THE PRODIGAL’S RETURN.
1769.
On January 14 Christian VII. returned to Copenhagen after an absence of nearly eight months. Queen Matilda drove out to meet him, and husband and wife exchanged affectionate greetings. Together they entered Copenhagen, amid the firing of cannon, ringing of bells, and the joyful acclamations of the people. The English envoy gives the following account of the entry: “The Queen went as far as RÖskilde to meet his Majesty, which strong mark of her affection and regard could not fail of affording him the highest satisfaction. Between six and seven o’clock their Majesties made a public entry into this capital, under a triple discharge of the cannon on the ramparts. The whole garrison, as well as the burghers, were under arms, and permission having been given a few days before to illuminate the houses, the inhabitants vied with each other in doing this, as well as the short notice would admit of, and in demonstrating their joy in every other manner they could. The foreign ministers, nobility, etc., attended at the palace of Christiansborg in order to pay their compliments upon this happy occasion, which the King was pleased to receive, after he had made a short visit to the Dowager-Queens.”[108]
Thus did Denmark welcome home her prodigal son.
Queen Matilda had spent the greater part of the time since the King left her at Frederiksborg,[109] some twenty miles from Copenhagen. Frederiksborg was the most magnificent of the country palaces of the Danish King, and has well been called the “Versailles of Denmark”. It stands to this day, and the site is one of the most picturesque in Europe; the buildings cover three islands in a lake, connected by bridges, the palace proper occupying the third island. The exterior is rich in florid ornamentation, carried out in a warm sandstone, which admirably harmonises with the time-stained brick of which the palace is built. The windows look across the green water of the lake—a vivid green nowhere seen as at Frederiksborg—to the gardens, laid out in the old French style, with straight walks and terraces, and clipped hedges of beech and hornbeam. The most magnificent room in Frederiksborg is the knights’ hall, and below it is the church, where the Kings of the Oldenburg line were once wont to be crowned. This church is the most ornate of any in Denmark; everywhere is colour—in the traceried windows and frescoed walls, in the inlaid ivory work of the stalls, the pulpit of ebony and embossed silver, and the purple-vested altar with its golden crucifix. In short, Frederiksborg is a magnificent specimen of the Danish Renaissance, and brings vividly before us the life, the colour and richness which characterised the court life of mediÆval Denmark.
At Frederiksborg Matilda spent the summer and autumn months of 1768 alone. She occupied herself for the most part in works of charity, and strove to forget her own sorrows in relieving those of others. There was no philanthropic institution in the kingdom which she did not support, and in her immediate neighbourhood her name became a household word for many acts of kindness and benevolence. The young Queen went in and out among the poor of the adjacent village of HillerÖd, visiting the sick and helping the needy. The fame of her good deeds spread abroad, and the poor throughout Denmark, even thousands to whom she was only a name, came to look upon her as a protectress and a friend. They believed that the golden days of good Queen Louise had come back again. “The English,” they said, “send us not Queens, but angels.”
For the rest, Matilda lived in great retirement. Occasionally she received visits of ceremony from the Dowager-Queens, from Sophia Magdalena, who lived at Hirschholm, or from Juliana Maria, who lived at Fredensborg. The masked hostility of Juliana Maria continued unabated, but the extreme circumspection of the young Queen’s conduct gave no occasion for cavil. Except the Dowager-Queens she saw no one beyond her immediate household, and though most of these had been forced upon her against her will, yet after the first restraint wore off she showed to them no resentment. Her kindness and consideration won all their hearts, with one exception—that of FrÄulein von Eyben, who, though pretending to be devoted to her mistress, was secretly working against her. Matilda took no part in state affairs during the King’s absence, not even in ceremonial duties. Taking their cue from the King, the Ministers who had been left to conduct the business of the state while he was abroad, treated the Queen as a person of little importance, and even neglected to pay her the ordinary visits of ceremony.
Since Madame de Plessen had left the court Matilda had no one to whom she could talk freely, nor, except her sister Augusta of Brunswick, had she any one to whom she could write without restraint. Augusta had her own troubles too, but she kept a warm corner in her heart for her youngest sister, and throughout life remained her truest and staunchest friend. But, at best, letter-writing is a poor substitute for personal converse, and at this time Matilda was much alone.
The young Queen must have often felt friendless and depressed as she paced the terraces of Frederiksborg or looked down from the windows of her apartments into the green water which lapped the castle walls, or gazed out on the clear northern night, and watched the moonlight play on the towers and pinnacles of the palace. Sometimes of a morning she would wander forth to the beech woods beyond the gardens. These beeches, mighty with age, are now, as they were then, one of the features of Frederiksborg. They are always beautiful—beautiful in spring, with their satin-smooth trunks, and branches still leafless, but tipped with brown spikes flushed with purple, and already bursting to disclose the woolly buds of silver within; beautiful in summer, when the pale green leaves form a shimmering canopy overhead; beautiful when the golden hues of autumn mingle with the russet-brown of the cones; beautiful even in winter, when the leafless branches stretch like lacework against the leaden hues of the sky, and the shrill winds from the Baltic whistle through them, and the ground beneath is carpeted with husks of their lavish fruit. Matilda grew to love these beech woods greatly, and even to-day they are associated with her name.
The Queen had one consolation in her loneliness which was not hers when she came to Denmark— she had her son, and found much happiness in him, for the maternal instinct was always strong in her. She could no longer feel a stranger and an alien in a country over which her son would, under Providence, one day rule; she was not merely the King’s wife, but the mother of the future King of Denmark. The Crown Prince was at first sickly and ailing, but when the Queen went to Frederiksborg, in defiance of court etiquette, she took the infant under her immediate care, and kept him with her as much as possible. During the summer, under his mother’s watchful love, the little Prince, whose life was so precious to the Danish nation, grew much stronger. The English envoy mentions an audience he had with the Queen at Frederiksborg soon after her arrival there, and adds: “The Prince Royal, whom her Majesty was pleased to allow me to see, is greatly grown since his removal to the country. The resemblance between his Highness and the King’s (our royal Master’s) family is striking to all those who have had the honour of seeing him.”[110]
The Palace of Fredericksborg, from the garden terrace.
THE PALACE OF FREDERIKSBORG, FROM THE GARDEN TERRACE.
From an Engraving, temp. 1768.
The only ceremonial the Queen attended, in the absence of Christian VII., was the inauguration of an equestrian statue of the late King Frederick V. at Copenhagen in the late autumn. Shortly after this function Matilda removed from the country to the Christiansborg Palace, and there awaited the King, who did not return until two months later than he at first intended. Matilda had now determined to make the best of her husband, notwithstanding the reports which had reached her of his dissipation in London and Paris. He was the father of her child, and her interests were bound up with his. The future happiness of her son, and the prosperity of his kingdom, largely depended on Christian VII. It was clearly the Queen’s duty to put aside her own grievances, however great they might be, and make an effort to guide the King in the right way. Therefore she welcomed him home as affectionately as if no cloud had dimmed their parting eight months before.
The King was surprised and delighted at the change which had taken place in his Queen’s appearance and demeanour. The restful and healthy life she had led at Frederiksborg had added greatly to her charm, her figure had developed and her spirits improved. Christian had left Matilda an unformed girl, he came back to find her a beautiful and self-possessed woman. His wayward fancy was pleased, and soon the mot ran round the palace that the King had actually fallen in love with his own wife. He might well have done so, for she was by far the most beautiful woman at his court. There is a portrait of Queen Matilda in the Rosenborg at Copenhagen, painted about this time, when she was in her eighteenth year. It represents her in the full bloom of her beauty. The face is a pure oval, the brow lofty and serene, the nose delicately chiselled, the lips full and red, the large eyes of a peculiar shade of light blue, the expression a combination of youthful dignity and sweet archness. Her hair is dressed high, and powdered after the fashion of the time; she wears a blue robe, with a narrow edge of ermine to betoken her queenly rank, and round her finely-moulded throat is a close necklace of pearls. Even if we make allowance for courtly flattery, the picture remains that of a woman of rare loveliness and indescribable charm.
Though her heart was untouched, Matilda was no doubt flattered by her husband’s attentions, and she honestly tried to meet his advances half way. Acting on the advice of her mother, her sister, and of all who wished her well, she strove to please him, and in her desire to hold his fickle favour, she even overlooked the fact that the hated Holck was still in the ascendant. Perhaps she thought, by fair words and guile, to undermine his ascendency. Her efforts, if they did not add to her own happiness, at least conduced to the outward harmony of the royal pair, and were coincident with a marked improvement in Christian’s mode of life. For the first few months after the King’s return this improvement was maintained; the nocturnal expeditions, which had so scandalised the citizens of Copenhagen, were now entirely given up; there were no masquerades, and the court became quite decorous. Formerly the dinner used to be rushed through for the King to hurry off to his apartments and occupy himself in unworthy pursuits. Now the King and Queen dined in public nearly every day, and with much ceremony. The leading ministers, the foreign envoys, and all who distinguished themselves in the service of church or state, were in turn honoured with invitations, and the conversation at the dinner table became almost intellectual. Yet the court did not grow dull; cotillons and minuets were often danced in the palace, and the opening of the theatre for the season afforded much interest and amusement. The centre of all this pleasant society was the young Queen, the praises of whose beauty and amiability were on every tongue. Moreover, always accompanied by the Queen, the King reviewed the fleet, inspected the docks and fortifications of Copenhagen, and visited learned and scientific institutions with the object of comparing them with those he had seen abroad. The King also again endeavoured to interest himself in affairs of state, attended councils and criticised many details of administration. This remarkable change delighted alike the King’s ministers and his subjects, and they ascribed the improvement quite as much to the influence of the Queen as to the result of his travels. The Queen, it seemed at this time, was likely to become a power in the state. The English envoy writes home:—
“Your Lordship (the Earl of Rochford) has been already acquainted with the change that appeared in his Danish Majesty. Those amusements in which he used to take delight no longer afford him any. The society of the Queen seems alone to constitute his happiness. Her Majesty will now, no doubt, obtain that just and proper degree of influence, which her numberless amiable qualities entitle her to, and which she would have much earlier enjoyed, had not the happy effect of it been too much apprehended by some who did not expect to find their account in it.”[111]
Impressed, no doubt, by the warmth of his welcome in England, the King of Denmark was now strongly English in his sentiments. He talked much about his English mother, and delighted to honour anything which had to do, even remotely, with England. For instance, he sent the order of the Elephant to Prince George of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, the youngest brother of Queen Charlotte; he despatched a pressing invitation to the Duke of Gloucester to visit Copenhagen, and he resolved to celebrate Queen Matilda’s birthday with all possible ceremony, not only as a mark of her new-found favour in his eyes, but also because he wished to pay a compliment, through her, to the royal house of England.
The Duke of Gloucester duly arrived at Copenhagen to take part in the celebration of his sister’s birthday. He was the first of her family whom Matilda had seen since she left home, and she received him with demonstrations of joy. Gunning writes: “Their mutual joy and satisfaction on this occasion was greater than can be expressed”.[112]
William Henry, Duke of Gloucester, was in his twenty-sixth year at the time of his visit to Copenhagen. He was the least intelligent of the numerous family of Frederick Prince of Wales, but he had some sterling qualities, which made him resemble, more than the other sons, his eldest brother George III. If he lacked the wit and brilliancy of the Duke of York, he did not possess the vices and follies of the Duke of Cumberland. As a boy he was dull and heavy-witted, and the Princess-Dowager cared for him the least of all her children. According to Walpole she used to treat him with severity, and then accuse him of sulking. “No,” said the Duke, on one occasion, “I am not sulking, I am only thinking.” “And pray, of what are you thinking?” asked his mother with scorn. “I am thinking that if ever I have a son, I will not make him as unhappy as you make me.” The Duke of Gloucester grew up a silent, reserved man, and shortly after attaining his majority, he became enamoured of Maria, Dowager-Countess Waldegrave. His passion was the more violent, because of the way his affections had been stunted in his youth, and the obstacles to the attainment of his desire only served to quicken his ardour. The obstacles were considerable, for the Dowager-Countess Waldegrave, in consequence of a stain upon her birth,[113] was hardly a meet woman for the King’s brother to take to wife, and, on the other hand, as she told him, she was too considerable a person to become his mistress. She was a young, rich and beautiful widow of spotless reputation and boundless ambition. Many suitors were at her feet, among them the Duke of Portland, the best match in England, yet by some strange perversity Lady Waldegrave rejected them all, and engaged in a dalliance with the unattractive Duke of Gloucester. The Duke’s wooing was long and unsatisfactory; the King and the Princess-Dowager did their utmost to break off the affair, the friends of Lady Waldegrave remonstrated, and counselled prudence. But threats, advice and warnings were all in vain, and at last the Duke of Gloucester and Lady Waldegrave were secretly married in September, 1766, in the drawing-room of Lady Waldegrave’s town house, by her domestic chaplain. The secret was jealously guarded; some declared that the young couple were married, others, less charitable, that they ought to be, but the Duke and his Duchess let them gossip as they would. The Duke was always with Lady Waldegrave in public, and his manner to her was exactly the manner a man would treat his honoured wife. The livery worn by her servants was a compromise between that of the royal family and her own. But the marriage was not declared, and at the time the Duke of Gloucester came to Copenhagen there seemed no probability that it ever would be.[114]
The Duke of Gloucester was received with every mark of respect, and his visit to Copenhagen was a continual round of festivity. There was a grand review of the troops in his honour, and a gala performance at the court theatre. One day the King and Queen and the Duke made an excursion to the ancient castle Kronborg at Elsinore, and were entertained by the commandant of the fortress. The Queen-Mother, Sophia Magdalena, gave a dÉjeuner to the English Prince at Hirschholm and Count Otto Moltke gave a ball. The Queen’s birthday festivities are described by the English envoy:—
“Saturday, July 22, was the anniversary of the Queen’s birthday, which not having been observed since her Majesty’s arrival in these dominions, by reason of the King of Denmark’s absence, his Majesty was determined to celebrate it now with as much magnificence as possible. The court testified its joy on this occasion by a very numerous and brilliant appearance.... In the evening followed a succession of new entertainments at the court theatre, designed and executed purposely in honour of her Majesty, and the day’s festivity was closed with a great supper at the King’s table. On Monday began the second act of this celebration. At six o’clock in the evening his Majesty and the noblemen who performed a part in the Carousal,[115] richly habited in Turkish dresses, and upon horses finely caparisoned, set out in grand procession through the city, attended by the Horse Guards and by a large band of martial music; at seven the procession returned to the great area of the palace, and as soon as the noblemen, appointed judges, had taken their seats, the exhibition began. One quadrille was led by the King, the other by Count Ahlfeld, governor of the city. The whole ceremony was very magnificent, and performed with the utmost address and good order, in the presence of her Danish Majesty, the Queen-Mother, Sophia Magdalena, his Royal Highness the Duke of Gloucester, the whole court, and several thousand spectators. The performance concluded soon after nine, and was succeeded by an elegant supper and ball. The court returns this evening to Frederiksberg, where there is a grand firework to be played off; the whole gardens are to be illuminated, and, after a magnificent supper in a large building erected for that purpose, a masquerade ball is intended, to which two thousand persons are to be admitted.”[116]
The Duke of Gloucester left Copenhagen a few days after the Queen’s birthday, and returned to England. Though Christian had prepared all these festivities in his brother-in-law’s honour, he did not hesitate to exercise his wit at the expense of his guest. The Duke was silent and dull, and his lack of conversation was made a subject of ridicule by the garrulous King. One day Christian asked Holck what he thought of the Duke, and the favourite replied: “He reminds me of an English ox!” The Duke was very stout for his age, and had a broad red face and large ruminating eyes. The King laughed at Holck’s witticism, and maliciously repeated it to the Queen, who was incensed at the impertinence. If the truth must be told, the English Prince did not appear in the most favourable light at the Danish court. He stared and said little, and chiefly distinguished himself by his enormous appetite.
When her brother left Copenhagen the Queen found herself once more alone. His visit had been to a great extent a disappointment to her, for he had little in common with his sister, and not much sympathy for her in her troubles. These, as time went on, grew from bad to worse. Despite all her efforts Holck continued in the ascendant, and his influence was wholly against the Queen. He was known throughout Denmark as the man whom the King delighted to honour, and even Matilda was forced to show public marks of favour to the man whom she considered her worst enemy. For instance, in September she was compelled by the King to attend Holck’s wedding to a daughter of Count Laurvig, “an honour,” to quote the English envoy, “never before conferred in this kingdom upon any subject when the ceremony was performed out of the palace; but indeed the whole of this had more the appearance of the nuptials of a prince of the blood than those of a private person, the King having conveyed Count Holck in his Majesty’s chariot, at the same time giving him the right hand from Frederiksberg to Copenhagen, the Queen and all the court following”.[117] Holck’s marriage made no difference to his mode of life, and Christian’s infatuation for his favourite continued as great as before. Mounted couriers tore along the road between the Blaagaard, where Holck lived, and the King’s palace at all hours of the day and night, and on one occasion two horses were killed in the wild haste with which the horseman rode to convey the King’s message to his favourite.
William Henry, Duke of Gloucester, brother of Queen Matilda.
WILLIAM HENRY, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, BROTHER OF QUEEN MATILDA.
From the Painting by H. W. Hamilton, 1771.
Nine months had passed since Christian’s return from abroad, and it was at last seen by his subjects that the hopes they had formed of their King’s reformation were doomed to disappointment. The costly experiment of foreign travel had proved a failure. True, he no longer scandalised his people with riots in the streets, or his court with shameless disregard of morality, for his strength was no longer equal to such exhibitions. The incessant round of dissipation in London and Paris had shattered an already enfeebled constitution. The King’s tendency to melancholia became more marked every day, and symptoms of the dread malady which before long overtook him began to make themselves apparent. His delusions as to his prowess became more frequent, and he showed strange aberrations of intellect. He was a mental and physical wreck.
In October, 1769, Queen Matilda fell ill. Her illness was the crowning indignity and proved the limit of her long-suffering endurance. With it also came to an end the efforts she had bravely made since the King’s return to do her duty to her husband, and lead him to higher things. This was the turning-point of Matilda’s life, and explains, if it does not excuse, much that followed after. She threw down her arms. Insulted and degraded, it is no wonder that the young wife of eighteen was filled with a disgust of life. The remonstrances of her physicians were unavailing, she turned her face to the wall and prayed for death. The Queen’s condition was so serious that the English envoy thought it necessary to write home the following diplomatically worded despatch:—
“I am extremely sorry to acquaint your Lordship that the state of the Queen of Denmark’s health has lately presented some very unfavourable symptoms; which have given such apprehensions to her physicians, as to make them think that a perfect re-establishment may be attended with some difficulty, unless her Majesty can be persuaded to pay unusual attention to herself. I am so thoroughly sensible how deeply it would affect the King [George III.] to receive information of a still more alarming nature, and so anxious to prevent it, that I cannot help desiring your Lordship to represent to his Majesty that, though there appears no immediate danger, yet the situation the Queen of Denmark is at present in is too critical not to make it highly necessary to obviate worse symptoms, and as this happy effect depends very much upon her Majesty’s own care, I believe she would be wrought upon by nothing more successfully than by some affectionate expostulations from the King, upon the very great importance of her life.”[118]
It was at this critical moment, when her whole being was in passionate revolt, when she was disgusted with her environment, and weary of life, that Matilda’s evil genius appeared upon the scene in the guise of a deliverer. This was the King’s physician—John Frederick Struensee.
