MARIAGE À LA MODE.
1766-1767.
The court of Denmark over which Matilda was now the reigning Queen, though not the ruling spirit, was the last place in the world for a young and innocent girl to be sent alone. It was a hotbed of intrigue, a stye of vile epicurism, where even decency was disregarded. Cunning as foxes, and like foxes in their lust and greed, the majority of the courtiers thought only of advancing their personal interests at the expense of each other, or by vain and frivolous amusement to kill the passing hour. All things that made for purity of life, nobility of purpose, or singleness of heart, were mocked at and derided. Truth, honour and virtue were by-words. During the later years of Frederick V.’s reign the influence of the French court (at its worst) had not been confined in Denmark to politics alone, but extended to manners and morals as well. This influence became far more visible at the court of Christian VII. than at that of his father. The society which the young King collected around him within the walls of the Christiansborg Palace did its best to copy Versailles, and it succeeded in aping the vices, if not the superficial refinement, of the court of France. At Christiansborg might be seen the same type of silly brainless persons as those who flitted about the ante-chambers of Versailles, who adopted the same frivolous tone, and the same loose morals. Their avowed object was to avoid ennui, but in their pursuit of pleasure they often caught boredom. The Danish courtiers, both men and women, were artificial to the core. They painted their faces, powdered their hair, and dressed extravagantly. They disguised every real sentiment, and sought always to seem what they were not. They expressed nothing but contempt for the language and customs of their native land. To be Danish was bourgeois, to be virtuous even more so.
The cheap cynicism which mocks at marriage, and all its privileges and duties, was much in vogue among the fashionable or “young party” at the Danish court. Christian VII. had heard too much of these views from the young rake-hells whom he chose for his companions not to be entirely at one with them, and he looked on marriage as the greatest burden. He had been extremely reluctant to take it upon himself and had only done so at the strongest representations of his ministers. Reverdil declares with a groan that to this epicene being “une personne royale dans son lit lui semblait d’ailleurs plutôt un objet de respect que d’amour,” and adds that the King would have certainly refused to perform his connubial duties had it not been represented to him that the absence of an heir to the throne would give rise to all manner of evil gossip respecting himself.
The young King had consented to marry with an ill grace, and after his marriage he lost no time in declaring to his boon companions that he intended to be in every respect a husband à la mode. The first sight of his consort’s fresh and youthful beauty had seemed to awaken in him some dormant sense of manliness, and he treated her at first with a plausible imitation of lover-like ardour. He was flattered by the warmth of her reception and the praises of her beauty, which he interpreted as tributes to his own good taste. The ceremonies incident on the wedding gratified his love of display, and the festivities that followed delighted his pleasure-loving soul. He was like a child with a new toy, but he wearied of it even more quickly than a child. If his passion ever existed it was short-lived, for on the third day of his marriage he said to one of his intimate friends that he strongly advised him never to marry, as the unmarried state was far preferable. This speech might have been credited to the affectation of a very young husband who wished to pose as a cynic, but there was evidently something more behind it, for neither of the young couple appeared to be happy during the first days of their married life; Christian was restless and discontented, Matilda pensive and melancholy.
The Queen’s depression was natural. The excitement and novelty of her journey and her enthusiastic welcome had buoyed her up at first, but now these were over she felt the reaction. She was a stranger in a strange land, separated from every one she had ever known, and she suffered from homesickness. A closer acquaintance with her husband obliterated the favourable first impression she had formed of him. He was a disappointment. The flattering despatches which the English envoys had sent to London (some of which we have quoted) credited him with every physical and mental endowment, and portrayed him as a paragon among princes. These encomiums, duly communicated to the Princess-Dowager, had been dunned into Matilda’s ears with such persistency that she thought she was marrying a prince who was almost a demi-god, and who gathered up into himself all the attributes of the legendary heroes of Scandinavian romance. What then must have been her disappointment when she found that her husband resembled a French petit maître, rather than a son of the Vikings. To add to her disillusion Christian made hardly any show of affection for his wife, and after the first few days treated her with open indifference. A week after their marriage the royal couple gave a banquet at the Christiansborg Palace, and it was noticed by the company that already the bloom had faded from the young Queen’s cheeks, and she smiled with evident effort. Her sadness increased from day to day, and she often gazed at the ring her mother had given her, with its inscription, “May it bring thee happiness,” and sighed heavily. The King, who wished for nothing but to be amused, was piqued by his consort’s despondency, and so far from making any attempt to comfort her, relieved his feelings by satirical remarks. One day when one of his favourites called his attention to the Queen’s sadness, he said: “What does it matter? It is not my fault. I believe she has the spleen.” The King’s indifference to his Queen was quickly noticed by the courtiers, who took their cue accordingly, and treated her as a person of little account. Ogier, the French envoy at Copenhagen, reported to Paris three weeks after the marriage: “The English Princess has produced hardly any impression on the King’s heart; but had she been even more amiable she would have experienced the same fate, for how could she please a man who seriously believes that it is not good form (n’est pas du bon air) for a husband to love his wife?”
The French envoy was exultant that the marriage, on which England had built such high hopes, should produce so little effect politically. The Queen had no influence with the King, and he would be more likely to oppose her wishes than to yield to them, if only for fear lest it should be thought that he was governed by his wife. The poor little Queen had no wish for political power, and was too much downcast by her own personal disappointments to be of any use in a diplomatic intrigue. But George III., and the English Government, who had no knowledge of the real state of affairs, persisted in their project of using the Queen for their own advantage; and Secretary Conway sent minute instructions to Gunning as to the best way in which this could be worked.
“In regard to your applying to the young Queen,” he writes, “her affection to his Majesty [George III.], and love for her native country, cannot but incline her to preserve, as much as it can be in her power to do, the mind of the King of Denmark, permanently fixed upon the strictest union with his Majesty’s, who has no one view in his alliance inconsistent with the honour of the King of Denmark or the welfare of his kingdom. Both Mr. Titley and you will doubtless omit nothing that can mark your utmost attention and desire of serving her Majesty. There might seem an impropriety in endeavouring to engage her Majesty to interfere in business, especially in what has the air of court intrigue, but so far as informing her Majesty fully of the present state of the court, and apprising her who are the best friends of her native country, and consequently most inclined to promote the true honour and interests of their own, it will be your duty, and may be an essential service to her Majesty, whose good sense will make the properest use of the lights you furnish. The etiquette of the court of Denmark (I find by your letter of September 2) allows an easier access to family ministers than to others, and this privilege you will, I imagine, have no difficulty to preserve.... You may also be assured that the affection of his Majesty [George III.], and his care for the welfare and happiness of his sister, so deservedly the object of his love and esteem, cannot fail of having suggested every proper counsel and information more immediately necessary for her guidance in the delicate and important situation she is placed. Upon that foundation you may properly build, and in such further lights as it may be fit for you to give her Majesty, I think both the opportunities and the matter of the information itself should rather flow naturally than be too affectedly sought.”[75]
[75] Sir H. S. Conway’s despatch to Gunning, St. James’s, October 24, 1766.
The English Government was soon disappointed of its hope of using the Danish Queen as a pawn in the political game. Gunning, in bitter disappointment, enlightened Conway as to the true state of affairs a few weeks after the marriage. “All access to either the King or Queen of Denmark,” he wrote, “is rendered so difficult that without being furnished with some pretext I can never expect to approach either of their Majesties but in public. The preference given me there has already occasioned some of the most unheard of and preposterous complaints.” [Here he refers to the protest of the Spanish minister already mentioned.] “Monsieur Reventlow[76] has lately made me some overtures to a better understanding; he speaks in raptures of the Queen whenever I see him, and I believe will constitute as much as depends upon him to promote her Majesty’s happiness. This is of itself a sufficient reason for my wishing to cultivate his good opinion, and if possible to bring him over to our interests. [The French Minister] encourages the carrying on intrigues against us; they (I need not tell you, sir) increase every day, and particularly since the arrival of her Majesty,—the principal people about her being our most inveterate enemies.”[77]