1772.
When day dawned on January 17, the citizens of Copenhagen awoke to the fact that the hated rule of Struensee was gone for ever. The constant driving through the streets during the night had attracted little attention, for the noise was thought to arise from the guests returning from the ball at the palace; but when morning came, and the streets were seen to be full of soldiers, the people realised that something unusual had happened. First there came a rumour of a fresh outrage on the part of Struensee, and of an attempt to assassinate the King. But swift on the heels of this came the truth: the King, with the aid of the Queen-Dowager and his brother, had asserted himself; the favourite and his colleagues were in prison, and Queen Matilda had been conveyed to Kronborg. During the silent hours of the night a revolution had been effected, and the mob, like all mobs, shouted on the winning side. The news ran like wildfire round Copenhagen, and soon every one was in the streets. On all sides were heard shouts of “Long live King Christian VII.!” and many cheers were raised for the Queen-Dowager and Prince Frederick. The people converged towards the Christiansborg Palace, and completely filled the space in front of it, shouting and cheering.
At ten o’clock in the morning the King, who, until now, had been busy signing orders of arrest, and sanctioning appointments of others to fill the place of those arrested, appeared upon the balcony, with his brother by his side, while the Queen-Dowager, more modest, showed herself at the window in an undress. Their appearance was greeted with deafening shouts by the crowd, to which the King and the Prince responded by bows, and Juliana Maria by waving her handkerchief. The enthusiasm grew more and more, until at last the King joined in the cheers of his people. The Queen-Dowager had not miscalculated her forces: without doubt the people were on her side.
The citizens now began to deck their houses with flags and bunting, and everywhere kept high holiday. Even the heavens seemed to rejoice at the downfall of the hated administration, for the sun came out, and shone with a brilliance that had not been known in January in Copenhagen for years. About noon the gates of the Christiansborg Palace were thrown open, and the King, splendidly dressed, with his brother seated by his side, drove forth in a state coach drawn by eight white horses to show himself to his people. For the first time for months the King dispensed with all escort, and, except for the running footmen and postilions, the royal coach was unattended. The King drove through all the principal streets. The crowd was so great that it was with difficulty the coach could make way, and the people pressed and surged around it, and in their enthusiasm wanted to take out the horses and drag the coach themselves. The women especially were wild with delight, and waved their handkerchiefs frantically; some even pulled off their headgear, and waved it in the air, the better to testify their joy at seeing their beloved Sovereign safe and sound, and freed from his hated guardians. The King, however, when the novelty of the situation was over, relapsed into his usual apathy, and did not respond to the greeting of his loving subjects, but kept his window up, and stared through it indifferently at the crowd; but Prince Frederick, who was usually undemonstrative, had let the window down on his side of the coach, and bowed and smiled incessantly.
The King held a court in the afternoon at the palace, and was supported on one side by the Queen-Dowager and on the other by his brother. The court was crowded, and by a very different class of people to those who had appeared during the brief reign of Struensee. Many of the nobility, who had heard the glad news, hurried into Copenhagen to personally offer their congratulations to the three royal personages on the overthrow of the detested German Junto. All the Queen-Dowager’s party, all the principal clergy, and all who had taken part in the conspiracy, directly or indirectly, were present; and many more who knew of it, but held aloof until it was an accomplished fact, were now eager to pay their court. The King remained only a short time, and left the Queen-Dowager and Prince Frederick to receive the rest of the company, and they did with right good will, rejoicing in their new-found dignity and importance. It was their hour of triumph, and the inauguration of the clique which governed Denmark for the next twelve years.
In the evening the three royal personages drove to the opera through cheering crowds, and when they entered their box the whole house rose in enthusiasm. Their return to the palace was a triumphal procession, the people forming their guard as before. At night the city was illuminated; every house displayed lights in its windows, and bonfires were kindled in the streets. Salvoes of artillery were fired from the ramparts, and rockets were sent up. The whole population seemed mad with joy. So great was the illumination that the sky was lit up for miles around. At far-off Kronborg Queen Matilda, peering through her iron bars, saw the light in the sky over towards the capital, and asked what it meant. She was told that it was Copenhagen rejoicing over her downfall.[25]
[25] Mémoires de Reverdil.
The popular rejoicings were marred by gross excesses, though considering the excited state of public opinion it is a wonder that more were not committed. Some of the lowest characters had turned into the streets, and the sailors and dockyard men, who especially hated Struensee, were drunk with wine and excitement. The mob, not content with bonfires, soon showed signs of rioting. They broke into the house of one of Struensee’s supporters and wrecked it, carried off the furniture, and smashed the windows. In the cellar there was a large stock of spirits. The rioters broke the casks open, drank what they would, and upset the rest, with the result that they waded up to their ankles in liquor. Inflamed by drink they next attacked other houses. The police, unable to check the riot, which had grown to dangerous proportions, applied to Eickstedt for soldiers to aid them. But the Queen-Dowager was unwilling to call out the military, as she thought a conflict might bring about bloodshed and so damp the popular enthusiasm. Therefore, instead of soldiers, Prince Frederick’s chamberlain was sent to the scene of disturbance, with instructions to thank the people for the rejoicings they had manifested on the King’s deliverance from his enemies, and a promise that the King would especially remember the sailors (who were among the most tumultuous of the rioters), if they would now go quietly home. But the mob had by this time got out of hand, and either did not, or would not, listen. They rushed towards the royal stables, with the intention of smashing Struensee’s coach, but were prevented by the palace guard. They then endeavoured to wreck the house of the chief of the police, but being foiled in this attempt also, they began to plunder the mont-de-pieté. At this point the soldiers had to be called out, and they succeeded in dispersing the rioters without bloodshed. Next day the streets were patrolled by the burgher guard, and in the afternoon heralds rode round the city, and at certain points read a message from the King, in which he thanked his loyal people for their enthusiasm, but regretted that their zeal had got the better of their discretion. He forbade any further plundering or excesses under heavy penalties. After this the people gradually quieted down, but it was a week before the patrol could be removed.
Meanwhile the Queen-Dowager was occupied in distributing honours among her adherents. The arch-conspirator, Rantzau, at last received the reward of his intrigues. He was made General-in-Chief of the infantry, and a Knight of the Elephant, and his debts were paid in full from the royal treasury. It may be that the part he had played in the arrest of Matilda, and the callousness and insolence he had shown to the unfortunate Queen, quickened the sense of Juliana Maria’s gratitude; for she rewarded him promptly and handsomely. Eickstedt and Köller were promoted to be full generals, and decorated with the order of the Dannebrog. Köller, who was a Pomeranian by birth, was offered naturalisation, with the name of Banner, an extinct Danish noble family. Köller accepted, saying that he intended henceforth to devote his life to Denmark, and was known from this time as Köller-Banner. He was also given a court appointment as aide-de-camp to the King, with apartments in the royal palace. Beringskjold was appointed Grand Chamberlain, and received a pension of two thousand dollars, and a further present of forty thousand dollars paid down. His elder son was appointed a court page, and the younger was promised a captaincy. All the officers of the palace guard who had done duty on the eventful night were promoted a step. Major Carstenskjold, who had conducted Matilda to Kronborg with his drawn sabre and forty dragoons, was made a lieutenant-colonel. Colonel Sames, who had arrested Brandt, received a present of ten thousand dollars. Jessen was created a councillor of justice, and received a gift of two thousand dollars. Rewards were also given to minor personages.
The only one of the conspirators who received no reward, though he was in reality the chief among them, was Guldberg, who declared that the success of the enterprise was sufficient reward for him, and he required neither money nor titles.[26] Guldberg was sure of his influence with the Queen-Dowager; he knew, too, that his apparent disinterestedness would carry weight with the people, and so strengthen his position. He had reserved for himself the power behind the throne, and he filled in the new government something of the place that Struensee had filled in the old. That is to say, he had great influence over the Queen-Dowager; he was the indispensable man, he directed the policy, and no appointments were made of which he did not approve. But unlike Struensee he conducted himself with infinite tact and discretion.