The Reichstag of Gefle, which was opened January 25, 1792, had already greatly disappointed and incensed him, because it had unanimously rejected his demand for an appropriation of ten million dollars which he needed for his new undertaking. The utter disregard of his wishes and the contempt with which his urgent appeals were ignored by the lower order, which had so firmly stood by him in the Reichstag of 1789, showed also his great unpopularity; and the nobility thought that the time had come for striking a bold blow not only to get rid of him, but also to reinstate themselves in power. As we have seen, the moment was very opportune. The public debt was enormous; the distress was general; vague rumors of another war, not against an enemy, but against the rights of the people, were in the air. Then the conspiracy was formed. There were five principal conspirators; and they all belonged to the highest nobility. While some of them had personal grievances, not one of them would have thought of raising his hand against the King, unless a much more important object had been in view. These five were Ankarström, who had already been among the rebellious officers in Finland, Count Ribbing, Count Horn, Count Liliehorn and Baron Pechlin.
The mainspring of the conspiracy was the hope of overthrowing the autocratic system of government, and reinstating the nobility in all its prerogatives. At first the conspirators did not want to resort to murder, but they hoped to be able to abduct the King, compel him to resign, and then to extort from his successor the recognition of those rights and privileges of which Gustavus the Third had deprived them. Having made two or three attempts in that direction, they changed their plan, and concluded that the easiest and safest way to accomplish their aim would be to assassinate the King.
Ankarström volunteered to shoot the King at one of the popular masked balls, which he was in the habit of visiting, and at which he freely mingled with the other visitors. Twice he failed to recognize Gustavus. But the last masquerade of the season at Stockholm was to come off on Friday, March 16, 1792, and Ankarström resolved to make a last effort to strike his victim. And he did, although Gustavus was warned that very evening by one of the conspirators (Count Liliehorn) that it would be dangerous for him to go to the ball, for an attempt would be made on his life. The ball was to come off at the Grand Opera House, and an immense crowd was expected. Four of the conspirators—Pechlin, Ankarström, Horn and Ribbing—took supper together, and afterwards went to the theatre. They wore black dominoes of a uniform pattern, to be able to recognize each other easily. On the other hand, Gustavus had taken supper with one of his closest friends, Count Essen, in a little private room arranged for his use at the theatre itself. During this supper, at ten o’clock in the evening, an anonymous letter was handed to him, written in French and with a lead pencil. The author revealed the whole plot, which, as he asserted, he had learned only during the afternoon. He implored the King not to go to the ball, and to change his conduct and his policy if he wanted to escape assassination. He confessed having opposed the King’s autocratic measures and his coup d’état, which he considered illegal and unconstitutional. But, being a man of honor, as he said, the very idea of murder was horrid to him, and he therefore again implored the King to keep away from the ball. This note came from Count Liliehorn. Gustavus read it twice very attentively; but he did not say a word about its contents. He quietly completed his supper and then, accompanied by Count Essen, he proceeded to his box, where he was plainly to be seen by all. It was then only that he showed the note to his companion, who also implored him not to go on the floor among the dancers. Gustavus said he would hereafter put on a coat of mail before going to such places of amusement, but he insisted on going on the floor. They thereupon left the box, put on light dominoes and descended to the floor, which was crowded with a throng of brilliant, gay and grotesque masks.
The King had taken Essen’s arm, and while passing through the stage scenery said to him: “Now let us see whether they’ll dare attack me!” Although he wore a face-mask, the dancers whispered to each other: “There is the King!” Gustavus made the tour of the ball-room without stopping; then he stepped into the green-room in order to rest a moment; but on leaving, he found himself surrounded by a group of black dominoes, one of whom (it was Count Horn) laid his hand on the King’s shoulder, saying: “Good-evening, my beautiful masquerader!” These words were the signal. At the same moment Ankarström fired a shot from his pistol, which had been wrapped up in raw wool in order to weaken the detonation, and the shot was heard by but a few persons. Gustavus exclaimed in a loud voice: “I am wounded! Arrest the assassin!” At the same time loud cries: “Fire! Fire! Leave the hall!” resounded from different parts of the building, and a great confusion followed. In the panic there was a general rush toward the doors, and all the conspirators would have escaped, but for the presence of mind of Count Armfeld, who ordered the doors to be closed, and assuring the tumultuous crowd that there was no fire, but that a great crime had been committed, ordered all the dancers and visitors to take off their masks. The conspirators nevertheless managed to escape immediate discovery by their very audacity, although they attracted attention and suspicion. As he passed through the door, Ankarström with a haughty smile said to the officer: “I hope you do not suspect me?” “On the contrary,” replied the officer, “I am sure you are the assassin!” but before he could stop him, Ankarström had passed out. He was, however, arrested the next morning, and also Liliehorn, who had sent the anonymous note to the King. Counts Horn and Ribbing were arrested a few days later, and Baron Pechlin some time afterwards.
Gustavus the Third was the only one who had kept his presence of mind during the tremendous confusion. Essen, covered with the King’s blood, had rather carried than conducted him first to one of the private boxes and thence to a small adjoining parlor with a sofa, where he could lie down. The King was the one who directed what measures were to be taken in the grave situation. He ordered the gates of the city to be closed and the Duke of Sodermanland to be sent for. As soon as the surgeons had applied the necessary bandages, he was conveyed to the royal palace, and issued, with perfect self-command, orders for the appointment of those officials who during his illness should conduct the affairs of the kingdom. The King himself ascribed the assault to the influence of the Jacobins of Paris, and the murderers eagerly circulated this rumor, in order to mislead public opinion. However, after Ankarström had been arrested and made a confession, there could no longer be any doubt as to the motives which were at the bottom of the conspiracy. Public opinion took the cue immediately.
From the very moment of the assassination the people of Stockholm seemed to be delirious with grief. During the thirteen days of his agony all the King’s mistakes and faults, which quite recently had been magnified into crimes and atrocities, were forgotten; there was but one voice of sympathy and affection for him and of condemnation for his assassins. All the good and chivalrous qualities of Gustavus reappeared during the illness preceding his death. When the public indignation threatened the families of the conspirators, he immediately began to plead eloquently for them and wished them to be protected. When delegations of the municipalities of Stockholm and other cities were admitted to his presence to assure him of the unfaltering loyalty of their cities to him and the royal family, he shed tears of gratitude, and told them that such proofs of loyalty were not too dearly purchased at the price of a serious and possibly fatal wound. When old Count Brahe, one of the leaders of the opposition in the Reichstag, knelt down at his bedside and swore to him that he was a stranger to the conspiracy and condemned it with horror, Gustavus raised him to his feet and embraced him, weak as he was, and told him with tearful eyes that he blessed his wound, because it had reconciled him with a friend so valued and noble-hearted. When his brother showed him a list of all those who had been ferreted out as accessories to the crime, he refused to look at it, and implored his brother to destroy it so that no further bloodshed might result. When some one in his presence swore bloody vengeance on the conspirators, he interfered in their behalf, adding: “If Ankarström is to die, then let there be mercy at least for the others! One victim is enough!” At first it looked as though he would get well. His conversation, fluent and logical, at times even brilliant and eloquent, was taken as proof that his vitality had not been exhausted, and that his excellent constitution would carry him safely through this terrible ordeal. But late on the twelfth day after the assault, he grew worse, and began to sink rapidly. The change came so suddenly that even the physicians were surprised, and suspected foul play. But nothing has ever come to light to give confirmation to that suspicion.
Thus ended, most sadly and prematurely, one of the most brilliant careers of the eighteenth century,—that of a man of splendid attainments, who lacked perhaps depth, and certainly application, to become one of the greatest men of his age and century; a man of noble, chivalrous character, who had placed his ideals of human greatness unfortunately in the splendid and brilliant outside of things instead of their solid, substantial and imperishable worth.