"My papers are arranged," Struensee coldly answered him; "from that side I have nothing to fear, if they will only behave fairly in other respects."
Brandt joined in Falckenskjold's warnings, and urged Struensee not to be so obstinate, but to give way, and yield to circumstances.
"No!" Struensee answered him, with considerable violence; "no! I will give up nothing of what, according to my conviction, promotes the welfare of the state."
"The time will come," Brandt said, prophetically, "when we shall be compelled to give way."
Struensee retired silently to his cabinet. But, a few minutes after, Falckenskjold received a note from him, in which he asked whether he could be present at the festival without risk. Falckenskjold answered him, that he was able to stay away if he felt afraid.[5]
Neither Struensee nor their Majesties appeared at the festival of the roast ox: the preparations for their reception proved a farce. The proceedings passed off tranquilly, with the exception that some of the sailors remarked that it was not the ox that had been promised them—in allusion to Struensee's corpulence. The citizens were very much annoyed at not having been shown their king, whom they were growing accustomed to talk about as an automaton. They were even more indignant when they learned that fear had retained their Majesties at Hirschholm, and this distrust with which the king was inspired against his subjects was a fresh crime with which the favourites were accused. But though it is certain that the king had nothing to fear, it is equally certain that he had not been inspired either with fear or distrust; in the whole affair he was passive and indifferent.[6]
There can be little doubt but that Struensee was quite right in staying away from the festival of September 29, for there was a regular conspiracy; it was formed under the auspices of Juliana Maria, and managed by the head man of the caulkers, Captain Winterfeldt, who was eventually rewarded for his good will. In 1774, Baron von Bülow gave Mr. Wraxall a detailed account of the plot to murder Struensee and his partisans on this occasion.
The favourites were not at all reassured by the tranquillity of the people and the sailors, for a dull fermentation was going on, of which they could not be ignorant. Projects for leaving the country, and the results which might ensue from obstinately despising the danger, frequently occupied them. The cabinet minister even one day mentioned his disgust to Reverdil, who was in no respect his confidant, and the latter expressed his surprise that he put up with it. Struensee replied that he had often thought of retiring, and was only prevented by his devotion to the queen, who had ever been before his time a victim of the intrigues and malice of the favourites, and would be so after him. On another occasion, when he assured Reverdil that the king was the sole author of the reforms he had accomplished, he added, "I will not say otherwise under torture." Brandt, who frequently complained of his lot, said, with respect to some reproaches he received from the queen, "that alone is a hell." Brandt, who pretended to be seriously affected by an anonymous letter, confirmed his friend, however, in his resolution of remaining. "To what place could you go," he said to him, "where you would be prime minister and favourite of the king and queen?"
On other occasions, Brandt's incredible levity inspired him with jests as to the fate they had to fear. One day, after making some rather malicious remarks about the marshal of the court, he added: "After all, though, Biälke is the wisest of us, for he is taking advantage of the present time to settle down; he is making a wealthy marriage, and when we are in prison, I flatter myself that he will have pity on us, and send us every now and then some good soup." At another dinner, Brandt began talking about the proposition of September 29 of all flying together, and asked each of the guests what profession he would choose to gain a livelihood. The queen said that she would turn singer; and, indeed, she had a very agreeable voice. Struensee said that he would take a distant farm, and live on it as a philosopher. Brandt proposed to carry on, on his own account, his trade as manager of a theatre; "and you, my fair lady," he added to one of the guests, "cannot fail to succeed; with your form, you need only offer yourself as a model at an academy." The lady was certainly very beautiful, but hid with a great deal of art a defect in her shape, which she thought no one knew.[7]
Still, these anxieties which Brandt treated so gaily in company, affected him, nevertheless, in secret. "I wish all this would come to an end," he said one day to Falckenskjold, "for I have a foreboding that this government will speedily be overthrown."