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.
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.