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May God in his mercy keep you, my dearly beloved sister,
and be to you a good and generous giver of all those things
which are requisite and necessary, as well for the body as
for the soul, that I wish you from my heart.
My dearly beloved sister, the old saying that none is so
mad but he has a glimmer of sense between St. John and
Paulinus, no longer holds good, for my mad lord and spouse
is no more sensible than he was. In truth, he is tenfold, nay
a thousandfold more frenzied than before, and that whereof
I wrote you was but as child’s play to what has now come
to pass, which is beyond all belief. Dearest sister, I would
have you know that he has been to Copenhagen, and thence—oh,
fie, most horrid shame and outrage!—he has brought
one of his old canaille women named Karen, whom he
forthwith lodged in the castle, and she is set over everything and
rules everything, while I am let stand behind the door. But,
my dear sister, you must now do me the favor to inquire of
our dear father whether he will take my part, if so be it that
I can make my escape from here, as he surely must, for
none can behold my unhappy state without pitying me, and
what I suffer is so past all endurance that I think I should
but be doing right in freeing myself from it. It is no longer
ago than the Day of the Assumption of Our Lady that I
was walking in our orchard, and when I came in again, the
door of my chamber was bolted from within. I asked the
meaning of this and was told that Karen had taken for her
own that chamber and the one next to it, and my bed was
moved up into the western parlor, which is cold as a church
when the wind is in that quarter, full of draughts, and the
floor quite rough and has even great holes in it. But if
I were to relate at length all the insults that are heaped
upon me here, it would be as long as any Lenten sermon,
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