THE GATHERING STORM.

1771.

The Queen’s love for Struensee was not lessened by the discovery that her idol had feet of clay, but she lost some of her blind faith in his power to mould all things to his will. She once told her ladies that “If a woman truly loved a man, she ought to follow him, even though it were to hell”; it seemed likely that her words would before long be put to the test. During those autumn days at Hirschholm, when the popular discontent seethed to the very doors of the palace, the Queen came out of her fool’s paradise and realised that she and her favourite were living on a volcano that might at any moment erupt and overwhelm them. She frequently discussed with her court, half in jest and half in earnest, what they should do when the catastrophe came. Once at the royal table the Queen laughingly suggested to her friends the advisability of all taking flight together, and each began to consider what he, or she, would do to gain a livelihood in exile. The Queen, who had a very sweet voice, and played on the harpsichord, said she would turn singer, for she was sure by that means she would never starve. Struensee said he would take a lonely farm, and devote himself to agriculture and the consolations of philosophy. Brandt said he should turn his dramatic talents to use, and become the acting manager of a theatre. “And as for you, my fair lady,” he said to one of the Queen’s ladies, probably Madame Gahler, “with your peerless form, you need do nothing, but simply sit as a model for artists.” The lady winced, and the rest of the company laughed, for it was known, though she was very beautiful, that she had a defect in her figure, which she was at great pains to conceal. Despite this levity in public, they were all secretly uneasy, and brooded much over the situation in private. Except the Queen, who thought only of Struensee, each one sought how he might save himself—if necessary at the expense of his fellows.

Struensee was thrown into a fresh panic by the appearance of a placard setting a price upon his head, which was posted up by night in the principal street of Copenhagen, and ran:—

“As the traitor Struensee continues to ill-treat our beloved King, to mock his faithful subjects, and to seize with force and injustice more and more of the royal authority, which the Danish people have entrusted to their King alone, this Struensee and his adherents are hereby declared outlawed. The man who puts an end to this traitor’s life shall receive five hundred dollars reward, his name kept secret, and a royal pardon granted him.”[10]

According to Keith this placard was probably a hoax, but it had a dire effect upon Struensee. “A paper,” Keith writes, “was fixed up in the public squares of this city, setting a price upon his head, and this stratagem—for I can only look upon it as such—had like to have produced a very strange effect, as I am assured for some days he was preparing to leave Denmark, and that the appearance of fifty men in a threatening manner would have decided his flight.”[11] But Keith was far more prejudiced against Struensee than Gunning was, and he may have exaggerated.

Struensee at this time certainly considered the possibility of flight; he spoke to Reverdil on the subject, and declared that he was only prevented by his devotion to the Queen, who, if he deserted her, would again become the victim of intrigue. But probably Brandt’s reasoning weighed more with him. “Whither would you go,” said Brandt, “where you would be Prime Minister and favourite of a Queen?” Whither indeed? Struensee’s enemies sought to frighten him into resignation. But they little knew their man. He would cling to office and power until they were wrenched from his grasp. Thinking himself secure behind the shelter of the Queen he did not heed the plots of the Queen-Dowager and the nobles against his authority. What he dreaded was assassination, or an insurrection of the people. Keith, a foreigner, took something of the same view: “The persons who are most incensed against this Ministry,” he wrote, “seem both by their principles and their timidity inclined to pursue their ends by dark and secret methods, and if they are to succeed at all, it must be by seizing a moment of popular frenzy and striking their blow all at once.”[12] Brandt, though he counselled Struensee to stay, was really very uneasy at the aspect of affairs: “I wish all this would come to an end,” he said one day to Falckenskjold, “for I have a foreboding that this regime will soon be overthrown.” “You will fare badly if it is,” replied Falckenskjold. “Oh,” said Brandt, “I have studied law, and shall be able to take care of myself.”

It was a pity that Brandt’s knowledge of law did not prevent him from committing an act which the law of Denmark punished with death, and which, in any case, was cowardly and brutal. Allusion has been made to the fact that the King and Brandt frequently quarrelled, and, though, since the arrival of Reverdil, Brandt was relieved of some of his more onerous duties, he was still on bad terms with the King. One morning at the Queen’s dÉjeuner, the King, who rarely joined in the conversation, suddenly, without provocation, shouted across the table to Brandt: “You deserve a good thrashing, and I will give you one. I am speaking to you, Count. Do you hear?” The incident created an unpleasant sensation among the company, but Brandt, with his usual presence of mind, ignored the affront, and turned the conversation to other channels. After breakfast Struensee and the Queen took the King aside, and rebuked him sharply, but the King only said: “Brandt is a coward if he refuses to fight with me.” He also told Brandt he was a cur, and afraid to accept his challenge. It had always been one of the King’s manias, even in his comparatively sane years, to try his strength with his attendants. He had frequently fought with Holck and Warnstedt, and also with Moranti, the negro boy, and they had consented to act on the defensive at his request, with the result that he was always permitted to come off conqueror. The game was a perilous one for the other combatant, for the King sometimes hit hard; on the other hand, the law of Denmark made it an offence punishable with death for any man to strike the King’s sacred person.

Brandt had never yet fought with the King, for he had a love of a whole skin, and shirked this disagreeable pastime; but now, goaded by the King’s insults, he determined to give him a lesson in manners. Apart from his dislike of the King, his self-esteem was wounded by having been insulted before the Queen, Countess Holstein and the other ladies, and he resolved to be avenged. That he acted on a set plan is shown by the fact that he hid a whip in a piano in the ante-chamber of the King’s room the day before he carried his design into execution. In the evening of the following day, when Reverdil was absent, Brandt took the whip from the piano, hid it under his coat, and went into the King’s apartment, where he found the semi-imbecile monarch playing with the two boys who were his constant companions. Having turned Moranti and the other boy out, Brandt locked the door, and then told the King, who by this time was somewhat frightened, that he had come to fight with him according to his wish, and asked him to take his choice of pistols or swords. The King, who had not contemplated a duel, but a scramble, said he would fight with his fists. Brandt agreed, and the struggle began; but the King soon found that this particular adversary had not come to act on the defensive, but the offensive. Brandt, who was much the stronger of the two, for the King was weak and ailing, made use of his strength without stint, and, rage urging him on, he first beat his royal master unmercifully with his fists, and then thrashed him with the whip until Christian cried for quarter. Brandt, when he had beaten him until he could beat no longer, granted the request, and then left the room, leaving the King much bruised and frightened.

After he had put his dress in order, Brandt proceeded to the Queen’s apartments, and joined the company at the card tables as if nothing had happened. When the game was over, he told Struensee what he had done. The Minister said he was glad to hear it; it would give them peace from the King in future; but he cautioned Brandt to say nothing about it. But the next day rumours of what had taken place were all over the palace. The King’s valet had found his master bruised and weeping, and Moranti and the other boy had heard sounds of the scuffle. Reports of the affray travelled to Copenhagen, and aroused general indignation. Apart from the cowardly brutality of the attack, it was deemed a monstrous thing that a man should raise his hand against the Lord’s anointed. Juliana Maria affected to find in it a confirmation of her worst fears, and colour was given to the reports that the King was systematically ill-treated, and his life was in danger. It was said that the Queen and Struensee not only approved, but encouraged this attack upon the King, and Brandt’s appointment shortly after as master of the wardrobe to the King, conferring on him the title of “Excellency,” was regarded as a proof of this. Without doubt, Brandt’s promotion was ill-timed, but the Queen had nothing to do with it. Struensee granted these favours to Brandt in order to bind him more closely to the court which he desired to leave.

Struensee, under panic from recent disturbances, had shown himself more conciliatory, and promised to consider the possibility of re-appointing the Council of State. He had also been induced, by Falckenskjold’s advice, to make the court pay more civility to the Queen-Dowager and Prince Frederick, and occasionally the King and Queen invited them to Hirschholm. But when the threatened danger seemed to pass away, and nothing more happened, he regained his confidence, and became as unyielding and overbearing as before. The Queen-Dowager and Prince Frederick received fresh affronts; the idea of reviving the council was dropped, and the dictator already considered the advisability of new and more aggressive measures. Several more officials of high rank were dismissed, and Struensee’s favourites put in their places. He learned nothing from the past; although he was told that the Queen-Dowager and Prince Frederick would put themselves at the head of a party with a view of overthrowing him, he took no heed, and merely replied: “The purity of my views is my protection.”[13] The man was drunk with self-conceit.

Meanwhile alarming rumours reached the Court of St. James’s of the state of affairs in Denmark, and grave fears were entertained for the safety of the King’s sister, who seemed blindly rushing to her ruin. Keith’s despatches with reference to the late disturbances were laid before the King, who took serious counsel with his mother as to what could be done to save Matilda from the peril that threatened her, and to preserve the honour of his house. George III. had remonstrated with his sister in vain; of late he had heard nothing from her, and the last communication he received from her was to the effect that, if he wrote again, his letters must be sent through Struensee, which, under the circumstances, was little short of an insult. The King, at least, so regarded it, and for some time could not bring himself to write to his sister, if his letters were delivered through such a medium. In the meantime Lord Suffolk was commanded to send Keith the following despatch:—

“Your own delicacy and sentiment must have suggested the wish that the critical state of things at the court where you reside may affect the Queen of Denmark as little as possible. Your desire, therefore, to mark your regard for her Majesty will be gratified by the instructions I now give you, to endeavour most assiduously to prevent the disagreeable incidents, which, if I am rightly informed, her Majesty is exposed to in the present moment. You are already directed upon large public considerations to promote upon all proper occasions of interference the return of M^r Bernstorff to lead in the administration, and I am happy to understand that, at the same time, no minister is more inclined to support the united interests of Great Britain and Russia, and there is none more likely than M^r Bernstorff to preserve that respect for the King’s sister, which, amidst the revenge and violence of party rage, might, on a change of ministers, be too little attended to, or perhaps even violated. If, therefore, M^r Bernstorff should meet with success, and owe it, as probably would be the case, in great measure to your good offices and interposition, he cannot but be gratefully disposed to acknowledge so important a service, and he cannot acknowledge it more essentially than by giving full scope to his well-known attachment to the King’s (George III.’s) person and family, and by providing for the honour and security of his royal mistress, in case they are liable to danger from the unhappy condition of the country.”[14]

But the return of Bernstorff was of all things the most difficult to effect at that juncture. He was living in exile, he was not in the secret councils of the Queen-Dowager, who alone could head, with any hope of success, a revolution against Struensee, and he had already refused Rantzau’s overtures. All this, of course, was unknown to the court of St. James’s, though most of it was known to Keith. The King of England had not realised that his envoy had absolutely no influence in the affairs of Denmark. All this, and much more, Keith strove to explain in a despatch which he wrote in reply to Lord Suffolk’s. He reviewed the situation in much the same way as Gunning had done before him:—

“I found, upon my arrival in this country,” he wrote, “that the whole weight of government had, with the King’s consent, devolved upon his Royal Consort. M^r Struensee was already (I must add, unhappily) in possession of that unlimited confidence on the part of her Danish Majesty which has given him a dictatorial sway in every department of government.... The genius of Count Struensee, though active, enterprising and extensive, appears to be deficient in point of judgment and resolution. His temper is fiery, suspicious and unfeeling; his cunning and address have been conspicuous in the attainment of power; his discernment and fairness in the exercise of it have fallen short of the expectation of those who were least partial to him. His morals are founded upon this single principle—that a man’s duties begin and end with himself, and in this life. The wickedness of avowing openly a tenet so profligate and dangerous can only be equalled by the ingratitude with which he has acted up to it, in his haughty and imperious behaviour to the Person (the Queen) who, with unwearied perseverance, continues to heap upon him all possible obligations. It is almost unnecessary to add that he is arrogant in prosperity and timid in danger.”

Keith described again in detail the disturbances of the autumn, and went on to say:—

“During that period, my most anxious attention was continually turned to the painful situation of the Queen of Denmark, whose partiality for Count Struensee seemed to gather strength from opposition. The circumstances were truly alarming; yet, after weighing them maturely, I had the heartfelt comfort to think that the removal of the Minister, by whatever means effected, would soon restore her Majesty to the affection of the nation, and re-establish her legal authority. If any dangerous crisis had taken place, I was firmly determined to offer my services to her Majesty in the best manner they could be employed for the security of her person and dignity, and I trusted to my conscience and to the humanity of my gracious Sovereign (George III.) for the justification of the steps which my dutiful attachment to the Royal Family might in such a moment have suggested. But, my Lord, it was indispensably necessary that I should wait for the approach of such a crisis before I declared to her Majesty my earnest intentions, as the Prime Minister had from the first day excluded me (together with all my colleagues) from the possibility of access to her Majesty.... It may appear extraordinary that in the five months I have passed in Denmark I have not had the honour of exchanging ten sentences with the Queen.”

Keith then referred again to the terrors of Struensee, and the precautions which had been taken to guard the palace of Hirschholm. He related how for a short time Struensee appeared to be more amenable to advice, but, on the passing of danger, he had again resumed his overbearing manner; and added: “I am now fully persuaded that he must again be driven to extremity before he yields any share of power to those ministers who were formerly accustomed to treat him as a mean inferior, and whose late expulsion had been a result of all his efforts.” With reference to the return of Bernstorff, he pointed out that the Queen had a prejudice against the ex-minister on account of his supposed wish to exclude her from the regency; but he did not consider this objection insuperable, and wrote: “If M^r Struensee can ever be brought to recall Count Bernstorff, the Queen will not oppose it. If M^r Struensee quits the helm, or is forced from it, there is but one set of men to whom her Majesty can have recourse (the nobility), and, amongst them, almost every voice is in favour of Count Bernstorff.... I shall endeavour most assiduously to prevent every disagreeable incident, to which her Danish Majesty may be exposed by the violence of party rage. This seems at present (November 18) much abated, and I have had the satisfaction to observe that its greatest fury has at all times been principally levelled at the person of the Prime Minister.... How sorry am I, my Lord, that I dare not look for a nearer and more pleasing hope for his dismission than the prospect of his wearing out the patience and generosity of his powerful protectress!”[15]

So matters stood up to the end of November. A truce seemed to be declared. The court remained at Hirschholm (it was said because Struensee dared not enter the capital), and, his fears being now to a great extent allayed, the days passed as before in a round of amusement.

Hirschholm in the late autumn was damp and unhealthy, but still the court lingered, and it was not until the end of November that a move was made. Even then the King and Queen did not proceed to the Christiansborg Palace, but went to Frederiksberg. At Frederiksberg there was a court every Monday, but these courts were very sparsely attended; the King, it was noticed, spoke to no one, and moved like an automaton; the Queen looked anxious and ill. Sometimes Struensee and the Queen went a-hawking; sometimes the King and Queen drove into Copenhagen to attend the French plays or the opera; but the citizens saw with astonishment that their Majesties now never drove into their capital city without their coach being guarded by forty dragoons with drawn sabres. At Frederiksberg, too, most elaborate military arrangements were made for the security of the court. A squadron of dragoons was quartered in an out-building, and there was not only a mounted guard day and night round the palace, but the surrounding country was patrolled by soldiers. The dread of assassination was ever present with Struensee, and though he would not alter his methods of government, he took the most elaborate precautions for his personal safety, and all these precautions were on his behalf.

In addition to the guarding of Frederiksberg, he gave orders to the commandant of the troops in Copenhagen, an officer whom he had himself appointed, to have everything in readiness to maintain order by force in the event of a rising or tumult. Copenhagen looked like a city in a state of siege. The heaviest guns in the arsenal were planted on the walls in front of the guard-house, and at the town gates. The guns on the walls were turned round, and pointed at the city every evening after sunset; the soldiers had their cartridges served out to them, and patrolled the streets at all hours; even loaded cannon were placed in front of the palace, and any one who wished to enter to transact business was escorted in and out by two soldiers. All these extraordinary precautions were carried out with the knowledge and consent of the Queen; but the King was not consulted; he was surprised to find himself living in a state of siege, and asked Struensee, in alarm, what was the meaning of it all. Struensee, who knew well how to trade on the fears of the King, replied that it was done for the better protection of the King’s royal person, for his subjects were rebellious and disaffected, and it was feared that, if not checked, there would be a revolution, like that which took place in Russia a few years before. He even hinted that the King might meet with the same fate as the unhappy Emperor Peter III., who was assassinated. Christian was greatly frightened on hearing this. “My God!” he exclaimed, “what harm have I done, that my dear and faithful subjects should hate me so?”

This display of armed force still more enraged the populace against the favourite. The pointing of loaded cannon was regarded as an attempt to over-awe the people by force, and a report was spread abroad that Struensee intended to disarm the corps of burghers, or citizen soldiers, who were charged with the keeping of the city. The colonel commanding the burghers declared that if his men were deprived of their muskets, they would defend their King, if need be, with paving stones. Without doubt, these military preparations hastened the impending crisis, for the Queen-Dowager and her adherents imagined they were really directed against them. The whole kingdom was seething with rebellion, and tumults sooner or later were inevitable. Yet, even now, at the eleventh hour, the worst might have been averted, had it not been for the incredible foolhardiness of Struensee. He had offended every class and every interest; he could only hope to maintain his rule by force. For this the army was absolutely necessary; but, by a wanton act of provocation, Struensee aroused the army against him.

The ill-feeling which had been stirred up by the disbandment of the Horse Guards in the summer had to some extent subsided. The officers of the Household Cavalry, who were most of them wealthy and of noble birth, had been extremely arrogant, and the other officers, both of the army and navy, were not ill-pleased to see their pride humbled by their privileges being taken away. But Struensee, who cherished a hatred against all the guards, now resolved to disband even the battalion of Foot Guards, and merge the officers and men into other regiments, on the pretext that the existence of any favoured regiment was injurious to the discipline of the rest of the army. Falckenskjold first opposed this design, but, as Struensee was determined, he reluctantly yielded the point, and the Privy Cabinet Minister sent an order, signed with his own hand, to the war department for the regiment to be disbanded forthwith. But General Gahler, who was the head of this department, called his colleagues together, and they declared they could not act without an order signed by the King in person, as they considered Struensee’s decree extremely dangerous, and likely to lead to mutiny. Struensee was at first very indignant at this demur, but, finding Gahler resolute, he had to give way, and he obtained an order signed by the King. This he forwarded to the war department, who, in duty bound, immediately yielded.

The next day, December 24, Christmas Eve, when the guards were drawn up in line, the King’s order for their disbandment and incorporation was read to them, and they were commanded to hand their colours over to the officers who were present from other regiments. The men refused, and when they saw their colours being taken away, they rushed forward in a body, and dragged them back by force, shouting: “They are our colours; we will part from them only with our lives.” The men were now in a state of mutiny. Their officers had withdrawn, unwilling to risk a contest with the authorities; so a non-commissioned officer assumed the command, and led the insurgents. They marched to the Christiansborg Palace, broke the gate open, drove away the guard stationed there, and took their places. Some of them were hindered from entering the palace by the other troops, who attempted to take them prisoners. The result was a free fight, and in the course of it one of the guardsmen was killed, and several soldiers were wounded. Copenhagen was in a state of riot. Meanwhile Falckenskjold hurried to Frederiksberg with the news of the mutiny. Once more Struensee was thrown into unreasoning panic, and quite unable to act. Brandt and BÜlow, the Queen’s Master of the Horse, hurried to the Christiansborg, and endeavoured to appease the rebellious guards, but without success. The categorical reply was: “We must remain guards, or have our discharge. We will not be merged into other regiments.” It should be mentioned that they were picked men, and drawn from a superior class; they ranked with non-commissioned officers in other regiments, and such punishments as flogging could not be inflicted on them. The envoys returned to Frederiksberg with the news of their ill-success, and the terror of Struensee increased.

The guards now had a council of war, and it was resolved that a party of them should march to Frederiksberg, and request an interview with the King in person, as the Norwegian sailors had done. When the party set out, they found the western gate of the city closed and held against them; but at the northern gate the officer of the guard allowed them to pass. On the road to Frederiksberg they met the King driving, a postilion and an equerry formed his only escort, and Reverdil was alone with him in the carriage. The soldiers, who had no grievance against the King, formed into line and saluted him, and Christian, from whom the knowledge of the mutiny had been carefully kept, returned the salute. When the guards reached Frederiksberg, Struensee’s fears deepened into panic. As at Hirschholm, hurried preparations were made for flight, and orders were given to reinforce the palace guard. The whole of the army sympathised with the guards, and it may be doubted whether the soldiers would have resisted their comrades by force of arms. Fortunately, one of the officers of the guards had hurried before them to Frederiksberg to protest against extremities; he was now sent out by Struensee to parley with them in the King’s name. The men repeated their demand: they must remain guards, or receive their discharge. The officer went back to the palace, and pretended to see the King, in reality, he saw only Struensee. Presently he returned to inform the mutineers that the King did not wish to keep any men in his service against their will, and they were therefore discharged, and were at liberty to go where they pleased. The detachment thereupon returned to Christiansborg to report to their comrades, but these refused to trust a verbal statement, and requested that a written discharge should be handed to each man before they surrendered the palace.

General Gahler, who had disapproved of Struensee’s action throughout, and now feared there would be bloodshed, on hearing this went to Frederiksberg, and insisted that a written discharge for the whole body must be made out, duly signed and sealed by Struensee himself. This he brought back to the guards; but the men, imagining there was some deception, took exception to the form of the order, and the fact that the King had not signed it. When this was reported to him, Struensee lost patience, and threatened to storm the Christiansborg if the mutineers were not removed before midnight—a most imprudent threat, and one practically impossible to carry out, for the Queen-Dowager and Prince Frederick were occupying their apartments in the Christiansborg at the time, and no doubt secretly abetting the mutineers. Moreover, the whole of Copenhagen sided with the guards. Citizens sent in provisions, wines and spirits, in order that they might keep their Christmas in a festive manner; the sailors sent word that they would help the mutineers if the matter came to a crisis, and the gunners secretly conveyed to them the news that they would receive them into the arsenal and join them. Midnight struck, and still the mutineers held the palace. Struensee, finding his threat had no weight, then veered round to the other extreme, and was soon hastily filling up the required number of printed discharges, which were taken to the King to be signed one by one.

In the morning—Christmas morning—glad news came to the mutinous guards. All their demands were complied with, and more than complied with; a separate discharge, signed by the King, was presented to every guardsman, and a promise that three dollars would be paid him, and any advance he owed would be wiped off. So on Christmas morning the disbanded guards marched out of the Christiansborg, which they had occupied for twenty-four hours, and the danger was averted. The city continued in a great state of excitement all day, and some street fights took place, but nothing of importance. The King and Queen drove into Copenhagen to attend divine service at the royal chapel, as this was Christmas Day, and the fact was considered significant, for now they rarely went to church. Another concession was made to public opinion, for the following Sunday evening they were not present at the French play, as was usually the case.

Unfortunately, these attempts at conciliation, trifling though they were, came too late. The people had now made up their minds about Struensee; he was a coward and a bully, who would yield everything to violence, and nothing to reason. They had found him out; he was a lath painted to look like iron. His wanton attack upon the guards and subsequent capitulation filled the cup of his transgressions to the brim. It was said that at this time Keith thought fit to intervene. Hoping to shield his Sovereign’s sister from the danger which threatened her, he saw Struensee privately, and offered him a sum of money to quit the country. If this be true (and no hint of it appears in Keith’s despatches), it had no result, for Struensee still clung to his post. Rantzau, also, who had not quite settled his terms with the Queen-Dowager, and, true to his character, was ready to sell either side for the higher price, also saw Struensee, through the medium of the Swedish minister, and urged him to resign, or at least to reverse his whole system of policy; but Struensee would not listen, probably because Rantzau wanted money, and he did not wish to give it him. Still Rantzau did not desist; he went to Falckenskjold, and told him as much as he dared of a conspiracy against Struensee, and offered to help to detect it for a pecuniary consideration. Falckenskjold heard him coldly, and merely said: “In that case, you should address your remarks to Struensee himself.” “He will not listen to me,” said Rantzau, and turned away. From that moment Struensee’s luck turned away from him too.