THE EXECUTIONS.
1772.
The prisoners were told of their fate on Friday, April 25, immediately
after the sentences were pronounced. Uhldahl and Bang went to the
citadel to inform their respective clients of the judgment against
them, and to hand them a copy of their sentences.
Uhldahl, who had undertaken the defence of Struensee with a very
ill-grace, entered the condemned man's cell and curtly said: "Good
Count, I bring you bad news," and then, without a word of sympathy,
he handed Struensee a copy of his sentence. Struensee, who had shown
craven fear at intervals during his imprisonment, now read the document
which condemned him to a barbarous and ignominious death with an
unmoved air, and when he had perused it to the end, he handed it
without a word to Dr. Münter, who was with him at the time. Apparently
only the sentence, and not the judgment, was handed to the condemned
man, for Struensee asked his advocate if he were condemned on all the
counts in his indictment, to which Uhldahl answered in the affirmative.
"Even on that concerning the education of the Crown Prince?" asked
Struensee. "Even on that," replied Uhldahl briefly. Struensee said
that, if he had had any children of his own, he should have reared them
in exactly the same way--to which Uhldahl made no reply. "And what is
Brandt's fate?" asked Struensee. "His sentence is exactly the same
as yours." "But could his counsel do nothing to save him?" demanded
Struensee. "He said everything that could be urged in his favour; but
Count Brandt had too much laid to his charge." The thought of Brandt's
fate moved Struensee far more than his own; but he soon regained his
composure, and resolved to petition the King, who had not yet signed
the sentences, for mercy.
When Struensee and Münter were left alone, the latter lamented the
barbarities of the sentence, but Struensee assured him they mattered
little. He still held the same ground--that is to say, he admitted his
guilt so far as the Queen was concerned, but maintained his innocence
of all the other charges against him, even the one of having forged
the document that gave him money from the Treasury, which must have
been true. But he admitted that his intrigue with the Queen made
him liable to the extremest punishment of the law. "My judges," he
said, "had the law before them, and therefore they could not decide
otherwise. I confess my crime is great; I have violated the majesty
of the King." Even now, when the sentence had robbed him of almost
his last hope, and he was face to face with a hideous death, this
wretched man had no word of remorse or grief for the ruin, misery
and suffering he had brought upon the Queen. Uhldahl had given him
Matilda's pathetic message--that she forgave him everything he had
said and done against her, even the shameful confession by which he
had striven to shield himself at her expense. Struensee received the
message without emotion, and even with sullen indifference; he was
so much engrossed with his own fate that he had no thought to spare
for the Queen. Perhaps he thought it was a device of the Evil One to
lure him away from the contemplation of his soul. However much we may
suspect the motives which first led Struensee to his conversion, there
is no doubt that he was sincerely zealous for his spiritual well-being
at the last. The long months of solitary confinement, the ceaseless
exhortations and prayers of the fervent Münter, the near approach of
death, perhaps, too, some echo from the pious home in which he had
been reared, combined to detach Struensee's thoughts from the world
and to concentrate them on his soul. He had reached that point which
counts earth's sufferings as little in comparison with the problems
of eternity. The worldling, who had once thought of nothing but his
material advancement, was now equally ambitious for his spiritual
welfare. In his pursuit of the one he was as selfish and as absorbed as
he had been in pursuit of the other. The motive had changed, but the
man was the same.
[Illustration: STRUENSEE IN HIS DUNGEON.
_From a Contemporary Print._]
Brandt had also received a copy of his sentence from Bang, and, like
Struensee, immediately petitioned the King for mercy. It was generally
expected that the royal clemency would be exercised in his case. The
judges who tried the case had no option but to pass sentence, but
some of them had hoped that the extreme penalty of the law would be
mitigated. It was the King's business to sign the sentences, but the
question of whether he should, or should not, confirm them was first
discussed by the Council of State before the documents were sent to
the King to sign. In the council itself there were voices on the
side of mercy, especially for Brandt, but Rantzau and Osten, the two
members of the council who had been familiar friends of the condemned
men, absolutely opposed the idea of any mercy being shown to either
of them. Yet there is no doubt that, if strict justice had been meted
out, Rantzau, at least, would have been lying under the same sentence.
Perhaps it was this thought which made him of all the council the most
implacable and unyielding: dead men could tell no tales, and until
both Struensee and Brandt were dead, Rantzau would not feel safe. So
the council, at any rate by a majority, reported that the King should
confirm the sentences.
All effort was not at an end, for Guldberg, the most influential of
the judges who had condemned Struensee and Brandt, had an audience
of Juliana Maria, and implored a mitigation of the punishment, or at
least that Brandt's life should be spared. But Juliana Maria showed
herself inflexible, and the vindictive side of her nature asserted
itself without disguise. Brandt as well as Struensee had inflicted many
slights upon her and her son; therefore he, too, should die. Guldberg,
who had supposed his influence over the Queen-Dowager was all-powerful,
as indeed it was on most points, was unable to move her in this,
and might as well have pleaded to a rock. After a long and violent
altercation he withdrew worsted, and until the executions were over
he remained in strict retirement. Whatever may be said of the others,
Guldberg, at any rate, washed his hands of the blood of the condemned
men.
It may be doubted, however, if Juliana Maria, even if she had been
otherwise minded, could have saved Brandt's life, for the King, though
easily led in many respects, showed remarkable obstinacy in this. Some
of his ministers suggested to him that it would be generous of him to
pardon Brandt, as the chief offence was one against his royal person;
but the King at once showed the greatest repugnance to pardon. He hated
Brandt much more than he hated Struensee; he had never forgiven him
the assault, and the mere mention of his name was sufficient to fill
him with rage. He positively declared that he would not sign either of
the sentences unless he signed both, and, as no one wished Struensee
to escape, the ministers gave way. The King signed both sentences, and
displayed a savage joy when he heard that they were to be carried out
without delay. In the evening he dined in public and went in state to
the Italian opera.
On Friday, April 25, the prisoners were told of their sentences, and
on Saturday they were informed that the King had signed them, and
all hope was over. Their execution would take place on the Monday
following. Both prisoners received the news with composure, though
Struensee was much affected when he heard that every effort to save
Brandt's life had failed, and commented indignantly on the injustice of
his sentence. Münter, who brought him the fatal news, greatly lamented
that the barbarous and needless cruelties of the sentence had not been
abolished. Struensee exhorted his friend and confessor to maintain his
firmness, and said he would dispense with his services at the last
if the sight would be too much for him. But to this Münter would not
listen. "I shall suffer much more," said Struensee, "if I see that
you suffer too. Therefore, speak to me on the scaffold as little as
you can. I will summon all my strength; I will turn my thoughts to
Jesus, my Deliverer; I will not take formal leave of you, for that
would unman me." As to the brutal indignities of his death, he said:
"I am far above all this, and I hope my friend Brandt feels the same.
Here in this world, since I am on the point of leaving it, neither
honour nor infamy can affect me any more. It is equally the same to
me, after death, whether my body rots under the ground or in the open
air--whether it serves to feed the worms or the birds. God will know
how to preserve those particles which on the resurrection day will
constitute my glorified body. It is not my all which is to be exposed
upon the wheel. Thank God, I am now well assured that this flesh is not
my whole being."
Struensee wrote three letters--one to Brandt's brother, in which he
bewailed having been the innocent cause of bringing "our dear Enevold
to this pass"; another to Rantzau, saying he forgave him as he hoped to
be forgiven, and exhorting him to turn to religion; and the third to
Madam von Berkentin of Pinneberg, the lady who had first recommended
Struensee to influential personages, and thus unwittingly had laid
the foundation of his future greatness and of his future ruin. To his
brother, Justice Struensee, who was also a prisoner, the condemned man
sent a message of farewell through Münter. But to the Queen he sent
neither word of remembrance nor prayer for forgiveness for the wrong
he had done her. In this respect, at least, it would seem Struensee's
conversion was not complete.
When Hee brought Brandt the news that his execution was determined
upon, he displayed a firmness and dignity hardly to be expected from
one of his volatile temperament. He indulged in no pious aspirations
after the manner of Struensee, but said quietly that he submitted to
the will of God.
For the next two days Copenhagen was filled with subdued excitement.
On Sunday, the day before the execution, the places of public resort
were closed, but the citizens gathered together in little groups at the
corners of the streets, and spoke in hushed accents of the tragedy of
to-morrow. Meanwhile, the Government was taking every step to hurry
forward the executions and preserve public order. Soldiers were already
guarding a large field outside the eastern gate of Copenhagen, where
a scaffold, eight yards long, eight yards broad and twenty-seven feet
high, was being erected. Other soldiers were posted on the gallows-hill
a little distance to the west, where two poles were planted, and four
wheels tied to posts. The Government had some difficulty in finding
carpenters to build the scaffold, as the men had a superstition
about it; many of them refused, and were at last coerced by threats.
No wheelwright would supply the wheels on which the remains of the
wretched men were to be exposed, so at last they were taken from old
carriages in the royal stables. Though the work was pressed forward
with all speed, the scaffold was only completed a few hours before the
execution, which was arranged to take place early in the morning of
Monday, April 28.
All the night before crowds of people were moving towards the eastern
gate, and at the first break of dawn large bodies of troops marched
to the place of execution, and were drawn up in a large square around
the scaffold. Others formed a guard along the route from the citadel,
and everywhere the posts were doubled. When all preparations were
complete, the eastern gate of the city was thrown open, and huge
crowds surged towards the fatal field, or pressed against the soldiers
who guarded the route along which the condemned men were to journey
from the citadel to the scaffold. Everywhere was a sea of countless
heads. Upwards of thirty thousand persons, including women and little
children, were gathered around the scaffold alone--some animated by a
lust for blood and vengeance, but most of them by that morbid curiosity
and love of the horrible common to all mobs in all ages of the world.
At a very early hour the two clergymen went to the condemned men to
comfort and attend them in their last moments. When Münter entered
Struensee's cell, he found him reading Schegel's _Sermons on the
Passion of Christ_. The unhappy man was already dressed. His jailors
had given him, as if in mockery, the clothes he had worn at the
masquerade ball the night of his arrest, and in which he had been
hurried to prison--a blue cut-velvet coat and pink silk breeches. For
the first time for many months his chains were taken off. Struensee
greeted Münter calmly, and together they conversed on religious matters
until the cell door opened and the dread summons came.
Dean Hee found Brandt brave and even cheerful. He, too, had been
unchained from the wall, and was enjoying his brief spell of
comparative freedom by walking up and down the room. Brandt, also, was
vested in the clothes he had brought with him to the citadel--a green
court dress richly embroidered with gold. He told Hee that he was not
afraid to die, and seemed only anxious that the ordeal should be over.
He asked him if he had seen any one executed before, and how far he
ought to bare his neck and arm to the headsman's axe. Presently the
summons came for him too.
Both the condemned men were marched out to the large hall of the
citadel, where they were again fettered by a chain attached to their
left hand and right foot. As the morning was cold, they were allowed to
wear their fur pelisses. In this attire they entered the coaches drawn
up in the courtyard of the citadel. Brandt occupied the first coach,
Struensee the second. On one side of each of the prisoners sat an
officer with a drawn sword, on the other the clergyman; opposite them
were placed two sergeants. The two coaches were guarded by two hundred
infantry soldiers with fixed bayonets, and an equal number of dragoons
with drawn sabres. In a third coach were seated the Fiscal-General,
Wivet, and the King's bailiff, and facing them was the deputy-bailiff,
holding the two tin shields on which the arms of the Counts were
painted, which were to be broken in the sight of the people.
At half-past eight the bell began to toll from the tower of the
citadel. The gates were thrown open, and the melancholy procession
emerged, and began its slow progress to the place of execution. Though
the streets were thronged, and every window, balcony and housetop was
filled with spectators, the condemned men passed along their last
journey in silence--a silence only broken by the tramp of the soldiers'
and horses' feet. The morning was dull and cold, and a slight mist
hung over the Sound. When the procession reached its destination,
the Fiscal-General and the King's bailiff and his deputy-bailiff
mounted the scaffold, where the executioner, masked, and two stalwart
assistants, also masked, awaited their victims, surrounded by the
dread emblems of their hideous office. The large scaffold, which was
twenty-seven feet in height, rose far above the heads of the soldiers
who guarded it and the vast crowd beyond. All could see what took place
there, even from a far distance, for this platform and the figures upon
it were clearly silhouetted against the morning sky.
Brandt was the first of the condemned men to mount the flight of wooden
stairs to the scaffold--a task made more difficult from the fact that
he was chained hand and foot. He was closely followed by Dean Hee,
who exhorted him to firmness the whole time. Arrived on the scaffold,
Brandt turned to the clergyman, and assured him that he had no fear,
and his mind was quite composed. The worthy divine, however, continued
to encourage him with these words: "Son, be of good cheer, for thy
sins are forgiven thee." Brandt throughout behaved with heroism. When
his fetters were struck off the King's bailiff stepped forward to read
his sentence; he listened quietly to the end, and then protested his
innocence. The deputy-bailiff held up to Brandt the tin shield, and
formally asked him if it were his coat of arms painted thereon. Brandt
merely nodded in answer, and the bailiff swung the shield into the air
and broke it, with the words:
"This is not done in vain, but as a just punishment." Hee then began
to recite in a loud voice the prayer for the dying, and when it was
over he put to the condemned man the usual questions, to which Brandt
answered again that he was sorry for what he had done wrong, but he
left all to God, and was not afraid to die. Hee then gave him his
blessing, and, taking him by the hand, delivered him over to the
executioner.
When the headsman approached to assist the prisoner in undressing,
Brandt exclaimed firmly: "Stand back, and do not dare to touch me!" He
undressed alone; he let his fur pelisse fall, took off his hat, removed
his coat and waistcoat, bared his neck, and rolled up the shirt sleeve
of his right arm. In this he suffered the executioner to help him, for
he was afraid he might not roll it up sufficiently. Brandt then knelt
down, laid his head on one block, and stretched out his right hand
on another, and smaller one, hard by. While he was in this position,
Hee whispered some last words of comfort, and then stood back. As the
clergyman was reciting: "O Christ, in Thee I live, in Thee I die! O
Lamb of God that takest away the sins of the world, have mercy!" the
executioner stepped forward, and with two well-directed blows completed
his dread task.
Immediately the execution was over the assistants advanced to perform
the most horrible part of the sentence, and wreak the last indignities.
They stripped the body, laid it on a block, disembowelled it, and
split it into four quarters with an axe. Each part was then let down
by a rope into a cart standing below, with the other remains; the head
was held up on a pole, and shown to the multitude; then that, too,
was let down into the cart, and lastly the right hand. After this the
scaffold was strewn with fresh sand, the axes were roughly cleaned, and
everything made ready for the next victim.
Brandt's execution had taken nearly half an hour. During the whole of
this horrible scene Struensee sat in his coach, which was drawn up near
the scaffold, with Pastor Münter by his side. Münter, who showed much
more emotion than his penitent, had ordered the coach to be turned
round in such a way that they should not see Brandt's execution. But
Struensee's eyes had wandered to the block, and he said to Münter:
"I have already seen it," and then added: "We will look up again to
heaven." In this position he and his comforter remained while the last
indignities were being wrought upon Brandt's poor body, and together
they prayed until Struensee was informed that his turn had come.
Struensee became deadly pale, but otherwise retained his composure,
and, getting out of the coach, he saluted the guard on either side.
Some favoured personages had been allowed inside the square made by
the soldiers. Many of these Struensee had known in the days of his
triumph, and as he passed, led by Münter, he bowed to them also. But,
as he approached the scaffold, his fortitude began to give way, and it
was with difficulty that he mounted the fifteen steps which led to
the top. When he reached the summit, Münter repeated in a low voice
the comforting words: "He that believeth in Me, though he were dead,
yet shall he live." Then came the same formalities as in the case of
Brandt: Struensee's fetters were knocked off, the King's confirmation
of the sentence was read, and his coat of arms was broken. Then Münter,
having prayed according to the melancholy ritual, solemnly asked
Struensee if he repented of his sins and died in the true faith of a
Christian.
Struensee having answered these questions in the affirmative, Münter
laid his hand upon his head, and said with deep emotion: "Go in peace
whither God calls you. His grace be with you." He then handed him over
to the executioner.
Struensee took off his fur pelisse and his hat. He would fain have
undressed himself alone, but his trembling hands refused to do the
work, and he was obliged to let the executioner help him. When his
coat and waistcoat had been taken off, he produced a handkerchief to
bind his eyes; but the executioner assured him that it would not be
necessary, and took it away. He further removed his shirt, so that
nothing might hinder the fall of the axe. Struensee then, with half his
body bare, went with faltering steps to the block, which still reeked
with the blood of Brandt. Here he reeled and would have fallen, but the
headsman assisted him to kneel, and, with some difficulty, placed his
head and hand in the right position. As the executioner raised his axe
in the air to cut off the right hand, Münter recited: "Remember Christ
crucified, who died, but is risen again." The blow fell before the
words were finished, and the right hand lay severed on the scaffold.
But the victim was seized with violent convulsions, with the result
that the executioner's second blow, which was intended to behead him,
failed. The wretched man sprang up spasmodically, but the assistants
seized him by the hair, and held him down to the block by force. The
executioner struck again, and this time with deadly effect; but even
then it was not a clean blow, and a part of the neck had to be severed.
The same revolting indignities were committed on Struensee's corpse
as on that of Brandt; it is unnecessary to repeat them. When all was
over, the mangled remains of both men were thrown into a cart and were
conveyed through the city to the gallows-hill outside the western gate.
The heads were stuck on poles, the quarters were exposed on the wheels,
and the hands nailed on a piece of board. Thus was left all that was
mortal of Struensee and Brandt--an awful warning that all might see.[60]
[60] Archdeacon Coxe, who visited Copenhagen in 1775, states in his
_Travels_ that he saw Struensee's and Brandt's skulls still exposed
on the gallows-hill. There they remained for some years. Wraxall says
that Struensee's skull was eventually stolen by four English sailors
belonging to a Russian man-of-war.
From her watch-tower afar off, the Queen-Dowager witnessed the
execution of the men whom she deemed her greatest enemies. Early in
the morning Juliana Maria mounted to a tower on the eastern side
of the Christiansborg Palace, and there through a strong telescope
gloated over this judicial murder. The keen interest she took in
every revolting detail revealed the depth of her vindictiveness. When
Brandt's execution was over, and Struensee mounted the steps to the
scaffold, she clapped her hands triumphantly and exclaimed: "Now comes
the fat one!" So great was her satisfaction that, it is said, she
momentarily forgot her caution, and declared the only thing that marred
her joy was the thought that Matilda's corpse was not thrown into the
cart with those of her accomplices. When the cart moved away, the
Queen-Dowager, fearful lest she should lose any detail of the tragedy,
ran down from the tower to the apartments which she occupied on the
upper floor of the palace, and from the windows, which commanded a view
of the gallows-hill to the west, she saw the last ignominy wrought on
the remains of her victims. In after years the Queen-Dowager always
lived in these unpretending rooms of the Christiansborg, though at
Frederiksberg and the other palaces she took possession of Matilda's
apartments. Suhm, the historian, says that he once expressed surprise
that she should still live in little rooms up many stairs, when all the
palace was at her disposal, and Juliana Maria replied: "These rooms are
dearer to me than my most splendid apartments elsewhere, for from the
windows I saw the remains of my bitterest foes exposed on the wheel."
From her windows, too, for many years after, she could see the skulls
of Struensee and Brandt withering on the poles.[61]
[61] The statement that the Queen-Dowager witnessed the execution
from a tower of the Christiansborg Palace is controverted by some on
the ground that it would not be possible for her to see it from this
point. Certainly it would not be possible to-day, owing to the growth
of Copenhagen, and the many houses and other buildings which have been
erected, but in 1772 there were comparatively few buildings between the
Christiansborg Palace and the scene of the execution, so it was quite
possible for the Queen-Dowager to view the gallows through a telescope.
Against this statement of Suhm's is to be set one of Münter's. It does
not necessarily conflict, but it shows how capable the Queen-Dowager
was of acting a part. If she forgot herself for a moment on the tower
of the Christiansborg, she quickly recovered her self-command, and
behaved with her usual decorum. She sent for Münter, ostensibly to
thank him for having effected Struensee's conversion, in reality to
extract from him all the mental agonies of her victims' last moments,
and thus further gratify her lust for vengeance. Münter expatiated on
Struensee's conversion, and gave her full particulars of his terror
and sufferings at the last. The Queen-Dowager affected to be moved to
tears, and said: "I feel sorry for the unhappy man. I have examined
myself whether in all I have done against him I have been animated by
any feeling of personal enmity, and my conscience acquits me." She
gave Münter a valuable snuff-box of rock-crystal, as a small token
of her appreciation of his labours on behalf of Struensee's soul. To
Hee she also sent a snuff-box, but it was only of porcelain. Whether
this was to mark her sense of the greater thoroughness of Struensee's
conversion, or whether it showed that she was not so much interested
in Brandt as Struensee, it is impossible to say. Nor did her rewards
end here. That both she and the ministers looked upon these clergymen
as accomplices in bringing Struensee and Brandt to their death is
shown from the fact that, when a commission of inquiry was appointed
to consider "in what manner the persons employed in convicting the
prisoners of state should be rewarded," this commission allotted to
Münter and Hee three hundred dollars each. But Juliana Maria was of a
different opinion, and judged it more proper to make them presents.[62]
[62] Münter afterwards was appointed Bishop of Zealand.
The executions of Struensee and Brandt brought about a revulsion in
public feeling. It was felt that the national honour was satisfied, and
the time had come to temper justice with mercy. The Queen-Dowager's
party were quick to note the change. Fearful of the least breath of
popular displeasure, they now swung round from barbarity to leniency.
Those placed under "house arrest" were set free, and the ten prisoners
of state imprisoned in the citadel, were treated, for the most part,
with leniency. Madame Gahler, Colonel Hesselberg, Admiral Hansel,
Councillor Stürtz, Lieutenant Aböe, and Councillor Willebrandt, since
no evidence could be produced against them, were released after an
imprisonment of four and a half months, and were all banished from
the capital. Professor Berger, the physician, who had been accused
of poisoning, or drugging, the King, was also set free, and banished
to Aalborg, in northern Jutland. It was found, after a searching
examination, that the medicines he had given the King were quite
innocuous.
Three state prisoners still remained--General Gahler, Colonel
Falckenskjold and Justice Struensee. Gahler was dismissed from the
King's service, and all his appointments, and was banished from
Copenhagen. But on the understanding that the ruined soldier would
neither speak nor write of public affairs, the King, by an act of
special clemency, granted him a pension of five hundred dollars, and
the same to his wife. Justice Struensee was also released, but ordered
to quit the country immediately. This clemency, so different from what
had been shown to his brother, was due to the interposition of the King
of Prussia, who had kept Struensee's position as professor of medicine
at Liegnitz open for him, and with whom he was a favourite. Justice
Struensee eventually became a Minister of State in Prussia.
Falckenskjold, who was considered the worst of all the offenders after
Struensee and Brandt, was stripped of all his employments and honours,
and condemned to be imprisoned for life in the fortress of Munkholm.
Falckenskjold remained at Munkholm for four years, where he suffered
many hardships; but in 1776, through the intercession of Prince
Frederick, he was set at liberty, on the condition that he would never
return to Danish territory. After the revolution of 1784, when Queen
Matilda's son assumed the regency, the penalties against him were
repealed; he was allowed to return to Copenhagen for a time to look
after his affairs, and later was promoted to the rank of major-general.
He never again took active part in Danish politics, but retired to
Lausanne, where he found such friends as Gibbon and Reverdil. There
he wrote his _Memoirs_, which were largely directed to proving the
innocence of Queen Matilda, and there he died in 1820 at the age of
eighty-two years.