THE PALACE REVOLUTION.
1772.
At four o'clock in the morning the little group of conspirators
assembled in the apartments of the Queen-Dowager. They were eight in
all--Juliana Maria, Prince Frederick, Guldberg, Rantzau, Eickstedt,
Köller, Beringskjold and Jessen--not, at first sight, a powerful list
to effect a revolution; but they had the army at their command, and
the whole nation at their back. Moreover, some, at least, of them were
sustained by the high consciousness that they were doing a righteous
work, and the others were desperate men, who had all to gain and
nothing to lose. Guldberg rehearsed to each one of the conspirators his
separate duty, that nothing might be forgotten. Then, at the request of
the Queen-Dowager, all knelt down, and a prayer was offered, invoking
the Divine blessing on the undertaking.[19]
[19] The following account of the palace revolution is based on several
authorities: some are favourable to the Queen, others against her.
They more or less agree on the main facts, which are those set forth
in this chapter, though they conflict as to details. Among them may be
mentioned the _Memoirs_ of Falckenskjold, Köller-Banner and Reverdil,
all of whom played a part in the affair; _Mémoires de mon Temps_, by
Prince Charles of Hesse (privately printed), the Private Journal of N.
W. Wraxall, who claims to have based his narrative on the statements of
Bülow and Le Texier, the _Memoirs and Correspondence of Sir R. Murray
Keith_, and sundry depositions made at the Queen's trial. There are a
great many other accounts in printed books, but they are nearly all
based on these sources.
When they rose from their knees, all the conspirators, guided by Jessen
and headed by the Queen-Dowager, went silently along the dark passages
to the apartments of the King. In the ante-chamber they found the
King's valet fast asleep. They roused him, and told him they wished
to see his Majesty immediately. Seeing the Queen-Dowager and Prince
Frederick, the valet was willing to obey without demur; but the main
door of the King's bed-chamber was locked from within, and they were
therefore obliged to go round by the secret staircase. The valet went
in front to guide them, and immediately behind him came Guldberg,
carrying a candle. The others followed in single line, and soon found
themselves in Christian's bedroom.
The King awoke with a start, and, seeing in the dim light the room full
of men, cried out in terror. The Queen-Dowager approached the bed,
and said in reassuring accents: "Your Majesty, my dear son, be not
afraid. We are not come hither as enemies, but as your true friends.
We have come----" Here Juliana Maria broke down, and her voice was
stifled by her sobs. Rantzau, who had agreed to explain the plan to
the King, hung back. But Köller thrust him forward, and then he told
the King that his Majesty's brother and stepmother had come to deliver
him and the country from the hated yoke of Struensee. By this time
the Queen-Dowager had recovered her nerve, and, embracing her stepson,
she repeated what Rantzau had said with ample detail. The King, who
was almost fainting with excitement and terror, demanded a glass of
water, and, when he had drunk it, asked if the commandant of the palace
guard were present. Eickstedt stepped forward, and confirmed what the
Queen-Dowager and Rantzau had said, and added that the people were in a
state of revolt, for a plot was being carried out to depose the King,
in which Struensee and the Queen were concerned. When the King heard
the Queen's name, he refused to believe that she had anything to do
with it, and said the story must be a mistake. But the Queen-Dowager
assured him that Matilda was privy to it, and told him the whole of
the supposed plot against his royal authority and person. Guldberg
confirmed the Queen-Dowager's statement in every particular, and
declared there was no time to be lost.
The bewildered King, at last half-convinced, asked what was to be done.
Rantzau then pulled out of his pocket two written orders, and asked him
to sign them. By the first, Eickstedt was made commander-in-chief, and
by the second, Eickstedt and Köller were vested with full powers to
take all measures necessary for the safety of the King and the country.
Thus the obedience of the army would be assured. When Christian read
these orders, he feared a conflict between the people and the military,
for he exclaimed: "My God! this will mean rivers of blood." But
Rantzau, who by this time had regained his assurance, replied: "Be
of good cheer, your Majesty. With God's help, I take everything upon
myself, and will as far as possible prevent bloodshed." The King sat up
in bed and signed the two orders; Prince Frederick counter-signed them.
Eickstedt took the first and immediately left the room; he placed
himself at the head of the picket of dragoons waiting below, and rode
to the garrison to inform the officers on duty of his new appointment
as commander-in-chief. He promptly strengthened the palace guard, had
all the gates of the city closed, and bade the garrison hold itself in
readiness for any event.
Köller also took his order, and with the others retired to an
ante-chamber, as the King had expressed a wish to get up. By the time
Christian was dressed, he was quite convinced that Struensee had
plotted against his life, and he was as eager to sign orders as he had
at first been reluctant. First of all Juliana Maria impressed upon him
that it was necessary to convey the Queen to some place where she could
not work any further mischief, and the King, after some hesitation,
wrote and signed an almost incoherent message to his consort:--
_J'ai trouvé à propos de vous envoïer à Cronbourg, comme vôtre conduite
m'y oblige. J'en suis très faché, je n'en suis pas la cause, et je vous
souhaite un repentir sincére._[20]
[20] In his agitation the King dated it 17th Jan., 1771.
The King then signed orders, drawn up by Guldberg, for the arrest of
Struensee, Brandt and fifteen other persons. He did this with alacrity,
and seemed delighted at asserting his authority, and the prospect of
being freed from the dominion of Struensee and Brandt. The orders which
concerned Queen Matilda he copied out himself in full from Guldberg's
drafts; the others he merely signed. The orders concerning the Queen
included the order to Rantzau to arrest her, the order to the head of
the royal stables to make ready the coaches to convey her to Kronborg,
and an order to the commandant of Kronborg to keep her in close
confinement. These important matters settled, Juliana Maria persuaded
Christian to remove to Prince Frederick's apartments in another part
of the palace. She had much more for him to do, and she was fearful of
interruption. For hours the King remained in his brother's apartments,
signing orders, which were to give him, as he thought, freedom and
authority, but which were really only forging the links of new chains,
and transferring him from the comparatively mild rule of Struensee and
Matilda to the strict keeping of the Queen-Dowager.
Meanwhile, in different parts of the palace the King's orders were
being carried out without delay. On quitting the King's apartments,
Köller went to perform his task of arresting Struensee, accompanied by
two or three officers of the palace guard and several soldiers. That
Köller feared resistance may be gathered from the fact that he made
the senior officer promise him, in the event of his being killed,
to shoot Struensee dead. Köller had a bitter hatred of Struensee,
dating, it was said, a long while back, when the doctor had seduced the
object of Köller's affections. He had solicited the task of arresting
Struensee, and now went to fulfil it with an eagerness born of revenge.
The door of the outer room of Struensee's apartments was firmly locked,
and his favourite valet slept within. The youth was aroused (as he
afterwards said from dreams of ill-omen) by the noise of men trying to
force the door. On asking who was there, he was commanded to open in
the King's name, under pain of instant death. Taken by surprise, the
valet had no time to give his master warning to escape by the private
staircase, which led to the apartments of the Queen, but he hurriedly
secreted certain jewels and papers, and threw open the door. There he
saw Köller, holding a wax taper and dressed in full uniform, and his
companions. Two soldiers pointed pistols at the valet's head, and a
third directed one to his breast. "Have you woke the Count?" Köller
whispered, and, on the trembling youth replying in the negative, Köller
made him give up the key of Struensee's bedroom, which was also locked.
The door was opened as silently as possible, and Köller, with a drawn
sword in his hand, entered the room, followed by three officers.
The voluptuary had furnished his chamber with great luxury. The walls
were hung with rich figured damask, the mirrors were of the purest
glass, and the washing service was of wrought silver. The bed was
canopied with purple velvet and gold, and the canopy was shaped in the
form of a royal crown. The carpet was of velvet pile, and the room
was scented with costly perfumes. Struensee was sleeping heavily--so
heavily that neither the light of the taper nor the entrance of Köller
roused him. He was sleeping with his head on his arm, and the book with
which he had read himself to sleep had fallen to the floor.
For a moment Köller stood and looked down on his victim; then he shook
him roughly by the shoulder, and Struensee awoke to the horror of the
situation. He sprang up in the bed, and shouted: "In God's name, what
is this?" Köller answered roughly: "I have orders to arrest you. Get up
at once and come with me." "Do you know who I am," said the omnipotent
minister of an hour ago haughtily, "that you dare to command me thus?"
"Yes," said Köller with a laugh; "I know who you are well enough. You
are the King's prisoner." Struensee then demanded to see the warrant
for his arrest, but as Köller did not yet possess this, he replied
shortly that the warrant was with the King, but he would be answerable
with his head that he was carrying out the King's orders. Struensee
still refused to move; but Köller thrust his sword point against his
breast, and said: "I have orders to take you either dead or alive.
Which shall it be?" Struensee, shivering with terror, sank back on the
bed, and asked for time to think; but Köller told him he must come
at once. Struensee then asked that his valet might bring him a cup of
chocolate, but Köller refused this also. "You will at least allow me
to dress myself?" said Struensee. Köller said he would give him two
minutes to do so; but he would not suffer either Struensee or the valet
to go into the next room for clothes. Struensee was therefore obliged
to hurry into the clothes he had worn at the ball, and which lay, where
he had thrown them off, on a chair by the bed--breeches of pink silk
and a coat and waistcoat of light blue velvet--gay attire especially
ill-suited for his melancholy journey.
Struensee's hands were bound, and he was hurried down to the
guard-room, where his legs were bound as well. Here he waited a few
minutes, guarded by soldiers with drawn swords and loaded pistols,
until the coach was brought round to the door. He was thrust into it,
followed by Köller, and driven under a strong escort to the citadel. On
the way he groaned: "My God, what crime have I committed?"--to which
his companion vouchsafed no answer. When he got out of the coach he
asked that something might be given to the driver, who was one of the
royal coachmen. Köller handed the man a dollar, for which he thanked
him, but said in Danish, with a vindictive look at Struensee: "I would
gladly have done it for nothing." There was hardly a menial in the
King's household who would not rejoice over the favourite's fall.
Struensee was led into the presence of the commandant of the citadel,
and formally delivered over to him by Köller. By this time he had
regained something of his self-possession, and said to the commandant,
whom he knew well: "I suppose this visit is totally unexpected by you?"
"Not at all," replied the discourteous officer; "I have been expecting
to see you here for a long time." The prisoner was then marched to a
small cell, which had previously been occupied by a notorious pirate.
On entering this gloomy chamber, Struensee, who had expected to be
treated as a state prisoner, with every comfort, if not luxury, started
back and said: "Where is my valet?" "I have not seen any valet," said
the jailor shortly. "But where are my things?" "I have not seen them
either." "Bring me my furs. It is cold here. I have no wish to be
frozen to death." But the man did not move. As there was nothing but
a wooden stool and pallet bed, Struensee asked for a sofa. "There are
no sofas here," said the man, and backed up his words by a coarse
insult. Struensee then lost his self-command, burst out into raving
and cursing, and tried to dash out his brains against the wall, but
the jailor held him back. When the commandant was informed of the
prisoner's refractory conduct, he ordered him to be fettered hand and
foot, which was promptly done. This hurt Struensee's pride more than
all the other treatment, and he broke down and wept, exclaiming: "I am
treated _en canaille_!" Certainly it was a change from the bed of down
and the purple velvet hangings of an hour ago.
Brandt was arrested at the same time as Struensee. Colonel Sames,
formerly commandant of Copenhagen, who had been deprived of his post
by Struensee, accompanied by a guard, went to his apartments, but they
found the door locked. For some time Brandt refused to answer, but
on Sames threatening to break the door down unless it were opened,
he at last turned the key and met his opponents, ready dressed and
with a drawn sword. When the soldiers advanced to disarm him, he made
no resistance, but said: "This must be a mistake. I have committed
no offence for which I can be arrested." Sames told him it was no
mistake, but that he was acting on the King's order, and it would be
better for him to yield. Brandt, who was perfectly self-controlled,
said: "Very well, I will follow you quietly." He was taken down to the
guard-room, put into a coach, and conveyed to the citadel, immediately
following Struensee. When he entered the presence of the commandant,
he said gaily: "I must apologise, sir, for paying you a visit at so
early an hour." "Not at all," replied the commandant, with elaborate
politeness; "my only grief is that you have not come before." While
some formalities were being gone through, Brandt hummed a tune with an
air of unconcern, and looking round him, said: "Upon my word, these are
mighty fine quarters you have in this castle!" To which the commandant
replied: "Yes, and in a minute you will have an opportunity of seeing
even finer ones."
Brandt was presently conducted to his cell, which was even worse than
Struensee's, and on entering it he said good-humouredly to the jailor:
"On my word, the commandant spoke truth!" Brandt bore his privations
with firmness, and presently pulled a flute from his pocket and amused
himself by playing it. He altogether showed much greater courage and
self-control than the miserable Struensee, who did nothing but weep and
bemoan his fate.
The arrest of Struensee's principal confederates quickly followed.
Falckenskjold was placed under arrest at the barracks. Justice
Struensee and Professor Berger were conveyed to the citadel: General
Gahler and his wife were arrested in bed; the lady jumped out of bed
in her nightdress, and tried to escape by the back-stairs, but she was
captured and removed with her husband to the citadel. Several others,
including Bülow and Reverdil, were placed under "house arrest," that
is to say, they were confined to their houses, and had sentries posted
over them. The servants of Struensee and Brandt were imprisoned in the
Blue Tower. The morning dawned before all these imprisonments were
carried out. The new rulers had reason to congratulate themselves that
everything had been effected without bloodshed.
Meanwhile the most dramatic scene of the palace revolution was enacted
in the Queen's apartments of the Christiansborg. Upon retiring from
the ball Queen Matilda went to see her infant daughter, and it was
nearly four o'clock before she retired to rest. Even then she did
not sleep, for the noise made by Köller in arresting Struensee, whose
apartments were beneath, was indistinctly heard by the Queen. But she
imagined it was due to the party which she understood was to be held
in Countess Holstein's rooms; she thought it had now been transferred
to Struensee's. She therefore sent one of her servants down to request
them to be less noisy in their revels. The woman went, but did not
return; and, as the noise ceased, the Queen thought no more about it,
and presently fell asleep.
About half an hour later Matilda was aroused by the entrance of one
of her women, white and trembling, who said that a number of men
were without demanding to see her immediately in the King's name. In
a moment the Queen suspected danger, and her first thought was to
warn her lover. She sprang out of bed, and, with nothing on but her
nightrobe, rushed barefooted into the next room, with the idea of
gaining the secret staircase which led to Struensee's apartments.
In the ante-chamber the first object that greeted her eyes was Rantzau,
seated in a chair and twirling his moustachios: he was dressed in full
uniform, and had thrown over his shoulders a scarlet cloak lined with
fur. At the Queen's entrance he rose and bowed with great ceremony,
evidently delighting in his part, of which any honest man would have
been ashamed. In the ante-chamber beyond were several soldiers and
frightened women. When the Queen saw Rantzau, she remembered her
undress, and cried: "_Eloignez-vous, Monsieur le Comte, pour l'amour
de Dieu, car je ne suis pas présentable!_" But, as Rantzau did not
move, she ran back to her chamber, and threw on some more clothes; the
delay was fatal to her.
[Illustration: KING CHRISTIAN VII.'S NOTE TO QUEEN MATILDA INFORMING
HER OF HER ARREST.]
When she came forth again she found the room full of armed men, and
the officer in command opposed her passage. She haughtily ordered him
to let her pass, saying that his head would answer for it if he did
not. Rantzau retorted that his head would answer for it if he did.
The officer, in evident distress, said: "Madame, I only do my duty,
and obey the orders of my King." The Queen then turned to the door,
behind which was a staircase leading down to Struensee's apartments.
But the door was closed and a soldier posted before it. "Where is
Count Struensee?" she demanded; "I wish to see him." "Madame," said
Rantzau with elaborate irony, "there is no Count Struensee any more,
nor can your Majesty see him." The Queen advanced boldly towards him,
and demanded his authority for these insults. Rantzau handed her the
King's message. She read it through without displaying any alarm, and
then threw it contemptuously on the ground.[21] "Ha!" she cried, "in
this I recognise treachery, but not the King." Amazed at the Queen's
fearless air, Rantzau for the moment changed his tone, and implored
her to submit quietly to the King's orders. "Orders!" she exclaimed,
"orders about which he knows nothing--which have been extorted from him
by terror! No, the Queen does not obey such orders." Rantzau then said
that nothing remained for him but to do his duty, which admitted of no
delay. "I am the Queen; I will obey no orders except from the King's
own lips," she replied. "Let me go to him! I must, and will, see him!"
She knew that if she could only gain access to the King she was safe,
for she could make him rescind the order and so confound her enemies.
Full of this thought she advanced to the door of the ante-chamber,
where two soldiers stood with crossed muskets to bar her progress. The
Queen imperiously commanded them to let her pass, whereupon both men
fell on their knees, and one said in Danish: "Our heads are answerable
if we allow your Majesty to pass." But, despite Rantzau's exhortations,
neither man cared to lay hands on the Queen, and she stepped over their
muskets and ran along the corridor to the King's apartments. They were
closed, and, though she beat her hands upon the door, no answer was
returned, for, fearing some such scene, the Queen-Dowager had, only
a few minutes before, conveyed the King to the apartments of Prince
Frederick. The corridor led nowhere else, and failing to gain entrance,
the Queen, hardly knowing what she did, went back to her ante-room.
[21] Rantzau picked the paper up and put it in his pocket. It was
found a year or two after his death among his papers at Oppendorft
(the estate that came to him through his wife), and has since been
preserved.
Rantzau now addressed her in the language of menace. Perhaps some
memory of the homage he had paid her at Ascheberg, when she was at the
zenith of her power, flashed across the Queen. "Villain!" she cried,
"is this the language that you dare to address to me? Go, basest of
men! Leave my presence!" These words only infuriated Rantzau the
more, but he was crippled with gout, and could not grapple with the
infuriated young Queen himself, so he turned to the soldiers, and gave
them orders to use force. Still the soldiers hesitated. Then an officer
stepped forward and touched the Queen on the arm with the intention of
leading her back to her chamber. But half beside herself she rushed to
the window, threw it open and seemed about to throw herself out. The
officer seized her round the waist, and held her back; though no man
dared to lay hands on the Queen, it was necessary to defend her against
herself. The Queen shrieked for help and struggled wildly; she was
strong and rendered desperate by fear and indignation. A lieutenant had
to be called forward, but the Queen resisted him as well, though her
clothes were partly torn off her in the struggle. At last her strength
failed her, and she was dragged away from the window in a half-fainting
condition. The officers, who had showed great repugnance to their task,
and had used no more force than was absolutely necessary, now carried
the Queen back to her chamber, and laid her on the bed, where her
women, frightened and weeping, crowded around her, and plied her with
restoratives.
Rantzau, who had watched this unseemly spectacle without emotion, nay,
with positive zest, now sent a messenger to Osten, and asked him to
come and induce the Queen to yield quietly. Although he had threatened
to remove her by force, it was not easy to carry out his threat, for
the soldiers would not offer violence to the person of the Queen, nor
would public opinion, if it came to be known, tolerate it. Rantzau, who
was alternately a bully and a coward, had no wish to put himself in
an awkward position. He therefore did the wisest thing in sending for
the foreign minister. Osten, who at the first tidings of Struensee's
arrest, had hastened to the Christiansborg, was in the Queen-Dowager's
apartments, making his terms with her. This astute diplomatist, though
he plotted for the overthrow of Struensee, and was aware of all the
facts of the conspiracy, had refrained from taking active part in it
until its success was assured. Now that the King had thrown himself
into the arms of the Queen-Dowager, and Struensee and Brandt were in
prison, he no longer hesitated, but hastened to pay his court to the
winning side. He came at once, on receipt of Rantzau's message. He
realised quite as much as Juliana Maria that the revolution could only
be carried out thoroughly by Matilda's removal. She had gained great
ascendency over the King, and, if she saw him, that ascendency would be
renewed; if she were separated from him, he would speedily forget her.
Therefore, it was above all things necessary that the King and Queen
should be kept apart.
In a short time Queen Matilda became more composed, and even recovered
sufficiently to dress herself with the aid of her women. When Osten
entered her chamber, he found her sitting at the side of the bed,
weeping. All defiance had faded away; she only felt herself a betrayed
and cruelly injured woman. Osten came to her in the guise of a friend.
He had been a colleague of Struensee's, and had never outwardly broken
with him, and the Queen had confidence in his skill and judgment.
She therefore listened to him, when he persuaded her that more would
be gained by complying with the King's orders, at this time, than by
resisting them. He hinted that her sojourn at Kronborg would only be
for a time, and by-and-by the King's humour would change. Moreover,
the people were in a state of revolt against the Queen's authority,
and it was necessary for Matilda's safety that she should be removed
from Copenhagen to the shelter of Kronborg. "What have I done to the
people?" the Queen asked. "I know that a good many changes have taken
place, but I have done my utmost to further the welfare of the King
and country according to my conscience." Osten merely replied with
quiet insistence that she had herself contemplated flight to Kronborg
at the time of the tumult of the Norwegian sailors at Hirschholm.
Believing the man to be her friend, the Queen yielded to his advice.
"I have done nothing; the King will be just," she said. She signified
her willingness to go, provided that her children accompanied her.
Here again difficulties were raised, but the Queen was firm, and
said she would not budge a step unless her children went with her.
Finally, a compromise was arrived at; Osten made her understand that
the Crown Prince must not be removed, but she might take the little
Princess, whom she was herself nursing. This being settled, the Queen's
preparations for departure were hurriedly made, and Fräulein Mösting,
one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting, was ordered to go with her, and
one of her bed-chamber women.
The bleak January morning was still dark when Matilda, dressed for the
journey, carrying her child in her arms and followed by two of her
women, came out of her bedroom, and signified her readiness to start.
Rantzau, who was still sitting in the ante-chamber, waiting, rose,
and pointing to his gouty foot, said with covert insolence: "You see,
Madam, that my feet fail me; but my arms are free, and I offer one
to your Majesty to conduct you to your coach." But she repulsed him
with scorn, and exclaimed: "Away with you, traitor! I loathe you!" She
walked alone down the stairs to the coaches, which were waiting in the
back-yard of the palace. She entered one, but refused to part with the
little Princess, whom she placed upon her knees. Fräulein Mösting sat
by the Queen's side, and the opposite seat was occupied by an officer
with his sword drawn. In the second coach followed the bed-chamber
woman, the nurse of the Princess Louise Augusta, and some absolutely
necessary luggage. The coaches were guarded by an escort of thirty
dragoons, and the cavalcade clattered at a sharp trot through the
streets of the still sleeping city, and was soon outside the gates of
Copenhagen.
The first part of the journey was in darkness, but, as the day broke,
the Queen looked out on the frost-bound roads and the dreary country
over which she was hurrying. She had ample time for reflection, and
bitter her reflections must have been. A few hours before she had been
Queen, vested, it seemed, with unlimited power, and the centre of a
brilliant court; now she was a prisoner, stripped of all her power, and
nearly all the semblance of her rank--a fugitive, she believed herself
to be, fleeing from the vengeance of her people. Yet even now, in this
supreme moment of her desolation, her thoughts were not of herself, but
of the man who had brought her to such a pass. The road passed by the
grounds of Hirschholm, the scene of many happy days, and the memory of
them must have deepened the Queen's dejection; but she said nothing,
and throughout the long and tedious journey uttered no word, but sat
motionless, the image of despair.
Kronborg, whither the royal prisoner was being hurried, was a gloomy
fortress erected by Frederick II. in the latter part of the sixteenth
century, and restored, after a fire, by Christian IV., nearly eighty
years later. It had changed little with the flight of centuries, and
remains much the same to-day. Built strongly of rough-hewn stone, which
has taken on itself the colour of the rocks around, the massive and
imposing castle springs directly from the sea, on the extreme point of
land between the Cattegat and the narrowest part of the Sound, which
separates Denmark from Sweden. Its massive walls, turrets and gables
frown down upon the little town of Helsingor at its base.[22] Tradition
says that deep down in its casemates slumbers Holgar Danske ("the
Dane"), who will rise and come forth when his country is in peril.[23]
He might have come forth in 1772, for Denmark was never in greater
peril than on the eve of the palace revolution.
[22] Helsingor, or Elsinore, now a busy town, is the scene of
Shakespeare's play, "Hamlet, Prince of Denmark," and, on "the platform
before the castle of Elsinore"--in other words, the flagged battlements
of Kronborg--the ghost of "Hamlet" appeared. Local tradition also
points out "the grave of Hamlet" and "the spring of Ophelia," both, of
course, legendary. Hamlet, in fact, never visited Elsinore, but was
born and lived in Jutland. But Shakespeare shows a curious knowledge of
Elsinore and Kronborg, and some light has been thrown on this subject
by the discovery among the archives of Elsinore of a manuscript, which
shows that in 1585 a wooden theatre, in which a troop of English
comedians had been acting, was burned down. The names of the actors are
given. Nearly all of them have been proved to belong to Shakespeare's
company, though the name of the poet is not among them. A monument is
now being erected to Shakespeare at Kronborg, to which Queen Alexandra
has contributed.
[23] A well-known character in Hans Andersen's fairy-tales. Two
fragments of stone in the dungeons beneath Kronborg are still shown;
one is said to serve as Holgar Danske's pillow, and the other as his
table.
Kronborg was distant some twenty-four miles from Copenhagen, and the
journey was covered in less than three hours. The day had broken when
the melancholy cavalcade clattered through the street of Helsingor, and
pulled up under the storm-beaten walls of Kronborg. At the outermost
gate the officer in command of the Queen's escort produced the King's
letter to the commandant, which gave his consort into his charge, and
ordered her to be kept a strict prisoner. The commandant of Kronborg
must have been much surprised at this communication, but he was a stern
soldier, not given to questioning, and he obeyed his instructions to
the letter. The outer gate was thrown open, and the little procession
passed over the drawbridge, which spanned the green water of the moat,
to the guard-house, where the escort from Copenhagen remained. The
soldiers of the fortress then took charge of the two coaches, and they
wound their way up the incline under the castle walls. They crossed
another drawbridge, spanning a deep, dry ditch, and passed through the
rough-hewn, tunnel-like entrance of stone, and out into the gloomy
courtyard of the castle--a place where it would seem the sun never
shines. Here the Queen, still carrying her child in her arms, alighted,
and was hurried to a doorway on the left of the courtyard, up the
winding stone stairs, and through a large room into the chamber set
apart for her. This was a low, circular apartment in a tower, not more
than ten feet high, and very small, with four windows, iron-barred,
looking out upon the sea. The grey waves broke directly beneath the
windows, and were separated from the walls only by a strip of rampart,
on which cannon were placed.[24]
[24] The traveller De Flaux, who visited Kronborg about 1850, thus
wrote of the room: "In a tower is a small oval room, the windows of
which are still lined with iron bars. It was here that the Queen
was confined. I was shown the _prie-dieu_ used by this unfortunate
princess. It was on the faded velvet that covered it that she rested
her beautiful head. Who knows whether the spots on it were not produced
by the tears of despair she shed?" [Du Danemark.]
I was at Kronborg in 1902. The Queen's room is now destitute of any
furniture, but the iron bars guarding the windows are still there. I
looked through them at the sea beneath. It was a grey, windy day; the
waves were lead-coloured and flecked with white, and overhead were
drifting masses of cloud. On such a scene Queen Matilda must have often
gazed during the five months of her captivity.
The unhappy Queen looked round the narrow walls of this room, which was
almost a cell, with astonishment not unmixed with indignation. She had
hardly realised until now that she was a prisoner, for the crafty Osten
had conveyed to her the idea that she was going to Kronborg more for
her own safety than as a captive. But the iron-barred windows, and the
guard outside her door, brought home to her her unfortunate condition.
At least she, the daughter of kings, the wife of a king, and the
mother of a king to be, had the right to be treated with the respect
due to her rank and dignity. Whatever offences were charged against
her nothing was yet proved. Even if she were a prisoner, she was at
least a state prisoner, and though her liberty might be curtailed,
every effort should have been made to study as far as possible her
comfort and convenience. But locked into this little room, barely
furnished and without a fire, she found herself treated more like a
common criminal than the reigning Queen, and when she protested against
these indignities, the commandant told her that he was only obeying
his strict orders. The Queen, whose spirit was for the moment broken
by fatigue and excitement, and who was nearly frozen from the cold of
the long journey, sank down upon the pallet bed, and burst into bitter
weeping. Her women endeavoured in vain to comfort her, and it was only
at last, when they reminded her of her child, that she was roused from
the abandonment of her grief. "You are here too, dear innocent!" she
exclaimed. "In that case, your poor mother is not utterly desolate."
[Illustration: THE ROOM IN WHICH QUEEN MATILDA WAS IMPRISONED AT
KRONBORG.]
For two days the Queen remained inconsolable, and did little but sit
in a state of stupor, looking out upon the waves; nor could she be
prevailed upon to take any rest, or food, or even to lie down upon the
bed. It was true that the food offered her was such that she could not
eat it, unless compelled by the pangs of hunger, for she was given at
first the same food as that served out to the common prisoners. In
these first days it was a wonder that she did not die of hunger and
cold. It was a bitter winter, violent gales blew across the sea, and
the wind shrieked and raged around the castle walls; but there was no
way of warming the little room in which the Queen was confined. In
her hurried departure from Copenhagen she had brought with her very
few clothes. No others were sent her, and she had hardly the things
necessary to clothe herself with propriety, or protect herself against
the severity of the weather. She was not allowed to pass the threshold
of her room, not even to the large room beyond, where there was a fire.
This room was occupied by soldiers, who acted as her jailors, and the
women who passed in and out of the Queen's room were liable to be
searched.
This treatment of the Queen, for which there was no excuse, must be
traced directly to Juliana Maria; it was she who caused instructions
to be sent to the commandant as to how he was to treat his royal
prisoner. The King was too indifferent to trouble one way or another,
and the commandant would not have dared to inflict such indignities
on the King's consort unless he had received strict orders to do so
from those in authority--nor would he have wished to do so. Later the
Queen acquitted him from all responsibility in this respect. After the
first few days, when she had recovered from the shock of recent events,
Queen Matilda accepted her imprisonment more patiently, and bore her
hardships with a dignity and fortitude which enforced respect even
from her jailors, and proved that she was no unworthy daughter of the
illustrious house from which she sprang.