“A DAUGHTER OF ENGLAND.”

1772.

The ill-news from Denmark travelled to England in an incredibly short space of time, considering how slow and difficult was the transmission of news in the eighteenth century. Though nothing definite was known, the air was full of rumours, and the gossips of the clubs and coffee-houses were much exercised over the fate of the Queen of Denmark. The greatest care had been taken to prevent any whisper of the current scandal at the court of Denmark reaching the ears of the English people. The less reputable members of the Opposition, it was thought, would be sure to use the intrigue between the Queen and Struensee as another weapon against the King and the Government. So long back as December 20, 1771, we find Keith writing to Lord Suffolk a private letter detailing the case of one Ball, an English naval surgeon, who had offered his services in aid of the Danish expedition against Algiers. Struensee, who hated every one English, had dismissed his application with scant courtesy, and in revenge Ball had written an angry letter to Struensee, threatening to expose his conduct. Keith continues: “I can hardly suppose that Count Struensee will deign to send an answer to this letter, but, as Mr. Ball has picked up here a number of scandalous stories which might make a figure in a catch-penny pamphlet, I think it my duty to let your Lordship know what may be the possible consequence of his revenging his disappointment by appearing in print. If the Minister was the only person whose name might be mixed up in this altercation, I should be less anxious. Perhaps the Danish envoy in London may obtain for Mr. Ball some additional gratuity which will put an end to the dispute.”[33]

Whether Ball was muzzled or not there is no record to tell, but the events at the Danish court having culminated in the catastrophe of January 16, it was only a question of time for the scandal to be bruited abroad in every court in Europe, and in England too. As early as January 23 a London newspaper created great excitement by the following paragraph: “It is affirmed by letters from the continent that a royal princess is certainly detained in a tower, inaccessible to every creature, except such as are appointed to attend her, but that an absolute silence is imposed throughout the kingdom on this subject.”[34]

A few days later Keith’s despatch arrived from Copenhagen, containing a full account of the revolution there, and the arrest and imprisonment of the Queen. Lord Suffolk, the foreign secretary, immediately hastened with it to the King, who was about to hold a levee. George III., who had already heard evil rumours, was so much overcome by this confirmation of them that he immediately put off the levee, and the royal family were thrown into grief and humiliation. Queen Charlotte was highly indignant with her sister-in-law, and went into closest retirement, declaring that she was ashamed to appear in public. The Princess of Brunswick, Matilda’s sister, who was staying in London at the time, wept bitterly. The Princess-Dowager of Wales was seriously ill, and the Princess of Brunswick thought that it was better that her mother should not be told; but the King said: “My mother will know everything”; and therefore he went to her directly, and acquainted her with the contents of Keith’s despatch.

The Princess-Dowager was overwhelmed with affliction at the news of this last family disgrace. She had seen it coming for some time, and made every effort to recall her daughter from the error of her ways; but her remonstrances were unheeded, and her advice neglected, and now the ruin which she had foretold had fallen upon the Queen of Denmark. Only a few months before the Princess-Dowager had been annoyed beyond measure by the marriage of her youngest son, Henry Duke of Cumberland, with Mrs. Horton, a beautiful and designing widow,[35] and she had broken off all communication with him in consequence. Her other son, the Duke of Gloucester, who had contracted a similar marriage, soon to be publicly avowed, had added to her anxieties by a dangerous illness. Her eldest daughter, the Princess of Brunswick, was unhappy in her matrimonial relations. Therefore it is no wonder that the proud Princess’s patience gave way under this last disgrace. In the first moments of her grief and anger she turned her face to the wall and prayed for death, and forbade her children and her servants evermore to mention to her the name of Matilda, who, she declared, had ceased to be her daughter. Well might Walpole write: “Such an accumulated succession of mortifications has rarely fallen on a royal family in so short a space. They seem to have inherited the unpropitious star of the Stuarts, from whom they are descended, as well as their crown.”[36]

The dishonour of her youngest daughter, coming on the top of all her other mortifications, proved too much even for the indomitable spirit of the Princess-Dowager, and without doubt hastened her death. In any case the end could not have been long delayed, for she was dying of cancer, and her sufferings the last year of her life had been agonising. Yet to the end she would not admit that she was ill, and bore her pains, like her sorrows, in stern silence. George III., whose pride was deeply wounded by these family scandals, which brought discredit on the throne and the dynasty, greatly sympathised with his mother. Doubtless he took counsel with her as to how he was to act to save his sister Matilda from the worst consequences of her indiscretion, but at first he seems to have done nothing. Perhaps this inaction was due to his great anxiety concerning his mother’s health. He had always been devoted to her, and was now unremitting in his attentions. He visited her every evening at eight o’clock, and remained some hours; but though the Princess was gradually sinking before his eyes, even he did not dare to hint to her that the end was near.

The night before she died the King was so anxious that he anticipated his visit by an hour, pretending that he had mistaken the time, and he brought with him Queen Charlotte. Even then, with the hand of death upon her, the Princess-Dowager rose up and dressed as usual to receive her son and daughter-in-law. She made not the slightest allusion to her state of health, though she kept them in conversation for four hours on other topics. On their rising to take their leave, she said that she should pass a quiet night. The King, who feared she might die at any moment, did not return home, but, unknown to his mother, remained at Carlton House. The Princess-Dowager fought hard for life the first part of the night, but towards morning it became evident even to herself that the end was imminent. She asked her physician how long she had to live. He hesitated. “No matter,” she said, “for I have nothing to say, nothing to do, nothing to leave.”[37] An hour later she was dead. She died so suddenly that the King, although he was resting in an adjoining room, was not in time to be with his mother when she breathed her last. He gained her bedside immediately after, took her hand, kissed it, and burst into tears.

The Princess-Dowager of Wales died in the fifty-third year of her age, at six o’clock in the morning, on February 8, 1772, not long after the terrible news had arrived from Denmark. She therefore died without hearing again of her daughter Matilda. “The calmness and composure of her death,” wrote Bishop Newton, her domestic chaplain, “were further proofs and attestations of the goodness of her life; and she died, as she lived, beloved and lamented most by those who knew her best.”[38] No sooner was this princess, who was cruelly abused all her life, dead, than the papers were filled with praise of her virtues. “Never was a more amiable, a more innocent, or a more benevolent princess,” wrote one, and this was the theme, with variations, of the rest. Without endorsing all this eulogy, it must be admitted that the Princess-Dowager of Wales was in many ways a princess high above the average. Few women have been more harshly judged, and none on so little evidence. Insult and calumny followed her to the grave. A few days before she died a scandalous libel appeared, and the disgrace of the daughter was seized on as a weapon to attack once more the mother. An indecent scribbler, who signed himself “Atticus,” wrote in the Public Advertiser of the revolution at Copenhagen as follows:—

“The day was fixed: a Favourite fell. Methinks I hear the Earl of Bute whisper to his poor affrighted soul, and every corner of his hiding places murmur these expressions: ‘God bless us! A known and established Favourite ruined in a single night by a near neighbour—the frenzy may reach this country, and I am undone. Englishmen too are haters of favourites and Scotchmen. Those old rascally Whig families, whose power and virtues seem almost lost, may reunite. In the meantime, I must do something—a lucky thought occurs to me. I’ll fill the minds of the people with prejudices against those haughty Danes. Bradshaw Dyson shall bribe the printers to suppress any contradictory reports. Englishmen are always ready to vindicate injured virtue at any expense; therefore nothing shall be heard but the honour of the King’s sister!’”

Thus, even when the poor woman lay dying, the old prejudice was revived. Then, as for a quarter of a century before, the pivot on which all this slander turned was the precise nature of the friendship between the Princess and Lord Bute—a matter which surely concerned no one except themselves. Her arch-maligner, Horace Walpole, put the worst construction on this intimacy, and her political enemies endorsed his verdict. But Walpole hated the Princess-Dowager, because she refused to recognise in any way the marriage of his favourite niece to the Duke of Gloucester. The evil construction placed upon the friendship, as Lord Chesterfield said, “was founded on mere conjectures”. The whole life of the Princess-Dowager—the decorum of her conduct, the order and regularity of her household, her strict principles, the reticence of her character, and the coldness of her temperament—give it the lie. The eighteenth century, with its gross pleasures and low ideals, could not understand a disinterested friendship between a man and a woman, and, not understanding, condemned it. Yet there is much to show that this friendship was of that high order of affection which eliminates all thought of self or sex. It lasted for long years; it was marked by complete trust and confidence on the woman’s side, by loyalty and chivalry on the man’s. It never wavered through good report or ill; opposition and insult served to strengthen it, and it was broken only by death. There must have been something very noble in the woman who won such allegiance, and in the man who rendered it.

The news from Copenhagen created an extraordinary sensation in London. The ladies were whispering all sorts of naughtiness behind their fans concerning Queen Matilda and Struensee; the gossips in the coffee-houses were retailing fresh bits of scandal every day, and the politicians were betting on the possibilities of a war with Denmark. Public opinion at first seemed to be on the side of the young Queen. Some of the papers already demanded that a fleet should be sent to Denmark to vindicate the honour of the British Princess, who was generally spoken of as the “Royal Innocent”. The following may be quoted as a specimen of these effusions:—

“Recollect the manner in which that lady [Queen Matilda] was educated, and that, when delivered into the hands of her husband she was in the full possession of every virtue. All the graces were in her; she knew nothing but what was good. Can it then, with any degree of reason, be concluded that in so short a time the lady could forget every virtuous precept, and abandon herself to infamy? My dear countrymen, it cannot be, and until we have a certainty of guilt, believe it not, though an angel from Copenhagen should affirm it.”[39]

The popular curiosity was heightened by the profound secrecy observed by the court and government. So far, nothing definite was known; the King and his ministers were naturally silent. The illness and death of his mother had hindered the King from taking action on Keith’s despatch, and while he was hesitating, another communication arrived from Copenhagen. This was a letter addressed by that wily diplomatist, Osten, to the Danish envoy in London, Baron Dieden, with instructions that he was to communicate its contents to Lord Suffolk at once. This letter threw a different complexion on the affair to that of Keith’s despatch. It assumed the guilt of the Queen, and urged that the King of Denmark was only within his rights in removing his consort from the contaminating presence of her favourite. The matter, Osten urged, was of so delicate and personal a nature that it could not be treated properly by ministers or envoys. The King of Denmark, when he had recovered from the affliction into which the knowledge of his consort’s infidelity had plunged him, would write to his brother of England with his own hand, and he trusted that his Britannic Majesty would suspend judgment until then. A few days later Dieden received another despatch from Osten, enclosing a sealed letter from Christian VII. to George III., and the Danish envoy delivered this letter into the King’s hands at once. This letter, which no doubt Christian had been induced to copy by the dictation of the Queen-Dowager and her advisers, took the same line as Osten’s despatch, though of course it was written in a more intimate and confidential tone, not only as between brother monarchs, but near relatives.

George III., who was already prejudiced against his sister by the way in which she had slighted his advice, and ignored his remonstrances, was not averse from dealing with the difficulty in this way. Though he greatly disliked his cousin, the King of Denmark, and knew the insults and cruelties which had been heaped upon his unhappy sister, yet, as he was of a most moral and domestic nature, he could not find in them any justification for her conduct, and he regarded her offence, if proved, with horror. Osten’s representations were so plausible that the King, when he received Christian VII.’s letter, replied to it in no unyielding spirit; he reserved his judgment, but demanded that his sister should be treated fairly, and every possible respect and indulgence be shown to her. He would not go behind his envoy’s back, in the manner suggested by Osten, for he rightly judged that Keith, being on the spot, would be thoroughly informed of the situation. He therefore gave his letter to Suffolk to transmit to Keith, with instructions that he was to have a personal audience of the King forthwith, and to deliver it into his hands. At the same time Lord Suffolk wrote a despatch to Keith asking for fuller information, and conveying to him in a special manner his Sovereign’s approbation of his conduct.

Keith all this time had remained shut up in his house, in Copenhagen, awaiting instructions from England, and unable, until he received them, to do anything on behalf of the unhappy Queen. The answer to his despatch did not arrive for nearly a month. When at last it came, “in the shape of a sealed square packet, it was placed in Colonel Keith’s hands, and they trembled, and he shook all over as he cut the strings. The parcel flew open, and the Order of the Bath fell at his feet. The insignia had been enclosed by the King’s own hands, with a despatch commanding him to invest himself forthwith, and appear at the Danish court.”[40] What instructions the despatch contained will never be known; but that George III. entirely approved of the way in which his representative had acted is shown by a letter which Lord Suffolk wrote at the same time to Keith’s father:—

“I cannot deny myself the satisfaction of acquainting you with the eminent merit of your son, his Majesty’s minister at Copenhagen, and the honourable testimony his Majesty has been pleased to give of his approbation by conferring on him the Order of the Bath. The ability, spirit and dignity with which Sir Robert Keith has conducted himself in a very delicate and difficult position has induced his Majesty to accompany the honour he bestows with very particular marks of distinction."[41]

Fortified with these marks of his Sovereign’s approval, and armed with the King’s letter, Keith, for the first time for many weeks, emerged from his house, and proceeded to the Christiansborg Palace, where he demanded a private audience of the King of Denmark. The audience was promised on the morrow, but when Keith again repaired to the palace, and was conducted to the ante-chamber of the King’s apartments, he was astonished at seeing, instead of the King, Osten and some of the newly appointed ministers, who informed him that, his Majesty not being well, they had been charged to receive the envoy’s communication, and convey it to the King. Keith replied with some indignation that his orders were to deliver his letter into the King’s own hands, and he did not understand why his Danish Majesty, after he had consented to give him audience, should refer him to his ministers. But the ministers only politely expressed their regret, and said they were acting under the King’s orders. The whole scene of course was planned by the Queen-Dowager, who had her own reasons for keeping the English envoy away from the King, as she was determined at all hazards that Matilda should be deposed and disgraced. Keith, who realised that there was something behind, and saw the futility of further remonstrance, reluctantly surrendered the letter; but he added that he should not fail to inform his Sovereign of the way in which he had been treated. He moreover said that his royal master’s letter was a private one to the King, but that he himself had authority to state to the ministers that, if the Queen of Denmark were not treated with all the respect due to her birth and rank, her royal brother of England would not fail to resent it in a manner that would make Denmark tremble. He then withdrew.

Keith must have written a very strongly worded despatch to Lord Suffolk, exposing the trickery of the Danish court, and probably hinting at the Queen’s danger, for though the despatches which passed between him and Suffolk at this time are missing, we know that they became graver and more serious in tone. The relations between the two countries seemed likely to be broken off, for the Danish envoy in England, Dieden, followed Keith’s example, and shut himself up in his house until he should receive instructions. When these instructions came, they could not have been satisfactory, for when the Danish envoy next appeared at court, George III. pointedly ignored him, which the minister resented by standing out of the circle, and laughing and talking with the Prussian minister, whose master also had a dispute with England at this time. Moreover, the Prussian minister had given offence to the King by talking too freely about the scandal at the Danish court. On one occasion he asked a court official with a sneer: “What has become of your Queen of Denmark?”—to which the Englishman made quick reply: “Apparently she is at Spandau with your Princess of Prussia”—a princess who had been divorced for adultery.

The secrecy which still reigned over everything concerning the King’s sister, and the dilatory nature of the negotiations, led to much unfavourable comment in England. The mystery of the Queen of Denmark continued to be the only topic of discussion, both in public and private. Notwithstanding all precautions, well-informed people formed a very shrewd idea of what had taken place at Copenhagen. For instance, on February 28, 1772, Mrs. Carter wrote to Mrs. Vesey: “I have very little intelligence to send you from Denmark, as there is a profound silence at St. James’s on this subject. You know that the unhappy young Queen is imprisoned in a castle dashed by the waves, where she is kept in very strict confinement. I am persuaded you would think it an alleviation of her misfortunes if I could tell you it is the very castle once haunted by Hamlet’s ghost, but of this I have no positive assurance, though, as it is at Elsinur, I think such an imagination as yours and mine may fairly enough make out the rest. In the letter that the King of Denmark wrote to ours, he only mentioned in general terms that the Queen had behaved in a manner which obliged him to imprison her, but that from regard to his Majesty her life should be safe.”[42]

The thought that the young and beautiful Queen—a British princess—was ill-treated and imprisoned, and possibly even in danger of her life, and her brother would not interpose on her behalf, created an extraordinary sensation, and the Opposition, thinking any stick good enough wherewith to belabour the King and his ministers, did not fail to turn the situation to account. It formed the subject of one of the most powerful letters of Junius, who made a terrific onslaught on both the King and the Prime Minister, Lord North, from which we take the following extracts:—

“My Lord,

“I have waited with a degree of impatience natural to a man who wishes well to his country for your lordship’s ministerial interposition on behalf of an injured Princess of England, the Queen-Consort of Denmark.... An insignificant Northern Potentate is honoured by a matrimonial alliance with the King of England’s sister. A confused rumour prevails, that she has been false to his bed; the tale spreads; a particular man is pointed out as the object of her licentious affections. Our hopeful Ministry are, however, quite silent: despatches, indeed, are sent off to Copenhagen, but the contents of those despatches are so profound a secret, that with me it almost amounts to a question whether you [Lord North] yourself know anything of the matter.... In private life the honour of a sister is deemed an affair of infinite consequence to a brother. A man of sentiment is anxious to convince his friends and neighbours that the breath of slander hath traduced her virtue; and he seizes, with avidity, every extenuating circumstance that can contribute to extenuate her offence, or demonstrate her innocence beyond the possibility of cavil. Is our pious Monarch cast in a different mould from that of his people? Or is he taught to believe that the opinion of his subjects has no manner of relation to his own felicity? Are you, my Lord, [North] quite devoid of feeling? Have you no warm blood that flows round your heart, that gives your frame a thrilling soft sensation, and makes your bosom glow with affections ornamental to man as a social creature? For shame, my Lord! However wrong you act, you must know better; you must be conscious that the people have a right to be informed of every transaction which concerns the welfare of the state. They are part of a mighty empire, which flourishes only as their happiness is promoted; they have a kind of claim in every person belonging to the royal lineage. How then can they possibly remain neuter, and see their Princess imprisoned by banditti and northern Vandals?... There is a barbarous ferocity which still clings to the inhabitants of the north, and renders their government subject to perpetual convulsions; but the Danes, I fancy, will be found the only people in our times who have dared to proceed to extremities that alarmed Europe, nay, dared to imprison an English princess without giving even the shadow of a public reason for their conduct.... The present Machiavelian Dowager Julia may send the young Queen’s soul to Heaven in a night, and through the shameless remissness of you, Lord North, as Prime Minister of this unhappy country, the public may remain ignorant of every circumstance relative to the murder. Be not, however, deceived: the blood of our Sovereign’s sister shall not be suffered to cry in vain for vengeance: it shall be heard, it shall be revenged, and, what is still more, it shall besprinkle Lord North, and thus affix a stigma on his forehead, which shall make him wander, like another Cain, accursed through the world.”[43]

This attack naturally called forth a counter-attack, and before long the guilt, or innocence, of the King’s sister was as hotly debated in the public press as in the clubs and coffee-houses. But neither the thunders of Junius, nor the shrill cries of those who took the opposite view, made any difference to Lord North, and the nature of the negotiations which were going on between England and Denmark remained as much a mystery as ever. When pressed in Parliament on the subject, the Prime Minister contented himself with answering, with his usual air of frankness, that, unless expressly ordered to do so by the House, he would not reveal so delicate a matter, and in this he was supported by the good sense of the House, which had no wish to see the disgrace of the King’s sister form a subject of debate within the walls of Parliament. Moreover, at this stage it was not a question which concerned ministers, but the King, and the blame for what followed must be laid not on their shoulders, but on his. George III. believed his sister guilty, and did not weigh sufficiently the extenuating circumstances, which, whether guilty or innocent, could be urged in her favour. He did not act at first with that firmness which the situation undoubtedly demanded. The Queen-Dowager of Denmark and her advisers believed the King of England to be luke-warm, and consequently proceeded against his unhappy sister with every circumstance of cruelty and malevolence. If even her brother would not defend her, Matilda was indeed abandoned to the vengeance of her enemies.

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