THE TRIUMPH OF THE QUEEN-DOWAGER.

1772.

When day dawned on January 17, the citizens of Copenhagen awoke to the fact that the hated rule of Struensee was gone for ever. The constant driving through the streets during the night had attracted little attention, for the noise was thought to arise from the guests returning from the ball at the palace; but when morning came, and the streets were seen to be full of soldiers, the people realised that something unusual had happened. First there came a rumour of a fresh outrage on the part of Struensee, and of an attempt to assassinate the King. But swift on the heels of this came the truth: the King, with the aid of the Queen-Dowager and his brother, had asserted himself; the favourite and his colleagues were in prison, and Queen Matilda had been conveyed to Kronborg. During the silent hours of the night a revolution had been effected, and the mob, like all mobs, shouted on the winning side. The news ran like wildfire round Copenhagen, and soon every one was in the streets. On all sides were heard shouts of “Long live King Christian VII.!” and many cheers were raised for the Queen-Dowager and Prince Frederick. The people converged towards the Christiansborg Palace, and completely filled the space in front of it, shouting and cheering.

At ten o’clock in the morning the King, who, until now, had been busy signing orders of arrest, and sanctioning appointments of others to fill the place of those arrested, appeared upon the balcony, with his brother by his side, while the Queen-Dowager, more modest, showed herself at the window in an undress. Their appearance was greeted with deafening shouts by the crowd, to which the King and the Prince responded by bows, and Juliana Maria by waving her handkerchief. The enthusiasm grew more and more, until at last the King joined in the cheers of his people. The Queen-Dowager had not miscalculated her forces: without doubt the people were on her side.

The citizens now began to deck their houses with flags and bunting, and everywhere kept high holiday. Even the heavens seemed to rejoice at the downfall of the hated administration, for the sun came out, and shone with a brilliance that had not been known in January in Copenhagen for years. About noon the gates of the Christiansborg Palace were thrown open, and the King, splendidly dressed, with his brother seated by his side, drove forth in a state coach drawn by eight white horses to show himself to his people. For the first time for months the King dispensed with all escort, and, except for the running footmen and postilions, the royal coach was unattended. The King drove through all the principal streets. The crowd was so great that it was with difficulty the coach could make way, and the people pressed and surged around it, and in their enthusiasm wanted to take out the horses and drag the coach themselves. The women especially were wild with delight, and waved their handkerchiefs frantically; some even pulled off their headgear, and waved it in the air, the better to testify their joy at seeing their beloved Sovereign safe and sound, and freed from his hated guardians. The King, however, when the novelty of the situation was over, relapsed into his usual apathy, and did not respond to the greeting of his loving subjects, but kept his window up, and stared through it indifferently at the crowd; but Prince Frederick, who was usually undemonstrative, had let the window down on his side of the coach, and bowed and smiled incessantly.

The King held a court in the afternoon at the palace, and was supported on one side by the Queen-Dowager and on the other by his brother. The court was crowded, and by a very different class of people to those who had appeared during the brief reign of Struensee. Many of the nobility, who had heard the glad news, hurried into Copenhagen to personally offer their congratulations to the three royal personages on the overthrow of the detested German Junto. All the Queen-Dowager’s party, all the principal clergy, and all who had taken part in the conspiracy, directly or indirectly, were present; and many more who knew of it, but held aloof until it was an accomplished fact, were now eager to pay their court. The King remained only a short time, and left the Queen-Dowager and Prince Frederick to receive the rest of the company, and they did with right good will, rejoicing in their new-found dignity and importance. It was their hour of triumph, and the inauguration of the clique which governed Denmark for the next twelve years.

In the evening the three royal personages drove to the opera through cheering crowds, and when they entered their box the whole house rose in enthusiasm. Their return to the palace was a triumphal procession, the people forming their guard as before. At night the city was illuminated; every house displayed lights in its windows, and bonfires were kindled in the streets. Salvoes of artillery were fired from the ramparts, and rockets were sent up. The whole population seemed mad with joy. So great was the illumination that the sky was lit up for miles around. At far-off Kronborg Queen Matilda, peering through her iron bars, saw the light in the sky over towards the capital, and asked what it meant. She was told that it was Copenhagen rejoicing over her downfall.[25]

The popular rejoicings were marred by gross excesses, though considering the excited state of public opinion it is a wonder that more were not committed. Some of the lowest characters had turned into the streets, and the sailors and dockyard men, who especially hated Struensee, were drunk with wine and excitement. The mob, not content with bonfires, soon showed signs of rioting. They broke into the house of one of Struensee’s supporters and wrecked it, carried off the furniture, and smashed the windows. In the cellar there was a large stock of spirits. The rioters broke the casks open, drank what they would, and upset the rest, with the result that they waded up to their ankles in liquor. Inflamed by drink they next attacked other houses. The police, unable to check the riot, which had grown to dangerous proportions, applied to Eickstedt for soldiers to aid them. But the Queen-Dowager was unwilling to call out the military, as she thought a conflict might bring about bloodshed and so damp the popular enthusiasm. Therefore, instead of soldiers, Prince Frederick’s chamberlain was sent to the scene of disturbance, with instructions to thank the people for the rejoicings they had manifested on the King’s deliverance from his enemies, and a promise that the King would especially remember the sailors (who were among the most tumultuous of the rioters), if they would now go quietly home. But the mob had by this time got out of hand, and either did not, or would not, listen. They rushed towards the royal stables, with the intention of smashing Struensee’s coach, but were prevented by the palace guard. They then endeavoured to wreck the house of the chief of the police, but being foiled in this attempt also, they began to plunder the mont-de-pietÉ. At this point the soldiers had to be called out, and they succeeded in dispersing the rioters without bloodshed. Next day the streets were patrolled by the burgher guard, and in the afternoon heralds rode round the city, and at certain points read a message from the King, in which he thanked his loyal people for their enthusiasm, but regretted that their zeal had got the better of their discretion. He forbade any further plundering or excesses under heavy penalties. After this the people gradually quieted down, but it was a week before the patrol could be removed.

Meanwhile the Queen-Dowager was occupied in distributing honours among her adherents. The arch-conspirator, Rantzau, at last received the reward of his intrigues. He was made General-in-Chief of the infantry, and a Knight of the Elephant, and his debts were paid in full from the royal treasury. It may be that the part he had played in the arrest of Matilda, and the callousness and insolence he had shown to the unfortunate Queen, quickened the sense of Juliana Maria’s gratitude; for she rewarded him promptly and handsomely. Eickstedt and KÖller were promoted to be full generals, and decorated with the order of the Dannebrog. KÖller, who was a Pomeranian by birth, was offered naturalisation, with the name of Banner, an extinct Danish noble family. KÖller accepted, saying that he intended henceforth to devote his life to Denmark, and was known from this time as KÖller-Banner. He was also given a court appointment as aide-de-camp to the King, with apartments in the royal palace. Beringskjold was appointed Grand Chamberlain, and received a pension of two thousand dollars, and a further present of forty thousand dollars paid down. His elder son was appointed a court page, and the younger was promised a captaincy. All the officers of the palace guard who had done duty on the eventful night were promoted a step. Major Carstenskjold, who had conducted Matilda to Kronborg with his drawn sabre and forty dragoons, was made a lieutenant-colonel. Colonel Sames, who had arrested Brandt, received a present of ten thousand dollars. Jessen was created a councillor of justice, and received a gift of two thousand dollars. Rewards were also given to minor personages.

The only one of the conspirators who received no reward, though he was in reality the chief among them, was Guldberg, who declared that the success of the enterprise was sufficient reward for him, and he required neither money nor titles.[26] Guldberg was sure of his influence with the Queen-Dowager; he knew, too, that his apparent disinterestedness would carry weight with the people, and so strengthen his position. He had reserved for himself the power behind the throne, and he filled in the new government something of the place that Struensee had filled in the old. That is to say, he had great influence over the Queen-Dowager; he was the indispensable man, he directed the policy, and no appointments were made of which he did not approve. But unlike Struensee he conducted himself with infinite tact and discretion.

As the Struensee administration had been destroyed root and branch, it was necessary to make several new appointments to carry on the government of the country. The first care of the Queen-Dowager was to appoint some one to act as the King’s keeper—some one who would guard him well—for Christian VII.’s formal consent was absolutely necessary for every step she took. The King was now in so weak-minded a condition, and so easily influenced, that any one who had possession of him could make him sign any order he would. All the same Juliana Maria had some difficulty in getting the King to consent to a new guardian, or “personal attendant,” as he was called, to take Brandt’s place. A long list of names was submitted to him, but he refused them one by one until at last, when the Queen-Dowager mentioned Osten’s name, the King said: “Yes, I will have him.” But Osten did not care to exchange his influential post as minister of foreign affairs for that of the King’s companion, and declined the honour. So KÖller-Banner, who was a great favourite of the Queen-Dowager, was appointed to the office. The Queen-Dowager was anxious to win the support of the old Danish nobility to the new Government. Therefore, Count Otto Thott and Councillor Schack-Rathlou, who had been dismissed by Struensee, were invited to take part again in the business of state. Bernstorff’s recall was urged by a powerful section, but Osten and Rantzau both opposed it violently, for they feared the return of this upright and conscientious man.[27] Guldberg, too, was afraid that a statesman of Bernstorff’s eminence would prove a rival to his ambition. The Queen-Dowager also did not wish to recall Bernstorff, because of his well-known devotion to the royal house of England. She feared that he would interfere on behalf of Matilda, of whom she was very jealous. She determined to make her feel the full weight of her vengeance.

The bitter feeling against Struensee seemed to increase as the days went by, and on every side were heard cries for vengeance. On January 19, the first Sunday after the revolution, Te Deums were sung in all the churches of Copenhagen; and throughout the kingdom, wherever the news had penetrated, there was a thanksgiving to Almighty God for the overthrow of the godless Government. The clergy, who had been especially hostile to Struensee, and done much to bring about his fall, did not hesitate to improve the occasion from their pulpits, and spoke of “the fearful vengeance of the Lord” which had fallen upon wickedness in high places. Nor did they spare in their condemnation the unfortunate Matilda, but likened her to Rahab and to Jezebel, and urged their congregations to hate and execrate her name. The celebrated Dr. MÜnter, who had often come into conflict with the Queen and Struensee in the days of their power, preached in the royal chapel of the Christiansborg Palace before the King, the Queen-Dowager, Prince Frederick and the court, and took for his text St. Matthew, chapter viii., verses 1-13. His sermon was nothing but a violent diatribe against the fallen minister, more especially for his policy in granting toleration in matters of religion. “Godless men ruled over us,” cried the preacher, “and openly defied God. They, to whom nothing was sacred either in heaven or earth, despised and mocked the national faith. Yet, while they were meditating violent measures to secure their power for ever, the vengeance of the Lord fell upon them.” So on for many pages, concluding with: “Our King is once more ours; we are again his people.” The eloquence of the preacher so moved the Queen-Dowager that she shed tears.

The fanaticism of the clergy was only equalled by the fury of the press. That the journals of Copenhagen, which were more or less subsidised, should indulge in violent language was only to be expected, but the most eminent writers of the time joined in the cry, including the historian Suhm, a man who was a Dane of Danes, and who had already urged the Queen-Dowager to action. This learned man published an open letter to the King, which was sold in pamphlet form throughout the kingdom. Like many other professors, Suhm was only admirable when he confined himself to the subjects which he professed, and the moment he quitted the realm of history for contemporary politics he became unfortunate and of no account. His open letter out-MÜntered MÜnter in the violence of its abuse and the fulsomeness of its adulation. “Long enough,” runs the pamphlet, “had religion and virtue been trampled under foot; long enough had honesty and integrity been thrust aside. A disgraceful mob of canaille had seized the person of the King, and rendered access to him impossible for every honourable man. The country swam in tears; the Danish land became a name of shame; the rich were plundered; the sun of the royal house was dimmed, and every department of the Government was given up to unscrupulous robbers, blasphemers and enemies of humanity.” After recounting at great length the danger to which the nation had been brought by the “monster Struensee,” the pamphlet burst forth into an eloquent exhortation to Danes to arise and defend their heritage. It called on all to rally to the standard of the Queen-Dowager and her son, who had delivered the King and the country from imminent peril. “Who would not praise and esteem that dangerous but honourable night?” wrote Suhm. “Future Homers and Virgils will sing its praises, and so long as there are any Danish and Norwegian heroes left in the world the glory of Juliana Maria and Frederick will endure. Heaven and earth shall pass away, but their glory shall not pass away.” This precious pamphlet was greeted with praise from the highest to the lowest in the land. Suhm soon issued a second exhortation addressed: “To my Countrymen—Danes, Norwegians and Holsteiners,” in which he demanded vengeance upon Struensee. Such vengeance, he declared, was imperatively demanded for the honour of Denmark, for “all the nations of Europe would regard a people that suffered itself to be governed by a Struensee as a vile, cowardly people”. Suhm’s example was followed by a number of anonymous scribblers, who flooded town and country with pamphlets calling aloud for the blood of the fallen minister. So unanimous were these pamphlets, and with such regularity did they appear, that it provoked the suspicion that the new Government had some hand in thus inflaming public opinion against its enemies. Not only were Struensee, Brandt and their colleagues denounced by every conceivable epithet, but the name of the Queen, who, though imprisoned, was still the reigning Queen, was dragged into these effusions, and covered with dishonour. Everything was done to foment the public rage against her, and “Justice against Matilda” was shouted by hirelings in the streets.

Before matters had reached this pitch, Keith had intervened on behalf of the imprisoned Queen. It was unfortunate that Matilda, at the time of her arrest, had not demanded to see the English minister, and thrown herself on his protection as a princess of Great Britain. But the thought did not cross her mind, for though Keith was anxious and willing to help her, the Queen, in her madness for Struensee, had rejected both the assistance and advice that had been offered by her brother of England, and had treated his representative with reserve. But Keith, we see by his despatches, realised the situation, and cherished no feeling of resentment. He felt for the Queen nothing but chivalrous pity, and determined, if possible, to shield her from the consequences of her rashness and indiscretion. To this end he had attended the masked ball, where he saw the Queen radiant and happy, with no thought of the mine about to explode beneath her feet.

In the morning of January 17 Keith heard with astonishment and alarm of the Queen-Dowager’s conspiracy, and that the Queen, abandoned by the King, had been conveyed a prisoner to the castle of Kronborg. Rumours were current that she was in imminent peril, and that it was proposed to execute her before the sun went down. With characteristic determination Keith lost not a moment in acting on behalf of the Queen. He hastened through the crowded streets to the Christiansborg Palace, and demanded instant audience of the King. This was denied him, and so was his request that he might be admitted to the presence of the Queen-Dowager or her son. Nothing daunted, Keith demanded an immediate interview with Osten, who still acted as minister of foreign affairs. Osten, who well knew the nature of Keith’s errand, tried at first to put him off with excuses, but the envoy would not be denied, and at last almost forced his way into Osten’s cabinet, where he found him in council with some of the other conspirators. In answer to the envoy’s inquiry, “Where is the Queen?” Osten replied that his Majesty had found it necessary to remove his royal consort to the fortress of Kronborg, where she would be detained until the King further signified his pleasure, and the grave charges against her of conspiracy against the King’s authority and infidelity to his bed had been disproved. Keith, under these circumstances, could do nothing but lodge a protest, and demand that the Queen, as a princess of Great Britain, should be treated with all the respect and consideration which her birth demanded, and that, as Queen of Denmark, any proceedings against her should follow the regular and constitutional rule of that country. He referred to the rumours that were current of foul play, and said that he held the Danish Government responsible for her safety, and warned them that the King, his master, would undoubtedly declare war against Denmark if a hair of her head were touched. After delivering this ultimatum, Keith left the Christiansborg Palace, returned to his own house, and wrote a long despatch to England, detailing all that had occurred, and what he had said and done. He asked for instructions as to how he was to proceed with regard to the new Government and the imprisoned Queen. This done, he shut himself up in his house until the answer should arrive.[28]

The popular rejoicings came to an end within a week of the palace revolution, but the court festivities were continued some time longer. The King frequently drove about the city in company with his brother, and, as the ground was covered with snow, he often appeared in a sleigh. The Queen-Dowager also showed herself in public on every possible occasion, in marked contrast to her previous habits of rigid seclusion. She now occupied at Frederiksberg the apartments of the imprisoned Queen, but at the Christiansborg she retained her former suite. Within a week of Matilda’s disgrace a state banquet and ball were held at the Christiansborg, at which the Queen-Dowager took the place of the reigning Queen. The King’s twenty-third birthday, January 29, was celebrated all over the kingdom with great rejoicing, and Copenhagen was decorated and illuminated in honour of the event. In the evening the King, attended by a very large suite, witnessed the performance at the palace theatre of two new French vaudevilles. With a singular lack of good taste, the titles of these pieces were “L’Ambitieux,” and “L’Indiscret,” and, as might be judged, they abounded in allusions to Struensee and scarcely veiled insults of the imprisoned Queen, who only a few days before had been the centre of the court festivities. After the play there was a grand supper in the knights’ hall, to which the foreign envoys, ministers, and the most distinguished of the nobility were invited. The English envoy was absent.

The object of all these court festivities was to persuade the public that the King shared in the universal joy. There is reason, however, to believe that after the first few days of excitement were past, the King began to realise that he had bettered his condition very little by the change. He was glad to be rid of Brandt and Struensee, especially of Brandt, but he missed the Queen, who was always kind and lively, and no doubt if he could have seen her he would have forgiven her on the spot. The Queen-Dowager was fully aware of this danger, and determined at all hazards to prevent it. Already she was beginning to feel some of the anxieties of power. Popularity is a very fleeting thing, and there were signs that the popularity of the new Government would be ephemeral; the recent riots of the mob, which were comparatively unchecked, had given them a taste for similar excesses. The court lived in continual dread of further disturbance.

A ludicrous instance of this occurred at the theatre some few days after the revolution, when the court was at the French play. Owing to the house being inconveniently crowded, some slight disturbance took place in the cheaper seats. Immediately a rumour flew round the theatre that a riot had broken out in the city, Struensee and Brandt had escaped from prison, and the mob were setting fire to houses and plundering everywhere. The news ran like wildfire through the audience, and in an incredibly short space of time a scene of panic prevailed. Every one began to make for the doors, with the result that the confusion became worse confounded. The King was the first to take fright, and rushed from his box, with wild looks, followed by the Hereditary Prince. The Queen-Dowager tried in vain to detain them, and when they were gone she was so much overcome that she fainted. A curious crowd had collected outside the theatre, and it was not until some time that order was restored, and the whole affair discovered to be a hoax. But the Queen-Dowager was not reassured, and the result of this panic was seen in a series of police regulations for the better preservation of the public peace. The city gates, which had been left open, were again locked at night; masters were ordered to keep their apprentices at home after dark, and public houses were ordered to be closed at ten o’clock.

The first step taken by the Queen-Dowager was to re-establish the Council of State, which had been abolished by Struensee. It consisted of Prince Frederick and the following members: Count Thott, Count Rantzau, Councillor Schack-Rathlou, Admiral Rommeling, General Eickstedt and Count Osten. All resolutions were discussed by the Council of State before they received the royal assent, and the net result of the new regulations was to take the power out of the King’s hands, and vest it in the Council, for the King’s signature was deprived of all force and validity except in council. The members of the Council of State received in their patents the titles of Ministers of State and Excellencies. Count Thott acted as president of the Council in the absence of the King, and received a salary of six thousand dollars—the other members five thousand dollars. Guldberg, who really drew up the plan of the Council with the Queen-Dowager, and afterwards the instructions, was not at first a member, but for all that he was the most influential man in the Government. He and the Queen-Dowager worked in concert, and they ruled the situation. It was said that Juliana Maria at first entertained the idea of deposing the King, and placing her son upon the throne, but Guldberg opposed it, and pointed out that such a step would surely be followed by a protest from the nation and from the foreign powers, with England at their head.

The Queen-Dowager therefore continued to play the rÔle of one who had only come forward with the greatest reluctance because her action was urgently needed for the salvation of the King and country. This was the line she took in a conversation with Reverdil, who was set at liberty a few days after his arrest by her orders, and summoned to her presence. When Reverdil entered the room, she apologised for his arrest, and said it was a mistake, and contrary to her orders. She continued: “I only wish I could have spared the others, but the Queen had forgotten everything she owed to her sex, her birth and her rank. Even so, my son and I would have refrained from interference had not her irregularities affected the Government. The whole kingdom was upset, and going fast to ruin. God supported me through it all; I felt neither alarm nor terror.”[29]

The Queen-Dowager felt well disposed towards Reverdil, who had more than once remonstrated with Struensee on the disrespect shown by him and his minions to her and Prince Frederick. She would probably have reinstated him in his post, but Osten and Rantzau disliked him. They feared he might gain an influence over the King, or enter a plea of mercy for the prisoners, or suggest to the Queen-Dowager the recall of Bernstorff, or induce her to summon Prince Charles of Hesse to court—both of whom disliked them. So Osten saw Reverdil and worked upon his fears. He advised him for his own sake to leave the court, and the honest Swiss needed no second warning, but within a week shook the dust of Copenhagen off his feet, and so disappears from this history.[30]

The next step of the Queen-Dowager’s Government was the appointment of a commission of inquiry to conduct the investigation of Struensee, Brandt, and the ten other prisoners, and send them for trial. This Commission consisted of eight high officials, to whom a ninth was eventually added. They were all known to be enemies of Struensee and his system of government. The Commission was appointed in January, and made it its first duty to search the houses of the prisoners, and examine all their papers. For the purpose of taking evidence the Commission sat daily at the Christiansborg Palace, but either because the commissioners were uncertain how to proceed, or because of conflicting counsels, five weeks passed before the examination of the principal prisoners began. Every one knew that the trial was a foregone conclusion. Keith wrote to his father before it took place: “Count Struensee is loaded with irons, and, which is worse, with guilt, in a common prison in the citadel. Without knowing either the particulars of the accusations against him, or the proofs, I believe I may venture to say that he will soon finish his wild career by the hands of the executioner. The treatment of Count Brandt in the prison, and the race he has run, bear so near an affinity to those of Struensee that it may be presumed his doom will be similar.”[31]

Struensee and Brandt were kept confined closely to their cells, and treated with hardship and ignominy, which would have broken the spirits of far stronger men than they, who had been rendered soft by luxury and self-indulgence. The day after their arrival at the citadel iron chains were specially forged for them. These chains weighed eighteen pounds each, and were fastened on the right hand and on the left leg, and thence, with the length of three yards, to the wall. They wore them day and night and never took them off. Struensee felt this indignity bitterly, and made pitiful efforts to conceal his fetters. Curiously enough, the smith who forged them and fastened them upon him was a prisoner who only a year before had been in chains himself, and then had begged Struensee for alms and his liberty. The minister had contemptuously tossed him some pence, but refused to set him free, saying: “You do not wear your chains on account of your virtues.” When the man, therefore, fettered Struensee to the wall, he reminded him of the incident by saying: “Your Excellency, I do not put this chain on you on account of your virtues.”[32]

Most of the severities inflicted on the prisoners, and especially those on Struensee, seem rather to have been dictated from a fear that they would attempt to commit suicide, and not in any vindictive spirit. Neither of the prisoners was entrusted with knives and forks, but the jailors cut up their food and carried it to their mouths. Struensee at first tried to starve himself, but after three days the commandant sent him word that he was to eat and drink, otherwise he would be thrashed until his appetite returned. His buttons were cut off his clothes, because he had swallowed two of them; his shoe-buckles were removed, and when he tried to dash his head against the wall he was made to wear an iron cap. Brandt escaped both the strait-waistcoat and the iron cap, for he showed no disposition to take his life; on the contrary, he was always cheerful, and bore his fate with a fortitude which shamed the wretched Struensee.