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.