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Chapter 1
THE WINE TREADER
1.
On April 5, 1768, Johann Friedrich Struensee was appointed Royal Physician to King
Christian VII of Denmark, and four years later was executed.
Ten years after that, on September 21, 1782, by the time "the Struensee era"
had become a common expression, Robert Murray Keith, the British ambassador to Copenhagen,
reported to his government about an incident he had witnessed. He considered the incident
puzzling.
That was why he reported it.
He had attended a dramatic performance at the Royal Theater in Copenhagen. Also in the
audience was King Christian VII, along with Ove Høegh-Guldberg, the actual holder of
power in Denmark and in practice the absolute ruler.
He had assumed the title of "Prime Minister."
The report concerned Ambassador Keith's encounter with the King.
He begins with his impression of the King's appearance; Christian VII was only
thirty-three years old. "He looks as if he is already an old man, very short and
gaunt, with a sunken face, his smoldering eyes testifying to the sickly state of his
mind." He writes that before the performance the "mad" King Christian began
wandering around the audience, muttering, his face twitching oddly.
Gulberg kept a watchful eye on him the hole time.
The strange this was the relationship between them. It might be described as that of an
orderly and his patient, or a pair of siblings, or as if Guldberg were the father of an
unruly or sick child; but Keith uses the expression "almost loving."
At the same time, he writes that the two seemed to be united in an "almost
perverse way."
The perverse thing was not that these two, whom he knew had played such important roles
during the Danish revolution, then as enemies, were now dependent on each other in this
way. What was "perverse" was that the King behaved like a frightened but
obedient dog, and Guldberg his stern but loving master.
His Majesty acted as if he were cringing ingratiatingly, almost cowering. The members
of the courts showed no deference toward the monarch, but instead ignored him or retreated
with a laugh whenever he approached, as if they wished to avoid his embarrassing presence.
As if he were a difficult child they had tired of long ago.
The only one who took any notice of the King was Guldberg. The King consistently kept
three of four paces behind Guldberg, following him obsequiously, seeming anxious not to be
abandoned. Occasionally Guldberg, with a gesture or look, would give the King a small
signal. This happened whenever he muttered too loudly, behaved disruptively, or moved too
far away from Guldberg.
At the signal, King Christian would hastily and obediently "come scurrying."
Once, when the King's muttering was particularly disruptive and loud, Guldberg went
over to him, gently took him by the arm, and whispered something. The King began bowing
mechanically, over and over, with fitful, almost spastic movements, as if the Danish King
were a dog seeking to declare his utter submission and devotion to his beloved master. He
kept on bowing until Guldberg, with another whispered remark, brought the peculiar
movements of the royal personage to a halt.
Then Guldberg patted the King on the cheek and was in turn rewarded with a smile so
full of gratitude and submission that Ambassador Keith's eyes "filled with
tears." He writes that the scene was so charged with despair that it was almost
unbearable. He made note of Guldberg's kindness or, as he writes, "his willingness to
take responsibility for the ill little King," and that the contempt and derision
expressed by the rest of the audience were not evident in Guldberg. He seemed to be the
only one paying any heed to the King.
Yet there was one recurring expression in the report: "like a dog." The
absolute ruler of Denmark was treated like a dog. The difference was that Guldberg seems
to show a loving sense of responsibility for this dog.
"To see them together -- and both of them were physically of remarkably short and
stunted stature -- was for me a strange and unsettling experience, since all power in the
land, formally and practically, emanated from those two peculiar dwarfs."
The report dwells the most, however, on what happened during and after the theater
performance.
In the middle of the play, which was Le Méchant, a comedy by the French
playwright Gresset, King Christian suddenly got up from his seat in the front row,
staggered up onto the stage, and began behaving as if he were one of the actors. He tool
up an actor's pose and recited what might be assumed to be lines; the words "tracasserie"
and "anthropophagie" were the only ones distinguishable. Keith took
particular note of the latter, which he knew meant "cannibalism." It was clear
that the King was strongly engaged in the play and believed himself to be one of the
actors, but Guldberg calmly went up on stage and kindly took the King by the hand. The
monarch fell silent at once and allowed himself to be led back to his seat.
The audience, which consisted solely of members of the court, seemed accustomed to this
type of interruption. No one reacted with consternation. Scattered laughter could be
heard.
After the performance, wine was served. Keith then happened to be standing near the
King. The monarch turned to Keith, whom he had apparently recognized as the British
ambassador, and made a stammering attempt to explain the central theme of the drama.
"The King told me that the play was about evil existing to such a high degree among
members of the court that they resembled apes or devils. They rejoiced at others'
misfortunes and grieved over their successes; this was what was called, in the time of the
druids, cannibalism, anthropophagie. That was why we found ourselves among
cannibals."
The King's "outburst," coming as it did from a madman, was extraordinarily
well formulated from a linguistic point of view.
Keith had merely nodded with an expression of interest, as if everything the King said
was interesting and sensible. He did note, however, that Christian had not given an
entirely incorrect analysis of the satirical content of the play.
The King had spoken in a whisper, as if confiding an important secret to Keith.
Guldberg, from a distance of a few yards, kept a watchful or uneasy eye on their
conversation. Slowly he approached them.
Christian noticed this and tried to end their conversation. Raising his voice, almost
as if in provocation, he exclaimed:
"They're lying. Lying! Brandt was a clever but wild man. Struensee was a fine man.
I wasn't the one who killed them. Do you understand?"
Keith merely bowed in silence.
Christian then added:
"But he's alive! They think he was executed! But Struensee is alive. Do you know
that?"
By this time Guldberg had come so close that he could here the last words. He took a
firm grip on the King's arm and with a stony but soothing smile he said:
"Struensee is dead, Your Majesty. We know that, don't we? Dont we know that?
We've agreed on that, haven't we? Haven't we?"
His tone was kindly but reproving. Christian immediately began his strange, mechanical
bowing again but then stopped and said:
"But people talk about the Struensee era, don't they? Not about the Guldberg era.
Struensee's era!!! How odd!!!"
For a moment Guldberg looked at the King in silence, as if he had been struck dumb and
didn't know what to say. Keith noted that he seemed tense or distressed; then Guldberg
pulled himself together and said quite calmly:
"His Majesty must compose himself. We think His Majesty must soon retire for the
night, to sleep. We are quite sure of this."
He then gave a signal with his hand and withdrew. Christian started up his manic bowing
again, but then stopped; as if in thought, he turned toward Ambassador Keith and in a
voice that was completely calm and collected said:
"I'm in danger. That's why I must seek out my benefactress who is the Sovereign of
the Universe."
A few minutes later he was gone. This was the incident, in its entirety, as British
Ambassador Keith reported it to his government.
Excerpted from THE ROYAL PHYSICIAN’S VISIT © Copyright 2001 by Per Olov Enquist. Reprinted with permission by The Overlook Press. All rights reserved.
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