THE TRIALS OF STRUENSEE AND BRANDT.
1772.
The Queen’s case being ended, it was resolved to proceed without delay against the other prisoners, and chief among these were Struensee and Brandt. Struensee was tried first. The day of his trial was originally fixed for April 10, the day after the sentence of her divorce had been communicated to the Queen at Kronborg, but, as the advocate appointed to prosecute Struensee was not quite ready with his brief, the trial was deferred for eleven days.
Struensee had now been in prison more than three months, and had ample time for reflection. Seven weeks had passed since his shameful confession compromising the Queen, but he made no sign of recanting it; on the contrary, he imagined that it would tell in his favour. Struensee was now a broken man; the signs of premature decay, which first made themselves manifest in the days of his prosperity, had, since his imprisonment, developed with great rapidity. He had shown himself unable to bear prosperity; he was even less able to cope with adversity. Every now and then a flash of the old Struensee would assert itself, but for the most part he was a feeble creature who brooded day after day in his dungeon, and bore but little resemblance to the once imperious minister. All Struensee’s thoughts were now concentrated on a craven desire for life—life at any cost—and to this end he offered up in sacrifice not only the woman who had done everything for him, but all the principles and ideals which had guided him throughout his career.
The Queen-Dowager, who had affected so much concern for the welfare of Queen Matilda’s soul, was equally interested in the soul of Struensee. Perhaps she thought that spiritual terrors might induce him to amplify his already too detailed confession. From the first days of his imprisonment Struensee had been urged to see a clergyman, but had always refused. After his confession of adultery with Matilda, which was taken as a sign of grace, the Queen-Dowager insisted that he should receive a ghostly counsellor, even against his will. To that end she appointed Dr. Münter as the fittest instrument to effect Struensee’s conversion. The choice of Dr. Münter was of course designed. He was the most fanatical and violent of all the preachers in Copenhagen, and had shown himself a bitter opponent of Struensee and the Queen. He had denounced them from the pulpit in the days of their prosperity, and from the same sanctuary he had savagely gloated over them in the days of their ruin. It was a refinement of cruelty, therefore, to send him, of all others, to the miserable prisoner now.
Münter entered upon his task with alacrity. He took a professional pride in his work, and apparently felt much as a doctor would feel who had before him a difficult case; if he could effect a cure, it would be a great triumph for him. But, apart from this, there is no doubt that Münter was perfectly sincere. By nature a bigot, and by education narrow-minded, he had all the thoroughness born of that same narrowness. To him it was all-important that he should save Struensee’s soul: the greater the sinner, the greater would be his salvation. Therefore, Münter set to work to make Struensee confess everything, heedless, or oblivious, of the fact that, while he was labouring to effect the miserable man’s conversion, he was (by repeating his confessions) helping his enemies to complete his ruin.[56]
[56] Münter wrote a full and particular account of his efforts, entitled, Narrative of the Conversion and Death of Count Struensee, by Dr. Münter. This book was translated into the English by the Rev. Thomas Rennell: Rivingtons, 1824. It contains long and (to me) not very edifying conversations on religion which are alleged to have taken place between Struensee and the divine. But since these are matters on which people take different views, it is only fair to say that Sir James Mackintosh awards the Narrative high praise as a “perfect model of the manner in which a person circumstanced like Struensee ought to be treated by a kind and considerate minister of religion” (Misc. Works, vol. ii.). To support this view he suggests that “as Dr. Münter’s Narrative was published under the eye of the Queen’s oppressors, they might have caused the confessions of Struensee to be inserted in it by their own agents without the consent, perhaps without the knowledge, of Münter”. But even he is fain to admit that the “internal evidence” does not favour this preposterous hypothesis. The confessions extorted by Münter from Struensee were used not only against the wretched man, but to the prejudice of the Queen.
Münter paid his first visit to Struensee on March 1. The prisoner, who had been told that he must see the man, whom he had always regarded as his enemy, did so under protest, and received the preacher in gloomy silence, and with a look that showed his contempt. But Münter—we are quoting his own version of the interview—so far from overwhelming the prisoner with reproaches or exhortations, greeted him in a cordial and sympathetic manner, and told him that he wished to make his visits both pleasant and useful. Struensee, who had not seen a friendly face for months, was disarmed by Münter’s manner, and offered him his hand. The latter then opened the conversation by saying that he hoped if he said anything displeasing to Struensee by mistake the latter would overlook it. “Oh, you may say what you please,” answered the prisoner indifferently. Münter then began his exhortations with the warning: “If you desire to receive comfort from me, your only friend on earth, do not hug that mistaken idea of dying like a philosophic hero.” Struensee answered, not very truthfully: “In all my adversities I have shown firmness of mind, and therefore I hope I shall not die like a hypocrite.” Then followed a long and animated conversation, in which Münter bore the leading part. Struensee now and then ventured to advance arguments which were knocked down like ninepins by the nimble divine. Struensee, though the son of a clergyman, had in his youth become a freethinker, and had always remained so. He was saturated with German rationalism, and by every act and utterance had shown himself to be a confirmed unbeliever in Christianity. It is therefore very unlikely that a man of Struensee’s calibre would be convinced by such arguments as Münter adduced—at least, by those which he states he adduced in his book.[57] But Struensee clung to life; he knew that Münter was a power in the land, and he thought that, if he allowed him to effect his conversion, he would make a friend who would probably save him from death. In this first conversation he admitted that he was afraid of death: “He wished to live, even though it were with less happiness than he now enjoyed in his prison.” But he would not seem to yield all at once. “My views, which are opposed to yours, are so strongly woven into my mind; I have so many arguments in favour of them; I have made so many observations from physic and anatomy that confirm them, that I think it will be impossible for me to renounce my principles. This, however, I promise: I will not wilfully oppose your efforts to enlighten me, but rather wish, as far as lies in my power, to agree with you.”
[57] I should be the last to say that such changes are not possible. I only wish to suggest that in Struensee’s case the motives which led him to yield to Münter’s arguments were not sincere.
On the second visit Struensee showed himself to be a little more yielding, though he said his mind was neither composed nor serene enough to examine into the nature of Münter’s arguments. Struensee wept when he thought of the trouble he had brought upon his friends; he had no tears for the woman whom he had betrayed. Münter exhorted him to acknowledge his errors and crimes, and search his former life, in order to qualify himself for God’s mercy. “God,” said Münter, “has given you an uncommon understanding, and, I believe, a good natural disposition of heart, but through voluptuousness, ambition and levity you have corrupted yourself.” Struensee was flattered by this view of his character, and admitted unctuously that voluptuousness had been his chief passion, and had contributed most to his moral depravity. After seven conferences Münter gave Struensee a letter from his father, which he had for some time carried in his pocket, awaiting a favourable opportunity to deliver. The letter was a long and affecting one. It assumed Struensee’s guilt as a matter of no doubt, and worthy of the worst punishment; it lamented that he had not remained a doctor—that his ambition had led him into all these crimes: now nothing would bring his afflicted parents comfort but the knowledge of his conversion. This letter affected Struensee much, and so did another one from his mother, written in the same strain.