But when Caroline Matilda was dressed in the manner becoming her sex, incessu patuit dea, she was every inch a queen. She had grown much taller and stouter since her arrival in Denmark, and any one who had not seen her for the last four years would hardly have recognised her. She was always gay and tasteful in her dress, and combined a happy mean between London and Paris fashions. Her complexion was exquisitely fair, and it was a disadvantage to her beauty that the fashions of the day obliged her to hide the colour and texture of her fine silver tresses under a load of powder and pomatum. The best description of Caroline Matilda I have met with, and one which exactly corresponds with the portraits of her that I have seen, will be found in a work published in Denmark a few years ago, which, though in the form of a novel, bears evident traces of being what it represents to be—the "Recollections of an Old Chamberlain:"—
"Over a marble table hung a portrait in a broad gilt frame. It represented a lady in a dress of bluish satin, embroidered with gold and edged with lace, the sleeves and puffs over the full bosom being of brownish brocade. Round her neck was a closely-strung necklace of pearls, and similar rings were in her ears. The hair was turned up and powdered; it occupied a height and breadth which, agreeably to the fashion of the times, exceeded that of the whole face, and was decorated with a gold chain, enamels and jewels, entwined with a border of blonde, which hung down over one ear. The face was oval, the forehead high and arched, the nose delicately carved, the mouth pretty large, the lips red and swelling, the eyes large, and of a peculiar light blue, mild, and at the same time serious, deep, and confiding. I could describe the entire dress, piece by piece, and the features trait by trait; but in vain should I endeavour to convey an idea of the peculiar expression, the amiable loftiness, or lofty amiability, which beamed from that youthful face, the freshness of whose colour I have never seen surpassed. It needed not to cast your eye upon the purple mantle, bordered with ermine, which hung over her shoulder, to discover in her a queen; she could be nothing of inferior rank. This the painter, too, had felt, for the border of the mantle was so narrow as to be almost overlooked. It was as though he meant to say: 'This woman would be a queen without a throne.' But she was more," the author adds; "she was an angel, and the Danes still cling with affectionate regard to the memory of the lovely being thus portrayed."
Although I do not believe entirely in the accounts of the orgies at Hirschholm, as described by the author of the MS. in "Northern Courts," I cannot help allowing that much happened there which offered cause for regret. The old court had been austere and devoted, the new one became futile and impious, as the preachers called it. Sunday had been in former times given to the Lord, and the Saturday employed in preparation for it; but now these days were purposely selected for pleasure. As if this were not enough, Brandt was guilty of the inconceivable folly of ascending the pulpit of the palace chapel and delivering an absurd sermon to the assembled court. As a fresh amusement, Equerry von Warnstedt got up horse-races, at which the king offered a prize of 600 dollars. All this folly naturally strengthened the game of the queen dowager, who, though she kept quiet, was incessantly on the watch for her opportunity.
CHAPTER XI.
THE MASTER OF REQUESTS.
EDUCATION OF THE CROWN PRINCE—FREDERICK THE SIXTH—CONDITION OF THE KING—A ROYAL SQUABBLE—THE SWEDISH PRINCES—THE FOUNDLING HOSPITAL—COUNT VON DER OSTEN—THE EMPRESS CATHARINE—SUPPRESSION OF THE PRIVY COUNCIL—THE GRAND VIZIER—THE COUNCIL OF CONFERENCES—THE FREE PRESS.
While the royal family were residing at Hirschholm, the training of the crown prince was a subject of discussion between the queen, Struensee, Berger, and others. The boy, who was now nearly three years of age, had a weak constitution and a tendency to consumption. He was obstinate; given to screaming; would not walk; insisted on being constantly carried; and attached himself to certain persons. He would never play by himself; he had to be scolded in order to make him be quiet, and wanted people to be continually singing and dancing to him.
The following methods were employed to overcome the boy's weakness:—He was given very simple fare, consisting of vegetables, rice boiled in water, bread, water, milk and potatoes, but all cold. At first, he was bathed twice or thrice a day in cold water; and he soon became so fond of it that he went into the bath of his own accord. When he was not with the queen, he remained in a cold room, wore light silk clothes, and generally ran about barefooted. He had only one playmate of his own age, the natural son of a surgeon, called little Karl. No difference was made between them; and they helped each other in dressing and undressing. They climbed about; shouted; broke whatever they liked; and did what they pleased generally, care being taken to remove anything with which they might hurt each other. If the little prince cried for anything, it was not given him unless he really wanted it; but he was not consoled or reproved. If one of the boys fell, he had to get up by himself, and never thought of making a fuss about it.[136] Generally, the lads were allowed to help themselves. If one of them was hurt, nobody pitied him; and if they quarrelled, they were allowed to fight it out, while none of the valets were suffered to speak or play with them. So strictly was the latter rule kept, that one day, at the Frederiksberg Palace, the young prince, happening to fall in the garden and hurt himself, Struensee's favourite valet picked him up, and ventured to soothe him. For this, the culprit was sent to the Blue Tower, a civic prison for disorderly persons.