Struensee closed his programme of court reform by what was in effect an indirect attack upon the army, though it was really aimed at the nobility. He abolished by royal decree the two squadrons of Household Cavalry or King’s Bodyguard, who, composed of picked handsome men, were the flower of the Danish army. Struensee considered them to be useless, and justified their abolition on the ground of economy; but it was said that a personal grievance had something to do with it. The officers of the Household Cavalry were all men of noble birth, and had the right of coming to court when they liked. Many of them held ornamental posts which Struensee had swept away. Naturally the officers did not view these reforms with favour, and they revenged themselves by making slighting remarks about the mixed company which now formed the court circle, and ridiculing the more prominent members of it, including the favourite himself. Struensee stopped this annoyance by abolishing the Household Cavalry by a stroke of his pen, and gave directions that the officers, who could not at once be attached to other cavalry regiments, were to be placed on half-pay; but the non-commissioned officers and privates received no compensation beyond the option of joining the Foot Guards, whom they looked down upon and despised.
A terrific uproar followed the promulgation of this order. The army declared that it was an attack on the King’s majesty and prestige, he could not be properly guarded without his cavalry. The protests of the nobles, the clergy, the lawyers, the magistracy had been nothing to this. The officers at whom Struensee really aimed belonged of course to a class, but the troopers were from the people, whom he desired to conciliate. They were very popular among the citizens of Copenhagen, who were proud of them. Even the Queen was frightened at the din, and feared that in this measure Struensee had gone too far. Some of her fear must have communicated itself to him; for when the Horse Guards were returning to their barracks from the parade, where the King’s order had been read to them, Struensee, who was driving, met them face to face. The aspect of the soldiers and the populace was so threatening that, believing a mutiny to be imminent, he fled back to the palace and hastily summoned the heads of the war department—Gahler, Rantzau and Falckenskjold. The result was a complete capitulation so far as the rank and file were concerned. A cabinet order was issued declaring that the disbandment of the Household Cavalry was only a prelude to the establishment of a model corps which was to be called “The Flying Bodyguard”. This corps was to be composed of the non-commissioned officers and men of the two squadrons disbanded, and picked men from other cavalry regiments. Struensee declared that his only object was to provide really efficient cavalry, and this he had intended all the time. Now that the danger had passed he sought to conceal that it was a concession forced from him by fear. But the rumour of his panic spread about the city, and it was even said that he had been frightened into offering his resignation. The rumour was not generally believed, for it was thought incredible that a man who had shown himself so daring and indomitable should thus show signs of weakness.
Struensee recognised that, from the popularity point of view, he had made a false move, and sought to retrieve it by popularising the court. Everything now was done for the masses and nothing for the classes. When, in 1771, spring came (and it comes with a rush in Denmark) the beautiful gardens of the Rosenborg[163] Castle in Copenhagen, and the park and gardens of Frederiksberg, outside the walls of the city, were thrown open to the people, and on Sundays and holidays military bands performed for their benefit. The King and Queen frequently honoured the concerts with their presence. They would dine in the palace, and then mingle freely with the crowd in the gardens, which was composed of all classes. The grounds of the Rosenborg were especially beautiful and varied, with shady groves and shrubberies. Often of an evening the gardens were illuminated with coloured lamps, and refreshment buffets were erected. Struensee gave permission to the proprietor of the buffets to open a faro-bank which was much frequented, and the rent paid for the tables was given to the foundling hospital. Catherine the Great had done the same thing at St. Petersburg. The clergy again cursed Struensee from their pulpits; they declared that he turned the King’s gardens into haunts of libertinism, gambling and drunkenness, and the shady groves and dark alleys into scenes of iniquity. These charges were greatly exaggerated and fell wide of the mark. Most of the amusement was quite innocent, and despite the anathema of the Church, the opening of the royal gardens was the most popular measure of Struensee’s administration.
[163] Rosenborg, a handsome Renaissance palace with pediments and towers, was erected by that splendour-loving monarch, Christian IV., in 1610. It was his favourite residence, and from his death until the reign of Christian VII. was used as an occasional residence of the Danish monarchs, who here deposited their jewels, coronation robes and other treasures. Christian VII. and Matilda never used the Rosenborg as a residence. It is now converted into a Danish historical museum, and is full of relics and beautiful things. A visit to it is a most instructive lesson in Danish history.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE DICTATOR.
1771.
When the court removed from Copenhagen to Hirschholm for the summer, it was officially announced that the Queen was likely again to become a mother. The fact had long been known to people about the court, but the publication of it was unduly delayed. Some months before its announcement Gunning wrote to England: “As no declaration has yet been made of her Danish Majesty’s pregnancy, I have long entertained scruples with regard to the propriety of mentioning it; but as nobody seems to make the least doubt of its truth, I am at length convinced I ought no longer to suppress so important a piece of intelligence”.[164] Extraordinary mystery was observed. The Saxon minister informed his court that at the last drawing-room held before the Queen’s confinement, no one ventured to inquire after her Majesty’s health, though it was the usual custom.