attended on me. I will pass over the long story of how she left her
mother; the fact is, that against her mother's will she married a
Danish merchant, named Jens Pedersen Holme. But her life and doings
(according to her own statement) are so strange, that it may be worth
while to record somewhat of them. After they were married, she says,
it vexed her, and was always in her mind that she had made her mother
angry, and had done very wrong. Her mother had sent her also a hard
letter, which distressed her much; and she behaved refractorily
towards her husband, and in many ways like a spoilt unreasonable
child, sometimes even like one who had lost her reason and was
desperate.
It seems also that her husband treated her as if her mind was
affected, for he had her looked after like a child, and treated her
as such. She told him once that she was intending to drown herself in
the Peblingeso,[E62] and at another time that she would strike him
dead. The husband feared neither of these threats; still he had her
watched when she went out, to see which way she took. Once she had
firmly resolved to drown herself in the Peblingeso, for this place
pleased her; she was even on her way there, but was brought back. She
struck her husband, too, once after her fashion. He had come home one
day half intoxicated, and had laid down on a bed, so that his legs
rested on the floor. She says she intended at the time to strike him
dead; she took a stick and tried to see if he were asleep, talking
loudly to herself and scolding, and touching him softly on the
shinbone with the stick. He behaved as if he were asleep. Then she
struck him a little harder. Upon this he seized the stick and took it
away from her, and asked what she had in her mind. She answered, 'To
kill you.' 'He was grieved at my madness,' she said, 'and threw
himself on his knees, praying God to govern me with His good spirit
and give me reason.' The worst is that it once came into her mind not
to sleep with her husband, and she laid down on a bench in the room.
For a long time he gave her fair words, but these availed nothing. At
last he said, 'Undress yourself and come and lie down, or I shall
come to you.' She paid no attention to this; so he got up, undressed
her completely, slapped her with his hand, and threw her into bed.
She protested that for some days she was too bruised to sit; this
proved availing, and she behaved in future more reasonably.
[E62] The Peblingeso is one of three lakes which surround
Copenhagen on the land-side, in a semicircle.
Little at peace as she was with her husband when she had him with
her, she was greatly grieved when he left her to go to the West
Indies. He sent by return vessels all sorts of goods to sell, and
she thus maintained herself comfortably.
It happened at last that the man died in the West Indies, and a
person who brought her the news stated that he had been poisoned by
the governor of the place named ----, at an entertainment, and this
because he was on the point of returning home, and the governor was
afraid that Holme might mention his evil conduct. These tidings
unsettled her mind so, that she ran at night, in her mere
night-dress, along the street, and squabbled with the watchmen. She
went to the admiral at the Holm, and demanded justice upon the absent
culprit, and accused him, though she could prove nothing.
Thus matters went on for a time, until at last she gained repose, and
God ordained it that she came to me. My intercourse with her is as
with a frail glass vessel, for she is weak in many respects. She
often doubts of her salvation, and enumerates all her sins. She
laments especially having so deeply offended her mother, and thus
having drawn down a curse upon her. When this fear comes upon her, I
console her with God's word, and enter fully into the matter, showing
her, from Holy Scripture, on what a repentant sinner must rely for
the mercy of God. Occasionally she is troubled as to the
interpretation of Holy Scripture, as all passages do not seem to her
to agree, but to contradict each other. In this I help her so far as
my understanding goes, so that sometimes she heartily thanks God that
she is come to me, where she finds rest and consolation.
After she had been with me for a year or two, she learned that the
governor, whom she suspected, had come to Copenhagen. She said to me,
'I hear the rogue is come here; I request my dismissal.' I asked her
why. 'Because,' she replied, 'I will kill him.' I could scarcely keep
from laughing; but I said, 'Jesus forbid! If you have any such
design, I shall not let you go.' And as she is a person whose like I
have never known before--for she could chide with hard words, and yet
at the same time she was modest and well-behaved--I tried to make her
tell me and show me how she designed to take the governor's life.
(She is a small woman, delicately formed.) Then she acted as if her
enemy were seated on a stool, and she had a large knife under her
apron. When he said to her, 'Woman, what do you want?' she would
plunge the knife into him, and exclaim, 'Rogue, thou hast deserved
this.' She would not move from the place, she would gladly die, if
she could only take his life. I said, 'Still it is such a disgrace to
die by the hand of the executioner.' 'Oh, no!' she replied, 'it is
not a disgrace to die for an honourable deed;' and she had an idea
that any one thus dying by the hand of the executioner passed away in
a more Christian manner than such as died on a bed of sickness; and
that it was no sin to kill a man who, like a rogue, had murdered
another. I asked her if she did not think that he sinned who killed
another. 'No,' she replied, 'not when he has brought it upon
himself.' I said, 'No one may be his own judge, either by the law of
God or man; and what does the fifth commandment teach us?'[E63] She
answered as before, that she would gladly die if she could only take
the rogue's life. (I must add that she said she could not do it on my
account, for I would not let her out.) She made a sin of that which
is no sin, and that which is sin she will not regard as such. She
says it is a sin to kill a dog, a cat, or a bird; the innocent
animals do no harm; in fact, it is a still greater sin to let the
poor beasts hunger. I asked her once whether it was a sin to eat
meat. 'No,' she answered; 'it is only a sin to him who has killed the
animal.' She protested that if she were obliged to marry, and had to
choose between a butcher and an executioner, she would prefer the
latter. She told me of various quarrels she had had with those who
had either killed animals or allowed them to hunger.
[E63] The Lutheran Church has retained the division of the
Commandments used in the Roman Church; and the Commandment against
murder is therefore here described as the fifth, whilst in the
English catechism it is the sixth.
One story I will not leave unmentioned, as it is very pretty. She
sold, she said, one day some pigs to a butcher. When the butcher's
boy was about to bind the pigs' feet and carry them off hanging from
a pole, she was sorry for the poor pigs, and said, 'What, will you
take their life? No, I will not suffer that!' and she threw him back
his money. I asked her if she did not know that pigs were killed, and
for what reason she thought the butcher had bought them. 'Yes,' she
replied, 'I knew that well. Had he let them go on their own legs, I
should have cared nothing about it; but to bind the poor beasts in
this way, and to hear them cry, I could not endure that.' It would
take too long to enumerate all the extravagant whims which she
related of herself. But with all this she is not foolish, and I well
believe she is true to any one she loves. She served me very well,
and with great care.
The above-mentioned governor[E64] was killed by some prisoners on
board the vessel, when he was returning to the West Indies. By a
strange chance the vessel with the murderers came to Copenhagen.
(They were sentenced to death for their crime.) Jonatha declared
that the governor had had only too good a death, and that it was a
sin that any one should lose his life on account of it. I practise
speaking the English language with Jonatha. She has forgotten
somewhat of her mother tongue, since she has not spoken it for many
years; and as she always reads the English Bible, and does not at
once understand all the words, I help her; for I not only can
perceive the sense from the preceding and following words, but also
because some words resemble the French, though with another accent.
And we often talk together about the interpretation of Holy
Scripture. She calls herself a Calvinist, but she does not hold the
opinions of Calvinists. I never dispute with her over her opinions.
She goes to the Lord's Supper in the Queen's church[E65]. Once, when
she came back to me from there, she said she had had a conversation
upon religion with a woman, who had told her to her face that she was
no Calvinist. I asked her of what religion the woman imagined that
she was. She replied: 'God knows that. I begged her to mind her own
business, and said, that I was a Christian; I thought of your grace's
words (but I did not say them), that all those who believe on Christ
and live a Christian life, are Christians, whatever name they may
give to their faith.'
[E64] The name of this governor, which is not mentioned by Leonora,
was Jorgen Iversen, the first Danish governor of St. Thomas. In
1682 he returned to the colony from Copenhagen on board a vessel
which was to bring some prisoners over to St. Thomas. Very soon
after their departure, some of the prisoners and of the crew raised
a mutiny, killed the captain and some of the passengers, amongst
them the ex-governor Iversen. But one of the prisoners who had not
been in the plot afterwards got the mastery of the vessel, and
returned to Copenhagen. The vessel struck on a rock, near the
Swedish coast, but the crew were saved and sent home to Copenhagen
by the Swedish Government, and the murderers were then executed.
[E65] The Queen's church was a room in the castle where service was
held according to the Calvinist rite.
In this year 1684 I saw the Queen Dowager fall from the chair in
which she was drawn up to the royal apartment. The chair ran down the
pulleys too quickly, so that she fell on her face and knocked her
knee. During this year her weakness daily increased, but she thought
herself stronger than she was. She appeared at table always much
dressed, and between the meals she remained in her apartments.
I kept myself patient, and wrote the following:--
_Contemplation on Memory and Courage, recorded to the honour of God
by the suffering Christian woman in the sixty-third year of her life,
and the almost completed twenty-first year of her captivity._
The vanished hours can ne'er come back again,
Still may the old their youthful joys retain;
The past may yet within our memory live,
And courage vigour to the old may give.
Yet why should I thus sport with Memory's truth,
And harrow up the fairer soil of youth?
No fruit it brings, fallow and bare it lies,
And the dry furrow only pain supplies!
In my first youth, in honourable days
Upon such things small question did I raise.
Then years advanced with trouble in their train,
And spite of show my life was fraught with pain.
The holy marriage bond--my rank and fame,
Increased my foes and made my ill their aim.
Go! honour, riches, vanish from my mind!
Ye all forsook me and left nought behind.
'Twas ye have brought me here thro' years to lie;
Thus can man's envy human joy deny!
My God alone, He ne'er forsook me here,
My cross He lightened, and was ever near;
And when my heart was yielding to despair,
He spoke of peace and whispered He was there.
He gave me power and ever near me stood,
And all could see how truly God was good.
What Courage can achieve I next will heed;
He who is blessed with it, is blest indeed.
To the tired frame fresh power can Courage give,
Raising the weary mind anew to live;
I mean that Courage Reason may instil
Not the foolhardiness that leads to ill.
Far oftener is it that the youth will lie
Helpless, when Fortune's favours from him fly,
Than that the old man should inactive stay,
Who knows full well how Fortune loves to play.
Fresh Courage seizes him; from such a shield
Rebound the arms malicious foes may wield.
Courage imparts repose, and trifles here,
Beneath its influence, as nought appear;
But a vain loan, which we can only hold
Until the lender comes, and life is told.
Courage pervades the frame and vigour gives,
And a fresh energy each part receives;
With appetite and health and cheerful mind,
And calm repose in hours of sleep we find,
So that no visions in ill dreams appear,
And spectre forms filling the heart with fear.
Courage gives honied sweetness to our food
And prison fare, and makes e'en death seem good.
'Tis well! my mind is fresh, my limbs are sound,
And no misfortune weighs me to the ground.
Reason and judgment come from God alone,
And the five senses unimpaired I own.
The mighty God in me His power displays,
Therefore join with me in a voice of praise
And laud His name: For Thou it is, oh God,
Who in my fear and anguish nigh me stood.
Almighty One, my thanks be ever thine!
Let me ne'er waver nor my trust resign.
Take not the courage which my hope supplies,
Till my soul enters into Paradise.
Written on February 28, 1684, that is the thirty-sixth anniversary
since the illustrious King Christian the Fourth bade good-night to
this world, and I to the prosperity of my life.
I have now reached the sixty-third year of my age, and the twentieth
year, sixth month, and fifteenth day of my imprisonment. I have
therefore spent the third part of my life in captivity. God be
praised that so much time is past. I hope the remaining days may not
be many.
Anno 1685, January 14, I amused myself with making some verses in
which truth was veiled under the cloak of jest, entitled: 'A Dog,
named Cavaillier, relates his Fate.'
The rhymes, I suppose, will come into your hands, my dearest
children.[E66]
[E66] This poem still exists, and is printed in the second volume
of Hofman's work on Danish noblemen. It is intended to convey an
account of her own and her husband's fate.
On February 20, the Queen Dowager Sophia Amalia died. She did not
think that death would overtake her so quickly; but when the doctor
warned her that her death would not be long delayed, she requested to
speak with her son. But death would not wait for the arrival of his
Majesty, so that the Queen Dowager might say a word to him. She was
still alive; she was sitting on a chair, but she was speechless, and
soon afterwards, in the same position, she gave up her spirit.
After the death of this Queen I was much on the lips of the people.
Some thought that I should obtain my liberty; others believed that I
should probably be brought from the tower to some other place, but
should not be set free.
Jonatha, who had learned from Ole the tower-warder, some days before
the death of the Queen, that prayers were being offered up in the
church for the Queen (it had, however, been going on for six weeks,
that this prayer had been read from the pulpit), was, equally with
Ole the tower-warder, quite depressed. Ole, who had consoled himself
and her hitherto with the tidings from the Queen's lacqueys, that the
Queen went to table and was otherwise well, though she occasionally
suffered from a cough, now thought that there was danger, that death
might result, and that I, if the Queen died, might perhaps leave the
prison. They did their best to conceal their sorrow, but without
success. They occasionally shed secretly a few tears. I behaved as if
I did not remark it, and as no one said anything to me about it, I
gave no opportunity for speaking on the subject. A long time
previously I had said to Jonatha (as I had done before to the other
women) that I did not think I should die in the tower. She remembered
this and mentioned it. I said: 'All is in God's hand. He knows best
what is needful for me, both as regards soul and body; to Him I
commend myself.' Thus Jonatha and Ole lived on between hope and fear.
On March 15, the reigning Queen kept her Easter. Jonatha came quite
delighted from her Majesty's church, saying that a noble personage
had told her that I need not think of getting out of the prison,
although the Queen was dead; she knew better and she insisted upon
it. However often I asked as to who the personage was, she would not
tell me her name. I laughed at her, and said, 'Whoever the personage
may be, she knows just as much about it as you and I do.' Jonatha
adhered to her opinion that the person knew it well. 'What do you
mean?' I said; 'the King himself does not know. How should others
know?' 'Not the King! not the King!' she said quite softly. 'No, not
the King!' I answered. 'He does not know till God puts it into his
heart, and as good as says to him, "Now thou shalt let the prisoner
free!"' She came somewhat more to herself, but said nothing. And as
she and Ole heard no more rumours concerning me, they were quite
comforted.
On March 26, the funeral of the Queen Dowager took place, and her
body was conveyed to Roskild.
On April 21, I supplicated the King's Majesty in the following
manner. I possessed a portrait engraving of the illustrious King
Christian the Fourth, rather small and oval in form. This I
illuminated with colours, and had a carved frame made for it, which
I gilded myself. On the piece at the back I wrote the following
words:--
My grandson, and great namesake,
Equal to me in power and state;
Vouchsafe my child a hearing,
And be like me in mercy great!
Besides this, I wrote to his Excellency Gyldenlove, requesting him
humbly to present the Supplique to the King's majesty, and to
interest himself on my behalf, and assist me to gain my liberty. His
Excellency was somewhat inconvenienced at the time by his old
weakness, so that he could not himself speak for me; but he begged a
good friend to present the engraving with all due respect, and this
was done on April 24.[E67]
[E67] This picture is still preserved at the Castle of Rosenbourg,
in Copenhagen.
Of all this Jonatha knew nothing. Peder Jensen Totzloff was my
messenger. He has been a comfort to me in my imprisonment, and has
rendered me various services, so that I am greatly bound to him. And
I beg you, my dearest children, to requite him in all possible ways
for the services he has rendered me.
On May 2, it became generally talked of that I should assuredly be
set at liberty, and some asked the tower-warder whether I had come
out the evening before, and at what time; so that Ole began to fear,
and could not bear himself as bravely as he tried to do. He said to
me in a sad tone: 'My good lady! You will certainly be set at
liberty. There are some who think you are already free.' I said, 'God
will bring it to pass.' 'Yes,' said he, 'but how will it fare with me
then?' I answered, 'You will remain tower-warder, as you now are.'
'Yes,' said he, 'but with what pleasure?' and he turned, unable to
restrain his tears, and went away. Jonatha concluded that my
deliverance was drawing near, and endeavoured to conceal her sorrow.
She said, 'Ole is greatly cast down, but I am not.' (And the tears
were standing in her eyes.) 'It is said for certain that the King is
going away the day after to-morrow. If you are set at liberty, it
will be this very day.' I said, 'God knows.' Jonatha expressed her
opinion that I was nevertheless full of hope. I said I had been
hopeful ever since the first day of my imprisonment; that God would
at last have mercy on me, and regard my innocence. I had prayed to
God always for patience to await the time of His succour; and God had
graciously bestowed it on me. If the moment of succour had now
arrived, I should pray to God for grace to acknowledge rightly His
great benefits. Jonatha asked if I were not sure to be set free
before the King started for Norway; that it was said for certain that
the King would set out early on the following morning. I said: 'There
is no certainty as to future things. Circumstances may occur to
impede the King's journey, and it may also happen that my liberty may
be prevented, even though at this hour it may perhaps be resolved
upon. Still I know that my hope will not be confounded. But you do
not conceal your regret, and I cannot blame you for it. You have
cause for regret, for with my freedom you lose your yearly income and
your maintenance.[148] Remember how often I have told you not to
throw away your money so carelessly on your son. You cannot know what
may happen to you in your old age. If I die, you will be plunged
into poverty; for as soon as you receive your money, you expend it
on the apprenticeship of your son, who returns you no thanks for
it.[149] You have yourself told me of his bad disposition, and how
wrongly he has answered you when you have tried to give him good
advice. Latterly he has not ventured to do so, since I read him a
lecture, and threatened that I would help to send him to the House of
Correction. I fear he will be a bad son to you.' Upon this she gave
free vent to her tears, and begged that if I obtained my liberty I
would not abandon her. This I promised, so far as lay in my power;
for I could not know what my circumstances might be.
[148] In the margin is added: 'The woman who attended on me
received eight rix-dollars monthly.'
[149] In the margin: 'She had him learn wood-carving.'
In this way some days elapsed, and Jonatha and Ole knew not what the
issue might be.
On May 19, at six o'clock in the morning, Ole knocked softly at my
outer door. Jonatha went to it. Ole said softly, 'The King is already
gone; he left at about four o'clock.' I know not if his hope was
great; at any rate it did not last long. Jonatha told me Ole's news.
I wished the King's Majesty a prosperous journey (I knew already what
order he had given), and it seemed to me from her countenance she was
to some extent contented. At about eight o'clock Totzloff came up to
me and informed me that the Lord Chancellor Count Allefeldt had sent
the prison governor a royal order that I was to be released from my
imprisonment, and that I could leave when I pleased. (This order was
signed by the King's Majesty the day before his Majesty started.)
His Excellency had accompanied the King. Totzloff asked whether I
wished him to lock the doors, as I was now free. I replied, 'So long
as I remain within the doors of my prison, I am not free. I will
moreover leave properly. Lock the door and enquire what my sister's
daughter, Lady Anna Catharina Lindenow, says, whether his
Excellency[E68] sent any message to her (as he promised) before he
left. When Totzloff was gone, I said to Jonatha, 'Now, in Jesus'
name, this very evening I shall leave. Gather your things together,
and pack them up, and I will do the same with mine; they shall remain
here till I can have them fetched.' She was somewhat startled, but
not cast down. She thanked God with me, and when the doors were
unlocked at noon and I dined, she laughed at Ole, who was greatly
depressed. I told her that Ole might well sigh, for that he would now
have to eat his cabbage without bacon.
[E68] The Excellency alluded to is Ulrik Frederik Gyldenlove, a
natural son of Frederik III. Anna Catharina Lindenow was daughter
of Leonora's sister, Elizabeth Augusta, who married Hans Lindenow.
Totzloff brought me word from my sister's daughter that his
Excellency had sent to her to say that she was free to accompany me
from the tower, if she chose. It was therefore settled that she was
to come for me late the same evening.
The prison governor was in a great hurry to get rid of me, and sent
the tower-warder to me towards evening, to enquire whether I would
not go. I sent word that it was still too light (there would probably
be some curious people who had a desire to see me).
Through a good friend I made enquiry of her Majesty the Queen,
whether I might be allowed the favour of offering my humble
submission to her Majesty (I could go into the Queen's apartment
through the secret passage, so that no one could see me). Her Majesty
sent me word in reply that she might not speak with me.
At about ten o'clock in the evening, the prison governor opened the
door for my sister's daughter. (I had not seen him for two years.) He
said, 'Well, shall we part now?' I answered, 'Yes, the time is now
come.' Then he gave me his hand, and said 'Ade!' (Adieu). I answered
in the same manner, and my niece laughed heartily.
Soon after the prison governor had gone, I and my sister's daughter
left the tower. Her Majesty the Queen thought to see me as I came
out, and was standing on her balcony, but it was rather dark;
moreover I had a black veil over my face. The palace-square, as far
as the bridge and further, was full of people, so that we could
scarcely press through to the coach.