Unfortunately for Sturtz, one of the officers watching Falckenskjold happened to mention his name to the prisoner. The latter asked eagerly, had he been arrested too? No more was required: the question was reported, and armed men were at once sent to Sturtz's house. His door was burst open, his papers were sealed up, and he was himself removed to the main guard, in default of another prison, on the very day of his intended marriage. His father-in-law having been seen under the windows of his prison, bars were placed on it so brutally that Sturtz was attacked by convulsive fits, and became dangerously ill.[53]

I have already mentioned the removal of Colonel von Falckenskjold from the barracks to the Navy prison, only intended for vulgar criminals. This was but a counterpart of the inhuman treatment of the two chief culprits, and a further proof of the revengeful sentiments of the party in power.

On the evening of January 17 the fetters were brought from the forge with which Counts Struensee and Brandt and Justiz-rath Struensee were to be chained. The fetters of the two counts weighed eighteen pounds apiece, ran from a manacle on the right hand to a similar one on the left leg, and thence with a length of three yards to the wall, in which they were fixed. The furniture of the close, gloomy cells consisted of a night-stool and a settle; but afterwards a chair and a small table were added. After the prisoners had been deprived of everything that might be considered dangerous, strait-waistcoats were put on them. They were not entrusted with knives and forks to eat with, but the turnkeys were ordered to cut up their food and carry it to their mouths. They were not allowed to be shaved, even when they offered to let their hands be held. At first only half a dollar per diem was allowed them for food; but it was afterwards increased to one dollar.

A curious circumstance, which I find only in one pamphlet,[54] is, that the smith at the citadel was a slave whom, about a year before, Struensee had seen in the streets of the capital chained. This man had asked him for alms, and begged him to intercede with the king to procure his liberty. At that time the minister gave him alms, and said to him, "You do not wear this chain on account of your virtue." When this fellow put the chain on his prisoner, he remarked: "Your excellency, I do not put this chain on you on account of your virtue."

Shut up in this awful dungeon, Struensee, who had so suddenly been hurled from power into the lowest state of misery, and was unable to endure the contrast between the past and present, revolved means for putting an end to his existence. Pretending to be suffering from toothache, he begged the turnkey to send some one to his cabinet, where he would find some tooth-powder in paper, which would lull the pain. This powder, on being examined by Von Berger the physician, proved to be a dangerous poison, and hence it was not given to the prisoner.

Struensee then resolved to starve himself to death; for three days he was allowed to do as he pleased; but on the fourth the commandant gave orders that he was to eat and drink, and unless he did so of his own accord, he was to be thrashed until his appetite returned. Certainly, a very Danish mode of creating an appetite; but this desperate conduct on the part of the prisoner was a natural result of his insupportable arrest; for had it been rendered more humane, it would not have been necessary to threaten him with such barbarity.

After awhile, Struensee promised to behave himself better, and a bed was given him on which he could lie down. But all the buttons were cut off his clothes, because he had twisted off and swallowed a couple of them. His shoe and knee buckles were also removed, and he was made to wear an iron cap, so that he could not dash his brains out against the wall. At last the hope of saving his life gained the victory over the prisoner's desperation; he began to occupy himself with reading, and thus calmed his outraged feelings.

Count Brandt endured his terrible fate with a perfectly different temper. He was always cheerful, and almost merry, played the flute, his favourite air being one from the "Déserteur," beginning "Mourir c'est notre dernier ressort," and saved six schillings out of the twenty-four he received daily, which he intended as a present for his future executioner. One of his favourite expressions was, "A small mind may allow itself to be depressed by trifles, but a great one raises its head high above fate." Brandt also had a chain three yards long given him, so that he might lie down on a bed.[55]

Justiz-rath Struensee was also laid in fetters in his cell, but was not fastened to the wall. Luckily for Professor Berger, there were no more chains ready, and so he was allowed to walk about his cell at liberty till they were made. But neither of these prisoners was allowed the use of knives and forks, or of his own bed, although the barber was permitted to shave them, their hands being held the while.

On January 21, a Commission of Inquisition, consisting of eight high officials, was appointed, to whom a ninth member was eventually added, whose duty it was to conduct the investigation of the twelve prisoners, and pass sentence upon them. Still, five weeks passed ere the examination of witnesses was commenced. All Europe looked with horror on these unheard-of events at Copenhagen, and anxiously awaited the end of a state trial which had begun with the imprisonment of a young queen.

The members of the commission had the reputation of being enlightened and honourable men, but were not selected on that account to try the prisoners, but, because their sentiments, as regarded Struensee and his adherents, were perfectly well known. At the same time as this commission was established, Lieut.-General von Köller-Banner, Councillor of Conference Schumacher, Chamberlain Suhm and Guldberg, received orders to examine the papers of the prisoners, and send them to the proper quarter, but to pay over all moneys found to the Royal Exchequer. A proclamation of January 27, ordered all persons who were in possession of money, papers, and other matters belonging to the persons arrested on January 17, and the following days, to deliver up such within eight days to the Commission of Inquisition, which sat daily from 9 A.M. till 4 P.M., at the Christiansborg Palace.

During the five weeks that passed ere the Commission had made all the requisite preparations for examining the prisoners of state, the new rulers appointed the officers who would henceforth constitute the government. Immediately after Struensee's removal, a Privy Cabinet Council was instituted under the presidency of Prince Frederick. The other members of it were Count Thott, Privy Councillor Schack Rathlau, Admiral Römeling, and Lieutenant-Generals von Eickstedt and Von Köller-Banner. On January 23, this cabinet council met for the first time, but its installation was not made generally known by public proclamation. The chief president, Von Holstein, who was disliked, resigned his post, and left the capital with his wife, in order to resume his former office of bailiff.

On February 13, however, public notice was given that the king had thought proper to establish a government college under the title of the Privy Council of State. It was the king's will—so the proclamation ran—that in future all matters should be first laid before the college, which would examine them, and then have them decided by men who were well acquainted with the laws and constitution of the country. In consequence of this, he had resolved on establishing a Privy Council of State, and giving it the proper instructions. In addition to Prince Frederick, the council of state would consist of the following members: Count Thott, General Count zu Rantzau-Ascheberg, Privy Councillor Schack Rathlau, Admiral Römeling, Lieutenant-General von Eickstedt, and the Minister of Foreign Affairs Count von der Osten, who would wait on the king upon certain days of the week. No other member of the council but the Minister of Foreign Affairs was allowed to be head of a department. Should the king think proper to issue resolutions otherwise than through the council of state, to prevent the confusion which would result from the colleges interested being unacquainted with the contents of such resolutions, the holder of such a resolution would be expected, ere he made use of it, to inform the college interested of it, so that a most submissive report might be drawn up by the latter, and the formal expedition take place through the Secretary of State's office. All requests, representations and reports, with the exception of those relating to the German lands, were in future to be drawn up in the Danish language, and all reports handed in by the colleges be discussed in the privy council of state, where they would receive the royal sanction.

By this restoration of the privy council of state, the at first intended institution of a cabinet council, which too much resembled Struensee's hated government, was avoided; and as the overthrown minister had drawn such odium on himself by despising the language of the country, the new ministers certainly acted prudently and wisely in restoring it. Ere long, they made a further improvement by introducing Danish instead of German in the army drill. The members of the new council of state were also all natives of the monarchy, which would not have been the case had Bernstorff and Moltke been introduced into it.

By the last regulation of the instructions for the future course of business in the council of state, the king's signature was deprived of all force and validity, except in council. It is true that this restriction might be regarded as emanating from the king himself, and be used to avoid any possible forgery of his signature. Still, it was quite certain that, henceforth, the king could undertake no affair of state that had not previously received the sanction of the council. And yet it was regarded as a crime worthy of death in Struensee, that he issued instructions to the colleges in his Majesty's name, and his enemies appealed to paragraphs three and twenty-six of the Lex Regia. These may be as well quoted, once for all, as frequent reference will be made to them:—

Sec. III.—Hence the king shall have alone the highest power and authority, both to issue and explain laws and regulations according to his will, to make them invalid, to pass others in their place, and even to abrogate laws passed by himself or his ancestors (always excepting this royal law, which must always remain immutable and uninjured as the right foundation of the royal authority and a fundamental law). The king can also liberate and exempt any person he pleases from the general law.

Sec. XXVI.—... And as both daily experience, as well as the lamentable examples of other kingdoms, sufficiently prove how injurious and ruinous it is if the clemency and kindness of kings are so misused, that their power and authority are cut away from them almost invisibly by one or the other, and, at times, even by their most privy ministers; and, through this, both the commonwealth and the kings themselves suffer the greatest detriment.... We therefore wish to recommend this earnestly to our successors, the hereditary rulers in Denmark and Norway, that they should take special care to protect their hereditary right and sovereign rule; that is to say, preserve the supreme monarchical power perfect and unlessened, as we have left it to them for an eternal inheritance in this our royal law. And hence we order and decree, for its further confirmation, that if any one, no matter who, should venture to desire or appropriate anything which could be injurious to the sovereign rule and monarchical power in any way, everything obtained in this manner shall be declared null and void, and those who have got possession of such things shall be punished as insulters of majesty, because they have impudently committed the greatest crime against the supremacy of the royal monarchical power.

According to these paragraphs, the writers of the instructions for the new council of state who had extorted the king's signature, and the members of the council who obeyed the instructions, must indubitably be regarded as guilty of high treason, while the instructions, even after the king's signature had been obtained, must be considered null and void, according to the letter of the Lex Regia.

The members of the privy council received in their patents the title of Ministers of State and Excellencies. Count Thott became reporter for the two Chanceries; Privy Councillor Schack Rathlau for the Treasury; Count von der Osten for Foreign Affairs; Count Rantzau-Ascheberg for the Army; and Admiral Römeling for the Navy. Count Thott, as president during the king's absence, had a salary of 6,000 dollars; the other members 5,000. The question was long discussed whether a secretary should not be attached to the council in the person of Chamberlain Suhm, the writer of the famous open letter to the king; but they altered their mind at the eleventh hour, and resolved not to keep any report of the proceedings of the council.

Köller was not taken into the council, because two representatives of the army could not sit in it. On the day when the council was established, however, he was made a Danish nobleman, and an unfurled banner was given him as his coat of arms.

Guldberg, who drew up the instructions, still contented himself with the mere title of Etats-rath, but, for all that, was the most influential man in the government, and esteemed Eickstedt. Rantzau, on the other hand, soon remarked that his authority was departing.

CHAPTER VII.

What the nature of Keith's despatch was it is impossible to tell till the Foreign Office shall give up its dead, by repealing the absurd regulation that no state papers may be inspected after the year 1760. For the present, therefore, I am only able to inform my readers of what the public journals of the day said, and that is naturally rather in the shape of surmise than fact.

As early as January 23, the General Evening Post spread an uneasy feeling by the following portentous paragraph:—"It is affirmed by letters from the Continent that a royal princess is certainly detained in a tower inaccessible to every creature except such as are appointed to attend her, but that an absolute silence is imposed throughout the kingdom on this subject." On January 26, the journalist being unable to offer more precise information, and yet unwilling to let the subject drop, keeps it alive by a paragraph to the following effect:—

"So exceedingly cautious are foreign states when they marry a daughter of England not to let an English woman attend the princess into their territories, for fear of her having too much influence over the mind of her royal mistress, that when the Queen of Denmark was sent over to her illustrious consort, she had only one bed-chamber woman in her suite as far as Altona, and even this one was sent back on her arrival at that place, that the Danish ladies only might have the ear of her Majesty."

On January 29, just as the king was about to hold a levee, an express arrived from Copenhagen, bearing the news. It threw the royal family, we are told, into the profoundest affliction; his Majesty seemed deeply affected by the news; and the queen and the Princess of Brunswick were observed to shed tears. But there was another member of the royal family whom the news would afflict even more: the mother of Caroline Matilda, who, as we have seen, felt persuaded that her daughter had been guilty of gross indiscretion, and who, in the previous year, had attempted to turn her from a course which her own experience of court intrigues told her must end in ruin.

The Princess Dowager of Wales was at this time dangerously ill with a throat complaint, and it was therefore proposed to George III. that this new misfortune should be concealed from her. But the king answered, incautiously, "My mother will know everything, and, therefore, it is better that I should break it to her by degrees." He therefore went to her directly, suddenly forbidding his levee just half an hour before it was going to begin, and thus was the first to publish the disgrace of his sister. Walpole, who is our authority for the above,[56] adds, in a strain of reflection unusual with him:—

"Such an accumulated succession of mortifications has rarely fallen on a royal family in so short a space. They seemed to have inherited the unpropitious star of the Stuarts, from whom they are descended, as well as their crown. The marriage of the Duke of Cumberland with Colonel Luttrell's sister, the dangerous illness of the Princess of Wales and the Duke of Gloucester, and the dishonour of the Queen of Denmark: all happening within three months."

We are told—though let us hope that it was only the floating gossip of the day—that the princess dowager, on receiving the fatal news from the Continent, prayed most fervently for her speedy dissolution; declaring that the world could not be more weary of her than she was of the world, and desiring her attendants never to mention the name of a "certain princess" in her presence.

For the next few days the newspapers necessarily contained only what information could be picked up at the coffee-houses. Thus we find that it was generally believed that the worst part of the news from Denmark was not yet published, and, therefore, all was suspense, doubt, and anxiety, among the constant visitors at St. James's. The politicians at the new Lloyd's Coffee-house very busily engaged in speculative bets upon a war with Denmark; but considerate people imagined that Lord North was much too wise to engage offensively against any power merely on account of a family faux-pas, especially when the conduct of the person to be supported was indefensible.

The natural inclination to think ill of one's neighbour was only heightened at this time through the profound secrecy maintained by the government. Still, it is gratifying to find some writers at this early period calling for the assistance of a fleet to vindicate, rather than the voice of the British nation to condemn, the Queen of Denmark; and further on in the same article Caroline Matilda is spoken of as the "Royal Innocent."

Early in February, a long letter appeared in the General Evening Post, calling attention to the whole affair in very powerful language. The writer, after urging the nation not to decide on ex parte statements, proceeds to defend Caroline Matilda in the following warm terms:—

"Recollect the manner in which that lady was educated, and that, when delivered into the hands of her husband, she was in full possession of every virtue. All the graces were in her: she knew nothing but what was good. Can it then, with any degree of reason, be concluded that in so short a time the lady could forget every virtuous precept, and abandon herself to infamy? My dear countrymen, it cannot be; and until we have a certainty of guilt, believe it not, though an angel from Copenhagen should affirm it. It was but the other day we were told of certain regulations which had taken place, and are for the advantage of that kingdom, and which were wholly attributed to the counsel of that lady. Alas! there is too much reason to fear that her exalted character, justly acquired with the populace, has produced in those of rank—envy, hatred, confusion, and ruin."

The writer, who like most of his countrymen appears to have been in a state of blessed ignorance about the affairs of foreign courts, then bursts into a furious and quite irrelevant diatribe on poor Baron Schimmelmann, whom he supposes to be the prime minister of Denmark. After giving a concise account of that gentleman's chequered career, and displaying an amount of malice in raking up dirty things which makes one believe that C. P. owed Schimmelmann grudge, he vents his bile in the following words, which certainly contain some truth:—

"It is wickedly asserted that the monarch's (Christian VII.) illness is attributed to some medicines given him by his physician, &c. The truth is, that you ought rather to wonder that his Majesty is now alive, than that he is afflicted with nervous and paralytic disorders. My eyes were witness to the manner and excess of his living when he was at Altona. I could say a great deal, but it does not become me. I shall only say this one thing, which is an indisputable truth: that many who then saw his Majesty, concluded from his delicate constitution that it could not hold long, and execrated our baron for his introducing him to, and encouraging him in, the most destructive vices. Therefore, if any disorder affects the head of his Majesty, may it not be more justly attributed to such excess than to the queen, who was educated in the fear of God?"

The illness of the princess dowager prevented George III. from taking any decided action on behalf of his sister. On the morning of February 8 the princess departed this life. On the previous evening her physician felt her pulse, and told her it was more regular than it had been for some time; her Highness answered, "Yes, and I think I shall have a good night's rest." She then embraced the king, and he observed nothing particular in her except that she kissed him with greater warmth and affection than usual. The king afterwards retired to a private room with the physician, who told him that her Highness could not outlive the morning, which determined his Majesty on staying at Carlton House all night. He did not see his royal mother any more till she was dead, for she remained very quiet all the night, and gave no token of death, till a few minutes before she expired, when she laid her hand upon her heart and went off without a groan. His Majesty was then informed, and he came in and took his mother's hand, kissed it, and burst into tears; a short time after which he returned to St. James's.[57]

There is but little to add to the character of this princess than that communicated in the opening chapter. When she was gone to a state far superior to mortal praise or blame, where the lying voice of calumny and faction could not reach her, people began to discover that "never was a more amiable, a more innocent, or a more benevolent princess." It was publicly denied that she had interfered in the politics of the country, or influenced the king in affairs of state. She discharged, to the utmost of her power and out of her own income, the large private debts of her husband. Her charity was extensive; and it was stated that she gave away upwards of £10,000 a year, and that so secretly, that the recipients of her bounty would only learn who their benefactress was through the cessation of her charities. Hence it is not surprising that she made no will, for she had nothing to leave.

Though the Princess of Wales constantly read all the public papers till within a few weeks of her death, the unmerited abuse with which they teemed never excited in her the least emotion of anger or resentment; nor was she ever heard to speak disparagingly of any individual. She was steady in her friendships, and so indulgent a mistress to her servants, that she was ever anxious to give them as little trouble as possible. Her understanding was clear and solid; her temper even, serene, and placid, and her religion real and unaffected, which enabled her to meet death with a truly Christian resignation. To the very last minute of her life she was sensible and composed, and gave apparent signs of satisfaction at the truly filial concern which the royal pair displayed, and the great attention they paid her in her last extremity. A writer in the Gentleman's Magazine sums up the character of the Princess of Wales so fairly, that I am tempted to extract the concluding passage:—

"In her royal highness we have a striking instance of the instability of human happiness. Many now alive can remember her the happiest of wives and mothers, and universally beloved, as our good queen now is. She was for many years the very idol of the people of England; and, without any blame on her part, she has been publicly and repeatedly traduced beyond all example. She has long been bereaved of the best of husbands: (?) has outlived several of her children, and has had the recent mortification of seeing one marry indiscreetly, another languishing under a dangerous illness, and a third a prisoner in a distant kingdom. Overwhelmed with these accumulated misfortunes, and struggling with bodily distempers, Heaven, as a reward for her pure and virtuous conduct in every relation in life, has graciously and seasonably delivered her from the sorrows of this mortal state to the mansions of endless felicity, where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest."

One of the most unfortunate results of the death of the Princess of Wales in this crisis of affairs was, that the crafty Von der Osten had time to persuade the King of England that this affair was not one of those which ought to be treated by ministers as between nations; that it was personal; that his brother, the King of Denmark, would write to him in his own hand, and that his Britannic Majesty should reply in the same way. George III., who was so honest as to believe everybody, fell into the trap so artfully laid for him.

On February 28, Lord Suffolk, the foreign secretary, sent despatches to Colonel Keith, adding to them a personal letter, in which he expressed the king's satisfaction at the ability, spirit, and dignity the envoy had displayed, and enclosing the Order of the Bath as a reward. From Danish accounts I learn that George III. replied to Christian's letter, that what had happened grieved him deeply, but he hoped that justice would be observed, and every possible indulgence shown.

With this letter Sir R. M. Keith proceeded to demand a private audience of the King of Denmark, and a day being appointed for the purpose, the envoy, on entering the ante-chamber, was much surprised at seeing, instead of the king, some members of the council of state, who intimated to him that his Majesty, not being very well, had charged them to receive what the envoy had to communicate, and they would inform him of it. Sir R. Keith replied, that the orders he had received from his master were to speak to the king in person, and not to his ministers; and that he was not a little surprised that after his Danish Majesty had consented to give him the audience he requested, he should refer him to his ministers. He then added, that he should not fail to inform his royal master of what had occurred, and retired extremely dissatisfied. As he went, Sir Robert fired a parting shot, to the effect that if the Queen of Denmark was not treated with the respect due to her birth and rank, the king, his master, would not fail to resent it.

Keith, doubtless, informed George III. of the results of this interview, and opened his eyes as to the jugglery that had been practised. Consequently, subsequent despatches from England assumed a more earnest character, and, finally, even contained menaces. At the same time, however, George III. remained true to his word, and said that he would not interfere in the matter, so far as it affected the marriage of Christian VII. with his sister. Hence he consented to the arrest of the queen and her long imprisonment during the trial, but refused to sanction any further or life imprisonment of the accused princess.

There is but little to be learnt from the English papers as to the progress of the negociations. It would appear as if Baron Dieden, the Danish envoy at St. James's, was left without instructions for a time, as he shut himself up in his house till he received commands as to his future conduct. Perhaps fear had something to do in the matter, for Reverdil, who was then in London, states that an anonymous letter was sent the envoy, to the effect that he must answer personally for the safety of the queen. When Dieden finally made his appearance at court, George III. would not speak to him, and the minister took his revenge by standing out of the circle, and laughing impertinently at the king to the Prussian minister.[58]

In the absence of settled news, the gentry, who occupied themselves with writing letters to the papers, had a splendid time of it. The ball was opened by that three-decker Junius, who discharged a double-shotted battery into Lord North. After the usual denunciations of the minister, which the latter probably regarded with his usual pachydermatous indifference, Junius proceeds as follows:—

"An insignificant northern potentate is honoured by a matrimonial alliance with the King of England's sister. A confused rumour prevails that she has been false to his bed: the tale spreads, a particular man is pointed at as the object of her licentious affections. Our hopeful ministry, however, are quite silent: despatches, indeed, are sent off to Copenhagen, but the contents of those despatches are so profound a secret, that with me it almost amounts to a question, whether you yourself know anything of the matter."

After giving a far from flattering description of the remaining members of the cabinet, Junius adds an argument, which certainly is forcible:—

"In private life the honour of a sister is deemed an affair of infinite consequence to a brother. A man of sentiment is anxious to convince his friends and neighbours that the breath of slander has traduced her virtue: and he seizes with avidity every extenuating circumstance that can contribute to alleviate her offence or demonstrate her innocence, beyond the possibility of cavil.

"Is our pious Majesty cast in a different mould from one of his people? or is he taught to believe that the opinion of his subjects has no manner of relation to his own felicity? Are you, my lord, quite devoid of feeling? Have you no warm blood that flows round your heart, that gives your frame a thrilling soft sensation, and makes your bosom flow with affections ornamental to man as a social creation? For shame, my lord, however wrong you act, you must know better; you must be conscious that the people have a right to be informed of every transaction which concerns the welfare of the state. They are part of a mighty empire, which flourishes only as their happiness is promoted; they have a kind of claim in every person belonging to the royal lineage. How, then, can they possibly remain neuter, and see their princess imprisoned by a banditti of northern Vandals?"

After an historical survey of Denmark, not particularly pertinent, Junius informs us that:—

"There is a barbarous ferocity which still clings to the inhabitants of the north, and renders their government subject to perpetual convulsions; but the Danes, I fancy, will be found the only people in our times who have dared to proceed to extremities that alarm all Europe, nay, dared to imprison an English princess, without giving even the shadow of a public reason for their conduct."

After an allusion to the conduct of the Empress Catharine in justifying the murder of her husband, Junius concludes with one of his most impassioned declamations against the sluggish minister, who is so careless of British honour:—

"The present Machiavellian Dowager Julia may send the young queen's soul to Heaven in a night, and through the shameful remissness of you, Lord North, as prime minister of this unhappy country, the public may remain ignorant of every circumstance relative to the murder. Be not, however, deceived: the blood of our sovereign's sister shall not be suffered to cry in vain for vengeance: it shall be heard; it shall be revenged; and what is still more, it shall besprinkle Lord North, and thus affix a stigma on his forehead, which shall make him wander like another Cain, accursed through the world."[59]

This vigorous appeal for Caroline Matilda was followed shortly after by a temperate letter in the Public Advertiser, signed Q. Q. This writer has the merit of seeing further through a millstone than his fellows. He was of opinion that the Danish revolution, far from being general, was merely the effect of a court faction, and that a squadron of British ships sent to Copenhagen would "inspire the queen's friends with confidence and courage, and will check and dispirit those who are her opponents, so that she may either expect to have her conduct cleared up by a fair and impartial trial, or, if it is thought an indignity to submit to that, she may at once be restored to that rank and authority which I am well persuaded she never deserved to lose."

It must not be supposed, however, that Caroline Matilda's defenders were allowed to have it all their own way. A fellow, writing under the name of Atticus, befouled the columns of the Public Advertiser with one of the most scandalous libels on an unoffending woman which ever appeared in those unhappy days, when liberty was confounded with licence of the press.

According to this worthy, the Earl of Bute advised the war with Denmark, and Lord Sandwich seconded him in the hope of increasing his income at the Admiralty. Lord North, "perplexed lest he may on the one hand be deserted by a perfidious master in the midst of the tempest, or, on the other hand, lose the favourite's influence, therefore, temporises, flatters, and procrastinates."

After defending the queen dowager from the charges brought against her and alleging the notorious intimacy of the queen and Struensee, Atticus draws the following inference:—

"I will refer the conclusion (of the intimacy) to those best acquainted with women, whether it ever so happens that they surrender power, confer honours, and resign up all reputation to any man who had not made a deep impression? I am a married man, have a very good kind of dame at my table, and am not at present disturbed with jealousy: but were I to see my wife fond of another man's company, solicitous to do him partial honours, and impatient for his increasing glory, happiness, and renown, and prefer his interest to mine, it would to me be a more certain proof of her criminality than is commonly produced in cases of divorce."

After a lengthened account of Struensee's elevation and fall, not more incorrect than the majority of the fables current at the time, Atticus takes up the common but generally successful radical trick of imputing motives to political opponents.

"The day was fixed, a favourite fell. Methinks I hear the Earl of Bute whisper to his poor affrighted soul, and every corner of his hiding-places murmur with these expressions: God bless us! a known and established favourite ruined in a single night, by a near neighbour—the frenzy may reach this country and I am undone. Englishmen, too, are haters of favourites and Scotchmen; these old, rascally, Whig families, whose power and virtue seem almost lost, may reunite. In the meantime I must do something—a lucky thought occurs to me: I'll fill the minds of the people with prejudices against those haughty Danes. Bradshaw and Dyson shall bribe the printers to suppress any contradictory reports; Englishmen are always ready to vindicate injured virtue at any expense. Therefore, nothing shall be heard but the honour of the king's sister. I know the queen-mother was ignorant of the matter till the deed was done; but I will have her represented as an intriguing old Brimstone. It will go down, because the late dowager here must have prejudiced them against all queen-mothers. By the ghost of Charles, I'll make war against those rascally burghers, which will completely answer my purpose. I will divert the ministers of the two people, weaken the two Protestant states, make room for my namesake, and restore favouritism."

Such were the arguments of a member of the peace-at-any-price-party in 1772. They certainly display a coarse cleverness befitting a demagogue, and doubtless represented the feelings of a considerable section of deluded Englishmen at the time. Let us hope that none of his readers, however, shared the sentiments expressed in the following odious passage:—

"Be assured, my dear countrymen, the queen's supposed inconstancy was in no part the cause of the late revolution in Denmark. Had she committed adultery in the streets, but preserved decency in matters of state, she might now be at liberty, and in that round of amusements. The patriots of Denmark do not make adultery an article of grievances; and if they did, she has been the betrothed of a sovereign prince; she is his lawful wife, subject to the laws of that country. Her brother made no settlement of exclusive power—either for her as a wife or a queen; at least, his pious nature must have forbidden the declared right of ——dom. I wish George III. had entertained the same ideas as did his grandfather, with respect to the slippery tricks of his family; who, in his letter to the Prince Ferdinand, near the close of the late war, concludes with these words: 'Let me advise you to be more careful of your person—your reputation is established, for though our family has produced many ----s, it never produced a poltroon.'"[60]

An anonymous writer in the Gentleman's Magazine stepped forward at once to meet the doughty Atticus in the field, and it is to be regretted that his armour was not stronger. He pleads in misericordiam for Caroline Matilda, appealing to her birth, education, and former behaviour, and concludes with the opinion that a squadron will be the best way of cutting the legal knot. Atticus speedily returned to the charge, but without his former vigour, except, perhaps, when he argues that persons who accept crowns must put up with the inconveniences connected with them. When George III. gave his sister to Christian VII. in marriage, both were aware that Caroline Matilda was to become obedient to the will of an almost unlimited monarch. "The event should teach them both the superior excellency of a limited monarchy and the inestimable value of its laws." Atticus winds up by saying, that if the vengeance and power of England were to be exerted against any prince who married into the British royal family, no matter what his wife's conduct might be, the princesses would soon go begging for husbands.

Such were the arguments employed by our grandfathers when they talked over the fate of the Queen of Denmark. I fear, though, that the tide gradually turned against her, and that this was, in a great measure, owing to the mystery kept up about the affair. Lord North, when pressed in his parliamentary intrenchments, contented himself with answering, "with his natural air of frankness," says Reverdil, who was in London at the time, "that unless expressly ordered to do so by the House, he would not reveal so delicate an affair; that time would discover everything and justify the ministry." Ninety years have since elapsed, but the justification has not been published. All we know for certain is, that an innocent woman's character was blackened by the unwise conduct of those to whom she had a natural right to look for protection. We know, too, that she was allowed to remain in prison for upwards of four months, awaiting the result of a trial which ought never to have taken place.

These considerations, however, should be deferred until I have given all the details connected with this extraordinary trial. In doing so, I shall, fortunately, be enabled to produce documents which have not hitherto been laid before the English public. Whether I shall be able to prove the perfect innocence of Caroline Matilda by their aid, it does not become me to say; that I must leave to the verdict of my readers. But one thing I can with certainty affirm: the treatment of the unfortunate Queen of Denmark was equally fiendish, cruel, and, in every respect, revolting, whether she were guilty or not. Not the slightest evidence could be brought against her: all the statements of the witnesses, which extend to matters rarely produced in a court of law (except, perhaps, in the case of Caroline of Brunswick), will prove themselves to be supposititious, or simple calumnies. It is for this reason that I attach such value to the evidence which has so recently been obtained from the secret archives of Denmark, and which enables me to lay the whole affair, for the first time in full, before the impartial judgment of the English reader.

CHAPTER VIII.

So soon as the privy council of state had been established and commenced its governmental functions, the examination of the state prisoners was proceeded with at the quarters of the commandant of the citadel, Lieutenant-General von Hobe. The two gates of the fortress were closed during the whole day against every one who did not reside in it; and, in the city, the garrison and bürger guard were held in readiness for any eventuality. At ten o'clock A.M. on February 20, Count Struensee was taken in the commandant's coach, and under the guard of the officer of the watch and six men, to the place of examination. He was dressed in a fur coat, which had been granted him on account of the cold; and before he was introduced to the commission, his chains were removed, and an armchair placed for him. Although very firm, generally, he was seized with a tremor when his fetters were removed, and afterwards when they were put on again at the end of each sitting.

The first examination lasted till two o'clock; it was resumed at half-past four, and continued till seven o'clock. Neither on this day nor on the next morning did Struensee make the slightest confession. He explained all the orders he had given during the last portion of his government as precautions against a popular émeute. He even denied having given any special order; he had merely recommended General Gude to provide effectually for the public safety. On this head, his judges had the strongest proof of his innocence in the fact that all the other prisoners, when they were arrested, believed that it was done by his orders.

As regarded the accusation of gallantry, the prisoner constantly denied it during these first three sittings, with a calmness that astonished his judges. One of them, Councillor Braëm, having used abusive language to him, Struensee exhorted him to imitate his tranquillity, adding, that the affair concerned himself more than anybody. It is stated that this same Braëm menaced him with a certain apparatus, which was ready in another room, and by means of which the truth was torn from obstinate criminals. Struensee replied, that nothing could be drawn from him by torture, seeing that he had nothing to confess or reproach himself with. If he were threatened with torture, which appears very doubtful, it was only on one occasion, for Braëm was not authorised to do so; and it is not true that the instruments were prepared.[61]

Struensee's firmness, there is little doubt, was based on an opinion which for some time past had formed his sole security; he had persuaded himself that no one would dare to attack the person of the queen, and that the closer he connected his fate with that of Caroline Matilda, the less risk he would himself run. When he learnt that his protectress was herself arrested, his firmness abandoned him: he was troubled, and burst into tears: he deplored his misfortune in attracting insults and disgrace on the persons to whom he was most attached, and, conscious of his weakness, he implored his judges to allow him to return to his prison, that he might regain his calmness, and stanch his tears. The judges were careful not to let this moment of victory slip: they pressed him more than ever; and what neither their questions nor threats could draw from the prisoner, they obtained from his weakness and emotion. He confessed that his familiarity with the queen had been carried to the fullest extent.[62]

It is more than possible that Struensee, in his terror and confusion, hoped to save his life by dragging the queen into the matter, falsely expecting thus to prevent an examination that must lead to scandal, and to escape with banishment. It is also probable that his crafty judges led him into this belief, and by insinuations induced him to betray the honour of a woman. But what man to whom honour was dear would have made such shameful confessions about a woman, which must not only dishonour her in the sight of all Europe, but infallibly cost her the throne? Whether, therefore, we should consider Struensee guilty or innocent of the crimes he confessed, his head from this moment belonged to the executioner, and by his own act he destroyed public sympathy with his fate.[63]

But Struensee degraded himself even more, if possible, by his ensuing confessions. When he had taken the first step, further avowals cost him nothing, and the whole story poured from his lips without restriction or reservation. His interrogatory affords details too precise and circumstantial to be reproduced here.[64] It results from it that the criminal relations between the queen and Struensee began in the spring of 1770, shortly before the Holstein tour.

It was important to know whether the king had kept entirely aloof from the queen, and what opinion should be formed about the legitimacy of the little princess, whom it was at first proposed to disinherit, and whom the courtiers called familiarly in January and February the "Mamselle." But the king had acknowledged her, and openly announced her birth to all the foreign courts. For this reason it was considered advisable not to stir the matter up.

When Struensee was asked who had helped the queen and him in carrying on their illicit connexion, and what confidants they had had, he replied that no one had served them in this matter, and that neither the queen nor he had confided it to any one: it was probable that he had spoken about it to Count Brandt; but he did not remember having confessed to him the exact state of affairs, as he was very cautious on this point.[65] The truth was, that the queen had first given him marks of her tenderness at a masked ball, but that their intimacy commenced at the Christiansborg Palace. To these confessions, which he attested by his signature, Struensee added:—

"He was forced to confess that through his conduct he had compromised the queen's reputation: that he was maintained in the same habits by circumstances, although he had often desired and sought means to prevent this inconvenience: that the conduct of the king and queen frequently had the effect of renewing appearances, from the fact of the queen ordering him to take steps which looked suspicious: that the king sent him to the queen at all hours, and with all sorts of messages: that the queen frequently asked for him and seized upon him, as he had already stated, proposing to him to go out with her, tête-à-tête, on foot, on horseback, or in a carriage: that he frequently proposed to her to take some one with them, especially females, and that for this object he encouraged several of the latter to mount their horses: that the queen had the custom of refusing everything: that he had been obliged to yield, lest he should lose her confidence: that he was thus placed in the alternative of ruining his fortunes, or succumbing to the will of the queen. In other respects he referred to the confession of the queen, as facts spoke so loudly against him, that even if he had not had culpable relations with her, appearances would condemn him."

Count Brandt was examined for the first time on February 22. He was perfectly calm, and answered the questions asked with a coolness which evidently showed that he considered himself entirely innocent. The chief charge against him naturally consisted of his assault on the sacred person of his Majesty, about which he spoke quite unreservedly, and penitently begged pardon for the insulting expressions with which he had challenged the king to wrestle.

As a reward for the explanations they had given, the two counts were allowed, on February 26, to have their six-weeks-old beards removed, which Brandt had previously attempted to do with a pair of snuffers. During this operation, the following precautions were used: the prisoner sat as far away from the wall as his chain admitted, so that he could not move one hand, while a turnkey held the other.

Struensee seems either to have made up his mind to the inevitable, or else to have accommodated himself to circumstances with remarkable easiness. He began to take his meals with something of an appetite. He breakfasted about nine, on coffee, rolls, and biscuits; at one he dined, took a glass of light wine, and a cup of coffee; drank tea about five or six, and perhaps ate a biscuit or two; he took no supper, but drank a glass of port wine and water. He was always very abstemious as to wines and spirits, at least after he was placed about the king. Everything furnished by the restaurateur for his use was carefully examined; even the bread was cut open, and the napkins shaken and held up to the light; and his meat was cut for him, as he was not allowed a knife, lest he might commit suicide.

It seems as if some remarks that were dropped during the examination soon reduced Brandt's hopes, for almost immediately after, he, by the advice of the commandant, requested the aid of a clergyman. On February 24, Hee, provost of the Navy church, was selected by the commission, and he paid the unhappy prisoner frequent visits. His exertions to convert the free-thinking count proved successful. Still the conversion did not seem to extend beyond Deism, for he would not listen to anything about the fall of man, original sin, and some other matters concerning religion.

Brandt had received an excellent education. He saw none but good examples in the house of his parents, who had chosen the best tutors to form his young heart for the fear of God. He himself was sensible of this in his prison, and assured Dean Hee that he very often had felt the power of the converting grace of God in his soul. He recollected more particularly the time when he was first admitted to the sacrament of the Lord's Supper, and added, that he could never forget the words of the clergyman, which made a great impression on his mind: "Hold that fast which thou hast, that no man take thy crown." That he possessed an easily moved mind is proved by the fact that, in his conversations with the clergyman, he frequently burst into tears when the latter reproved him for his "former life and the depravity of his heart," and expounded to him the greatness of God's mercy. Hee was greatly troubled on hearing that so soon as his back was turned, Brandt used to relapse into his old levity. On upbraiding the prisoner with this, the latter said, humbly enough, that "it was possible such words might have escaped him, on account of the levity of his heart, but he hinted that some person or other, who wanted to bring such reports among the people, had given occasion for it, of which he made use while his heart was not upon its guard." Dr. Hee thought the best way of preventing this was by giving his penitent religious books to read, but the choice does not appear to have been very wise, for among them was "Hervey's Meditations." The tendency of this work was to render Brandt quite quiet, and the commandant spoke in the highest terms of his behaviour, which was most edifying. Still, I cannot help thinking that there was a certain amount of hypocrisy in the affair; at any rate, so long as Brandt thought there was a chance of saving his life. For instance, it seems rather outré to find the prisoner frequently taking up his chains and kissing them, to which he would say, "When I believed myself to be free, I was a miserable slave to my passions; and now that I am a prisoner, truth and grace have set me at liberty." Nor should much faith be placed in his denunciations of Voltaire, with which old advocate of Shaitan he had spent four days on his travels, and had heard nothing from him (as he said) save what could corrupt the heart and sound morals. Another curious bit Dr. Hee shall tell us in his own quaint language:—

"He spoke of Struensee, and said he was a man without any religion, who, from his infancy, according to his own confession, never had any impression or feelings of it. As to himself, he assured me that, though he had been far from being virtuous, yet he always entertained a secret reverence for religion, and had spoken several times about it to Struensee, in hopes of leading him to better sentiments, but he never would hear him. It appeared to me a little odd that the blind should thus have led the blind; I therefore made no answer, thinking it might, perhaps, be his self-conceit that made him speak so, or that he wanted me to entertain a better opinion of his errors than I had reason for: hence I would not tempt him to support an untruth by defending what he had told me."

Attention was also paid to the state of Struensee's soul. At first he declined to see any clergyman, but when the confession that decided his fate had been drawn from him, his persecutors resolved to send him ghostly counsel even against his will. The choice fell, as has been stated, on Dr. Münter, at that time provost of the German Peter's church in Copenhagen.

This worthy divine has left us an account of Struensee's conversion, which everybody used to read in the last century, but is utterly forgotten now. It is invaluable, however, for a proper comprehension of Struensee's character. In every page we seem to have before us a weak, sensual man, incapable of resisting any persevering pressure; incredulous through levity, purified by misfortune, sincerely converted, feeling the same contempt for the judgment of posterity as for that of his contemporaries; badly guided at the outset by too strict a father, but possessing excellent qualities, full of forgiveness for his pitiless enemies, and perfectly resigned. Over such a character a man like Münter soon gained the upper hand: he was a theologian, but would have made a first-rate lawyer, and at the same time a passionate Christian, who, while he believed that he was only labouring to save a wretch's soul, aided his implacable foes to consummate his ruin.

On March 1, Dr. Münter paid his first visit to Struensee's prison. When the count was informed of the clergyman's arrival, he inquired whether it was ordered, and on being answered in the affirmative, he endured the presence of the doctor. He welcomed him with a sour and gloomy countenance, in the attitude of a man who was prepared to receive many severe reproaches, and with a silence that showed contempt. But so soon as the clever Münter had told him that he was well aware of his obligations toward an unhappy man, and sincerely wished to make the visits he was ordered to pay him agreeable and useful, Struensee quitted his constrained attitude, and his countenance grew more serene. He offered the doctor his hand, and thanked him for the sympathy he took in his fate. The latter, in return, gave Struensee the assurance that he would say nothing that could offend him, and begged that if accidentally in the course of conversation a word might slip from him that appeared offensive, Struensee would overlook it.

"Oh, you may say what you please," the prisoner answered.

Münter repeated his assurance that he had no other design but that of being useful to his hearer, and for that reason requested his confidence, which he (Münter) would return with the most thankful friendship, even though Struensee in the beginning might take him for a weak and prejudiced man.

Struensee was moved by this assurance, and Münter continued:—

"If you desire to receive comfort from me, who am your only friend on earth, do not cherish that unhappy thought of dying like a philosophical hero."

To which the count replied:—

"In all my adversities, I have shown firmness of mind, and, agreeably to this character I hope I shall not die like a hypocrite."

"Hypocrisy," Münter said, "in such moments would be even worse than an affected firmness, though even this would be a kind of hypocrisy. In case of death, do not trust to your old resolution and compare your former adversities, which were, perhaps, nothing but sickness and distress, with that fate which is now ready to fall on you. But, perhaps, you entertain some hopes of saving your life?"

"No," Struensee said, "I flatter myself with no hopes at all."

"But you do not see death near you," the doctor urged; "you do not know the time when you shall leave this world. Suppose I were to tell you that you were to die to-day or to-morrow, would not your courage fail you?"

Struensee was silent, and Münter implored him to turn his entire attention to the important intent of their conversation, which was to prepare him for eternity. Then he added—

"But I must expect that we are not both of the same opinion in regard to the state of man after death; yet, though you might have persuaded yourself that there is no life to come, and, consequently, neither rewards nor punishments, I cannot help thinking that there was a time when you were fully convinced of it. Your inward feelings have frequently contradicted you. The thought of eternity frightened you, though, unfortunately, you had art enough to stifle it in the birth. However, it will always be out of your power to prove that there is no eternity."

Struensee listened attentively, but would not own that he ever had any inward impressions of immortality, or had been afraid of it. Perhaps he might have been, but he did not recollect. He owned that the thought that he should soon entirely cease to be, was disagreeable to him: it frightened him: he wished to live, even though it were with less happiness than he now enjoyed in his prison. But he did not find the thought of total annihilation so terrible, as he had noticed it was to many who entertained the same principles as himself. In conclusion, he remarked:—

"My opinion, which is opposed to yours, is so strongly woven into my sentiments: I have so many arguments in favour of it: I have made so many observations from anatomy and physic which confirm it: that I think it will be impossible for me to renounce my principles. This, however, I promise: that I will not wilfully oppose your efforts to enlighten me, but rather wish, as far as it lies in my power, to concur with you. I will not dissemble, but honestly tell you of what I am convinced, and of what I am not. I will deal with you openly: for such is my character, and my friends can bear witness to it."

At Münter's request Struensee then explained to him his religious principles, of which an account has already been given.

On this first visit, Münter did not press his penitent home, but as he observed that he was really very uneasy about some of his actions, he thought it proper to increase this uneasiness. With this view, he told the prisoner, as he took leave of him, that Count Bernstorff had died at Hamburg on February 18. Struensee exclaimed, with great emotion, "What! is he dead?" and seemed to shudder.

"Yes," Münter answered, "he is. His wisdom, religion, and piety have preserved to him the character of a great man to the last; and it is generally believed that the grief of his latter years has hastened his death."

As Münter said this, he looked at the prisoner with an air which the latter seemed to understand, for he blushed.

On his second visit, Dr. Münter strove to convince the count of the falsity of his system, that man was a mere machine. Struensee answered, that in his present situation his mind was neither composed nor serene enough to examine into the nature of his principles. Münter, however, would not allow himself to be foiled in this manner, but earnestly warned the prisoner that it was his ambition alone which prevented him from doing justice to truth.

"Oh!" said Struensee, "this inclination is gone, and I am now very little in my own eyes and how could I be ambitious in this place?"

Münter speedily discovered the tender side in his opponent. The thought of having dragged his friends and adherents into ruin with him grieved him most, and hence he found his only comfort in repentance. The doctor, consequently, had hardly touched on this topic, ere Struensee confessed to him with tears in his eyes, that he felt guilty in this respect. Münter confirmed him in his sorrow, hoping thus to induce him to speak about his other actions. He told him that, in order to qualify himself for God's mercy, it was necessary to search his former life, and to acknowledge his errors and crimes. Then, in order to hold up to him the necessity of repentance, Münter delineated to him the outlines of his character, as he had reason for thinking it to be.

"God," the doctor said, "has given you an uncommon understanding, and, as I believe, a good natural disposition of heart; but, through voluptuousness, ambition, and levity, you have corrupted yourself."

Struensee confirmed Münter's conjectures, and admitted that voluptuousness had been his chief passion, and had contributed most to his moral depravity.

At the seventh conference Dr. Münter thought it advisable to hand Struensee a letter from his parents, which he had kept in his pocket for several days. This letter is curious, as showing how far the idolatry of royalty was carried at that time. Struensee's crime was considered so horrible, that no one imagined that it could be pardoned. Even his parents, the letter shows, writing to him in his wretched dungeon, do not once testify a desire that his sufferings should be alleviated, or that he should be spared the death which he so justly merited. The body was surrendered to man, who must be inexorable; the only thing to be effected was the salvation of the soul. The letter was to the following effect:—

My Second Son!

I could wish that these lines, if possible, may reach you, that you may read and consider. The melancholy, grief, and anxiety of your parents on account of their sons, I am not able to express. Our eyes swim in tears day and night. Our souls cry for mercy to God without ceasing. But I will speak no more of this. There is but one thing that lies heavy on my mind, and that of your much afflicted mother. You know our sentiments. You know our intentions when we educated you. You remember how often and how seriously we inculcated this great truth, that godliness is profitable unto all things.

As often as I had occasion to speak to you, even then when you were in a public character, I reminded you of the omnipresent God, and exhorted you to be careful in preserving a good conscience. Your own heart will tell you how far you have lived up to the exhortations of your father.

Your parents have been in great anxiety about you for a long while. As we lead a retired life, and have very few acquaintances, and as you yourself have written nothing about your circumstances, the prayers and sighs of our straitened hearts have ascended to God in secret, and in our anxiety we cried that your soul might not be lost. Three different times, at Halle, Gedern, Altona, you were looked upon as a dead man by those who stood about your sick bed. God saved you, and preserved your life; certainly with the sole intention of preparing you, in this time of grace, for a happy eternity. The same is now the chief intention of your gracious Redeemer in your prison. You are His creature. He loves you. You are redeemed by the blood of Jesus. God is a reconciled Father. You are baptized in the name of the Trinity. He will make an everlasting covenant with you, and will not desist from doing good to you. Return to your God, my son. He will not hide His face of grace from you. Mind the voice of your conscience, and the conviction which the spirit of God produces in your soul. Pray to God that He may disclose to you the true inward state of your soul, that you, enlightened by God, may see how much you are corrupted. Employ the solitude you are now in to search your whole life in the sight of the omniscient God, that you may see how great and detestable your sins are. Do not flatter yourself. Be rigorous with yourself. Accuse yourself, and judge yourself before the tribunal of God, whilst you are still enjoying this time of grace.

When you shall feel your sins to be a heavy burden, your heart then will humiliate itself before God, you will pray for mercy, and you will seriously detest and abhor your transgressions. You will then see the just importance and necessity of the redemption of Christ. You then will take refuge in Him who receives sinners, who was made to be sin for us, who has paid the debts of our sins, and suffered their punishment, that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him, and might have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of His grace. Still the blood of Christ speaks for you. He that is merciful still stretches forth His hands. Without Jesus there is no salvation. He is the cause of it. Even for your sake He has received gifts. You may have in Him righteousness for your peace of mind, and for your sanctification. Oh that Jesus might be glorified in your heart! In Him we have happiness while we live, while we suffer, while we die, and after death.

Your mother sends her love to you. She weeps, she prays with me for our unfortunate sons. My son, my son, how deeply do you afflict us! Oh! could we but have this only comfort, that our sons turned with all their heart unto the Lord, and that we might with joy find them again in eternity before the throne of the Lamb!

Your crimes which brought you into prison are not properly and sufficiently known to us. What is talked of and read in public about you is of such a nature that your parents condemn and detest it. Oh! would to God that you had remained a physician! Of your rise to honours we were informed by the newspapers; but it was no matter of joy to us; we read it with grief. Oh! that you had kept, in all your transactions, a clear conscience, with much wisdom, piety, and humility, for the good of Denmark, and that you might have submitted with due subjection to all the commands of your sovereign. We cannot altogether judge of this matter for want of information. But know that, though we love our children, we nevertheless do not approve of their crimes, nor will we excuse or palliate them, or call them good; we rather hate all sins; detest, condemn, and abhor them; and praise God when He manifests His just wrath over the wicked, and shows His mercy to the penitent and the faithful. The Lord our God be your physician in your imprisonment, and cure thoroughly the wounds of your soul!

We, your parents, recommend you to the love of the Lord, who has mercy on you. May Jesus, who is a compassionate High Priest, remember you for good at the right hand of God, that you may receive mercy before the throne of grace, and be pardoned unto everlasting salvation. Yea, Jesus! Thou great friend of mankind, who wilt in nowise cast out him that comes to Thee, help parents and children to life everlasting.

I am, your heartily afflicted father,
Adam Struensee.

Rendsburg, March 4, 1772.