trumpets blew I did not only say, 'Now they have made a knight' (for
I could hear the herald calling from the window, though I could not
understand what he said), but even who had been made a knight; for
this I guessed, knowing who were in the Council who were not knights
before; and because it was as I said, the woman believed for certain
that I was an enchantress. I perceived this, as she put questions to
me concerning things which I could not know, and to which I often
gave equivocal answers. I thought perhaps that the fear she had that
I could know what would happen might hinder her from entangling me
with lies. Since then she whispered much less with the prison
governor. She told of a person whom she regarded as a witch, whose
power, however, consisted in nothing else than in the science of
curing French pox, and causing the miscarriage of bad women, and
other improprieties. She had had much intercourse with this woman.
Some time after the departure of the Electoral Prince it was
determined that a wooden effigy should be subjected to capital
punishment, and on the forenoon my chamber was opened, swept,
cleaned, and strewed with sand.[75] When it was opened, towards noon,
and the woman had been on the stairs, talking with the coachman, she
came in, and walking up to my bed, stood as if startled, and said
hurriedly, 'Oh, Jesus! Lady, they are bringing your husband!' The
news terrified me, which she observed; for as she uttered it, I
raised myself in the bed and stretched out my right arm, and was not
able to draw it back again at once. Perhaps this vexed her, for I
remained sitting in this way and not speaking a word; so she said,
'My dearest lady, it is your husband's effigy.' To this I said, 'May
God punish you!' She then gave full vent to her evil tongue, and
expressed her opinion that I deserved punishment, and not she, and
used many unprofitable words. I was quite silent, for I was very
weak, and scarcely knew where I was. In the afternoon I heard a great
murmuring of people in the inner palace square, and I saw the effigy
brought across the street by the executioner on a wheelbarrow, and
placed in the tower below my prison.
[75] The Queen wished that this wooden statue should be brought
into my outer chamber, and so placed in front of the door that it
would tumble into me when my inner door was opened; but the King
would not permit it. [Addition in the margin.]
The next morning, at about nine o'clock, the effigy was wofully
treated by the executioner, but no sound came from it. At the mid-day
meal the prison governor told the woman how the executioner had cut
off its head, and had divided the body into four quarters, which were
then placed on four wheels, and attached to the gallows, while the
head was exhibited on the town hall. The prison governor stood in the
outer chamber, but he narrated all this in a loud tone, so that I
might hear it, and repeated it three times.[E28] I lay and thought
what I should do; I could not show that I made but little of it, for
then something else perhaps would be devised to trouble me, and in
the hurry I could think of nothing else than saying to the woman with
sadness, 'Oh, what a shame! speak to the prison governor and tell him
to beg the King to allow the effigy to be taken down and not to
remain as it is!' The woman went out, and spoke softly with the
prison governor; but he answered aloud and said, 'Yes, indeed, taken
down! There will be more put up; yes, more up;' and kept on repeating
these words a good while.
[E28] The execution took place on November 13. The King's order
concerning it to the prison governor, Jochum Waltpurger, exists
still. It is to this effect: 'V. G. T., Know that you have to
command the executioner in our name, that to-day, November 13, he
is to take the effigy of Corfitz, formerly called Count of Ulfeldt,
from the Blue Tower where it is now, and bring it on a car to the
ordinary place in the square in front of the castle; and when he
has come to the place of justice, strike off the right hand and the
head, whereafter he is to divide the body into four parts on the
spot, and carry them away with him, whilst the head is to be placed
on a spike on the Blue Tower for remembrance and execration.' The
order was afterwards altered in this particular, that the head was
to be placed on the town hall, and the four parts of the body one
at each of the gates of the city. The executioner was subsequently
ordered to efface the arms of Corfitz and his wife wherever they
occurred in the town; for instance, on their pews in the churches.
Leonora states in her Autobiography that the prison governor some
time after told her that the Queen had desired that the effigy
should be placed in the antechamber of Leonora's prison, and that
she should be ordered to see it there; but that the king refused
his consent.
I lay silently thinking; I said nothing, but indulged in my own
reflections. Sometimes I consoled myself, and hoped that this
treatment of the effigy was a token that they could not get the man;
then again fear asserted its sway. I did not care for the dishonour,
for there are too many instances of great men in France whose
effigies have been burnt by the executioner, and who subsequently
arrived again at great honour.
When the door was unlocked again for the evening meal, there was a
whispering between the prison governor and the woman. A lacquey was
also sent, who stood outside the outer door and called the prison
governor to him (my bed stands just opposite the doors, and thus when
all three doors are opened I can see the staircase door, which is the
fourth). I do not know what the woman can have told the prison
governor, for I had not spoken all day, except to ask her to give me
what I required; I said, moreover, nothing more than this for several
days, so that the prison governor grew weary of enquiring longer of
the woman; for she had nothing to communicate to him respecting me,
and she tormented him always with her desire to get away; she could
not longer spend her life in this way.
But as she received no other consolation from him than that he swore
to her that she would never get away as long as she lived, for some
days she did nothing else than weep; and since I would not ask her
why she wept, she came one day up to my bedside crying, and said, 'I
am a miserable being!' I asked her why? what ailed her? 'I ail
enough,' she answered; 'I have been so stupid, and have allowed
myself to be shut up here for the sake of money, and now you are
cross with me and will not speak with me.' I said, 'What am I to say?
you wish perhaps to have something to communicate to the prison
governor?' Upon this she began to call down curses on herself if she
had ever repeated to the prison governor a word that I had said or
done; she wished I could believe her and speak with her; why should
she be untrue to me? we must at any rate remain together as long as
we lived. She added many implorations as to my not being angry; I had
indeed cause to be so; she would in future give me no cause for
anger, for she would be true to me. I thought, 'You shall know no
more than is necessary.'
I let her go on talking and relating the whole history of her
life--such events as occur among peasants. She had twice married
cottagers, and after her last widowhood she had been employed as
nurse to the wife of Holger Wind, so that she had no lack of stories.
By her first husband she had had a child, who had never reached
maturity, and her own words led me to have a suspicion that she had
herself helped to shorten the child's days; for once when she was
speaking of widows marrying again, she said among other things,
'Those who wish to marry a second time ought not to have children,
for in that case the husband is never one with the wife.' I had much
to say against this, and I asked her what a woman was to do who had a
child by her first husband. She answered quickly, 'Put a pillow on
its head.' This I could only regard as a great sin, and I explained
it to her. 'What sin could there be,' she said, 'when the child was
always sickly, and the husband angry in consequence?' I answered as I
ought, and she seemed ill at ease. Such conversation as this gave me
no good reason to believe in the fidelity which she had promised me.
The woman then took a different tack, and brought me word from the
coachman of all that was occurring. Maren Blocks sent me a
prayer-book through her, and that secretly, for I was allowed no book
of any kind, nor any needles and pins; respecting these the woman had
by the Queen's order taken an oath to the prison governor. Thus the
year passed away. On New Year's day, 1664, the woman wished me a
happy year. I thanked her, and said, 'That is in God's hands.' 'Yes,'
she said, 'if He wills it.' 'And if He does not will it,' I answered,
'it will not be, and then He will give me patience to bear my heavy
cross.' 'It is heavy,' she said, 'even to me; what must it not be to
you? May it only remain as it is, and not be worse with you!' It
seemed to me as if it could not be worse, but better; for death, in
whatever form, would put an end to my misery. 'Yes,' she said, 'is it
not all one how one dies?' 'That is true,' I answered; 'one dies in
despair, another with free courage.' The prison governor did not say
a word to me that day. The woman had a long talk with the coachman;
she no doubt related to him our conversation.
In the month of March the prison governor came in and assumed a
particularly gentle manner, and said, among other things, 'Now you
are a widow; now you can tell the state of all affairs.' I answered
him with a question, 'Can widows tell the state of all affairs?' He
laughed and said, 'I do not mean that; I mean this treason!' I
answered, 'You can ask others about it who know of it; I know of no
treason.' And as it seemed to him that I did not believe that my
husband was dead,[E29] he took out a newspaper and let me read it,
perhaps chiefly because my husband was badly treated in it. I did not
say much about it--nothing more than, 'Writers of newspapers do not
always speak the truth.' This he might take as he liked.
[E29] The date of Ulfeldt's death is variously given as the 20th or
the 27th of February, 1664. The latter date is given in a letter
from his son Christian to Sperling, and elsewhere, (for instance,
in a short Latin Biography of Ulfeldt called 'Machinationes
Cornificii Ulefeldii,' published soon after); but the better
evidence points to the earlier date. Christian Ulfeldt was not, it
seems, at Basle at the time, and may have made a mistake as to the
date, though he indicates the right day of the week (a Saturday),
or he may have had reason for purposely making a misleading
statement. In Copenhagen the report of his death was long suspected
to be a mere trick.
I lay there silently hoping that it might be so, that my husband had
by death escaped his enemies; and I thought with the greatest
astonishment that I should have lived to see the day when I should
wish my lord dead; then sorrowful thoughts took possession of me, and
I did not care to talk. The woman imagined that I was sad because my
lord was dead, and she comforted me, and that in a reasonable
manner; but the remembrance of past times was only strengthened by
her consolatory remarks, and for a long time my mind could not again
regain repose. Your condition, my dearest children, troubled me. You
had lost your father, and with him property and counsel. I am captive
and miserable, and cannot help you, either with counsel or deed; you
are fugitives and in a foreign land. For my three eldest sons I am
less anxious than for my daughters and my youngest son.[E30] I sat up
whole nights in my bed, for I could not sleep, and when I have
headache I cannot lay my head on the pillow. From my heart I prayed
to God for a gracious deliverance. It has not pleased God to grant
this, but He gave me patience to bear my heavy cross.
[E30] Ulfeldt and Leonora had twelve children in all, of which
seven were alive when Corfitz died; and it so happened as,
explained before, that the youngest, Leo, was the only one who
continued the name. It is from him that Count Waldstein, the owner
of the MS., is descended.
My cross was so much heavier to me at first, as it was strictly
forbidden to give me either knife, scissors, thread, or anything that
might have beguiled the time to me. Afterwards, when my mind became a
little calmer, I began to think of something wherewith to occupy
myself; and as I had a needle, as I have before mentioned, I took off
the ribands of my night-dress, which were broad flesh-coloured
taffeta. With the silk I embroidered the piece of cloth that I had
with different flowers worked in small stitches. When this was
finished, I drew threads out of my sheet, twisted them, and sewed
with them. When this was nearly done, the woman said one day, 'What
will you do now when this is finished?' I answered, 'Oh, I shall get
something to do; if it is brought to me by the ravens, I shall have
it.' Then she asked me if I could do anything with a broken wooden
spoon. I answered, 'Perhaps you know of one?' After having laughed a
while, she drew one forth, the bowl of which was half broken off. 'I
could indeed make something with that,' I said, 'if I had only a tool
for the purpose. Could you persuade the prison governor or Peder the
coachman to lend me a knife?' 'I will beg for one,' she answered,
'but I know well that they will not.' That she said something about
it to the prison governor I could perceive from his answer, for he
replied aloud, 'She wants no knife; I will cut her food for her. She
might easily injure herself with one.'[76]
[76] In the margin is this note: 'Once when I asked the prison
governor for some scissors to cut my nails, he answered, and that
loudly, "What! what! her nails shall grow like eagles' claws, and
her hair like eagles' feathers!" I know well what I thought--if I
had only claws and wings!'
What she said to the coachman I know not (this I know, that she did
not desire me to obtain a knife, for she was afraid of me, as I
afterwards discovered). The woman brought the answer from the
coachman that he dared not for his life. I said, 'If I can but have a
piece of glass, I will see what I can make that is useful with the
piece of spoon.' I begged her to look in a corner in the outermost
room, where all rubbish was thrown; this she did, and found not only
glass, but even a piece of a pewter cover which had belonged to a
jug. By means of the glass I formed the spoon handle into a pin with
two prongs, on which I made riband, which I still have in use (the
silk for this riband I took from the border of my night-dress). I
bent the piece of pewter in such a manner that it afterwards served
me as an inkstand. It also is still in my keeping. As a mark of
fidelity, the woman brought me at the same time a large pin, which
was a good tool for beginning the division between the prongs, which
I afterwards scraped with glass.
She asked me whether I could think of anything to play with, as the
time was so long to her. I said, 'Coax Peder, and he will bring you a
little flax for money and a distaff.' 'What!' she answered, 'shall I
spin? The devil may spin! For whom should I spin?' I said, 'To
beguile the time, I would spin, if I only had what is necessary for
it.' 'That you may not have, dear lady,' said she; 'I have done the
very utmost for you in giving you what I have done.' 'If you wish
something to play with,' said I, 'get some nuts, and we will play
with them.' She did so, and we played with them like little children.
I took three of the nuts, and made them into dice, placing two kinds
of numbers on each, and we played with these also. And that we might
know the {circled dot} which I made with the large pin,[77] I begged
her to procure for me a piece of chalk, which she did, and I rubbed
chalk into it. These dice were lost, I know not how; my opinion is
that the coachman got possession of them, perhaps at the time that he
cheated the woman out of the candles and sugar left. For he came to
her one day at noon quite out of breath, and said she was to give him
the candles and the sugar which he had brought her from Maren Blocks,
and whatever there was that was not to be seen, as our quarters were
to be searched. She ran out with the things under her apron, and
never said anything to me about it until the door was locked. I
concealed on myself, as well as I was able, my pin, my silk, and the
pieces of sewing with the needle and pin. Nothing came of the search,
and it was only a _ruse_ of the coachman, in order to get the
candles that were left, for which she often afterwards abused him,
and also for the sugar.
[77] I removed my nails with the needle, scratching them till they
came away. I let the nail of the little finger of my right hand
grow, in order to see how long it would become; but I knocked it
off unawares, and I still have it. [Marginal note.]
I was always at work, so long as I had silk from my night-dress and
stockings, and I netted on the large pin, so that it might last a
long time. I have still some of the work in my possession, as well as
the bobbins, which I made out of wooden pegs. By means of bags filled
with sand I made cords which I formed into a bandage (which is worn
out), for I was not allowed a corset, often as I begged for one; the
reason why is unknown to me. I often beguiled the time with the piece
of chalk, painting with it on a piece of board and on the table,
wiping it away again, and making rhymes and composing hymns. The
first of these, however, I composed before I had the chalk. I never
sang it, but repeated it to myself.
A morning hymn, to the tune, 'Ieg wil din Priiss ud Synge'[E31]:--
[E31] This hymn-tune is still in use in the Danish Church.
I
God's praise I will be singing
In every waking hour.
My grateful tribute bringing
To magnify his power;
And his almighty love,
His angel watchers sending,
My couch with mercy tending,
And watching from above.
II
In salt drops streaming ever
The tears flowed from my eyes;
I often thought I never
Should see the morning rise.
Yet has the Lord instilled
Sleep in his own good pleasure;
And sleep in gracious measure
Has his command fulfilled.
III
Oh Christ! Lord of the living,
Thine armour place on me,
Which manly vigour giving,
Right valiant shall I be,
'Gainst Satan, death, and sin.
And every carnal feeling,
That nought may come concealing
Thy sway my heart within.
IV
Help me! Thy arms extending;
My cross is hard and sore:
Support its heaviest ending,
Or I can bear no more.
Too much am I oppressed!
My trust is almost waning
With pain and vain complaining!
Thine arrows pierce my breast.
V
In mercy soothe the sorrow
That weighs the fatherless;
Vouchsafe a happier morrow,
And all my children bless!
Strength to their father yield,
In their hard fate respect them,
From enemies protect them;
My strength, be Thou their shield.
VI
I am but dust and ashes,
Yet one request I crave:
Let me not go at unawares
Into the silent grave.
With a clear mind and breast
My course in this world closing,
Let me, on Thee reposing,
Pass to Thy land of rest.
I composed the following hymn in German and often sang it, as they
did not understand German; a hymn, somewhat to the air of 'Was ist
doch auff dieser Welt, das nicht fehlt?' &c.:--
I
Reason speaketh to my soul:
Fret not Soul,
Thou hast a better goal!
It is not for thee restricted
That with thee
Past should be
All the wrongs inflicted.
II
Why then shouldst thou thus fret thee,
Anxiously,
Ever sighing, mournfully?
Thou canst not another sorrow
Change with this,
For that is
Which shall be on the morrow.
III
Loss of every earthly gain
Bringeth pain;
Fresh courage seek to obtain!
Much was still superfluous ceded,
Nature's call
After all
Makes but little needed.
IV
Is the body captive here?
Do not fear:
Thou must not hold all too dear;
Thou art free--a captive solely;
Can no tower
Have the power
Thee to fetter wholly?
V
All the same is it at last
When thou hast
The long path of striving past,
And thou must thy life surrender;
Death comes round,
Whether found
On couch hard or tender.
VI
Courage then, my soul, arise!
Heave no sighs
That nought yet thy rest supplies!
God will not leave thee in sorrow:
Well He knows
When He chose
Help for thee to borrow.
Thus I peacefully beguiled the time, until Doctor Otto Sperling[E32]
was brought to the tower; his prison is below the 'dark church.' His
fate is pitiable. When he was brought to the tower his feet and hands
were chained in irons. The prison governor, who had formerly not been
friendly with him, rejoiced heartily at the doctor's misfortune, and
that he had fallen into his hands, so that the whole evening he did
nothing but sing and hum. He said to the woman, 'My Karen, will you
dance? I will sing.' He left the doctor to pass the night in his
irons. We could hear that a prisoner had been brought in from the
murmuring, and the concourse of people, as well as from the locking
of the prison, which was below mine (where iron bolts were placed
against the door).[78] The joy exhibited by the prison governor
excited my fear, also that he not only himself opened and shut my
door, but that he prevented the woman from going out on the stairs,
by leaning against the outermost door of my prison. The coachman
stood behind the prison governor making signs; but as the prison
governor turned from side to side, I could not rightly see him.
[E32] Dr. Otto Sperling, the elder, is often alluded to in the
Autobiography of Leonora as 'notre vieillard;' he was a faithful
friend of Ulfeldt, and in 1654 he settled in Hamburg, where he
educated Corfitz's youngest son Leo. He was implicated in Ulfeldt's
intrigues, and a compromising correspondence between them fell into
the hands of the Spanish Government, which placed it at the
disposal of Hannibal Sehested when he passed through the
Netherlands on his way home from his mission to France in 1663. In
order to obtain possession of Sperling's person, the Danish
authorities used the ruse of sending a Danish officer to his house
in Hamburg, and request him to visit professionally a sick person
just across the Danish frontier, paying in advance a considerable
fee. Sperling, who did not suspect the transaction, was arrested
immediately on crossing the boundary, and brought to Copenhagen. He
was condemned to death July 28, 1664; but the sentence was
commuted, and he died in the Blue Tower December 25, 1681. Otto
Sperling, jun., to whom Leonora sent the MS. of her Autobiography,
and who often visited her at Maribo, was his son.
[78] The prison cell is outside that in which the doctor is
immured. It is quite dark where he is. [Note in the margin.]
On the following day, at about eight o'clock, I heard the iron bolts
drawn and the door below opened; I could also hear that the inner
prison was opened (the doctor was then taken out for examination).
The woman said, 'There is certainly a prisoner there; who can it be?'
I said: 'It seems indeed that a prisoner has been brought in, for the
prison governor is so merry. You will find it out from Peder; if not
to-day, another time. I pity the poor man, whoever he may be.' (God
knows my heart was not as courageous as I appeared.) When my door was
opened at noon (which was after twelve o'clock, for they did not open
my door till the doctor had been conveyed to his cell again), the
prison governor was still merrier than usual, and danced about and
sang, 'Cheer up! courage! It will come to pass!'