REGAL BEHAVIOUR

REGAL BEHAVIOUR

“You are German, they tell me”.

“I am, Majesty”.

"None of my Danish doctors have been able to help me. What makes you think that you can?”

Struensee remained silent as he watched the King who was looking out onto the vast parklands of the palace, through a rain-streaked window, his back turned to the doctor. Eventually, after a moment’s silence, having not heard the German reply, he turned back to face the physician and Struensee spoke.

“You didn’t hear me, Majesty”.

“You spoke?’

“No, Majesty. But you knew that; which means that you are not deaf, as they say”.

A puzzled look crossed the face of the royal personage, a man of slight build, wig and face powdered as was the style.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand...”

The King resumed his seat in front of the fireplace. Still standing, the German looked down upon the Danish King, Christian V11.

“I was given a list of your...uh, ailments, Majesty”, Struensee explained, withdrawing a sheet of paper from his inside pocket. Unlike the King, this doctor was tall and of robust build, plainly but smartly dressed and wore no wig or face powder.

“Deaf. Not quite top of the list but almost. Clearly that is not the case or we would not be having this conversation”.

“Well, sometimes, I find it difficult to hear people when they speak...”

“May I?”

Struensee approached the King and bent to check, first one ear, then the other. His Majesty seemed rather taken aback by this intimacy.

“Your ear channels are clear; no wax”.

“Sometimes...sometimes, when people talk, I...I hear voices; not the voices of those who speak but others...from inside my head”.

The King looked up at Struensee expecting to see a look of bewilderment and, perhaps, dismissal upon his face but saw only sympathy.

“I see. Now we are getting somewhere at last. These voices, they confuse you. They prevent you from comprehending what others are saying yet they make no sense, am I right?’

“Yes, yes. Perfectly. You...you understand?”

“I do, Majesty. I have encountered such... ailments previously. I believe that I can help you but it will take time and your complete cooperation”.

The King, for the first time, looked up at the German, a look of hope upon his face.

“How do you propose to...cure me?”

The doctor waved the paper that he had taken from his pocket.

“By working through each of the items on this list, one by one; starting immediately”.

Several weeks passed. The King and the physician spent many hours, each day, cloistered in the royal apartment together. Struensee learnt much about the King’s early life and the reasons for his current condition. He had quickly realised that, unfortunately, a great deal of Christian’s medical issues were, almost certainly, the result of years of interbreeding and nothing could be done to undo the mental illnesses that afflicted his patient. But he shrewdly recognised that there existed a whole host of physical ailments that he could help cure and, in doing so, benefit his own fortune. In his slow, methodical way, he aimed to gain the monarch’s trust.

For Christian, having a person, such as Struensee, to whom he could talk freely and openly without fear of condemnation, was revelatory. He opened up about his abusive upbringing, ignored by his father, the King, who was only interested in drinking and debauching. He related how abandoned he had felt upon the death of his mother, the one person ever to have shown him any kindness, and the arrival at court of his father’s new wife, the stepmother who revelled in humiliating the child at every opportunity. He painfully recalled how the tutor assigned for his education had savagely, and unchecked, flogged him on a daily basis with a cane throughout his formative years.

Despite his grasping plans, Johann Friedrich Struensee had listened intently throughout each of the King’s retellings and had felt genuine sympathy for his patient. It was evident that his childhood years had contributed immensely to Christian’s current inability to function as a sovereign and he was determined to help as much as he could. He, himself, was a great follower of Rousseau and the path of Enlightenment and detested such practises as the King had been subjected to at so young an age. In this manner, they discussed everything, seeking a resolution of sorts and, as the weeks passed, the two became closer.

“Masturbation. Top of the list”.

The King looked away, sheepishly, as Struensee broached this delicate topic.

“If I may, Majesty? It is my belief that masturbation is a completely natural habit...”

“It is, Johann?”

Struensee nodded, smiling at his patient.

“It is, Majesty. However, there is a time and place for this self indulgence. It is not...healthy to simply give in to one’s urges in front of your court. Many would find that offensive, you understand?”

“Sometimes, I...I just can’t help myself. I...”

“Majesty, you are a grown man. You can help yourself. If the desire to...touch your member is just too strong, you must excuse yourself from company and retire to a private chamber before expending your seed. You see, it is perfectly fine to have uncontrolled urges but your place of enactment must be controlled. For example, I am told that, at a banquet for the French ministers, you...relieved yourself during the meal...”

“But nobody could see me. I did it under the table”, the King protested.

“I am sure you meant well, Majesty, but it must be done in private”.

Christian’s inability to control his mental disorders meant that he had largely been excluded from any form of decision making regarding the government of the country and the responsibility for the ruling of Denmark had been gradually assumed by the Privy Council and those elitist members of the Council were more than content to maintain this status quo.

For this reason, Struensee’s beneficial work since arriving at court and being appointed as the King’s physician was greatly resented. Throughout Europe, with the various national monarchies living lives of great entitlement while conditions for their subjects worsened, rumblings had begun to surface among the working classes and revolution was in the air. Struensee, recognising the way the wind was beginning to blow, was resolute in returning Christian to a position of authority in the governing of Denmark for he could see, firsthand, how poor a job the Privy Council was making of things and, therefore, sought to feather his own nest by restoring regal authority.

“Tell me about the hallucinations, Majesty”.

“But they are not hallucinations; they are very real”.

“Generally, Majesty, if nobody else can see what you see, then they are deemed to be a figment of your imagination. It’s just how things work, I’m afraid. Your recent claim, for example, that giant crabs were...”

“But they were. I swear. Hundreds of them climbing the walls of the salle privee when I met the English princess who is to be my bride. It was terrifying”.

“I’m sure that it was, for you, Highness. But nobody else saw them and, as I was in an adjacent chamber and was summoned to deal with your distress, I can assure you that there were no crabs, large or small”.

“Then...”

“May I suggest that, in future, if you believe you see something that, how best to put this? If you see something so out of place in your surroundings, that you immediately take the view that it cannot possibly be real. Keep your thoughts to yourself. Afterwards, you can ask me if I had seen whatever apparition you witnessed. That way, perhaps, we can avoid scaring the Princess...”

“She is scared?”

“Yes. I’m afraid so and has expressed a wish to return to England but, with your permission, I will speak to her and convince her otherwise. More importantly, we need to allay the concerns of those Privy Councillors who wish you no good. My understanding is that they are building a dossier with the sole intention of removing you from the throne altogether and placing you in an asylum”.

“I think I might quite like that, Johann. What is an asylum?”

“A madhouse, Highness; a fate no man or woman should have to endure”.

The King shuddered involuntarily.

“Then you must stay by my side at all times, Johann. That way, I can turn to you whenever I see things. I must make you my Royal Adviser. Please speak to my bride to be. She is pretty, is she not?”

Struensee had been summoned to the office of Ove Hoegh-Guildberg, the head of the Privy Council, a thin, elderly grouch whose yellow, decaying teeth only added to his ridiculous appearance dressed, as he was, in the latest fashionable clothes designed for one much younger than he. His heavily powdered and rouged face served only to highlight the wrinkles and creases that adorned his aged countenance. Yet, such sway did he hold that none dared oppose him. Uninvited to sit, the German stood silently and patiently in front of the Councillor’s desk as he attended to various papers. His office, vast and elegantly furnished was even more impressive than the King’s salle privee.

“You are getting above yourself, Struensee. Royal Adviser? It is unheard of. You are not even Danish”.

“It is not a position I have requested, I assure you. It is the wish of the King”.

“The King!”, Guildberg spat. “That nincompoop is no more fit to rule than...”

“Than you, Guildberg? You are the de facto ruler, are you not?”

“I merely head the Council. We wish only the best for our nation”.

“Then you will not object to my accompanying the King at all times. Even you have to admit that the King has made great improvements under my care”.

“If you mean that he no longer plays with his penis in public, then I take my hat off to you but it will take more than that to allow the Council to concede authority on any serious matter. You were absent, this morning, I fear, when he had yet another outburst”.

“I was attending the Princess”.

“Indeed, something you seem to be doing far too much of, I’m told...”

“Hold your tongue, Guildberg. That is the future Queen of whom you speak".

“Very well but your patient had a fit of the giggles at morning prayers and ran up and down the aisle claiming to see God, himself. The man is mad and should be in an asylum; for his own good, if not the safety of others. If he acts like this tomorrow night when we receive the Russian Tsar and entourage, I fear that Council will delay no further...”

Struensee was shaken to hear this. Giving Hoegh-Guildberg a look of disdain, he exited the office. He found Christian in his candle-lit salle privee, playing with his armies of toy soldiers. Exasperated, he asked:

“Is it true, Highness, that you claim to have seen God at Chapel, this morning?”

“Uh, yes. But nobody would believe me. I saw him in all his glory, Johanns, atop his cross on Calvary...”

“Have I not told you to keep such visions to yourself, Highness?”

The German’s harsh tone made Christian bite his lower lip in distress. Immediately, Struensee felt remorse and, kneeling down beside the King, he peered through the dimness of the candle light and saw tears running from the Sovereign’s eyes, causing rivulets to form in the heavily powdered crust of his skin.

“It is true, isn’t it? I am quite mad”.

Struensee reached for the King’s hand, something he had never dared to do previously. He felt an overpowering sense of devotion to this poor wretch; a desire to help him against those that conspired to have him locked away forever.

“Highness, you are not mad. Fate has conspired against you. Nature has conspired against you. Now nefarious persons dare to conspire against you. You are a King. You must be regal. You must trust me, Highness. Tomorrow night, the Emperor of Russia is dining here. Your enemies, and there are many, hope that you will, once again, behave in such a way that will embarrass the court and force them to take action. Do you understand me, Highness? You must not give them any excuse. You must be regal”.

“You are my friend, Johanns. I trust you. You will be at my right hand side and watch over me. You are my Royal Adviser”.

The following evening, the royal banqueting room was arrayed in all its glory. The enormous table had been set for two hundred people. The cutlery was of the finest silver, gleaming in the candle light; the linen cloths and serviettes white as snow. All around the room, liveried manservants stood in between giant, gilded candle holders each displaying a dozen candles. As the guests took their seats, Guildberg was affronted to find that his normal place of honour on the right of the King had been usurped by Struensee. The German physician, unusually for him, was dressed in a powdered periwig, his cheeks lightly coated in rouge. As the Royal Adviser to the King, he meant to make the most of his position. On the King’s left sat his bride to be. At the opposite end of the table, the Tsar sat, his entourage all around him. Guildberg found his own placing to be situated, along with his fellow councillors, somewhere in the middle, no man’s land, and these elderly courtiers sat seething beneath their makeup.

As the food was served and many toasts were drunk, King Christian, who had, indeed, begun the evening acting regally, now seemed to be slowly unravelling. At first, he started to giggle quietly and Struensee discreetly quietened him by placing his hand upon the King’s knee, out of sight, under the table. As he partook of more of the Russian wine, gifted that evening by the Tsar, a lascivious look crossed his face as he stared, firstly at the beautiful English Princess, then at his Royal Adviser. The Princess was the first to notice these stares and looked appealingly across at the German doctor who seemed oblivious. Finally, the King turned to her and asked:

“Tell me, Princess, has he got a nice cock?”

The Princess looked at her husband to be in shock. Struensee, slightly inebriated and overwhelmed by being seated at such a prestigious banquet, next to a King and in the presence of the Tsar of Russia, no less, looked up in alarm. Those courtiers closer to this end of the table overheard the King’s lewd comment and word spread quickly down among the other guests. Struensee, once again, placed a discreet hand upon the King’s knee in a forlorn effort to silence him but was horrified as the King reached down and took the doctor’s hand and placed it on his erect penis. Struensee pulled away in disgust as the entire table of diners watched on.

“What, you only like royal fanny, Johanns? You have been fucking my future wife, have you not?’

“Highness, you must...”

“Must what, my trusted friend? My Royal Adviser? Act regally?”

Christian began giggling hysterically as the rest of the banqueting party looked on. Guildberg rose unsteadily from his seat and, gesturing, summoned the guards as he strode on his spindly legs to confront Struensee who had now stepped away from the table aghast at this turn of events.

“Councillor Guildberg, you will arrest this...German interloper. He is to be executed at dawn”.

The King commenced giggling yet again.

“Oh don’t worry, Johanns, one swift chop of the axe; you won’t feel a thing. And, as for you, my sweet, you’ll just have to do without your German sausage and settle for a nice bit of Danish ham”.

With the King in hysterics, Guildberg bowed to his monarch.

“Your wish is my command, my Liege”.

Struensee was too shaken to offer any resistance as he was led away to his doom.

The Russian Tsar rose from his seat at the end of the table and, for one brief moment, it looked as if he was about to protest at these happenings and intervene but, instead, he took his silver goblet and raised it in the direction of his counterpart at the opposite end. His fellow countrymen stood and did likewise as their leader spoke:

“King Christian of Denmark. Bravo!”