MARIAGE À LA MODE.

1766-1767.

The court of Denmark over which Matilda was now the reigning Queen, though not the ruling spirit, was the last place in the world for a young and innocent girl to be sent alone. It was a hotbed of intrigue, a stye of vile epicurism, where even decency was disregarded. Cunning as foxes, and like foxes in their lust and greed, the majority of the courtiers thought only of advancing their personal interests at the expense of each other, or by vain and frivolous amusement to kill the passing hour. All things that made for purity of life, nobility of purpose, or singleness of heart, were mocked at and derided. Truth, honour and virtue were by-words. During the later years of Frederick V.’s reign the influence of the French court (at its worst) had not been confined in Denmark to politics alone, but extended to manners and morals as well. This influence became far more visible at the court of Christian VII. than at that of his father. The society which the young King collected around him within the walls of the Christiansborg Palace did its best to copy Versailles, and it succeeded in aping the vices, if not the superficial refinement, of the court of France. At Christiansborg might be seen the same type of silly brainless persons as those who flitted about the ante-chambers of Versailles, who adopted the same frivolous tone, and the same loose morals. Their avowed object was to avoid ennui, but in their pursuit of pleasure they often caught boredom. The Danish courtiers, both men and women, were artificial to the core. They painted their faces, powdered their hair, and dressed extravagantly. They disguised every real sentiment, and sought always to seem what they were not. They expressed nothing but contempt for the language and customs of their native land. To be Danish was bourgeois, to be virtuous even more so.

The cheap cynicism which mocks at marriage, and all its privileges and duties, was much in vogue among the fashionable or “young party” at the Danish court. Christian VII. had heard too much of these views from the young rake-hells whom he chose for his companions not to be entirely at one with them, and he looked on marriage as the greatest burden. He had been extremely reluctant to take it upon himself and had only done so at the strongest representations of his ministers. Reverdil declares with a groan that to this epicene being “une personne royale dans son lit lui semblait d’ailleurs plutÔt un objet de respect que d’amour,” and adds that the King would have certainly refused to perform his connubial duties had it not been represented to him that the absence of an heir to the throne would give rise to all manner of evil gossip respecting himself.

The young King had consented to marry with an ill grace, and after his marriage he lost no time in declaring to his boon companions that he intended to be in every respect a husband À la mode. The first sight of his consort’s fresh and youthful beauty had seemed to awaken in him some dormant sense of manliness, and he treated her at first with a plausible imitation of lover-like ardour. He was flattered by the warmth of her reception and the praises of her beauty, which he interpreted as tributes to his own good taste. The ceremonies incident on the wedding gratified his love of display, and the festivities that followed delighted his pleasure-loving soul. He was like a child with a new toy, but he wearied of it even more quickly than a child. If his passion ever existed it was short-lived, for on the third day of his marriage he said to one of his intimate friends that he strongly advised him never to marry, as the unmarried state was far preferable. This speech might have been credited to the affectation of a very young husband who wished to pose as a cynic, but there was evidently something more behind it, for neither of the young couple appeared to be happy during the first days of their married life; Christian was restless and discontented, Matilda pensive and melancholy.

The Queen’s depression was natural. The excitement and novelty of her journey and her enthusiastic welcome had buoyed her up at first, but now these were over she felt the reaction. She was a stranger in a strange land, separated from every one she had ever known, and she suffered from homesickness. A closer acquaintance with her husband obliterated the favourable first impression she had formed of him. He was a disappointment. The flattering despatches which the English envoys had sent to London (some of which we have quoted) credited him with every physical and mental endowment, and portrayed him as a paragon among princes. These encomiums, duly communicated to the Princess-Dowager, had been dunned into Matilda’s ears with such persistency that she thought she was marrying a prince who was almost a demi-god, and who gathered up into himself all the attributes of the legendary heroes of Scandinavian romance. What then must have been her disappointment when she found that her husband resembled a French petit maÎtre, rather than a son of the Vikings. To add to her disillusion Christian made hardly any show of affection for his wife, and after the first few days treated her with open indifference. A week after their marriage the royal couple gave a banquet at the Christiansborg Palace, and it was noticed by the company that already the bloom had faded from the young Queen’s cheeks, and she smiled with evident effort. Her sadness increased from day to day, and she often gazed at the ring her mother had given her, with its inscription, “May it bring thee happiness,” and sighed heavily. The King, who wished for nothing but to be amused, was piqued by his consort’s despondency, and so far from making any attempt to comfort her, relieved his feelings by satirical remarks. One day when one of his favourites called his attention to the Queen’s sadness, he said: “What does it matter? It is not my fault. I believe she has the spleen.” The King’s indifference to his Queen was quickly noticed by the courtiers, who took their cue accordingly, and treated her as a person of little account. Ogier, the French envoy at Copenhagen, reported to Paris three weeks after the marriage: “The English Princess has produced hardly any impression on the King’s heart; but had she been even more amiable she would have experienced the same fate, for how could she please a man who seriously believes that it is not good form (n’est pas du bon air) for a husband to love his wife?”

The French envoy was exultant that the marriage, on which England had built such high hopes, should produce so little effect politically. The Queen had no influence with the King, and he would be more likely to oppose her wishes than to yield to them, if only for fear lest it should be thought that he was governed by his wife. The poor little Queen had no wish for political power, and was too much downcast by her own personal disappointments to be of any use in a diplomatic intrigue. But George III., and the English Government, who had no knowledge of the real state of affairs, persisted in their project of using the Queen for their own advantage; and Secretary Conway sent minute instructions to Gunning as to the best way in which this could be worked.

“In regard to your applying to the young Queen,” he writes, “her affection to his Majesty [George III.], and love for her native country, cannot but incline her to preserve, as much as it can be in her power to do, the mind of the King of Denmark, permanently fixed upon the strictest union with his Majesty’s, who has no one view in his alliance inconsistent with the honour of the King of Denmark or the welfare of his kingdom. Both Mr. Titley and you will doubtless omit nothing that can mark your utmost attention and desire of serving her Majesty. There might seem an impropriety in endeavouring to engage her Majesty to interfere in business, especially in what has the air of court intrigue, but so far as informing her Majesty fully of the present state of the court, and apprising her who are the best friends of her native country, and consequently most inclined to promote the true honour and interests of their own, it will be your duty, and may be an essential service to her Majesty, whose good sense will make the properest use of the lights you furnish. The etiquette of the court of Denmark (I find by your letter of September 2) allows an easier access to family ministers than to others, and this privilege you will, I imagine, have no difficulty to preserve.... You may also be assured that the affection of his Majesty [George III.], and his care for the welfare and happiness of his sister, so deservedly the object of his love and esteem, cannot fail of having suggested every proper counsel and information more immediately necessary for her guidance in the delicate and important situation she is placed. Upon that foundation you may properly build, and in such further lights as it may be fit for you to give her Majesty, I think both the opportunities and the matter of the information itself should rather flow naturally than be too affectedly sought.”[75]

The English Government was soon disappointed of its hope of using the Danish Queen as a pawn in the political game. Gunning, in bitter disappointment, enlightened Conway as to the true state of affairs a few weeks after the marriage. “All access to either the King or Queen of Denmark,” he wrote, “is rendered so difficult that without being furnished with some pretext I can never expect to approach either of their Majesties but in public. The preference given me there has already occasioned some of the most unheard of and preposterous complaints.” [Here he refers to the protest of the Spanish minister already mentioned.] “Monsieur Reventlow[76] has lately made me some overtures to a better understanding; he speaks in raptures of the Queen whenever I see him, and I believe will constitute as much as depends upon him to promote her Majesty’s happiness. This is of itself a sufficient reason for my wishing to cultivate his good opinion, and if possible to bring him over to our interests. [The French Minister] encourages the carrying on intrigues against us; they (I need not tell you, sir) increase every day, and particularly since the arrival of her Majesty,—the principal people about her being our most inveterate enemies.”[77]

One of the “inveterate enemies” was the austere and haughty Madame de Plessen, who hedged the Queen round with iron etiquette, and permitted none to enter her presence without her permission. Especially did she throw difficulties in the way of the English envoy having frequent access of her Majesty, on the ground that his visits would be sure to cause jealousy and ill-will. The Queen, she urged, must overcome her natural preferences, she must forget that she was a Princess of Great Britain, and remember only that she was Queen of Denmark and Norway. This was perhaps sound advice so far as it went, but Madame de Plessen’s object in giving it was not altogether disinterested. She, like her former mistress, Queen Sophia Magdalena, was a sworn friend of France, and probably in its pay. Madame de Plessen had a genius for political intrigue, and her apartments in the palace formed a rendez-vous for the friends of France.

It is difficult to follow the cross-currents of politics at the Danish court during the early years of the reign of Christian VII., but so far as foreign affairs were concerned, the position may be briefly summarised thus: The main object of England was to check France; the main object of Sweden was to check Russia. Therefore, whatever was disagreeable to France at Copenhagen was agreeable to England. Whatever was disagreeable to Sweden was agreeable to Russia. Failing to see her own influence in the ascendant at the Danish court, England would prefer to see that of Russia. Bernstorff, the Prime Minister, was very friendly to Russia, and not ill-disposed to England. Therefore, the French envoy and Madame de Plessen intrigued against him. In domestic politics also the Queen’s chief lady was in opposition to Bernstorff, and to her chambers flocked malcontents, including many of the staider and more conservative among the Danish nobility, who shook their heads over the misgovernment of the Prime Minister, and the follies and extravagancies of the King and his friends.

The advent of the young Queen was made an excuse for the King to gratify his passion for festivity and display. During the preceding reign the court had led a comparatively quiet life, but the winter following Christian VII.’s marriage was an unceasing round of gaiety. Balls, banquets, concerts, masques, operas and plays, hunting parties, sledge parties, circuses, and excursions to the different royal castles around Copenhagen—there were a good many—succeeded one another in quick succession. The King had a great love for the play, so he built a court theatre at the Christiansborg Palace and decorated it without regard to expense. A French company acted there, and the King and his suite frequently took part in the performances. The King acted a part in Voltaire’s Zaire, and his performance was received with great applause. He was so much impressed with his dramatic talents that he twice repeated his performance in the larger theatre of Copenhagen, and there the general public were permitted to attend. Acting, however, was but a passing phase with the King, and he soon tired of it, though he undoubtedly showed talent.

Madame de Plessen did all she could to prevent the Queen from taking part in the court festivities, but Matilda, who was young, and fond of pleasure, could not be prevailed upon to absent herself altogether, more especially as by doing so she would incur the displeasure of the King. But she never appeared unless attended by Madame de Plessen, and turned to her always for guidance. It was Madame de Plessen who chose the ladies to dance in the same quadrilles as the Queen, and she took care that none, however beautiful or fashionable they might be, should be admitted to this honour if there were the slightest blemish upon their reputation. With men the same care was not necessary, for, as a matter of etiquette, the Queen never danced with any but princes of the blood, ambassadors, ministers of state, or others it was deemed advisable to honour in an especial manner.

The introduction of masquerades was a still more startling innovation, and gave great offence to the two Dowager-Queens. Sophia Magdalena protested, but though her protests were supported by several of the ministers, and the more prominent among the clergy, they were unheeded. The King and his friends anticipated too many gallant adventures to forego the opportunities which a masked ball offered, and they wished to imitate at Copenhagen those masquerades held at the opera in Paris. The first masked ball ever given in Denmark was held in December in the Christiansborg Palace. All the ladies and gentlemen belonging to the first three classes were admitted, besides all officers belonging to both services. They were allowed to appear in any fancy dress they chose, the only restriction being that they should not come “in the likeness of an animal or any unseemly disguise”. The King appeared as a Sultan, and his immediate following were also in eastern dress. The point was fiercely debated whether the Queen should appear at the masquerades or not; the Dowager-Queens and Madame de Plessen being wholly against it, and the King insisting upon it. Finally a compromise was arrived at; Matilda showed herself to the company for a short time, and then retired to her apartments to play chess with court ladies chosen for her by Madame de Plessen, and the elderly wives of ministers. It was as well that the Queen retired early, for the tone of the masquerade became more and more free as the evening wore on, and degenerated at last into riotous licence.

The expense of these entertainments was very heavy, and the people, who were overburdened with taxes, began to murmur. There was great distress in Copenhagen during the winter of 1766-67, and the contrast between the want and misery in the poorer quarters of the city, and the festivity and extravagance in the palace, was very striking. The people, who loved the pomp and circumstance of royalty, might at another time have overlooked this lavish expenditure, on the ground of the youth and natural gaiety of the King. But sinister rumours were afloat concerning him and his pleasures, and he had already by his puerile amusements and dissipated conduct forfeited to a great extent the public respect. Moreover, the Puritan party in Denmark was very strong, and included the elder members of the royal family, and many of the most influential personages in church and state. These regarded many of the court festivities with disapproval, and the masquerades with horror. The clergy especially were violent in their denunciations, and did not hesitate to fan the flame of popular discontent. For instance, a building, belonging, and adjacent to, the Christiansborg Palace, in which there was a large wood store and brewery, caught fire about this time, and was burned to the ground; the conflagration was the biggest known in Copenhagen for years. Pastor MÜnter, a preacher of great power, seized upon the incident to preach a sermon against the sinful amusements of the court. He declared that the fire was a sign from heaven to warn the King and his following to refrain from their wicked ways, and if they did not profit by it they would be utterly consumed with fire, if not here, then most certainly hereafter. The sermon made a great sensation in Copenhagen, and the preacher was reprimanded by the court, but he was regarded as an inspired prophet by many austere Puritans.

The worst of all this controversy was that the innocent young Queen was blamed unjustly. Rumours were spread abroad that Matilda was largely responsible for these extravagancies; and in proof of the assertion it was pointed out that the introduction of masquerades followed upon the arrival of the English princess. It was said that these rumours originated at the court of the Queen-Dowager. Juliana Maria had retired to the Fredensborg with her son, the Hereditary Prince Frederick, where she was surrounded by a little circle of malcontents. In due time these untruths reached Matilda’s ears and caused her great annoyance. The young Queen’s household, including Madame de Plessen, did everything they could to contradict the reports, but with indifferent success. The mischief was done, and it remained a fixed idea in the minds of many people that the Queen was almost as devoted as the King to frivolous amusements. Queen Matilda communicated her uneasiness to the English envoy, who wrote home:—

“At a time when the Crown labours under the pressure of heavy debts, and the revenue, from mismanagement, is so much lessened, people naturally complain of the increase of expenses, and the introduction of a number of entertainments, and amongst these, of masquerades. The Queen is under the greatest uneasiness, lest this should be imputed to her having any inclination for a diversion of this kind, from which, on the contrary, the goodness of her heart, and the purity of her sentiments, render her very averse. The sweetness of her disposition, and the uncommon degree of prudence and discretion she is endowed with, must ensure her a large share of happiness; but whatever my wishes may be, I cannot flatter myself this will ever bear any proportion to what her Majesty so justly deserves.”[78] To which the Secretary of State replied: “Your attention to her Danish Majesty is most justly commendable, and certainly her Majesty’s cautious conduct is most amiable and respectable”.[79]

The festivities of the Danish court culminated in the coronation and anointing of the King and Queen, which took place on May 1, 1767.[80] The day dawned brilliantly fine, though the air was clear and cold. At an early hour the bells of the Vor-Frue-Kirke (the Church of Our Lady, the metropolitan church of Denmark) began to ring, and bells chimed merrily from other towers. At eleven o’clock all the gentlemen-in-waiting assembled in the King’s ante-chamber, and all the ladies-in-waiting in the Queen’s. The King donned the anointing robes: “A short jacket and breeches of gold brocade, pearl-coloured silk stockings, white gloves embroidered with gold, and white shoes with red heels; his buckles, garters and coat buttons were set with diamonds, and his cloak of royal ermine was embroidered with golden flowers”. The King, thus arrayed, crowned himself with his own hands according to the Lex Regia, which ordained that “since the Kings of Denmark do not receive the crown from any hands but their own, the ceremony of coronation shall be performed by themselves”.

With the crown on his head the King, accompanied by the Grand Chamberlain, who carried the Queen’s crown on a velvet cushion, went to the Queen’s room and crowned her with his own hands.

This ceremony over, the King took the sceptre in his right hand and the orb in his left, and donned the collars of both the great Danish orders, the Elephant and the Dannebrog. Then he passed into his audience chamber, his train upborne by the Counts Reventlow and Danneskjold-SamsÖe. There he held a court, and received the homage of the principal personages in the state.

The Queen, likewise attired in her anointing robes, to wit: “A robe of cloth of gold, and a royal mantle of red velvet lined with ermine and embroidered with gold crowns,” and with the crown upon her head, passed into her audience chamber, her train upborne by Madame de Plessen and the Countess St. Germains. Here she held a court, and received the homage of the assembled ladies.