There is no need to quote in full here the confession of this wretched man. He not only made it once but repeated it with ample details four days later; these details were marked by a total absence of reticence, and even decency. According to this confession—and it must be remembered that the man who made it was a liar as well as a coward—the intimate relations between the Queen and himself began in the spring of 1770, not long before the tour in Holstein. The Queen first gave him marks of her affection at a masquerade; he strove to check the intimacy, and afterwards to break it off, but without success. He even quoted the rudeness and lack of respect with which it was notorious he had frequently treated the Queen to prove the truth of his statement. He declared that he had been obliged to continue the intimacy lest he should lose his mistress’s confidence—that he was thus “placed in the alternative of ruining his fortunes, or succumbing to the will of the Queen”. This shameful confession Struensee signed.
Having now got all they wanted, the commissioners dismissed Struensee to his dungeon until they should have further need of him. The traitor retired well pleased with himself. Hope sprang once more within his breast, and this was fostered by several indulgences now shown to him. He was allowed to be shaved, his diet was made fuller, and he was given wine. His valet was permitted to attend him under strict order of silence. The man, who was devoted to his master, brought with him the silver toilet bowls and perfume bottles—they were suffered to remain in the cell, mute testimony of the change from effeminate luxury to sordid misery.
Armed with Struensee’s confession, the Government at last felt equal to dealing with the imprisoned Queen. Hitherto they had been in difficulty how to proceed. From the beginning of her incarceration the Queen, on being told whereof she was accused, had passionately demanded a fair trial. She was now informed that she would receive it.
On March 8, 1772, a fortnight after Struensee’s confession, a special commission, acting in the King’s name (though he was probably ignorant of the proceedings, or at any rate indifferent to them), arrived at Kronborg—nominally for the purpose of examining the Queen, in reality to extort from her by fair means or foul a confirmation of the confession made by Struensee. It was imperative that her enemies should obtain it, for it would justify the Queen’s treatment to the English Government, which, owing to the exertions of Keith, was becoming unpleasantly troublesome in its demands. It is said that Keith had contrived by some means to secretly warn the imprisoned Queen of the impending arrival of the commissioners, so that she should not be taken by surprise. He advised her that she should receive them with calmness, and treat them as subjects who had come to pay court to their Queen; when they began to interrogate her, she would do well to say that she had no answer to give them; she could not recognise their right to question her, as she recognised no superior, or judge, but her lord the King, to whom alone she would account for her actions. But unfortunately Keith knew nothing of Struensee’s confession.
The commission consisted of two members of the Council of State—Count Otto Thott and Councillor Schack-Rathlou[48]—who were well known to the Queen in the days of her prosperity, and two members of the committee of investigation who had examined Struensee, Baron Juell-Wind, a judge of the Supreme Court, and Stampe, the Attorney-General. These four men, it is scarcely necessary to say, had been opponents of the Struensee administration. As the Queen’s room was too small to admit all these men, some of whom could hardly have stood upright in it, the commission sat in the large hall adjoining, generally used for the guard—a room with a painted ceiling and pictures of Danish worthies around the walls. There, when they had arranged themselves at a table, with pens, ink and paper, her Majesty was informed that they awaited her pleasure.
[48] Joachim Otto Schack-Rathlou, Minister of State (1728-1800).
The Queen did not respond immediately to the summons, but first robed herself with care. Presently she entered the room, followed by her women. She acknowledged with a bow the salutations of the commissioners, who rose at her entrance, and then, passing to a chair, waved to them to be seated. She was very pale, but otherwise her bearing showed majestic dignity and composure. The commissioners, who had expected to find her broken down by weeks of solitary suffering and suspense, were astonished at this reception, and for a moment knew not how to proceed. Schack-Rathlou, who owed the Queen a grudge for the part which he unjustly believed she had played against him, undertook to begin the examination. For some time this proved fruitless. The commissioners found the Queen armed at all points: she admitted nothing, denied their right to question her, and, when she answered under protest, her replies were of the briefest. Though she was examined and cross-examined by the four men, two of whom were eminent lawyers, she showed neither confusion nor hesitation. It was evident that the Queen could not be made to incriminate herself by fair means; therefore the commissioners resolved to resort to foul ones. They could not threaten her with torture, so they determined to surprise her in the same way as Struensee had been surprised, and throw her off her guard.
Schack-Rathlou, who acted as president of the commission, therefore told the Queen that, as she would admit nothing of her own free will, it was their duty to inform her that they held damning evidence of her guilt. Thereupon he produced Struensee’s confession, and read it aloud. For the first time during the examination the Queen showed signs of emotion; she flushed either with shame or anger at the scandalous accusations, but she listened without interruption to the end. Then, when Schack-Rathlou put the formal question to her, she denied everything with passionate indignation, and declared that it was impossible that Struensee could have made such shameful statements, the document must be a forgery. For answer, Schack-Rathlou held the paper up before the Queen, that she might read with her own eyes Struensee’s signature. The Queen took a hasty glance, and recognising the well-known characters, she uttered an exclamation of horror, fell back in her chair, and covered her face with her hands. The commissioners had trapped their victim at last.
Presently Schack-Rathlou leaned across the table, and said significantly: “If Struensee’s confession be not true, Madam, then there is no death cruel enough for this monster, who has dared to compromise you to such an extent.” At these words Matilda let her hands fall from her face, and gazed with startled eyes at her merciless accusers. All her self-possession had fled, and for the moment she was utterly unnerved. She understood the covert menace only too well: by thus maligning the reigning Queen he was liable to death by the law of Denmark, and death the most barbarous and degrading. She still loved this man; even his shameful betrayal of her had not weakened her love. It had probably been extorted from him by trickery and torture; in any case, she refused to judge him. He had brought all the happiness she had known into her life; if he now brought shame and ruin, she would forgive him for the sake of the happiness that was gone. She had sworn never to abandon him, and should she now, because of one false step, throw him to the wolves? No! She would save him, even though it cost her her honour and her crown.
These thoughts flashed through the Queen’s brain as she confronted her judges. Then she gripped with her hands the arms of her chair, and, leaning forward, said: “But if I were to avow these words of Struensee to be true, could I save his life by doing so?” The lie was ready: “Surely, Madam,” said Schack-Rathlou, “that would be adduced in his favour, and would quite alter the situation. You have only to sign this.” So saying, he spread out a document already prepared, which the commissioners had brought with them. In it the Queen was made to confirm Struensee’s confession. The unhappy Queen glanced at it hurriedly. “Ah, well! I will sign,” she said. She seized the pen which Schack-Rathlou thrust into her hand, and wrote her signature to a document that would ruin her for ever. She had hardly done so when she fell back fainting.[49]