and praise for ever!

DAS ALTE SCHLOSS IN COPENHAGEN
MIT DEM BLAUEN THURM.

And now to proceed with my design. I consider it necessary to begin the record of my sufferings with the commencement of the day which concluded with the fatal evening of my captivity, and to mention somewhat of that which befell me on the vessel. After the captain had cast anchor a little outside the pier of St. Anna, on August 8, 1663, at nine o’clock in the forenoon, he was sent on shore with letters by Peter Dreyer, who was commissioned by Petcon, at that time the minister resident in England, of his Majesty the King of Denmark, to take charge of me. I dressed myself and sat down in one of the cabins of the sailors on the deck, with a firm resolution to meet courageously all that lay before me;[58] yet I in no wise expected what happened; for although I had a good conscience, and had nothing evil with which to reproach myself, I had at various times asked the before-mentioned Peter Dreyer the reason why I had been thus brought away. To this question he always gave me the reply which the traitor Braten had given me at Dover (when I asked of him the cause of my arrest); namely, that I was, perhaps, charged with the death of Major-General Fux, and, that it was thought I had persuaded my son to slay him; saying, that he knew of no other cause. At twelve o’clock Nils Rosenkrantz, at that time Lieutenant-Colonel, and Major Steen Anderson Bilde, came on board with some musketeers. Lieutenant-Colonel Rosenkrantz did not salute me. The Major walked up and down and presently passed near me. I asked him, en passant, what was the matter? He gave me no other answer than, ‘Bonne mine, mauvais jeu;’ which left me just as wise as before. About one o’clock Captain Bendix Alfeldt came on board with several more musketeers, and after he had talked some time with Peter Dreyer, Dreyer came to me and said, ‘It is ordered that you should go into the cabin.’ I said, ‘Willingly;’ and immediately went. Soon after, Captain Alfeldt came in to me, and said he had orders to take from me my letters, my gold, silver, money, and my knife. I replied, ‘Willingly.’ I took off my bracelets and rings, gathered in a heap all my gold, silver, and money, and gave it to him. I had nothing written with me, except copies of the letters which I had addressed to the King of England, notes respecting one thing or another relating to my journey, and some English vocabularies; these I also gave up to him. All these Alfeldt placed in a silver utensil which I had with me, sealed it in my presence, and left the vessel with it. An hour, or somewhat more, afterwards, Major-General Friderich von Anfeldt,[59] Commandant in Copenhagen, arrived, and desired that I should come to him outside the cabin. I obeyed immediately. He greeted me, gave me his hand, and paid me many compliments, always speaking French. He was pleased to see me in health, he feared the sea might have inconvenienced me; I must not allow the time to seem long to me; I should soon be accommodated otherwise. I caught at the last word and said, smiling, ‘Monsieur says otherwise, but not better.’ ‘Yes, indeed,’ he replied, ‘you shall be well accommodated; the noblest in the kingdom will visit you.’ I understood well what he meant by this, but I answered: ‘I am accustomed to the society of great people, therefore that will not appear strange to me.’ Upon this, he called a servant and asked for the before-mentioned silver utensil (which Captain Alfeldt had taken away with him). The paper which Captain Alfeldt had sealed over it was torn off. The Major-General turned to me, and said: ‘Here you have your jewels, your gold, silver, and money back; Captain Alfeldt made a mistake—they were only letters which he had orders to demand, and these only have been taken out, and have been left at the Castle; you may dispose of the rest as you wish yourself.’ ‘In God’s name,’ I answered, ‘am I, therefore, at liberty to put on again my bracelets and rings?’ ‘O Jesus,’ he said, ‘they are yours; you may dispose of them as you choose.’ I put on the bracelets and rings, and gave the rest to my attendant. The Major-General’s delight not only appeared in his countenance, but he was full of laughter, and was overflowing with merriment. Among other things he said that he had had the honour of making the acquaintance of two of my sons; that he had been in their society in Holland; and he praised them warmly. I complimented him in return, as was proper, and I behaved as if I believed that he was speaking in good faith. He indulged in various jokes, especially with my attendant; said that she was pretty, and that he wondered I could venture to keep such a pretty maiden; when Holstein ladies kept pretty maids it was only to put their husbands in good humour; he held a long discourse on how they managed, with other unmannerly jests which he carried on with my attendant. I answered nothing else [than] that he probably spoke from experience. He said all kinds of foolish jokes to my servant, but she did not answer a word. Afterwards the prison governor told me that he (von Anfeldt) had made the King believe, at first, that my attendant was my daughter, and that the King had been long of that opinion. At length, after a long conversation, the Major-General took his leave, saying that I must not allow the time to seem long to me; that he should soon come again; and he asked what he should say to his Majesty the King. I begged him to recommend me in the best manner to their Majesties’ favour, adding that I knew not well what to say or for what to make request, as I was ignorant of what intentions they had with regard to me. Towards three o’clock Major-General von Anfeldt returned; he was full of laughter and merriment, and begged me to excuse him for being so long away. He hoped the time had not appeared long to me; I should soon get to rest; he knew well that the people (with this he pointed to the musketeers, who stood all along both sides of the vessel) were noisy, and inconvenienced me, and that rest would be best for me. I answered that the people did not inconvenience me at all; still I should be glad of rest, since I had been at sea for thirteen days, with rather bad weather. He went on with his compliments, and said that when I came into the town his wife would do herself the honour of waiting on me, and, ‘as it seems to me,’ he continued, ‘that you have not much luggage with you, and perhaps, not the clothes necessary, she will procure for you whatever you require.’ I thanked him, and said that the honour was on my side if his wife visited me, but that my luggage was as much as I required at the time; that if I needed anything in the future, I hoped she might be spared this trouble; that I had not the honour of knowing her, but I begged him, nevertheless, to offer her my respects. He found various subjects of discourse upon Birgitte Speckhans[E8] and other trifles, to pass away the time; but it is not worth the trouble to recall them to mind, and still less to write them down. At last a message came that he was to conduct me from the vessel, when he said to me with politeness: ‘Will it please you, madame, to get into this boat, which is lying off the side of the ship?’ I answered, ‘I am pleased to do anything that I must do, and that is commanded by His Majesty the King.’ The Major-General went first into the boat, and held out his hand to me; the Lieutenant-Colonel Rosenkrantz, Captain Alfeldt, Peter Dreyer, and my attendant, went with me in the boat. And as a great crowd of people had assembled to look at the spectacle, and many had even gone in boats in order to see me as they wished, he never took his eyes off me; and when he saw that I turned sometimes to one side and sometimes to another, in order to give them this pleasure, he said, ‘The people are delighted.’ I saw no one truly who gave any signs of joy, except himself, so I answered, ‘He who rejoices to-day, cannot know that he may not weep to-morrow; yet I see, that, whether for joy or sorrow, the people are assembling in crowds, and many are gazing with amazement at one human being.’ When we were advanced a little further, I saw the well-known wicked Birgitte Ulfeldt,[E9] who exhibited great delight. She was seated in an open carriage; behind her was a young man, looking like a student. She was driving along the shore. When I turned to that side, she was in the carriage and laughed with all her might, so that it sounded loudly. I looked at her for some time, and felt ashamed of her impudence, and at the disgrace which she was bringing on herself; but for the rest, this conduct did not trouble me more than the barking of the dogs, for I esteemed both equally.[60] The Major-General went on talking incessantly, and never turned his eyes from me; for he feared (as he afterwards said) that I should throw myself into the water. (He judged me by himself; he could not endure the change of fortune, as his end testified, for it was only on account of an honorary title which another received in his stead that he lost his mind. He did not know that I was governed by another spirit than he, which gave me strength and courage, whilst the spirit he served led him into despair.[61]) When the boat arrived at the small pier near the office of the Exchequer, Captain Alfeldt landed and gave me his hand, and conducted me up towards the castle bridge. Regiments of horse and foot were drawn up in the open place outside the castle; musketeers were standing on both sides as I walked forwards. On the castle bridge stood Jockum Walburger, the prison governor, who went before me; and as the people had placed themselves in a row on either side up to the King’s Stairs, the prison governor made as if he were going thither; but he turned round abruptly, and said to Alfeldt, ‘This way,’ and went to the gate of the Blue Tower; stood there for some time and fumbled with the key; acted as if he could not unlock it, in order that I might remain as long as possible a spectacle to the people. And as my heart was turned to God, and I had placed all my confidence in the Most High, I raised my eyes to heaven, sought strength, power, and safety from thence, and it was graciously vouchsafed me. (One circumstance I will not leave unnoticed—namely, that as I raised my eyes to heaven, a screaming raven flew over the Tower, followed by a flock of doves, which were flying in the same direction.) At length, after a long delay, the prison governor opened the Tower gate, and I was conducted into the Tower by the before-mentioned Captain Alfeldt. My attendant, who was preparing to follow me, was called back by Major-General von Anfeldt, and told to remain behind. The prison governor went up the stairs, and showed Alfeldt the way to a prison for malefactors, to which the name of the ‘Dark Church’ has been given. There Alfeldt quitted me with a sigh and a slight reverence. I can truly say of him that his face expressed pity, and that he obeyed the order unwillingly. The clock was striking half-past five when Jockum closed the door of my prison. I found before me a small low table, on which stood a brass candlestick with a lighted candle, a high chair, two small chairs, a fir-wood bedstead without hangings and with old and hard bedding, a night-stool and chamber utensil. At every side to which I turned I was met with stench; and no wonder, for three peasants who had been imprisoned here, and had been removed on that very day, and placed elsewhere, had used the walls for their requirements. Soon after the door had been closed, it was opened again, and there entered Count Christian Rantzow, Prime Minister, Peter Zetz, Chancellor, Christoffer von Gabel, at that time Chancellor of the Exchequer, and Erich Krag, at that time Secretary, all of whom gave me their hands with civility. The Chancellor spoke and said: ‘His Royal Majesty, my gracious master and hereditary king, sends you word, madame, that His Majesty has great cause for what he is doing against you, as you will learn.’ I replied: ‘It is much to be regretted by me, if cause should be found against me; I will, however, hope that it may not be of such a kind that His Majesty’s displeasure may be lasting. When I know the cause I can defend myself.’ Count Rantzow answered: ‘You will obtain permission to defend yourself.’ He whispered something to the Chancellor, upon which the Chancellor put a few questions: first, Whether on my last journey I had been in France with my husband? To which I answered in the affirmative. Then, What my husband was doing there? To which I replied, that he was consulting physicians about his health, whether it would be serviceable to him to use the warm baths in the country, which no one would advise him to do; he had even been dissuaded from trying them by a doctor in Holland of the name of Borro,[E10] when he had asked his opinion. Thirdly, What I had purposed doing in England? To this I replied that my intention had been to demand payment of a sum of money which the King of England owed us, and which we had lent him in the time of his misfortune. Fourthly, Who had been in England with me? I mentioned those who were with me in England—namely, a nobleman named Cassetta, my attendant who had come hither with me, a lacquey named Frantz, who had remained in England, and the nobleman’s servant. Fifthly, Who visited my husband in Bruges? I could not exactly answer this, as my lord received his visits in a private chamber, where I was not admitted. Count Rantzow said, ‘You know, I suppose, who came to him oftenest?’ I answered, that the most frequent visitors among those I knew were two brothers named Aranda,[E11] the before-mentioned Cassetta, and a nobleman named Ognati. Sixthly the Chancellor asked, With whom I had corresponded here in the country? To which I answered, that I had written to H. Hendrick Bielcke, to Olluff Brockenhuuss, Lady Elsse Passberg, and Lady Marie Ulfeldt;[E12] I did not remember any more. Count Rantzow enquired if I had more letters than those which I had given up? To which I answered in the negative, that I had no more. He asked further, Whether I had more jewels with me than those he had seen? I answered that I had two strings of small round pearls on my hat, and a ring with a diamond, which I had given a lieutenant named Braten in Dover (it was he who afterwards betrayed me). Count Rantzow asked, How much the pearls might have been worth? This I could not exactly say. He said, that he supposed I knew their approximate value. I said they might be worth 200 rix-dollars, or somewhat more. Upon this they were all silent for a little. I complained of the severity of my imprisonment, and that I was so badly treated. Count Rantzow answered, ‘Yes Madame, His Royal Majesty has good cause for it; if you will confess the truth, and that quickly, you may perhaps look for mercy. Had Maréchal de Birron[E13] confessed the matter respecting which he was interrogated by order of the King, when the royal mercy was offered to him if he would speak the truth, it would not have fared with him as it did. I have heard as a truth that the King of France would have pardoned him his crime, had he confessed at once; therefore, bethink yourself, madame!’ I answered, ‘Whatever I am asked by order of His Majesty, and whatever I am cognizant of, I will gladly say in all submission.’ Upon this Count Rantzow offered me his hand, and I reminded him in a few words of the severity of my imprisonment. Count Rantzow promised to mention this to the King. Then the others shook hands with me and went away. My prison was closed for a little. I therefore profited by the opportunity, and concealed here and there in holes, and among the rubbish, a gold watch, a silver pen which gave forth ink and was filled with ink, and a scissor-sheath worked with silver and tortoiseshell. This was scarcely done when the door was again opened, and there entered the Queen’s Mistress of the Robes, her woman of the bed-chamber, and the wife of the commissariat clerk, Abel Catharina. I knew the last. She and the Queen’s woman of the bed-chamber carried clothes over their arm; these consisted of a long dressing-gown stitched with silk, made of flesh-coloured taffeta and lined with white silk, a linen under-petticoat, printed over with a black lace pattern, a pair of silk stockings, a pair of slippers, a shift, an apron, a night-dress, and two combs. They made me no greeting. Abel Cath. spoke for them, and said: ‘It is the command of Her Majesty the Queen that we should take away your clothes, and that you should have these in their place.’ I answered, ‘In God’s name!’ Then they removed the pad from my head, in which I had sown up rings and many loose diamonds. Abel Cath. felt all over my head to see if anything was concealed in my hair; then she said to the others, ‘There is nothing there; we do not require the combs.’ Abel Cath. demanded the bracelets and rings, which were a second time taken from me. I took them off and gave them to them, except one small ring which I wore on the last joint of my little finger, and which could not be worth more than a rix-dollar, this I begged to be allowed to keep. ‘No,’ said the Mistress of the Robes, ‘You are to retain nothing.’ Abel Cath. said, ‘We are strictly forbidden to leave you the smallest thing; I have been obliged to swear upon my soul to the Queen that I would search you thoroughly, and not leave you the smallest thing; but you shall not lose it; they will all be sealed up and kept for you, for this I swear the Queen has said.’ ‘Good, good, in God’s name!’ I answered. She drew off all my clothes. In my under-petticoat I had concealed some ducats under the broad gold lace; there was a small diamond ornament in my silk [camisole], in the foot of my stockings there were some Jacobuses’, and there were sapphires in my shoes. When she attempted to remove my chemise, I begged to be allowed to retain it. No; she swore upon her soul that she dared not. She stripped me entirely, and the Mistress of the Robes gave Abel Cath. a nod, which she did not at once understand; so the Mistress of the Robes said: ‘Do you not remember your orders?’ Upon this, Abel Cath. searched my person still more closely, and said to the lady in waiting: ‘No, by God! there is nothing there.’ I said: ‘You act towards me in an unchristian and unbecoming manner.’ Abel Cath. answered: ‘We are only servants; we must do as we are ordered; we are to search for letters and for nothing else; all the rest will be given back to you; it will be well taken care of.’ After they had thus despoiled me, and had put on me the clothes they had brought, the servant of the Mistress of the Robes came in and searched everywhere with Abel Cath., and found every thing that I had concealed. God blinded their eyes so that they did not observe my diamond earrings, nor some ducats which had been sown into leather round one of my knees; I also saved a diamond worth 200 rix-dollars; while on board the ship I had bitten it out of the gold, and thrown the gold in the sea; the stone I had then in my mouth.[62]

The Mistress of the Robes was very severe; they could not search thoroughly enough for her. She laughed at me several times, and could not endure that I sat down, asking whether I could not stand, and whether anything was the matter with me. I answered, ‘There is only too much the matter with me, yet I can stand when it is necessary.’ (It was no wonder that the Mistress of the Robes could so well execute the order to plunder, for she had frequently accompanied her deceased husband. Colonel Schaffshaussen[E14], in war.) When she had searched every part thoroughly, they took all my clothes, except a taffeta cap for the head, and went away. Then the prison governor came in with his hat on, and said, ‘Leonora, why have you concealed your things?’ I answered him not a word; for I had made the resolution not to answer him, whatever he might say; his qualities were known to me; I was aware that he was skilful in improving a report, and could twist words in the manner he thought would be acceptable, to the damage of those who were in trouble. He asked again with the same words, adding ‘Do you not hear?’ I looked at him over my shoulder, and would not allow his disrespect to excite me. The table was then spread, and four dishes were brought in, but I had no appetite, although I had eaten little or nothing the whole day.

An hour afterwards, when the dishes had been carried away, a girl came in named Maren Blocks, and said that she had orders from the Queen to remain the night with me. The prison governor joked a good deal with the before-mentioned Maren, and was very merry, indulging in a good deal of loose talk. At last, when it was nearly ten o’clock, he said good night and closed the two doors of my prison, one of which is cased with copper. When Maren found herself alone with me, she pitied my condition, and informed me that many, whom she mentioned by name (some of whom were known to me) had witnessed my courage with grief and tears, especially the wife of H. Hendrick Bielcke[E12b], who had fainted with weeping. I said, ‘The good people have seen me in prosperity; it is no wonder that they deplore the instability of fortune;’ and I wished that God might preserve every one of those from misfortune, who had taken my misfortune to heart. I consoled myself with God and a good conscience; I was conscious of nothing wrong, and I asked who she was, and whom she served? She said she was in the Queen’s private kitchen, and had the silver in her keeping (from which I concluded that she had probably to clean the silver, which was the case). She said that the Queen could get no one who would be alone with me, for that I was considered evil; it was said also that I was very wise, and knew future events. I answered, ‘If I possessed this wisdom, I scarcely think that I should have come in here, for I should then have been able to guard myself against it.’ Maren said we might know things and still not be able to guard against them.

She told me also that the Queen had herself spoken with her, and had said to her, ‘You are to be this night with Leonora; you need not be afraid, she can now do no evil. With all her witchcraft she is now in prison and has nothing with her; and if she strikes you, I give you leave to strike her back again till the blood comes.’ Maren said also, ‘The Queen knows well that my mind has been affected by acute illness, and therefore she wished that I should be with you.’ So saying she threw her arms round my neck as I was sitting, and caressed me in her manner, saying, ‘Strike me, dear heart, strike me!’ ‘I will not,’ she swore, ‘strike again.’ I was rather alarmed, fearing that the frenzy might come on. She said further that when she saw me coming over the bridge, she felt as if her heart would burst. She informed me with many words how much she loved me, and how the maid of honour, Carisius, who was standing with her in the window, had praised me, and wished to be able to do something for my deliverance, with many such words and speeches. I accepted the unusual caress, as under the circumstances I could not help it, and said that it would be contrary to all justice to offer blows to one who manifested such great affection as she had done, especially to one of her sex; adding, that I could not think how the Queen had imagined that I struck people, as I had never even given a box on the ears to a waiting-woman. I thanked her for her good opinion of me, and told her that I hoped all would go well, dark as things looked; that I would hold fast to God, who knew my innocence, and that I had done nothing unjustifiable; that I would commend my cause to Him, and I did not doubt that He would rescue me: if not immediately He would do so some day, I was well assured.

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.

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.

August 12 passed without anything in particular occurring, only that Anna tried to trouble me by saying that a chamber next to us was being put in order, for whom she did not know; they were of course expecting someone in it. I could myself hear the masons at work. On the same day Catharina said that she had known me in prosperity, and blessed me a thousand times for the kindness I had shown her. I did not remember having ever seen her. She said she had been employed in the storeroom in the service of the Princess Magdalena Sybille, and that when I had visited the Princess, and had slept in the [Castle], I had sent a good round present for those in the storeroom, and that she had had a share in it, and that this she now remembered with gratitude. Anna was not pleased with the conversation, and she interrupted it three times; Catharina, however, did not answer her, but adhered to the subject till she had finished. The prison governor was not in good humour on this day also, so that neither at dinner nor at supper were any indecent stories related.

On August 13, after the women had been into the town and had returned, the prison governor opened the door at about nine o’clock, and whispered something to them. He then brought in another small seat; from this I perceived that I was to be visited by one more than on the previous occasion. At about ten o’clock Count Rantzow, General Skack, Chancellor Retz, Treasurer Gabel, and Secretary Krag entered. They all saluted me with politeness; the four first seated themselves on low seats by my bedside, and Krag placed himself with his writing materials at the table. The Chancellor was spokesman, and said, ‘His royal Majesty, my gracious Sovereign and hereditary King, sends you word, madame, that his Majesty has great cause for all that he is doing, and that he entertains suspicions with regard to you that you are an accomplice in the treason designed by your husband; and his royal Majesty had hoped that you would confess without compulsion who have participated in it, and the real truth about it.’

When the Chancellor ceased speaking, I replied that I was not aware that I had done anything which could render me suspected; and I called God to witness that I knew of no treason, and therefore I could mention no names. Count Rantzow said, ‘Your husband has not concealed it from you, hence you know it well.’ I replied, ‘Had my husband entertained so evil a design, I believe surely he would have told me; but I can swear with a good conscience, before God in Heaven, that I never heard him speak of anything of the kind. Yes, I can truly say he never wished evil to the King in my hearing, and therefore I fully believe that this has been falsely invented by his enemies.’ Count Rantzow and the Chancellor bent their heads together across to the General, and whispered with each other for some time. At length the Chancellor asked me whether, if my husband were found guilty, I would take part in his condemnation. This was a remarkable question, so I reflected a little, and said, ‘If I may know on what grounds he is accused, I will answer to it so far as I know, and so much as I can.’ The Chancellor said, ‘Consider well whether you will.’ I replied as before, that I would answer for him as to all that I knew, if I were informed of what he was accused. Count Rantzow whispered with Krag, and Krag went out, but returned immediately.

Soon afterward some one (whom I do not know) came from the Chancellor’s office, bringing with him some large papers. Count Rantzow and the Chancellor whispered again. Then the Chancellor said, ‘There is nothing further to do now than to let you know what sort of a husband you have, and to let you hear his sentence.’ Count Rantzow ordered the man who had brought in the papers to read them aloud. The first paper read was to the effect that Corfitz, formerly Count of Ulfeldt, had offered the kingdom of Denmark to a foreign sovereign, and had told the same sovereign that he had ecclesiastical and lay magnates on his side, so that it was easy for him to procure the crown of Denmark for the before-mentioned sovereign.

A paper was then read which was the defence of the clergy, in which they protested that Corfitz, Count of Ulfeldt, had never had any communication with any of them; that he had at no time shown himself a friend of the clergy, and had far less offered them participation in his evil design. They assured his royal Majesty of their fidelity and subjection, &c. Next, a paper was read, written by the Burgomaster and council in Copenhagen, nearly similar in purport, that they had had no correspondence with Count Corfitz Ulfeldt, and equally assuring his royal Majesty of their humble fidelity. Next followed the reading of the unprecedented and illegal sentence which, without a hearing, had been passed on my lord. This was as unexpected and grievous as it was disgraceful, and unjustifiable before God and all right-loving men. No documents were brought forward upon which the sentence had been given. There was nothing said about prosecution or defence; there was no other foundation but mere words; that he had been found guilty of having offered the crown of Denmark to a foreign sovereign, and had told him that he had on his side ecclesiastical and lay magnates, who had shown by their signed protestations that this was not the case, for which reason he had been condemned as a criminal.

When the sentence with all the names subjoined to it had been read, the reader brought it to me, and placed it before me on the bed. Everyone can easily imagine how I felt; but few or none can conceive how it was that I was not stifled by the unexpected misery, and did not lose my sense and reason. I could not utter a word for weeping. Then a prayer was read aloud which had been pronounced from the pulpit, in which Corfitz was anathematised, and God was prayed not to allow his gray hair to go to the grave in peace. But God, who is just, did not listen to the impious prayer of the unrighteous, praised be His name for ever.

When all had been read, I bemoaned with sighs and sorrowful tears that I had ever lived to see this sad day, and I begged them, for [Jesus’] sake, that they would allow me to see on what the hard judgment was based. Count Rantzow answered, ‘You can well imagine, madame, that there are documents upon which we have acted: some of your friends are in the council.’ ‘May God better it!’ I said. ‘I beg you, for God’s sake, to let me see the documents. Les apparences sont bien souvent trompeuses. What had not my husband to suffer from that Swede in Skaane, during that long imprisonment, because he was suspected of having corresponded with his Majesty, the King of Denmark, and with his Majesty’s ministers? Now, no one knows better than his Majesty, and you my good lords, how innocently he suffered at that time, and so this also may be apparently credible, and yet may not be so in truth. Might I not see the documents?’ To this no answer was given. I continued and said, ‘How is it possible that a man who must himself perceive that death is at hand should undertake such a work, and be so led away from the path of duty, when he did not do so at a time when he acknowledged no master, and when such great promises were made him by the Prince of Holstein, as the Prince’s letters show, which are now in his Majesty’s hands.’ Count Rantzow interrupted me and said, ‘We did not find those letters.’ ‘God knows,’ I replied, ‘they were there; of that I am certain.’ I said also, ‘At that time he might have done something to gratify a foreign sovereign; at that time he had power and physical vigour, and almost the entire government was in his hands; but he never looked to his own advantage, but pawned his own property to hasten the King’s coronation, so that no impediment might come between.[64] This is his reward! Good gentlemen, take an example of me, you who have seen me in prosperity, and have compassion on me. Pray his royal Majesty to be mild, and not to proceed to such severity.’

The Chancellor and Treasurer were moved by this, so that the tears came into their eyes. Count Rantzow said to the General and the Chancellor, ‘I think it is a fortnight ago since the sentence was published?’ The Chancellor answered, ‘It is seventeen days ago.’[E18] I said, ‘At that time I was still in England, and now I am asked for information on the matter! Oh, consider this, for God’s sake! and that there was no one present to speak on my husband’s behalf.’ Count Rantzow enquired whether I wished to appeal against it? I replied, ‘How am I to appeal against a judicial decree? I only beg for [Jesus’] sake that what I say may be considered, and that I may have the satisfaction of seeing the documents upon which the sentence is based.’

Count Rantzow answered as before, that there were documents, and that some of my friends had sat in the council, and added that all had been agreed, and that not one had had anything to say against it. I dared not say what I thought. I knew well how matters are done in such absolute governments: there is no such thing as opposition, they merely say, ‘Sign, the King wishes it; and ask not wherefore, or the same condemnation awaits thee.’[65] I was silent, and bewailed my unhappiness, which was irremediable. When Krag read aloud the minutes he had written, namely, that when I was asked whether I would participate in my husband’s sentence, I had answered that I would consider of it. I asked, ‘How was that?’ The Chancellor immediately replied, ‘No, she did not say so, but she requested to know the accusation brought against her husband.’ I repeated my words again,[66] I know not whether Krag wrote them or not; for a great part of that which I said was not written. Krag yielded too much to his feelings in the matter, and would gladly have made bad worse. He is now gone where no false writings avail; God took him away suddenly in an unclean place, and called him to judgment without warning. And Count Rantzow, who was the principal mover and inventor of that illegal sentence, the like of which was never known in Denmark, did not live to see his desire fulfilled in the execution of a wooden image.[E19] When this was done, they rose and shook hands with me. This painful visit lasted more than four hours.

They went away, leaving me full of anxiety, sighing and weeping—a sad and miserable captive woman, forsaken by all; without help, exposed to power and violence, fearing every moment that her husband might fall into their hands, and that they might vent their malice on him. God performed on that day a great miracle, by manifesting His power in my weakness, preserving my brain from bewilderment, and my tongue from overflowing with impatience. Praised be God a thousand times! I will sing Thy praise, so long as my tongue can move, for Thou wast at this time and at all times my defence, my rock, and my shield!

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.