THE RELEASE OF THE QUEEN.

1772.

During the weeks occupied by the trials of Struensee and Brandt, Keith had been untiring in his efforts on behalf of Queen Matilda, and wrung from her enemies one concession after another. As the result of his insistence, the Queen was no longer confined in one small room, but was permitted to use the large dining-hall outside it and the other apartments adjoining. She was also allowed to go out and take the air on the ramparts and the leads of the castle. Her food was better served, and she was waited on with some ceremony by her household. The preachers in the fortress chapel were no longer instructed to hurl insults at the Queen, and when she attended divine service there was nothing to remind her of her misfortunes, beyond the omission of her name from the liturgy. The little Princess was still allowed to remain with her. This indulgence was probably due to the fact that the child was ill of the measles, and it might have cost the infant her life to take her away at this time from the Queen, who most devotedly nursed her day and night, and found in the child her only consolation. Keith wrote of this incident: “A more tender mother than this Queen never was born in the world.”

Queen Matilda had now been imprisoned at Kronborg several months, and by the gentleness and dignity with which she bore her sorrows she won the respect and devotion of her jailors. Her natural kindness of heart showed itself even under these distressing circumstances; she made inquiries concerning the other prisoners who were detained in the fortress, and, as soon as greater freedom was allowed her, did what she could to alleviate their lot. From the little money she possessed, she gave sums from time to time to buy them comforts, and, when her dinner was served to her properly, she put aside two dishes from her table every day, with orders that they should be given to certain prisoners whom she had singled out for compassion. One of these was a Danish officer, who had been confined for many years in a small cell on suspicion of having entered into a treasonable correspondence with Sweden. The commandant of Kronborg remonstrated with the Queen, and asked her to bestow her little bounty on some other, lest her kindness should be construed into a condonation of the prisoner’s heinous offence. The Queen declined, and quoted the following line of Voltaire’s: “Il suffit qu’il soit homme, et qu’il soit malheureux.”

The Queen in her prison heard of the tragic death of Struensee and Brandt. According to one account she swooned with grief and horror, and when she rallied spoke no word. According to another she received the news with emotion, and exclaimed to FrÄulein MÖsting, her maid-of-honour: “Unhappy men; they have paid dearly for their devotion to the King and their zeal in my service.” These words, it must be admitted, do not show overwhelming grief for the death of the man who but a short time before had been dearer to her than all the world. Perhaps his shameful confession, and the way he had received her message of forgiveness, influenced her in spite of herself. She forgave him the wrong he had done her; she uttered no word of reproach; she showed the deepest pity for his sufferings and horror at his fate; but it was impossible that she could feel quite the same towards him as she had done. Perhaps, too, long months of solitary confinement had brought reflection, and the death of her mother, and the thought of her children, whom she dearly loved, had aroused her to a higher sense of her duties; and her eyes, no longer blinded by passion, saw clearly in what she had failed. Certain it is that Matilda’s character was purified and ennobled by suffering.

After the sentence of divorce was pronounced, Keith had insisted upon seeing the Queen. For some time this request was refused, or rather he was always put off on one pretext or another. But Keith clamoured in season and out of season at the doors of the Christiansborg, and became so threatening that at last the crafty Osten and the vindictive Juliana Maria had to give way, and most unwillingly gave leave to the English envoy to visit his Sovereign’s sister. But this permission does not seem to have been granted until after the execution of Struensee and Brandt.

Unfortunately, there exists no account of the first interview at Kronborg between Queen Matilda and Keith; the despatches which the English envoy wrote home at this time have all been destroyed. But we can imagine what it must have been. In the days when Struensee was in the ascendant, the young Queen was hardly permitted to see her brother’s representative—much less to have any conversation with him. She was taught to look on him rather as an enemy than a friend, and an enemy he undoubtedly was to Struensee and his administration. But, freed from that baneful influence, she realised that the Englishman was her only friend, and, if help came at all, it must come from England, her native land, which, in the days of her brief madness, she had forgotten. Now she clung to Keith as her friend and champion; she placed herself unreservedly in his hands; she spoke to him quite freely, and besought him to save her from the malice of her enemies. But it needed neither her tears nor her prayers to urge this brave soldier to fight for his King’s sister; indeed, in her defence he was more zealous than the King himself. He sent home a copy of the sentence against the Queen, and a full account of her trial, pointing out its obvious unfairness, the suborned and perjured nature of the evidence, and the way the Queen’s so-called confession had been extorted from her under false pretences. It is said that George III. had these papers submitted to some of the first law officers of the crown, and they reported that the evidence was insufficient to prove the Queen guilty, and, even where it might be believed, it was only of a presumptive and inconclusive nature. On the strength of this report George III. determined to give his sister the benefit of the doubt. Moved by the despatches in which Keith eloquently portrayed the young Queen’s privations and sufferings and the danger to which she was exposed from the fury and malice of her enemies, George III. sent instructions to his envoy to peremptorily demand that Matilda should be set at liberty forthwith, and handed over to his keeping.

On receipt of this despatch Keith lost no time in acquainting the Danish Government with its contents; but the Queen-Dowager and her adherents demurred. Every preparation had been made to remove the unfortunate young Queen to Aalborg—a lonely fortress on the extreme edge of Jutland, and to keep her there in perpetual imprisonment. And to Aalborg, they informed Keith, she would shortly be conducted. Matilda had a presentiment that if she once went to Aalborg she would never leave it alive. The only link that bound her to Denmark was her children; apart from them, she had nothing there, and her one wish was to leave it for ever, and return to the country which gave her birth. But, though Keith stormed and protested, the Danish Government showed no signs of yielding. Perhaps they trusted to the alleged lukewarmness of the King of England, and believed that he would not force matters to extremities. Keith wrote home a strongly worded despatch, saying that it was absolutely necessary for the English Government to take prompt and vigorous measures if this daughter of England were to be set free. He also pointed out the bad effect it would have upon British influence in Europe if, at such a moment, England did not show herself as good as her word. On receipt of this despatch, George III. no longer hesitated and took the vigorous measures he ought to have taken long before; his own honour and the honour of England alike demanded that the Queen should not be abandoned to her fate. He commanded Keith to inform the Danish Government that, unless they at once agreed to deliver the Queen to his keeping, the English minister would present his letters of recall, a state of war would be declared between England and Denmark, and a fleet would be despatched to bombard Copenhagen. And, in order to follow up his words with action, orders were sent to the Admiralty for the fitting out of a strong fleet, and though no directions were given as to where it was to sail, it was universally thought to be destined for Denmark. The Danish envoy in London thought so too, for he wrote to Copenhagen in great alarm. He said that the King of England was really roused at last, he referred to his well-known obstinacy, and urged the Danish Government to yield to his demands.

In England the fate of the Queen of Denmark, which for so many months had hung in the balance, was followed with close attention, and when rumours came of the fitting out of the fleet, the public excitement was wrought to the highest pitch. The Opposition, which had first championed the cause of Matilda with more zeal than discretion, now turned against her, and denounced the Government in the strongest terms for bringing about a war between two friendly nations for a worthless woman. The vilest pamphlets suddenly flooded the streets. To quote a journal of the day: “Yesterday, in some parts of the city, men were crying about printed papers, containing the most scandalous rumours, and impudent reflections on the Queen of Denmark. The worst prostitute that ever Covent Garden produced could not have had more gross abuse bestowed on her.”[63]

Fortunately, for all concerned, the crisis was averted. When Keith, on receipt of the King of England’s orders, presented himself at the Christiansborg Palace and delivered his ultimatum, panic struck the hearts of the Queen-Dowager and her adherents, and this panic was heightened by the news, conveyed to them by the Danish envoy in London, that a fleet was fitted out and ready to sail. The Queen-Dowager did not yield her victim without a struggle, she hated Matilda more than Struensee and all his accomplices put together, but she was overborne by the remonstrances of the rest, who knew that to precipitate a conflict with England at this juncture would assuredly prove their ruin. Whatever the issue of the struggle (and there was not much doubt about that), the Danish people would never forgive the Government for involving them in a ruinous war on such a pretext. Moreover, there was a revulsion of feeling in favour of the young Queen, and, since the death of Struensee, sympathy with her had been gaining ground daily. It really would be safer, urged some, to get her out of the country than to keep her shut up at Aalborg, for her adherents would always be plotting to obtain her release. These considerations weighed even with Juliana Maria, and made her see virtue in necessity. Keith, who had noted these signs of weakness and divided counsels, pushed his advantage, and with such success that he gained every point, and more than every point, that George III. demanded. Not only did the Danish Government agree to deliver Matilda to the King of England’s keeping, but they further promised that the sentence of divorce should not be officially published, that they would do all they could to hush up the scandal, that she should be permitted to retain her title of Queen, and that they would pay a yearly allowance towards her maintenance in another country. The Queen was not only to be set free, but to be set free with honour. On only one point they would not yield: they would not allow her to say good-bye to her son, or to take her daughter with her. By the finding of the judges the Princess was the King of Denmark’s child, and therefore he was her proper guardian.

As Keith had no instructions on this point, he was powerless to insist upon it; but it was with a glad heart that he sat down to write his despatch, which informed his King that every point had been gained—that his demands had been complied with, and war would be averted.

The English Government received Keith’s despatch with a great sense of relief. The King, now his blood was up, would undoubtedly have insisted upon the fleet sailing, and many complications would have ensued. The Government were by no means sure that they would have the nation at their back in declaring war on such a pretext. The whole story of the Queen of Denmark’s errors would have become common property; the King of Prussia, who was in close alliance with Denmark, and whose Queen was the sister of Juliana Maria, would probably have marched an army into Hanover if Copenhagen had been bombarded, and a new war would have been kindled in the north of Europe. Therefore, both the King and the Government had every reason to congratulate themselves that these difficulties had been avoided, and it was resolved to promote Keith as a reward for the successful way in which he had conducted the negotiations. Lord Suffolk wrote to Keith the following despatches:—

“St. James’s, May 1, 1772.

“Sir,

“Your despatches by King the messenger have already been acknowledged; those by Pearson were received on Wednesday afternoon, and I now answer both together.

“His Majesty’s entire approbation of your conduct continues to the last moment of your success, and his satisfaction has in no part of it been more complete than in the manner in which you have stated, urged and obtained the liberty of his sister, and the care you have taken to distinguish between a claim of right and the subjects of negotiation, and to prevent the mixture of stipulations with a demand is perfectly agreeable with your instructions.

“The national object of procuring the liberty of a daughter of England confined in Denmark after her connection with Denmark was dissolved is now obtained. For this alone an armament was prepared, and therefore, as soon as the acquiescence of the court of Copenhagen was known, the preparations were suspended, that the mercantile and marine interests of this kingdom might be affected no longer than was necessary by the expectation of a war.

“Instead of a hostile armament, two frigates and a sloop of war are now ordered to Elsinore. One of them is already in the Downs—the others will repair thither immediately: and, as soon as wind permits, they will proceed to their destination. I enclose to you an account of them, which you may transfer to Monsieur Ostein [Count Osten] ministerially, referring at the same time to the assurance of these pacific proceedings.

“The compliance of the Danish court with his Majesty’s demand, however forced, is still a compliance. Their continuing, unasked, the style of Queen and other concessions, and the attainment of the national object, accompanying each other, his Majesty would think it improper to interrupt the national intercourse from any personal or domestic consideration. You will therefore inform Monsieur Ostein that his Majesty intends to have a minister at the court of Copenhagen, the explanation you may give of this suspension of former directions and his determinations being left to your own discretion.

“You will not be that minister. His Majesty will have occasion for your services in a more eligible situation, and, as soon as you have discharged your duty to the Queen of Denmark by attending her to Stade, you will return home, either on board his Majesty’s ship which conveyed you thither, or, if the passage by sea is disagreeable to you, by land, with the least possible delay.

“I am, with great truth and regard, Sir,

“Your most obedient and humble servant,

“Suffolk.”[64]

“St. James’s, May 1, 1772.

“For your own information, I enclose a list of the ships which were intended to enforce the demand for the Queen of Denmark’s liberty, if it had been refused. Those from Plymouth would have been sailed if the countermand had been a few hours later than it was. The others were just ready to proceed to the Downs, and the whole fleet would probably have by this time been on their way to Copenhagen, under the command of Sir Charles Hardy.

“I am, etc.,

“Suffolk.”[65]

The public curiosity in London, which had been keenly aroused by the news that a fleet was being hastily fitted out for the Baltic, was no less excited when the preparations were suddenly stopped by a counter-order, sent to Portsmouth on April 22. Though no official information was vouchsafed, people shrewdly guessed the truth. Horace Walpole gives a fair idea of the gossip which was floating about London:—

“The King, as Lord Hertford told me, had certainly ordered the fleet to sail; and a near relation of Lord North told me that the latter had not been acquainted with that intention. Lord Mansfield, therefore, who had now got the King’s ear, or Lord Sandwich, First Lord of the Admiralty, must have been consulted. The latter, though I should think he would not approve of it, was capable of flattering the King’s wishes; Lord Mansfield assuredly would. The destination was changed on the arrival of a courier from Denmark, who brought word that the Queen was repudiated, and, I suppose, a promise that her life would be spared, for though the Danes had thirty ships and the best seamen next to ours, and though we were sending but ten ships against them, the governing party were alarmed, probably from not being sure that their nation was with them.”[66]

Again: “They gave her [the Queen of Denmark] the title of Countess of Aalborg, and condemned her to be shut up in the castle of that name. The King of England had certainly known her story two years before; a clerk in the secretary’s office, having opened a letter that came with the account,[67] told me he had seen it before the secretary gave it to the King. It was now believed that this intelligence had occasioned the Princess of Wales to make an extraordinary journey to Germany, where she saw her daughter, though to no purpose. Princess Amelia told Lord Hertford on the 26th [April] ... that Queen Matilda had a very high spirit, and that she believed the Danes would consent to let her go to Hanover. ‘But she will not be let go thither,’ added the Princess, meaning that the Queen’s brother, Prince Charles of Mecklenburg, commanded there, ‘or to Zell, but she will not go thither’ [another of the Queen’s brothers was there]; ‘perhaps she may go to LÜneburg.’”[68]

Queen Matilda’s destination had been determined by her brother before her release was assured. Matilda had herself petitioned that she might be allowed to return to England, and live the rest of her life among her own people; but this natural request was refused. The King at first was inclined to grant it, and, if the Princess-Dowager of Wales had been alive, no doubt it would have been granted. But Queen Charlotte, who had always shown the greatest jealousy of the King’s sisters, and had quarrelled fiercely with the Princess of Brunswick, displayed the bitterest animus against the unfortunate Matilda, who surely could have given her no cause of offence, for she had left England when a child of fifteen. It is probable that the King’s harsh judgment of his sister, and his slowness to intervene on her behalf, were instigated by Queen Charlotte, who now shrilly opposed the idea of Matilda returning to England. Her rigid virtue rose in arms at the bare suggestion of such a thing; she declared that she would not receive her sister-in-law; that her presence at court would be an insult; that she would contaminate the young princesses, her daughters, and be to them a bad example. Queen Charlotte had her way, for the King did not venture to stand up against the tempest of her virtuous indignation. He then thought of sending his sister to Hanover; there were three empty palaces there, and his Hanoverian subjects would be sure to receive her kindly. But Queen Charlotte opposed that too: Hanover was too gay a place, she said, for one who ought to hide her head from all the world; and at her instigation her brother, Prince Charles of Mecklenburg, who commanded there, raised objections also. The idea of sending Matilda to LÜneburg was out of the question, for there was no house there, and it was too near the frontier of Denmark. So at last the King decided upon Celle as the most suitable place for his sister to find a refuge. True, Prince Ernest of Mecklenburg-Strelitz commanded the garrison, another of the Queen’s brothers (Queen Charlotte provided for all her needy relatives at the expense of her adopted country), but he was young and unmarried, and offered no objection. On the contrary, he looked forward to the advent of the Queen as a break in the monotony of Celle. To Celle, therefore, it was determined she should go.

Celle was an old town in the King’s Hanoverian dominions, about twenty miles north of Hanover. It was formerly the capital of the Dukes of Brunswick-LÜneburg, and the town was dominated by the magnificent castle where they formerly held their court.[69] The last Duke of Celle was George William, brother of Ernest Augustus, first Elector of Hanover and the father of George I. of England. George I., then the Hereditary Prince of Hanover, married his cousin, the only daughter of the Duke of Celle, the unfortunate Sophie Dorothea. At Duke George William’s death he became, through his marriage, possessed of the dukedom of Celle, which was merged into the electorate of Hanover. Since the death of Duke George William in 1705, there had no longer been a court at Celle, and the importance of the town had waned, while that of its rival, Hanover, had increased, though Celle still remained a seat of justice, and a garrison was quartered there. The castle as a place of residence needed many things to make it habitable. George III. now gave orders that it was to be thoroughly repaired, and a suite of apartments re-decorated and furnished for his sister, and rooms prepared for the accommodation of her household.

Keith carried to the imprisoned Queen the tidings of her deliverance early in May. It was with feelings of triumph and gladness that he hastened to Kronborg to inform her of his success, and the King of England’s plans for her future welfare. As he wrote to his sister: “To demand the liberty of a captive Queen, and to escort her to a land of freedom is truly such a commencement of my chivalry as savours strongly of the romantic. You will easily judge of the warmth of your brother’s zeal in the execution of a commission so well adapted to his genius. Can you figure to yourself what he must have felt in passing through the vaulted entrance of Hamlet’s castle to carry to an afflicted and injured princess these welcome proofs of fraternal affection and liberty restored?”[70] His emotion was reciprocated, for, when Keith came into the Queen’s chamber and told her the glad news, she burst into grateful tears, embraced him, and called him her deliverer. The gallant soldier could have had no better reward.

It was Keith’s duty and pleasure now to inform the Queen that she was no longer to consider herself a prisoner, but was merely residing in the King of Denmark’s palace of Kronborg until such time as the English squadron should arrive to escort her to her brother’s Hanoverian dominions with every mark of honour and respect. He also told her of the other concessions he had obtained for her; he had wrung almost everything from her enemies except a proclamation of her innocence. On this delicate subject the Queen is stated to have said that she found some consolation in the thought that time would clear her character. “I am young; I may, therefore, perhaps live," said she, “to see Denmark disabused with respect to my conduct; whereas my poor mother, one of the best women that ever lived, died while the load of obloquy was heavy upon her, and went to her grave without the pleasure of a vindicated character.”[71] Throughout her imprisonment at Kronborg Matilda had worn black—“in mourning,” she said, “for her murdered reputation”.

Though Keith brought to Matilda the news of her deliverance early in May, it was not until the end of that month that the Queen left Kronborg. During that time she saw the English envoy almost every day, though he, too, like herself, was making preparations for departure. She was no longer treated as a prisoner, but rendered all the honour due to her rank, and she was free to wander within the outer walls of the fortress as she pleased—a very large space. The Queen’s favourite walk was on the ramparts in front of the castle, where she would often pace for hours together, straining her eyes across the grey waters of the sea to catch the first glimpse of the British squadron which was to take her away from Denmark. She declared that until she beheld the British flag she would not feel herself safe. The Queen-Dowager was now quite as anxious to get Matilda out of Denmark as she was to go, and to this end agreed to almost everything suggested by Keith, and in some respects even went beyond his suggestions. Matilda had a great many jewels, which were not the property of the Danish crown, but her own. Some of them she had brought with her from England; others had been given her by the King, her husband; some she had purchased with her own money. All of these had been seized by Juliana Maria, together with the Queen’s clothes and her personal possessions. When Matilda was first sent to Kronborg she had little or nothing beyond the clothes she wore, but little by little, grudgingly, things had been sent her. Now the Queen-Dowager volunteered to send Matilda the jewels which King Christian had given her; but the wronged wife rejected the offer with disdain. She would take no favour she said; she wished to have nothing to remind her of the husband who had repudiated her, or the country which had treated her so cruelly; as a British princess she would retain none of the trappings of her Danish slavery. The question formed a subject of despatches, and Lord Suffolk wrote to Keith as follows: “His Majesty does not see any objection to his sister receiving the jewels you mention, which were formerly given, and are now intended to be delivered to her. Her Danish Majesty will thereby only retain a property, not accept a present. There seems no occasion for rejecting the attention voluntarily offered; but, if the Queen of Denmark is very averse from the proposition, his Majesty does not wish to control her inclination.” The Queen was very averse, and so the offer was rejected. But Matilda requested that her personal trinkets which she had brought from England, and her books, clothing and other things, left scattered about in the King of Denmark’s palaces, should be packed up and sent to her new home at Celle. We shall see how that order was carried out later.

On May 27 the Queen’s longing eyes were gladdened by the sight of the English squadron rounding the point off Elsinore. The Queen was at dinner when the guns at Kronborg saluted and the English ships answered back. She immediately ran out on the ramparts, and wept with joy at the sight of the British flag. Yet it was with mingled feelings that she beheld it, for the vessels which were to carry her away to liberty were also to carry her away from the child whom she dearly loved. The squadron consisted of the Southampton (Captain Macbride), the Seaford (Captain Davis), and the Cruiser (Captain Cummings). Keith, who had now said good-bye to Copenhagen to his great satisfaction, and had handed over the affairs of the legation to his secretary, was at Kronborg when the ships anchored off Elsinore. He at once went down to the harbour to meet Captain Macbride, and conduct him to the castle to have audience of the Queen.

The Queen received Captain Macbride very graciously, and conversed with him a few minutes. When he asked her when it would please her to sail, she exclaimed: “Ah, my dear children!” and, putting her hands to her face, abruptly quitted the room. Later she sent Captain Macbride a message, asking him to forgive her emotion, and appointing two days later, May 30, as the date of her departure.

When it was known that the British squadron was anchored off Elsinore, great excitement prevailed at the Danish court. By way of speeding the parting guest, perhaps also to spy upon her, a deputation of noblemen was sent from Copenhagen by the Queen-Dowager to formally wait upon Matilda and wish her a pleasant voyage. Queen Matilda received the deputation with quiet dignity, and said the day would come when the King would know that he had been betrayed and deceived, but, for herself, she henceforth lived only for her children.

On the day appointed by the Queen for her departure, a lady from the Danish court arrived at Kronborg in one of the royal coaches, with an escort, to take charge of the Princess Louise Augusta. The Queen was agonised at parting from the infant, who had been her sole consolation in the dreary months of her captivity, and whom she had nursed at the breast. She even thought her liberty purchased at too dear a price. The hope that this child would be allowed to remain with her had been one of the inducements which led her to sign the damning paper called her confession. It must have been a bitter thought to her that she had signed away her honour in vain, and the babe for whom she made this supreme sacrifice was to be torn from her arms. For a long time the Queen held her child to her breast, and wept over it, showering on it caresses and endearing words. The lady who had come to take charge of the infant, and all who witnessed the parting, were hardly less affected; but the scene could not be prolonged for ever. Pleadings and remonstrances were unavailing, and the women had almost to use force to take the little princess from her mother’s arms. At last the heart-broken Queen yielded her infant, and cried wildly, “Let me away, for I now possess nothing here!”

By this time it was six o’clock in the evening. Everything was ready for the Queen’s departure, and Captain Macbride and Sir Robert Keith had been waiting at the castle all the afternoon to escort the Queen on board. At last she was ready to leave. It was arranged that the Queen should be attended as far as Stade by Count and Countess Holstein, FrÄulein MÖsting and a page. Of her other Danish attendants the Queen now took farewell, and many of them were moved to tears. She also bade adieu to the commandant of Kronborg and his wife, and exonerated them from all blame for the deprivations she had suffered. She thanked the commandant for what he had done directly he was allowed to ameliorate the rigours of her captivity; to his wife she gave a gold snuff-box as a souvenir. Nor did she forget the poor prisoners, for whom she left a sum of money. Though she came to Kronborg a prisoner she left it as a Queen, and a Queen to whom full honours were paid. The guard presented arms and an escort was drawn up in the courtyard; the Queen descended the stone stairs up which she had been hurried five months before, and entered her coach. The commandant accompanied her to the outermost gate of the fortress, where he took his leave. Thence it was only a few yards to the harbour, where a Danish royal barge was waiting to row the Queen out to the English squadron.

Immediately the Queen and her suite stepped on board H.M.S. Southampton the royal standard of England was unfurled, and the cannon of Kronborg and of the Danish guardship in the Sound fired a salute of twenty-one guns. The anchors were weighed immediately, and the little English squadron set sail up the Cattegat, for it was decided to go round Jutland, and so avoid Copenhagen. It was a fine summer’s night, and the Queen remained on deck, her eyes fixed on the vanishing fortress (her child was to remain there until the morrow, when she was to be taken to Copenhagen); nor could she be persuaded to go below until darkness intercepted her view. As there was little wind during the night the vessels made small headway. At the first break of dawn the Queen was on deck again, and to her satisfaction found that she could still catch a glimpse of the towers of Kronborg, which she watched until they faded from her view.

Owing to contrary winds the voyage to Stade took several days. The Queen is said to have beguiled her voyage by writing a long poem beginning:—