Reverdil stood petrified but then stepped inside the room and ordered the pages to stop. With that, Christian ran off and afterward refused to talk about what had transpired.
A month later, when Christian mentioned to Reverdil that he could not sleep at night, Reverdil asked him to tell him about the reasons for his torment. In tears, Christian then told him of his belief that he “had become Mörl, who had escaped the hands of Justice, and that by mistake a phantom had been tortured and executed. This game of imitating someone who was put on the wheel and tortured filled his mind with dark ideas and increased his tendency toward melancholy.”
4.
Reverdil returns again and again to his dream that the light of the Enlightenment would come slowly, stealthily: the image of light rising slowly like dawn over the water.
It was the dream of the inevitable. For a long time he seems to have envisioned the development from darkness to light as inevitable, gentle, and free of violence.
Later he abandoned this idea.
With great caution Herr Reverdil tried to plant in the mind of the heir to the throne some of the seeds that he, as an enlightened man, wished to see bear fruit. When the boy, with great curiosity, asked if it would be possible for him to correspond with some of the philosophers who had created the great French encyclopedia, Reverdil replied that a certain Monsieur Voltaire, a Frenchman, might take an interest in the young Danish heir to the throne.
Christian then wrote a letter to Monsieur Voltaire. He received an answer.
In this manner the correspondence, which to posterity would seem so peculiar, began between Voltaire and the deranged King Christian VII of Denmark; the correspondence best known by the poem of homage that Voltaire wrote in 1771 to Christian, who is heralded as the prince of light and reason in the North. It reached him one evening at Hirschholm, after he was already lost; but it made him happy.
With one of his first letters Monsieur Voltaire enclosed a book that he had written himself. During their afternoon walk Christian—who had been urged by Reve rdil to keep the correspondence strictly confidential—showed Reverdil this book, which he had read at once, and recited a passage that had particularly appealed to him.
“‘But is it not the height of madness to believe that one can convert people and force their minds to submit by slandering them, by persecuting them, by banishing them to the galleys; or attempt to annihilate their ideas by dragging them to the gallows, the wheel, and the stake?’
“That’s what Monsieur Voltaire thinks!” Christian triumphantly shouted. “That’s what he thinks! He sent me this book! This book! To me!!!”
Reverdil whispered urgently to his pupil to lower his voice lest he arouse the suspicions of the courtiers who were following them at thirty paces. Christian at once hid the book in his tunic and, whispering, said that Monsieur Voltaire had told him in the letter that he was now being subjected to a legal proceeding that concerned the freedom of ideas; and that Christian, after reading this, had been instantly inspired to send one thousand riksdaler in support of Monsieur Voltaire’s fight for the freedom of expression.
He now asked his teacher whether he shared this view. Whether he ought to send the money. Herr Reverdil, after mustering his courage and suppressing his astonishment, supported the heir to the throne in this endeavor.
And later the sum was duly sent off.
On the same occasion Reverdil asked Christian why he wished to join Monsieur Voltaire in this battle, which was not without its risks. And which might be misunderstood, not only in Paris.
“Why?” he asked. “For what reason?”
And then Christian had quite simply and with surprise replied: “For the sake of purity! Why else? For the purity of the temple!!!” Herr Reverdil writes that this reply filled him with a joy that was nevertheless mixed with apprehension.
That very evening his misgivings seemed to be confirmed.
From his room he could hear an unusual commotion going on in the palace courtyard, shouts and the sounds of furniture smashing. Added to that came the sound of breaking glass. When he sprang to his feet he saw that a crowd of people had started to gather outside. He dashed up to the Prince’s apartments and found that Christian, in an apparent fit of confusion, had smashed the furniture in the drawing room next to his bedchamber and tossed the pieces out the window, that broken glass was scattered everywhere, and that two of his “favorites,” as certain of the courtiers were called, had tried in vain to calm the heir to the throne, to make him stop these “excesses.”
But not until Reverdil spoke to him in a forceful and pleading voice did Christian stop throwing furniture out the window.
“My child,”Reverdil said, “my dear child, why are you doing this?”
Christian then stared at him in silence, as if he didn’t understand how Reverdil could ask such a question. It all seemed quite clear to him.
The Dowager Queen’s confidant, a professor at Sorø Academy by the name of Guldberg who served as Crown Prince Frederik’s teacher and attendant, a man with peculiar icy-blue eyes but without any other special qualities and insignificant in appearance, had come rushing into the room at that moment, and Reverdil was only able to whisper to the Prince:
“My dear child, not like this! Not like this!!!”
The boy was now calm. In the palace courtyard they began gathering up the splintered pieces that had been tossed out.
Guldberg, afterward, had taken Reverdil by the arm and asked to have a word with him. They stepped out into the palace corridor.
“Herr Reverdil,” Guldberg said, “His Majesty needs a Royal Physician.”
“Why?”
“A Royal Physician. We must find someone who can win his confidence and prevent his … outbursts.”
“Who?” asked Reverdil.
“We must begin to search,” said Guldberg. “Search with great care for the right person. Not a Jew.”
“But why?” Reverdil asked in surprise.
“Because His Majesty is mad,” Guldberg told him.
And Reverdil had not been able to think of a single reply.
5.
On January 18, 1765, Foreign Minister Bernstorff informed the young heir to the throne that the government, in its Tuesday cabinet meeting and after nearly two years of negotiations with the English government, had decided to marry him to the thirteen-year-old English Princess Caroline Mathilde, sister to King George III of England.
The wedding would take place in November 1766.
Upon hearing the news of his betrothed’s name, Christian had started in with his usual fidgeting, picking at his skin with his fingertips, drumming on his stomach, and moving his feet spastically. After receiving the news he asked:
“Do I need to learn any special words or lines for this purpose?”
Count Bernstorff did not fully comprehend the meaning of this question but replied with a kindly smile:
“Only those of love, Your Royal Highness.”
When Frederik died and Christian was blessed, the intense upbringing ceased and the young King was ready. He was now prepared to exercise the full powers of an absolute ruler.
He was ready. He could enter into his new role. He was sixteen years old.
Reverdil had accompanied him to his father’s deathbed, witnessed the blessing, and then escorted Christian out. They had stood alone for a long time, hand in hand in the palace courtyard, in the light snow, until the boy stopped crying.
That same afternoon Christian was proclaimed King Christian VII.
Reverdil had stood behind him, off to one side, on the balcony. Christian wanted to hold his hand, but Reverdil had pointed out that this would not be fitting and would be counter to protocol. But before they stepped outside, Christian, who was now shaking from head to toe, had asked Reverdil:
“What feeling should I be expressing right now?”
“Sorrow,” Reverdil replied, “and after that joy at the cheers of the people.”
But Christian became con
fused and forgot all about sorrow and despair, the whole time displaying a steadfast and dazzling smile, waving his arms at the people.
Many took offense at this. The newly crowned King had not shown the proper sorrow. When asked about this later, he was inconsolable; he said that he had forgotten his first line.
CHAPTER 3
THE ENGLISH CHILD
1.
CHRISTIAN’S CHOSEN QUEEN was named Caroline Mathilde. She was born on July 22, 1751, in Leicester House in London, and she lacked any talents whatsoever.
That was the perception of her. Yet she came to play a key role in what happened—something no one could have predicted and that filled everyone with dismay since it was commonly held that she lacked any talents.
Afterward everyone agreed it was unfortunate that she did indeed have talents. If the proper assessment had been made from the outset, namely that she possessed certain talents, then the entire catastrophe might have been averted.
But no one could have predicted this.
Scratched into the windowpane of her bedchamber at Frederiks-berg Palace they found, after she left the country, a motto she was presumed to have written on one of her first days in Denmark. It said:
“O, keep me innocent, make others great.”
She arrived in Copenhagen on November 8, 1766.She was the youngest sister of England’s King George III, who, in 1765, 1788, and 1801, suffered severe attacks of madness, but who throughout his life was unwaveringly faithful to his wife, Charlotte von Mecklenburg-Strelitz; his grandchild would later become Queen Victoria.
Caroline Mathilde’s father died two months before her birth; she was the youngest of nine siblings, and the only other trace left in history by her father is the appraisal given by England’s King George II of his son. “My dear firstborn son is the greatest ass, the worst liar, the biggest rogue, and the most awful brute in the whole world, and I wish with all my heart that he would disappear from it.” Her mother had a stern and closed nature, and for this reason her only lover was the eldest son’s tutor, Lord Bute. She was an ardent believer, devoted to her religious duties, and she kept her nine children strictly cut off from the world inside her home, which was characterized as “a cloister.” Caroline Mathilde was very seldom permitted to set foot outside her home, and then only under rigorous supervision.
After the betrothal the Danish ambassador, who was allowed to call on her and was given permission to speak to her for a few minutes, reported that she seemed shy, with a marvelous complexion, long blond hair, lovely blue eyes, full lips, although her lower lip was a bit wide, and in possession of a melodious voice.
He dwells the most, however, on his conversation with the mother, whom he characterizes as “bitter.”
The English court painter Reynolds, who painted Caroline Mathilde’s portrait before her departure, is actually the only person who gave any indication of her talents from that period. He describes his work on the portrait as difficult because she wept the entire time.
These are the only negative traits that can be confirmed from the period before her departure. A rather full lower lip, and constant weeping.
2.
Upon hearing the news of her nuptials, Caroline Mathilde was terror-stricken.
In her view, the fact that she was the sister of England’s King was the sole justification for her existence, and for this reason she had devised her motto. “O, keep me innocent, make others great.”
Otherwise she mostly wept. She was someone, namely the sister, but nothing more than that. She did not exist up until her fifteenth year. Later on she refused to reveal any information about that first part of her life—other than to say that the news that she was to enter into a love relationship with the young Danish King came as a shock to her. She had grown up in a cloister. Her mother had decided this was necessary. The normal whoring at court was not for her, since she had been chosen. Whether for something great or small was not made clear to her.
Yet she did manage to discern that she was breeding stock. She would supply the peculiar little land of Denmark with a king. For that reason she had to be serviced. At the English court they gathered information about who the Danish bull was. They then passed this information on to her. She understood that the bull who was to service her was a delicate little boy; she had seen a portrait of him. He looked endearing. Not like a bull. People said the problem was that in all likelihood he was mad.
If he had not been one of God’s chosen absolute rulers he would have been locked up.
It was well known that the Danish Princes were mad. She had seen David Garrick in the role of Hamlet in the Drury Lane Theatre. That this should be her lot no doubt caused her despair.
In the fall of 1765 chief lady-in-waiting Fru von Plessen arrived to help the Princess prepare. She was, according to her credentials, a person of integrity. Fru von Plessen had frightened the girl out of her wits by stating at once, without being asked, that everything said about the Danish heir to the throne was a slanderous lie. The “excesses” of the monarch-to-be did not exist. He did not smash up furniture or windows. His temperament was even and stable. His whims were not the least bit alarming. Since no one had asked for this refutation and the information was thus unnecessary, the girl was understandably terror-stricken.
Privately she thought herself to be in possession of certain talents.
During the crossing to Denmark she wept the whole time. None of her chambermaids was allowed to accompany her any farther than to Altona. It was thought that she would better understand the Danish character, as well as the language, if she were confronted with them in a more direct manner.
The name of the Princess, the future Danish Queen, meaning the English child who had been selected, was Caroline Mathilde. At the time of her wedding she was fifteen years old. Her brother, the English King, whom she loved and admired, tolerated her but could not remember her name. He regarded her as charming, shy, docile, and nearly invisible. For this reason it was decided that she should be married to the Danish King, since Denmark,after the “Imperial War” in the 1600s when the country was ruled by the incessantly drunk Christian IV, had lost all its international importance, as well as most of its territories. Of Christian IV it was said at the English court that each time he thought his wife had betrayed him, he would be struck by melancholy. She betrayed him often, and his melancholy deepened. Each time, to counteract his sorrow and restlessness, he would start a war, which he just as regularly lost.
The fact that the country was steadily shrinking was thus due to his wife’s insatiable sexual appetite. This was typical of the Danish kingdom, which therefore had to be labeled insignificant.
All of this she was told. Due to the King’s repeated bouts of melancholy, Denmark had become a very small country. The international weakness of the kingdom, which had continued ever since, explained why the Queen who was selected could be someone without talents and of no importance.
She understood this. Gradually she also came to understand that her future would not be bright in this Nordic land, which was described as a madhouse. That was why she was always weeping. Her tears were a talent. They frightened no one. About her intelligence the opinion was divided. But above all else she was regarded as completely lacking in will. Perhaps even in character. And so the role she later came to play in the events connected with the Danish revolution filled everyone with great astonishment—and dismay.
She became a different person. This was completely unexpected. But now, at the time of her nuptials, she was still weak-willed and without character.
As a young girl she seems to have had a dream of purity. The way she grew up was unexpected. It was only natural for a woman without talents to have dreams, just as she viewed innocence and greatness as opposites but chose the former. What frightened everyone was the fact that she later became a different person after she had been defined as weak-willed and without talents. O, keep me innocent, make others great.
3.
She was
escorted from England to Denmark; she arrived in Rotterdam after a difficult six-day voyage by sea, and on October 18 she reached Altona, where everyone in her English entourage took leave of her.
In Altona the Danish delegation took custody of the Princess. She was then escorted by carriage through Slesvig and Fyn, “greeted everywhere with wild enthusiasm” by the populace that had been summoned to appear, and on November 3 she reached Roskilde, where she was to meet King Christian VII of Denmark for the first time.
For this purpose a glass pavilion with two doors had been erected in the market place. The two young lovers were supposed to enter through separate doors and walk forward, meeting at the center, where they would see each other for the first time. In a merchant’s house next to the “glass palace”(as it inappropriately came to be called during the weeks it existed), preparations for the Queen-to-be were finalized ; they involved reassuring the Princess. Chief lady-in-waiting Louise von Plessen, who was in charge of the escort delegation, had taken pains to quell the little English girl’s tears (the expression “the little English girl” was now being used throughout the Danish court) and had urged her not to show her terror before the public.
She had replied that the terror she felt had nothing to do with the Danish court or the King but rather with love. Upon further inquiry it turned out that she could make no clear distinction between these three concepts, but that the Court, the King, and Love, these three things had merged together in her worldview and were associated with “terror.”
Fru von Plessen was finally forced to rehearse all the ceremonial moves of the Princess, as if the mere memorization of the details of the ceremony would reassure the girl.
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