“I understand,” she said. “You think that she hasn’t seen much of the world. Is that it? Is that what you think? Seventeen years old, never lived outside the court? Never seen anything?”
“It’s not a question of age,” he replied. “Some people can reach a hundred and still have seen nothing.”
She looked him in the eye and for the first time felt that she was not afraid, or enraged, but merely calm and curious.
“It doesn’t matter that you were angry,” she said. “It was splendid to see someone … on fire. Someone alive. I’ve never seen that before. It was splendid. Now we can start riding, Doctor Struensee.”
4.
The cabinet was assembled, for once in its entirety, when the King made the announcement that Doctor J. F. Struensee had been appointed Royal Lecturer with the title of Councillor of State.
It was expected. No one showed any reaction.
He furthermore announced that there was no need for any additional cabinet meetings until the end of September, and that any royal decrees he happened to sign did not need to be confirmed by the cabinet.
An ice-cold, paralyzing silence followed. This was not expected. What did this mean, in practice?
“At the same time I would like to most graciously announce,” concluded the King, “that today I am pleased to appoint my dog, Vitrius, as Imperial Councillor, and henceforth he shall be treated with the respect befitting this title.”
It was very quiet for a very long time.
Then the King rose without a word; everyone followed his example, and the hall emptied out.
In the corridor outside, small groups gathered for several minutes but quickly dispersed. During this brief time, however, Guldberg managed to exchange a few words with the Royal Marshal, Count Holck, and the Foreign Minister, Count Bernstorff.
“The country is now facing its greatest crisis ever,” he said. “Meet me tonight in the chambers of the Dowager Queen at ten o’clock.”
It was an extraordinary situation. Guldberg seemed to be overstepping both the authority and protocol of his position. But neither of the other two men seemed shocked. And he then added, “quite unnecessarily,” as he later thought:
“Absolute secrecy.”
The next day at the morning meeting only three were in attendance.
King Christian VII; his dog, the schnauzer Vitrius, who was the newly appointed councillor and who had draped himself over the King’s feet and fallen asleep; and Struensee.
Struensee handed one document after another to the King, who after a while indicated with a wave of his hand that he wanted to take a break in their work.
The King stubbornly stared down at his desk; he did not drum his fingers, he did not have spasms, his face seemed marked solely by a sorrow so great that for a moment Struensee grew frightened.
Or perhaps it was an unprecedented loneliness?
Without lifting his gaze, and in a voice that was absolutely calm and earnestly intent, the King then said:
“The Queen is suffering from melancholy. She’s lonely, she’s a stranger in this country. I have found it impossible to assuage her melancholy. You must lift this burden from my shoulders. You must attend to her.”
After a moment’s silence Struensee said:
“My only wish is that the present strained relationship between the royal couple might be eased.”
The King then simply repeated:
“You must lift this burden from my shoulders.”
Struensee stared at the papers lying in front of him. Christian did not raise his eyes. The dog slept heavily on his feet.
5.
He could not figure her out.
Struensee had seen her in Altona during her stay there before going on to Copenhagen, but he had not actually seen her. It was obvious that she was only a child, and terrified.
He was indignant. People should not be treated like that. But he hadn’t truly seen her.
Later on he did see her. Suddenly he understood that she portended a great danger. Everyone had spoken of her as “enchanting” or “charming,” but that was what people were forced to say about Queens. It meant nothing. It was assumed that she was weak-willed and charming and that her life would be a hell, although on a higher plane than housewives of the middle class, and on a much different plane compared to commoners. But something about her made him believe that the little English girl had been underestimated.
Her complexion was magnificent. She had very beautiful hands. Once he found himself imagining her hand wrapped around his member.
Her wish to learn to ride was astonishing.
She almost always astonished him, the few times that they met. He seemed to be watching her grow, but he had no idea where it would end.
The arrangements regarding the first riding lesson were made without any problem. But when the time came, she arrived wearing men’s clothing; no woman of the royal house had ever ridden like a man, meaning with her legs apart and on either side of the horse.
It was considered obscene. Yet she appeared dressed in a man’s riding outfit.
He made no comment.
He took her gently by the hand and led her over to the horse for the first lesson.
“The first rule,” he said, “is caution.”
“And the second?”
“Courage.”
“I like the second one better,” she said.
The horse had been carefully selected; it was very calm. They rode in Bernstorff Park for an hour.
The horse walked very quietly. Everything went extremely well.
She rode for the first time in her life.
Open fields. Groves of trees.
Struensee rode at her side. They talked about animals.
About the way animals moved, about whether animals could dream, whether they had a concept of their own lives. Whether their love was reserved for anyone special.
Whether they could experience their own bodies, what their perception of human beings was, and what horses dreamed of.
The Queen said that she imagined horses to be different from other animals. That they were born insignificant, with legs that were much too long, but that very soon they became conscious of their lives, their bodies, and started to dream, that they could feel fear or love, that they possessed secrets that could be read in their eyes, if you simply looked into them. It was necessary to look into their eyes, then you would understand that horses dreamed when they slept, standing, wrapped in their secrets.
He said: I realize that never once in my life have I dared to look at a horse’s dreams.
And then the Queen laughed, for the first time in the almost three years that she had been in Copenhagen.
By the following day the rumors began to spread.
As Struensee was passing through the arcade of the palace he met the Dowager Queen; she stopped him.
Her face was like stone. Strictly speaking, her face was always like stone; but now there was an underlying rage that made her almost terrifying.
“Doctor Struensee,” she said, “I have been informed that the Queen went riding dressed in men’s attire, sitting astride the horse. Is this true?”
“Yes, it’s true,” he replied.
“That is a breach of protocol, and a disgrace.”
“In Paris,” he said, “the women always ride in that manner. On the Continent no one regards it as disgraceful. In Paris it is—”
“In Paris,” she was quick to reply, “there is much indecency. We don’t need to import all that to Denmark.”
He bowed but said nothing.
“One more question, Doctor Struensee, about these Continental … ideas.”
He gave a small bow.
“What is the ultimate goal of those … men of the Enlightenment? I’ve just been … wondering.”
He chose his words carefully.
“To create a heaven on earth,” he then said with a fleeting smile.
“And what then becomes of the … real … heaven? A
nd by that I mean God’s heaven.”
With an equally gentle smile he said:
“It becomes … according to their opinion … less necessary.”
The Dowager Queen said in the same calm voice:
“I see. That is also why these blasphemers must be destroyed.”
Whereupon she turned on her heel and left.
Struensee stood motionless for a long time, staring after her. He was thinking: I’m actually not a very brave person, since I can feel an ice-cold flash of terror when an old woman addresses me. If you see an aperture in history and know that you ought to step through—is it right for a man who is frightened by an old woman to take on such a mission?
Later he thought: The opposition is starting to show itself. Not just an old woman. The nobles. Guldberg. There are many. The opposition will very soon become clear.
Those opposed are the ones I can no doubt distinguish. But who are the supporters?
CHAPTER 9
ROUSSEAU’S HUT
1.
IT BECOMES MORE difficult to understand what is happening.
The spotlight seems to be shrinking around a few actors on stage. Yet they are still standing with their faces turned away from each other.
Ready to speak their lines very soon. Still with averted faces, and silent.
One evening as Christian, once again, was telling Struensee about his nightmares about Sergeant Mörl’s agonizing death and began getting lost in the details, Struensee surprisingly started wandering around the room and angrily told the King to stop.
Christian was astonished. He had been allowed to talk about this while Reverdil was still there, before he was banished as a punishment. Now Struensee seemed to have lost his composure. Christian asked him why. Struensee merely said:
“Your Majesty doesn’t understand. And has never made any effort to understand. Despite the fact that we have known each other for a long time. But I’m not a brave person. I’m terrified of pain. I don’t want to think about pain. I’m easily frightened. That’s how it is, and Your Majesty should have known, if Your Majesty was interested.”
Christian stared at Struensee in surprise during the doctor’s outburst, and then he said:
“I too am afraid of death.”
“I’m not afraid of death!!!”Struensee replied impatiently. “Only of pain. Only of pain!!!”
From the late summer of 1770 there is a sketch done by Christian of a Negro boy.
He very rarely made any drawings, but those that exist were done with great skill. The sketch depicts Moranti, the Negro page who was given to the King in order to dispel his melancholy and “so he would have someone to play with.”
No one should speak in that fashion.“Melancholy” was the correct word , not “ playmate.” But Brandt, who came up with the idea, expresses it in precisely that way: a playmate for His Majesty. A mood of stifled resignation had spread around the King. It was difficult to find playmates among the courtiers. The King seemed to focus all his energy on the hour he spent signing the documents and communiqués that Struensee placed before him; but after they parted for the day, apathy would come over him and he would sink into his muttering. Brandt had grown weary of the King’s company and bought a Negro page as a plaything for him. When he sought permission to do so, Struensee merely shook his head in resignation, but gave his consent.
Struensee’s position at court was now so entrenched that his consent was also required for the purchase of Negro slaves.
It was quite natural that he should grow weary, Brandt had explained, since a playful relationship with His Majesty could not be considered one of his tasks as Theater Director. In actual fact, Brandt was exhausted and furious. His relationship with His Majesty had grown more and more monotonous, since the King would often sit in his chair for days on end, waving his hands and muttering to himself or staring blankly at the wall. The King was also in the habit of placing his chair close to the wall and turned toward it, to avoid looking at his surroundings.
What was Brandt to do? Conversation was difficult. He couldn’t very well position himself between the chair and the wall, he explained to Struensee.
“Do as you like,” Struensee told him.“This place is still a madhouse.”
The Negro page was christened Moranti.
Moranti would end up playing a certain role in what followed, even in the diplomatic reports.
Later that same autumn, as the situation reached a critical stage and the troubling reports about Struensee’s power reached foreign rulers as well, the French ambassador requested an audience with the King. But when the ambassador arrived, Struensee was the only one present in the room, and he explained that King Christian VII was indisposed that day, but he wished to express his respect and devotion to the ambassador of the French government.
“Doctor Struensee …” the French ambassador began but was immediately corrected by Struensee.
“Councillor of State.”
The atmosphere was charged and hostile, but courteous.
“… a rumor has reached us regarding the Danish monarch’s almost … revolutionary plans. Interesting. Interesting. We are, of course, well acquainted with such ideas in Paris. And critical of them. As no doubt you know. We would like, with all due respect, to be assured that no dark … revolutionary … forces might—by mistake! by mistake!—slip out. In your country. Or in Europe. So that the contagion of enlightenment will not … yes, that is how I would express it, the contagion! will not catch hold around us. And since we know that the young monarch has your ear, we would like …”
Struensee, against protocol, had not invited the French ambassador to sit down; they now stood facing each other at a distance of about five paces.
“Are people afraid in Paris?” Struensee asked in a slightly ironic tone of voice. “Afraid of the little, insignificant country of Denmark? Is that what you want to say?”
“Perhaps we wish to know what is going on.”
“What is going on is of Danish concern.”
“Which does not concern …?”
“Precisely.”
The ambassador gave Struensee an icy stare and then exclaimed in a fierce voice, as if for a moment he had lost his self-control:
“A man of the Enlightenment such as yourself, Doctor Struensee, ought not be so insolent!”
“We are merely matter-of-fact.”
“But if the royal power is in jeopardy …”
“It is not in jeopardy.”
“We have heard otherwise.”
“Then stop listening.”
Suddenly wild shouts could be heard from the palace court-yard. Struensee flinched and went over to the window. What he saw was King Christian VII playing with his page. Christian was pretending to be a horse, and the little Negro boy was on his back, shouting wildly as he swung his riding crop and His Majesty crawled around on all fours.
Struensee turned around, but it was too late. The French ambassador had followed him to the window and taken a look. Struensee then drew the drapes, his expression resolute.
But the situation was quite clear.
“Herr Struensee,” the French ambassador said with a tone of derision and fury, “I am not an idiot. Neither is my King, nor are the other regents of Europe. I say this with the frankness you claim to value so highly. You are playing with fire. We will not permit the great consuming revolutionary fire to start in this filthy little country.”
And then: the precise bow, as required.
The situation down in the palace courtyard was absolutely clear, and genuine. There was no escaping it.
Was this the absolute ruler with the torch of reason in his hand? Or a madman? What was Struensee going to do with him?
No, he had no idea what he was going to do with Christian.
The problem was growing all the time. In the end it was a problem that seemed to put Struensee himself in question. Was he the right person? Or was the black torch also inside him?
The week before the l
ittle Negro page arrived at court, Struensee was gripped by desperation. Perhaps the voice of reason should speak. Perhaps it would be wisest to leave Christian to his illness, allow him to be swallowed up by the dark.
Could light come from the darkness of the black torch? Reason was supposed to be the lever that would be placed under the house of the world. But without any fixed point? What if reason could find no fulcrum?
But he was fond of the child. He refused to give up on Christian, who was perhaps one of those who was unneeded, someone who had no place in the grand plan. But weren‘t the unneeded also part of the grand plan?
Wasn’t it for the sake of the unneeded that the plan was to be created?
He brooded a great deal over his own uncertainty. Christian was damaged, he had frostbite of the soul, but at the same time his power was necessary. What was it he himself coveted, or at least was now making use of? Christian‘s illness created a vacuum at the center of power. This was where he had come to visit. There ought to be some possibility of saving both the boy and the dream of a changed society.
This is what he told himself. Although he wasn’t sure whether he was primarily defending Christian or himself.
The image of the black torch that emanated darkness refused to leave him. A black torch burned inside the young monarch, he knew that now, and its glow seemed to extinguish reason. Why wouldn’t this image leave him in peace? Perhaps there was a black torch inside him as well. No, probably not.
But what was it that existed inside him?
Light, a prairie fire. Such beautiful words.
But Christian was both light and opportunity, and a black torch shining its darkness over the world.
Was that what a human being was? Both opportunity and a black torch?
Christian had once, in a lucid moment, spoken of people cast in one piece; he himself was not cast in one piece, he said. He had many faces. Then Christian had asked: Is there a place for someone like me in the kingdom of reason?
Such a simple, childish question. And suddenly it made Struensee feel so anguished.
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