Survival and Revival in Sweden's Court and Monarchy, 1718–1930 3030526461, 9783030526467

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PALGRAVE STUDIES IN MODERN MONARCHY

Survival and Revival in Sweden’s Court and Monarchy, 1718–1930 Fabian Persson

Palgrave Studies in Modern Monarchy Series Editors Axel Körner University College London London, UK Heather Jones London School of Economics London, UK Heidi Mehrkens University of Aberdeen Aberdeen, UK Frank Lorenz Müller University of St Andrews St Andrews, UK

The death of Louis XVI on the scaffold in 1793 did not mark the beginning of the end of monarchy. What followed was a Long Nineteenth Century during which monarchical systems continued to be politically and culturally dominant both in Europe and beyond. They shaped political cultures and became a reference point for debates on constitutional government as well as for understandings of political liberalism. Within multinational settings monarchy offered an alternative to centralised national states. Not even the cataclysms of the twentieth century could wipe monarchy completely off the political, mental and emotional maps. Palgrave Studies in Modern Monarchy reflects the vibrancy of research into this topic by bringing together monographs and edited collections exploring the history of monarchy in Europe and the world in the period after the end of the ancien régime. Committed to a scholarly approach to the royal past, the series is open in terms of geographical and thematic coverage, welcoming studies examining any aspect of any part of the modern monarchical world. More information about this series at http://www.palgrave.com/gp/series/14609

Fabian Persson

Survival and Revival in Sweden’s Court and Monarchy, 1718–1930

Fabian Persson Linnaeus University Oxford, Oxfordshire, UK

Palgrave Studies in Modern Monarchy ISBN 978-3-030-52646-7    ISBN 978-3-030-52647-4 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52647-4 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Acknowledgements

There are books which are your companions through life, comforting and sustaining, bringing joy and light. Then there are the unfinished books which clamour for attention and test your love to the limits. Survival and Revival has emerged from my copious notes, copies, and photographs to take on a life of its own, and with luck to become a less needy companion. Many people have been important to the research and writing of this book, and without them I would not be ready to launch Survival and Revival. My parents, both sociologists, have left their mark on this book in too many ways to count. It is a great sorrow that my father Rune Persson is not here to see it completed, and his humour, warmth, and critical eye remain an inspiration. My mother Ann-Mari Sellerberg has been, by turns, encouraging and usefully insistent that I finish. Many of my sources are in Stockholm, and my siblings have all patiently put up with visits from their archive-bound brother. My friend Peter Ullgren has both cheered me on and led by example with his own boundless enthusiasm for writing. Late Angela Rundquist was also very helpful and encouraging. Over the years two heads of Slottsarkivet, Jan Brunius and Mats Hemström, have been helpful and knowledgeable in the many happy hours I’ve spent in the depths of the Palace. I wish to thank the many archivists and librarians at Riksarkivet, Rigsarkivet, Kungliga biblioteket, and Uppsala and Lund University libraries for their kind help. I am also grateful to His Majesty Carl XVI Gustaf for permission to consult the Bernadotte Archive, whose librarian Arvid Jakobsson has been an unflagging support. v

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Acknowledgements

This book is in part the result of a project funded by Riksbankens Jubileumsfond, for which I owe a debt of gratitude. That Linnaeus University has kindly allowed me to take leave to focus on research and writing has been immensely important. Natalia Nowakowska has been very kind and supportive, and Somerville College, Oxford, with its friendly atmosphere and marvellous library is a place I love, now rivalled in my affections by Wolfson College and the Bodleian. Janet Dickinson has been of crucial importance in ushering this book to completion, serving tea, encouragement, and stern truths in equal measure. With her expert knowledge and sometimes trenchant comments, Charlotte Merton has helped whip the English into shape. All remaining Fabianisms are my own. Helen Whittow helped translate weird Swedish eighteenth-century doggerel into English. Oxford, June 2020

Contents

1 Resilient European Courts: An Introduction  1 2 Reviving a Battered Court and Monarchy 25 3 Expansion and Differentiation: Space at Court 73 4 The Court as the World105 5 Winners and Losers in the Politics of Familiarity133 6 Survival and Revolutions165 7 Living Etiquette193 8 Ties of Honour235 9 The Rift Between Monarchy and Nobility257 10 Magnificent, Engaging, or Remote285 Epilogue313

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CONTENTS

Glossary of Court Positions319 References321 Author Index343 Place Index345 Subject Index347

List of Figures

Fig. 2.1

Fig. 3.1

Fig. 3.2

Fig. 3.3 Fig. 3.4

Fig 4.1

The dazzling Prussian Princess Lovisa Ulrika was hard working and intelligent. She helped rebuild the court but was also the prime mover in the disaster of the failed 1756 coup. (Credit line: Antoine Pesne, Lovisa Ulrika, Copyright Nationalmuseum (Stockholm)) 59 An expert performer with a love for etiquette, Gustaf III took meticulous care in organising ceremonies and his court. (Credit line: Johan Tobias Sergel, Gustaf III, Copyright Nationalmuseum (Stockholm)) 79 The new royal palace in Stockholm was close to anything and anyone that mattered. Here is a view of the royal palace from the residence of the Fersen family. (Credit line: Elias Martin, Stockholm Palace (“Stockholmsvy. Utsikt från Fersenska terrassen”), Copyright Nationalmuseum (Stockholm)) 83 List of people given the coveted entrées to various royal rooms. (Credit line: List of Entrées, Copyright Timothy Cox) 85 The introduction of regular levés in 1773, illustrated how the King was the centre of power yet again after the 1772 coup. (Credit line: State Bed Chamber, created late eighteenth century, Copyright Riksantikvarieämbetet (Stockholm)) 86 The dashing seventeen year old aristocrat Fabian Wrede entered the world in 1777 when he became a courtier. (Credit line: J A Gillberg, Fabian Wrede, Svenska Porträttarkivet, Copyright Nationalmuseum (Stockholm)) 108

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List of Figures

Fig 4.2

Fig 4.3

Fig 4.4

Fig. 5.1

Fig. 6.1

Fig 6.2

Fig. 6.3

The portrait oozes the self confidence of a young aristocrat at seventeen who had been presented at court and could wear the court dress including the coveted sleeves. Sigrid Wrede, the sister of Fabian, soon made a brilliant match in the petty-minded old Chancellor Fredrik Sparre. (Credit line: Lorens Pasch the Younger, Sigrid Wrede, 1780, Copyright Bukowskis Auction House (Stockholm)) 113 Caricature of a Cour reception. Gustaf III is the preening peacock surrounded by courtiers with the Queen unkindly portrayed as a goose and the other members of the royal family as small birds. (Credit line: Carl August Ehrensvärd, Fåglar vid hovet. En karikatyr, Copyright Nationalmuseum (Stockholm))116 The King and members of his court reading and occupied with drawing and needlework in 1779. They are all dressed in the new court uniform and the King’s cousin, Catherine the Great looks on as a bust. (Credit line: Pehr Hilleström, Lektyr på Drottningholms slott, 1779, Copyright Bodil Beckman/ Nationalmuseum (Stockholm)) 122 Pages were expected to sleep in close proximity to the monarch, which could create possibilities of power. This chest of drawers by Georg Haupt elegantly disguises a bed. (Credit line: Chest of Drawers for a Page to sleep in at Ekolsund Palace, 1770s, Copyright Husgerådskammaren/the Royal Court (Stockholm))148 Charles XIV John was born a commoner but became an autocrat known for his bed chamber rule in later years, when he would stay in bed and make decisions. (Credit line: Carl Stefan Bennet, Bed Chamber Rule (“Karl XIV Johans “sängkammarregemente”), 1840s, Copyright Nationalmuseum (Stockholm)) 183 Only a select circle gained entrance to the King. Here he is working in his study. (Credit line: Carl Stefan Bennet, King Working in his Study, 1840s, Copyright Nationalmuseum (Stockholm))184 The autocratic Charles XIV John stayed with constitutional boundaries but his solitary regal bearing demonstrated a monarch determined on personal rule. (Credit line: Carl Stefan Bennet, Charles XIV John with Aide de Camps, (“Karl XIV Johan tillsammans med en adjutant i Karl XI:s galleri på Stockholms slott”), 1845, Copyright Nationalmuseum (Stockholm)186

  List of Figures 

Fig. 6.4

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Monarchs were still performing after their death at the lit de parade. Here the King is accompanied by his devoted courtier Count Brahe who was dying himself with consumption. (Credit line: Karl XIV Johan på Lit de Parade, Copyright Skoklosters slott) 189 Fig. 7.1 Dining in public had become a weekly feature of court life since 1754, and was highly regulated according to rank. Only the King and his family are eating and only a few women are given the right to use a tabouret. (Credit line: Pehr Hilleström, Repas public, Le Jour de l’An 1779, Copyright Nationalmuseum (Stockholm)) 206 Fig. 7.2 Anders Emanuel Müller, Leonhard von Hauswolff, copyright Norrköpings Konstmuseum/Mats Arvidsson 223 Fig. 10.1 The distribution of coins at the funeral of Charles XIV John was just one of many occasions when people were scandalised by the the ugly fighting over money at a royal ceremony. (Ferdinand Tollin, Begrafningspenningarne eller Kalabaliken vid slottsbacken, 1844, Kungliga biblioteket (National Library of Sweden) KoB Sv. HP. C.XIV J. A. 23) 291 Fig. 10.2 Magnus Lagerberg dressed up in a uniform for a nobleman for his first audience with Charles XV. (Magnus Lagerberg, Kungliga biblioteket (National Library of Sweden), MS, L 106:40:4)299 Fig. 10.3 Pomp and circumstance were still part of opening of parliamentary and tickets to watch the event were sought after. (Oscar II opens the Swedish parliament 1905, in Oscar II. En Lefvnadsteckning by Andreas Hasselgren, (Fröleen: Stockholm, 1908)) 302 Fig. 10.4 Oscar II excelled at the public duties performing in front of people even though he did not want to be a “jubilee king”. Magazines did make fun of the royal posing and the sycophantic behaviour his presence brought forth. (Oscar II waving from a train, 1894, in Söndagsnisse 1894 vol.44) 304

Dramatis Personae

Erik Reinhold Adelswärd (1778–1840). Courtier and diarist. Successful but still felt that he got the short end. Georg Adlersparre (1760–1835). Officer and leading rebel in 1809. Lorentz Jacob Adlerstedt (1699–1756). Witty courtier who was outwitted by Carl Gustaf Cederhielm. Humiliated by taunts of rancid butter from farms for which he was tenant. Adolf Frederick (1710–71). King of Sweden 1751–71. Married to Queen Lovisa Ulrika. Unhappy with diminished royal power but lacked the skills to remedy the situation. Instead enjoyed turning wood and building the maison de plaisance China for his wife. Died of a stroke after a meal of lobster, caviar, sauerkraut, kippers, and champagne with a pudding of numerous servings of buns in hot milk. Samuel Åkerhielm (1684–1768). Chief Marshal of the court from 1741 to 1747. Carl Gustaf Eickstedt d’Albedyhll (1800–56). Chief Master of Ceremonies. Alcmène (fl.1758). Dog of Crown Prince Gustaf. John James Appleton (1792–1864). American Chargé d’affaires in Stockholm. Gustaf Mauritz Armfelt (1757–1814). The great favourite of Gustaf III.  Charming, playful, and entertaining with a reckless streak. Also referred to by enemies as The Elephant because his increasing bulk made that joke apposite for a holder of the Order of the Elephant.

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Badin (ca.1747–1822). Of African descent and born in the West Indies. A present to the Queen when about ten in 1757. Serving the royal family for decades he became a trusted retainer. Johan Christopher Georg Barfod (1753–1829). Scribbler who also worked as a police informer. Corfitz Beck-Friis (1824–97). Courtier. Lars Benzelstierna (1719–1800). Bishop and obsequious to a ridiculous degree. Duchess Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotte described how she asked about a tomb she admired: ‘If Your Royal Highness commands it is Count Brahe’s tomb, but if Your Royal Highness commands it is the tomb of the Posse family. It is as Your Royal Highness commands’. Johan Georg von Beutman (fl.1751). Lieutenant Colonel and adventurous physician. Invented golden drops that appear to have been mainly opium. Nils Adam Bielke (1724–92). Courtier and served Crown Prince Gustaf as his dearly loved ‘Becka’. Jacob Biörnstedt (−1726). Wardrobe Clerk 1683–1691, then Furnishings Master 1692–1726, and ‘lived and died among old clothes, worn out tapestry, dust, and vermin’. Ennobled 1719. Benjamin Bloomfield, 1st Baron Bloomfield (1768–1846). British Minister in Stockholm. Before that a rather hapless Secretary to George IV. Late in life embraced Methodism which may seem an overly severe punishment for previous missteps. Johan Bollman (fl.1719). Kitchen Boy who served without salary. Presumably related to the Kitchen Boy Peter Bollman. Carl Borgenstierna (1755–1816). Mother and grandfather served at court. Began as Page and then went on to other positions. Enthusiastic Freemason. François Claude Amour Bouillé (1739–1800). French Marquis and General in the ancien régime. Given a nominal military rank in Sweden. Mentioned as an evil royalist in the Marseillaise. Magnus Brahe (1790–1844). Passionately loyal favourite of Charles XIV John. Crucial in the distribution of patronage. Countess Ulrika Catharina Brahe née Koskull (1759–1805). Striking beauty who bagged the first count in the Swedish aristocracy. Carl Braunjohan (1680–1759). Courtier who excelled at tennis. Erland Broman (1704–57). Favourite of Frederick I. Louis de Camps (1767–1844). From Pau and childhood friend of Charles XIV John. ADC to Charles John.

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Carl von Cardell (1764–1821). Ennobled artillery officer from Pomerania. Pehr Cederfelt (1751–41). From a poor noble family and then Page. Married a Chamberer of the Duchess. Carl Gustaf Cederhielm (1693–1740). Courtier and famous wit. Lived his last sixteen years in the debtor’s prison Le Châtelet in Paris where he became a celebrity visited by Swedes passing by. Bror Cederström (1754–1816). Favourite. Managed to survive the regime change in 1792. Called Little Bror because of his tiny stature and probably his small mind. Bror Cederström (1780–1877). In 1788, he was given the ‘survivance’ of his father as Court Marshal. When he was twelve in 1793, he succeeded formally to the office of Court Marshal. Fredrik Cederström (1731–74). Officer in the Guards. Charles XIII (1748–1818). King of Sweden 1809–18. Married to Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta. Freemason. Charles XIV (1763–1844). King of Sweden 1818–44. Married to Desirée. Rose from humble beginnings in French Pau to Napoleonic Marshal to Swedish King. Remarkably adaptable to his new dignity and with considerable charm. Charles XV (1826–72). King of Sweden 1759–72. Married to Lovisa. Liked to strike poses in military uniform and to paint. In his short reign, royal power dissipated fast. Charles August (1768–1810). Danish prince who was chosen as Swedish crown prince after the coup d’état in 1809. Died of a stroke in 1810. Charles Frederick of Holstein (1700–39). Duke of Holstein, nephew of Queen Ulrika Eleonora, and raised at the Swedish court. Married the daughter of Tsar Peter the Great. The spectre of him succeeding to the crown hung over his resentful aunt. Christian IV of (Birkenfeld-) Zweibrücken (1722–75). Duke of Pfalz-­ Zweibrücken 1740–75. Queen Ulrika Eleonora’s favoured candidate for the Swedish throne and was given a Swedish governor to direct his education. He ruled his little German principality well and had an interest in the arts. Eleonora Clauson Kaas (1778–1823). Lady of the Palace in Norway as the wife of a professor of surgery that would have been impossible in Sweden. Henrik Julius Coyet (1773–1828). Page. Ernst Johan Creutz (1675–1742). Courtier and later Royal Councillor.

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Dramatis Personae

Gustaf Philip Creutz (1731–85). Courtier, diplomat, and poet. Christina Cronhielm (née Rålamb) (1748–1824). Daughter of the courtier Hans Gustaf Rålamb. As a poor widow she was appointed Lady of the Palace by the Queen Dowager which outraged the King. Carl Olof Cronstedt (1756–1820). Secretary of State. Later surrendered the fortress Sveaborg to the Russians, thereby gaining a reputation as an arch traitor. Isac Cronström (1661–1751). Most of his career was as a Dutch officer. Magnus Jacob Crusenstolpe (1795–1865). Indomitable writer and hell raiser. Georg Johan De Besche (1754–1818). Page and later Court Marshal. Great favourite of Gustaf IIII, he was renowned for his greed in peddling patronage. Carl De Geer (1781–1861). Courtier and prominent politician. Charles De Geer (1747–1805). Chamber Gentleman to Lovisa Ulrika. Later politician in opposition to Gustaf III. Magnus Julius De la Gardie (166(9?)–1741). Chief Marshal and head of the court. Renowned for his aristocratic lifestyle which included being attended on by noble pages. Jacob Gustaf De la Gardie (1768–1842). Courtier. Desirée (1777–1860). Queen and Married to Charles XIV John. Daughter of a silk merchant in Marseilles. Always intended to return to her beloved Paris and never did. Increasingly nocturnal. Dunder, Ander Andersson (1809–1906). Visited Stockholm as a nine-­ year-­old boy at the time of the 1818 coronation. Later soldier. Madame d’Egmont (1740–73). French aristocrat who kept a salon. Corresponded with Gustaf III. Gustaf Ehrenborg (1824–83). Courtier and great admirer of Queen Josephine. Magnus Gabriel Ehrenstam (1721–57). Vice Master of Ceremonies 1748–57. Heavily in debt which caused his credit worthiness to collapse. Gustaf Johan Ehrensvärd (1746–83). Diarist and courtier. Claes Ekeblad (1708–71). Chief Marshal and leading Hat politician. Claes Julius Ekeblad (1742–1808). Diarist and courtier. Son of Claes Ekeblad. Cathinka Falbe (1813–93). Norwegian Maid of Honour serving Queen Desirée together with her sister Christiana (Jana) Falbe. Christoffer Falkengréen (1722–89). Officer in the navy and Councillor.

 Dramatis Personae 

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Axel von Fersen (1719–94). Leading Hat politician before the 1772 coup. His family became a pre-eminent court family. Son of Hans von Fersen. Axel von Fersen (1755–1810). Courtier with a dazzling career. One of the organisers of the failed attempt to free the French royal family in 1791. Lynched at the funeral of Charles August in 1810. Son of Axel von Fersen. Fabian von Fersen (1762–1818). Courtier. Son of Axel von Fersen. Hans von Fersen (1683–1736). Born in Reval and had a distinguished career. Lovisa von Fersen née Piper (1777–1849). Chief Court Mistress. Sophie Fersen (1757–1816). Married the courtier Adolf Ludvig Piper. Was a close friend of Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta at whose she also served for some time. Daughter of Axel von Fersen. Johan Fischerström (1736–96). Writer angling for a job. Carl Fleetwood (1859–92). Reluctant courtier and diarist. Claes Fleming (1771–1831). Courtier. Favourite of Gustaf IV but very cautious. Magnus Flinck (1758–1814). Law man and tutor to the page Werner von Schwerin. Made an excellent career and did not hesitate using his connections. Married into a landed estate. Louis Flichet (1772–). Under Stable Master. French and arrived on the coat tails of Charles XIV John. Samuel af Forselles (1757–1814). Page and favourite of Gustaf III. Alphonse Toussaint Joseph André Marie Marseille de Fortia de Piles (1758–1826) and Pierre Marie de Boisgelin de Kerdu (1758–1816). French noblemen and émigrés writing descriptions of their travels. Carl Franc (1693–1740). Courtier. Married to Maid of Honour Josepha Pflugk. Carl Fredrik Fredenheim (1748–1803). Master of Ceremonies and Chief Intendent. Caring for the King’s art collection. Frederica (1781–1826). Queen and married to Gustaf IV.  Princess of Baden. Struggled to adapt to her role in Sweden, but after the 1809 coup displayed fortitude in exile. Frederick I (1676–1751) King of Sweden, 1720–51. Married to Queen Ulrika Eleonora, he was a German Prince who never learned any Swedish and was later seen as lacking interest in government. In reality, he tried to strengthen royal power at the beginning of his reign and took an active part in government for many years until incapacitated by

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Dramatis Personae

i­llness, when a dry stamp was used as his signature. His devotion to hunting and young women was never in doubt. Frederick Adolph (1750–1803). Younger son of Adolf Frederick. A handsome cipher who easily fell in love. Count Carl Gustaf Frölich (1637–1714). Royal Councillor. David Gustaf Frölich (1757–1825). Court Master of the Stables and speaker of atrocious French. Ernest de Cadoine, Marquis de Gabriac (1792–1865). French aristocrat and Page of Napoleon. Jakob Gadolin (1719–1802). Bishop in Åbo. Niklas Peter von Gedda (1675–1758). Diplomat and politician with wide ranging interests. Fredrik Gram (1735–90). Circuit Judge in the southern province of Scania. Claes Wilhelm Grönhagen (1732–77). Courtier and politician. Gustaf III (1746–92). King of Sweden 1771–92. Married to Sophia Magdalena. Increased royal power through coups in 1772 and 1789. Eloquent and imaginative, but not always realistic. Gustaf IV (1778–1837). King of Sweden 1792–1809. Unlike his father, Gustaf III not a talented politician. Died in exile in Switzerland. Gustaf V (1858–1950). King of Sweden 1907–50. Married to Victoria. Liked silver, embroidery, moose hunt, and lawn tennis and ceased most of his political interventions after 1917. Anton Gyldenstolpe (1801–57). Conservative courtier. Nils Philip Gyldenstolpe (1734–1810). Smooth long-time courtier who was fond of the bottle. Carl Gyllenborg (1679–1746). Founder of the Hat party. Carl Gyllenstierna (1649–1723). Lifelong courtier and in the 1720s, a relic of the old days at court. Carl Adolf Gyllenstierna (1699–1733). The Queen’s second cousin and Chamber Gentleman. Stabbed to death. Carl Gustaf Güntherfelt (1672–1738). Court Master of the Stables. Hands shot off by a cannon ball and had mechanic hands made in Paris. A long time in Russian captivity. Henrik Häckel (fl.1707–30s). Captain and part of introducing stricter limits to access to the royals in the 1730s. Adolf Ludvig Hamilton (1747–1802). Courtier who wrote malicious anecdotes on the court of Gustaf III.

 Dramatis Personae 

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Countess Johanna Maria Hamilton née af Petersen (1760–1838). Lady of the Palace. Born in the new mercantile nobility and maltreated by the Queen. John Hugo Hamilton (1752–1805). Long-time courtier serving Duchess Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta. Raised in Geneva and France and extremely Francophile. Carl Hårleman (1700–53). Courtier and architect. Married the Queen’s favourite Henrika von Liewen. Leonhard von Hauswolff (1746–1826). A sharp observer and a master of etiquette. Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta (1759–1818). Married Duke Charles, eventually Charles XIII, and thus Queen of Sweden. Wrote a valuable diary. Fredrik Vilhelm von Hessenstein (1735–1808). Son of Frederick I and Hedvig Taube. Eventually made Prince by Gustaf III. Gustaf Adolf Hjärne (1715–1805). Royal Councillor. Suffered from order envy. Anders Johan von Höpken (1712–89). Father of Eleonore and Anders Johan. Hat politician of many talents and much admired. Anders Johan von Höpken (1765–1826). Unlike his many relatives, his career was lacklustre and he left service as a mere Ensign. Eleonore von Höpken (1755–93). Married the wealthy magnate Charles De Geer. Count Adam Horn (1717–78). Chief Marshal and chief of the court. Son of Arvid Horn. Managed to lose his fortune. Baroness Anna Margareta Horn née Plomgren (1734–82). Daughter of wealthy merchant Plomgren. Eloped with Baron Fredrik Horn who had a keen eye for her inheritance. Countess Anna Catharia Horn née Meijerfeldt (1722–79). Married to Adam Horn and daughter to Johan August Meijerfeldt. Impressed through grand courtly manners and jewellery. Was mentally unstable for many years. Arvid Horn (1664–1742). Dominant politician in Sweden from 1720 to 1738. His adherents were eventually called the Cap party. Fredrik Horn (1725–96). Served in the military part of the court for many years. Count Gustaf Adolf Horn (1754–1816). Colonel without a decoration. Deeply frustrated.

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Dramatis Personae

Josephine (1807–76). Queen of Sweden and daughter of Napoleon’s step-­ son Eugène de Beauharnais. Married to Oscar I.  Admired both for beauty and for her adherence to duty. Johann Friedrich Friedolin von Kageneck (1741–1800). Austrian minister in Sweden embroiled in the conflict about hand kissing. Uncle to Metternich. Pehr Kalling (1700–95). Royal Councillor and Cap politician. Got entangled in problems with his Russian chivalric order. Samuel Klingenstierna (1698–1765). Tutor of the Crown Prince Gustaf. His lackey hoped to get on in life. Ernst Traugott von Kortum (1742–1811). Polish-German masonic mystic as well as Austrian official and anti-Semitic scribbler. Presented at court in 1770, but complained about not being invited to meals. Gustaf Koskull (1782–1842). Flourished as an ADC to Charles XIV and brother to Mariana Koskull. Mariana Koskull (1785–1841). Maid of Honour and later Lady of Honour. Influential mistress of Charles XIII and Charles XIV.  When Queen Desirée finally came to Sweden, she retired from court to the house she had been given at the royal deer park of Djurgården. Axel Johan Kurck (1719–73). Chamber Gentleman. Knut Kurck (1761–1831). Son of Axel Johan Kurck. In opposition to the King but later courtier. Elise La Flotte (−1815). Frenchwoman serving Crown Princess Desirée. Generally disliked in Sweden. Magnus Lagerberg (1844–1920). Deeply royalist courtier. Had an insatiable hunger for chivalric orders without doing much to deserve them. Gustaf Lagerbielke (1777–37). Courtier and later Minister. Nursed his grievances against Gustaf IV and Queen Frederica. Jean-Baptiste Landé (−1748). Arranged theatre and ballets. After a stint in Dresden, he was active in Sweden 1721–28. Later, he worked at the Russian court which included giving lessons to the future Catherine the Great. A famous trick in Stockholm was Landé jumping from one of the boxes down to the scene. Johanna von Lantingshausen née von Stockenström (1754–1809). Born into the new mercantile nobility. Married into older aristocracy. Close friend of Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta and enemy of Gustaf III. Axel Gabriel Leijonhufvud (1717–89). Courtier and later County Governor. Carl August Leijonhufvud (1760–1841). Page in the 1770s.

 Dramatis Personae 

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Adolf Lewenhaupt (1745–91). Chief Court Master of the Stables. Casimir Lewenhaupt (1827–1905). Got in troubles when he declined an order. Gustaf Lewenhaupt (1780–1844). Chief Court Master of the Stables after his father, 1791. Carolina Lewenhaupt (1754–1826). Witty, cultured, and utterly aristocratic Chief Court Mistress. At her death, a courtier said she for the last time displayed her tact by making room for someone the royal family preferred in her place. Carl Gustaf Liewen (1722–70). From a prominent court family. Long suffering Cavalier in attendance on the young Prince Charles. Later County Governor. Johan Liljencrantz (1730–1815). Born a commoner but ennobled and made a baron. Capable Minister of Finance and ridiculed as an upstart. Carl Wilhelm Lilliecrona (1794–1856). Aristocratic hack. Lillia (fl.1723). Life Guard in trouble 1723. Joakim Vilhelm Lilliestråle (1721–1807). Ennobled climber. Jacob Lindblom (1746–1819). Ruthless manager of patronage and contacts. Swedish Archbishop. Sara Andréetta Linderstedt née Adlerberg (1741–96). Made a faux pax at court in 1765. Axel Lindhielm (1683–1758). Favourite of Frederick I. Go-between for the ailing old King and the Council. Carl Gustaf Löwenhielm (1701–68). Persuaded the King to give him an office in 1729 and rose to become Councillor. A member of the Hat party but later switched to the Caps. Lovisa (1828–71). Queen of Sweden and Dutch Princess. Married to the habitual philanderer Charles XV which was not easy for this shy, socially awkward woman. Lovisa Ulrika (1720–82). Queen and married Adolf Frederick. Prussian Princess and sister to Frederick the Great. Dazzling but more admired than liked. She had both a strong sense of duty and a rather vicious streak. Johan August Meijerfelt (1664–1749). General and Councillor with estates in Swedish Pomerania. Johan August Meijerfeldt (1725–1800). Field Marshal. Son of Johan August Meijerfeldt. Jacob Moell (1714–64). Valet of Crown Prince Gustaf until 1760. Son of a curate and married a noblewoman. Persecuted by his young master. Died insane.

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Dramatis Personae

Count Nicolas Alexis Gabriel Montrichard (1759–). French émigré serving at the Swedish court. Adolf Fredrik Munck (1749–1831). Highly favoured courtier who helped Gustaf III and Sophia Magdalena consummate their marriage. Later in disgrace and exile for counterfeiting currency. A bit of a chancer. Baron Münster (fl.1770s). Geheimerat in Cologne and acted for the impoverished last member of the Wasaborg family (illegitimate cadet branch of the Vasa dynasty). Then tried to become a courtier, but had to escape Stockholm because of mounting debts. Fredrik von Nackreij (1806–59). Groom of the Chamber and an embarrassment as a tobacconist. Olof von Nackreij (1728–83). Career-minded love rat. Managed to become County Governor. Johan Otto Nauckhoff (1788–1849). Courtier who later wrote unflattering memoirs of his time serving Charles XIV John. Adolf Erik Nordenskiöld (1832–1901). Explorer. Ulrik Nordenskjöld (1750–1810). Court Gentleman. Karl Friedrich Ludwig von Nostitz-Rieneck (1752–). Prussian Minister in Sweden. Paul Athanase Fouché, Duc d’Otrante (1801–86). Son of Napoleon’s Minister of Police, Fouché. Chamber Gentleman at the Swedish court. Oscar I (1799–1859). King of Sweden 1844–59. Married to Josephine. Conscientious but awkward and lacking his father Charles XIV John’s easy manner and charm. Changed from liberal to conservative. Oscar II (1829–1907). King of Sweden 1844–59. Son of Oscar I. Married to Sophia. Saw power slip through his fingers and had to accept reality. Great, though somewhat pompous, speaker and could act the monarch to perfection in public. Johan Gabriel Oxenstierna (1750–1818). Long-time courtier and poet in constant need of money. Wrote endless lyrical poetry as well as witty short epigrams and diaries. Carl Otto Palmstierna (1790–1878). Arch conservative courtier. Nils Fredrik Palmstierna (1788–1865). Arch conservative courtier. Lorens Pasch the younger (1733–1805). Painter. Carl Adrian Peyron (1757–84). Favourite of Gustaf III.  Killed in a duel in Paris. Charles Adolph Peyron (1781–1807). At the age of three made Court Gentleman at his father’s death but never served. Lived with English

 Dramatis Personae 

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relatives and died as a Captain of the East India Company in the Bengal Cavalry in 1807. Countess Elisabeth Charlotta Piper née Ruuth (1787–1860). Chief Court Mistress for Crown Princess Josephine. Constans af Pontin (1819–52). Chamber Gentleman outranking his professors as a student. Arvid Posse (1792–1850). Head of the court and Prime Minister 1840 and 1846–48. Claes Fredrik Posse (1785–1839). Courtier and Court Marshal for Crown Prince Oscar. Mentally fragile. Nils Posse (1739–1818). Veteran courtier and Chief Chamber Gentleman. Count Georg Potocki (fl.1790s). Polish diplomat to Stockholm. Stayed there after the end of Poland in 1795. Claes Rålamb (1705–65). Chamber Gentleman banned from court after being found in Hedvig Taube’s chamber. Hans Gustaf Rålamb (1716–90). Veteran courtier involved in royalist plots as well as author of what has been called the first more realist Swedish novel. Ulrika Eleonora Rålamb (née Düben) (1769–1847). Maid of Honour. Married Claes Rålamb, a veteran courtier of a happy disposition but like Winnie the Pooh of limited brain. Countess Rålamb herself, however, had both brains and ambition. Carl Gustaf Rehnschiöld (1651–1722). Field Marshal. In Russian captivity for a decade. Magnus Christian Retzius (1795–1871). Physician. Carl Fredrik Reuterhielm (1752–1830). Courtier. Axel Reuterholm (1714–63). Young diarist and later courtier. Gustaf Adolf Reuterholm (1756–1813). Courtier tickled by Gustaf III and later an enemy of the same. Very influential when his friend Duke Charles was regent. Vilhelmina Ribbing (1728–65). Maid of Honour. Married to Anders Johan Höpken. Fredrik Ridderstolpe (1730–1816). Courtier with expertise in etiquette. Johann Helmich Roman (1694–1764). The father of Swedish music and member of the Court Chapel. Lars von Röök (1778–1867). Page and later Court Gentleman. Devoted himself to arts and antiquities. Count Mathias Rosenblad (1758–1847). Loyal servant of kings and the equivalent of Prime Minister from 1829 to 1840. Nepotistic tendencies.

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Dramatis Personae

Nils von Rosenstein (1752–1824). Tutor to Crown Prince Gustaf Adolf and Member of the Swedish Academy. Victor Rydberg (1828–95). Writer. Johan Gabriel Sack (1697–1751). Courtier and brother-in-law of Carl Gustaf Tessin. Princess Maria Teresa von Salm-Reifferscheid (1757–1830). Married to Johann Friedrich Count von Kageneck. Joachim-Otto Schack-Rathlou (1728–1800). Danish diplomat in Stockholm. Carl Fredrik Scheffer (1715–86). Governor with the responsibility of the education of Crown Prince Gustaf. David Schinkel (1743–1807). Successful merchant given the Order of the Vasa. Elis Schröderheim (1747–95). Son to a bishop and ennobled. Witty and imaginative Secretary of State under Gustaf III. Known for corruption and simony. Hans Niclas Schwan (1764–1829). Merchant and Director of the Swedish East India Company. The first commoner appointed to be a royal minister in 1828. Werner von Schwerin (1772–1840). His good looks as Page were much admired and got him in favour with Gustaf Adolf Reuterholm. Anders Fredrik Skjöldebrand (1757–1834). Author of funny but not completely reliable memoirs. Upstart and knew it. Sophia (1836–1913). Queen of Sweden married to Oscar II.  Suffered from health problems and low church. Efficient organiser. Sophia Magdalena (1746–1813). Married to Gustaf III. Stately. One of many unsuited and unhappy royal marriages. Sophia Albertina (1753–29). Swedish Princess daughter of Adolf Frederick and Lovisa Ulrika. Carl Gustaf Sparre (1688–1741). Courtier who acted with Captain Häckel to bar people of lower rank from the King’s table in 1733. Fredrik Sparre (1731–1803). Nephew and protégé of Tessin. Thin-­ skinned, petty, and with little understanding of children, he was not well suited to look after either the future Gustaf III as a boy or later his son the future Gustaf IV. Wrote detailed diaries. Contemporaries noted his unusually big head and its lack of any commensurate intellectual abilities. Gabriel Sparre (1726–1804). County Governor. Henrik Georg Sparre (1756–1816). Captain of the Guards and favoured by Gustaf III. Had to leave court when suspected of a theft.

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Ulrika Sperling (1735–1814). Maid of Honour. Jakob Magnus Sprengtporten (1721–86). Born in Russian captivity. One of the main conspirators behind the royalist 1772 coup. Quick to see slights everywhere. Not an easy man. Wolter Reinhold Stackelberg (1705–1801). Long-lived General. Arvid Stenbock (1738–82). Courtier and confidant of Gustaf III. A free mason and a member of all kinds of occult and mystic societies. Gustaf Stenbock (1764–1833). Court Master of the Stables to Princess Sophia Albertina. Involved in some skulduggery. Son of Arvid Stenbock. Adolf Ludvig Stierneld (1755–1835). Chief Chamber Gentleman to Queen Dowager Sophia Magdalena. Fierce opponent of Gustaf III.  Enthusiast of publishing historical documents and forged some himself. Countess Christina Charlotta Stierneld (née Gyldenstolpe) (1766–1825). Chief Court Mistress. Jeanna Stockenström see Lantingshausen. Per Adam Stromberg (1751–1838). Page and later Master of the Stables. Son of Ulrik Alexander Stromberg. Ulrik Alexander Stromberg (1691–1767). Chamber Gentleman with limited means but court connections. Countess Ulrika Catharina Stromberg née Lewenhaupt (1710–77). Court Mistress. Countess Marcelle Tascher de la Pagerie née Clary (1792–1866). In 1823 appointed Court Mistress by her aunt Queen Desirée. Later returned to France. Edvard Didrik Taube (1681–1751). Admiral and Royal Councillor. Father of Hedvig Taube. Evert Taube (1737–99). Courtier and favourite. Gustaf Adam Taube (1673–1732). Field Marshal and Royal Councillor. Supporter of Frederick I and father of Hans Taube. Hans Taube (1698–1766). Life-long courtier. Hedvig Taube (1714–44). Maid of Honour and mistress of Frederick I. Countess Vilhelmina Taube née Pollett (1779–1857). Lady of the Palace. Johan Henrik Tawast (1763–1841). Successful courtier and military officer. Esaias Tegnér (1782–1846). Poet, bishop, and supplicant. Mentally unstable at the end. Carl Gustaf Tessin (1695–1770). Son of Nicodemus Tessin and a product of the court since childhood. The beloved Tess of the future Gustaf

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Dramatis Personae

III whose education he directed. Brilliant impresario of court entertainments. Dramatic break with Queen Lovisa Ulrika. Nicodemus Tessin (1654–1728). Distinguished architect and courtier. Became Chief Marshal and head of the court. Johan Wilhelm Thomson (fl.1720s). Rank conscious Life Guard. Sir Edward Thornton (1766–1852). British Minister Plenipotentiary to the court of Stockholm with lacking dress sense. Johan Christoffer Toll (1743–1817). Participated in the royalist coup d’état 1772 and remained a political player ever after. Shrewd, hardnosed and with a sardonic wit. Johan Gustaf Uggla (1734–98). Courtier, favourite, and eventually County Governor. Samuel af Ugglas (1750–1812). Ennobled and a prominent official and climber. Johan Fredrik Ulfsparre (1723–1802). Vice corporal of the Life Guards. Ulrika Eleonora (1688–1741). Swedish Queen Regnant 1718–20 and Queen Consort 1720–41. Long-suffering wife of Frederick I. Combined an earnest sense of duty with scant regard for the new restrictions on royal power. Emotionally dependent on her favourite Emerentia von Düben who had served her since childhood. Jacob Uttervall (fl.1750s and 1760s). Lackey serving Crown Prince Gustaf. Baron Ferdinand Wedel-Jarlsberg (1781–1857). Court Marshal of the Norwegian court. Countess Karen Wedel-Jarlsberg née Anker (1789–1849). Married to Count Herman Wedel-Jarlsberg. Chief Court Mistress at the Norwegian court. Victoria (1862–1930). Queen of Sweden. Married to Gustaf V. Princess of Baden. Impressive. Strong convictions. Christian Sigismund Wiebel (1682–1749). Master of the Stables and favourite of Frederick I. Valentin Wilcke (fl.1730s). Chamber Lackey of Frederick I. Too handsome. Carl Adam Wrangel (1748–1829). Courtier later fondly remembering Adolf Frederick and Lovisa Ulrika. Erik Wrangel (1721–60). Courtier. Lived in exile after the failed royal plot of 1756. Margareta Lovisa Wrangel (1763–87). One of Prince Frederick Adolf’s many romantic passions. Fabian Wrede (1760–1824). Courtier with a glittering career.

CHAPTER 1

Resilient European Courts: An Introduction

In 1791, two French travellers in Sweden, Fortia de Piles and Boisgelin, marvelled at finding themselves in what seemed to be the Versailles of the North—‘the etiquette of this court much resembles that of the court of Versailles formerly, and in many things is absolutely the same’.1 What they saw was a ceremonial court, and at its centre an almost absolutist monarch. This was unlike both Britain, a largely parliamentarian country, and the new France, which was in the grip of revolution. Sweden was different. It was managing to retain the trappings of an ancien régime court without succumbing to violent revolution. Most European kingdoms, including Sweden, went through various degrees of absolutism and a range of constitutional models before finally arriving at democracy in the late nineteenth or early twentieth centuries. Historians have found it easy to fall back on two archetypal monarchies as the epitomes of this process—the French and the British. The French monarchy, a strongly absolutist monarchy that rapidly imploded in 1789, failed to make a smooth transition from one form of government to another, and suffered repeated and bloody political upheavals until 1871. The British monarchy endured, but was obliged to accept the loss of some of its powers and prerogatives in the century that started in the 1680s.  Fortia de Piles (1809, 393).

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© The Author(s) 2020 F. Persson, Survival and Revival in Sweden’s Court and Monarchy, 1718–1930, Palgrave Studies in Modern Monarchy, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52647-4_1

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The Swedish model of a resilient European court was tested by several political upheavals, but it managed the transitions more smoothly. Royal authority persisted far longer than in Britain, and when the upheavals came, they were managed far more successfully than in France. A number of European monarchies also fit the pattern of this third model, but Britain and France have been much more influential as ways of interpreting monarchy on the verge of the modern age. In reality, it was not so much Swedish as pan-European, as varieties of the model were to be found in many German states, Denmark, and Russia. At the heart of this model of resilient European courts was a symbiosis of monarchy and nobility. The court provided numerous offices for nobles as well as a space where royalty and nobility could meet. This created not only strong bonds and loyalty between nobility and monarchy, but also a shared mental universe. Only after the nobility lost much of its power through societal shifts in the nineteenth century were court and monarchy forced to realign. In Sweden, this realignment was remarkably fast from the 1860s onwards. A constitutional monarchy took shape for which holding speeches at jubilees and academic conferences, cutting ribbons to open railways, and taking a keen interest in sporting events replaced the wielding of hard power with its traditional magnificent courtly framework. The refashioned monarchy meant the eventual acceptance of cooperation with the social democrats and liberals in 1917 was easier. The consensus in 1917, borne of necessity rather than choice, in all likelihood helped to preserve the monarchy as an institution. Socialists and liberals in many European principalities were implacably opposed to monarchy, but in Sweden, a modus vivendi was found. This was not a given in a European context where numerous monarchies collapsed at the end of the Great War and the Second World War. Sweden too, over the course of two centuries, had gone through a series of fundamental political transitions. A coup in 1719 abolished royal absolutism; another coup in 1772 abolished parliamentary rule; a coup in 1789 reintroduced absolutism; a coup in 1809 abolished absolutism and introduced a constitutional monarchy with power shared between king and Diet; a change in the parliamentary system came in 1866; and a last rumblings of royal power in 1914 ended with the acceptance of full parliamentary rule in 1917: a long list to which can be added a messy attempted coup in 1756 and several minor forays into reform over the years. Unlike France, however, and despite the upheavals, Sweden managed all these transitions without prolonged violent crises, and unlike Britain, the

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Swedish monarchy retained much of its authority until the 1860s and some royal prerogatives as late as the 1910s.

Monarch and Aristocracy in Symbiosis The royal court was a key factor in Sweden’s successful management of these repeated transitions. The court was an institution as old as the monarchy itself, and even in its heyday in the eighteenth century was dismissed as old-fashioned and sclerotic, not to mention contentious. Yet the truth was that the Swedish court was crucial in managing successive political transitions and preserving royal power. To achieve this, the court had to be flexible and use the politics of familiarity to create a context for both the monarch and the political elite. And the personal nature of the court meant that it provided an unsurpassed forum for aristocratic life. In the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, the court served as a joint venture for monarch and nobility—to be denied the chance to be at court was to be ‘buried alive’ for many members of the aristocracy. This character of a joint venture between monarchy and nobility does not mean they shared equal influence over the court. Clearly, the court was primarily run on the orders of the royal family, but in order to function well in Sweden, the court needed the broad support and participation of the nobility. As in Denmark and Prussia, the early modern Swedish monarchy was a centralized government with very limited resources, while the vast majority of the nobility were comparatively poor and dependent on government service. Unlike France, members of newly ennobled families had access to the court; unlike the Electorate of Hanover, most courtiers came from the indigenous nobility. For noble families, attending court could mean rewards in the form of offices, but also enhanced socio-­ political status. From 1718, court office could normally be combined with other military or civilian posts, and thus did not hamper a career pursued on several fronts. In some ways, the monarchy and nobility were bound together by their mutual weakness, with the court as their medium. Even if the Swedish monarchy and nobility existed in symbiosis, the framework was not static, as the many coups suggest. Each coup was an attempt to readjust the political set-up of court society on the part of members of that society, all of whom subscribed to similar basic values and attitudes. In the fifty years after 1718, formal power drained away from the monarchy to the nobility, but at the same time, the monarchy was rebuilding its soft power through the court, until the successful coup in

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1772 ushered in almost a century of strong royal authority. It was only after the Swedish nobility lost their formal social and political power in the 1860s that the monarchy dissolved its partnership with them and changed rapidly into an increasingly outward-looking constitutional monarchy. The court now began to refocus on a wider public, as well as including new elites in court functions. The court provided a framework made up of charitable, sporting, and other public events, designed to emphasize the bond not between monarch and nobility, but between monarch and people, while simultaneously retaining many traditional aspects of court life in the shape of ceremony. The Swedish court, then, was a key element in upholding royal power and managing the many transitions. The flexibility of court recruitment and court life was integral to this success: its culture offered not just potential influence, but a lifestyle that the aristocracy considered appropriate. That was one aspect of the court’s nature as a personal institution, very different on paper from Sweden’s otherwise notably bureaucratic administration. It was at court that the politics of familiarity between ruler and elite, and between members of the elite, flourished until the mid-­ nineteenth century—irrespective of the succession of coups, all of which were led by the aristocracy. At the same time, the Swedish court was more magnificent and retained far more of its older ceremonial features than did many other European courts.

The Historiography of Royal Service Since the 1970s, there has been a shift in the scholarly perception of royal courts. Today, courts can be the subject of study, rather than mere background in biographies of royalty or studies of political history. Particular parts of some courts were studied by art historians, literary historians, historians of science, and others, but as a whole, as an institution, courts were long overlooked. A few isolated historians did take an interest and thought courts per se as worthy of study. One such very early example was Joachim Lampe in his study of nobility and the Electoral court of Hanover.2 Lampe died before the completion of his thesis, and sadly, his promising approach was not carried further. Gerald Aylmer did a de facto study of the English court as an institution in The King’s Servants, a study of the civil service under Charles I, though it grew from the older tradition of 2

 Lampe (1963).

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studying bureaucracies.3 An anthology edited by A.  G. Dickens was remarkably insightful in trying to tackle the courts as centres of a wide variety of activity from politics to arts.4 This shift in the perception of the court as a field worthy of scholarly interest happened simultaneously in different countries. In Cambridge in the 1970s and 1980s, scholars began by challenging the view of bureaucracy taking over in the sixteenth century.5 Instead a much more nuanced image gradually established, showing a complex web of increasing royal power interwoven with growing government bureaucracy and growing princely courts in a criss-cross of patronage, family, and other connections.6 Courts were again perceived as places of power. In France, the work by Jean-Francois Solnon was primarily a general overview with comparatively few hard facts, which made it of more limited use to other scholars.7 More widely useful and ground-breaking were books on the Valois.8 The towering name in early German court history was the sociologist Norbert Elias.9 Elias demonstrated a remarkable foresight and clarity in raising the issue of the court as an interesting subject for research, though it must be admitted that his scholarly legacy has been problematic. He had a propensity for theory on a minimal empirical basis, not unknown for sociologists venturing into historical terrain. In the 1970s and 1980s, the Elias tradition was very strong, although not even in Germany completely dominant.10 A refreshing non-Elias take on the court of Electoral Cologne was attempted by Aloys Winterling, for example.11 Elias’s ascendancy was ­further challenged by the anthology Princes, Patronage, and the Nobility, which addressed a number of European courts and aspects of court history.12 A few years later, Jeroen Duindam effectively smashed the Elias theory in his book Myths of Power.13 Duindam picked apart the scant empirical  Aylmer (1961).  Dickens (1977). 5  Elton (1976), Starkey (1987), Asch and Birke (1991), Merton (1992), Asch (1993). 6  The conflict between the great historian of Tudor bureaucratic growth, Geoffrey Elton, and his disciple David Starkey turned on the question of bureaucratic supremacy being challenged by the royal court. 7  Solnon (1987). 8  Boucher (1986), Chatenet (2002). 9  Elias (1983). 10  Plodeck (1972), Ehalt (1980), Krüdener (1973). 11  Winterling (1986). 12  Asch and Birke (1991). 13  Duindam (1995). 3 4

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underpinnings of Elias’s approach, making it very difficult to resurrect his model. Duindam has captured both the strength and the weaknesses of Elias’s paradigm—his ‘perplexing mélange of grand theory, lucidly formulated analysis, and rather limited research gave rise to a tradition of aulic history with a strong partiality for conceptual ornament and eclectic discourse’.14 Duindam christened the Anglophone school of court history revisionist, and in the last two decades, this revisionist standpoint has become dominant. The Anglophone school of court history has seen revisionism become the norm in court studies. Thus, Princely Courts of Europe edited by John Adamson provided a more modern overview than Dickens.15 Indeed, over the last thirty years, an impressive body of scholarship has grown around various aspects of court studies. The question of space at court has been the focus of German scholars in the Residenzenkommission. At the same time, Krista de Jongh led a European network of scholars, Palatium, highlighting court residences, which has resulted in several important books, and illustrates how court studies at its best is truly interdisciplinary. Individual courts and residences have received outstanding contributions by scholars such as Simon Thurley and William Ritchey Newton.16 An impressive and important study of the Bavarian court by Samuel Klingensmith integrated the analysis of space and political power elegantly, although Klingensmith’s was another voice tragically lost to the field, as he was killed before the book was published.17 A detailed study of careers at Versailles has been provided by Leonhard Horowski.18 As court studies have become increasingly established, the scholarship has grown ever more rich and nuanced. Women at court is another expanding field since about 1990.19 Here the thesis by Charlotte Merton was an outstanding early example, while Ruth Kleinman studied women who served Anne of Austria. Other important early scholars were Caroline Hibbard and Sharon Kettering. In the past decade, several books have been published on women at court, such as Katrin Keller and Nadine Akkerman’s edited volume covering a number of different courts. Other subjects such as etiquette have been analysed by Giora Sternberg and Ambrogio Caiani while  Duindam (2003, 9).  Adamson (1999). 16  Thurley (1993, 1999 & 2017), Ritchey Newton (2000 & 2006). 17  Klingensmith (1993). 18  Horowski (2012). 19  Merton (1992), Kleinman (1990), Keller (2005), Akkerman (2014). 14 15

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while Barbara Stolberg Rilinger has studied tradition and clothing.20 The comparative strand in court studies has had several proponents, and recent studies by Duindam have taken comparative studies to a new global level.21 All this has helped to establish the early modern court as a crucial institution.22 Moving forward into the end of the early modern period and the beginning of the modern period means that new issues have to be addressed. It can be useful to take stock of European courts at the beginning of the eighteenth century, a point where many scholars tend to leave off. In some respects, research into court could be enriched further by widening its now traditional scope further, both geographically and chronologically. The seventeenth century has sometimes lazily been seen as the apogee of royal courts, with royal power towering over and often abolishing parliamentary competition. The reign of Louis XIV and the construction of Versailles fit into this narrative of Versailles as the end of court history, in either 1715 or possibly 1789. In reality, the eighteenth century saw an ever-greater flourishing of courtly influence, a period which in most of Europe lasted until the mid-­ nineteenth century. The resilience of princely courts has been obscured for several reasons. The first is that the two courts that have received the greatest scholarly attention were in fact outliers in a wider European context. The English court was transformed, and ultimately diminished in stature and reach, by the English civil war and the Glorious Revolution. The English court retained its status as one centre for the elite—but still just one of several centres and a centre in decline at that.23 Hannah Smith has said of the fading English court that ‘the court as a centre of elite sociability fell into a terminal decline’ from Queen Anne onwards.24 Another large court that has been perceived as a model, the court of France, was destroyed by the French Revolution, only to be revived by Napoleon and then transformed into a very different kind of court in 1814, 1830, and 1852.25 The gradual and early decline of the English court and the dramatic destruction of the French court mean that neither

 Sternberg (2014), Caiani (2017), Stollberg-Rilinger (2008).  Duindam (2011 & 2015b). 22  Scott (2015) gives courts a chapter of their own, for example, a succinctly written overview by Jeroen Duindam (2015a). 23  Bucholz (1993), Beattie (1967). 24  Smith (2006, 194). 25  For an excellent overview of the French court, see Mansel (1989). 20 21

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is a particularly useful model for the full range of European courts in this period. A second reason that has dimmed the perception of eighteenth-century courts as powerful was a change of style. Lavish early modern festivities staged in the seventeenth century could be seen as embodying courtly power and exalting the person of the monarch, while comparative simplicity, tempered by occasional ostentatious ceremonies, in the eighteenth century could wrongly be seen as an indication of lesser courts. The selective withdrawal of several eighteenth-century monarchs from some of the magnificent drudgery of everyday etiquette is also partly to blame. Louis XV, Frederick the Great, George III, and Joseph II were quite different in personality and outlook, but they shared a quite literal move to smaller residences, away from the crushing daily grind of ceremonious life. It can easily be misinterpreted: theirs was not diminished role, but was more a change in style than substance. If Frederick the Great and Joseph II were prepared to be portrayed as ‘der erster Diener des Staates’, the first servant of the state, it still did not mean giving up a shred of royal authority. Ignore the French and British courts and a far more mixed picture emerges; a picture in which the resilience of courtly power was a dominant theme, and many European courts continued to thrive. An analysis of the Swedish court offers a prime example of courtly resilience, with a largely old-fashioned court remaining centre stage in the political world until the mid-nineteenth century. After that, the role of both monarch and court was reshaped and adapted to the societal changes such as democratization. In this sense, the Swedish court was more similar to many German courts, rather than France or Britain. The literature on the later period is not yet as rich as that on the early modern period. Two important collections led the way in Germany. In Hof, Kultur und Politik im 19. Jahrhundert of 1985, international historians discussed the theme of the modern court.26 The editor, Karl Ferdinand Werner, argued that the period after 1815 saw the restoration of princely courts, and while the various essays went in different directions on whether it was a late blooming or swan song, it was nevertheless an important contribution. Five years later, Karl Möckl edited the volume Hof und Hofgesellschaft in den deutschen Staaten im 19. und beginnenden 20. Jahrhundert, which focussed on a number of German states and provided extensive empirical material on court sizes, costs, and

 Werner (1985).

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other useful building blocks for comparative court studies, and has been an invaluable source of material for international comparisons. These studies of modern courts did not differ greatly from those of early modern courts, but it was only natural that the first thing to be researched would be monarchs who still wielded power. Power or the decline of power runs through many of the studies of modern monarchy, though the later the period the more the focus on soft power. A monarch with an unfortunate degree of official power was Emperor Wilhelm II. Isabel Hull was very early in her 1982 study of the people surrounding Wilhelm II.27 Courtiers, family members, and others tried to direct the Emperor, who was very open to influence. As Germany still had a high degree of personal royal power, the imperial entourage was of significance, though Wilhelm II was not consistent, and tended to assert himself in fits and starts. Similarly, John Röhl has shown the longevity and importance of the imperial court in Wilhelmine Germany.28 A number of individual modern courts have also been the subjects of monographs. The many books on the German courts by the nineteenth-century writer Eduard Vehse have often been mined for a mixture of anecdotes and some useful empirical flotsam and jetsam, but his was not rigorous scholarship. The concept of Hofgesellschaft (court society) has often been used to cover a wider group than the more limited court proper. In his 1987 book on the court society of Bavaria under King Maximilian II, Max Brunner analyses Munich’s social and court elite. Philip Mansel in his seminal The Court of France has studied French nineteenth-century courts, and in an earlier work focussed specifically on how an imperial Napoleonic court was created.29 Cornelia Roolfs’s findings about the nineteenth-century Hanoverian court are based on an extensive, systematic study.30 The Danish court has been analysed variously by Klaus Kjølsen and Harald Jørgensen.31 A classic theme carried on from the early modern period is the role of dynasties. Succession, always crucial to monarchies, has been studied by Frank Lorenz Müller and Heidi Mehrkens. Lorenz Müller analysed a future that never was, by analysing the heirs to three German princely states before their monarchies were swept away in 1917. His conclusion is  Hull (1982).  Röhl (1996). 29  Mansel (1989), Mansel (1987). 30  Roolfs (2005). 31  Kjølsen (2010), Jørgensen (1996 & 1999). 27 28

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that the cases varied considerably, but he also remarks on the enduring strength of monarchy right up to the end.32 Together with Heidi Mehrkens, Müller has edited several important collections on modern monarchy, highlighting the role of heirs in European dynasties.33 Another recurring issue has been what is new and what is old in modern monarchies? This was raised by a now leading name in modern court studies and monarchy studies, David Cannadine, whose 1983 work on the invention of tradition at the Victorian and Edwardian court has been immensely influential.34 His analysis of a creaking monarchy reborn and given a new form, thanks partly to the lavish jubilee celebrations late in Queen Victoria’s reign, is elegantly argued.35 His main point is that as power dissipated, the monarchy invented new traditions of celebration. Cannadine has returned to the subject of modern monarchy in several subsequent works.36 New and old are also the contrast in Ambrogio Caiani’s analysis of the clash between the new political culture during the French Revolution and courtly ceremony.37 Shaped by court society and its values, Louis XVI persisted in carrying out court ceremonies to the bitter end. As Caiani puts it, French court ceremony ‘clearly express this solar understanding of sovereignty’, revolving around the monarch’s person.38 The sacrality of monarchs may have been waning, as shown by the cessation of the king’s touch in England and France, but religion still had a role at court, and was part of both the annual calendar and the great ceremonies, as discussed in a volume edited by Michael Schaich.39 Early modern court studies have a rich literature on princely image-­ making. This could take many forms such as architecture, art, music, and literature. Many performative activities such as ballet or ceremonies have also been seen through that prism. Scholars of modern monarchy share this interest, but both new technologies and a shift in focus from an elite audience to a wider audience changed how modern monarchies functioned in this respect. The importance of newspapers and new ways to  Müller (2017).  Müller and Mehrkens (2015, 2016). 34  Cannadine (1983). 35  William Kuhn (1996) argues that Cannadine overstates the planning of the Victorian court and that the innovations incorporated existing traditions. 36  Cannadine (1987, 1989, 2004). 37  Caiani (2017). 38  Caiani (2017, 9). 39  Schaich (2007). 32 33

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print images made this a new game. John Plunkett has discussed the degree to which Queen Victoria influenced her own image.40 Georg von Wagner-Kyora has looked at how German empresses were portrayed in media.41 Matthew Truesdell has critically scrutinized how Napoleon III used media and festivities to bolster his monarchy.42 Richard Wortman has studied image-building in tsarist Russia, which could capture the minds of members of the imperial family themselves, which in Wortman’s view actively prevented Alexander III and Nicholas II from understanding the political realities.43 Other enthusiastic prisoners of the royal image were royals in exile—a growing group. Torsten Riotte and Philip Mansel’s edited volume about this phenomenon shows this was increasingly common in the modern period.44 Royal cannibalism in the form of smaller principalities being gobbled up could create an image problem. Jasper Heinzen has studied the Hohenzollern dynasty’s response after the Austro-Prussian War in 1866, which saw several German princely houses implode or deposed, which involved remaking the royal losers in the new Hohenzollern image.45 Daniel Unowsky has studied imperial Austrian image-building and identity in court festivities, and then with Laurence Cole looked at imperial symbolism and patriotism.46 Image-making could even be seen in royal branding, such as the various ‘brands’ of sailor prince.47 Other scholars have looked at the interaction between the ruler and the ruled, when ordinary people across Europe had increased political importance in an age of extended suffrage and aristocratic decline. While rulers did not necessarily get things right—Wortman argues that Alexander III and Nicholas II, caught up in their own monarchical imagery, were quite convinced they had a unique bond with the Russian peasantry—there is nevertheless much to be examined, as Hubertus Büschel has shown with a study of the concept of subjects’ love for their sovereign (Untertanenliebe) in five different German princely states at the beginning of the modern period, finding little evidence of royal efforts to simplify courts and  Plunkett (2003).  Wagner-Kyora (2007). 42  Truesdell (1997). 43  Wortman (1995 & 2000). 44  Riotte and Mansel (2011). 45  Heinzen (2017). 46  Unowsky (2005), Cole and Unowsky (2007). 47  Schneider (2017). 40 41

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ceremony to curry favour with their subjects, nor any large-scale reinvention brought on by the crisis of the Napoleonic wars.48 An interesting angle is provided by Eva Giloi’s study of monarchy and people through often trivial objects.49 The nineteenth century saw a boom in collecting, and that included royal memorabilia. They could be manufactured, or they could be personal mementoes such as scraps of clothing that had taken on new meaning. In Sweden, Per Sandin has considered how the monarchy interacted with an emerging society of citizens, arguing that the new Bernadotte dynasty managed to maintain its legitimacy in the new civic society by focusing on areas such as philanthropy, and by the careful education of the princes who would one day succeed.50 The Victorian monarchy has been analysed by Frank Prochaska, who emphasizes the centrality of charity and philanthropic work for the royal family, work which benefitted both recipients and the monarchy.51 In The Republic of Britain, Prochaska surveys the ever-looming threat of republicanism and the interest various British monarchs took in the subject.52 Royal interaction with subjects also features in Deploige and Deneckere’s Mystifying the Monarch, with royalty encountering the new world through international exhibitions, throne speeches, and begging letters, and by ‘performing monarchy’.53 Several scholars have looked at royal travel and royal diplomacy. Before 1800, royal visits and conducting diplomatic negotiations in person was not the norm. That changed. Johannes Paulmann has analysed 223 monarchical visits in the nineteenth century and up to the First World War.54 They gave a theatrical, public aspect to diplomacy. Similarly, Roderick McLean has focussed on Wilhelm II, while Matthew Glenncross has studied the role of Edward VII and his travels.55

 Büschel (2006).  Giloi (2011). 50  Sandin (2011). 51  Prochaska (1995). 52  Prochaska (2000). 53  Deploige and Deneckere (2006). 54  Paulmann (2000). 55  McLean (2001), Glenncross (2016). 48 49

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A Landscape of Courts Europe at the beginning of the eighteenth century was a landscape of courts. A few giants towered over the others, such as France and Vienna, as analysed by Duindam in a ground-breaking study.56 The French court at Versailles in 1700 counted about 2000 people in service, to which could be added the courts of other members of the royal family, servants of courtiers, and members of military guards.57 The imperial court in Vienna in the 1730s was about 1500 and in the later decades of the eighteenth century climbed to more than 2000.58 The Spanish court in the late seventeenth century numbered between 2000 and 1500 people.59 The British court after 1700 stabilized between 800 and 1000.60 Most European courts were far smaller, and the courts of a few giants did not reflect the reality of the courtly world as a whole. In my study of the seventeenth-century Swedish court, I concluded that, without its military side, it numbered about 450 in 1700.61 If Sweden was in some ways different, it was also in some ways similar to most other European courts— just not necessarily the French or British. An analysis of Sweden’s court also offers insights into how courts functioned in European principalities in general. The Swedish court was not alone in providing a resilient, flexible framework for royal authority in tandem with the nobility, absorbing political shocks and acting as a basis for continued strong royal power through various transitions: several other European courts were closer to the Swedish model than to the British or French models. True, the sheer number of managed transitions in Sweden was exceptional, but a similar political dynamic was at work in several countries, including Denmark and Prussia, and the courts there were more similar to Sweden than to France or England. A panoply of courts across Europe—Russia, Germany, Savoy, Italy, Portugal, the list is long—throws their difference in size into relief. Size was not everything, of course. The German adventurer Baron Pöllnitz described how smaller princes could punch above their weight by  Duindam (2003).  Duindam (2015a, 449). Counting courts is a task complicated by the inclusion, or not, of subsidiary courts, unsalaried courtiers, servants of servants, and military units. 58  Duindam (2003, 73). 59  Duindam (2015a, 450). 60  Ibid., 453. 61  Persson (1999). 56 57

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investing heavily in their courts. Pöllnitz said of the Margrave of Bayreuth that ‘This Prince is fond of Pleasure and Magnificence, for which Reason his Court is one of the most numerous and splendid in Germany; and it has an Air of Grandeur throughout, from which all manner of Constraint is entirely banish’d’.62 The Electoral court of Saxony was similarly impressive: ‘Tho’ the Royal Family was not numerous when I was there, yet the Number and Magnificence of the Princes and Courtiers, who were then at Dresden, made it very splendid’.63 Some of the most prominent courts received mixed reviews from Pöllnitz, who wrote of Hampton Court and Windsor that they were ‘two magnificent Palaces, yet Trifles in comparison with the Royal Palaces of France’.64 Another royal residence also found little favour—‘Kensington Gardens would be very fine for a private Person, but for a King, methinks I could wish them to be somewhat more magnificent’.65 Pöllnitz’s most interestingly analytical assessment is reserved for the imperial court, however: The Court of Vienna is, in my Opinion, the plainest, and at the same time the most magnificent in Europe: To explain this seeming Paradox, I must acquaint you, that, as to the external Appearance of the Emperor’s Houshold, no thing is so plain, nor indeed so dismal … The Palace, as I have had the Honour to tell you, is very inconsiderable; yet taking the Court all together, and considering the Number of Great and Petty Officers, the many rich Noblemen that spend high, and the several Princes that are in the Service of his Imperial Majesty, it must be confess’d, that there is not a Court in Europe so splendid as that of Vienna.66

The Role of the Aristocracy Early modern courts functioned as joint ventures between princely power and aristocratic elites. There were shifts in the power between monarch and aristocrats, but the aristocracy was ingrained in the system. It was also a mental world that created and strengthened attitudes towards monarchy, with hierarchy and an array of issues such as honour, service, and merit continuing to both bind the nobility to the crown and the crown to the  Pöllnitz (1740, 297).  Ibid., 88. 64  Ibid., 255. 65  Ibid., 255. 66  Ibid., 52. 62 63

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nobility. Furthermore, European court societies survived for much longer than is sometimes assumed. Using a broader comparative perspective than the two go-to courts of London and Versailles, a richer and more nuanced image emerges. This volume is intended to chart that landscape of European courtly resilience. The different principalities varied wildly in size, of course. In 1700, the aged Louis XIV reigned over about 20,000,000 subjects, of whom 260,000 were nobles.67 At the same time, the teenage king of Sweden, Charles XII, ruled over just over 2,500,000 subjects, of whom 6000 or so were nobles.68 Such differences affected the chances for a court to act as point of contact between monarch and the aristocracy. It was easier for a margrave of Bayreuth to attempt to integrate his aristocracy into his court than it was for a king of Spain. One way to measure how well entrenched— or well integrated—the aristocracy was in a principality is to see who was chosen by the monarch to sit in the cabinet (or similar). Some cursory comparisons can be made using the Europäisches genealogisches Handbuch published in 1732, 1752, and 1776.69 In 1732, all seven members of the French Council (Conseil d’état) were aristocrats, including the leading minister Cardinal Fleury.70 Portugal stood out for the number of cardinals on its Council (Conselho de Estado)—three out of eight, but the aristocratic status of two of them is unclear, whereas all five non-clerical councillors were aristocrats. The general picture is of an overwhelming aristocratic presence in Europe’s cabinets, except in Britain where the new nobility sneaked in in larger numbers—four of the cabinet of eleven had been recently ennobled. It was typical that in Prussia all six councillors were aristocrats; in Saxony, all eight were aristocrats and two of them also had direct royal connections (one married the Elector’s illegitimate daughter, the other a member of an illegitimate branch of the Danish royal family); and in Denmark, all five councillors were both aristocrats and courtiers. Twenty years later, in 1752, all the members of the French Conseil d’état were noble. All the Cabinets-Ministri in Saxony were both noble  For the aristocratic population, see Mettam (1995, 114).  For the number of nobles in 1700, see Carlsson (1949, 12) who does not include the aristocracy of Sweden’s overseas provinces such as Livonia, Estonia, and Pomerania—a serious obstacle to a fuller comprehension of aristocracy’s role in the Swedish empire. 69  Schumann (1732), Schumann (1752), Krebel (1776). 70  Claude le Blanc was dead by 1732, but for the purposes of comparison, I use Schumann’s statistics. 67 68

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and courtiers. The situation in Denmark was similar, as all four councillors were noble and three of them were courtiers. In some German states, a few newly ennobled councillors had crept in among the overwhelming majority of nobly born councillors. Thus in Vienna, Baron von Bartenstein had managed to reach the top and similar interlopers were found in Bavaria and Prussia. The same was true in the Italian principalities, where there was a scattering of newly ennobled careerists.71 Come 1776, all six members of the French Conseil d’état were still noble, as were all councillors in the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies. A few upstarts can be found among the European councils, for example in Sardinia (Carlo Luigi Caissotti di Santa Vittoria), and in Russia the upstart Kirill Grigoryevich Razumovsky (on the Kaiserl. Geheime Hof-Conseil), although the rest of the Russian Council were aristocrats, several of whom were also courtiers. As in 1752, the aristocratic dominance was crushing and only a few ennobled councillors born commoners served various princes.72 To conclude, in the decades before the French Revolution, the cabinets of Europe demonstrated a very strong bond between monarchy and aristocracy. Almost all councillors were nobles, with only a few recently ennobled families serving. As bodies that existed to help princes rule, the royal councils were places where monarchy and aristocracy worked in tandem. A further observation is that many courtiers served on the Council, especially in countries such as Saxony and Denmark, confirming the strong links between court and Council. The opportunity for a prince to appoint his courtiers to his Council was partly determined by the number of courtiers at his disposal. It all came down to how many court offices were available to aristocrats. The Duke and Duchess of Mecklenburg-Schwerin were attended by 26 aristocrats in 1776, yet the major European power that was Britain did not have proportionately more: in 1783, there were thirteen Lords of the Bedchamber, eleven Grooms of the Bedchamber, and fifty-three Gentlemen of the Privy Chamber.73 While Britain had a static court in terms of numbers, an important aspect of eighteenth-century courts was that many of them expanded. The twenty-six aristocrats serving in Mecklenburg-Schwerin 71  The Marquis of Tanucci in the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies and Carlo Luigi Caissotti di Santa Vittoria in Sardinia. 72  For example, Wiguläus Xaverius Aloysius Kreittmayr in Bavaria. 73  Herzoglich-Mecklenburg-Schwerinscher Staatscalender (1776).

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had grown to sixty-eight aristocrats by 1800. In Württemberg, the picture was similar. In 1736, seven Wirkliche Kammerherren served the Duke, but by 1775 this had increased to 115 Wirkliche Kammerherren, 70 Kammerjunkern, 58 Hofjunkern, and 14 pages.74 This trend was visible not just in German states, but in many other principalities as well. In Denmark, for example, there were seventy-six Kammerherren, nineteen Kammerjunkern, eight Hofjunkern, and seven noblewomen in 1749, but by 1800, this had ballooned to 249 Kammerherren, 138 Kammerjunkern, and six Hofjunkern.75 A word of caution is in order, though. Most of these people were not in attendance. In this period one would have found 3 Kammerherren, and not all 249, in daily attendance, and 1, not all 138, Kammerjunkern. The horizons of expectations were moving. When Pöllnitz visited the court of Saxony in about 1740 he claimed that the ‘Number and Magnificence of the Princes and Courtiers, who were then at Dresden, made it very splendid’.76 This reflected a rapid increase in noble courtiers at the Dresden Electoral court. In 1728, six Kammerherren, eleven Kammerjunkern, and six pages were listed in the published Court Calendar.77 Only seven years later, this had grown to seventy-eight Kammerherren, eighty-six Kammerjunkern, and nineteen ‘silver pages’ (a category of page particular to Saxony).78 At the end of the century, this had expanded further to 120 Kammerherren, 118 Kammerjunkern, and 16 silver pages.79 It should be noted that this expansion in general left little room for the number of noblewomen at court to increase. It tended to be court titles with few or no actual daily duties that were awarded to noblemen; the number of offices open to women remained limited. Another observation is Britain’s position out. Despite being a populous and rich kingdom, it had a fairly limited number of offices for aristocrats, presumably reflecting the impact of the Glorious Revolution and parliamentary influence on the court.

 Das Jetz lebend- und florirende Würtemberg (1736), Jetzt florirendes Würtemberg (1736).  Königlich-dänischer Hof- und Staatskalender (1749); there were a further one Hofmeisterin, one Kammerfräulein, and seven Hoffräulein in ancillary courts. 76  Pöllnitz (1740, 88). 77  Königl. Polnischer und Churfürstl. Sächsischer Hoff- und Staats-Calender (1728). 78  Königl. Polnischer und Churfürstl. Sächsischer Hoff- und Staats-Calender (1735). 79  Churfürstlich-Sächsischer Hof- und Staatscalender (1795). 74 75

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Continuity or Rupture? European courts changed between the eighteenth and twentieth centuries, although that change was often deceptive. A superficial continuity in outward structures could mask an undercurrent of fundamental change. In the words of the Prince of Salina in Lampedusa’s The Leopard, ‘everything needs to change, so everything can stay the same’. Monarchy was built on tradition and precedence, so change would normally be dressed up as continuity or a revival of lapsed practices. When new court etiquette was introduced in Sweden in 1754, a committee of the Diet emphasized this point: ‘Ceremony and etiquette at courts draw their greatest lustre and greatest strength from age and long custom, so that what now is decided should in the main remain unchanged unless necessary; though the example of other courts and the change of times might sometimes give cause for that’.80 Royal power increased enormously between 1500 and 1700. By the beginning of the eighteenth century, European monarchs had gone through a remarkable process, rising as titans of power above magnates who earlier had been their peers in all but name. At the same time, there should be no mistake: absolutism may never have been absolute, but even weak royal power was still power. The continuance of the aristocratic presence in royal councils is telling. Princes across Europe continued to rely on aristocrats as key members of the machinery of power. In many countries, the eighteenth century also saw a marked expansion in the number of court offices awarded to aristocrats. That meant that courts had to retain their traditional outward structure yet had to function differently, because they now had links to a larger proportion of the nobility, however tenuously. In this book, I will analyse how the Swedish court fitted into this pattern of continuing noble power and expanding royal courts, both geographically and chronologically. I will also explore what happened in the nineteenth century, when immense societal shifts strained the model to breaking point in many European countries. The question is the degree to which the Swedish court conformed to European trends in its different configurations over more than two centuries. Between 1720 and 1740, royal power diminished but the court was rebuilt institutionally, with new ways of recruiting, a new palace built, and new servants hired. From 1740  RA Ceremonialia Sekreta Utskottet.

80

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to 1772, there was a more ambitious process in train designed to re-­ establish the court to make it the hub of elite social life, to exalt the image of monarchy, and to make court offices more attractive. The royalist coup of 1772 saw the court revival accelerate. New ceremonies were introduced, the court grew, and royal power was once more the road to preferment. In various forms, this court lasted until the death of Charles XIV John in 1844. After that, the court adapted to new political and societal realities by abolishing rituals, cutting court offices, and making room for court rituals that included new groups. To survive the modernization of Sweden and the gradual increase in suffrage meant overcoming fundamental challenges for an institution reliant on monarchy and aristocracy. The answer was to cut the aristocracy loose and try to play up to new groups by changing the role of the monarchy. The last decades of the nineteenth century and the first decades of the twentieth century saw this evolve into an acceptance of a new role. From a twenty-first-century viewpoint, it seems extraordinary that the Swedish court did not adapt in the manner of a chameleon, changing outward countenance to fit better into a new context. Instead, courtly adaption in this period proved to be closer to transubstantiation: the outer form retained while the essential, inner quality changed.81

References Published Sources Churfürstlich-Sächsischer Hof- und Staatscalender auf das Jahr 1795 (Leipzig: Weidmannschen Buchhandlung, 1795). Das Jetz lebend- und florirende Würtemberg … Oder Beschreibung Was dermahlen vor Höchst- Hoch- und Nidere Stands-Personen, Sowohl bey Hoch-Fürstl. Würtembergischen Hof und Cantzley (Stuttgart: Cotta, 1736). Herzoglich-Mecklenburg-Schwerinscher Staatscalender Auf das Jahr 1776 (Schwerin: W. Bärensprung herzogl. Hofbuchdrucker, 1776). Jetzt florirendes Würtemberg … oder Herzogl. Würtembergisches Adress-Buch (Stuttgart, 1736). Königlich-dänischer Hof- und Staatskalender … 1749 (Altona: Gebrüdern Burmester, 1749).

 I am grateful to the late Mark Whittow for suggesting this metaphor.

81

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Königl. Polnischer und Churfürstl. Sächsischer Hoff—und Staats—Calender Auf das Jahr 1728 (Lepizig, 1728). Königl. Polnischer und Churfürstl. Sächsischer Hoff—und Staats—Calender Auf das Jahr 1735 (Leipzig, 1735). Krebel, Gottlob Friedrich (ed.), Europäisches genealogisches Handbuch (Leipzig, 1776). Mettam, Roger, ‘The French nobility, 1610–1715’, in H.  M. Scott (ed.), The European Nobilities in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, i (London: Longman, 1995). Fortia de Piles, Alphonse, ‘Travels in Sweden’, in John A Pinkerton (ed.), A general collection of voyages and travels, vi (London: Longman, Hurst, Rees & Orme, 1809). Pöllnitz, Karl Ludwig, The memoirs of Charles-Lewis, Baron de Pollnitz (London, 1740). Schumann, Gottlieb (ed.), Jährliches genealogisches Handbuch (Leipzig, 1732). ——— (ed.), Europäisches genealogisches Handbuch (Leipzig, 1752).

Secondary Publications Adamson, John (ed.), The Princely Courts of Europe (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1999). Akkerman, Nadine & Birgit Houben (eds), The Politics of Female Households: Ladies-in-waiting across early modern Europe (Leiden: Brill, 2014). Asch, Ronald & Adolf Birke (eds), Princes, Patronage and the Nobility: The Court at the Beginning of the Modern Age (Oxford: OUP, 1991). ———, Der Hof Karls I. von England: Politik, Provinz und Patronage 1625–1640 (Cologne: Böhlau, 1993). Aylmer, Gerald, The King’s Servants: The Civil Service of Charles I, 1625–1642 (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1961). Beattie, John M., The English Court in the Reign of George I (Cambridge: CUP, 1967). Boucher, Jacqueline, La cour de Henri III (Rennes: Ouest France, 1986). Bucholz, Robert, The Augustan Court: Queen Anne and the Decline of Court Culture (Stanford: SUP, 1993). Büschel, Hubertus, Untertanenliebe: Der Kult um Deutschen Monarchen 1770–1830 (Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006). Caiani, Ambrogio, Louis XVI and the French Revolution 1789–1792 (Cambridge: CUP, 2017). Cannadine, David, ‘The aristocracy and the towns in the nineteenth century: a case-study of the Calthorpes and Birmingham, ‘The Context, Performance, and Meaning of Ritual: The British Monarchy and the “Invention of Tradition”, c.1820–1977’ in Eric Hobsbawm & Terence Ranger (eds), The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge: CUP, 1983).

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———, ‘Introduction: Divine Rites of Kings’, in David Cannadine & Simon Price (eds), Rituals of Royalty: Power and Ceremonial in Traditional Societies (Cambridge: CUP, 1987). ———, ‘The Last Hanoverian Sovereign? The Victorian Monarchy in Historical Perspective, 1688–1988’, in A.  L. Beier, David Cannadine & James M. Rosenheim (eds), The First Modern Society: Essays in English History in the Honour of Lawrence Stone (Cambridge: CUP, 1989). ———, ‘From Biography to History: Writing the Modern British Monarchy’, Historical Research, 77 (2004), 289–312. Carlsson, Sten, Ståndssamhälle och ståndspersoner 1700–1865 (Lund: Gleerup, 1949). Chatenet, Monique, La cour de France au XVIe siècle: Vie sociale et architecture (Paris: Picard, 2002). Cole, Laurence & Daniel Unowsky (eds), The limits of loyalty: Imperial symbolism, popular allegiances, and state patriotism in the late Habsburg monarchy (New York: Berghahn, 2007). Deploige, Jeroen & Gita Deneckere (eds), Mystifying the Monarch. Studies on Discourse, Power, and History (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2006). Dickens, Arthur Geoffrey (ed.), The Courts of Europe: Politics, Patronage and Royalty 1400–1800 (London: Thames & Hudson, 1977). Duindam, Jeroen, Myths of Power: Norbert Elias and the Early Modern European Court (Amsterdam: AUP, 1995). ———, Vienna and Versailles: The Courts of Europe’s Dynastic Rivals, 1550–1780 (Cambridge: CUP, 2003). ———, Artan Tülay & Kunt Metin (eds), Royal Courts in Dynastic States and Empires: A Global Perspective (Leiden: Brill, 2011). ———, ‘Royal Courts’, in Hamish Scott (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Early Modern European history, 1350–1750, ii (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015a). ———, Dynasties: A Global History of Power, 1300–1800 (Cambridge: CUP, 2015b). Ehalt, Hubert, Ausdrucksformen absolutistischer Herrschaft: Der Wiener Hof im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert (Munich: R. Oldenbourg, 1980). Elias, Norbert, The Court Society (Oxford: Blackwell, 1983) (first pub. as Die höfische Gesellschaft: Untersuchungen zur Soziologie des Königtums und der höfischen Aristokratie, 1969). Elton, Geoffrey, ‘Tudor Government: The Points of Contact: III The Court’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 26 (1976), 211–28. Giloi, Eva, Monarchy, myth, and material culture in Germany 1750–1950 (Cambridge: CUP, 2011). Glenncross, Matthew, The State Visits of Edward VII: Reinventing Royal Diplomacy for the Twentieth Century (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016).

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Heinzen, Jasper, ‘Monarchical State-building through State Destruction: Hohenzollern Self-legitimization at the Expense of Deposed Dynasties in the Kaiserreich’, German History, 35/4 (2017), 525–50. Horowski, Leonhard, Die Belagerung des Thrones: Machtstrukturen und Karrieremechanismen am Hof von Frankreich 1661–1789 (Ostfildern: Thorbecke, 2012). Hull, Isabel, The Entourage of Kaiser Wilhelm II, 1888–1918 (Cambridge: CUP, 1982). Jørgensen, Harald, Fra Christiansborg til Amalienborg: En begivenhedsrig periode i den danske hofforvaltnings historie, 1784–1808 (Herning: Poul Kristensens forlag, 1996). ———, En enevoldskonges hofholdning: Studier over livet ved Frederik VI’s hof 1808–1839 (Herning: Poul Kristensens forlag, 1999). Keller, Katrin, Hofdamen: Amtsträgerinnen im Wiener Hofstaat des 17. Jahrhunderts (Vienna: Böhlau, 2005). Kjølsen, Klaus, Det Kongelige Danske Hof 1600–2000 (Odense: Syddansk Universitetsforlag, 2010). Kleinman, Ruth, ‘Social Dynamics at the French Court: The Household of Anne of Austria’, French Historical Studies, 16/3 (1990), 517–35. Klingensmith, Samuel John, The Utility of Splendor: Ceremony, Social Life, and Architecture at the Court of Bavaria, 1600–1800 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993). Krüdener, Jürgen von, Die Rolle des Hofes im Absolutismus (Stuttgart: G. Fischer, 1973). Kuhn, William, Democratic Royalism: The Transformation of the British Monarchy, 1861–1914 (London: Macmillan, 1996). Lampe, Joachim, Aristokratie, Hofadel und Staatspatriziat in Kurhannover, 2 vols (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1963). Mansel, Philip, ‘Monarchy, Uniform and the Rise of the Frac, The Eagle in Splendour: Napoleon I and His Court (London: Hamlyn, 1987). ———, The Court of France 1789–1830 (Cambridge: CUP, 1989). Merton, Charlotte, ‘The women who served Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth: Ladies, Gentlewomen and Maids of the Privy Chamber, 1553–1603’, diss., University of Cambridge, 1992. McLean, Roderick, Royalty and Diplomacy in Europe, 1890–1914 (Cambridge: CUP, 2001). Müller, Frank Lorenz & Mehrkens, Heidi (eds), Sons and Heirs. Succession and Political Culture in Nineteenth-Century Europe (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015). ——— (eds), Royal Heirs and the Uses of Soft Power in Nineteenth-Century Europe (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016).

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Müller, Frank Lorenz, Royal Heirs in Imperial Germany (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017). Newton, William Ritchey, L’espace du roi: La Cour de France au château de Versailles 1682–1789 (Paris: Fayard, 2000). ———, La petite cour: Services et serviteurs à la Cour de Versailles au XVIIIe siècle (Paris: Fayard, 2006). Paulmann, Johannes, Pomp und Politik: Monarchenbegegnungen in Europa zwischen Ancien Regime und Erstem Weltkrieg (Paderborn: Schöningh Verlag, 2000). Persson, Fabian, Servants of Fortune: The Swedish court between 1598 and 1721 (Lund, 1999). Plodeck, Karin, Hofstruktur und Hofzeremoniell in Brandenburg-Ansbach vom 16. bis zum 18. Jahrhundert: Zur Rolle des Herrschaftskultes im absolutistischen Gesellschafts- und Herrschaftssystem (Ansbach: Historischer Verein für Mittelfranken, 1972). Plunkett, John, Victoria: First Media Monarch (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003). Prochaska, Frank, Royal Bounty: The Making of a Welfare Monarchy (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995). ———, The Republic of Britain: 1760–2000 (London: Allen Lane, 2000). Riotte, Torsten & Mansel, Philip, Monarchy and exile: the politics of legitimacy from Marie de Médicis to Wilhelm II (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011). Röhl, John, The Kaiser and his Court. Wilhelm II and the Government of Germany. (Cambridge: CUP, 1996.). Roolfs, Cornelia, Der hannoversche Hof von 1814 bis 1866 (Hannover: Hahnsche, 2005). Sandin, Per, Ett kungahus i tiden: Den bernadotteska dynastins möte med medborgarsamhället c:a 1810–1860 (Uppsala: Uppsala universitet, 2011). Schaich, Michael (ed.), Monarchy and Religion: The Transformation of Royal Culture in Eighteenth Century Europe (Oxford: OUP, 2007). Schneider, Miriam, The ‘sailor prince’ in the age of empire: Creating a monarchical brand in nineteenth-century Europe (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017). Scott, Hamish (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Early Modern European history, 1350–1750, ii (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015). Smith, Hannah, Georgian Monarchy: Politics and Culture, 1714–1760 (Cambridge: CUP, 2006). Solnon, Jean-François, La Cour de France (Paris: Fayard, 1987). Starkey, David (ed.), The English Court: from the Wars of the Roses to the Civil War (London: Longman, 1987). Sternberg, Giora, Status Interaction During the Reign of Louis XIV (Oxford: OUP, 2014). OUP, 2014).

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Stollberg-Rilinger, Barbara, Des Kaisers Alte Kleide: Verfassungsgeschichte und Symbolsprache des Alten Reiches (Munich: C. H. Beck, 2008). Thurley, Simon, The Royal Palaces of Tudor England: Architecture and Court Life, 1460–1547 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993). ———, Whitehall Palace: An Architectural History of the Royal Apartments, 1240–1698: An Architectural History of the Royal Apartments, 1240–1648 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1999). ———, Houses of Power: The Places that Shaped the Tudor World (London: Bantam Press, 2017). Truesdell, Matthew, Spectacular politics: Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte and the Fête impériale, 1849–1870 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997). Unowsky, Daniel, The pomp and politics of patriotism: Imperial celebrations in Habsburg Austria, 1848–1916 (West Lafayette: Purdue University Press, 2005). Wagner-Kyora, Georg von, ‘Beruf Kaiserin. Die mediale Repräsentation der preußisch-deutschen Kaiserinnen 1871–1918’, Historische Anthropologie 2007 15/3, 339–71. Werner, Karl Ferdinand (ed.), Hof, Kultur und Politik im 19. Jahrhundert (Bonn: Ludwig Röhrscheid, 1985). Winterling, Aloys, Der Hof der Kurfürsten von Köln 1688–1794: Eine Fallstudie zur Bedeutung ‘absolutischer Hofhaltung (Bonn: Röhrscheid, 1986). Wortman, Richard, Scenarios of power: Myth and ceremony in Russian monarchy, 2 vols (Princeton: PUP, 1995–2000).

CHAPTER 2

Reviving a Battered Court and Monarchy

In his last years you were not allowed to talk to him about death or say that someone had died. He immediately became sad and frightened, and said ‘Nun sterbe ich morgen’ [Now I’ll die tomorrow].1 (On Frederick I)

When old King Frederick lay dying in March 1751, the power he had exercised for thirty years began to slip from his fingers.2 Only three months earlier, the ailing king had tried to wield his influence in an ecclesiastical appointment.3 The Council disregarded him and appointed another candidate. Now his end was approaching, and when two councillors visited the king to talk about appointments, he refused to listen.4 Even so, a week later, he declared that he wanted chivalric orders for two favoured men.5 Two days later, King Frederick suffered from a violent fever and dizziness. His condition continued to decline and it was discovered that his right leg was developing gangrene.6 Surgery was attempted without any improvement. The time for clashes over appointments and decorations was over.  Weibull (1874, 92).  Kungliga biblioteket (National Library of Sweden), Stockholm (KB) Engestr. Osign. 59:5 Claes Ekeblads journal över rådslag 1751. 3  KB Engestr. Osign. 59:4 Claes Ekeblads journal över rådslag 1750. 4  KB Engestr. Osign. 59:5 Claes Ekeblads journal över rådslag 1751. 5  Which was put to an election in the Council and agreed. 6  Fryxell (1868, xxxviii. 210). 1 2

© The Author(s) 2020 F. Persson, Survival and Revival in Sweden’s Court and Monarchy, 1718–1930, Palgrave Studies in Modern Monarchy, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52647-4_2

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On the following day, it was clear that the king was approaching the end of his life. A physician, Beutman, who was thought something of a quack, was brought in to try his tincture on the dying man. The Council, however, was already planning for the next reign, and worked hard to put everything in place for the king’s demise.7 The written description of the queen’s funeral ten years earlier was fetched to prepare for the coming royal funeral. The attitude of the Crown Prince was discussed and deemed untrustworthy: a courtier, Count Tessin, informed the councillors of ‘His Royal Highness’s private talk against the Council’.8 The Governor of Stockholm was instructed that no one without a passport should be allowed to leave town. In the afternoon, numerous councillors, courtiers, and servants went to bid the old king farewell. King Frederick then demanded ‘das gute Essen’ (decent food) and patted his chest but declined the offer of soup and other dishes. At last someone realized that the king was asking for communion. The Senior Chaplain was sent for and gave the king communion, who tried but was unable to take off his nightcap when receiving the wafer. That evening Crown Prince Adolph Frederick and Crown Princess Lovisa Ulrika were brought in to see the king. He asked, in his native German, to see their son, the Prince Hereditary Gustaf, with the words ‘Wo is der kleine?’ (‘Where is the little one?’), but the five-year-old boy was not called to the sickroom. During the prayers the king mumbled ‘Mehr’ (‘More’), and at twenty minutes past eight o’clock in the evening it was all over.9 That night, Adolf Frederick and Lovisa Ulrika discussed with their confidants what to do in order to restore the hollowed-out royal power.10 Afterwards, it was said that the long-time courtier and military officer Hans Henrik von Liewen was more daring, proposing to arrest the Council, summon the guards, and demand homage from government officials and the burghers of Stockholm, and then to summon a new Diet and present it with a new constitution. One observer claimed the plan would have been successful, but ‘it demanded a more courageous and active Prince, gifted with the talent to rule and that lacked in Adolf Frederick’.11 The normally more gung-ho Lovisa Ulrika was said to have  KB Engestr. Osign. 59:5 Claes Ekeblads journal över rådslag 1751.  KB Engestr. Osign. 59:5 Claes Ekeblads journal över rådslag 1751. 9  Fryxell (1868, xxxviii. 210–1). 10  Klinckowström (1868, ii. 25–7). 11  Klinckowström (1868, ii. 26). 7 8

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been made insecure by cautious advice from one of her favourites, Count Liewen’s sister; Adolf Frederick hesitated, and no decision was made. The following morning the old king’s passing was declared in public with heralds, trumpets, and kettledrums. The new king swore an oath in the Council Chamber to uphold the 1720 Constitution. In the autumn, a new Diet did indeed convene, but the Hat party once again held sway and, on paper at least, the power of the monarch was even more circumscribed. The death of King Frederick displayed the weakness of royal power and the strength of aristocratic conciliar power. Even an arch-courtier like Count Tessin failed the royal cause at the decisive moment. At the same time, it was evident that conciliar rule was not entrenched: councillors feared a royal coup and tried hard to counteract any such moves. To understand what happened in 1751, we must go back to the downfall of absolutism in 1718 and the new political system that took its place. The image of the Swedish monarchy in the 1720s, 1730s, and 1740s has long been coloured by the last years of King Frederick, a German prince in an enfeebled state. Yet, both he and his wife Queen Ulrika Eleonora had tried to safeguard the royal prerogative. It was still open to them to use the court, and they tried in several ways to rebuild a functioning court by the introduction of unsalaried courtiers and other reforms. As will be demonstrated, they also tried to hasten the move to the new Stockholm Palace from their temporary residence. The king was also an active distributor of royal patronage through appointments. The rapid shift in 1718 from royal absolutism to power-sharing with the aristocratic Council and the Diet was confusing. It was said the common people ‘lament that we have too many kings, that the one we have is too weak, that we have been sold to France and God knows what’.12 This frustration began at the head of the body politic: reigning but not ruling was humiliation for an early modern monarch. It baffled early modern men and women. What was the role of a monarch if you took away much of the power? One English diplomat wrote of the Swedes’ ‘superstitious veneration they retain for their late King, and likewise how prone they are to a change’.13 To his mind, many Swedes did not fully embrace the new constitution, and were still mentally part of an absolutist monarchy and thus open to a constitutional realignment. The daughter and sister of absolute kings, Queen Ulrika Eleonora found the new constitutional  Olof von Dalin to Ulrik Gyldenstolpe in 1742, in Carlsson (1981, 93).  NA SP95/36, Stephen Poyntz, Stockholm 3 February 1725.

12 13

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disposition baffling and degrading. It was a new world to which the monarch and the court had to adapt. The queen struggled to change, and her husband, King Frederick, in whose favour she abdicated in 1720, also chafed under the restrictions placed on him by the Council and the Diet. Ulrika Eleonora bitterly jotted down comments such as ‘This will not do’ and ‘Villainy’ in her copy of the constitution.14 Contrast that with a biography of her brother and absolute ruler, Charles XII, in which the author wrote ‘a King’s word can be trusted’, a sentence underlined by the approving queen. So the image was of the king as a powerless cipher. Yet, when Diet convened in 1738, the Estates of the Realm had a list of grievances which addressed not the king’s lack of power, but his continued influence.15 Once the respectful phrases and assurances of love for the king were out of the way, parliamentarians discussed how royal power was exercised when filling public office. A number of cases were used to exemplify how King Frederick had overstepped the constitutional boundaries and how the Council had failed to keep him in check. These attacks were largely designed to topple the Cap party by demonstrating their lax attitude towards the royal will, and to cast the rising Hat party as the defenders of liberty. Beyond the rhetoric of the Diet, the frustration of the queen, and the confusion of commoners, we can spy a political situation that was new to all players. It was a shifting landscape where new rules applied, but they were vague, and could be bent or sometimes ignored.

The Council and the Constitution Ulrika Eleonora’s husband and successor, Frederick I, was later said to have explained his absence from Council meetings in later years with the words ‘It is no wonder, as you have given me sixteen tutors’.16 They were the sixteen councillors of the Realm who in the Constitutions of 1719 and 1720 were given more power and influence than they had ever formally had before. Thus, the first decades after the abolition of absolutism were characterized by players adapting to a new system no one had experienced before. It meant power-sharing between the monarch, Council, and Diet, and in the ensuing tug-of-war the monarch and the court played an  Thanner (1953, 291).  Edler (1915, 37–39). 16  Levisson (1844, 291). 14 15

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important part. It was also a system in flux: in a world which prized stability, the whole political edifice was built on shifting ground. Sweden had moved rapidly from absolutism to a constitutional monarchy in 1719. The Diet saw itself as supreme—superior to the Council— but the fact that it did not sit most of the time meant that the king and Council in reality exercised everyday power. The key paragraph in the new Constitution, ‘The King will rule the realm with, and thus not without, much less against, the counsel of the Council’, caused Queen Ulrika Eleonora to dryly comment ‘an instruction for little children’.17 The new Constitution made the kingdom of Sweden something of an oddity in eighteenth-century Europe: Sweden’s neighbour Denmark was an absolute monarchy and the same was true of Prussia and Russia, while France, Austria, Spain, and Portugal all practised various forms of absolutism, and assemblies or estates had gradually faded away in the seventeenth century. Britain was one exception, and the Swedish system can be seen as something akin to the Parliament in Westminster, including a budding two-­ party system. In a European perspective, Sweden might not appear that modern, and even as a strange throwback. It was an anachronism which foreign diplomats resident in Sweden were aware of, and which the Swedish royal family felt was an affront to the monarchy. Any attempt to change the system back to a more modern absolute monarchy ran the risk of foreign intervention. In the Treaty of Nystad in 1721, Russia guaranteed the new Swedish Constitution, leaving the way open for legitimate foreign military invention for decades to come. The disposition of 1720 saw the Council become the executive, with the Diet a possibly even more powerful body, but one that only intermittently convened. The Council was to consist of the monarch and sixteen aristocratic councillors. New councillors were appointed by a mixture of parliamentary and royal fiat.18 Where Swedish kings had once handpicked their councillors, now the monarch had to choose from a list of three drawn up by a parliamentary committee. In practice the Council was divided in two divisions to focus on either judicial or foreign affairs or military and domestic business.19 Less important matters could be decided ‘in cabinet’, that is by the monarch and just two councillors. In theory, councillors could not be sacked; however, in 1738, a form of  Constitution 1720 § 13, in Hildebrand (1891).  Constitution 1720 § 12, in Hildebrand (1891). 19  Malmström (1893, i. 194). 17 18

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impeachment was developed by the Diet which enabled it to ‘license’ councillors, which in reality meant forcing them into retirement.20 Thus it became the case that any changes in the makeup of the Diet were followed by a purge of the Council. The Diet also scrutinized and approved any laws issued by the king between sessions.21 The authority of the Council was far-­reaching. The Constitution stated, ‘As the realm is wide, business plentiful and more important than the king can alone investigate, thus he needs advice, officials, and county governors who support him’.22 What the men behind the Constitution feared above all was the return of absolutism. Thus Secretaries of State were strictly forbidden to present business to the monarch in private, and the Council was exhorted to guard against anyone trying ‘by plots to burden us with this absolutism again’.23 At the beginning of his reign, Frederick I made a determined effort to undermine the Constitution. At the 1723 Diet, he conspired to increase royal power: as a disapproving courtier wrote, ‘King Frederick lost much of his consideration by bringing peasants into his wardrobe during the night. There were then 50 persons of low worth, who believed and said they were favourites, on account of the privilege with which they were employed in that regard’.24 It ended in failure, however, and after 1723, he largely abandoned the attempt to claw back lost royal power, although he still wielded what power he could under the Constitution. The Constitution of 1720 was a way of combining oligarchy with monarchy. Over the years a growing cult grew up around the Constitution, to the point that in 1752, a bishop said that ‘it was against the Constitution’ for anyone to claim that the Diet could err. It was also claimed that the Constitution was so perfect that angels could not have written a better one. However, in reality, the Constitution was often unclear, and the Diet tried harder and harder to annex power from the Council. The Diet convened every three years and was divided into four Estates of the Realm— the nobility (about 900 members), the clergy (51), the burghers (about 100), and the peasantry (about 150 members)—each headed by a speaker. Of these, the Estate of the Nobles was by far the most important, and the Speaker of the Nobility (Lantmarskalken) acted as head of the whole Diet  Linnarsson (1943).  Constitution 1720 § 4, in Hildebrand (1891). 22  Constitution 1720 § 11, in Hildebrand (1891). 23  Constitution 1720 § 14, in Hildebrand (1891). 24  Ehrenheim (1819, 23–24). Carl Gustaf Tessin on the 1723 Diet. 20 21

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and as chairman of all the various committees. When the Diet was in session, a special Secret Committee was also set up to prepare business, consisting of fifty noblemen, twenty-five clergymen and twenty-five burghers. This committee grew ever more powerful, and by the mid-eighteenth century spent much of its time planning how to circumscribe what the Council could do for the next three years, between Diets. Which powers did the king have in this system? He could not veto laws. He could not dissolve the Diet. He did have two votes in the Council, but could still be voted down. The king could ennoble people, but these ennoblements would then be screened by the Diet. This limited his influence over key political decisions such as alliances and overarching strategy. However, power in early modern states to a large degree took the form of patronage in the distribution of offices, and Sweden was no different. Much of the king’s residual power flowed from his influence over appointments. And here power remained in the monarch’s hands. He could appoint councillors by choosing from the three candidates shortlisted by the Estates. Higher offices (from the military rank of colonel and equivalent upwards) were handed out by the King in Council. If the councillors found that the appointment did not agree with the Constitution they could vote on the matter, thus blocking the king’s decision. Middling and lower offices were to be given away by the king in Cabinet, with only two councillors and a Secretary of State present. When the king chose a candidate outside the shortlist for a lower office, this had to be ratified in Council, but it was not unknown for it to be in Cabinet instead.25 There was considerable uncertainty built into the Constitution, and even where it was clear all parties involved tried to negotiate and create precedents. At times, the king simply refused to sign decisions when the Council opposed his wishes.26 As the king was leaving for his native Hesse in 1731, he appointed his favourite Hans von Fersen as President of the Judiciary, despite opposition from the Council. One of the councillors, Gyllenborg, pointed out that ‘it could be defended, if you in every way try to give His Majesty a gracious satisfaction, so that he will not discontent travel away’.27 The result was a monarch who could manifest power, but mainly through appointments. Inevitably, the court emerged as an instrument of the royal will, rebuilding royal status and influence. At the heart of early  Torell (1876, 8–9).  Malmström (1893, i. 246). 27  Ström (1967, 22). 25 26

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modern power was the power to bestow office: ‘If one can make 40 colonels, where would then our freedom be?’ said one noble said in the constitutional debate in 1719.28 By controlling public appointments, one could buy friends and build up a faction or party. What was put in place was a system whereby all appointments to high office were decided by the ‘King in Council’—the exercise of executive authority by the monarch in the presence of the Council. According to the Constitution, the king had the privilege to appoint most high offices, with the king in Council ratifying the decision.29 Yet, as the Council could block his decision if the appointment was not in agreement with law or ‘the welfare and merits of honest citizens’, there was thus a fundamental uncertainty about the limits of the royal power of appointment. Meanwhile, in Cabinet the king could make appointments to offices under the rank of colonel, on the basis of shortlists drawn up by various government boards, county governors, and senior military. Two months had to pass after the position fell vacant before the shortlist could be submitted, and the new office holder had to be appointed within one month of the shortlist being submitted.30 That still meant the king could pick freely from the shortlist. If the monarch wanted to appoint someone not on the shortlist—‘without proposal’ (utom förslag)—his choice had to pass the full Council. The Estates in the Diet had conflicting interests. The Estate of the Nobles completely dominated the higher echelons of government.31 In 1723, the privileges granted to the nobility included the exclusive right to ‘high and important offices’. The nobility invariably favoured noble applicants for other offices too. That created tension with other Estates, and with the corps of officials who were overwhelmingly aristocrat the higher you got: after all, on the face of it the Council of 1720 was uniformly aristocratic, but half of the councillors appointed in the 1720s had been born commoners.32 In the event, this proportion fell steadily over the century, so that of the twelve councillors appointed in the 1780s, only one had begun life as a commoner. Another factor was the Budget of 1696, which was set as the standard budget (and it continued to be the baseline until

 Banér in the debate about the 1719 Constitution (Linnarsson 1943, 16).  Constitution 1720 § 40, in Hildebrand (1891). 30  According to rules added in 1739 (Edler 1915, 31). 31  Elmroth (1962, 75). 32  Ibid., 87. 28 29

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1776). That meant, in theory at least, that no new public offices could be created. In 1723, one aristocratic member of the Diet argued that it and it alone should fill the vacant presidentships of some of the government boards.33 The Diet did not go quite that far, but suggested that when it was in session the Diet should decide on the shortlist from which the king would choose. This bold move came to nothing, overwhelmed by political bickering, but over time, the Diet increasingly meddled in appointments. There was a marked increase at the 1746–47 Diet, for example. Before 1740, the Diet had not issued any ‘characters’, but by 1750, at least fifteen of twenty-five high officials with ‘improved characters’ had received them from the Diet.34 At the Diet of 1760–62, more than 600 public appointments were handled by the Diet.

Revival and Rebuilding With monarchy thus circumscribed, it became even more essential to have a properly functioning court in order to boost royal authority.35 The reigns of Ulrika Eleonora and Frederick I have a reputation for stagnation. The courtier Carl Gustaf Tessin noted that ‘among our court adventures in Sweden can be reckoned that at the same time the Court Master of the Stable had no hands, the Court Painter was blind, the Master of the King’s music was deaf, and the Dancing Master had a limp’.36 Added to which, the fencing master was lame. Tessin’s quip reflected one reality, but the royals were trying to improve the situation. One emergency was the lack of somewhere to live. When taking the waters at the spa of Medevi in July 1722, both Queen Ulrika Eleonora and King Frederick wrote independently of each other to the head of the court, Chief Marshal Count Nicodemus Tessin, demanding that they immediately move into the new palace that was then under construction.37 It was twenty-five years since Tre Kronor had burnt to the ground and the queen felt that the present temporary accommodation, the Wrangel Palace, was unsanitary and no longer fit for purpose. Count Tessin was  Malmström (1893, i. 243).  Elmroth (1962, 48). 35  For an overview of the Swedish court under preceding monarchs, see Persson (1999). 36  KB L 82:1:4 Åkerödagbok fol. 615, 31 May 1758. 37  Ulrika Eleonora to Nicodemus Tessin, 7 July 1722 Medevi. Printed in Crusenstolpe (1837, i. 24–6). 33 34

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swift to answer: it was impossible. The new palace was still a building site and utterly unsuitable. Access to the rooms was by the windows. There were no ‘floors, doors or locks’.38 It would be another thirty-two years before Stockholm Palace could be used as a royal residence, and by then the queen, the king, and Tessin were all dead. Changing the space that was the framework for the court was a torturously slow process. In the 1720s, the royal couple had wanted to press on and improve the court, but were stymied by practical shortcomings. Not only bricks and mortar, but also people and institutions, were obstacles in the way of a more impressive royal court. Creating a well-oiled and dignified court out of the hotchpotch they had inherited was a daunting prospect. The coup following the death of Charles XII in late 1718 meant that the power shift in Stockholm was much more fundamental than a normal succession— and it was not the switch to a queen regnant for a couple of years. Rather, it was the revolutionary transferral of a significant proportion of royal authority from the monarch to the Council and the Diet. This political earthquake was matched by desperate attempts at normalization. After eighteen years of an absentee monarch who campaigned as far away as Turkey, Sweden finally had a ruler who lived in Stockholm. The 1710s had seen a mosaic of royal courts—the king’s campaigning court, the king’s court in Stockholm, the queen dowager’s court, the Holstein court, and the Polish court in exile—but with normalization came a return to the Swedish court as it had been in the 1690s, before the Great Northern War. Weekly cour days were held to receive the elite; royal hunting resumed. When revamping the court in 1719, Queen Ulrika Eleonora decided to fill various offices that had fallen vacant and to reintroduce offices previously abolished, such as the Miniaturist Painter, the Battle Painter, the Jeweller, the Goldsmith, and Pearl-Embroiderer.39 The horse-trading saw the number of royal chaplains cut from three to two and the office of Blackamoor abolished, but a foreign-born diamond cutter was appointed so that stones would no longer have to be sent abroad.40 The office of  Nicodemus Tessin to Ulrika Eleonora, 11 July 1722 Stockholm. Printed in Crusenstolpe (1837, i. 25). 39  Slottsarkivet (Royal Palace Archive), Stockholm (SLA) Hovkontoret Brevbok 1719, Ulrika Eleonora to Nikodemus Tessin, Stockholm 2 May 1719. 40  SLA Hovkontoret Brevbok 1719, Nicolaus von Bleichertz to Ulrika Eleonora, [1719]. 38

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midwife was retained, but in the absence of any royal births to preside over the salary was shared between the late king’s wet nurse and an old noblewoman pensioner.41

New Courtiers The first courtier appointed by Queen Ulrika Eleonora was her second cousin, Count Carl Adolf Gyllenstierna, in April 1719. The twenty-year-­ old aristocrat was one of her only three living relatives in Sweden.42 She made him a Chamber Gentleman, probably in order to give him some status for the grand tour he was about to embark on. Her next appointment was her husband’s German favourite, Christian Wiebel, whom she made a Master of the Stable, even though the current office holder, one Güntherfelt, was still alive in Russian captivity. (Güntherfelt later returned to service, despite having had his hands blown off by a cannon ball). Queen Ulrika Eleonora and her husband the Prince Hereditary Frederick of Hesse may have been new to the throne in the first days of 1719, but around them was an old court, hobbling along. Courtiers came from a small number of related families, and they stayed on for decades in ever increasing numbers. What had once been the starting point for fresh-­ faced, youthful aristocrats was now close to an elephant graveyard. Decrepitude and illness was everywhere to be seen. There were courtiers who not only remembered the old absolutist regime, but even the aristocratic heyday before that in the 1660s and 1670s. Clad in the fashion of days long gone by, the ancient Count Carl Gyllenstierna still stumbled along as the governor of the Queen Dowager Hedvig Eleonora’s court, though she had been dead for several years: he continued to sport shoe roses and garters, just as he had when cutting a dashing figure in the youthful court of 1670. And his old-fashioned clothes were not the only relics at the Swedish court of faraway times. When King Charles XII was killed in Norway on a grey November day in 1718, his court had been steadily growing into an old, decrepit institution. The court in 1719 thus consisted of a significant number of old hands, supplemented and doubled, sometimes trebled and quadrupled, by 41  SLA Hovkontoret Brevbok 1719, Ulrika Eleonora to Nikodemus Tessin, Stockholm 2 May 1719. 42  The others were the Count’s mother, the Princess Palatine Catherine, and the Queen’s much-disliked nephew Charles Frederick of Holstein.

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courtiers from satellite courts. To make this out-dated machinery work properly was a daunting challenge. To make it once more a centre around which the political and social elite would revolve seemed nigh impossible. It must be borne in mind that courtiers and court servants were very seldom sacked: they carried out their duties until promotion or death intervened. The backlog was thus considerable. There could be no drastic reforms, no mass dismissals to replace old courtiers with new, more forceful characters. Ulrika Eleonora and Frederick did have options, though. The obvious one, especially in an institution with such a traditional outlook, was to carry on as before, and slowly take on new people as opportunity presented over several decades. What the royal couple opted for instead was a European system of unsalaried courtiers, which lent itself to boosting the number of (young) courtiers without playing havoc with the budget. At the Hanoverian court in Britain, unsalaried Gentlemen of the Privy Chamber formed the category of courtiers that increased in number in the 1710s and 1720s.43 In Sweden, plans for such a system were not entirely new, for there had been a few unsalaried courtiers in service before 1718, but their numbers had been insignificant: in 1712, a son of the councillor Count Vellingk had been made a Chamber Gentleman without salary; in 1715, Count Tessin recommended that the king grant young Baron Erik Wrangel ‘Character as Chamber Gentleman until an opening appeared’, at a time when only three Chamber Gentlemen were in Princess Ulrika Eleonora and her husband’s service.44 Tessin wrote: I cannot see any fault in those who can live by their own means, and moreover are accomplished, not being excluded in these meagre times, when almost no salary is paid, not to mention that it would be desirable that all those who attend at court had travelled and used their time in making themselves suitable for foreign embassies, as was the case before with the late Count Gabriel Turesson as well as the late Count Bonde, and is now the intention of young Count Vellingk.45

 Smith (2006, 67).  ‘Kort Berättelse om Erik Wrangels usle lefnad, uppsatt af honom sjelf’, printed in Geijer (1843, 309–10); KB L 82:1:5 Åkerödagbok 19 October 1758, Nicodemus Tessin to Casten Feif, 5 February 1715, copy. 45  Ibid. 43 44

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Tessin claimed to have ‘no other design than the honour of the court, and the promotion of a deserving youth’. Princess Ulrika Eleonora supported the plan, but it all came to nothing when Wrangel omitted to pay money to sweeten one of the king’s secretaries. The following year, Tessin reiterated his plea for the issuing of characters. This time he backed the son of Governor General Burenschiöld for a post as Court Gentleman. Tessin pictured the dangers of closing off the court completely: but if, through this, all access to the royal court were to be denied those amongst the young who now strive at great cost and in foreign countries to make themselves suited to serve His Majesty, then all the courage and perhaps also all the politesse will gradually disappear, and when one day Almighty God grants us peace, more than just officers will be needed. One is already very aware of the decay into which everything falls.46

It was the practice at other courts to make extraordinary appointments, and Princess Ulrika Eleonora had hoped that the same would be introduced in Sweden. Tessin’s plans were realized with her blessing as queen as soon as was possible: the practice of appointing unsalaried Court Gentleman and Chamber Gentlemen rapidly accelerated after the death of Charles XII in 1718. All fifteen Court Gentlemen appointed between 1719 and 1721 were unsalaried. Of the twenty-three who were made Chamber Gentlemen, ten were unsalaried, ten received Court Gentlemen’s salaries, one received a salary as an Under Master of the Stable, and two received salaries as Chamber Gentlemen. One old Court Gentleman was also made a Chamber Gentleman, with the salary of Court Gentleman but no actual duties—this despite the fact that unsalaried Court Gentlemen and Chamber Gentlemen normally saw active service at court and had to attend the monarch three months a year. The introduction of this system brought an influx of younger courtiers, and in some numbers. The crucial point, however, was who was appointed. It was not only their number, but also their background that spoke volumes about a changing court. It was significant that in 1720, the only son of Gustaf Adam Taube was appointed Chamber Gentleman. Count Taube had been crucial in the power struggle following 1718. As Chief Governor (Överståthållare) and thus head of Stockholm’s government, Taube 46   KB Ep.T.4 Nicodemus Tessin to Salomon Cronhielm, Stockholm 22 February 1716, copy.

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wielded a great deal of influence—and he was a staunch supporter of the ruling Hessian faction. Young Hans Taube was not the only son of a leading politician to enter court service around 1720. In late December 1718, the queen had appointed four councillors to shore up her power as she manoeuvred for the throne.47 Of the four, two were either childless or had children too young to serve. The son of the third, however, received a court appointment in 1720, while the stepson of the fourth, who was already a Court Gentleman, was promoted to Chamber Gentleman in 1720.48 In 1719, a further ten aristocrats were made councillors. Of them, nine had children of a suitable age for court service, of whom eight would in coming years arrange for their children to serve at court, most of them being given court offices soon after their father’s appointment, while the ninth had sons-in-law at court.49 In 1723, three councillors were appointed, of whom two had children at court (the third, Carl Gyllenborg, only had an English adopted daughter, but several nephews serving at court).50 A further ten aristocrats were made councillors in 1727, nine of them with children who, in most cases, soon found a place at court, while the tenth was childless.51 It was not just councillors who were old courtiers 47  Erik Sparre, G. A. Taube, C. G. Dücker, and Axel Banér. Adam Ludwig Lewenhaupt died in Russian captivity in 1719 before he could resume office. 48  Hans Taube and Johan Gabriel Sack. 49  Councillor Henning Rudolf Horn’s children were in Russian captivity. The eight were Sven Leijonstedt (whose son Carl Jakob was a Chamber Gentleman in 1719), Hans Henrik Liewen (son Hans Henrik, Court Gentleman in 1720; later, one daughter a Maid of Honour and one son in the Guards), Salomon Cronhielm (son Axel in the Drabant Corps and in the Stables), Johan Creutz (son Svante in the Guards and Chamber Gentleman 1722), Claes Bonde (sons Carl and Gustaf, Court Gentlemen in 1719), Claes Ekeblad (son Claes, Chamber Gentleman in 1731), Claes Sparre (son Carl Hans, Chamber Gentleman; son Erik Arvid, Chamber Gentleman 1731; son Rutger Axel, Chamber Gentleman 1737), and Magnus Julius De la Gardie (children too young but later served at court). The ninth was Johan Lillienstedt. 50  Sven Lagerberg (Adam Otto, Court Gentleman 1742), Josias Cederhielm (Carl Vilhelm, referred to as Chamber Gentleman). 51  Olof Törnflycht (son Carl Fredrik, Chamber Gentleman 1731), Gustaf Bonde (Carl, Chamber Gentleman 1731; Sigrid, Maid of Honour 1733; Tord, Chamber Gentleman 1744; Carl the younger, Chamber Gentleman 1757), Nils Gyllenstierna (Göran Court Gentleman 1742), Johan Carl Strömfelt (Ulrika Eleonora, Maid of Honour 1739; Anna Margareta, Maid of Honour; Carl Johan, Ensign in the Guards 1743), Joakim von Düben (Ulrika Eleonora, Maid of Honour 1748; Carl Vilhelm, Court Gentleman 1743; Joakim, Court Gentleman 1758), Ture Gabriel Bielke (Nils Adam, Chamber Gentleman 1738; Axel, Chamber Gentleman 1738), Samuel Barck (Carl Gustaf, Court Gentleman 1726; Nils, Chamber Gentleman 1736; Ulrik, Ensign in the Guards 1736), Carl Gustaf Hård (Carl,

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themselves who sent their children to court, then. Interestingly, it seems to have been generally attractive even at this level to place your children at court. In 1722, a further fourteen Chamber Gentlemen were appointed, several of whom were the sons of the now powerful royal councillors.52 A similar trend was noticeable among the officers of the Guard, where several belonged to very aristocratic families such as Brahe and Stenbock, at a time when the Life Guards (Livdrabanterna) tended not to come from the top drawer of the nobility. It was the function the court not just to boost royal status and power, but to offer something to members of the elite as well. A court office was a useful passport for young aristocrats embarking on a grand tour. In 1720, a total of eight young courtiers were said to be abroad.53 Though this was not a privilege to be taken for granted. In 1733, the king observed when he denied one request for a court title, ‘so many young gentlemen have travelled abroad and got this title, but behaved badly’.54 Noble offices other than Chamber Gentleman and Court Gentleman were also increasingly filled by unsalaried people, but not to the same degree. Thus a young Page in 1725 wrote that he had ‘soon for two and a half years been serving at the royal court in expectation’—meaning he had served in the expectation of a salary at a later stage.55 Even servants quite far down the pecking order were prepared to serve in expectation.56 As in any new system, there were weaknesses. Courtiers became even more differentiated. The most obvious groupings were salaried courtiers versus unsalaried ones. In the 1720s, a further distinction, Cabinet Chamber Gentleman (Kabinettskammarherre), was introduced—a courtier in constant attendance. Unusually, Cabinet Chamber Gentleman appears to have been a Swedish invention at a time when courtly titles were normally determined by tradition or copied from foreign models. If court office became general largesse, such a liberal approach would Ensign in the Guards 1737; Johan Ludvig, Volunteer in the Guards 1731 and Lieutenant in the Drabant Corps 1755), Jakob Cronstedt (Carl Johan, Court Gentleman 1731). 52  Fredrik Gyllenborg, Svante Creutz, Nils Bielke, Hans Henrik von Liewen, Axel Wilhelm Wachtmeister, Carl Gustaf Cederhielm. 53  SLA Övre Borgrätten A I:6 21 March 1720. 54  RA Mikrofilmssamlingen Äldre serien vol. 168 Johan Gabriel Sacks journal 2 July 1733. Chamber Gentleman Törnflycht was singled out for his bad behaviour. 55  SLA Riksmarskalksämbetet E2:1 Pehr Hård to Nikodemus Tessin [1725]. 56   SLA Riksmarskalksämbetet E2:1 Kitchen Groom Jean Messer to Nikodemus Tessin [1725].

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diminish the value of the office. It was presumably to counter this that for almost a decade there was considerable restraint shown: after 1722, the flood of new courtiers slowed to a trickle. Then a new batch of courtiers was appointed in 1731, and after that, the floodgates opened. Another aspect of the subsequent wave of unsalaried courtiers was that such positions could be combined with other offices. Courtiers thus tended to have careers in tandem, pairing an unsalaried court office with military or government office. Thus from 1719, pluralism flourished. Courtiers in an unsalaried office and no other position might struggle to get by, especially as they would have had to pay the usual fees on their appointment.

Old Servants King Frederick had to fight against an ageing trend not only among noble courtiers, but also among many servants at court. Many institutional problems hindered renewal. Money was one—a pressing need when courtiers and court servants in Russian captivity were also clamouring for help, and Güntherfelt, the Master of the Stable, could write from Moscow that because of great debt ‘if support does not come soon, nothing but death is before my eyes in this misery’.57 Lack of funds meant people could serve in the hope of future employment, but that could not go on indefinitely. Thus, in May 1719, Johan Bollman, who had served in the Kitchen for five years without a salary and for four years with half a Kitchen Boy’s salary, asked to be dismissed ‘since because of the hard times he is unable to sustain himself therewith’.58 The actual organization was also in serious need of an overhaul. In the 1720s, it was noted that holders of the post of Kitchen Master had usually been administrators, ‘but then the accounts have also been much more correct than the dishes tasty’.59 Added to which, many court servants were old and frail. Thus, Chief Marshal Tessin suggested that a number of the grooms and drivers be transferred to St John’s Hospital, to be replaced by younger ones.60 It was a particular problem in the 1720s, when, as we have seen, long service and the merging of several courts had resulted in an ageing court. In the 57  SLA Hovkontoret Brevbok 1719 Carl Gustaf Güntherfelt to Nikodemus Tessin, Moscow 7 May 1719. 58  SLA Riksmarskalksämbetet 1719–21 B 1:4 fol. 31. 59  Ibid. 60  SLA Hovkontoret Brevbok 1719, Her Majesty’s Resolution on the Memorandum of Nikodemus Tessin, 22 June 1719.

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1710s, the Court Marshal was already worried that ‘some of His Majesty’s Lackeys, as well as other court servants, such as the Cup-bearer, the Controller etc. are so ancient that they are completely useless: if they are dismissed from service, they are forced to take the beggar’s staff for no fault of their own, and if they are maintained work suffers too much through their incapacity’.61 The situation was captured in the complaint from 1713 that ‘when an office falls vacant, there are easily twenty applying for the same one, all thinking they deserve it, so it is very hard to please everyone, the more so as a batch of handsome and deserving people have remained without help for some time, since no one is inclined to die off’.62 Increasing length of service fuelled the inbred and closed nature of the court. It was unavoidable that such a system would produce characters like Jacob Biörnstedt (Clerk of the Wardrobe 1683–91, Master of the Furnishings Chamber 1692–1726) who was later characterized as having ‘lived and died among old clothes, worn-out tapestry, dust, and vermin’.63 The problem frustrated people at all levels of the court. In 1728, the Master Cooks protested that their subordinates in the kitchen were incompetent. A list was made of kitchen staff ‘who are either old or, through drunkenness, completely useless’.64 One man was said to be ‘a good worker if not his drunkenness ruined him’; another ‘is not much good’ and a ‘booze hound’, but had ‘been with the Late King throughout the whole war’. Several were noted to have ‘been in the war from the beginning’ or ‘served long before the war and followed the late King on campaign throughout the whole war’, but were old and unable to work.

Fighting Disorder A burnt-down palace, ageing court servants, and a throng of entitled young aristocrats flooding the court: it was a recipe for disorder. Courts were always to some degree disorderly and the target of moral outrage, but the 1720s Swedish court faced serious challenges. Eighteen years of war had emptied Sweden’s coffers. Courtiers and court servants had not been paid in full in real money for many years. Groups of destitute servants 61  Riksarkivet (Swedish National Archives), Stockholm (RA) Allmänna verks skrivelser till kungl. Maj:t vol. 5, Nicodemus Tessin to Charles XII n.d. 62  Casten Feif to Nicodemus Tessin, Timurtasch 17 July 1713, in Andersson (1859, i. 172–3). 63  KB L 82:1:13 diary of Carl Gustaf Tessin, 13 August 1761. 64  SLA Riksmarskalksämbetet E2:3 PM by Johan Gabriel Gyllencrona 25 October 1728.

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petitioned the queen for wages, because they were now ‘shunned and hear harsh words from those from whom we before could get something on credit, but now we are shown the door’.65 Most of the carriages in the royal stable in 1719 were broken and unusable—of the twenty, seventeen were scrapped, broken up for parts, or given away—so that in 1720 alone ten new carriages had to be bought, and in the following eight years another twenty-eight.66 Even the ritual highlights of court life, meals, were in disarray. After two decades of a court divided between Sweden and the field, there was considerable confusion about dining at court. A number of regulations issued in September 1720 aimed to rectify the situation.67 The following month duties of the Kitchen Master were limited to supervising the preparation of meals, and he was supplanted as administrator by a Clerk of the Finances (Ekonomikamrerare).68 Cooks were also sent abroad to ‘acquire Perfection in the Sciences pertaining to his profession’.69 And yet the abuses continued. The Linen Mistress refused to hand out table linen, so food had to be served to the Maids of Honour whose ‘Table has been quite bare and uncovered when the food was placed upon it’, while Queen Ulrika Eleonora was displeased when the table for the Cavaliers lacked tablecloths and napkins, ‘which was rather indecent’. It turned out the Linen Mistress had found lodgings away from the Linen Chamber, and was staying away for days on end.70 In 1724, the complaints continued: the king had been served old, foul-smelling food, the wine was off, and the candles were bad. It was also revealed that the Confectioner, who was paid according to the weight of the pastry, made it ‘both too dense and too tough, whereas His Majesty takes pleasure in pastry that is thin and 65  Petition from the lackeys to Queen Ulrika Eleonora [1719]. RA Allmänna verks skrivelser till K Mt. Överstemarskalken till Kungl. Maj:t vol. 7. A new collective petition from the lackeys was handed in to King Frederick in 1721. 66  RA Allmänna verks skrivelser till K Mt. Överstemarskalken till Kungl. Maj:t vol. 7 List of carriages 1719 (Förteckning uppå de Wagnar som åhr 1719…). 67  RA Kungliga arkiv vol. 11 ‘Instruction för kiällarmestaren angående den dagelige utspijsningen’ Stockholm 3 September 1720; RA Kungliga arkiv vol. 11 ‘Instruction hwareffter kongl. Maij:ts kiöksbetiänte widh den dagelige utspijsningen hafwa sigh at rätta’ Stockholm 3 September 1720. 68  RA Kungliga arkiv vol. 11 Hovartiklar, hovordningar m.m. ‘Reglemente hwarefter kongl. Maijt.z Betiente wid kongl. kiöket hafwa sig at rätta’ 1 October 1720. 69  Cook Apprentice Carl Olsson sent abroad to Copenhagen with a diplomat in 1734, SLA Riksmarskalkämbetet Diarium vol. 9 (1734) fol. 25. 70  SLA Övre Borgrätten A I:6 6 November 1719.

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crisp’.71 Moreover, it was not just the quality of the food, drink, and lighting which fell short. The behaviour of courtiers could be nothing short of scandalous. In early March 1721, the table for Cavaliers dining at court was treated to a remarkable spectacle, even by court standards.72 The 27-year-old Baron Carl Gustaf Cederhielm, Court Gentlemen and irrepressible rascal, drove his younger colleague, the 21-year old Court Gentleman Lorentz Jacob Adlerstedt, to despair. According to the latter, it was culmination of a long period of bullying. Earlier the same day, Cederhielm had accosted Adlerstedt at Altneck’s coffeehouse, demanding to know why he had not been on duty the day before as the Court Gentleman on duty had fallen ill. Adlerstedt felt humiliated by the public scolding, but raced to his lodgings to get into clean clothes in order to go on duty. He arrived at Wrangel Palace, the royal residence, too late: just as he entered the Quadrangle (the main dining room), the food was being carried in. Half way through the meal, Cederhielm sauntered in with an officer and sat down. And he told Adlerstedt off—‘Why have you not been in charge of sending up the food? By the Devil, better to go to the country and churn butter. With such men one is supposed to serve’—adding ‘The Devil take those tenants so they do not provide rancid butter, so the King’s food is edible’. Then he tasted a cake—‘Look, here is the tenant’s rancid butter!’—and handed a plate to a lackey, snorting ‘Take this away, but you cannot eat it either, the butter is rancid’. All the while Adlerstedt, involved in the tenancy of a couple of royal farms, stayed silent, shamefaced. Cast down, Adlerstedt said nothing, but went to warm himself by the fireplace. Cederhielm continued to harass him with talk of churning butter, and moved on to toasting everyone present. As he toasted Adlerstedt, Cederhielm—‘with royal food on the table’—turned around and exposed himself, saying ‘Face to face’ to Adlerstedt. All the others present fell silent. Then someone asked Cederhielm if he intended to ‘shock the whole group?’ ‘No, just the one deserving of it’, retorted Cederhielm. The mortified Adlerstedt felt that his honour as a nobleman was seriously wounded: ‘all the Cavaliers present watched me and felt I was someone with whom they could neither eat or spend time with again’. He wrote a letter of complaint and the matter became a court case in the Palace Court (Borgrätten). One witness dismissed it all as ‘raillerie’ of the kind common  Crusenstolpe (1842, 35).  SLA Övre Borgrätten A I:6 4 March 1721.

71 72

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when on campaign; another witness said that he ‘never reflects on joking, which must have happened a hundred times at meals in the Palace’. Cederhielm himself claimed he was a ‘well-intentioned comrade making a joke to pass the time’. Cederhielm was a known wit, and a year earlier had come up with a verse mocking the newly crowned Frederick I: What ’ere has reached its zenith Will soon be brought to nought. So Charles is gone and Frederick crowned. The Swedish clock hands now go round. From 12 to 1 at Court.73

Adlerstedt was known for his biting comments, but Cederhielm was clearly in a different league. He also had form, having caused rows by his arrogance at court. Six months earlier, Cederhielm had been brought before the Palace Court for dereliction of duty when serving the royal meal as he refused to become wet, carrying the food from the kitchen into the palace in the rain.74 Cocky young aristocrats were not easy to control, and the new system with its unsalaried courtiers was likely to have loosened control even further. For like so many couriers, Cederhielm was deeply in debt. In other instances, court servants simply brawled, as when a Chamber Lackey of the Prince Hereditary smashed windows after the wife of a stable official threw ‘unclean water’ over him. Often they may have thought they were meting out summary justice, as when several court servants were late for prayers in 1724 shows: some stable servants did not arrive until after the sexton had begun intoning a hymn in the stable, so a Yeoman of the Stirrups (Sadelknekt) began beating a Stable Groom with a stick, which was not appreciated.75

Personal Royal Power In the winter of 1749, a few people drinking in a public house in Uppsala planned a physical assault on the courtier Erland Broman ‘as the person who causes all confusion and chaos in the kingdom by selling offices etc.  I am grateful to Helen Whittow for her assistance with this translation.  SLA Övre Borgrätten A I:5 4 March 1720. 75  SLA Övre Borgrätten A I:8 6 March 1724. 73 74

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etc.’76 These were ordinary people involved, but revulsion at Broman’s activities as the main fixer at Frederick I’s court cut across class lines. Broman was himself an unsalaried courtier, having been appointed a Court Gentleman without salary in 1722 at the age of 17. As such Broman was part of the influx of young unsalaried courtiers who were part of the renewal of the court. Two weeks before him his half-brother was appointed Chamber Gentleman, and three months earlier, another brother had been made Court Gentleman—both without salary. Unsalaried offices were an easy way to tie members of the elite to court. Broman and his brother may have begun as unsalaried, but with time, his court service was very rewarding. Broman’s long court career had brought him the king’s favour and with that came riches. A leading politician later characterized Broman as ‘a man who knew neither honour nor rectitude’, and whose actions were all ‘marked by self-interest and villainy’.77 The renowned scientist Linnaeus wrote darkly of Broman’s ‘ill-gotten gains’ which would bring down divine punishment, while the mystic Emanuel Swedenborg had disturbing dreams about Broman tempting him with money and riches.78 Later historians vilified him, but at the same time marginalized him as a sleazy parasite of no real importance, and today he is forgotten—yet to contemporaries, Broman was a man of significance. Of still deeper significance was that royal power was still present after 1720; cut back and curtailed but still there. The perception of royal power was in itself powerful. Axel Reuterholm, a young nobleman with an interest in the court in 1737 deplored that the Swedish nobility to such a high degree ‘depended on the favour of the court’.79 Reuterholm may have overestimated royal influence but the comparative poverty of the bulk of the nobility made them vulnerable to royal overtures even in the form of minor offices, which was exactly where the monarch had the most freedom to make decisions. A man like Broman was made by the existence of royal power even in this system. Broman’s success at court was down to his personal bond with the king, who liked him, and his willingness to procure money or girls for his royal master. His contemporary as courtier Count Tessin described Broman: ‘He was a man of society, not by intellectual accomplishments, but by the gaiety of his temperament, painted on  KB Engestr. Osign 59:3 Claes Ekeblads journal över rådslag 1749.  Klinckowström (1867, i. 164). 78  Petry 200, 163; Klemming and Woofenden (1989). 79  RA Reuterholm-Ädelsgrenska samlingen Axel Reuterholm’s diary vol. 7 9 February 1737. 76 77

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the most jovial face I have seen in my life. He had good heart, too good; never read; only received receipts of bonds or Banknotes’.80 He was said by Count Tessin to have ‘A singular ascendance over the late king, due to his industry, his facility over the means and the weakness of the Monarch: A Heart that did not know what it is to refuse, and this Heart always besieged by people always in need’.81 Patronage and appointments were the stuff of power. The courtier Johan Gabriel Sack carefully noted promotions and the sale of offices in his diary, so it was full of offices being ‘given away’ and stories of the machinations behind those decisions. Baron Sack was himself a long-­ serving courtier, who in 1733 hoped to be promoted a high office in the Chancery.82 To that end, he visited the Chancellor, Count Arvid Horn, head of the Chancery and the leading politician in Sweden. Horn said he wanted to help, but might be unable to do so; he would ‘employ his standing to that end, if he could ever recover it, as it has now fallen completely with Their Majesties’, thus neatly demonstrating the limits of both Horn’s and the king’s power.83 The king had to comply with major policy decisions made by Horn and his group, while Horn could not force the king to fill offices against his wishes. Even after 1720, royal power was still personal. That meant that the personality of Frederick I affected how the monarchy functioned. As will be argued later, succeeding monarchs such as Lovisa Ulrika and Gustaf III would leave a strong mark on what decisions were made. This temperamental importance has sometimes been uncomfortable to later historians but contemporaries accepted it was part of the equation of monarchy. When early modern royal power still depended largely on royal temperament, even a diminished monarch left his mark. King Frederick’s generosity was noted by his contemporaries, and does indeed shine through in the written record. The French diplomat Campredon commented that ‘The King of Sweden is kindness himself. He cannot say no’, but that ‘He is fickle in his decisions; to all who demand it he promises gifts that he is often not able to go through with’.84 Many years later, the courtier Carl  KB L 82:1:4 Tessin’s diary 1758 fols.792–4.  KB L 82:1:4 Tessin’s diary 1758 fols.792–4. 82  RA Mikrofilmssamlingen Äldre serien vol. 168, Johan Gabriel Sack’s journal 30 April 1733. 83  RA Mikrofilmssamlingen Äldre serien vol. 168, Johan Gabriel Sack’s journal 30 April 1733. 84  Holst (1953, 166). 80 81

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Gustaf Tessin penned a malicious portrait of King Frederick in which he grudgingly conceded that ‘liberality, this quality often studied and almost always ostentatious in kings, was natural to him. An enemy of magnificence, he lavished without obligation’.85 To fulfil his promises, King Frederick had to be firm when dealing with councillors, but that was not one of his virtues. Still, it is evident that the king was unwilling to go back on his word once it had been given. Broman was a case in question. In 1733, King Frederick decided to make Broman an Assessor in the Board of Trade, even though he was not on the shortlist of candidates. The king congratulated Broman in public before the appointment had been made, which made it very difficult to renege on his promise; nevertheless, he met with furious opposition from most of the Council. On Christmas Eve 1733, an ugly scene ensued where the king railed against the councillors—‘this could be nothing but cabals between them’—and Count De la Gardie retorted ‘that they had not expected to be so thanked by His Majesty for their constant and loyal service, and he who stirs up ill will between the king and the Council was nothing but a scoundrel and a traitor’.86 Another councillor, Carl Gyllenborg, stood up for the king by saying it was for the Council ‘only to advise, not to rule’.87 The row was carried over to the Diet, where ultimately the king’s right to appoint Broman was acknowledged.88 The king’s personality meant that appointments could also go the other way, for the king did at times buckle under pressure from the Council, even when he had the formal right of appointment. Thus, when a vice admiral was to be named in 1736, the king did not want to select the man who was top of the shortlist and had most years in the navy, but one of the other two names. After protests from the Council, he agreed to take the first choice on condition that the other two names were ‘given the character’ (though not the office) of Vice Admiral.89 Again, one, councillor, Count Ernst Johan Creutz, excused himself on the grounds that his duty was to counsel, not to rule.90 Characters, as unsalaried public offices were called, conferred prestige—and it was left to the monarch to issue them,  KB L 82:1:2 Tessin’s diary, 18 August 1757.   RA Mikrofilmssamlingen Äldre serien vol. 168 Johan Gabriel Sacks journal 24 December 1733. 87  Ström (1967, 23). 88  Ibid., 33. 89  Ibid., 65. 90  Ibid., 66. 85 86

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which the likes of King Frederick did with a free hand. However, under the 1720 Constitution, the only characters allowed in principle were at the court, which made them even more attractive. In eighteenth-century Sweden as in Europe as a whole, power was largely linked to power over appointments. Later historians often seem forgetful of this fact when focusing their attention on ministers and policy decisions. Contemporaries thought differently, and petitioners crowded the palace antechambers. In 1722, the king talked about being ‘swamped’ by army chaplains wanting livings.91 Perhaps they were trying to capitalize on the king’s known weakness for a military record. In one discussion, Frederick explicitly stated, ‘I would like to help regimental chaplains’.92 Then again, ‘I’m always assaulted with petitions by a wife whose husband is one of the candidates’, King Frederick sighed in 1722.93 The same woman had pressed her suit with the queen, who had been persuaded to give her recommendation. One councillor ‘complained about being overwhelmed by this woman’. If the husband was given an office, however, ‘the wife will never return to be troublesome with her petitions’. To get rid of her, the king and the Cabinet gave her husband the living—‘which is quite meagre’. Crucially, meeting the king in person could sway things, especially with a monarch as generous as Frederick I. When one candidate wanted to become a judge in what was obviously a private business arrangement with the then office holder, he went to the palace to meet the king to outsmart his competitors. King Frederick then reported to the Cabinet that ‘Löwenhielm was recently up to see his Majesty to reiterate his plea to receive this office through cessation, when His Majesty came to like him, as he seemed intelligent and expressed himself well’.94 Löwenhielm got his office. For the monarch, handing out offices was a way of helping people. King Frederick would often talk in terms of someone being ‘helped’ (geholfen) to an office. He was also keen on helping several people where at all possible, so that if a candidate was successful, his former office could be given to one of his unsuccessful competitors. Certainly, the fact of King Frederick’s generosity was attested to by hostile observers as well as  RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 2 a:1 Kabinettsprotokoll 7 March 1722.  RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 2 a:1 Kabinettsprotokoll 25 November 1720. 93  RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 2 a:1 Kabinettsprotokoll 7 March 1722. The woman was Christina Myricia, wife of Johan Windruff, who was made vicar of Bokenäs in 1722. 94  RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 2 a:2 Kabinettsprotokoll 6 December 1729. 91 92

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royalists. In some cases, the king would simply hand over a petition he had been given and state that he approved.95 Then the shortlist could be ignored, though the case would have to be gone over again in full Council. In other cases, a royal promise was invoked.96 A weapon in the battle for office was to refer to the late king’s resolutions in these matters, but such promises had a best sell-by date. An old promise was often disregarded, while a fresh promise was seen as more binding. Royal promises could also be turned into a letter recommendatory (promotorial), an official letter of recommendation from one official body to another, with the order that an unsuccessful candidate be shortlisted for the next vacant office.97 In this way, for instance, a temporary mayor was promised he would succeed the incumbent on his death, were he to get the most votes.98 Letters recommendatory were a useful weapon in future battles for office, but by no means an assured way to success.99 The king and his cabinet often stuck to the shortlists provided by various authorities: the king would often say things like ‘It is probably best and safest to keep to the shortlist’.100 Indeed, at the beginning of his reign, he also often asked ‘how things are usually done in these circumstances’ when discussing individual cases.101 However, although as the king said at one point ‘We will always keep to the one who is first on the shortlist, when you know nothing about the candidates’, when someone present in Cabinet knew one of the applicants, things changed.102 Even recommendations from influential people not present could sway things. Thus minor offices attracted candidates who came bristling with recommendations. The third choice for a vicariate was given the office because Field Marshal 95  See, for example, when Jacob Serenius was given the living of Kungsbacka, RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 2 a:2 Kabinettsprotokoll March 1730. 96  RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 2 a:3 Kabinettsprotokoll 6 December 1738. 97  RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 2 a:1 Kabinettsprotokoll 17 December 1720. 98  Barthold Råberg in Askersund. He did eventually succeed. RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 2 a:1 Kabinettsprotokoll 25 November 1720. 99  Hence, for example, Magnus Fredrik Segercrona, who, armed with recommendations from a major general and a county governor, did not get the office, but did receive a letter recommendatory. This went unheeded, however, and eventually he retired from his old position with only a ‘character’ promotion as a retirement sweetener (RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 2 a:1 Kabinettsprotokoll 10 January 1721). 100  RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 2 a:1 Kabinettsprotokoll 10 September 1720: ‘Es wird wohl am besten und sichersten seyn wenn man bey dem verschlag bleibet’. 101  RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 2 a:1 Kabinettsprotokoll 25 November 1720. 102  RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 2 a:1 Kabinettsprotokoll 7 March 1722.

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Rehnschiöld recommended him, plainly trumping one candidate’s recommendation by the county governor and the cathedral chapter, and the other’s recommendation by a colonel. No wonder that the king, in another instance, was relieved at its more straightforward nature so he exclaimed, ‘this seems to be a case you can immediately agree to!’103 However, the shortlists themselves could be seen as flawed. In Cabinet, there were complaints about public bodies excluding candidates with better merits simply by not including them on shortlists.104 Officials could also try to rig the process by submitting a shortlist of just one instead of the statutory three, a stratagem not appreciated by the king.105 The king tended to choose from the shortlist, but did not feel obliged to pick the candidate ranked first. Again and again, he selected candidates from further down the list, or those who were not on a shortlist in the first place.106 Moreover, many candidates saw their existing offices as their own private property, and there was a stream of petitions to allow office holders, on retirement or promotion, to transfer their offices to sons or sons-in-law on retirement or promotion, and often it was allowed.107 From the first to the last, these traits were evident. The first Cabinet meeting between the king and two councillors in June 1720 showed as much. A new mayor was appointed in Gothenburg on the recommendation of his county governor, but another office was given to a man ‘because he so loyally and well had served His Majesty in his Chancery at the time when His Majesty was Prince Hereditary, and is also a dependable and capable person according to his Majesty’s own words’, despite another man being recommended by the county governor.108 By the king’s later years, however, a number of favourites were seen as influencing his choices for public office. His mistress Hedvig Taube and her family were especially powerful. A British diplomat concluded in 1738 that through his  Ibid.  The King said in 1720 that cathedral chapters should keep army chaplains out of their shortlists. RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 2 a:1 Kabinettsprotokoll 25 November 1720. 105  RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 2 a:1 Kabinettsprotokoll 10 January 1721; see also RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 2 a:2 Kabinettsprotokoll 21 October 1738. 106  See, for example, Stierneld. RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 2 a:1 Kabinettsprotokoll 17 December 1720. 107  Arvid Bergenadler was allowed to transfer his office to his son-in-law (RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 2 a:1 Kabinettsprotokoll 25 November 1720); Salomon Alanus succeeded his father as vicar of Sund (RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 2 a:1 Kabinettsprotokoll 10 January 1721). 108  RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 2 a:1 Kabinettsprotokoll 2 June 1720. 103 104

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daughter, Edvard Didrik Taube, a councillor, ‘made a sort of Monopoly in the Disposal of all Vacancies’.109 Erland Broman was a favourite in the 1740s who wielded considerable influence. A later observer wrote that King Frederick ‘lived with his favourites President Broman and Colonel Kalling, who had a market of all offices which were decided by the King himself in the Cabinet’.110 The queen also had her favourites, which was why the Secretary of State Niklas Peter von Gedda had access to her thanks to his alliance with the Düben family.111 The court offered opportunities to men and women who were not of the elite. By the 1720s and 1730s, the Taubes, Erland Broman, and the Dübens were all members of the established nobility. At the same time, there was a lower league with a host of minor favourites who were often linked to the major favourites and the king’s foreign extraction was sometimes part of the equation. Thus, Erland Broman was very friendly with Valentin Wilcke.112 Wilcke had come from the king’s Hesse principality as a Chamber Lackey, ‘came into the greatest favour, enjoyed much trust, and was used in all the King’s amourettes’.113 However, rumour cast Wilcke, a very handsome man, as a possible lover of the king’s mistress. This ended his court career abruptly. In his final years, King Frederick suffered several strokes. The elderly veteran Cabinet Chamber Gentleman Axel Lindhielm—‘a small, pock-­ marked, sensible, and hale and hearty old-fashioned courtier’—acted as a go-between between king and Council.114 The Council promptly gave Lindhielm a considerable sum of money, ostensibly as a reward for diligent and loyal service, but possibly also to dissuade him from taking bribes.115 Bribes were a real risk, as Lindhielm was handling petitions on the king’s behalf.116 It appears Lindhielm would convey the king’s wishes orally, which the king would indicate by a particular fold or wrinkle in the

 Linnarsson (1943, 106).  Klinckowström (1867, i. 181). 111  Stråle (1889, 105). 112   Uppsala universitetsbibliotek (Uppsala University Library) (UUB) Nordin 947 Voltemats anekdoter 211v. 113  Ibid. 114  KB L 82:1:5 Tessins dagbok 16 August 1758. 115  UUB Nordin 947 Voltemats anekdoter 211v. 116  KB Engestr. Osign 59:4 Claes Ekeblads journal över rådslag 9 February 1750; RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 1 a:44 27 June 1750. 109 110

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petition.117 Lindhielm also relayed the king’s decisions about appointment.118 The position of Axel Lindhielm as the preferred go-between was open to abuse by people wanting to influence royal decision-making. Many such decisions were uncontroversial, but in some cases, the king exercised his authority by choosing a candidate not on the official shortlist.119 There are indications that in some of the appointments candidates were quick to petition the king before the vacancy was announced, thus circumventing normal procedure and tying the hands of the Council.120 Lindhielm’s position was open to corruption, but one councillor said that he worked without self-interest, which if true was most unusual.121 In his devoted service at court, ‘No ceremony, no festivity, no promotion, and no message escaped his notice’.122 Lindhielm kept a diary of all of King Frederick’s visitors, but this appears to be lost.123

Power and Sociability In her analysis of the early Georgian court, Hannah Smith has emphasized how historiography has gradually discovered other political arenas than Parliament, but how the court has been late in being integrated into this narrative. Beattie before her had argued that George I’s court was both a place of political machinations and a ‘venue where the king might try to win over the political support of the elite’. Smith distinguished between the court ‘as an institution and the court as a venue’.124 From 1719 onwards, it is clear that Ulrika Eleonora and Frederick I were intent on providing a venue for the Swedish elite. Yet, in striving to make the court the social arena for the elite, the Frederician court was badly hampered as a venue by a lack of both space and grandeur. Since Tre Kronor burnt 117  KB Engestr. Osign 59:4 Claes Ekeblads journal över rådslag 27 November & 4 December 1750. 118  See, for example, RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 1 a:44 23 January, 29 January, 30 January, 1 February 1750. 119  See, for example, the appointment of Fabian Hilleström as vicar (though that would probably have pleased his uncle, Baron Fabian Wrede, who was one of the royal councillors). RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 1 a:44 9 February 1750. 120  See, for example, Secretary Hummelhielm’s successful application to become county governor. RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 1 a:44 14 February 1750. 121  KB L 82:1:5 Tessins dagbok 16 August 1758. 122  Ibid. 123  Ibid. 124  Smith (2006, 194), Beattie (1967).

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down in 1697, the court’s primary Stockholm residence had been the former palace of the Wrangel family. The queen was hampered by ill health, but the king had the social graces needed—even if he had a tendency to retell anecdotes about his time fighting under Prince Eugene in the Spanish War of Succession—and so two or three times a week, Court receptions were held ‘when the nobility of both sexes show themselves at court’.125 The court of Frederick I was not seen as a pinnacle of culture and sophistication—far from it—yet the ridicule can disguise that the court did continue to function as a location of politicized sociability. At most eighteenth-century European courts, measures were introduced to create venues for such sociability. In England, it was customary to ‘hold drawing rooms’.126 At the Russian court, weekly Courtages—court days— were held in the 1720s, 1730s, and 1740s.127 Empress Catherine I in 1727 issued an edict regularizing weekly kurdakhi (or kurtagi, from the German Courtag).128 During the reign of Catherine the Great, the Courtag was the Sunday reception at court.129 In Prussia, King Frederick William I even allowed non-nobles to dine at his table.130 His daughter-in-law, Queen Elisabeth Christina, held Courtage every week (though her husband Frederick the Great did not).131 Yet while the drive to establish the Swedish court as the social venue for the aristocracy may have been shared by the Russian and Prussian courts, change was on the way. Where many European courts had gala receptions with public dinners every week, this decreased after the mid-eighteenth century.132 In the same vein, at the Imperial court in Vienna, Empress Maria Theresia in the 1740s restricted public dining to a few occasions, and shut out diplomats.133 Thus, no court offered unlimited access where the elite could meet royalty. In 1738, young Reuterholm noted ‘after divine service I followed the crowd into the king’s antechamber, where I saw and talked to many. His Majesty let himself be seen very briefly’.134 The royals were also  RA Manuskriptsamlingen vol. 40 Mårten Kammecker ‘Sweriges nuwarande stat’ p. 76.  Beattie (1967, 13–16), Bucholz (1993). 127  Anisimov (2004, 172, 176). 128  Keegan (2013, 25–6). 129  Pizzamiglio (2002, 393). 130  Völkel (2002, 18). 131  Biskup (2004, 308). 132  Völkel (2002, 13). 133  Haslinger (2002, 55). 134  Nilzén (2006, 163). 125 126

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displeased with any competing venues, such as foreign ministers giving balls. The Russian presence made itself felt in November 1725 when ‘almost everyone of quality’ (roughly 300 people) was invited to a ball to celebrate St Catherine’s day and the name day of Tsarevna Catherine. The courtier Sack dryly noted that this magnificent occasion ‘pleased the court very little’.135 Among the strengths of the Swedish court could be counted the great composer Johann Helmich Roman. Balls, after all, were an integral part of aristocratic sociability, and young aristocrats often mentioned attending court balls.136 In 1740, a young noblewoman wrote to a friend that she had attended a ball on the queen’s name day and danced ‘for both you and me’.137 Sack’s diary from 1725 shows the queen’s birthday was celebrated by a multitude of people who attended a ball at court. At the same time, Queen Ulrika helped the clergy to put an end to the activities of a private entrepreneur, Monsieur Landé. The public balls he arranged were condemned from various pulpits, and the queen shared the negative view, despite the best efforts of the king and various courtiers. To the queen’s negative view towards some entertainment came her frail health which curtailed some activities. In April 1725, the king’s birthday was celebrated with a ball and refreshments; the queen, however, was absent in bed with a bad headache. Indeed, the queen’s absence was a recurring theme in Sack’s surviving diaries. In 1733, for example, he noted that her birthday was celebrated with the usual gala, but the dance ended early at 8 o’clock in the evening, there was no Tafelmusik, or incidental music, and the queen, being ill, did not put in an appearance. On another occasion, the customary dance to celebrate Candlemas was much reduced because the queen felt unwell. Court sociability extended to theatrical entertainments, though sometimes in the shape of courtiers performing together outside the court proper. A young nobleman, Axel Reuterholm, noted in his diary in 1732 that he was ‘in the afternoon at the Ball House and saw the comedy entitled Don Japhet d’Armenie with the closing piece Trois Cousines being rehearsed for the following day. Actors were Chamber Gentleman Sack, Court Intendant Count Tessin, Colonel Silva, Chamber Gentleman Count 135   RA Mikrofilmssamlingen Äldre serien vol.168 Johan Gabriel Sacks journal 25 November 1725. 136  RA Reuterholm-Ädelgrenska samlingen vol. 7 Axel Reuterholm diary 24 January 1732. 137   RA Sprengtportenska samlingen Ulla Sprengtporten Inkomna skrivelser Ulrika Eleonora von Düben to Ulrika Charlotta Taube, Stockholm 11 July 1740.

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Bonde, Chamber Gentleman Baron Leuhusen, Chamber Gentleman Franc, Court Gentleman Baron Strömfelt, Court Gentleman Baron Stenbock, Miss Ekeblad, Countess Tessin, Countess Sack, Miss Josepha Pflugk, Miss Griesheim, Miss Strömfelt and others’.138 Paul Scarron’s comedy has otherwise left few traces in the Swedish historical record, but was an indication how the court could function as a social and cultural hub after the Great Northern War. Court was also where new fashions first appeared. When the courtier Carl Gustaf Tessin returned with his wife and niece from Paris, people marvelled at their fashionable outfits. Countess Tessin ‘had the biggest pannier you have ever seen, I’ve been told it is nine aunes wide’.139 There could be ambivalence about some amusements. In the 1720s, the Council was old-fashioned and averse to travelling comedians and troupes of actors, so they kept them away from court. In 1720, a surgeon wanted to tour Sweden with his comedies but was refused.140 At the same time, the king and Cabinet refused entry to Sweden for a tightrope walker—‘this tightrope dance earns an incredible fortune and takes it out of the country, and his metier is very troublesome and unnecessary in the realm’.141 The easy-going King Frederick appears to have been more favourably inclined: he gave permission to both tightrope dancers and theatrical troupes.142 Court entertainments and ceremony could be indistinguishable from politics. In 1739, the governing Caps (as the loose faction came to be known) had been ousted from power by the Hats. The queen took an active, though not very successful, part in the Diet. When the Speaker of the Nobility was to be chosen, Ulrika Eleonora let it be known by her partisans that she did not want the Hat candidate, Count Carl Gustaf Tessin. There was a furore, and Tessin himself offered up his sword to the king and demanded he be told what wrong he had done. The debacle ended with a crushing victory for Tessin over the court’s candidate, Arvid Horn. Tessin himself was an arch courtier since childhood, but tainted by a family connection to the Duke of Holstein, whom the queen detested,  Axel Reuterholm in his diary 1732.  RA Sprengtportenska samlingen Johan Vilhelm Sprengtporten E 5555 Ulrika Eleonora Düben to Ulrika Taube, Stockholm, 22 July 1741. 140  RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 2 a:1 Kabinettsprotokoll 10 September 1720. Salomon Paulson von Quolten was refused permission to pursue his profession and tour Sweden. 141  RA Inrikes Civilexpeditionen A 2 a:1 Kabinettsprotokoll 10 September 1720. 142  Dahlgren (1866, 23). 138 139

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and of course, his membership of the Hats. The queen, through her favourite Emerentia von Düben and others, had connections to the defeated Caps; moreover, she was also violently opposed to settling the issue of the succession, by making her detested nephew heir to the throne, a political move which she could see coming. In a short note in which the queen’s uneven handwriting descended into an angry scrawl, she expressed her determination: ‘I will never either change in this or take part with what the Diet may put on their consciences, greatly harming the Realm, so that We, who are Sovereign, can also be dishonoured. Stockholm 26 January 1739 Ulrica Eleonora’.143 Five days earlier, on 21 January, she had drafted a plan to undo the victorious Hats. It began with the demand that her nephew and bête noir, the Duke of Holstein, should never succeed to the Swedish throne—‘neither him nor his descendants, as in England still happens with the so-called Pretender’.144 She continued that Hats’s leader, ‘Count Gyllenborg and others of his band must be completely removed out of the Council’. She ended with two points about strengthening royal power. She had been Regent for six months, and, apparently unwilling to give that up completely, wanted to be ‘rightly confirmed after the storm has passed’, while her husband the king would look after matters of war. And finally, there was the succession. The childless queen wanted to ensure that there would be no Holstein claim, and instead set her sights on a distant relative, the 16-year-old Prince Palatine Christian of Birkenfeld, as her successor, though ‘this must be kept secret’. On 23 January 1739, meanwhile, it had been the queen’s birthday. The function of the court as the centre for the nobility was clear at such an occasion as well is the political limitations that function offered. A young nobleman, Axel Reuterholm, who sympathized with the vanquished Horn and his Cap party, dressed ‘in colours’ and went to court for the fun, and left a description of the festivities. ‘All rooms were full of brilliantly dressed men about the same errand as I, to wish Our Gracious Queen happiness on this joyous day for the Realm’. After prayers, everyone got to step forward and bow to the queen where she waited in the audience chamber. ‘The older gentlemen improved their bows with some speeches, but we younger ones just stepped forward and bent our backs. Then you went to the King’s side and bowed in plutons’. Representatives of the Diet kissed 143  RA Kungliga arkiv Svenska drottningars arkiv Ulrika Eleonora K 205. Draft by Ulrika Eleonora, 27 January 1739. 144  Ibid., draft by Ulrika Eleonora, 21 January 1739.

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the queen’s hand. In the evening, ‘all people of quality in Stockholm’ gathered at court in their best attire. The rooms were crowded and dancing was arranged in two larger rooms, and ‘Many told me that they never seen our Court so beautiful as today, or at least never more beautiful’.145 Queen Ulrika tried to mark her political will by using the social and public function of the court. At the end of the Diet, it was noted that the queen omitted to invite the Hat leader, Count Gyllenborg, and Count Taube, father of the king’s mistress, to a court entertainment.146 Ulrika Eleonora’s notes from January 1739 and the way in which the court functioned acted as the venue for the elite once again during the Diet of 1738–39 demonstrate that royal power, curtailed though it was after the coup d’état in 1719, still survived to some degree. The queen was determined to act politically, both by her political machinations and by using occasions at court such as her birthday. At the same time, the limitations were glaring in the royal face, cutting political adversaries or not inviting them to court did not really boost royal power that far.

The Ruthless Determination of Lovisa Ulrika After two decades of King Frederick and Queen Ulrika Eleonora, the court found itself on a better footing. As young Axel Reuterholm noted in his diary, people said the court had never been so brilliant as in January 1739.147 This meant that developments since 1719 had been stunning—or expectations lowered. Soon a new royal couple would take over and build on these foundations. Queen Ulrika Eleonora died in 1741, and as Crown Prince, the Diet picked a candidate proposed by the Russian Empress: a German prince, Adolf Frederick, soon married to a Prussian princess, Lovisa Ulrika. The couple had to wait another ten years for King Frederick to die. In the meantime, Princess Lovisa Ulrika began to set her own stamp on the court. She found it impressive, to a degree, but also frightfully boring, old-fashioned, and simply old. After King Frederick’s death in 1751, she wrote resignedly that ‘everything was neglected in the previous reign. Arts and sciences were not to his taste. He had a deaf Master of Music, a lame dancing master, a crippled fencing master, and a blind painter. However, these people were paid for their offices. We can judge  23 January 1739, Nilzén (2006).  1 March 1739, Nilzén (2006). 147  23 January 1739, Nilzén (2006). 145 146

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the progress that resulted. It takes a long time to bestow good taste on a nation; it takes little to destroy it’.148 Good taste was a constant theme in her letters. When she described buildings, furniture, music as done in the new style it was always high praise. The succession was bound to bring change, and courtiers serving at ‘the young court’ had waited eagerly for King Frederick to die.149 In 1749, King Frederick told one of his favourites that he feared there would be ructions when Adolf Frederick and Lovisa Ulrika succeeded: ‘You know her thoughts and his weakness. You will see, that she with her plots will try to overturn the Constitution and follow the principles of her brother’— her brother being Frederick the Great.150 This was true. Lovisa Ulrika gave ample proof in word and deed of her determination to overthrow the Constitution. In one letter she wrote, ‘The Council is patriotic, and, under the veil of patriotism, the greatest tyrannies are committed. All the rights of the King are disputed’.151 Her husband, Adolf Frederick, was more pedestrian, and very much a prince of his time. A bit taciturn, interested in military matters, and fond of turning wood, he lacked his wife’s brilliant talents and literary interests. That said, they had an unusually happy marriage, not often seen among royalty.152 He also shared Lovisa Ulrika’s detestation of the parlous state of royal authority in Sweden, but it was clear that she was the driving force in their long campaign to retake power. Over the years, Lovisa Ulrika was crucial in focussing on regaining control and tried every means at her disposal.153 On one occasion, furious with the politicians who controlled the Diet, she raged against ‘a party, which usurps the most sacred rights of royalty and establishes its plurality by the most infamous calumnies against their king’.154 When appearing in public, Lovisa Ulrika was at pains not to harm the royal cause: ‘In spite of everything that happens, I am very careful not to show any discontent, and in

 Arnheim (1910, ii. 322), Lovisa Ulrika to Frederick the Great, 23 January 1753.  Erdmann (1917, iv. 93). 150  Ibid., iv. 81. 151  Arnheim (1910, ii. 338), Lovisa Ulrika to August Wilhelm, 3 [?] December 1753 Stockholm. 152  Persson (2020). 153  For Lovisa Ulrika, see Persson (2019), Dermineur (2017). 154  Arnheim (1910, ii. 311), Lovisa Ulrika to August Wilhelm, 15 August 1752 Drottningholm. 148 149

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Fig. 2.1  The dazzling Prussian Princess Lovisa Ulrika was hard working and intelligent. She helped rebuild the court but was also the prime mover in the disaster of the failed 1756 coup. (Credit line: Antoine Pesne, Lovisa Ulrika, Copyright Nationalmuseum (Stockholm))

public I affect to be in a very good mood. If one could trust someone, it would be a great advantage; but that is still impossible’ (Fig. 2.1).155 Lovisa Ulrika’s reaction when she first encountered the Swedish court in 1744 was telling. Before she embarked for Sweden, a ‘huge crowd’ met her in Swedish Pomerania.156 She was presented to various dignitaries— ‘but what never finished was when it came to the Court Marshal, who presented all the Chamber Gentlemen and Court Gentlemen. They were without end, and I assume, what with the King and the Prince having their own courts, the number of courtiers will be greater than at the court in

 Ibid., ii. 321, Lovisa Ulrika to Frederick the Great, 19 January 1753 Ulriksdal.  Arnheim (1909, i. 44), Lovisa Ulrika to Frederick the Great, 31 July 1744 Stralsund.

155 156

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Vienna’.157 In a letter to her mother, she described the same occasion as ‘It seemed I was in the Elysian Fields, and that I saw the court of the late King Frederick [her grandfather King Frederick I of Prussia, a great lover of pomp and ceremony], by all the ceremonies that there were and by the ancients who served. There was a whole nation of chamberlains, and very old ones; they always served at table, and it is a very great inconvenience’.158 Lovisa Ulrika’s flabbergasted reaction gives further credence to Reuterholm’s assertion that by the 1740s, the Swedish court could once more put on a good show. For royalty, this was a marked improvement compared to the threadbare court of 1718. The 1740s saw a very active social life at court. In this, Lovisa Ulrika and the Crown Prince were ably aided by the head of their court, Count Carl Gustaf Tessin. He was a long-time courtier, born into a court family, and had a passionate interest in courtly entertainment and courtly minutiae. Although it had its roots in the old Swedish court, both Tessin and Lovisa Ulrika stood for a more modern style of entertainment. The German Wirtschaften and the heavy allegories of the previous century now gave way to a more playful style. Allegory was still very much present, but more grounded, if that is the word, in fairy tales and word plays. Lovisa Ulrika did not share the pious tone of the late Queen Ulrika Eleonora. She may have shied away from deism or atheism, but she had little truck for boring sermons or vicars. In a letter, she said the court sermons were very short as ‘the Crown Prince has chaplains I have trained according to my mind’.159 The light-hearted tone at court found many occasions to express itself. On Christmas Eve 1745, the Crown Prince couple visited Tessin in disguise and handed over presents.160 Lovisa Ulrika was dressed as a fairy prepared to grant wishes, and Tessin whipped out a suspiciously well-­ prepared impromptu poem in French as a thank you. On another occasion, Tessin handed in his monthly financial accounts for the Crown Princess’ household in verse form.161 Once Tessin arranged a party in a woods behind the royal country residence of Ulriksdal.162 The trees  Ibid., i. 44, Lovisa Ulrika to Frederick the Great, 31 July 1744 Stralsund.  Ibid., i. 358, Lovisa Ulrika to Sophie Dorothée, 1 August 1744. 159  Ibid., i. 190, Lovisa Ulrika to Amalie, 23 April 1745 Stockholm. 160  KB L 82:1:5 Tessin’s diary 1758, fol. 1618. 161  KB L 82:1:8 Tessin’s diary 1759, fol. 1760. 162  KB L 82:1:16 Tessin’s diary, 30 July 1762. 157 158

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formed a whole set of rooms, decked with red cloth, Persian carpets, and hundreds of lamps (a ‘sale d’assemblée, cabinet, sale a manger, and sale du bal med miroir/musique and buffet along the walls’). Another time, Tessin took over one of the Maids of Honour’s chambers and converted it into a peasant’s hovel, complete with peasant family. Tessin also had a medallion struck and had a painting made of the Maids of Honour to commemorate the time moment he had caught a glimpse of more of them than propriety allowed. This was far from what the court had been in the time of Ulrika Eleonora. Not all, but many of these occasions were exclusive and select. A small court circle enjoyed in-jokes and witticisms. At Christmas 1744, Lovisa Ulrika wrote ‘I have the society of twelve or thirteen people, and I assure you that it would be difficult to find any more agreeable, either for serious matters or for play; they are almost always with me, and when I go to the countryside they accompany me’.163 Lovisa Ulrika comes across in her letters as a keen, if not always kind, observer of court ritual. Early on, she described old General Meijerfelt attempting to fall to his knees to toast her and keeling over. What also shines through is her sense of duty. She was a consummately professional princess. Many ceremonies and functions were stultifying boring—‘I was bored as a dog, because we had dinner with the bigwigs; you know pretty well what company that can be’164—and yet, as she herself had said, she was ‘very careful not to show any discontent’. She was also bored by the fact that on grand occasions everyone was seated according to rank.165 The newly created chivalric orders were a welcome means for the king to buy support, but it came at a price: ‘Yesterday we celebrated the feast of the Order, which is always the most boring day’.166 Many ceremonies were time-consuming and left everyone exhausted—royalty, courtiers, and all. King Frederick was not happy when he had to perform these ceremonies. As one courtier later mused, ‘In the past I often wondered at the late King’s distaste for solemn pomp and his love for a quiet life without flattery’.167 Lovisa Ulrika at one point complained that she had had  Arnheim (1909, i. 142), Lovisa Ulrika to Amalie, 25 December 1744 Stockholm.  Arnheim (1909, i. 151), Lovisa Ulrika to August Wilhelm, 28 December 1744 Stockholm. 165  Ibid., i. 192, Lovisa Ulrika to Amalie, 13 April 1745 Stockholm. 166  Arnheim (1910, ii. 353), Lovisa Ulrika to Sophie Dorothee, 30 April 1754 Stockholm. 167  KB L 82:1:15 Tessin’s diary 21 March 1762. 163 164

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‘compliments, reverences, and slobbering of my hand without end’.168 For her first New Year in Sweden, she had to go through the interminable ritual of the nobility coming to the royal residence to pay their compliments. This was not fun. ‘It’s the most tiring day in the world. The compliments will begin before ten o’clock in the morning and will not finish until six o’clock in the evening. I could not avoid this, as it is my first time, but it is a very disagreeable custom’.169 Back in 1727, King Frederick had set down how members of the nobility should be managed as they flocked to the residence for royal name days, birthdays, and New Year.170 The Guards and the Porters were strictly forbidden to admit ‘any common people’; honest burghers were to be admitted, but only if they did not take up room needed by the real participants, the aristocracy. On New Year’s Day, the Guards would begin by firing salutes. The courtiers would then assemble in the Antechamber according to the Table of Ranks, and then be admitted to the Bedchamber. It was stressed that everyone, and especially people of lower rank, was to leave the Bedchamber as soon as they had paid their compliments. After the courtiers, officers of the Guards, other military officers, and select public officials were to be admitted. In 1745, Lovisa Ulrika had hoped she could evade the New Year reception in future, but it was not to be. At a later date she wrote, ‘Yesterday was most unpleasant because of the eternal compliments I received. I was so tired that I retired at night, and had dinner alone with the Royal Prince’.171 New Year was possibly her least favourite day, and her disgust was evident. Another year she was resigned: ‘New Year, which I had hoped to dodge; but I did not succeed’.172 In a letter to her mother, she lamented that ‘We are on the eve of the New Year, and never have we been more overwhelmed with compliments than I will be this time, having been obliged to receive them since the morning at ten o’clock. I did my best to try to get rid of it; there was no way. It begins at ten o’clock with the senate [the Council], and then comes the nobility, and then the foreign ambassadors. When that is done, we must go and pay our compliments to the king, and in the evening there are the ladies from town. My dear  Arnheim (1909, i. 159), Lovisa Ulrika to Amalie, 12 January 1745 Stockholm.  Arnheim (1909, i. 156–7), Lovisa Ulrika to Sophie Dorothee, 8 January 1745 Stockholm. 170  RA Ceremonialia vol. 2 Reglemente vid nyår 12 December 1727. 171  Arnheim (1910, ii. 5), Lovisa Ulrika to Sophie Dorothee, 13 January 1747 Stockholm. 172  Arnheim (1910, ii. 154), Lovisa Ulrika to Frederick the Great, 21 January 1749 Stockholm. 168 169

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Maman, I think one cannot find a day which can get any worse. It seems to me that we can do nothing better than abolish all these ridiculous ceremonies that lead to nothing’.173 She could be remarkably irreverent. Writing to her brother, she noted ‘you would be bored just as much as today’s ceremony will bore me: it is the interment of the late king. A funeral sermon, which will last perhaps four hours, will give me plenty of time to daydream’.174 Lovisa Ulrika and Adolf Fredrik were serious about their more formal ceremonial duties. King Frederick had been a graceful host and did what was needed, but was not keen, being ‘a great hater of all such frippery’.175 On occasion, though, he seems to have performed with natural ease and grace, as at the celebrations for the birth of the first son of the Crown Prince in 1746. Most of the notables of Stockholm were invited to the festivities, which were held in a temporary construction erected between the wings of the royal residence. During the dance, King Frederick himself went around with the Court Gentlemen with plates of sweetmeats, offering the delicacies to his subjects, ‘which gracious treatment from an already old King was touching to behold’.176 Lovisa Ulrika carried out her duties diligently. She knew she had to show herself for two hours every day. She had a talent for social life—‘with grand schemes, generous, loving display, decent, courteous, witty, and a friend of her friends, her company was enjoyable, her knowledge wide but unformed, and her ambition without bounds’.177 One observer noted that she could not abide being idle, as ‘it is too boring and anxious’, and so she ‘works to keep herself amused’. This meant that the women in her service were always on duty, working constantly.178 The couple also travelled around the countryside in the hopes of generating support for the royal family, putting a brave face on it, despite their lack of enthusiasm—‘these trips which I make in the provinces, are extremely troublesome, since it is necessary to be in public from morning to evening, if I do not want to turn everyone against me’.179 Not long after a miscarriage, she wrote ‘I even intend to accompany the King on the trip

 Ibid., ii. 5, Lovisa Ulrika to Frederick the Great, 10 January 1747 Stockholm.  Ibid., ii. 286, same to same, 8 October 1751 Stockholm. 175  KB L 82:1:8 Tessin’s diary 1759 fol. 1623. 176  RA GA Sturnegks samling E 5674 Adam Fredenstiernas ‘Mine dagar’. 177  Levertin (1901, 11). 178  UUB Nordin 947 Voltemats anekdoter fol. 210. 179  Ibid., ii. 354, Lovisa Ulrika to August Wilhelm, 16 May 1754 Stockholm. 173 174

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he is going to make in the provinces, however boring and tiresome it may be.’180 Lovisa Ulrika was deliberate in framing her court as a venue for the Swedish aristocracy, and in her choice of entertainments. In a letter to her brother, she wrote in 1744 that ‘I have introduced masked balls, and I flatter myself I change things bit by bit, which will not cost much as the nobility asks for nothing more than to be amused, and the clergy hate this’—but after Ulrika Eleonora’s death, the clergy had lost their foremost supporter.181 The weekly cour receptions were an opportunity for the aristocracy to meet and socialize with royalty. Lovisa Ulrika herself mentioned these receptions in her letters, though she normally limited to remarks that they were well attended. ‘I held a cour reception yesterday for the first time since returning to town. There was such a crowd of people that it was necessary to open the doors and windows so as not to suffocate from the heat’.182 On other occasions she wrote, ‘I had cour reception yesterday. There was such big crowd that no one could move’, and ‘I held court yesterday. More than five hundred people attended, I am told. The antechambers and rooms were so full that one could not move from one’s place, which caused a suffocating heat’.183 One way to deal with the crush was to resort to card games, which Lovisa Ulrika disliked. A few years later, it was reported that Lovisa Ulrika had no great love for card games, but needed them ‘as talking would not suffice for the two hours every day which she must show herself, so she says she has to spend the time playing cards’.184 During one Diet, she wrote that she was ‘overwhelmed every day now by the crowd of people coming in the mornings and evenings. If the tongue could be fatigued, I think mine would be the first in this case, being forced to talk to everyone. I am never so happy as when I can retire and read. These moments seem to pass like lightning’.185 Duty and political necessity did not permit her or any royal to stay away at crucial moments. ‘I was walking with my son in town two days ago. I walked as politics demanded that him be seen. The crowd so terrible … that the

 Ibid., ii. 357, Lovisa Ulrika to Frederick the Great, 12 July 1754 Drottningholm.  Arnheim (1909, i. 111–12), same to same, 6 November 1744 Stockholm. 182  Ibid., i. 310, Lovisa Ulrika to Sophie Dorothee, 16 September 1746 Stockholm. 183  Arnheim (1910, ii. 135), same to same, 6 November 1748 Stockholm; Arnheim (1909, i. 314), same to same, 30 September 1746 Stockholm. 184  UUB Nordin 947 Voltemats anekdoter (Ulrica Adlersteen) November 1748. 210. 185  Ibid., i. 312, same to same, 23 September 1746 Stockholm. 180 181

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officers, who were on guard with me, had great difficulty in keeping them back without anyone being beaten’.186 Lovisa Ulrika much preferred smaller events at her country houses of Ulriksdal and Drottningholm. As she wrote in 1747, ‘Tomorrow evening I will give a little supper for the Prince Royal in my new apartments. There will be only a very small company, all composed of people who do not generate melancholy. We are, it seems to me, always happier when there are fewer people’.187 She often returned to the joys of a small, select company—‘We laughed a lot, and the conversation did not languish for a moment’—and reminded her sister ‘You know how happy we were at the palace at small suppers’.188 She also said time and again that she did not want to be bored. Melancholy had to be chased away. In these intimate settings, Lovisa Ulrika and her courtiers read, played music, joked, and even played cards. Sometimes Adolf Fredrick would play the cello and she accompanied him on the harpsichord.189 A courtier noted one summer that ‘at court, which is rarely in town, there are concerts every day, given by the King and Queen, his President and Excellency Höpken, who plays the viola da gamba wearing glasses, some more courtiers, hautboys, and musicians’.190 It was this love of smaller gatherings that led Adolf Frederick to build her the Chinese Pavilion at Drottningholm Palace as a surprise for her birthday. ‘This new building is a real retreat, where I spend very pleasant moments with a very small company composed of the most pleasant people’.191 In 1751, King Adolph Frederick and Queen Lovisa Ulrika introduced the Continental practice of presenting golden keys to their Chamber Gentlemen. The royal couple were trying to stem the inflation in court offices, and had decided that in future only twelve Chamber Gentlemen (Kammarherrar) and six Court Gentlemen (Hovjunkare) would be in constant attendance.192 They were to stand out from the crowd of Chamber  Arnheim (1909, i. 314), same to same, 30 September 1746 Stockholm.  Arnheim (1910, ii. 13), same to same, 10 February 1747 Stockholm. 188  Ibid., i. 325, same to same, 15 November 1746 Stockholm; Arnheim (1909, i. 191), Lovisa Ulrika to Amalie, 23 April 1745 Stockholm. 189  Arnheim (1910, ii. 319), Lovisa Ulrika to Sophie Dorothee, 12 January 1753 Ulriksdal. 190  RA Börstorpssamlingen Brev till Carl Leuhusen Carl Axel Leuhusen to Carl Leuhusen, Stockholm 17 July 1758. 191  Arnheim (1910, ii. 330), Lovisa Ulrika to Frederick the Great, 31 July 1753 Drottningholm. 192  SLA Hovkontoret, Kungliga brev, Stockholm 8 May 1751. 186 187

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Gentlemen by carrying golden keys, while Chief Chamber Gentlemen (Överkammarherre) would have their own special keys.193 The novelty of Chamber Gentlemen with keys was a humiliating experience for some courtiers—one who did not receive a golden key wrote bitterly in his memoirs that he had left service because several of his juniors had been given them—as only a few were chosen for this signal honour.194 This can be seen as a sign of greater confidence from the royal couple in daring to be less inclusive, though some years later, court offices were again sold or handed out to buy political support. In 1754, King Adolf Frederick and Lovisa Ulrika moved into their residence, Stockholm Palace. They also established a new etiquette (discussed in Chap. 1), with regular dinners in public (for which a special dessert painter was hired). This etiquette was one shot in their constant battle with their enemies on the Council. Adolf Frederick may not have enjoyed his ritual duties, and is said to have complained about dining in public, and Lovisa Ulrika, as we have seen, had a finely honed sense of the drudgery of royal ceremony, but she also had a sense of duty and steely determination enough for the both of them. Dreary as they were, these ceremonies were part of a decade-long campaign to restore lost royal prerogative. On his accession as king in 1751, Adolf Frederick tried to protect his prerogatives and reclaim the ones lost. At the same time, the Council and the Diet were working to circumscribe royal power even further. This created an atmosphere of mutual hostility and mistrust. In the 1750s, Adolf Frederick refused to sign various appointments made against his will. This paralysed some parts of government, but mostly showed the king’s lack of influence. It would even descend to petty matters such as Adolf Frederick being refused champagne at meals. A furious note saying ‘The dogs’ pizzles will send champagne’ was shown to a worried Council.195 A number of courtiers lent their open support to the royal couple, but this was dangerous as the Council and Diet tended to hit back, seeing it as intentional provocation. This was why in 1756 the Council queried the appointment of Axel Reuterholm, the starry-eyed youngster of the 1730s quoted earlier: he had been expelled from the Estate of the Nobles for his outspoken 193  KB B VII:1.20 Handlingar rörande Claes Ekeblads förvaltning av. överstemarskalksämbetet. Later the keys were apparently kept by their holders and sold; see, for example, an advertisement in Dagligt Allehanda 22 January 1829. 194  RA GA Sturnegks saming E 5674 Adam Fredenstiernas ‘Mine dagar’. 195  KB Engestr. Osign 59.10 Claes Ekeblads journal 1756.

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criticism of the Constitution, which led the councillors to consider moving against him.196 When Lovisa Ulrika and Adolf Frederick’s efforts to drive through constitutional change in the Diet foundered, they turned to more dangerous means. In 1756, the queen sent her jewels abroad to be pawned as part of planned coup d’état. In the event, it was a complete disaster. A number of courtiers involved either had to flee abroad or were beheaded by the victorious Council and Diet. Lovisa Ulrika, a keen hater, had plenty of reason to brood. Especially once the Council had showed the king ‘the stamp with his name, to be used to sign those cases decided by a Council majority, but which His Majesty refuses to sign’.197

Conclusions ‘His Majesty is also a beggar’. These words brought misfortune to a poor peasant in 1753, but many Swedes shared his confusion about king’s status and function.198 It was felt at the very pinnacle of the body politic: for a monarch to reign but not rule was humiliation. For fifty years, Sweden was something of an oddity in a Europe coloured in different shades of absolutism. It was much closer to Britain in its constitutional arrangements, with a powerful Diet and Council overshadowing curtailed monarchical authority—the Estate of the Peasants complained that there were sixteen kings, meaning the councillors, rather than one real king—but despite its longevity it was also a fragile construct, threatened by coups and with political parties largely dependent on foreign subsidies. At the 1738 Diet, one Hat politician declared, mendaciously, that ‘it is common knowledge, there are two sorts of kings: absolute ones who rule and command according to their own pleasure and whim, and those kings bound by law, who after their promise and oath rule the realm with certain conditions and with the good agreement of their subjects’; King Frederick clearly falling into the second category.199 It was common knowledge that the king was unhappy about the reduction in royal power, but it was expedient to paint him as a stalwart constitutional monarch.

 KB Engestr. Osign 59.10 Claes Ekeblads journal 1756.  KB Engestr. Osign 59.10 Claes Ekeblads journal 1756. 198  KB Engestr. Osign 59:7 Claes Ekeblads journal över rådslag 1753. 199  Hans Henrik Boije. See Silfverstolpe (1887, 330–1). 196 197

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How was the court to survive under such circumstances? The immediate answer was a massive expansion in the aristocratic part of the court. The number of Chamber Gentlemen and Court Gentlemen multiplied tenfold compared to the preceding absolutist court. Yet this was smoke and mirrors. The numbers were driven up by the introduction of unsalaried courtiers, many of whom had a very tenuous links to the court, and rarely or never attended. Starting in the 1740s, the new royal couple, Adolph Frederick and Lovisa Ulrika, worked to expand royal power, using space differently at the new palace, launching a new etiquette to exalt their royal status, and inventing and dishing out chivalric orders as rewards: their efforts marked the beginning of a revival of court society in a world still dominated politically by the Council and Diet. One courtier described a journey by carriage with Adolf Frederick in 1765 when he opened his heart to talk of his relief at leaving Stockholm, which he called his ‘purgatory in this world’, for the countryside.200 ‘You know yourself what how little I am satisfied and how I gladly avoid quarrels, which I can never avoid either through the Queen’s plans and inventions inspired by others, or through the brazenness and falseness of the Council, or through the parties in the Diet and their plans who sell me, the Realm, and themselves for foreign money. Enfin, I am most sad and wish I was in my grave’. Tired of the endless, unsuccessful political manoeuvrings, ‘After a moment’s silence, he continued, when I now come to Drottningholm, I will hear of hundreds of plans about which councillors to depose and which to appoint, but I care not as I know as soon as the councillor’s gown is upon them ils ont le Diable au corp and follow the principle to chicane me about everything and keep the parties alive in the country. This is a wretched government, and I wish the King of Prussia were their king for some years to let them know the difference’.201 It was this constant struggle against the Council that shaped the young Crown Prince Gustaf. As a new king in 1772 he would act.

200  RA Margaretha Cronstedts samling vol. 3 ‘Egna infall och tankar sammanraspade mig til minnes ifrån 1747. Hans Gustaf Rålamb’ fol. 20v. 201  RA Margaretha Cronstedts samling vol. 3 ‘Egna infall och tankar sammanraspade mig til minnes ifrån 1747. Hans Gustaf Rålamb’ fols.20v–21.

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References Published Sources Arnheim, Fritz (ed.), Luise Ulrike, die schwedische Schwester Friedrich des Grossen: Ungedruckte Briefe an Mitglieder des preussischen Königshauses, 2 vols (Gotha: Perthes, 1909–10). Crusenstolpe, Magnus Jacob, Skildringar uti det inre af dagens historia (Stockholm: Hjerta (ed.), Portefeuille 5 vols (Stockholm: Hjerta, 1837–45). Ehrenheim, Fredrik Wilhelm (ed.), Tessin och Tessiniana (Stockholm: Johan Imnelius, 1819). Erdmann, Nils (ed.), Amiral Carl Tersmedens memoarer (Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand, 1912–19). Geijer, Knut (ed.) ‘Kort Berättelse om Erik Wrangels usle lefnad, uppsatt af honom sjelf’, in Nya Handlingar rörande Skandinaviens historia Vol.16 (Stockholm: Hörbergska boktryckeriet, 1843. Hildebrand, Emil (ed.), Sveriges regeringsformer 1634–1809 samt konungaförsäkringar 1611–1800 (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1891). Klemming, Gustaf Edvard & William Ross Woofenden (eds), Swedenborg’s Journal of Dreams (Bryn Athyn: Swedenborg Scientific Association, 1989). Klinckowström, Rudolf Mauritz (ed.), Riksrådet och Fältmarskalken m.m. Grefve Fredrik Axel von Fersens historiska skrifter, 8 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1867–72). Levertin, Oscar (ed.), ‘Adolf Ludvig Hamilton: Anekdoter till svenska historien under Gustaf IIIs regering’, in id. (ed.) Svenska memoarer och bref, iv (Stockholm: Bonnier, 1901). Nilzén, Göran (ed.), Axel Reuterholms dagboksanteckningar under riksdagen i Stockholm 1738–39 (Stockholm: Kungl. Samfundet för utgivande av handskrifter rörande Skandinaviens historia, 2006). Persson, Fabian, Women at the Early Modern Swedish Court: Power, Risk, and Opportunity (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2020). Pizzamiglio, Gilberto (ed.), Casanova, Giacomo: The story of my life (London: Penguin, 2002). Stråle, G. H. (ed.), ‘Presidenten baron E. M. Nolckens berättelse om rikets tillstånd från 1719 till 1742’, Historisk Tidskrift, 9 (1889), 75–122 & 164–202. Silfverstolpe, Carl (ed.), Sveriges Ridderskaps och adels riksdags-protokoll, ix/1: 1738–39 (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1887). Weibull, Martin (ed.), ‘Anteckningar af Carl Christoffer Gjörwell om sig sjelf, samtida personer händelser’, in id. (ed.) Samlingar utgifna för de skånska landskapens historiska och arkeologiska förening (Lund, 1874).

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Secondary Publications Anderson, Gustaf (ed.), Handlingar ur v Brinkmanska archivet på Trolle-Ljungby, 2 vols (Örebro: N. M. Lindh, 1859–65). Anisimov, Evgenii, Five Empresses: Court life in Eighteenth-Century Russia (London: Praeger, 2004). Beattie, John M., The English Court in the Reign of George I (Cambridge: CUP, 1967). Biskup, Thomas, ‘The hidden queen: Elizabeth Christine of Prussia and Hohernzollern queenship in the eighteenth century’, in Campbell-Orr 2004. Bucholz, Robert, The Augustan Court: Queen Anne and the Decline of Court Culture (Stanford: SUP, 1993). Carlsson, Ingemar, Parti—partiväsen—partipolitiker 1731–43: Kring uppkomsten av våra första politiska partier (Stockholm: Almkvist Wiksell International, 1981). Dahlgren, Fredrik August, Förteckning öfver svenska skådespel uppförda på Stockholms theatrar 1737–1863 (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1866). Dermineur, Elise, Gender and Politics in Eighteenth-Century Sweden: Queen Louisa Ulrika (1720–1782) (London: Routledge, 2017). Edler, Per, Om börd och befordran under frihetstiden (Stockholm: A. V. Carlssons bokförlag, 1915). Elmroth, Ingvar, Nyrekryteringen till de högre ämbetena 1720–1809 (Lund: Gleerup, 1962). Fryxell, Anders, Berättelser ur svenska historien, 46 vols (Stockholm: Hjerta, 1823–79). Haslinger, Ingrid, ‘Der Kaiser speist en public’, in Hans Ottomeyer & Michaela Völkel (eds), Die öffentliche Tafel: Tafelzeremoniell in Europa 1300–1900 (Berlin: Minerva, 2002). Holst, Walfrid, Fredrik I (Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand, 1953). Keegan, Paul, St Petersburg and the Russian Court, 1703–1761 (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013). Levisson, Carl Adolf, Anekdoter och karaktersdrag ur svenska regenters lefnad (Stockholm: P. G. Berg, 1844). Linnarsson, Lennart, Riksrådens licentiering: En studie i frihetstidens parlamentarism (Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1943). Malmström, Carl Gustaf, Sveriges politiska historia: från K.  Carl XII:s död till statshvälfningen 1772 6 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1893–1901). Persson, Fabian, Servants of Fortune: The Swedish court between 1598 and 1721 (Lund, 1999). Smith, Hannah, Georgian Monarchy: Politics and Culture, 1714–1760 (Cambridge: CUP, 2006).

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Ström, Arne, Olof Håkanssons politiska verksamhet åren 1726–1743 (Stockholm: Almkvist & Wiksell, 1967). Thanner, Lennart, Revolutionen i Sverige efter Karl XII:s död (Uppsala: Almkvist & Wiksell, 1953). Torell, Johan Edvard, Om Konungens utnämningsrätt till ämbeten enligt 1720 års regeringsform (Stockholm: K. L. Beckman, 1876). Völkel, Michaela, ‘Die öffentlichen Tafel an den europäischen Höfen der frühen Neuzeit’ in Hans Ottomeyer & Michaela Völkel (eds), Die öffentliche Tafel. Tafelzeremoniell in Europa 1300–1900 (Berlin: Minerva, 2002).

CHAPTER 3

Expansion and Differentiation: Space at Court

The strong westerly wind showed no sign of backing or veering, and so the fleet with royalist rebels from Finland could not set sail for Stockholm. The plan, hatched in secret with King Gustaf III and his closest confidants, had been to take over the main fortress in Finland, ship the troops to Stockholm, and help him seize real power. Yet day after day passed without the fleet setting sail, while both the king and his opponents, the Cap party who controlled the ruling Council, the Secret Committee, and the Diet, played a game of cat and mouse. The Caps had received intelligence from British and Russian diplomats that the king was involved in a mutiny in full swing in southern Sweden (they were as yet unaware of what was taking place in Finland), and were vacillating whether to arrest the young Gustaf. The Cap Prime Minister, Düben, became agitated, and regretted not throwing a young courtier from the mutinous southern province into the Rose Chamber (the main torture chamber) to force a confession from him that they could use against the young king.1 To calm suspicions, the increasingly nervous king pretended to throw himself into his usual pursuits. He was busy working on a sewing pattern when the leading Caps and the Governor of Stockholm arrived at Stockholm Palace. In the evening, excerpts from the new Swedish opera Thetis och Pelée were performed, and the king made light conversation 1

 Malmström (1901), Odhner (1885).

© The Author(s) 2020 F. Persson, Survival and Revival in Sweden’s Court and Monarchy, 1718–1930, Palgrave Studies in Modern Monarchy, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52647-4_3

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about music and theatre. He played cards—taking care to play with Caps— and was gracious and sociable. The important court ceremonies of dining in public and a Cour reception were announced for one o’clock the following day, 19 August 1772. Meawhile, the Cap government fervently hoped that military reinforcements would arrive in Stockholm late on the nineteenth or early on the twentieth to strengthen their hand against the king. With time running out and the fleet from Finland still delayed by the wind, the king was forced to decide. One conspirator reminded him of his parents’ indecision in 1756, which fatally scotched their planned coup and resulted in a number of executions. Very early in the morning, the king took communion from a chaplain and instructed one of his courtiers to write a draft of a new Constitution. Then he went down to the Guards. He inspected the soldiers and talked with them individually, explaining that he could not promote them as long as the Diet had control of appointments, ‘but it could happen in the future, as everything can change’. All officers then assembled in a room where the king gave a speech, saying he was acting ‘not just to save his life, which was in danger, but the whole Realm’. He wanted to ‘abolish the aristocratic’ tyranny and reinstate the old liberties and honour of Sweden, which had been tarnished by corruption, party division, and confusion. King Gustaf emphasized that he did not want absolutism, but only the good old Constitution from before 1680. ‘If you choose to follow me as your ancestors followed King Gustaf I and Gustav II Adolph, then I will wager my life and my blood for the salvation of the Fatherland!’. Most of the officers cried ‘Yes!’, but one young officer fainted and four refused to take a new oath to the king. A detachment of Guards was then sent to barricade the Council into the Council Chamber where they were meeting: as the Guards swore their new oath to the king, they had been seen by one of the councillors from a window in the Council Chamber, but in the ensuing panic, the king’s soldiers had time to lock the doors and trap the councillors inside. The king went on to repeat his speech to the common soldiery, and was met with general acclaim, after which cash (provided by France) was dispersed. He then barred the entrance and quit the palace, while he dispatched trumpeters with guards into the city to announce the coup. In the following hours, the king and his adherents took control of all the key military points in Stockholm, and the king rode through town to the cheers of the populace. Three officers tried to organize some resistance, but could find no one to follow them. Instead,

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Stockholm soon abounded with men tying white cloths around their left arms as a mark of support for the king, and a celebratory royalist song was quickly circulated. To cries of ‘Long live the king and down with the aristocrats!’ men, women, and children kissed the king’s hands and feet. During the night of 19 August 1772, as his coup d’état ground into motion, King Gustaf III (1771–92) chose to have a new Constitution written out on parchment—by a courtier seated in the royal library.2 The library was part of the king’s suite of rooms, and beyond the reach of most outsiders. Even the insiders who had access were few, so the dangerous document could be copied in relative safety. Still, much of Stockholm Palace lay outside direct royal control in August 1772. The Life Guards were under the command of a royal councillor, and the Council Chamber in the palace was given over to the warring parliamentary Hat and Cap parties. Control over space was crucial, and in this instance was essential to Gustaf’s successful power grab. The coup of 1772 was an extreme event, but what followed would further emphasize how space at court became even more important when the monarch was once more the centre of power. Under Gustaf, space at court would be transformed along the lines already set out by his predecessors, who operated in a more parliamentarian system, but at the same time, he introduced an element of radical change better suited to strong royal power. The space used by King Gustaf expanded markedly after 1772, it became more finely differentiated than before, and it was the king himself who controlled it, rather than it being under the Council’s supervision. The spatial model created by Gustaf III survived for decades and is in some respects still going strong. Like so many aspects of court life, a strange mix of rules and flexibility was the order of the day. Yet, the striking thing about Gustaf III was not just the spatial model he created, but also the flexibility with which he used it. Rooms were used or not according to his needs and interests rather than any strict etiquette. The quest for flexibility was one he shared with many contemporary monarchs, of course, as rulers in Prussia, France, and Britain all built palaces and mansions to escape from the confines of court life, as Gustaf III would too. Yet most of his energies went into using the existing palaces in ways that met his needs, both by ramping up court ceremony and by ensuring neither the ceremonial nor the court’s spaces stagnated over time.

2

 Klinckowström (1869, iii. 106).

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Three Spheres of Royal Space If Gustaf III was the great innovator of courtly space in Sweden, how had it functioned before his day?3 The destruction of Tre Kronor in a fire in 1697 meant the relocation of the court to the nearby Wrangel palace— also known as the King’s House (Kungshuset). Accommodation was cramped, and spilt over into nearby Cruus House (Cruusiska huset).4 The lack of space prohibited the differentiation known from the old palace, and the use of rooms was fluid. There was a clear difference between an outer set of rooms and an inner set of rooms, but it was all done in a very ad hoc manner. At the same time, a new palace was being built according to modern principles. The Swedish court in the seventeenth century had been largely German in organization and spatial structure, but the total destruction of the palace in a fire in 1697 offered an opportunity, rarely given to early modern courts, to drastically redraw the spatial structure. The new outline was inspired by French models, and it is clear that the architect, Count Carl Gustaf Tessin, wanted to create royal apartments that were divided between more public apartments and a more exclusive petit appartement like Versailles. The grander public rooms were placed as an enfilade, facing outwards from the palace, while the king’s ‘inner’ rooms faced the courtyard and were less public—contemporary French architectural theorists would increasingly emphasize different spheres, such as the more private rooms, which would form what became known in France as the ‘appartement de commodité’.5 The actual construction of Stockholm Palace took almost sixty years as funds ran low, and in the meanwhile, ideals developed further. Thus influential French theorists such as Blondel (and the Encyclopédie) began to divide royal living space into three categories: the appartement de parade, appartement de commodité, and appartement de societé.6 The appartement de parade was the sphere for more public staterooms, the appartement de societé was the sphere for social life at court, while the appartement de commodité was the sphere for more private royal rooms. In Sweden, this ideal would be realized to some degree under Gustaf III.  See also, Persson (2015a, b).  Vahlne (2012). 5  A term coined by the French theorist Daviler in 1710; see Tillmann (2010, 54). 6  Harrington (1985, 46–7). 3 4

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When Gustaf III’s parents, Adolph Frederick and Lovisa Ulrika, at last moved into the new palace in 1754, this ideal division of three different spheres was not really upheld. The growing royal family meant that three young princes and one princess all needed separate sets of rooms within the palace, while parts of the building remained unfinished for another decade. It was left to Gustaf to establish a new, systematic spatial order for the court in the 1770s and 1780s in order to handle the new pressure caused by a sharp increase in the number of petitioners, an increase in ceremony, and more decision-making by the king personally. At the same time, he continued some of the changes first launched by his parents in the 1750s, such as the expansion of space offered by the new palace.

Access for the General Public The new palace offered the possibility of greater differentiation between spaces, which can be seen in the organization of spaces designed as meeting places. A crucial aspect of space at court is the degree to which it allowed interaction between monarch and subject. The spatial organization of a court created both meeting places and secluded places protected from outsiders. The function of space as both channel and barrier has been called the Newtonian principle of court history, most visible in the succession of doors and guards to filter out people who did not have the right to enter, until the heart of the royal rooms were reached.7 In recent research, Jeroen Duindam and others have highlighted ‘spatial and temporal thresholds’ to restrict access.8 Two main spatial traditions have been discerned at early modern courts: the French tradition, and the Burgundian or Imperial tradition. Imperial—and German—courts upheld strong spatial boundaries between public and private spheres in the Burgundian tradition, in which a number of antechambers were used, and to which access was graded according to the social status of the entrants. A similar pattern can be seen in, for example, Denmark, where Gemaksordinansen (Room Ordinance) of 1671 determined who was allowed to enter which room according to rank. In Versailles, however, space was more public, and there were fewer restrictions on entrance to the royal rooms, though these could be temporarily inaccessible. Indeed, at the French court, access to

7 8

 Starkey (1987, 2).  Duindam (2003, 161), Baillie (1967).

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the king was traditionally much more open than in Germany. The Swedish court was more German in its habits well into the eighteenth century. A year after Gustaf III succeeded his father Adolph Frederick, he carried out a successful military coup in 1772 which ended the Age of Liberty (1719–1772), enabling power once again to course through the veins of the court, reviving the court not just as a centre for the beau monde, but as the heart of power and political decisions. Appointments and foreign policy were now squarely back in royal hands, while the Diet primarily dealt with taxation. The pressure on the king became intense as increasing numbers of people fought to meet him in person to influence decisions. The coup was achieved literally overnight, but it was a lasting and fundamental political transition. Since 1719, power had been wielded by the Council and the Diet, and monarchical influence had been pushed back. The king had the edge when handing out honours and offices, but the Diet had begun to move into this area as well, trying to tie the monarch’s hands in matters of appointments. The new 1772 Constitution meant that foreign policy became the monarch’s, and most appointments also became de facto dependent on the king’s grace. The political upheaval meant that all Swedes who wanted an office, who hoped to overturn a decision, who desired some favour in the form of pension, land, or titles had to turn to the person of the king. A British diplomat wrote two years later that ‘All the King of Sweden’s popular eloquence, his smooth language and artful conduct do not disguise that absolute power which he has usurped’.9 Even opponents of the 1772 coup did not put up any resistance as ‘such is their general poverty that the smallest Court employment and even a simple Title … is able to pervert them’ (Fig. 3.1).10 At the same time, the aristocratic, parliamentarian old guard had to come to terms with the new reality. A Council discussion in 1776 provides an illuminating example of both the increase in the numbers of people who wanted to speak with the king and the truculence displayed by some councillors at this expression of personal royal rule. In December 1776, the queen dowager had contacted the Council to air her concerns for the king’s safety.11 A man who had come to the palace for one of the usual 9  The National Archives, London (TNA), SP95/124 Lewis de Visme to the Earl of Suffolk, Stockholm 17 May 1774. 10  The National Archives, London (TNA), SP95/124 Lewis de Visme to the Earl of Suffolk, Stockholm 17 May 1774. 11  RA, Hemliga och särskilda protokoll i flera slags ärenden 1775–76 I:13. The miscreant was one Advocate Ryman who was sentenced to death, but was spared by the King.

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Fig. 3.1  An expert performer with a love for etiquette, Gustaf III took meticulous care in organising ceremonies and his court. (Credit line: Johan Tobias Sergel, Gustaf III, Copyright Nationalmuseum (Stockholm))

afternoon audiences had begun to vilify the then absent King Gustaf and threatened his life. The queen dowager was worried, even more so as the king was prepared to meet all and sundry ‘without distinction of known or unknown’, and she concluded that it would be best if his audiences for private subjects were abolished. The Council decided to plead with the king that if he continued to give these private audiences, he should at least take safety precautions.12 The Council also discussed how the king for several years ‘with so much gracious patience and toil, given everyone such a unhindered access at the audiences’, but it was clear that they were in 12  The man entrusted with this mission, Councillor Ribbing, was the father of one of the King’s assassins.

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principle hostile towards the very idea. Petitioners, ‘against Law and the Petitioners Act’, abused the liberty that audiences provided. Instead of adhering to decisions by royal officials, applicants tried to side-track them by going to the king in person. The Council complained that applicants ‘despite several stated decisions and refusals, by no warning could be held back from once again pressing the same suit, so that there occurred a real increase in work, no less for His Majesty’s Council than in all the Divisions of the Chancery, and time lost which could have been used on other matters of state’.13 They simply thought private audiences were a waste of time, and even a hindrance to the proper working of the civil service. Consequently, the Council proposed to the king that these audiences ‘in the way they thus far usually have happened in private’ should cease. What for the queen dowager was a safety issue for the Council was also very much an issue of royal power being abused. The councillors, all used to the Age of Liberty’s modi operandi and circumscribed royal authority, found it frustrating to adapt to the new situation where royal power could be wielded almost anywhere. The coup of 1772 and the new regime it ushered in underscored the renewed importance of the royal person. Meeting the king was now an encounter with power in a way it had not been for decades. King Gustaf understood the propaganda value of open access to the monarch, and among the first measures he took had been to create the institution of afternoon audiences for petitioners. This counteracted the legislation of 1682, when Charles XI had tried to limit this right with a Petitioners Act, under which petitioners could not seek out the king, but instead submitted their petitions to a county governor to be handled at a lower level.14 The introduction of public audiences in 1771, however, brought back the right to petition the monarch directly. In June 1771, the king made public that henceforth, every Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday between four o’clock and five, he would receive any of his subjects, ‘high or low, of whatever rank and quality they may be’, to present their applications and affairs to him personally.15 Free access to the king’s person had strong royalist overtones. In a pre-­ coup pamphlet in 1771, two fictional characters discuss how Gustaf III

 RA, Hemliga och särskilda protokoll i flera slags ärenden 1775–76 I:13.  Persson (2014). 15  Inrikes Tidningar 3 June 1771. 13 14

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allowed access even to his lowliest subjects.16 The fictional farmer rejoices that ‘He gives all his subjects equal access’ and says that his neighbour has met the king, and his vicar has said this ‘has seldom happened since the time of Gustaf I and Gustav Adolph, that peasants can freely talk to the king and be heard so graciously’. The fictitious local civil servant, however, frowns on this as it limits his scope for venality. A more realistic picture of the king’s audiences is provided by the 1773 diary of Johan Fischerström (a minor literary figure who was angling for office). He repeatedly mentioned the petitioners’ audiences (supplikantcouren) in his diary. At first, these audiences were held on Mondays at four o’clock.17 On occasion this could be moved or spill over to another day. Thus when the king returned from a journey to the spa at Loka he gave a petitioners’ audience on a Tuesday from four to half past five.18 In November, the king allowed another to be held on a Tuesday.19 As a rule, the audiences appear to have been popular—and crowded. Fischerström noted at one point ‘the applicants are still as numerous’, and on another day that ‘the number of the applicants is quite significant’.20 Another observer noted the time a petitioners’ audience could take.21 The kinds of people attending these audiences are hard to gauge, but Fischerström, for example, said of one that ‘There were eight clergymen present’.22 The king was a consummate charmer in these situations. One judge wrote ‘I had a private audience with King Gustaf, who was immeasurably gracious, said that he knew my skill, dedication, and insights, talked to me for almost half an hour’.23 The king himself appears to have seen the value of audiences for his image, but the routine of meeting petitioners was grinding him down. He thus decreased the number of days set aside for them. At the end of November 1773, Fischerström noted that the ‘Petitioners Audience is now only given on Tuesdays. At the beginning of the king’s reign the first three days of the week were devoted to this’.24 Another literary man about town also noted at much the same time that audiences had become more  Busser (1771).  Näsström (1951, 59, 63, 70, 71 & 111). 18  Ibid., 107. 19  Ibid., 111. 20  Ibid., 59 & 70. 21  Sylvan (1920, 91). 22  Näsström (1951, 120). 23  Fäderneslandet 30 October 1832, ‘Ur min farfars anteckningar’. 24  Näsström (1951, 118). 16 17

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limited.25 When in December 1773, the king did finally give a petitioners’ audience, it was promptly ridiculed by insiders at court: ‘After supper the king was surprised by 30 masques who handed over requests, which in verse were full of all sorts of ridiculous things’.26 Aristocrats at court wanted to make fun of this particular type of audience, and perhaps even push the king to abolish them. Increased access was looked upon unfavourably by many of the elite. Aristocrats described private audiences as ‘the Beggars’ Audience’. Gustaf’s sister-in-law, Duchess Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta, shared this disdain, and later contemptuously mentioned that her nephew Gustav IV had fallen into the same error: ‘Once a week a so-­ called Beggars Audience, when many poor officers and others in need bring their complaints or ask for help’.27 Yet access was never unlimited. For example, at ceremonies and celebrations the pressure to gain entry to the palace could be overwhelming. Gates were barred and guarded ‘to prevent the crowds which usually at such events push inside corridors, staircases, and the inner courtyard’.28

Access for the Elite While aristocrats mocked the very notion of access for commoners, they were eager to ensure access for themselves. This could be flaunted publicly through a number of symbols, of which the most obvious was the golden key, a practice introduced in 1751, while later the king’s and queen’s Chamber Gentlemen enjoyed golden keys ‘à droit’, a privilege not accorded to the princes’ and princesses’ Chamber Gentlemen.29 The keys were worn ostentatiously, fastened on one’s clothing, but clothes themselves could tell of one’s proximity to the royal person.30 Over Christmas 1772, King Gustaf decided to create a court outfit, which took the name of the place where they were celebrating, Ekolsund Castle. Ekolsund Uniform was only to be worn by a strictly limited number of courtiers, and indicated a high degree of favour and proximity to the king. It should be  Sylvan (1920, 68), 10 February 1774.  Näsström (1951, 122–23). 27  Bonde and af Klercker (1903, vii. 264). 28  SLA Riksmarskalksämbetet Hovexpeditionen A I:1 1802. 29  SLA Hovkontoret, Kungligt brev, Stockholm 8 May 1751; KB B VII:1.20 Handlingar rörande Claes Ekeblads förvaltning av överstemarskalksämbetet; RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 33 (1821). 30  Bergman (1938). 25 26

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Fig. 3.2  The new royal palace in Stockholm was close to anything and anyone that mattered. Here is a view of the royal palace from the residence of the Fersen family. (Credit line: Elias Martin, Stockholm Palace (“Stockholmsvy. Utsikt från Fersenska terrassen”), Copyright Nationalmuseum (Stockholm))

noted that this preceded similar initiatives in other countries to designate royal favour by clothing, such as the Windsor Uniform (1778) (Fig. 3.2).31 Another very visible form of symbolic access for the elite was the entrée. The entrées introduced in 1773 were regulations aimed at creating a detailed hierarchy of visible access to members of the aristocracy, in contrast to the public image of Gustaf III as the Father of the Country, giving private audiences to ordinary subjects. The king had visited Versailles only two years earlier, and since childhood had been soaked in French history and admiration for French culture. The first birthday after his coup was marked with lavish festivities, and then as the courtier Baron Gustaf Johan Ehrensvärd noted, ‘His Majesty’s Birthday celebrated, the entrées

 Mansel (1982, 116).

31

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introduced and the first Levé’.32 Yet, the entrées, and indeed the levées, brought a tart response from the king’s continental friends with whom he corresponded. One of his closest friends, Madame d’Egmont, sharply criticized the measures in a letter. I was very sorry to learn that you have established etiquettes and entrées at your court. This is indeed the advice of a courtier, who thinks himself a favourite of a king more powerful because he has taken on a more exalted form. How could you adopt such childishness? I know there are puerile etiquettes in themselves, which are very important in their consequences, and have such a real effect that it is very essential to preserve them. All the exterior pomp, for example, which strike the crowd, usually renders the throne more respectable to the people; Orders, and rights of nobility—but to establish court etiquette is miserable!33

Madame d’Egmont, as a representative of aristocratic Enlightenment, and critical of the old ceremonious framework of monarchy, was deeply disappointed in King Gustaf, the fresh face of a modern enlightened rule, for using spatial concepts that were so old-fashioned. The king, however, was eager to elevate the royal person, especially after half a century of humiliating treatment at the hands of aristocrats and parliamentarians. Disregarding Madame d’Egmont and others like her, the king proceeded with three different entrées: to the White Room (Vita Rummet), to the Bedchamber (Sängkammaren), and to the royal box at the Opera.34 About ninety people were given the entrée of the White Room, of whom roughly 60% were men and 30% women. It was a select group of people. They were all nobles, 84% of them members of the titled nobility (counts and countesses, barons and baronesses, and the like). Only twenty-six people were also given the coveted entrée of the Bedchamber, only one of whom was not a count or a baron.35 To this was added a number of people (about  Inrikes Tidningar 25 January 1773; KB D 965 Notes by Gustaf Johan Ehrensvärd.  Marryat (1862, i. 329), quote from a letter by Madame d’Egmont. 34  Montan (1878, ii. 330); SLA Riksmarskalksämbetet Överkammarherrens journal fols.13–45v. The latter only lists entrées to the White Room, the Bedchamber, and the box at the Opera. Entrées were still being handed out in the early nineteenth century (RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 19, 25 December 1807). The special entrée to the White Room dated to at least the 1750s (Klinckowström 1867, i. 57). 35  The Master of the Stables, Adolf Fredrik Munck, who was a great favourite of the King. He later fell from favour, and was the only person recorded as having lost the entrée to the Bedchamber. 32 33

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Fig. 3.3  List of people given the coveted entrées to various royal rooms. (Credit line: List of Entrées, Copyright Timothy Cox)

forty in 1778) given entrée to the king’s box at the Opera. The entrées were further divided into three categories: the people who enjoyed entrée because of their high office, the people who enjoyed entrée because of their previous office, and the people who enjoyed entrée ‘personally’ as a mark of special favour. In the case of the royal box at the opera, the names were not even specified, but it was a list of offices that brought with it the right of entrée (Fig. 3.3). It is important to stress that having an entrée was not about power, but about visible status through symbolic access for members of the elite. The importance of visibility was underlined by the fact that the system was consolidated within a few years as a framed list, attached to a door, listing the people entitled to the entrée to the White Room.36 It was also  Montan (1877). One copy of the list remains at Gripsholm Castle.

36

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published in newspapers. Many of the king’s close political advisors had no entrées, while some on the list were political ciphers from prominent aristocratic families. Space at court was in reality only marginally influenced by either entrée for the elite or audiences for commoners. It is therefore important to look more closely at how space at court was organized.

The Staterooms It was only as he lay dying in a freezing cold March of 1792 that Gustaf III slept in the Great Bedchamber on the top floor of Stockholm Palace. The room, which had been used for his levée in the mornings since 1773, was where the king slept for the last fortnight of his life, but never before that. The fact that the Great Bedchamber was not a room for sleep, but for public appearances, was all part of the spatial complexity of the court. The various forms of real and symbolic access for commoners and aristocrats had to be fitted into a spatial organization, which also made room for the king’s more unhindered access to his closest advisors and courtiers (Fig. 3.4).

Fig. 3.4  The introduction of regular levés in 1773, illustrated how the King was the centre of power yet again after the 1772 coup. (Credit line: State Bed Chamber, created late eighteenth century, Copyright Riksantikvarieämbetet (Stockholm))

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The three different spheres of royal space can still be seen in Stockholm Palace as the staterooms (appartement de parade), the king’s apartment (appartement de societé), and the private or inner rooms (appartement de commodité). This may have reflected contemporary French theory, but the actual use of the space reflected Swedish and German traditions, and of course, Gustaf III’s personal and political needs. These traditions meant that access would continue to be regulated according to space, and the business of government would be a major part of the more private sphere. The space most used for public appearances was King Gustaf’s old apartment as crown prince, on the second floor directly above his father’s old apartment. After his accession in 1772, this was refashioned as a space for public or semi-public appearances. It would henceforth be referred to in various sources as the Great Apartment or the Upper Apartment. In the outer rooms of the Great Apartment—facing outwards towards the city— the king mirrored the rooms below, but with greater magnificence and a different purpose. These rooms were not intended to be lived in, but to be the public showcase of the new strong Swedish monarchy. In the 1770s, an imposing flight of stairs led visitors up to the top floor. There on their left was the apartment of the king’s brother, Prince Fredrik Adolf, beginning with a guard chamber; on their right were the royal Staterooms, starting with the sparsely decorated Hall of the Yeomen of the Guard (Stånddrabantsalen). The Yeomen of the Guard were not crack troops, but older men dressed in old-fashioned, ceremonial, gold-braided cassocks and armed with partisans and swords. The elderly Yeomen were apparently not very intimidating, as incidents with stolen hats, coats, and other things indicate a certain disorder among those waiting there.37 The spartan furnishings and the tallow candles used to light the room indicate that it was not an overly prestigious space, confirmed by the fact that the only royal rooms open to the lackeys who served people attending court were the two guard chambers. A door led to the Hall of the Gentlemen of the King’s Life Guards (Livdrabantsalen). In this room, the guards were of a much higher social standing, many of them noble, and every member of the corps ranked as an officer. These Life Guards were more entitled than the Yeomen, and considerably more rowdy, and stories abounded of them holding tournaments in the hall or hacking out the eyes of portraits hanging there. One unimpressed observer claimed that other officers despised the Gentlemen  Dagligt Allehanda 4 January 1799 and 20 February 1771.

37

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of the King’s Life Guards as ‘they were mostly gamblers and cellar heroes, and generally given over to vulgarity’.38 The simple style of the space was evident in the chairs, a brass chandelier, and mattresses for the guards. The next room was a step up in splendour. The Dining Room was where the ‘Grand couvert’—dining in public—was held. Five crystal chandeliers lit up the large square room, with Turkish tapestries on the walls, and curtains and chairs in a handsome green. The next room, the Audience Chamber, was also decorated to impress. Here, the centrepiece was a gilded throne upholstered in red, under a baldachin of crimson velvet with gold tassels. This was surrounded by folding stools for non-royal visitors, while the walls were covered in yet more crimson cloth. The public element was also evident in the following space, the Great Bedchamber (where King Gustaf died). This room became a key part of the king’s campaign to exalt royal life with greater ceremony, and was rebuilt in the 1770s to that end. Refurbishments had started soon after his accession and continued for several years until a room of unusual magnificence had been created by 1778. The last public room in the suite of Staterooms was the Grand Gallery, reached from the Great Bedchamber. This space was used on at least a weekly basis for ‘Cercle’ (or cour) receptions. It was one of the most lavish rooms in the palace, an imitation of the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles. The White Room, to which entrée was given, was a room adjoining the gallery. The three great recurrent public ceremonies aimed at the elite (grand couvert, cour, and levée) were all held in the Staterooms of the Upper Apartment. The coveted entrées were also linked to ceremonies in these specific rooms—the Great Bedchamber for the levée ceremony, and the White Room for when the king held his cour receptions in the adjoining Grand Gallery.

The King’s Apartment While the grand, more public ceremonies were primarily held in the Staterooms, the king spent far more time in his apartment on the next floor down. On this level was a similar set of rooms—a mirror of the Staterooms, but designed for social life and work rather than display. This corresponded in part to the French concept of an appartement de societé. 38  For a similar view of the contempt in which the King’s Bodyguard was held, see the courtier Nauckhoff’s memoirs, Ahnfelt (1880, ii. 113).

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Contemporaries referred to these rooms as the ‘lower apartment’ or the king’s ‘little apartment’.39 His father Adolph Frederick had inhabited these rooms, but on King Gustaf’s accession in 1771 they became more clearly differentiated from the top floor, which were refashioned as the Staterooms. In the King’s Apartment, the Yeomen of the Guard and the King’s Life Guards were augmented by a number of royal lackeys and porters, as more services were needed here than in the often empty Staterooms above, and a number of the rooms were used for royal social life and work.40 The King’s Apartment could be entered either from an inner staircase from the Staterooms or from the ground floor—the so-called Wardrobe Way. A less-favoured visitor would approach more formally, using the same staircase as for the Staterooms but stopping a floor below, where he or she first entered the Hall for the Yeomen of the Guard and then the Hall for the King’s Life Guards. Just as in the Staterooms, these rooms were sparsely decorated, with some differences between the lower-status Yeomen of the Guard and the higher-status King’s Life Guards. The Hall of the Yeomen of the Guard was lit by cheap tallow candles; the Hall of the King’s Life Guards by tallow candles and long yellow wax candles. The leather chairs in the Hall of the King’s Life Guards clearly indicated its function as waiting room. There were also three leather mattresses, stashed ready for the Life Guards to sleep on at night. In the Hall for the Yeomen of the Guard, the royal servants of the Livery (lower-ranking servants) had to present themselves at eight in the morning; in the Hall of the King’s Life Guards, the royal Pages were to be ready for the cour receptions every Wednesday at twelve to be given instructions.41 After the two guardrooms came the Column Room, used for royal dinners. It was expensively decorated with blue curtains and lit by crystal chandeliers with small white wax candles.42 The main furniture here was for meals, and drove home the distinctions in hierarchy: in the 1760s, for example, the royal couple used two carved and gilded armchairs upholstered in blue, and there were three carved and gilded chairs for the royal children and twenty-four chairs with yellow varnish for other diners. Later, 39  For the King’s own rooms, see Sylvan (1920, 61), Gjörwell to Jonas Gothenius, Stockholm, 2 September 1774. 40  SlA Hovförtäringsräkenskaper Kungl Maj:ts hov 1772 I A:204 fol. 4094. 41  SlA Husgerådskammaren D II a:24; SlA Ceremoniel Allmänt Hovordning 1754 § 1. 42  SlA Husgerådskammaren D II a:24 Inventory 1754–93; SlA Husgerådskammaren D II a:29 Inventory 1794.

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the large number of gaming tables stored in the Column Room indicated a sociable time spent after meals. In the 1760s, two rooms followed the Column Room: an Antechamber and an Audience Chamber. The Antechamber was hung with crimson curtains and the Audience Chamber with green curtains. As upstairs, the Audience Chamber had a throne with a baldachin, while a large mirror and tapestries further emphasized the high status of the room. This was where the Chamber Gentlemen and Officers of the Guards in attendance presented themselves each morning.43 Since the Audience Chamber in the Staterooms made the old one below superfluous, the two downstairs rooms were merged into one in 1784, becoming the Velvet Room, which took its name from its walls covered in ‘rose-coloured’ velvet and the curtains of the same fabric.44 The throne and baldachin went, replaced by chaises longues, indicating the new social function of room. A small room—the Octagon—followed. It was decorated in yellow and was sometimes referred to as the ‘prayer chamber’, but seems to have been used for intimate suppers—neither Gustaf III nor his parents, King Adolph Frederick and Queen Lovisa Ulrika, were noticeably pious. Next came the Lower Gallery, which could be used for suppers for fifty to sixty people, and would eventually be used to display royal purchases of Roman statues of dubious age and provenance.45 After the Lower Gallery came the queen’s lower rooms, one of which could be used for theatrical plays.

The Inner Rooms The French practice of a petit appartement as at Versailles (roughly equivalent to an appartement de commodité) had thus been echoed in the new palace. In France, the importance of the petit appartement was growing in the eighteenth century, as Louis XV would sleep in a bedchamber there rather than in the State Bedchamber.46 To call these rooms private would, however, disguise the fact that they were both for the king’s more intimate sphere and his main working space. In Sweden, the inner rooms were used for political meetings and to conduct business. Before King Gustaf’s coup in 1772, his parents had used their inner rooms as a more intimate space  SlA Ceremoniel Allmänt Hovordning 1754 § 1.  SlA Husgerådskammaren D II a:29 Inventory 1794. 45  Klinckowström (1870, iv. 251–2). 46  Rogister (1993). 43 44

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from which people could be banned. Thus in December 1756, the Council discussed how Queen Lovisa Ulrika was restricting access to the inner rooms in the palace. Partisans of the ruling Hat party had been foisted on the royal family as courtiers, but were now being shut out of the royal presence. The Governor of the young crown princess had been ordered ‘not to enter Her Majesty’s small rooms unannounced’; other courtiers serving the young princes were told to stay out of the ‘small rooms’, ‘as long as they are not called’.47 The councillors were upset that other people enjoyed what they deemed unsuitable access to the smaller rooms: the Prussian envoy was invited to dine with the royal couple there, despite the new Court Ordinance the year before, which had prompted Council discussions that no diplomat should be singled out for preferential treatment.48 Frustration both at being barred from the small rooms and at the same time seeing others given that access was a recurring theme, which only grew stronger after the 1772 coup. After 1772, there were inner rooms in both the Upper and Lower Apartments. Contemporaries referred to these set of rooms facing the courtyard as ‘the king’s small rooms’, the ‘king’s own rooms’, or the king’s ‘little apartment’.49 Some of the space was taken up with corridors, stairs, and chambers for storage and body servants, which were often referred to collectively as ‘the Wardrobe’. The inner rooms could be reached through the Wardrobe, and favourites frequently appear to have used this entrance.50 To outsiders, the Wardrobe was elusive, disreputable, and vaguely threatening. There were rumours of weird goings-on there— of séances, and attempts to teach a magpie to talk.51 Gossip often highlighted how the Wardrobe was used, for example, how a rising favourite of the crown prince in 1750 would be admitted through this way (in the equivalent part of the old King’s House).52 One of King Frederick’s (1720–1751) favourites repeatedly described how he reached the king’s rooms through the Wardrobe.53 The Hesse-born king’s German valets were normally the ones to let people in and out this way. When a royal  KB Engestr. Osign 59.10 Claes Ekeblads journal 6 December 1756.  KB Engestr. Osign 59.9 Claes Ekeblads journal 23 January 1755. 49  Sylvan (1920, 61). 50  See, for example, Carl Tersmeden in 1750 in Erdmann (1917, iv. 83). 51  Liljecrona (1851, 207). 52  Uppsala Universitetsbibliotek, Uppsala (UU), Nordin 947 Voltemats anekdoter p. 73 17 April 1750. 53  Erdmann (1917, iv). 47 48

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coup was mooted in 1758, meetings were held in the Wardrobe and the chamber with King Adolph Frederick’s lathe.54 In fact, the Wardrobe, and the inner rooms, had been used for secret meetings two years before to plan a previous (failed) coup.55 The inner rooms could be used as a barrier shielding the monarch from even his closest advisors—one of Gustaf III’s main operators complained that when the king was ill ‘the secrecy which holds sway in the Wardrobe seems suspect to me’.56 Gustaf III himself both grasped the importance of the Wardrobe and its dubious reputation. He instructed one of his diplomats that a good envoy ‘never neglects to curry favour with the favourites, even if they are from the Wardrobe’.57 It was the ability to come and go discreetly that made the Wardrobe useful for secret meetings. When, after Gustaf III’s death, one of his favourites was disgraced, he was only allowed to meet the Regent in the Wardrobe until the scandal had subsided.58 Part of the suspicion directed against the Wardrobe and the inner rooms was who had access to this space. One of the princes recorded in 1765 how the king had walked through the Lower Gallery and told the Maids of Honour there that the queen was retiring for the night. They then rose to go to the queen to bid her good night, but a woman who had been sitting with them thought to join. She did not know that she did not have access, and so was warned off by one of the Maids of Honour, ‘amidst roars of laughter from the others’. One of the courtiers had taken her arm and escorted her out. The prince noted ‘We laughed a great deal at this all evening; not even Mr. Ulfsparre, who is Vice-Corporal [an officer of the Life Guards] and strictly serious, could keep a straight face’.59 The unfortunate Mrs. Linderstedt had not grasped that access to the Lower Gallery did not give access to the queen’s inner rooms. She was the daughter of a courtier and had several relatives at court, yet was obviously ignorant of the niceties of access. In other cases, insiders could be wrongly admitted. In 1790, the king told off the servants in his rooms for admitting a close advisor to the Cabinet. The courtier De Besche said that the advisor could  Fryxell (1869, xxxix. 304).  Klinckowström (1867, i. 262). 56  RA Börstorpsamlinget E 2969 Elis Schröderheim to Fredrik Sparre, Gripsholm 26 May 1782. 57  D’Albedyhll (1855, 11). 58  Schück (1909, iii. 129). 59  Prince Charles to Claes Julius Ekeblad, Stockholm 31 October 1765  in Erdmann (1925, 23). 54 55

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not know that the king did not want to enter the Cabinet as long as he was there—to which the king retorted ‘That is just why I have you gentlemen, to let people know’.60 The ones who enjoyed access to the inner rooms were mainly courtiers, favourites, or people needed at Cabinet meetings and the like. Of the courtiers, the Marshal of the Realm (Riksmarskalken) as head of the court had ‘access to all His Majesty’s rooms’, as did the Chief Chamber Gentleman (Överkammarherren). The Chamber Gentlemen also had ‘access to the king’s rooms at any hour’, with the proviso that this only applied when they were on duty, in attendance.61 The Ladies of the Palace (Statsfruar) had similar access to the queen’s rooms.62 In the 1770s, the Pages of the Body (Livpager) were given special responsibility for the Inner Rooms. Officers of the Guard were said to have free access to the Wardrobe in the 1750s.63 It is also clear that various favourites enjoyed privileged access. The frustration at the existence of this space, outside the regulations of audiences for commoners or various forms of symbolic elite access, is also visible in the pejorative terms used to describe it. The concept of the ‘Wardrobe way’ was by definition suspect. Someone could be denounced as a ‘staircase runner’ for assiduously attending court.64 Yet, these names do not seem to have deterred people from using the Wardrobe and the inner rooms, which also allowed flexibility in what form of meetings a monarch could arrange and with whom. The Wardrobe staircase was also where General Sprengtporten (an important supporter in the 1772 coup), a deeply difficult, not to say deranged, man, chose to lie down in order to force a meeting with the king. People had to step over Sprengtporten until, after two hours, he was admitted to the small bedchamber in the inner rooms.65 Evidently the king’s ‘vie privée’ was important, and the royal person was not given up to complete public scrutiny.66 The king slept in the  Nordin Stockholm, 1868, 95.  SlA Riksmarskalksämbetet D I:1 Hovordning 1778. 62  Statsfru, or Lady of the Palace, was a highly prestigious position introduced in 1774, and was often translated at the time as Dame du Palais. The Ladies of the Palace replaced the Maids of Honour in the Queen’s service. See Persson (2020). 63  Klinckowström, i. 122. 64  Fehrman (1909, 142). 65  Julin (1903, 275). 66  Liljecrona (1851, 33). 60 61

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bedchamber in the inner rooms, with a Page of the Body at the foot of the bed. In the morning, it was the Valet’s responsibility to wake the king.67 When the king wanted to eat in peace, he would take his meals in ‘the Wardrobe’.68 The inner rooms had always been where Gustaf III could enjoy his favourite pastimes and spend time with his circle of intimates. In the 1760s, as crown prince, he had put on plays in secret there.69 The inner rooms were also known for a higher degree of familiarity, yet it was a familiarity where hierarchy was always present. For example, lackeys were not to approach the king directly, and could only communicate to him through noble Pages.70 In the same vein, commoners were not allowed to eat at the same table as the king—some even stayed away from functions at the palace, fearing their inevitable humiliation at mealtimes.71 When a prominent poet was called to the palace, Gustaf III offered him a meal, but the King walked around instead of taking a seat at the table, as sitting to a meal with a commoner would be a breach of etiquette.72 The inner rooms were also the place where royalty conducted business. In a schedule drawn up for a few weeks in the 1770s, the king was to spend negligible amount of time in the Council Chamber with the Royal Council. Instead, most of his time was spent in the Council Cabinet in the inner rooms, and in cours and levées. In the Cabinet, the king gathered select councillors and secretaries to do the business of government. A critical observer claimed that ‘deciphered dispatches, suggestions, plans, and other papers of the greatest importance, were scattered and strewn around the king’s writing desk in his cabinet’, making them easy to copy or purloin. All you needed was to suborn a page, lackey, or valet ‘to whom everything was accessible’.73 The inner rooms’ importance as a working and decision-making space was illustrated the moment of political crisis in 1789, when political operators crowded the Wardrobe stairs. One noted ‘the runner brought me by the secret staircase, and the higher up in the palace the more it was crowded by members of the burghers’ cavalry, police officials, and all and sundry’ after which he recognized two members of the police dressed in furs,  Näsström (1951).  Tegnér (1876, i. 45). 69  Klinckowström (1869, iii. 36). 70  Comments by an old courtier, Gustaf Löwenhielm, in Fryxell (1882, 235). 71  Montan (1877, i. 91). 72  Geijer (1845, iii. 91). 73  Carl Gideon Sinclair in Bonde and af Klercker (1903, ii. 46). 67 68

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waiting in the Wardrobe.74 However, the inner rooms were not simply for dark political machinations. They were mainly used for ordinary decision-­ making. One official left notes on various political discussions with the king dated in ‘the passage through the Wardrobe’, ‘the little room by the Wardrobe’, and ‘the bedchamber’.75

Where Were the Courtiers? By providing lodging close to the royal rooms for a number of courtiers, a monarch could institutionalize access for the select few. This became clear at the Swedish court in the 1770s and 1780s, when a number of favourites were given rooms in proximity to the King’s Apartment on the lower floor. In 1784, King Gustaf decided that his new favourite, Gustaf Mauritz Armfelt, would move into rooms below his own, conveniently connected by a staircase.76 This was, naturally, noted and commented on. Armfelt’s apartment eventually grew to sixteen rooms, a remarkable number in the now cramped palace.77 The king used his favourite’s rooms pretty much as he pleased. When he needed small, intimate meals, he held suppers in Armfelt’s rooms, which, as the king’s sister-in-law wrote, ‘are said to be very entertaining, but I cannot judge, as I am never invited’.78 One critic sniffed at the select nature of these meals and the ‘favourites’ who ate with the king.79 Another courtier given rooms in the palace was the Master of the Stables, Adolf Fredrik Munck. He had begun his career as a Page, and rose rapidly through the court ranks. Munck enjoyed the king’s trust to the degree that he was charged with facilitating the rapprochement between the king and the queen in the 1770s, including quite literally enabling intercourse to take place. A third powerful courtier living at the palace was Baron Evert Taube, who had started his career when both he and Gustaf were teenagers. Indeed, Taube, like Munck, had begun as a Page, and another group of courtiers lodged in the Palace were the Pages of the Body (Livpager). In the second half of the eighteenth century the Swedish court become known for the prominent role young given to aristocratic  Tham (1866, 182).  Per Olof von Asp, in Wieselgren (1842, xviii. 104–112). 76  Olsson (1941, iii. 149). 77  Klinckowström (1870, vi. 58). 78  Bonde and af Klercker, ii. 103, entry for January 1786. 79  Klinckowström (1870, vi. 58). 74 75

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Pages. There were scurrilous rumours about King Gustaf’s weakness for handsome young men. One courtier who became a bitter critic, claimed that the king’s ‘not always innocent inclination for Pages, young Life Guards, and Ensigns of the Guard had made these the rulers of the court’.80 Another said that the court was free and familiar, but that meant that young officers and Pages could act without respect: ‘I have often seen Pages and Life Guards remain seated, when the queen and the most prominent women pass through the room. The intimate and confidential treatment by the king of the young officers and pages, whose company he preferred, led them to disregard the demands of civil society.’81 Only the Chief Marshal, a veteran courtier with anecdotes stretching back to Charles XII, could rein in the worst behaviour among the young. After a while, Life Guards were restricted to their chamber while Pages where restricted to the outer rooms of the King’s Apartment. The attendant Page of the Body had lodgings of his own in the inner rooms, though at night he was required to sleep next to the king’s own bed; the king would sometimes read through petitions in bed, or the Page would read aloud to him in French.82 The Pages of the Body served the king in his rooms, dressed him, and were in charge of the Valets and Chamber Lackeys, who also served in the inner rooms.83 As a symbol, they were given the King’s Bedchamber keys in silver to wear. Contemporaries singled out the Chamber Pages and the Pages of the Body for special disdain. These young noblemen, in their teens or early twenties, served the king personally. One courtier noted that ‘they attend closest to His person, and can that way have opportunity to display both loyalty and make their expertise known, if they have any’.84

Court Space Outside the Palace Royal space was wherever royal persons were, and so a variety of places outside the palace could be part of the courtly landscape. That meant that some parts of court life were transferred to other palaces and temporary lodgings—the prestigious White Room was not just a room in Stockholm  Levertin (1901, 75).  Klinckowström (1869, iii. 174–5). 82  Näsström (1951, 64). 83  SlA Riksmarskalksämbetet D I:1 Hovordning 1778. 84  Montan (1877, i. 167). 80 81

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Palace, but a concept, so that when the king was travelling there would always be a ‘White Room’ with rights of entrée. A former Page was thus denied entry into a temporary White Room when the king was on a journey, as he was no longer in attendance at court.85 It is interesting, though, that he tried in the first place: attempts to stretch the regulations were well-known courtly pursuits. King Gustaf III inherited most of the palaces he used, but even so, he made his mark by creating his own landscape of royal space beyond the palace gates. He expanded on that space, but also created greater differentiation by using the magnificent palaces, barges, an opera house, and other spaces flexibly, according to his need and mood. Thus, a number of palaces close to Stockholm were used in rotation: Drottningholm and Gripsholm above all, but also Ulriksdal, Ekolsund, and Strömsholm. Drottningholm, the most magnificent palace outside the capital, was his residence of choice for the summer months. It also had some smaller buildings in the Chinese style, and especially the Chinese Pavilion, to which the royal family could withdraw for the day. Haga, very small, simple, and little more than a royal villa, was much used by King Gustaf III to enforce greater privacy and keep people out, though some levées were held there even so. Haga fitted well into a contemporary European trend with more intimate royal houses such as Kew, the Petit Trianon, and Sanssouci, used to create a familiar atmosphere away from the restrictions of etiquette and court life. Close to Stockholm Palace was the King’s Garden (Kungsträdgården), an enclosed park with an adjoining orangery. In the centre was a fountain, later replaced by a bust of Frederick I, surrounded by flowerbeds in geometrical patterns. This garden was used by the court for ceremonies and socializing. For example, in 1754, the park was used for a celebration of the king’s name day.86 A few years later, cour receptions were given in the garden by the royal couple.87 In an unusual move, the king acted to reduce the court’s space in the 1770s by opening up the garden to people of quality, so that henceforth it was a space where the royals and the elite could meet, though the opening up seems to have meant a gradual royal withdrawal. Gustaf III himself was said to have sometimes mixed incognito

85  RA Ericsbergsarkivet Autografsamlingen vol. 176, Schering Rosenhane to Fredrik Sparre, Kristianstad 19 July 1793. 86  Personne (1913, 81). 87  RA Sävstaholmsarkivet vol. 106 Carl Bonde Diary, June 1762.

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with the crowds in the park, buying sweets from a stall.88 In time, the garden was used by more and more people, and for public entertainments such as masked balls.89 In 1792, a young aristocrat could see the new fourteen-year-old king on a walk in the park, but soon the park as a royal space was gone.90 In 1793, a public dance hall, a Vauxhall, opened in the Orangery, after which the park ceased to be used regularly by the court. Just to the south of Stockholm Palace was an old tennis court, converted into a theatre where the royal family had a special royal box. This royal theatre was in use for almost all the eighteenth century until it was replaced by the Dramatic Theatre on the north side of the palace. Next to the Dramatic Theatre was another important royal space—the Opera. The new royal opera house was completed in 1782 and King Gustaf himself wrote libretti and plays.91 As royal control was partly relinquished there, as a space the Opera was risky, however, and not just because it would see the king’s assassination. Thus, King Gustaf was usually met by great applause and acclamation when appearing in his box at the Opera in the 1770s, but an English diplomat reported how it could go wrong, as in 1780, when the king attended the Opera and a few people began to applaud him, ‘but the sullen Manner of the far Major Part of the House made it desirable that no such attempt had been made’.92 An aristocrat noted some years later how the king attended the theatre, having returned from a journey and was greeted ‘with a thunderous huzzah, clapping of hands and long live the king’.93 In the 1780s, the king had a set of rooms at the new Opera where he could dine and relax with a small group of courtiers. To be accepted into this select group was a stamp of one’s ‘comme il faut’.94 The king had both a grand royal box when he wanted to be seen in public and a latticed box when he wanted to attend performances more discreetly. This provided more control and flexibility. The king’s enthusiasm for the stage was also evident in the number of small palace theatres built at Ulriksdal, Gripsholm, and Drottningholm. Another building close to Stockholm Palace was the Bourse, built in the 1770s, and used by King  Carlén (1866, 7).  RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 5 21 August 1791 fol. 68. 90  Grandinson (1908, i). 91  Fogelmarck (1991). 92  TNA, London, SP95/130 Wroughton to Suffolk, Stockholm, 11 January 1780. 93  RA Börstorpssamlingen Brev till Carl Leuhusen Gerhard Enhörning to Carl Anders Leuhusen, Stockholm 4 December 1789. 94  Schinkel and Bergman (1855, i. 363). 88 89

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Gustaf’s Swedish Academy, but also for entertainments arranged by the Stockholm bourgeoisie that were sometimes attended by the court. King Gustaf’s drive to increase and diversify royal space while making it more magnificent was also visible in small, more temporary royal spaces such as various modes of transport. These spaces could be as intimate as the inner rooms in the palace. A courtier described how King Adolph Frederick had suddenly bared his soul during a carriage journey in 1765. ‘Whoever is familiar with King Adolph knows that he is not a man of many words, but if he opens up at some point with whom he trusts, becomes voluble enough’—in this instance, the king talked about how the overmighty Council was making his existence a living hell.95 An even smaller space was the sedan chair, sometimes used for discreet visits, on other occasions, to create a certain proximity to the common crowd, so that when King Gustaf was carried in a sedan chair in 1789 between Stockholm Palace and the Opera, ‘Apprentices, sailors, rascally boys etc. shouted huzzah and threw their hats and caps in the air’.96 Boats were equally important, with a whole flotilla of barges built in the eighteenth century. In the 1770s, King Gustaf felt that the main barges of state were not impressive enough and arranged for a lavish new barge, the Order of the Vasa (1774). A panoply of different boats provided variety, each boat having a specific purpose. Two slightly bizarre barges with golden carvings of a boar and a dolphin, called unsurprisingly The Boar and The Dolphin, were used for shorter journeys to the royal pleasure palaces such as Haga. A larger boat, the Amphion, with splendid royal lodgings but awful seaworthiness (hence its nickname, the Golden Clog) was used for longer journeys, as were two other ships, Amadis and Esplendian, added in the 1780s.

Conclusions The survival and adaptation of the Gustavian model was in some ways a remarkable testimony to its resilience and usefulness. The expanded royal space of the palace and its surrounding landscape with its more differentiated space outlasted both the king himself and his dynasty. During the reign of King Gustaf’s son and successor, Gustaf IV (1792–1809), one observer described the throng of petitioners crowding the palace as in his  RA Margareta Cronstedts samling vol. 3 Hans Gustaf Rålamb notebook.  Ibid.; RA Börstorpssamlingen Brev till Carl Leuhusen Gerhard Enhörning to Carl Anders Leuhusen, Stockholm, 4 December 1789. 95 96

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father’s time, and how carriages surrounded the palace and the staircases were full of people.97 In contrast, the palace was deserted in the royal absence. The personal monarchy of the early nineteenth century still meant that royal presence or absence transformed a place. The network of buildings would remain largely the same over the next century. The use of the inner rooms as the main space for work and decision-­making continued into the 1840s, after which there was a gradual shift away from the king working in the inner rooms. The mixture of a German structure, with a great amount of privacy, and a French approach to space, which provided access for the elite, was remarkably flexible. That meant that the number of more public levées and cours varied widely, as did the number of formal suppers served to members of the elite in the lower apartment. This freedom suited King Gustaf well, since he was of an impatient and changeable temperament—‘You cannot imagine a more unrestful nature than the king’s, everything seems to bore him, and he needs constant change’—and his inconstancy was a constant theme— ‘Those that enter into His reel character attribute it to the levity & inconstancy of his temper incapable of being pleased with any place or amusement long’.98 Anders Johan Höpken, a prominent government minister, said that ‘His Majesty’s Taste for quick motion & change of place, which induced him to make weekly parties into the country during the winter’: It was indeed very visible that his prevailing habit of mind was melancholy; on which account companies of fifty or sixty persons were collected. He [Höpken] had even observed with astonishment, that at the time of the reading aloud, when the greater Number out of choice retired to another room, the doors were opened by the King’s order, that as much Noise as possible might enter. Indeed, this whole stile of Life was irregular, and the foregoing evening, after a late supper, the king played at chess until four in the morning. Thus it often happens that the Council, which is appointed at Nine, wait till noon for the King, & that all Business is of course in the greatest Disorder. … His disposition requires Change of Place and Variety.99

This also demonstrated the interplay between organizational structure and personality at a court. The imprint of a royal personality was always  Bonde and af Klercker (1936, vii. 264), December 1803.  Bonde and af Klercker (1903, ii. 164), April 1787; TNA, London, SP95/126 Lewis de Visme to Suffolk, Stockholm, 2 February 1776. 99  Ibid. 97 98

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important, but was tempered by other factors. Gustaf IV would try to imitate his father in his court style, continuing with grand couverts, cours, and a rotation between different palaces; yet, his personal style was awkward, silent, and severe, where his father had been affable, conversational, and at ease. Gustaf IV’s personality also meant that elite access to court decreased, along with the large suppers and other forms of entertainment for which the Staterooms and the Lower Apartments had been used. The inherent flexibility of the Gustavian court system was an instrument that could be deployed by a monarch to create several layers of access (for commoners, the elite, and ultimately, the select few). At the same time, this flexibility also meant that the flaws of a different monarch would see him to fail in his duties to uphold the bond between king and elite. An inflexible model such as at Versailles or Vienna could imprison monarchs in modes of behaviour, even as it forced them to act in uncomfortable ways and not shirk unpalatable duties. The flexible Swedish spatial model had its strengths, but could easily stagnate in the hands of a less clear-sighted ruler.

References Published Sources Ahnfelt, Arvid (ed.), Ur svenska hofvets och aristokratiens lif, 7 vols (Stockholm: Lamm, 1880–83). Albedyhll, Carl Gustaf d’ (ed.), Anteckningar rörande f. d. Ministern, Kammarherren Friherre G. D’Albedyhll’s tjenstöring under Konung Gustaf IIIs Regementstid (Stockholm, 1855). Bonde, Carl & Cecilia af Klercker (eds), Hedvig Elisabeth Charlottas dagbok, 9 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1902–42). [Busser, Johan Benedict], Samtal emellan en Ekesjö Borgare och en Bonde ifrån Säby om närwarande tider (Stockholm, 1771). Erdmann, Nils (ed.), Amiral Carl Tersmedens memoarer (Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand, 1912–19). ——— (ed.), Hemma och borta på 1770–talet: Ur greve Claës Julius Ekeblads brevväxling med Gustaf III:s broder, prins Carl, samt unga diplomater och kammarherrar (Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand, 1925). Fryxell, Anders (ed.), Bidrag till Sveriges historia efter 1772 (Stockholm: Hierta, 1882). Geijer, Erik Gustaf (ed.), Konung Gustaf III:s efterlemnade och femtio år efter hans död öppnade papper, 3 vols (Uppsala: Wahlström & Låstbom, 1843–45).

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Grandinson, Malla (ed.), Malla Montgomery-Silfverstolpes memoarer, 4 vols (Stockholm: Bonnier, 1908–11). Klinckowström, Rudolf Mauritz (ed.), Riksrådet och Fältmarskalken m.m. Grefve Fredrik Axel von Fersens historiska skrifter, 8 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1867–72). Levertin, Oscar (ed.), ‘Adolf Ludvig Hamilton: Anekdoter till svenska historien under Gustaf IIIs regering’, in id. (ed.) Svenska memoarer och bref, iv (Stockholm: Bonnier, 1901). Liljecrona, Carl Wilhelm (ed.), Statssekreteraren Elis Schröderheims anteckningar (Örebro: N. M. Lindh, 1851). Marryat, Horace, One Year in Sweden, 2 vols (London: Murray, 1862). Montan, Erik Vilhelm (ed.), Dagbokanteckningar förda vid Gustaf III:s hof af friherre Gustaf Johan Ehrensvärd, 2 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1877–78). Nordin, Carl Gustaf af, ‘Dagboksanteckningar för åren 1786–1792 af Carl Gustaf af Nordin’ in id., Historiska Handlingar, vi (Stockholm: Iwar Hæggströms boktryckeri, 1868). Näsström, Gustaf (ed.), En gustaviansk dagbok: Johan Fischerströms anteckningar för året 1773 (Stockholm: Lagerström, 1951). Schück, Henrik (ed.), Excellensen grefve A.  F. Skjöldebrands memoarer, 5 vols (Stockholm: Geber (ed.), Rutger Fredrik Hochschilds memoarer, iii (Stockholm: Geber, 1909). Sylvan, Otto (ed.), En Stockholmskrönika: Ur C.  C. Gjörwells brev (Stockholm: Bonnier, 1920). Tegnér, Elof (ed.), Minnen och anteckningar af Lars von Engeström, 2 vols (Stockholm: Beijer, 1876). Wieselgren, Peter (ed.), De la Gardieska archivet, 20 vols (Lund: Lundbergska boktryckeriet, 1821–43).

Secondary Publications Baillie, Hugh Murray, ‘Etiquette and the Planning of the State Apartments in Baroque Palaces’, Archaeologia, 101 (1967), 169–99. Bergman, Eva, Nationella dräkten: En studie kring Gustaf III:s dräktreform (Stockholm: Nordiska museet, 1938). Carlén, Octavia, Carl XIII:s Torg. Förr och Nu (Stockholm, 1866). Duindam, Jeroen, Vienna and Versailles: The Courts of Europe’s Dynastic Rivals, 1550–1780 (Cambridge: CUP, 2003). Fehrman, D. ‘Johan Wingårds själfbiografi’, Kyrkohistorisk Tidskrift, 1909. Fogelmarck, Stig, ‘Gustaf III and His Opera House’, in Inger Matsson (ed.) Gustavian Opera (Uppsala: Almkvist & Wiksell, 1991). Fryxell, Anders, Berättelser ur svenska historien, 46 vols (Stockholm: Hjerta, 1823–79).

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Harrington, Kevin, Changing Ideas on Architecture in the Encyclopédie, 1750–1776 (Chicago: UMI Research Press, 1985). Julin, Gustaf, ‘Gustaf III och Jakob Magnus Sprengtporten’, Historisk Tidskrift, 1903. Malmström, Carl Gustaf, Sveriges politiska historia: från K.  Carl XII:s död till statshvälfningen 1772 6 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1893–1901). Mansel, Philip, ‘Monarchy, Uniform and the Rise of the Frac 1760–1830’, Past & Present, 96 (1982). Odhner, Carl Theodor, Sveriges politiska historia under konung Gustaf III:s regering 3 vols (Stockholm: Norstedts, 1885–1905). Olsson, Martin & Tord Nordberg, Stockholms slotts historia, 3 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1940–41). Personne, Nils, Svenska teatern: Några anteckningar (Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand, 1913). Persson, Fabian, Servants of Fortune: The Swedish court between, ‘Navigating in a Changing Political Landscape: The Königsmarcks at the Dawn of Swedish Absolutism’, in Beate Christine Fiedler (ed.), Maria Aurora von Königsmarck: Ein adeliges Frauenleben im Europa der Barockzeit (Cologne: Böhlau, 2014). ———, “So that we Swedes are not more swine or goats than they are”: Space for Ceremony at the Swedish Court’, in Birgitte Bøggild Johannsen & Konrad Otenheym (eds), Beyond Scylla and Charybdis: European Courts and Court Residences outside Habsburg and Valois/Bourbon Territories, 1500–1700 (Copenhagen: University Press of Southern Denmark, 2015a). ———, ‘The Broken Mirror: Gender Differences in the System of Royal Apartments’, in Monique Chatenet (ed.) Princes, Princesses et leur logis: Logis masculins et féminins dans l’elite de l’aristocratie européenne, 1450–1650 (Paris: Picard, 2015b). ———, Women at the Early Modern Swedish Court: Power, Risk, and Opportunity (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2020). Rogister, John, ‘From Louis XV to Louis XVI: Some thoughts on the Petits Appartements’, Eighteenth Century Life, 17 (1993). Schinkel, Bernd von & C. W. Bergman (eds), Minnen ur Sveriges nyare historia, 16 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1852–93). Starkey, David (ed.), The English Court: from the Wars of the Roses to the Civil War (London: Longman, 1987). Tham, Wilhelm, Konung Gustaf III och rikets ständer vid 1789 års riksdag (Stockholm: L. J. Hierta, 1866). Tillmann, Max, ‘Très belle, agréable, et bien meublée: The Electoral Palace at Saint-Cloud in the Early Eighteenth Century’, in Denise Amy Baxter & Meredith Martin (eds), Architectural Space in Eighteenth Century Europe (London: Ashgate, 2010). Vahlne, Bo, Frihetstidens inredningar på Stockholms slott: om bekvämlighetens och skönhetens nivåer (Stockholm: Balkong, 2012).

CHAPTER 4

The Court as the World

To join the court for the first time was called to ‘enter the world’. It was a rite of passage early in aristocratic life, normally in late teenage, which launched young aristocrats into an environment where they would make useful friends and acquire a fitting world view and manners. It was said of the eminent politician Anders Johan von Höpken that ‘the education of his children, whom he adored, required their entrance into the grand monde’.1 Thus he reluctantly accepted Gustaf III’s offer to rejoin the Council to help his children along. His fifteen-year-old daughter, Eleonore, was duly sent to Stockholm to be presented at court and attend the coronation of Gustaf III. Her brother Anders Johan, then six years old, was with her, and was equipped with clothes in the fashionable colour—‘for the season’—as well as mourning clothes for the late king, for although he was too young to join in, he could still benefit from seeing glimpses of what awaited. As Höpken told her, ‘Your brother is not like you, old enough to be presented at court, but it is necessary that one day, when their Majesties are not in town, he sees the palace and its apartments. This trip must serve to broaden his mind, which has been restricted in the countryside’.2 In another letter, the anxious father returned to the theme. Eleonore was busy, out in the grand monde, but what of ‘your little 1 2

 Liljecrona (1851, 46).  KB Ep H 20:2 A J von Höpken to Eleonore von Höpken, Ulfåsa 2 October 1771.

© The Author(s) 2020 F. Persson, Survival and Revival in Sweden’s Court and Monarchy, 1718–1930, Palgrave Studies in Modern Monarchy, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52647-4_4

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brother, what does he say about this confusion, this multitude of crowds, these marching troops, these drums? I imagine that his mind is working and that he is constantly at the window. It is necessary that he sees many things, and the quantity of different objects increases his ideas and varies them’.3 The Höpken children were sent to Stockholm six months before the coronation in May 1772, giving them time to acquire some of the manners of the court. Eleonore’s preparations got underway, despite problems with a tailor, while little Anders Johan was duly taken to see the palace, which he found gloomy, and the royal stables with its many horses and carriages—‘he must have been amazed to see so many horses’.4 A consummate courtier, Höpken knew the ways of the court and was determined his children should too. Thus he felt the need to explain the murk of the palace, where the staterooms were hung with black cloth in mourning for the late king. ‘I am not surprised that your brother found the appearance of the palace dark and sad. I had forgotten that they were still in black, and when I desired that he saw them I had not imagined that all the gilding and ornaments would be covered up. Closer to the coronation all this will be unveiled, and it is not suitable that this darkness remains in his imagination’.5 Eleonore was concerned at the news of the Landgrave of Hesse’s death, but her father assured her that she and her brother need not worry—only people serving at court went into mourning.6 Come the coronation, one oversight upset the absent father. ‘I am angry that your brother missed seeing the ox adorned with garlands; it is a spectacle which he would have greatly enjoyed. Did he see the ox delivered to the mob? How did he find this noise, the din, the mess that accompanies this feast?’7 ‘What moment did you find most to your liking?’ the anxious Count Höpken asked Eleonore of the coronation. ‘If you have my taste, you preferred the royal banquet, which for me represents with all imaginable pomp the Royal Dignity. It is still the solemnity of the Homage which has an air of magnificence, and which is unique, as it is not customary anywhere else’.8  Ibid., 7 October 1771.  Ibid., 25 November 1771 5  Ibid., 20 October 1771. 6  Ibid., 16 February 1772. 7  Ibid., 31 May 1772. 8  Ibid., 31 May 1772. 3 4

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Höpken had spent much of his life at court, and he wanted to prepare his children for the same life by ensuring they saw and understood that world. The preparations for the little Höpkens went beyond what to see and wear, or how to understand court mourning and other customs, though. Tellingly, he sent his daughter a copy of the latest Almanach de Gotha.9 The wide world was indeed international, and comprised courts all over Europe. Höpken’s knowledge and love of court life was evidence of a world view firmly rooted in what was current in the court environment. It was a world where monarchy was the natural form of government, where hierarchy was ever-present, and the aristocracy was at the top of that hierarchy, second only to royalty. It was a world where people were required to behave in certain ways and hold certain values. And to oppose the monarch could mean exclusion from society. Some entered the court circle when they were even younger than Eleonore von Höpken. The daughter of Count Adolf Lewenhaupt, the Master of the Horse, was only thirteen when she was said by King Gustaf III himself to ‘être d’un âge à entrer dans le monde’.10 Another, Fabian Wrede, who went on to be a leading courtier, described his arrival at court in his autobiography.11 Of his time at university, he only mentioned riding and fencing, but when Wrede was sixteen, he took part in a tournament: ‘From this I count my first entry into the world’.12 The world-weary courtier Axel von Fersen noted in his diary that his future sister-in-law, then seventeen, ‘has also come out into the world yesterday as a Maid of Honour to the princess’.13 She ‘carries herself very well, even though she has been raised in the countryside’. The last comment indicates the same perceived contrast between court manners and less polished behaviour seen in Höpken’s correspondence (Fig. 4.1). The role of the court as the centre for the Swedish elite, as their ‘world’, had taken on a new lease of life in the mid-eighteenth century. This revival came after a decline that followed a general European trend, reinforced in Sweden by two long decades of war and royal absenteeism, and then the sudden loss of royal power in 1719. The rather lacklustre court of the 1720s and 1730s had done something to revive the fortunes of the  Ibid., 19 January 1772.  Gustaf III to Malte Ramel, Aix-la-Chapelle, 24 July 1791, in Dechaux (1803–5, iv. 195). 11  Wibling (1894). 12  Ibid. 13  Söderhjelm (1926, ii. 274–5). 9

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Fig 4.1  The dashing seventeen year old aristocrat Fabian Wrede entered the world in 1777 when he became a courtier. (Credit line: J A Gillberg, Fabian Wrede, Svenska Porträttarkivet, Copyright Nationalmuseum (Stockholm))

(temporary) royal palace as the centre of elite attention, but it was only from the 1740s onwards that a real revival was apparent, compounded by the royal coup d’état in 1772. Elsewhere, the waning of the eighteenth-century court as a social forum has been thought a general European phenomenon, albeit one accentuated in Britain and Sweden, the two states with the most influential parliamentary systems.14 At the same time, the importance of eighteenth-century sociability has been emphasized. Places for social interaction were often political meeting places such as coffee houses, literary drawing rooms, and clubs, which could supplement or even supplant the court as political forums for the elite. There were dramatic ramifications when a court ceased to be the social centre for elite life, and indeed, of its restoration to social significance—far more than might appear at first glance. The  Bucholz (1993), Beattie (1967), Smith (2006).

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court revolved around power, and that power was often ‘hard’, in the form of significant awards and privileges to be gained, but another side of courtly power was its ‘soft power’ in influencing and shaping noble attitudes. And the top echelons of the Swedish elite were still emphatically aristocratic in the eighteenth century. At the same time, the court’s world view was not simply imposed by the monarch. It was a mentality that was shared by both aristocrats and members of the royal family alike. This world view plainly set the court above the rest of society, making its difference a virtue. These differences pertained to attitudes towards love and honour, but above all, to the acceptance of a society which was deeply hierarchical, and where monarchy was natural and ruled in conjunction with the aristocracy. In Sweden, the courtly world view appears to have been adopted remarkably smoothly, despite several decades of aristocratic parliamentary and conciliar rule before 1772. It was a two-edged sword, however. It meant that the conflict between Gustaf III and important sections of the aristocracy in around 1790 could be interpreted by the aristocrats as stemming from a breach by the king for acting dishonourably over noble privileges, and by the king as a breach of faith by the aristocrats whose loyalty to himself and the dynasty was in question.

Centres of Sociability In mid-eighteenth-century Sweden, the court was once again the centre of aristocratic life, while in other countries, the picture was very different. As James Beattie and Robert Bucholz have shown, the British court retained its status as one centre for the elite—but still just one of several centres, and a centre in decline at that.15 In Hannah Smith’s words, ‘the court as a centre of elite sociability fell into a terminal decline’ from Queen Anne onwards.16 Yet Smith is careful to distinguish between the British court as an institution and the court as a venue: while its institutional relevance was in decline, it could still act as a venue for the powerful elite. It should also be remembered that ostensibly superficial social activities could also be imbued with political significance. In France, meanwhile, royal power continued to be focussed in the court in a way no longer possible in Britain. Even so, here too the elite were partly barred from court  Bucholz (1993), Beattie (1967).  Smith (2006, 194).

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life. As Philip Mansel has shown, the strict requirements for being presented at court prohibited a majority of the nobility attending the king in Versailles. The distance from Paris, with its theatres, opera, and entertainments, also took its toll on the royal complex’s attractiveness. Yet, this was not an irreversible trend. The upstart Napoleonic court would be a powerful magnet in elite life, and the restoration court of 1814–30 dominated social life in Paris.17 At the same time as the British and French courts faltered as centres for elite sociability, the Imperial court of Maria Theresia in Vienna set out to attract the elite in an effort to regain its position.18 The Imperial court had a long tradition of being dull and inward looking compared to the more lavish French court, and fewer people attended social events at the Hofburg than at Versailles.19 The mid-eighteenth century saw a concerted effort by Maria Theresia to make life at court more attractive through an array of different entertainments.20 The Viennese court was not the only eighteenth-century European court to introduce measures to encourage sociability; the Russian court had its Courtage, and in Prussia, non-nobles were permitted to dine at king Frederick William I’s table, while in the next generation, Queen Elisabeth Christina held Courtages every week.21 The Prussian court, closely linked to the Swedish by blood, was markedly disjointed in the mid-eighteenth century, with Frederick the Great entertaining a small intimate circle at Potsdam while first his mother and later his wife took responsibility for keeping going the round of cour days and other rituals.22 Yet, despite the court’s constriction in the king’s absence from the palace in Berlin, Thomas Biskup has argued that his reign saw the re-establishment of the court as a central institution.23 Frederick the Great may have been unusually blatant in his absences, but it was not unusual for social duties to be devolved to members of the royal family who were better suited. For example, the British Queen Caroline of Ansbach was unusually adept at making people feel at ease in drawing rooms and at making meaningful conversation—and making  Mansel (1989, 137).  Duindam (2003, 160). 19  Ibid., 179. 20  Ibid., 180. 21  Anisimov (2004, 172 & 176), Keegan (2013, 25–6), Pizzamiglio (2002, 393), Völkel (2002, 18), Biskup (2004, 308). 22  Blanning (2015). 23  Biskup (2012). 17 18

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attendees feel seen and important, and engaging them in what was also strategic conversation, could buy valuable political support.24 In Sweden, the court was more open than Versailles, and it was more powerful than the British court, especially after the 1772 coup. That meant that for a relatively large part of the nobility it was both attractive and possible to be part of court society. It should be remembered that the Swedish nobility was very small compared to its many European counterparts, numbering about 9000 people in 1750. Most senior officers and officials were picked from this group, and courtiers and others talked of battling to ‘attend at court and make myself known’.25 The revival of court society accelerated in 1772, as was obvious in government appointments, for the politics of familiarity came into its own again when most senior offices in Sweden were filled by people with court backgrounds and court connections. These people almost always came from the same nobility that had dominated politics in the preceding decades of conciliar rule, so the alliance between monarch and nobility continued to hold, despite the reshuffle of power. Wherever the court, it offered the potential of preferment as well as high society. In a court society, it was important both to fit in with your behaviour and to be known personally to, ideally, the monarch, but at least to people close to the monarch. In the politics of familiarity, it was a strong advantage to be known.

Entering the World Presentation at court—the reason Eleonore von Höpken had been sent to Stockholm—was a formal ceremony to mark one’s entrance into the world by being presented to members of the royal family and leading members of the court. Unmarried noblewomen were required to kiss the queen’s and the princesses’ hem, while married noblewomen were allowed the privilege of kissing the royal hand. Having performed this ritual, one could attend a variety of court functions. This is an important reminder that the reach of the court was far greater than just those who served there. A number of people frequented the court without holding official court office. Higher officials, military officers, and prominent politicians were thus expected to attend the court. Not to be seen at court functions was a  Smith (2006, 206).  RA G A Sturnegks samling E 5674 Adam Fredenstierna’s autobiography.

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statement of opposition to royal policies, while attendance could bring both political advantage and prestige. While court society was always aristocratic, a comparison between presentation in Stockholm and Versailles highlights a certain openness at the former court. At later eighteenth-century Versailles, you had to prove noble descent since the Middle Ages to belong to the noblesse presentée, the ranks of those who could be presented at court. Thus the court of Louis XVI was highly selective and closed to most of the nobility; a policy reversed, by necessity, in the reconstructed Napoleonic court, where a mixture of old Versailles presentée aristocrats and newer nobles were included, in sharp contrast to the Bourbon court. Thus, between 1809 and 1815, 560 people were presented at the Napoleonic court, many of them foreigners.26 In Sweden, meanwhile, presentation at court was not for everyone, but was still achievable for a far larger proportion of the aristocracy than in France. Two lists drawn up by Swedish courtiers around 1800 provide an insight into who was presented: the one, by the Master of Ceremonies Hauswolff, comprised all women presented from 1778 to about 1810; the other, by the courtier Fabian von Fersen, covered both men and women who were presented at a given point, in 1809 or 1810.27 In 1810, 602 people had been presented and were frequenting the Swedish court—a considerable difference to those 560 presented at the more socially inclusive Napoleonic court. Thus, in an empire covering a large swathe of Europe, there were about as many people presented at court as little Sweden with its very small aristocracy. At the same time the Swedes presented at court were more aristocratic than the French, with very few outsiders allowed to slip through the net. Of the 200 women out of the 602 who Fersen listed as having been presented, 115 were born countesses or baronesses, while seventy-five were born noble but without a title; eighteen were born commoners, but all of them had married noblemen, apart from the wife of a British officer, who was a Company Raj heiress. This list tied in neatly with Hauswolff’s list, which had the names of 478 women presented from about 1778 to about 1810, of whom 196 were listed as frequenting the court in 1805. Of the 478, thirty-five had been born commoners (Fig. 4.2).  Mansel (1989).  RA Sjöholmsarkivet Manuskript- och avskriftssamlingen vol. 2; Landsarkivet i Vadstena (Regional State Archives in Vadstena) (VLA), Löfstadarkivet Fabian Fersen List of those presented at court [1810]. 26 27

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Fig 4.2  The portrait oozes the self confidence of a young aristocrat at seventeen who had been presented at court and could wear the court dress including the coveted sleeves. Sigrid Wrede, the sister of Fabian, soon made a brilliant match in the petty-minded old Chancellor Fredrik Sparre. (Credit line: Lorens Pasch the Younger, Sigrid Wrede, 1780, Copyright Bukowskis Auction House (Stockholm))

In the 1790s, the courtier Baron John Hugo Hamilton compiled several lists that nuanced this picture. One from 1796 had all the women then at court who had been presented, but divided by women who ‘most regularly attend court’, women who were at court less often, and women who only attended court for major ceremonies.28 Of the 107 women listed, only ten qualified as being habitually at court, twenty-three as attending less often, and seventy-four as only attending on grander occasions. Why the discrepancy between this and Hauswolff’s and Fersen’s lists? One reason was an increasing number of women attending court, but Hamilton’s much lower figure probably also meant that he omitted a number of women who were very rarely there. Hamilton also listed fiftythree men ‘who are best known at Court and in Society in Stockholm’. 28   RA Ericsbergsarkivet Manuskript- och avskriftssamlingen vol. 115 ‘Receuille d’observations et de Nottes sur differns sujets’ by John Hugo Hamilton [1796].

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This can be compared to the number of 402 men given as frequenting court in 1810. All of Hamilton’s fifty-three were noblemen by birth, and most of them were counts and barons. These three lists give the impression of a court where presentation was not only far more open to the aristocracy in general than at the exclusive Versailles court, but also was far more aristocratic than the post-­ revolutionary Napoleonic court. The Swedish court also consisted of quite distinct groups. Of the people attending court, there was clearly an inner circle who were always there and outer circles who varied in their degree of attendance. The clash between these groups was sometimes apparent. The courtier Johan Gabriel Oxenstierna noted with distaste how a neighbour in the countryside always made him awkward ‘with all her talk about the Court which she, with her provincial pride, wants everyone to know that she knows’.29 In stark contrast to these country courtiers, there was a far more exclusive group who were always invited to court and who spent time at the summer residences, forming the ‘society’ of the royal family.

Court Life, Court Time Once you were part of that world, it was a time-consuming business, however frequent or irregular your attendance. Of some, it was said that they ‘live constantly at court’.30 Others would take part in court life a couple of times a week, while one observer noted that women from the high aristocracy went to court at least once a fortnight.31 Thus a former Page went to court ‘once or twice a week, as is suitable’.32 Invitations to various ceremonies were sent out to those ‘frequenting the court’. Higher officials and officers were invited—and their wives if they had been presented at court.33 Absence from court functions would be noticed and could easily lead to disgrace. When a diplomat wrote ‘The Men of Fashion pay their Duty of course to His Majesty’, it was a statement of recognized and expected fact.34 Royal absence from Stockholm was an accepted reason for the social  Frykenstedt Lund, 1967, 19, diary entry, 18 January 1780.   C.  C. Gjörwell to Warmholtz, Stockholm, 24 November 1778, in Otto Sylvan (1920, 250). 31  Ristell (1820, 210) (first pub. London 1790). 32  RA Skånelaholmsamlingen vol. 5 (E 5418) Philip Jennings to John Jennings, 11 April 1791. 33  RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 6 fol. 144, 7 October 1793. 34  TNA SP95/126 Lewis De Visme to Lord Suffolk, Stockholm, 16 June 1776. 29 30

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elite to go into hibernation.35 As one noblewoman wrote to another, ‘your amusements in Stockholm will not be so brilliant as in past years as the king is away’.36 At the same time, the never-ending grind of ceremony and sociability took its toll on members of the royal family as much as their staff. Sheer boredom drove Princess Lovisa Ulrika to play cards, despite disliking it as a pastime.37 Her daughter-in-law, Duchess Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta, wrote in 1790: ‘On Thursday, the queen’s birthday, we will sing Te Deum in great pomp; procession to church, dining in public, reception, and in the evening opera—in consequence, a day as tiresome as possible’.38 She also found a cour reception ‘as dull as possible’.39 It may not have helped that this included a long wait, because it began at half past two instead of the advertised one o’clock—‘You may understand what that was like. It was also the reason why I stayed in my wing with my arms crossed from one to half past two’. Courtiers too could be just as bored, like the one who noted in his diary that after supper at the palace, he ‘was bored and yawning as usual until one o’clock at night’.40 The same courtier later attended another palace supper and bemoaned the boredom, for ‘There is no one who does not worry about this royal grace when forty people are crammed into small rooms, shoving, not knowing what to say, waiting for a royal game of chess which never ends, looking at their watches. Yawning until the morning, eating food gone cold, drinking tepid drinks, and walking until legs are swollen from the lack of chairs’.41 One woman serving at court wrote after a ‘thundering supper’ at the palace, ‘thank God it is over’.42 As Höpken wrote to his daughter in 1771, ‘nothing is more dull than the 35  VLA Ridderstadska arkivet vol. B:24 Carl Gustaf Skytte to Nils Posse, Stockholm, 9 April 1760. 36  VLA Löfstadarkivet B XXV a:15 Ulrika Piper to Sophie Fersen, Toppeladugård, 6 December 1783. 37  UUB Nordin 947 Voltemats anekdoter (Ulrica Adlersteen), November 1748. 210. 38  Krigsarkivet (Military Archives), Stockholm (KrA), Louise Leijonhufvuds samling vol. 2 Avskrift och översättning Hedvig Elisabeth Charlottas to Jeanna Stockenström, 18 July 1790. 39  KrA Louise Leijonhufvuds samling vol. 2 Översatta avskrifter Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta to Jeanna Stockenström, 6 September 1790. 40  Frykenstedt (1967, 20–1). 41  Ibid., 31. 42  Biblioteken vid Lunds universitet (Lund University Libraries) (LUB), De la Gardieska samlingen vol. 343:a Hedvig Eva Rålamb to Jacob De la Gardie, Stockholm [20 December 1799].

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court’ when it was in mourning.43 Still, attendance was expected if one was to remain part of the court world. Again, Höpken wrote to his daughter in 1774: ‘Tonight there will be Masked Ball. I will go for an instant, to make my Court to the king, who likes one to participate in his pleasures’.44 An observer wrote about how to ‘cut a figure at court’ by regular attendance; another added that courtiers had to attend the Bourse gatherings ‘to cut a figure, not to have fun’. (Fig. 4.3)45 The main court function open to a wider group was the ‘Cercle’ or cour. This was a reception held in the Grand Gallery of Stockholm Palace

Fig 4.3  Caricature of a Cour reception. Gustaf III is the preening peacock surrounded by courtiers with the Queen unkindly portrayed as a goose and the other members of the royal family as small birds. (Credit line: Carl August Ehrensvärd, Fåglar vid hovet. En karikatyr, Copyright Nationalmuseum (Stockholm))  KB Ep H 20:2 A J von Höpken to Eleonore von Höpken, Stockholm 26 March 1771.  Ibid., 15 February 1774. 45  Burman and Burman (1995, i. 172); Polyfem, 1, 5/3 (1810). 43 44

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(or wherever suitable when the king was travelling). Cours had been held since at least the 1690s and varied in frequency. In the 1770s, Gustaf III had a schedule of several cours a week. Later this was cut to once or twice a week. Still, the king’s cour continued to be supplemented by the others, including that of his infant son, the crown prince.46 Cours were not just given by the king and queen, but also by the queen dowager and the royal siblings. Announcements in newspapers would when a new cycle began or ceased, or if individual cours were cancelled. While waiting for the royal family to make their entrance for the cour, men lined up on one side of the gallery and women on the other side. News and witticisms were exchanged, acquaintances made, and even property deals drawn up.47 Observers usually noted if a cour was well attended or not, and a string of poorly attended cours could indicate a cooling off between monarch and elite.48 After the king had steamrollered noble privileges at the 1789 Diet and made himself virtually absolute, many of the court nobility stayed away from court. His sister-in-law, Duchess Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta, noted that ‘the king tries to gather as many as possible of society; which is not very numerous yet, many men but few ladies’.49 The cour two days later was better attended, however, as it was beefed up by many aristocratic Russian prisoners of war.50 A standard cour was followed by card games, after which the royal family dined in public—the ‘Grand couvert’. Other tables were then laid for the people frequenting the Court who had been asked to stay for supper. An invitation to play cards was noted—as was the absence of an invitation.51 It was a running joke that a ‘drag net’ was used to haul in all the people frequenting the court for suppers at the palace.52 Yet, as with cards, it was also noted when people were not invited to supper, as when a Secretary of State who attended a cour was not invited to the meal.53 46  RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 3 18 September 1785 fol. 45. Later, after his father’s assassination in 1792, and when still a minor, the new King’s tutor arranged tea parties at the palace (RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 6 7 November 1793 fol. 152). 47  Mattias Calonius to Henrik Gabriel Porthan, Stockholm 6 December 1793, in Lagus (1902, 8); KB If.19:2, Fredenheims dagbok 1797. 48  RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 7 25 October 1795 fol. 93. 49  KrA Louise Leijonhufvuds samling vol. 2 Översatta avskrifter Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta to Jeanna Stockenström, 4 September 1790. 50  Ibid., 6 September 1790. 51  RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 6 fol. 152, 10 November 1793. 52  Hamilton (1854). 53  RA Ericsbergsarkivet Autografsamlingen vol. 176, Schering Rosenhane to Fredrik Sparre, Landskrona, 23 July 1793.

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A more select group of people took part in the levée, the morning dressing ceremony. Levées were usually held before a cour, at around twelve or one o’clock. They were introduced in 1773 and ran until King Gustaf was assassinated in 1792. While levées became a constant part of court life, the couchées at the other end of the official day was only mentioned a few times. Balls and a plethora of other ceremonies also helped to fill the diaries of men and women who frequented the court.

Learning Courtliness To successfully attend court and be part of its world demanded appropriate behaviour. Real savoir faire was presumed only to be found at court, and many commented in letters and diaries on polished manners—or the lack of them. Thus one woman at court was said to ‘possess all the qualities of a woman who has lived in the great world, who can charm and please’. Her husband, a courtier, was less lucky in his upbringing. He had ‘in his youth been given quite a scholastic education, which, mixed with impressions of the grand monde, in him created those contrasts, which deserve less criticism than they often get’.54 The courtier ridiculed for being too bookish was Count Nils Adam Bielke, a member of a very prominent family. He had been made a Chamber Gentleman when only thirteen years old, though he continued his studies rather than attending court—obviously spending too much time in an academic environment. When he was nineteen, he arrived in Stockholm after his years of study in Sweden and abroad. His father was away in the country as Bielke’s mother had fallen ill, but he gave his son a correspondence course in how navigate the capital. Bielke père wrote that ‘a youth who will soon enter the world’ should steer clear of coffee houses and quarrels.55 Instead he should pay visits to family and important people, several leading courtiers among them; for fear that ‘his advantage’ would suffer from his father’s absence. His uncles would present him to the ageing King Frederick, and he should also attend on Crown Prince Adolph Frederick. Bielke was to be steered into real attendance at court, rather than just the title—his uncles were to lean on Åkerhielm the Chief Marshal and the favourite, Broman, because the crown prince was  Liljecrona (1851, 49).  RA Bielkesamlingen E 2323 Ture Gabriel Bielke to Nils Adam Bielke, Gäddeholm, 17 October 1743. 54 55

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recruiting, and Bielke was to push hard to be included. Soon Bielke père noted approvingly that his son had bought new clothes and rented a carriage, but was disappointed he had not been included in the crown prince’s court (a setback reversed the following year).56 Later, the father worried that if his son were to stay away from court too long the royal family would be displeased.57 An uncle wrote to Bielke fils, chiding him that as a country squire he should not write to a courtier who was busy with ‘joyous days at a brilliant court and with the circumstance that one festivity comes after another’;58 like Count Höpken and his children, however, Count Bielke was intent on guiding his son into becoming a real courtier. One noblewoman at court fretted that her daughter would become ‘too peasant-like and out of fashion’ in the country; if she did not take part in court life ‘she would never again dare show her in the great world’.59 The anxious mother was quoted as lamenting that ‘Brita really needs to come into the world again, because when she was here [at home] last winter she had acquired so many country manners and such a country demeanour that I and many others hardly recognized her.’ To be a real courtier meant to dress, talk, and act in ways that were acceptable to the court elite, and such conduct should be drummed into members of the aristocracy from a young age. The cornerstone of good manners was conversation and social ease. To be amusing, witty, and interesting at court functions was highly important. Boredom was a constant companion at court, and to be able to alleviate ennui was a highly treasured talent. Facility with words and a cheerful disposition were great assets. The courtier Fabian Wrede remembered how ‘My figure at that time was pleasing and my behaviour decent, I spoke and wrote good French, had read history and belles-lettres, the king’s usual subject of conversation. To this I also had a free and happy manner, and my merriment, often in need of a certain moderation, never turned into presumptuousness or indecent plaisanterie’.60 The king’s favourite Page, Carl Adrian Peyron (ennobled de Peijron), gave a similar impression: though born into a rich merchant family rather than the  Ibid., 24 October 1743.  RA Bielkesamlingen E 2323 Ture Gabriel Bielke to Nils Adam Bielke, Stockholm, 11 August 1747. 58  RA Bielkesamlingen E 2323 Piper to Nils Adam Bielke, Krageholm, 26 March 1745. 59  RA Börstorpsarkivet Brev t Fredrik Sparre vol. 32 Bengt Sparre to Fredrik Sparre, Stockholm, 24 September 1764. 60  Wibling (1894). 56 57

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nobility, he was young, handsome, and combined ‘French pleasantness and cheerfulness’.61 Cheerfulness could take many forms. Wrede’s and Peyron’s youthful exuberance was complemented at court by the more mature joviality of others. The favourite Johan Christoffer Toll was said to be rather taciturn, but still cheerful and witty—and he could ‘crush with a few words’ or obtain what he wanted with his sarcasm.62 Another notably sardonic courtier was Erik Wrangel, known for his ‘quick wit, caustic mood … merry society, little sincerity and no religion’.63 There were courtiers such as Carl Franc (‘pleasant in company’ and ‘the best lutenist there has ever been in Sweden’), Lorentz Jacob Adlerstedt (‘witty and biting comments’), Carl Gustaf Cederhielm (an ‘uncommonly quick wit’), and Carl Braunjohan (‘the best Tennis player of his time’).64 Not only political clout but social skills were required. The importance of jokes and wit shone through in all sorts of situations. A court case in the 1720s mentioned how at the courtiers’ meals there was ‘Constant raillery at the table’.65 All this should preferably be done with elegance, as with the woman who was said to give Princess Sophia Albertina’s court ‘an atmosphere of the finest social tone’.66 When a young man in the 1810s met one of the old courtiers from the 1770s and 1780s, he was struck by his charming conversation: it was very light and witty, without his junior being able to pinpoint what was so amusing.67 Similarly, another observer in the 1820s remarked, on meeting an old courtier, on the ‘fine and witty politeness from the time of Gustaf III’.68 This style of conversation dated back at least to the 1740s and the circle surrounding the then Crown Princess Lovisa Ulrika and her favourite Count Carl Gustaf Tessin. Witticisms were highly treasured; some courtiers jotted down jokes and anecdotes in commonplace books; others were renowned for their ready wit and amusing conversation.69 Jokes could be fairly scurrilous as long as they conversed as  KB I.e.14:8 Claes Julius Ekeblads journal, 1792.  Wingård (1846, 13). 63  KB L 82:1:10 Tessin’s diary, 30 March 1760. 64  KB L 82:1:13 Tessin’s diary, 13 August 1761. 65  SlA Övre Borgrätten A I:6 4 March 1721. 66  Crusenstolpe (1863, 511). 67  Beskow (1870, 20). 68  Af Pontin (1853, ii. 218). 69  See Göran Otto Wallencreutz’s collections of jokes and anecdotes, KB I.53 Erik Ludvig Manderströms anekdoter; and by Manderström in KB CXV.1.21 ‘Samlingar af Otto 61 62

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one courtier who ‘skated over ambiguity and slipperiness in his anecdotes. He throw a veil over these, which was yet so transparent that you could see everything you wanted but also completely ignore anything offending’.70 This conversational style did not require book learning—indeed, too academic a style was abhorred. Of one member of the 1770s court, it was noted that he ‘was born with a good natural intelligence. It has not been much cultivated by study or decorated by knowledge, but it has been the more cultivated in the grand monde.71 Of another widely admired person, it was said that ‘the knowledge amassed in the great world and in society, in him replaced the lack of other forms of knowledge’.72 The Master of Ceremonies himself, Hauswolff, characterized a Portuguese diplomat as ‘a polite man, well instructed, and has world (lit. has world)’.73 Hauswolff was less appreciative of another man who, though very cheery, had more the merriment of a ‘student than of a man du beau monde’. (Fig. 4.4)74 Courtiers who were not great conversationalists could still contribute. The Duchess Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta wrote of one—‘fat Baron Cederström’—that he was like potatoes in a dish, providing useful, if unexciting, bulk. The Baron played the harp, and, as she wrote, ‘I prefer to listen to its tunes rather than the tiring chatter of many a pompous cipher in society’. The Duchess had a soft spot for another courtier because of his good character, ‘though he is a merciless chatterbox, who makes you despair when he latches on to you’.75 Another person at court wanted to earn a ‘reputation for wit, and screeches and talks like a magpie’.76 Otherwise, those who thought themselves witty often complained about the drabness of their colleagues, who did not meet their exacting standards. One courtier complained that he had to churn out verses to put ‘in the mouth of cavaliers and women who can hardly read the texts I give them to learn by heart’.77 The Duchess went so far as to dismiss some

Wallencreutz’. Examples known wits were Robert von Rosen and Fabian Wrede. 70  Beskow (1870, 20). 71  Liljecrona (1851, 35). 72  Ibid., 37. 73  RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv Journaler vol. 33, 31 December 1821. 74  LUB Leonhard von Hauswolffs samling vol. 6 dagbok, June 1793. 75   KrA Louise Leijonhufvuds samling vol. 2, Översatta avskrifter Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta to Jeanna Stockenström, 23 September 1790. 76  Frykenstedt (1967, 20–1). 77  Ibid., 15, diary entry, 11 January 1780.

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Fig 4.4  The King and members of his court reading and occupied with drawing and needlework in 1779. They are all dressed in the new court uniform and the King’s cousin, Catherine the Great looks on as a bust. (Credit line: Pehr Hilleström, Lektyr på Drottningholms slott, 1779, Copyright Bodil Beckman/Nationalmuseum (Stockholm))

young men from court ‘who do not say a word, and if by chance they do utter something, it lacks all interest’.78 Apart from Swedish, the ability to converse in French was a requirement. It was claimed that one courtier ‘divided the human race into three classes: the French, the Fersen family, and the rabble’.79 Another courtier noted, after a debacle with a Lady of the Palace (Statsfru) who spoke atrocious French, that at a court one could reasonably expect the standard modern languages to be spoken well.80 Swedish aristocrats often wrote letters or diaries in French to practise. A long-time member of the court, Countess Carolina Lewenhaupt, was said to be ‘of high education and especially of the tone of the aristocratic world of the ancien régime in France where she was born and raised’. She was also ‘an excellent actress’,  Bonde and af Klercker (1902, i. 208), September 1779.  KB I.53 Erik Ludvig Manderströms anekdoter, p. 87. 80  Montan (1877, i. 158). 78 79

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and ‘wrote Swedish not badly and French very well’. Fluency in French could be sorely lacking. In 1793, a high official tut-tutted that it is strange at a royal court and in the king’s society there should be such embarrassment in finding people who can eat with a foreign envoy. That happen last Sunday, as Count Stenbock, who had to arrange the table, was looking for people who know French and who do not behave so badly that they begin the meal by storming all the plates, whereby it might easily end with the Envoy and his company leaving the table hungry, not unusual at the royal table if anyone unused to its customs is admitted there.81

The Master of the Horse, Count David Gustaf Frölich, was constantly mocked for his bad French. Rumour had it that he complimented a Maid of Honour for her cheerful singing by saying ‘Vous etes une Fille de joie’. Frölich was also said to have exclaimed ‘Je mange par derrière!’ when standing to eat behind the chairs of other diners.82 This emphasis on a lifestyle honed in high society left lowborn newcomers exposed to ruthless ridicule. The Finance Minister, Johan Liljencrantz, was ‘in society, without tact, without discretion; at court, without a barometer’. When Liljencrantz, known for his currency reforms, was made a baron, the king remarked nastily that ‘paper money is withdrawn but emergency coinage raised up’.83 He was not alone. The ennoblement of successful careerists often met with scorn from the established elite, who made fun of their new names and their manners. The cluelessness of Count Samuel af Ugglas, a great social climber in around 1800, was the theme for several mean anecdotes. Another newly ennobled arriviste was Joakm Vilhelm Lilliestråle, the Chancellor of the Judiciary, a ‘homo novus’ who was a learned pedant—and thought highly ridiculous, to the point where it was also considered part of the ‘court tone’ to mock Lilliestråle’s poetry.84 Count Höpken himself was branded as an upstart by some of more ancient families. A Miss Oxenstierna was said to have bemoaned the state of affairs in the 1770s, for newly made counts such as Höpken were a sign

81  RA Ericsbergsarkivet Autografsamlingen vol. 176, Schering Rosenhane to Fredrik Sparre, Drottningholm, 3 September 1793. 82  KB D 142 G.8 JC Barfods anteckningar. 26 August 1797. 83  Liljecrona (1851, 39). 84  Svensk Biographiskt Lexicon, s.v. ‘Carl Gustaf Leopold’ (Uppsala, 1841), viii. 76.

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that the country was in decline.85 Höpken was also singled out for disdain by his wife’s sister, who said her family ‘only had one stain on our mirror, that Höpken has become a son-in-law of the family’.86 One would-be parvenu wrote that it was not ‘in vain’ that he had ‘spent money which could be better used in times of need, myself mended my clothes, brushed my shoes, bought trinkets or paid for comedies, hired coaches and picnics, myself adjusted my wigs and shaved, lost many pennies in debauch and luxury, gambling, laziness, and drink … studied languages, riding, fencing, dancing, and other brilliant sciences’.87 Courtiers liked to make fun of the court lifestyle, but it was always on the assumption that they had mastered it. Even a seasoned courtier such as Count Tessin could mock it. One young aristocrat coming home from his grand tour, when denied a position, ranted that ‘Our Government understands nothing, not bon goût, bons mots, embroidered cuffs, wit, or foreign merit’.88

The Court’s World View It was expected that life at court would not just foster certain forms of behaviour, but certain attitudes and values. These, mostly unintentionally, were integral to an elite mentality, which supported the monarchy (though not always), the current monarch, and his policies. People of ‘the world’, however, were likely to mock those on the outside. Hence the many letters making fun of commoners or the provincial nobility, and the court entertainments at which courtiers put on plays to act out the droll personalities of aspiring sophisticates who attended the king’s cours in the provinces, and even took aim at the courts of small German principalities such as Eutin or Quedlinburg. Part of the courtly mentality was ever-present hierarchy. Many courtiers were criticized for their ‘courtism’—being too devoted or too flamboyantly loyal to the monarch, to the point of obsequiousness (which was Bishop Benzelstierna’s great failing, saying ‘As Your Royal Highness Commands’ to everything). One Secretary of State, Carl Olof Cronstedt, was described as a ‘courtier to such a degree that it is ridiculous’.89  KB Depos 69.4, p. 66.  KB Depos 69.4, p. 95. 87  ‘Carl Browalds instruktion till sin son’, in Kellin (1920, 10). 88  KB L 82:1:4 Tessins dagbok 1758, 99. 89   Mikael Anckarsvärd to N.  G. Schultén, Kalmar, 20 October 1791, in Mustelin (1965, 28–9). 85 86

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Hierarchy did not just mean loyalty to those above you, but also distance to those beneath you. A certain form of behaviour was cultivated at court, and used to mark differences to those who did not belong to that world. A young courtier, Count Claes Julius Ekeblad, remarked on two aristocratic women in 1760: the respected Countess Horn, who had ‘the grand manner of the court’, a dazzling array of jewels, and many acquaintances ‘not just her equals but her betters’; and the less fortunate Baroness Anna Margareta Horn, born the daughter of a merchant, who ‘makes all possible effort to ape the others but she still carries some smell of burgher … she can be praised for her humility towards her husband, who does not treat her as his wife but as someone completely unknown to him’. Baron Horn had little interest in acknowledging his wife, who was rich but of embarrassingly common stock.90 The same Ekeblad was afraid to sit too close to a group of newly ennobled girls at the theatre, for if the Maids of Honour got to know they might laugh at him as one of these women ‘They say she looks so bourgeois and has a multitude of manners which are not befitting’.91 The bright son of a newly ennobled diplomat, Anders Fredrik Skjöldebrand, chafed at his low social status at the court of Gustaf III, where he could not participate apart from levées and cours—‘Even if my rank in the army had been higher, old etiquette meant that my common birth, despite ennoblement, shut me out’. Then his career almost came to an abrupt halt when he made the mistake of lingering by a table when Gustaf III was present: if he had been sent away for being of low birth, the disgrace would have forced him to resign his commission.92 It was easy to feel that you did not belong. A provincial noblewoman wrote glumly that ‘etiquette and everything to do with the grand monde are things I understand least’.93 The entry of new men into court society was problematic for a world that prized noble birth so highly. Hierarchy was enforced at all times at court, and it jarred badly when new names elbowed their way in. The arch-courtier Tessin noted sadly that the old aristocratic families, ‘Oxenstiernas and Stenbocks might be rich and have great standing among us, but it may be said: One race goes and another comes’.94 It was the  KB I.e.14:1 Claes Julius Ekeblads Journal, 13 April 1760.  KB I.e.14:1 Claes Julius Ekeblads Journal, 1 May 1760. 92  Schück (1904, i. 136). 93  RA Sprengtportenska samlingen Johan Vilhelm Sprengtporten E 5521 Lovisa Thott to Sofia Lovisa Mörner, 7 August n.y. 94  KB L 82:1:4 Tessins dagbok, 1758. 90 91

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presumptuousness of the newcomers that appalled and entertained insiders in equal measure. Thus Carl Gustaf Tessin wrote about the folly of a newish minor nobleman’s wife, who travelled with six horses and two pages as footmen—‘Might not a trip to an asylum suit her well?’95 Tessin and others also sneered at the names taken by new noblemen on their elevation.96 There was often a palpable disdain for merchants. Hauswolff the Master of Ceremonies said that merchants were unlikely to join any revolt ‘as their fatherland is their office, and what else is indifferent to them as long as they get the profit’.97 One courtier, Werner von Schwerin, wrote to another in 1793 that an aristocratic woman he had met was ‘a charming person, and at first sight it was obvious that she was no little bourgeoise, but was someone descending from someone’.98 On another occasion he also mused, ‘Here it is, thank God, very tranquil—and I hope the French also stay calm here, as then the rabble will not get too much air; they should never get any at all, but they should be stopped if they have been given any, if possible’.99 Schwerin’s old tutor wrote to him, worrying that it might become known that the tutor’s wife was related to a baron, for if it did the baron ‘might believe that I spread this, and it might be the only thing he would never forgive me for … in any case, should the daughter of a merchant never understand that she could be related to a baron … You would surely not be ashamed to be related to any person whoever it may be, but there are few like you in your position’.100 Schwerin was not alone in wanting to keep down ‘the rabble’. Another courtier wrote sneeringly that when ‘the populace gets into the habit’ of taking action, ‘they are not easy to steer and to reason with’.101 Baron Hamilton (he of the lists) was well known for his scorn for those he counted as the hoi polloi,

 KB L 82:1:18 Tessins dagbok, 1764.  Ibid., 24 January 1764. 97  LUB Leonhard von Hauswolffs samling vol. 6 dagbok, 21 December 1793. 98   LUB Skarhultssamlingen III:1 Werner von Schwerin to Magnus Stenbock, Nyköping 1793. 99  Ibid., Stockholm 9 April 1793. 100  LUB Skarhultssamlingen III:4 Magnus Flinck to Werner von Schwerin, 30 April 1790. 101  LUB De la Gardieska samlingen vol. 343:a Hedvig Eva Rålamb till Jacob De la Gardie, Stäket, 6 August 1788. 95 96

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while another courtier who had been critical of Gustaf III nevertheless wrote a warning about ‘the French liberty frenzy’.102 King Gustaf III shared this courtly world view in which commoners ranked so low. To marry ‘down’ was the end of a court career. The king himself wrote grudgingly that about a specific case that ‘I do not like when you marry beneath your station, in particular if the difference is too great’. Another courtier was similarly warned by the king against marrying a commoner, for, despite being an heiress, she would risk ridicule; if the courtier persisted, he should persuade Countess Höpken give his bride the lessons she needed for the great world.103 One courtier laughed at another’s hopes of being elevated to a barony after he unwisely destroyed his credit with King Gustaf IV by his ‘vile marriage’ to a lowborn mistress.104 Another aspect of the world view at court was the attitude towards the monarchy and the royal dynasty. Attachment to the court and its way of life could in some cases be lifelong, even when the political landscape shifted. One courtier reminisced about his youth in the 1760s that ‘Sometimes I believe myself in the midst of the imposing court of the respectable, loyal, and debonair Adolph Frederick and the sublime Lovisa Ulrika, the model of queens, whose circle and society were the first school of manners, decency, good taste, and the best tone’.105 Shortly before his death in 1824, the old Gustavian Nils von Rosenstein noted ‘I belong to another age’.106 He had begun his career as a Court Gentleman in 1769, at the court of King Adolph Frederick and Queen Lovisa Ulrika, at a time when there were still a few people around who remembered Charles XII. He was closely associated with the old dynasty (in 1818 replaced by the Bernadottes) as the tutor of the deposed and exiled King Gustaf IV. At the unveiling of a statue of Gustaf III in 1808, a group of Gustavians gathered to celebrate. At first, Rosenstein could not be found for the toast to the assassinated king—‘our sun was drenched in blood … but we have his image in our hearts, and there he will live for as long as we have a drop of blood in our veins’—but then he was found drunk under a table. Stretching 102   KB Ep.C.1 D v Schultzenheim to Germund Adam Cederhielm, Grönsö 28 September 1792. 103  Frykenstedt (1967, 26), diary entry, 26 January 1780. 104  RA Ericsbergsarkivet Autografsamlingen vol. 143 Johan Fredrik von Nolcken to Princess Sofia Albertina, Stockholm, 6 May 1800. 105  Ibid., Drottningholm, 15 August 1800. 106   Svenska Akademiens arkiv, Stockholm, Marianne Ehrenström’s ‘Souvenirs contemporains’.

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out a hand to the table and a glass, Rosenstein exclaimed ‘That toast I always drink kneeling!’107 Such sentiments for a dead king and an extinct dynasty would become increasingly out of place in the new age dawning in the 1820s. Another old-timer was Baron Carl Adam Wrangel. Until his death in 1829 he spoke often and warmly about Adolph Frederick and Lovisa Ulrika, at whose court he had served in the 1760s and 1770s.108 A further living memory of the old court was Carl August Leijonhufvud, a Page in the 1770s. He was remembered ‘wearing a little pigtail, ruff and cuffs, and a strangely tailored coat’ as late as 1840. In the old-fashioned manner, the former Page still wore make-up ‘as his face was always decorated in an unchanging pink colour’. A ‘diehard aristocrat’, Leijonhufvud was ashamed of his common relatives and pretended before his servants that they were noble.109

Conclusion As the mind of the octogenarian General Meijerfelt began to fade in the 1740s, he still clung to the necessity of attending court. At his manor in southern Sweden, far from Stockholm, ‘They then had to dress him up in an full-bottomed wig and full uniform so that he, with carriage and lackeys, could do a tour round, just to return the same way after a brief stop at the stairs where it had been declared that their Majesties were not at home. This drive around his own courtyard he could not distinguish from the streets of Stockholm’.110 Firmly lodged in the decaying mind of the old General was the conviction that going to court was an integral part of his life, of elite life. He was not alone in this. Going to court was part of being an aristocrat. Christopher Clark has said that courts are ‘places where power and culture merge’.111 Yet, in the eighteenth century, it became a struggle to retain power and culture at many courts. From the 1740s onwards, the Swedish court began to re-establish itself as the centre for the nobility, a position it retained for about a century. This meant that it did not follow  Böök (1928, 79).  LUB DLG 309 JG De la Gardie’s diary, 22 April 1829. 109  Ramsay (1905, 17). 110  KB D 142 G.9 JC Barfods anteckningar. 111  Clark (2007, 15). 107 108

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the route of the British court; nor indeed the restrictive route of the French court, barring most of the nobility from being presented at Versailles. Instead, it managed to remain relatively open to members of the nobility. This meant that it was important to become part of court society if you wanted a good career or social prestige. The court also demanded a significant commitment from its nobles and noblewomen. They were expected to attend cours, levées, and couchées if they had the entrée, along with suppers, balls, plays, concerts, tournaments, meetings of the orders of chivalry, and the opening of the Diet, and other ceremonies. The centrality of the court also influenced behaviour and attitudes. A certain style of conversation, dress, and manner was formed—and expected—at court. It thus helped shape a world view shared by both the aristocracy and the royal family. Theirs was a deeply hierarchical world view, founded on the monarchy, in which the aristocracy was the natural ruling caste—and outsiders were trespassers in politics and upstarts, people to be laughed at, while merchants were greedy people with grubby manners and devoid of higher purpose. Generations of young Swedish aristocrats were launched on the world by attending court and acquiring court manners and attitudes. The resilience of this soft power was remarkable. Despite the regicide of 1792 and the coup against King Gustaf IV in 1809, these were not aimed at the monarchy as such. Instead, the monarchy survived and the court survived. The plotters in both 1792 and 1809 shared the same courtly world view, though they felt that the kings in question had trampled these values by taking action against noble privilege or by simple misrule. When it came to high office, Gustaf III, Gustaf IV, Charles XIII, and Charles XIV John all appointed men schooled in court life. When Eleonore von Höpken was sent to court in 1771 by her eager father, it was in an effort to introduce her and her brother into a world that was central to their father’s understanding of aristocratic life. She went on to marry a courtier who became a leading opponent of the king in the 1780s; her step-daughter married one of the most prominent court favourites; and both her daughter and her son would serve at court until the mid-nineteenth century. Opposition to the policies of Gustaf III could not stop her children and grandchildren from reaching high office or from serving at court. The court as the centre of politicized sociability for the elite did not always sparkle with fun and entertainment, and yet it was the magnet that drew in members of the aristocracy to the palace, just like the

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Höpkens, encouraging them to send their sons and daughters there, not only to take their first steps on the ladder of promotion, but to acquire a world view and that elusive quality of ‘having world’.

References Published Sources Beskow, Bernhard von, Lefnadsminnen (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1870). Bonde, Carl & Cecilia af Klercker (eds), Hedvig Elisabeth Charlottas dagbok, 9 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1902–42). Böök, Fredrik (ed.), Levnadsminnen tecknade av Bernhard von Beskow (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1928). Crusenstolpe, Magnus Jacob, Skildringar uti det inre af dagens historia (Stockholm: Hjerta, Historiska personligheter: Enligt authentiska och förtroliga källor framställda (Stockholm: Maas, 1863). Frykenstedt, Holger (ed.), Johan Gabriel Oxenstierna: Journal för Året 1780 (Lund: Gleerup, 1967). Hamilton, Carl Didrik, Anteckningar af en gammal gustavian ([Linköping], [1854]). Kellin, Sam (ed.), Anders Schönbergs bref till bergsrådet Adlerwald (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1920). Lagus, Wilhelm (ed.), Mathias Calonii bref till Henrik Gabriel Porthan (Helsinki: Svenska litteratursällskapet i Finland, 1902). Liljecrona, Carl Wilhelm (ed.), Statssekreteraren Elis Schröderheims anteckningar (Örebro: N. M. Lindh, 1851). Montan, Erik Vilhelm (ed.), Dagbokanteckningar förda vid Gustaf III:s hof af friherre Gustaf Johan Ehrensvärd, 2 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1877–78). Mustelin, Olof (ed.), Gustavianska opinioner: M.  Anckarsvärds brev till N.  G. Schultén, 1790–1808 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1965). Pizzamiglio, Gilberto (ed.), Casanova, Giacomo: The story of my life (London: Penguin, 2002). af Pontin, Magnus Martin, Samlade skrifter, 3 vols (Stockholm: Hörberg, 1850–57). Ramsay, Ebba, Om flydda tider (Jönköping, 1905). Ristell, Adolf Frederick, Ankedoter om Konung Gustaf III:s hof och regering (Stockholm, 1820) (first pub. London, 1790). Schück, Henrik (ed.), Excellensen grefve A.  F. Skjöldebrands memoarer, 5 vols (Stockholm: Geber, 1904).

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Söderhjelm, Alma (ed.), Axel von Fersens dagbok, 4 vols (Stockholm: Bonnier, 1925–36). Sylvan, Otto (ed.), En Stockholmskrönika: Ur C.  C. Gjörwells brev (Stockholm: Bonnier, 1920). Wibling, Carl (ed.), Ur Fältmarskalken Fabian Wredes papper (Lund: Gleerup, 1894). af Wingård, Johan, Minnen af händelser och förhållanden under en lång lifstid (Stockholm, 1846).

Secondary Publications Anisimov, Evgenii, Five Empresses: Court life in Eighteenth-Century Russia (London: Praeger, 2004). Beattie, John M., The English Court in the Reign of George I (Cambridge: CUP, 1967). Biskup, Thomas, ‘The hidden queen: Elizabeth Christine of Prussia and Hohernzollern queenship in the eighteenth century’, in Campbell-Orr 2004. ———, Friedrichs Grösse: Inszenierungen des Preußenkönigs in Fest und Zeremoniell 1740–1815 (Frankfurt am Main: Campus Verlag, 2012). Blanning, Tim, Joseph II (London: Longman, Frederick the Great: King of Prussia (London: Allen Lane, 2015). Bucholz, Robert, The Augustan Court: Queen Anne and the Decline of Court Culture (Stanford: SUP, 1993). Burman, Carina & Lars Burman (eds.), Johan Henric Kellgren: Skrifter (Stockholm: Atlantis, 1995). Chaux, Jean Baptiste de (ed.), Collections des écrits politiques, littéraires et dramatiques de Gustave III, Roi de Suède; suivie de sa correspondence, 5 vols (Stockholm: Carl Delén, 1803–5). Clark, Christopher, ‘When culture meets power: The Prussian coronation of 1701’, in Scott & Simms 2007. Duindam, Jeroen, Vienna and Versailles: The Courts of Europe’s Dynastic Rivals, 1550–1780 (Cambridge: CUP, 2003). Keegan, Paul, St Petersburg and the Russian Court, 1703–1761 (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013). Mansel, Philip, ‘Monarchy, Uniform and the Rise of the Frac, The Court of France 1789–1830 (Cambridge: CUP, 1989). Smith, Hannah, Georgian Monarchy: Politics and Culture, 1714–1760 (Cambridge: CUP, 2006). Völkel, Michaela, ‘Die öffentlichen Tafel an den europäischen Höfen der frühen Neuzeit’ in Hans Ottomeyer & Michaela Völkel (eds), Die öffentliche Tafel. Tafelzeremoniell in Europa 1300–1900 (Berlin: Minerva, 2002).

CHAPTER 5

Winners and Losers in the Politics of Familiarity

The desire to climb, the desire to hold great office brings servitude and dependence, more in this country than anywhere else, because of our poverty.1 (Courtier Fredrik Sparre, 1758)

At the crucial moment of the coup d’état, the morning of 19 August 1772, when Gustaf III gave a speech to the officers of the Guards and requested their allegiance, the captain in charge, Fredrik Cederström, refused to swear the oath and so remained loyal to the Cap party government. His seventeen-year-old nephew Bror Cederström, however, was reported to have cried ‘Uncle does what he wants, but I follow the king!’2 Later the same day the enthused teenager was seen on horseback proudly showing off the mark of the supporters of the coup, a white handkerchief tied around the left arm (in Cederström’s case was blue with white dots, as that was all he could get hold of). Uncle Cederström was arrested and did eventually take the new oath, but his career came to a halt. Later two of Cederström’s other uncles would retire from the Guards in protest at their nephew’s rapid advancement, having raced past them. The teenage royalist revolutionary Bror Cederström—‘very handsome and fairly stupid’—had seized the opportunity his uncles squandered and 1 2

 RA Ericsbergsarkivet Fredrik Sparres samling vol. 1 dagbok 1758 fol. 12v.  Svenskt Biografiskt Lexikon, s.v. ‘Bror Cederström’.

© The Author(s) 2020 F. Persson, Survival and Revival in Sweden’s Court and Monarchy, 1718–1930, Palgrave Studies in Modern Monarchy, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52647-4_5

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was singularly favoured by the king over the next twenty years.3 Observers were generally unimpressed by ‘Little Bror’ (from his diminutive size and a nickname which he even used when writing to Gustaf III) and thought his glittering rise a sign of how personal rule distorted any notion of merit. Cederström took part in court life and performed in court theatricals; he also accompanied the king on several journeys abroad and was a constant part of the inner circle at court. And this also meant taking on political assignments. This was why ‘the king’s little darling’ was to be found working for the royalist cause at the 1778 Diet.4 Together with several Pages of the Body and other courtiers, Cederström was active as an enforcer, intimidating waverers. They presented members of the House of Nobility with lists of candidates for committees, and ‘threatened with the king’s disgrace’ people who refused to take them. ‘These youths and unwise agents of the court’ referred to the favour and the trust shown them by the king, and ‘in all coffeehouses and in the Square of the House of Nobility nothing was discussed but the problems you faced if you refused the king’s lists’.5 So disdainful were Cederström’s opponents that they could not believe he had any influence over the king. An opponent, the courtier Count Adolf Ludvig Hamilton, said he was one of the royal favourites who was ‘so little a match to the king in intelligence, that they could be seen as spyglasses, through which he saw his own person aggrandized, but which to the general public made the monarch appear smaller’.6 Another courtier wrote of Cederström that ‘in the current state you were so used to seeing youths given the most important offices, that no one found anything strange about it’.7 After the divisive 1789 Diet, where Gustaf III crushed aristocratic opposition, but also fractured once and for all the joint venture of monarchy and aristocracy, Cederström wrote to the king that ‘I hope I never again in my life will hear the hateful word Diet; and I hope Council goes the same way, to the peace of the fatherland and Your Majesty’.8 Cederström managed to survive the murder of his benefactor Gustaf III in 1792. The Duke Regent who took up the reins of government for his nephew, Gustaf IV, soon saw a kindred spirit in Little Bror, for so many  KB Engestr.B.VIII.1.6.  Klinckowström (1870, iv. 54–5). 5  Ibid., iv. 83–4. 6  Levertin (1901, 93). 7  KB I.e.14:8 Claes Julius Ekeblad’s Journal 1792. 8  Svenskt Biografiskt Lexikon, s.v. ‘Bror Cederström’. 3 4

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years a fixture in court life, in discussing the cut of uniforms, the number and shape of buttons, and the length of pigtails. First, Cederström was so severely shocked by the assassination that he became ill and hallucinated, but after some time he regained his health and managed to ingratiate himself with the new regime of the Regent.9 The court was a world where people lived for gain. Winners in the courtly scramble for favour, preferment, and influence could become infamous in broad circles, as did Cederström. At the same time, the world of the court also harboured losers. Admittedly, most who managed to get a toehold at the court were at best moderate winners, improving their status and gaining higher offices, but many were losers, and even more perceived themselves to be so, especially compared to the real favourites and to the preceding half century of aristocratic government. This meant that the court as an instrument of royal personal rule might have been in some ways supple and flexible, but in other ways prone to personal fallacies and bitter fallouts, with potentially far reaching repercussions. The pervasiveness of personal power after 1772 meant that hostility towards the court doomed you to a political desert. It is clear that Gustaf III did not intend bad feeling and past animosity to colour his regime. Instead he strove for an inclusive court, which would not rely too heavily on a small clique. Indeed, he wanted to some degree to restore aristocratic power, not by rule of the Council but by appointing members of old and distinguished noble families to high office. It is also clear that his court could accommodate opponents to royal policies even in the 1770s and 1780s. However, the bitter Diet of 1789 drove a wedge between the king and large sections of the aristocracy, which would result in his assassination three years later.

King and Aristocracy When Gustaf III in 1773 summoned Count Anders Johan von Höpken to be a member of his Council, it was hailed as bringing in a political heavyweight. One observer rejoiced that the kingdom would benefit ‘when such a mature Gentleman comes to the rudder, and a whole crowd of little runts who have been wanting to brag about court favour are sure to shrink to their former size’.10 Bringing in an aristocrat with ‘world’ was an addition to the king’s conversational committee every Wednesday evening. 9

 Boëthius (1882, i. 420–1).  Kellin (1920, 115), Anders Schönberg to Carl Browald, Åsberg, 10 December 1773.

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There, Höpken was the most prominent in discussions how to govern the realm and what models from history had been the most fortunate.11 When Höpken finally retired in 1780, the king sniffed that, although Höpken was no longer what he had been, his demise meant that ‘now all the lights of the Council are put out’.12 The king rejoiced in gathering a select circle of aristocrats around him for a social life in his inner rooms at the palace and in the summer residences. They were seen as linked to the king, who took a continued interest in them. Thus he wrote in 1779 to compliment one of his ‘société intime’ on his exploits in the American War of Independence, especially as ‘It is quite a considerable satisfaction to me to see those who belong to my intimate circle distinguish themselves as you have’.13 In 1774 a new position at court, Dame du Palais (Statsfru, or Lady of the Palace), was introduced to bring prominent aristocratic women to court. It was a controversial innovation, but part of Gustaf III’s drive to attract the best of the aristocracy to his court. Mature women from illustrious families who had good conversation and pleasant manners—who had world—were an important part of the king’s intimate circle. Gustaf III wanted strong personal rule surrounded by loyal aristocratic men and women from ancient families such as the Oxenstiernas, Brahes, and Gyllenstiernas. Gustaf III thus wrote to his Chancellor of the Justiciary in 1784, ‘You know, my Count, how I’ve seen it as important to get aristocrats, and especially from the old aristocracy, into the judiciary’.14 In this case the king wanted one of his officers of the Guard, one Axel Oxenstierna, to become a judge. He had no illusions about his chosen candidate—‘He is and will always remain a mediocre Officer’—but thought that as a member of the Court of Appeal, he could be an honest if slightly dim official. The king stressed that Oxenstierna would not sit alone, only as a member of a team of Court of Appeal judges, and then not as president of the court.15 Another Oxenstierna, the rather lackadaisical poet and courtier Count Johan Gabriel Oxenstierna, he made Foreign Minister, though he was ridiculed as completely misplaced.  Sylvan (1920, 91).  Geijer (1843, ii. 197), Gustaf III to Elis Schröderheim, Spa, 11 September 1780. 13  Oxenstierna (1806, v. 90), Gustaf III to Curt Bogislaus Christoffer von Stedingk, Gripsholm, 1 October 1779. 14  Andersson (1860, 3), Gustaf III to Carl Axel Wachtmeister, Drottningholm, 18 August 1784. 15  Ibid. 11 12

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In 1784 King Gustaf openly discussed his preference for the old nobility in a letter. ‘My whole plan consists in elevating this Estate into a support for monarchical power’ he noted, while disparaging a recently deceased ennobled official for his ‘commoner bitterness against the old nobility’.16 It should be remembered that around 1770, the discussion of noble privilege had intensified in Sweden, and a whole stream of pamphlets questioned these aristocratic claims. King Gustaf and many others viewed the 1772 coup not just restoring royal power but also as the salvation of the aristocracy. One aristocratic courtier wrote on the fourth anniversary of the 1772 coup that ‘Sweden’s Great Day of Salvation’ should never be forgotten. Parliamentary rule before the coup had been sliding towards more influence for the commoners, which the courtier Baron Gustaf Johan Ehrensvärd viewed as confusion reigning and the commoners ‘who all wanted to be better than they were’ wielded power over the powerless nobility. ‘All the unhappy confusion which governed, so you cannot rejoice enough that such miserable times are over’.17 A similar opinion of the commoner’s impudence was expressed by the king’s mother, Queen Lovisa Ulrika, a few months before the coup. She exhorted her son, the new king, not to sign the pledge which the commoners in the Diet were hammering out while simultaneously working to overthrow the aristocratic Hat Council (replacing them with similarly aristocratic Cap councillors, but taking a firmer grip on affairs from outside the Council). The queen dowager told her son not to sign, for ‘either the nobility will shame themselves publicly by capitulating, or they will throw themselves in your arms, as should be the end of the novel’.18 The queen dowager also deplored the entertainments put on at the Stockholm Bourse as unseemly, because nobility and commoners mixed. As a twenty-two-year-old crown prince, Gustaf had given a speech at Uppsala University in 1768 when he stressed again and again how the nobility was born to rule—‘the nobility destined by birth to the highest offices of the Realm’.19 These were not empty phrases. He was openly against marriage between aristocrats and commoners, and while in theory such marriages needed government consent, this was rarely sought. When a relative by marriage of Sweden’s foremost aristocrat, Count Brahe,  Geijer (1843, ii. 83).  Montan (1877, i. 113). 18  Geijer (1843, ii. 21). 19  Oxenstierna (1806, i. 121). 16 17

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wanted to marry a commoner, King Gustaf recommended refusal.20 Even so the marriage went ahead, though it was followed by the officer’s ennoblement. In a further effort to make his aristocracy and court more illustrious, King Gustaf thought about offering princely titles to a select number of senior aristocrats. This was never realized, but Count Hessenstein, illegitimate son of King Frederick I, was recognized as a prince. In his classic analysis of the Versailles court, Norbert Elias argued that Louis XIV used etiquette to control the nobility.21 Though it helped to return scholarly interest in the court, the Elias view of the court as an instrument to make the old aristocracy impotent and turn them into gilded courtiers has been severely criticized.22 In Sweden, it was not the view of Gustaf III, nor other monarchs, that the court would tame a warrior nobility. Instead, the aristocracy and monarchy ruled together, although with a shift from parliamentary and conciliar power to royal dominance after 1772.

Aristocratic Poverty King Gustaf III, like all early modern monarchs, wanted the support of his aristocrats. The nobility, for their part, could often use royal support. One reason was the relative poverty of a large portion of the nobility. Even at court, many noble courtiers lived financially precarious lives. A typical case was Vice Master of Ceremonies Magnus Gabriel Ehrenstam, who in 1753 was taken to court for unpaid debts. He said that he had not been spendthrift, but that for some time he had been unable to pay his debts, ‘something which can easily happen to an honest man who has been gullible’.23 Unsurprisingly, he now struggled to pay, as ‘those who hitherto have wanted to lend me money have in later times not wanted to’. This collapse of creditworthiness was a sword of Damocles hanging over many at court. In 1760, a Danish diplomat in Stockholm reported that ‘those who constitute Society, hate each other and tear each other apart. Politics both bring them together and keep them asunder. You can forgive them their poverty, but it is hard to stand so much pretension and haughtiness

 Gustaf III to Carl Axel Wachtmeister, Naples, 7 February 1784, in Andersson (1860, 12).  Elias (1983). 22  Duindam (1995). A remarkably late follower of Elias is Emmanuel Le Roy Ladurie (2001). 23  SLA Riksmarskalksämbetet F I:2 (Ehrenstam’s reply to the suit). 20 21

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alongside the misery’.24 A British diplomat wrote in 1774 that ‘the greater Part of this Nobility’ was ‘destitute of Patrimony’.25 This meant that courtiers habitually went into debt in order to live a life according to court expectations, especially as heirs of large fortunes would serve together with children of destitute noble families. The courtier Johan Gabriel Oxenstierna lamented that he lacked ‘the strength of the consideration an inherited fortune affords noble birth, and that he suffered all the disadvantages thereof’.26 That drove Oxenstierna to woo a rich commoner’s daughter, despite the prevalent attitude towards such matches. His plan was ‘to get my debt paid, become rich and married’. One suitable candidate had been put forward as a wife fit for his ‘impoverished pedigree’.27 Being at court meant a certain lifestyle, and it was hard for upstarts to successfully imitate it. Manners, dress, attitudes—all were part of a package that equipped people for court life. It was also a cripplingly expensive lifestyle. One courtier retired to the countryside because ‘the expense of court life becomes insufferable’.28 There were endless letters on the ­subject of mounting debts, persistent creditors, and efforts to avoid debtors’ prison. This in itself was not unusual for early modern courtiers, and the famous conduct book by Knigge warned against courtiers who were marked by ‘glittery splendour as a mask for their circumstance as beggars’.29 For many at court it was a constant battle to stay afloat while hoping, Micawber-like, that something would turn up. They hoped for the same luck as Count Adam Horn, who from previously being rich ‘is a Gentleman rather without means’, but was saved by his appointment as Master of the Stable of the Realm in 1772.30 Noble privileges and royal preferment caused resentment among commoners. One lowly officer wrote memoirs criticizing Gustaf III’s aristocratic policies, such as weeding out non-nobles from the senior regiments and the custom of selling benefices ‘as merchandise to the highest bidder’.31 Even if many at court would never become rich, people with either court  Ribbing (1958, 31).  PRO SP95/124 Lewis de Visme to the Earl of Suffolk, Stockholm, 26 August 1774. 26  Liljecrona (1851, 55). 27  Frykenstedt (1967, 14), diary entry, 11 January 1780. 28  Erdmann (1899, 218). 29  Knigge (1804, iii. 49). 30  KB D.971. Gjörwells dagboksanteckningar, 8 October 1772. 31  Captain GA Hagelberg’s notes ‘Förteckning på Gustaf den tredjes bedrifter’, in Fryxell (1882, 84–5). 24 25

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experience or at least court connections filled most high offices. Moneylenders had good reason to extend credit to many a courtier, who after all might be tomorrow’s colonel, councillor, or judge.

The Importance of Court Appointments One evening in October 1779, Christmas games were played at Stockholm Palace. One participant thought it was most amusing to see ‘the Chancellor of the Judiciary and the Chancellor of the Court running and pursue each other in blind man’s buff’.32 Sweden’s highest officials were supposed to be part of the social world of the court and were recruited in a way that made this easy. The revival of court society after 1772 saw this reach new heights, and most obviously in government appointments. The politics of familiarity came into its own when most senior offices in Sweden were filled with people with court backgrounds and court connections. These people almost always came from the same noble families which had dominated politics in the preceding decades of conciliar rule, so the alliance between monarch and nobility was still holding despite the reshuffle of power. Gustaf III himself had been fostered early on in how to dispense favours. He had played his various servants off against one another as a child and had also encountered petitioners. One of his courtiers, Axel Gabriel Leijonhufvud, wrote in 1757 to another courtier, Fredrik Sparre, to ask him to remind ‘our young Master’, the eleven-year-old Crown Prince Gustaf, that he had promised some money to a poor petitioner.33 As an adult, Gustaf III was firmly of the view that personal rule meant having a personal link to all the important servants of the Crown. A British diplomat noted of the king that ‘I have heard him say more than once, that he has two or three ministers abroad, whom he has never seen. Though he is well pleased with their Capacity and Conduct, yet he would repose more Confidence in Men, of whom he has had a personal Knowledge’. One reason many, otherwise malcontent, people gave for serving at court was to ‘attend at court and make myself known’.34 It had been important before 1772 to be known to the monarch, now it became even more so.  Montan (1878, i. 363).  RA Börstorpssamlingen vol. 19 Axel Gabriel Leijonhufvud to Fredrik Sparre, Tuna, 29 August 1757. 34  RA GA Sturnegks papper E 5674 Adam Fredenstierna’s autobiography. 32 33

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The king’s intention to rule with the support of the aristocracy, like the aristocrats’ efforts to become known to the king, appears to have been realized. A survey of all appointments to high office in the eighteenth century shows there were 718 men in high office between 1719 and 1809.35 Of these 718, only ten were not born noble or became ennobled, all of whom were appointed around 1800 and half of them served in the fleet—traditionally a career for the low-born. Only about 12% of the 718 were ennobled, while about 88% were born into the nobility. Under Gustaf III, the habit of appointing members of the aristocracy was even more pronounced: over than 90% of the highest offices were filled by men who were noble by birth. Meanwhile, most people who secured high office also had similarly high-placed relatives (about 74%), and this too was even more clear under Gustaf III, when 83% of those appointed had well-placed relatives. Social climbers could in some cases marry into established families, as did Olof von Nackreij, who was ‘many times engaged in his youth, which also several times helped his fortunes, but he also broke the engagements himself’.36 Among the royal councillors, however, upstarts were rare: only four councillors were ennobled, and of them, three managed to create bonds to the elite. Upstarts were so unusual that they stood out clearly and were mercilessly mocked, as Samuel af Ugglas was. If the Council was beyond most men’s reach, some offices were more promising. About 15% of the County Governors (Landshövdingar) were ennobled, 50% of the Chancellors of the Justiciary (Justitiekansler) and 30% of the Chancellors of the Court (Hovkansler). The fleet stood out, as over 40% of its senior ranks were ennobled. Among this select elite group, the links to the court were strong. Many had served at court themselves. Thus men who served or had served at court filled about half of the highest offices under Gustaf III. (Under his son this dropped to 43%.) Gustaf III did not appoint any non-noble to high office—indeed, it was only after 1800 that this began to change. Only 9% of the 718 lacked any family connection or service of their own at court, so more than 90% had court relations. This became even more marked under Gustaf III, when 95% had relatives at court. The top 35  My main sources are Låstbom’s compilations of officials and higher military officers in RA Genealogica Låstboms ämbetsmannalängder vols.184–5; SLA Personella hovstater 1751–; SLA Hovkontoret Brevböcker 1718–; and published sources Hovkalendrar 1760–; Henel (1730), Henel (1736), Lewenhaupt (1962). While not without its complications, the empirical material is sufficient for an overview of the situation in the eighteenth century. 36  Elgenstierna (1930, v. 375).

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officials had the strongest court connections. Of thirty-one royal councillors, 77% had served at court or in the Life Guards, and only one man (Christoffer Falkengréen) lacked any connection at all to the court or the maison militaire. Typically, Falkengréen was an unmarried naval officer before he became a councillor. All the rest had connections to the system by dint of marriage or children who then served at court, and while Falkengréen may not have had any children, but it was telling that his nephew and designated heir married a Maid of Honour. All the Field Marshals and Generals had their own connections or a family connection to the court. Of ninety-five Lieutenant Generals, eighty-­ four had court links; of 247 County Governors, the number was 225. The better question under these circumstances is who lacked court connections. Usually they fell into three categories: foreigners with few ties to Sweden (such as the French Marquis François Claude Amour Bouillé); newly ennobled men who did not marry or remained childless; and naval officers. When discussing these and other similar offices, it should be remembered lower offices had remained largely in the gift of the monarch, even during parliamentary rule (see Chap. 1 [Reviving a battered court and monarchy]). The first steps on the cursus honorum for young aristocrats were dependent on a mixture of royal favour and having patrons who had themselves climbed through the system and had connections at court. These were significant numbers in a society where noble birth and court connections still mattered, long after the French Revolution. Within such a system, members of the nobility would turn to the court to seek preferment. Many would complain about ‘slow fortune’, but outside the court, the chances were much more grim. Outsiders were painfully aware of how the court filtered out candidates to high office. The coup of 1772 saw a strong push back against the rise of commoners—and aristocratic decline postponed by several decades. The function of the court became both to channel high-flyers into higher office, but also to act as a recourse for noble families in decline. Gustaf III was not alone in viewing the court as a way to restore the fortunes of nobles fallen on hard times. A typical case was the Chamber Gentleman Baron Ulrik Alexander Stromberg. He was a veteran courtier whose finances fell apart in the 1720s and 1730s, so he had to sell inherited estates. When he died in 1767, he had raised eleven children to adulthood. This had proved a serious drain on the depleted Stromberg fortune, and he had used his court connections to try and salvage the family’s

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situation. He managed to place all seven of his sons at court. His son Per Adam was barely eight when he became a Page, a very young age. Stromberg wrote to an old connection at court worrying that Per Adam ‘comes rather tender and young to such slippery stairs and steep paths which are common at royal and high courts’.37 The boy was said to be good, though careless about his clothes—‘a fault as inseparable as pox from children his age. I have not desisted from eagerly warning him about the trouble if he were as careless with his beautiful Page livery’. He was also ‘quick and somewhat high spirited, has a good memory, a soft, compassionate, docile and just disposition; is eager to learn everything, agile and quick on his feet and not bad at dancing, fencing, vaulting, and riding’.38 The boy did eventually become Master of the Stable at Court and later a County Governor. The dire state of the Stromberg family was discussed in a letter after Stromberg’s death ten years later.39 His widow was then living in ‘wretched and most miserable circumstances from illness, mental weakness and extreme poverty in a dirty hovel’, with no food or clothes for her children. To the material destitution came the lack of good society. The children had no company ‘but low and coarse people whose talk and custom will always damage tender minds’. As a way to rescue the Stromberg daughters, the remaining two were farmed out. Here the court was crucial as a vehicle to keep the numerous Strombergs from utter destruction. The boys who served as Pages at court, like little Per Adam Stromberg, often came from distressed noble families. The post provided a salary, a noble lifestyle, and a leg-up in life. More illustrious court offices were often recruited differently. Here monarchs wanted to add lustre and political heft to the court by binding important members of the high aristocracy to the palace. Gustaf III was relentless in his efforts to have both the grandest families of the day such as the Fersens, Brahes, and Höpkens represented, but some of the historically grand families, including the Oxenstiernas, Gyllenstiernas, and Bondes.

37  RA Börstorpssamlingen E 3096 Stromberg Ulrik Alexander Stromberg to Carl Fredrik Törnflycht, Västerby, 25 December 1758. 38  Ibid. 39  RA Börstorpssamlingen vol. 19 Axel Gabriel Leijonhufvud to Fredrik Sparre, n.d. [c.1772].

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Combining Offices One way to attract aristocrats was to permit courtiers to combine service at court with other public offices. That meant their military or civil service careers could proceed without interruption. The reason was that most court offices for noblemen ceased to be full-time employment after 1718. The number of unsalaried Chamber Gentlemen and Court Gentlemen soared, as it did not preclude a career outside court. Combining offices could also mean getting out of boring duties. When the highly favoured Page Werner von Schwerin was told he would be promoted to the court of the Duchess (wife of the Duke Regent), he not only looked forward to leaving his regiment, he was also pleased that he would be ‘on the inside, and able if there were a vacancy to solicit it without any effort, because when one can easily solicit it is no trouble to be refused, as one can solicit again and finally you will get what you solicited’.40 It was not uncommon for Pages who had been promoted (often a military commission) to continue to receive their court salary for some time. This was especially useful as Swedish officers normally had to pay an ‘ackord’ to get promotion, which meant paying the previous officeholder a lump sum, usually equivalent to several years’ salary. Thus the Page Henrik Julius Coyet in 1796 was paid his salary for six years, as he had to take a large loan to buy a lieutenantship.41 In similar fashion, the mother of Lars von Röök paid a large sum to buy him a pageship from the previous incumbent.42 The teenager was not pleased to find himself shipped off to court, and later remembered how terrified he was on his first day there.

Balancing Favourites Röök’s mother must have been aware of the great benefits reaped by Pages in the 1770s and 1780s. These young men had become favourites with Gustaf III, and reaching that stage could be the pinnacle of a court career: something everyone could dream of, but which few would achieve. True, Pages were mostly second-tier favourites—like the Guards officer and courtier Bror Cederström—while a few other courtiers became first-tier 40  LUB Skarhultssamlingen III:1 Werner von Schwerin to Magnus Stenbock, Stockholm, 9 April 1793. 41  SLA RMÄ Hovexpeditionen A I:1 1796. 42  RA Sävstaholmssamlingen II vol. 95.

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favourites. The foremost of these was Gustaf Mauritz Armfelt. He came from a relatively undistinguished noble family from eastern Finland, which was then part of the Swedish kingdom, and in 1774, became an Ensign in the Guards at sixteen. After time abroad, Armfelt returned having acquired the polish necessary for court life. Having caught the king’s eye, Armfelt was then made a Cavalier (Kavaljer) to the little crown prince in 1781, a Chamber Gentleman in 1783, and then a Grand Chamber Gentleman (Överstekammarjunkare, a new office) the same year. He was also given an extensive suite of rooms close to the king where they spent time together. His rocket-like rise included election to the Swedish Academy in 1786, being made Director of the Royal Theatre in 1786, and a Major General in 1789. Armfelt was handsome in a florid way; others liked to make fun of his weight and referred to him as ‘The Elephant’ (after he had received the Danish Order of the Elephant). He was intelligent and clearly fun as a companion, as Gustaf III increasingly relied on his company. The Duchess wrote that Armfelt was amusing and ‘understands well how to entertain the King with either this or the other, with breakfasts, excursions, and other things that are according to the King’s taste for constant change’.43 King Gustaf also engineered Armfelt’s marriage into one of the grand old Swedish families, De la Gardie, thereby giving him a more acceptable status. Armfelt accompanied the king abroad to Italy and France, and a visit to Versailles in 1784 created shared memories of times with the French royal family, the Polignacs, the Princess de Lamballe, and others. In Armfelt, the king found someone with whom he could talk about the things that mattered to him. A few years earlier, the king had complained to his courtier Count Johan Gabriel Oxenstierna ‘about the lack of confidence he could find among either men or women and the difficulty to find just one to whom he safely could entrust his secrets and his worries’.44 When talking to Armfelt he could share ‘tout ce qui passe par la tête’ (to quote a letter from the king).45 The tone of correspondence between Armfelt and Gustaf III was very intimate. In the fraught year of 1789, Armfelt wrote to the king that ‘I always forget, when I speak to and write to Your Majesty, that I address my king. My only thought is that I am

 Bonde and af Klercker (1903, ii. 1785) December.  Frykenstedt (1967, 25), Diary entry, 26 January 1780. 45  Tegnér (1883, i. 156). 43 44

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opening my heart to my best and most tender friend’.46 And Armfelt was one of the very few who dared to openly argue against the king.47 Naturally, Armfelt was sought out by others as the channel to royal favour, a position he claimed to be reluctant to shoulder, though outwardly he gave little sign of it. One officer remembered how he came to Stockholm in the 1780s and was presented at a levée at the Palace: the king gave a gracious nod but nothing more, so the officer then tried Armfelt. On the advice of all his friends he approached Armfelt—‘a difficult step considering my opinion of court favourites’—having obtained an introduction from the latter’s uncle. They met at a cour reception at Stockholm Palace, where, when he formulated his request, the surprising reply came that Armfelt would do what he could to help, and also might use him to replace the king’s favourite, Elis Schröderheim. This was in line with Armfelt’s known propensity to make promises freely, and struck the officer as flippant.48 Nevertheless, he took to haunting Armfelt’s antechamber, which was crowded by fortune hunters, and Armfelt ‘always fobbed me off with empty promises and polite words’.49 One courtier thought that Armfelt was handsome and witty, but lacked solid knowledge, though his ‘quick genius filled in instead in many cases’. ‘His desire for grandeur and money were equally boundless’.50 Armfelt’s influence encouraged many to seek his protection, who petitioned him ‘like a prince’, and he acted accordingly towards his supplicants.51 To some, he made it clear that he had to compete with others for royal favour. In a letter to his father he promised to help a number of people, but warned that when it came to valuable offices the king was ‘implacable’, as these were wanted by ‘impoverished youths who surround him, fly like furies after a piece of bread as soon as a vacancy opens up, procure promises, survivances etc’.52 In another letter to his father, Armfelt again promised to do what he could, but said his words counted for little, because the king

 Ibid., i. 156.  Ibid., i. 155. 48  Boëthius (1882, i. 37). 49  Ibid., i. 39. 50  KB I.e.14:8 Claes Julius Ekeblads journal, 1792. 51  Ibid. 52  KB MfH 117 Gustaf Mauritz Armfelt to Magnus Wilhelm Armfelt, Stockholm, 26 March [1788?]. 46 47

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‘wants to show the general public that I do not govern him, and thus my recommendation often does more harm than good’.53 As argued by Munro Price in his analysis of factions at the French court of the 1770s and 1780s, the concentration of power in a very few hands was bound to create discontent and opposition. Armfelt may have been the leading favourite in the last decade of the king’s life, but he had to share his influence with both other favourites and the swarm of ‘impoverished youths’ surrounding the king. Johan Christoffer Toll, an adventurer who had played a part in the 1772 coup and had a natural aptitude for acting, wit, and other courtly talents, was an important competitor in the 1780s. Another courtier in the king’s favour and under his roof was the Master of the Stables, Adolf Fredrik Munck. He had begun his career as a Page in the 1760s, and had risen rapidly, enjoying the king’s trust to the point that he was charged with facilitating the rapprochement between the king and the queen in the 1770s, which, scandalously, included providing hands-on sex education for the royal couple. Widely disliked as a rapacious, uncouth, and uneducated lout, before Armfelt’s rise, Munck had had the king’s confidence, despite being ‘a man without education, without considerable birth, without personal talent’.54 A third powerful ­courtier living the palace was Baron Evert Taube. He had also begun life as a courtier when both he and Gustaf were teenagers, and had enjoyed the king’s favour and trust ever since.

Favourite Pages Many remarked on Gustaf III’s weakness for the young. Few men but many youths succeeded, or as one person noted, ‘The Adonises are numerous at court’.55 Another said that the king ‘had no friendship nor connection with men of superior weight and abilities; and only associated with some youths of moderate talents; and that the rest of the day loitered among the Court Ladies, over whose works he presided, and sometimes joined in them. It is true that the king of Sweden does business with reluctance, yet at times he dispatches it with great expedition and capacity’.56 An older courtier lamented the ‘uncouth manners’ of a Page sent on a  Ibid., Stockholm, 11 November 1791.  KB I.e.14:8 Claes Julius Ekeblads journal, 1792. 55  Gjörwell to Alströmer, Stockholm, 27 July 1778, in Sylvan (1920, 242). 56  TNA SP95/124 Lewis de Visme to Lord Suffolk, Stockholm 21 September 1774. 53 54

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Fig. 5.1  Pages were expected to sleep in close proximity to the monarch, which could create possibilities of power. This chest of drawers by Georg Haupt elegantly disguises a bed. (Credit line: Chest of Drawers for a Page to sleep in at Ekolsund Palace, 1770s, Copyright Husgerådskammaren/ the Royal Court (Stockholm))

diplomatic mission to Russia, though he saw it as symptomatic of the Swedish court as a whole, where youth was in ascendant. Older, haughty courtiers demanded respect and good manners, while ‘the new ones are just free, view the court as the place of their youth, everyone as a comrade, necessary decency as insufferable confinement, veneration of the royal family as unnecessary in a smaller circle, politeness as pedantry, knowledge as bickering, and age as a sad enemy that should be fled or ridiculed’. (Fig. 5.1)57 One of the most prominent Pages—‘the one who in later years best understood how maintain favour’—was Georg Johan De Besche.58 He even managed to rebound from a ‘marked disgrace’ after a display of rude behaviour at a carrousel in 1776, when it was said ‘the downfall of a Page  Montan (1877, i. 86–7), 17 July 1776.  KB I.e.14:8 Claes Julius Ekeblads journal 1792.

57 58

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caused more sensation than if it had been a councillor of the Realm’.59 His colleague Pehr Cederfelt was eager to remind the king and ensure De Besche’s disgrace—‘this one, raised up from a beggar, dressed and given honest offices with great incomes, has now forgotten his former condition, and only kept the low mind that accompanies that most commonly’.60 Smooth and devious, De Besche was not to be kept down, and insinuated his way back into the king’s good books. He was later said to enjoy the king’s confidence, though his avarice was well known.61 This was presumably because the king needed willing helpers to carry out his various plans: De Besche, together with other Pages and courtiers, was deployed during Diets to try and enforce the king’s will, handing out lists that told people how to vote and threatened them with royal disgrace if they refused.62 These ‘youths and unwise courtiers referred to the king’s grace and unlimited trust’ and ‘in all coffee houses and in the House of Nobility there was no talk but of the troubles that awaited if you refused to take the king’s lists’. De Besche’s less savoury ways to maintain royal favour were said to include flattery, espionage, and libelling others at court.63 After the assassination of the king in 1792, he managed to cling on to his position by letting the Duke Regent use his rooms for assignations with a mistress.64 He fell from grace—again, temporarily—after an unusually brazen attempt to sell a benefice. De Besche did however have the skill to come back after every misfortune and was later characterised ‘He was in his youth impertinent to everyone, later a tranquil and good Sybarite’.65 De Besche’s enemy, Pehr Cederfelt, was another favoured Page, mostly renowned for having known beforehand the plans of the 1772 coup.66 Pride and stunning stupidity meant that his rise was limited to becoming a Lieutenant Colonel, which was not bad considering he had been penniless when he entered the court. His marriage with a commoner also counted against him with the king, who was said to have eventually grown bored of his ‘impertinence’.67  Levertin (1901, 91).  Montan (1877, i. 167). 61  KB I.e.14:8 Claes Julius Ekeblads journal 1792. 62  Klinckowström (1869, iv. 83–4). 63  KB I.e.14:8 Claes Julius Ekeblads journal 1792. 64  Boëthius (1882–3, i-ii). 65  KB Engestr. B.II.2–41. 66  Cederfelt’s description of the planned coup in a letter from 1802, in Historiska Handlingar (1862, ii). 67  KB I.e.14:8 Claes Julius Ekeblads journal 1792. 59 60

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In general the king appreciated a handsome figure as well as cheerfulness and a talent for entertainment. Another Page was Carl Adrian Peyron, who was ‘loved without limits’ and ‘young, beautiful, witty’ with pleasing French manners.68 He began in the King’s Life Guards and accompanied the king on his travels. He was very slim, and when the other horses grew tired, Peyron’s was able to keep up alongside the king’s carriage (he normally travelled at breakneck speed). ‘At all stops His Majesty saw this beautiful and cheerful youth, who spoke French well and gave witty answers to all questions. This was the beginning of the favour the king showed him’.69 When Peyron was killed in a duel, his friend Samuel af Forselles took care of his funeral, a friendship that in turn won ‘cheerful and witty’ Forselles the king’s favour.70 Another Page who became a favourite was Carl Borgenstierna. His mother, the daughter of the Valet of Frederick I, served at court as a Chamberer and had helped King Gustaf and his siblings as children, ‘shielding them from being scolded by the queen’. This propelled Borgenstierna into royal favour, where he managed to stay for decades, despite being seen as a ‘good, weak, insignificant man’.71 He shared a passion for Freemasonry and various mystic societies with the king and his brothers. Interestingly, the king who placed such value on high birth and ancient families plainly preferred young men from humble noble families. Several were newly ennobled (like Peyron and Forselles), whereas others were of noble families of rather modest standing (like Borgenstierna and Munck).

The Machinery of Patronage Armfelt, Munck, Taube, and the Pages were cogs in a countrywide machinery of royal grace and patronage. Most Swedes had little chance to approach the monarch in person. Some tried, by travelling to Stockholm, but it was more usual to send in petitions. In order to improve their chances of success, many importuned or paid their friends and relatives to act for them by pressing their suits with the monarch. Then was often a  Ibid.  KB Engestr. B.II.2–41. Peyron was later killed in a duel in France when accompanying the King abroad. 70  Ibid. 71  Ibid. 68 69

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process in several stages where someone contacted a person who in turn knew someone at court who could talk to a favourite (or perhaps even the king directly). Naturally, people linked to favourites, such as Armfelt’s father, had easier access to this patronage machinery. The overwhelming numbers of high offices filled by people with court experience or court connections reflected this stark reality of eighteenth-century political life. Most people had no such personal links to the court. The best they could hope for was that a superior might act on their behalf. Thus Axel Gabriel Leijonhufvud, a former courtier and President of the Vasa Court of Appeal, sent recommendations about vacancies in what was a new court to a friend in Stockholm, who in turn talked to the king.72 Leijonhufvud also got involved in the affairs of the Royal Academy of Åbo, and suggested a suitable candidate for a professorship.73 Not satisfied with that, in 1776 Leijonhufvud launched himself into the bitter conflict over who should succeed the vacant see of Åbo.74 Things did not go well: the king was presented with a shortlist of three candidates, all of them unsavoury— a fox, a pig, and a bull, as the king characterized them.75 It was open to the king to select someone not on the shortlist, and, in a show of power, he frequently did so. He could also try to influence the process early on, as with the see of Strängnäs, again in 1776: he compiled lists of the clergy in the see, and of those with influence over the clergy, so that he could use proxies to force the election into favouring the royal candidate—which in this instance worked very well.76 Later, when Jacob Lindblom was made bishop of Linköping in 1786, he received a long letter of advice from one of his friends.77 Lindblom was a clear example of how royal favour could put a spoke in the wheels of patronage, for though he was a well-educated royalist with advanced social skills, he had no previous experience of the Church. The king had forced another candidate to withdraw his application, placed Lindblom on the shortlist, and duly appointed him bishop—a first step in a clerical career that would see him  RA Börstorpssamlingen.  RA Börstorpssamlingen Brev t Fredrik Sparre vol. 31 Elis Schröderheim t Fredrik Sparre, n.d. 74  Ibid., vol. 19 Axel Gabriel Leijonhufvud to Fredrik Sparre, Åbo 12 April 1776. 75  Biografiskt lexikon för Finland, s.v. ‘Jakob Haartman’. 76  RA Börstorpssamlingen Brev t Fredrik Sparre vol. 31 Elis Schröderheim to Fredrik Sparre, 1776. 77  Linköpings stiftsbibliotek (Linköping Diocesan Library) Linköping, Jacob Lindbloms samling Samuel Harlingsson to Jacob Lindblom, 1786. 72 73

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Archbishop. The friend’s advice was that Lindblom should not go after the men who had voted against him, while he should tread carefully in his relations with the cathedral chapter and the provincial nobility; he needed to cultivate his connections at court and be made a member of a chivalric order in order to impress ‘the rabble’. Lindblom’s friend obviously knew him well, as he then proceeded to warn him against nepotism and promising offices to friends. There was good reason to raise a warning finger. Lindblom had already tried to find out who had voted against him, and friends and relatives were soon sending entreating letters to him asking for promotions. There was often an expectation that a superior would intercede for his subordinates in a see, regiment, or other public entity.78 The courtier and colonel Count Arvid Stenbock was exhorted by one veteran courtier to ‘help your Regiment obtain some badge of honour’ because ‘such small matters for the king can have real importance for a Colonel, building up credit which in many cases will prove useful … you cannot believe how important it is for you to show that the Regiment has not been forgotten ever since you got the colonelcy’.79 Colonel Stenbock’s brother-in-law was also keen to make use of him to gain a regiment of his own, but he did not want it to be known if he were not to get it—‘to apply in vain would not be fun’.80 It was not unknown for even prominent politicians and courtiers to promote candidates for ordinary offices such as benefices. In 1781, Secretary of State Elis Schröderheim, known for selling clerical offices, reminded a friend that several different candidates had been recommended for one particular benefice by both Count Axel Fersen and Count Nils Adam Bielke.81 Sometimes the king had promised to favour one particular aristocrat’s candidate, but might need to be reminded.82 Having the clout to get promotions for your friends and clients gave aristocrats greater status. The reverse was also true: a failed suit might create a backlash. Thus even very minor appointments could provoke bitter conflicts and complex manoeuvres. When Gabriel Sparre wanted to obtain a low-ranking 78  RA Ericsbergsarkivet Autografsamlingen vol. 219. Thage Thott to Erik Cederhielm, [n.d. ca 1779]. 79  Ibid. vol. 86, Nils Philip Gyldenstolpe to Arvid Stenbock, Gävle 10 April 1777. 80  Ibid. vol. 41, Erik Julius Cederhielm to Arvid Stenbock, Västerby 18 October 1772. 81  RA Börstorpssamlingen Brev t Fredrik Sparre vol. 31 Elis Schröderheim t Fredrik Sparre, 4 April 1781. 82  Ibid. Elis Schröderheim t Fredrik Sparre, biljett 1777.

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customs post for a former servant, he called on his brother for help, fearing he suffer an ‘injury from this … if I cannot achieve so much as to promote an old and faithful retainer by my recommendation’.83 In another case he asked his brother to act for his candidate, as it would ‘have more effect than 18 of my intercessions’.84 It might be added that this candidate had managed to arrange loans for Sparre from a government office.85 Procuring offices for friends, family, and clients risked exhausting one’s credit with the king. It could also cast the patron as an unprincipled, grasping individual. Thus one newly appointed judge declined to help a suitor because he did not dare ‘recommender ex professo. It has never been my habit, and I have not the talent for it. I lack the rashness, that would be necessary’.86 Not every intercession was seen as proper. When a Count wanted to help his mistress’s husband to an office, he drew some sharp comments—‘Your Excellency! We should entertain our whores and children by our own means’.87 Nor was everyone cut out to channel royal patronage. The Court Gentleman Nordenskjöld tried to help an ‘unsalaried and poor boy’ to no avail, possibly in a reflection of his own poor standing.88 He was a nobleman with a court office, but it was the lowest, unsalaried, office suitable for a member of the nobility, and he himself was never promoted, despite his rather arrogant assurance that ‘the office of Court Gentleman I got into the bargain—it can help me be promoted to a better office’.89 In the scramble for success not everyone was a winner. The people who used the court in their pursuit of office and status were, in general, members of the Swedish elite, and their expectations reflected that. There were plenty of successes to behold and emulate, of course. Life at court was prohibitively expensive, but might be viewed as an investment. However, patrons had a chequered career. Some enjoyed temporary success, but 83  RA Börstorpsarkivet Brev till Carl Sparre vol.114 Gabriel Sparre to Carl Sparre, Ljungby 15 June 1775. 84  RA Börstorpsarkivet Brev till Carl Sparre vol.114 Gabriel Sparre to Carl Sparre, Ljungby 15 June 1775. 85  RA Börstorpsarkivet Brev till Carl Sparre vol.114 Gabriel Sparre tol Carl Sparre, Ljungby 24 March 1774. 86  Lagus (1902, 58), Mattias Calonius to Henrik Gabriel Porthan, Stockholm, 29 September 1794. 87  KB Depos 69:2 CD Buréns dagbok p. 723. 88  RA Nordenskjöldska arkivet vol. 8 Ulrik Nordenskjöld till NN Nordenskjöld, Eriksnäs 14 May 1794. 89  Ibid., Ulrik Nordenskjöld till NN Nordenskjöld, Stockholm, 2 August 1791.

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then faded from the scene, such as the Court Marshal Baron Hans Gustaf Rålamb. He served at court all his life and took part in the failed royalist coup of 1756. In the 1760s, he was a trusted confidant of King Adolph Frederick, and in the next reign remained at court, but now as a relic of former times. One courtier said in 1776 that Rålamb’s ‘predilection for consoling himself with red wine makes him forget that he has been forgotten’.90 Another relic of King Adolph Frederick’s time was the Chamber Gentleman Johan Gustaf Uggla, one of his last favourites.91 Eventually he managed to get a position as County Governor, although malicious courtiers foresaw his downfall—wrongly, as it turned out. Both Rålamb and Uggla had more than decent careers (the latter far outshining his father, a mere Lieutenant), but they could still compare themselves to people who had risen even higher on the wave of royal favour. And next to Rålamb and Uggla, the vast majority of Swedes were losers. They may have been mildly ridiculous reminders of a previous reign, but they still had the advantage of being at court. Most Swedes did not. Thus one Magnus Flinck, the former tutor of a highly favoured Page, wrote to his former charge when a judgeship went to someone else with a more influential patron at court: ‘As soon as Judge Gram was dead, I decided to apply for his position. I approached my County Governor until he wrote to the Chancellor of the Judiciary’, while Flinck himself ‘wrote to everyone I thought to be my patron and could work to my advantage’. However, Flinck now came to the conclusion that being absent was too much of a disadvantage. ‘No! I must come to Stockholm myself—stay there some years, and seize the moment when some judge pleases to die. Then it may come true. As long as I dwell in this periphery there will be no spring’.92 The fiercely competitive world of the court was also a place where more successful operators could, and did, do down their enemies.

The Enemy Within In February 1775, the eighteen-year-old Baron Gustaf Adolf Reuterholm attended a masked ball in Stockholm. In his diary he scribbled, ‘I had many adventures, particularly with the king who pursued me running for

 Montan (1877, i. 33).  Ibid., i. 372. 92  LUB Skarhultssamlingen III:4 Magnus Flinck to Werner von Schwerin, 30 April 1790. 90 91

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more than a quarter of an hour and tickled me until I screamed’.93 Reuterholm’s diary provides a picture of a teenage aristocrat, son of a late royal councillor opposed to the 1772 coup, busy trying to establish himself at court. He and his widowed mother stayed mostly in Stockholm between January 1775 and July 1776, apart from three months on their estate in Finland. During those sixteen months he attended the king’s cour thirty-eight times, the cour of Prince Frederick Adolph a similar amount, and the levée thirty-three times. Most of the times it can be surmised he did not get to speak to the king—only on five occasions did he note that he had been spoken to at the levée, though he noted it as ‘the king, as usual, did me the grace to talk to me’.94 This was at the beginning of his court career, in February 1776, and the royal conversations appear to have dried up soon afterwards. If Reuterholm rarely spoke to the king, he at least at a masked ball ‘told him some truths’ from behind the shelter of his disguise. About the same time as the king spoke to him, he was also invited for the first time to the king’s ball in the inner rooms. Reuterholm’s assiduous presence at court also meant that when he had been absent from Stockholm Palace for six days because of family illness, Prince Frederick Adolph, in whose regiment he served and with whom he had a more friendly relationship, sent a message to ask whether he was alive or dead, as he had not been seen for so long.95 In 1777, Reuterholm was given the lowest possible court office for noblemen when he was made an unsalaried Court Gentleman; the following year, he was promoted to the position of unsalaried Chamber Gentleman serving the queen—and there his career ground to a halt.96 Despite cultivating intense friendships with other young men, among them Johan Gabriel Oxenstierna and the king’s favourite Peyron, Reuterholm never really became part of the king’s cercle intime. Instead, he devoted himself to various occult and mystic causes, gaining a strong influence over the king’s brother Duke Charles.97 The fact that Reuterholm was considered at all is a sign that the court was being used by the king to include people less enthusiastic about the 1772 coup and his subsequent regime. Despite his later reputation, Gustaf  Falk (1923, 187).  Ibid., 212. 95  Ibid., 221. 96  SLA RMÄ Hovexpeditionen B I:6 Appointment 27 December 1778. 97  Svenskt Biografiskt Lexikon, s.v. ‘Gustaf Adolf Reuterholm’. 93 94

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III was not conflict-seeking, and tried to co-opt critics—as long as they were part of the aristocracy he saw as his natural allies. Later, his favourite Armfelt would say that it was only at the end of his life that the king ‘got used to firmly saying yes or no, I want or I do not want. Before then his replies were elusive, and became ambiguous or vague in important matters. When he wished something, even the most minor detail, he was apt to use a tone of negotiation’.98 The tickling monarch tried to entice in recalcitrant aristocrats, who for their part attended numerous court functions and applied themselves to the business of fitting in. Reuterholm’s joy when the king spoke to him or gave him a ‘gracious nod’ at a cour or a levée was palpable. Reuterholm’s position is a reminder of the existence of several smaller royal courts, all dependent on the king’s court. To serve at one of the minor courts gave less status and was also further removed from power. An outward sign of this was that only Chamber Gentlemen serving the king and the queen were granted golden keys to wear; those at minor courts were not. These differences were manifested in many ways constantly and also between the household of the king and the queen. In 1772 one of the queen’s Chamber Gentlemen noticed acidly that only the king’s Chamber Gentlemen could eat at the king’s table.99 After 1772, the Swedish court, though sometimes riven by family strife between the king and his mother the queen dowager, was highly centralized. Gustaf III himself decided on appointments not just for his own court, but also for the courts of his mother Queen Dowager Lovisa Ulrika, his brother Duke Charles, and his wife Duchess Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta, his brother Duke Frederick Adolph, and his sister Princess Sophia Albertina. The degree of control he exerted over other the courts could be deeply frustrating for the king’s family. For example, in 1778, King Gustaf was keen to fob off a German adventurer, Baron Münster, with the place of Master of the Stable with his sister-in-law, the Duchess, who was horrified. She found the German not malicious but an unpolished gossip who could not refrain from talking. Luckily, the Duchess escaped the voluble and talkative Baron when he suddenly fled Stockholm because of mounting  Tegnér (1883, i. 155).  VLA, Vadstena, Ridderstadska arkivet B:44 copy of Adolf Hamilton’s journal, 18 June 1772. 98 99

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debts.100 The king’s power over the subsidiary courts included the queen’s. When the king in 1787 wanted to appoint Countess Hamilton as new Lady of the Palace, the queen in vain protested that the common born Countess was of too low birth to serve her.101 In 1780, the queen dowager tried to copy the king’s recent innovation by appointing her own Dame du Palais (Lady of the Palace) in the form of an impoverished Countess Christina Cronhielm (daughter of the red-wine-swigging Baron Hans Gustaf Rålamb), which so infuriated the king that he not only refused to acknowledge the Countess in her new office, but even issued a formal declaration to the newspapers to that effect. It was only when the queen dowager was dying two years later that Cronhielm was accepted in the post.102 Reuterholm, meanwhile, may have been integrated into the court system, but he was disgruntled with his lack of promotion. In 1786, having turned thirty and fed up after ‘9 years of unsalaried court service and 9 years of unfulfilled promises’, he wrote to a friend at court, asking him to persuade a favoured minister to have a word with the king on his behalf, hoping that ‘More may perhaps not be needed to decide him fully, as he seems to be more well-intentioned towards me, as far as I can judge from all circumstances. At our last conversation I told him straight out that I did not feel I could accept anything less than being County Governor, as all my contemporaries and friends have reached the highest offices of the Realm’.103 Reuterholm got nothing, and joined the opposition in the Diet the same year. In a similar vein, in the 1780s, the Fersen family were deeply integrated into court while simultaneously the grand old man of the family, Count Axel von Fersen, was increasingly vocal in his criticism of the king. That said, the Fersens not only continued to be part of the court, they filled many of the highest court offices and were members of the cercle intime.

 Bonde and af Klercker (1902, i. 1778) September.  Bonde and af Klercker (1903, ii. 1787) August. 102  Bonde and af Klercker (1902, i. 244 & 394), April 1780 & July 1782. 103  RA Ruuthska samlingen vol. 5 [E 5217] G A Reuterholm to Erik Ruuth Stockholm, 2 October 1786. 100 101

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King Versus Opposition In 1733, the Courtier Johan Gabriel Sack noted that another courtier, Claes Rålamb, had been found by the king in the chamber of the royal mistress, Hedvig Taube, whereupon he was banned from court.104 It was very rare for men or women to fall into such disgrace that they were forbidden to show themselves at court.105 On one occasion, Gustaf III grudgingly banned a favoured courtier, Henrik Sparre, because of widespread rumours that he was a thief, and officers refused to serve in the Guards with him because he was without honour.106 This all changed in the 1780s. A whole group of courtiers, men and women, were banned from court or were persuaded to withdraw from court attendance. The reason was their sympathies with the opposition to the king. In a letter to Armfelt, the king complained that the unfortunate Diet of 1786 had led to tensions at the court, the war with Russia, the coup of 1789 directed at the power that still resided in the Diet and especially the noble estate, and the ‘dissolution of the most pleasant company in which I lived happily’.107 There was undeniably a gradual disintegration of court society, with 1786 and 1788–89 as its watersheds. One courtier, for example, was said to have been banned from court in 1786, when the opposition took firmer shape.108 After Gustaf III’s assassination, Gustaf Stenbock wrote that he had been ‘persecuted by the late king’ since 1781, and hoped that the new post-regicide regime would not be marked by the same ‘hatred, proscriptions, and persecutions’, implying that that had been the case in the 1780s.109 He remarked on the number of people whom Gustaf III had ‘enveloped with his resentment’, but now he was dead were ‘searched out, dragged out, and given offices and promotions’. An interesting parallel can be found in Versailles. Munro Price has demonstrated how Versailles broke down in the 1780s as an instrument to bolster royal power by factional rule.110 A long-simmering disgust at 104  RA Mikrofilmssamlingen Äldre serien vol. 168 Johan Gabriel Sacks journal, 21 April 1733. 105  KB L 82:1:30 Tessin’s diary, 11 October 1769. 106  Bonde and af Klercker (1903, ii. 1785) November. 107  Tegnér (1883, i. 178). 108  Eric Stjernvall, in Hirn (1931, 84). 109  RA GA Reuterholms samling vol. 27 [E 5145] Gustaf Stenbock to G A Reuterholm, Quedlinburg, 28 August 1793. 110  Price (2007).

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losing the Seven Years War fuelled aristocratic opposition towards the king, which only increased when Louis XVI did not devolve power to royal mistresses, but instead permitted a dangerous concentration of power in his and the queen’s hands. With power thus concentrated in the queen’s small coterie, her société, with the Polignacs as the dominant force, it was only a matter of time before disgruntled court families acted, and sure enough a pressure group, the Society of Thirty, was set up in 1788. Ironically, many of the queen’s société had begun to distance themselves from the court by then. The queen’s favoured first minister Étienne de Brienne further dampened support among the court nobles by introducing radical new laws and fiscal retrenchment. The importance of inclusion and creating a balance at court was obvious. Gustaf III had no Duke of Orleans to fear, because his brothers Charles and Frederick Adolph were far too dependent on him and Prince Hessenstein lacked political weight, but even so, the king’s actions in the late 1780s broke the court as an instrument for consensus rule. In 1788, the king initiated a failed war against Russia. This led to a mutiny among aristocratic officers in Finland, which in turn was used by the king to crush aristocratic opposition at the Diet in 1789. During that Diet the leaders of the noble opposition were seized and put under arrest for the duration of parliamentary proceedings. Allying himself with the three commoner Estates in the Diet, the king then abolished most noble privileges along with the Council, and made himself a virtually absolute ruler. The result was that large sections of the aristocracy were banned, or, profoundly bitter, shunned the court—when the courtier Baron Adolf Ludvig Stierneld was asked in 1790 why he was not attending court, he claimed he lacked the proper gala uniform, a transparent excuse.111 The aristocracy were certain that Gustaf III had broken the political rules and betrayed the nobility: he came across as a tyrant or a despot in many aristocratic writings at the time. The king’s compact to use the court as a joint venture and to rule with the aristocracy disintegrated. A French visitor to Stockholm noted, ‘The discontent of the nobility, some of whom have retired to their various provinces, has greatly contributed to the diminution of the company found in this city. Society (that is to say, of persons liable to be invited to days of ceremony) is so scarce that it does not exceed one hundred and

111  KrA Louise Leijonhufvuds samling vol. 2 Avskrift och översättning av. Hedvig Elisabeth Charlottas brev till Jeanna Stockenström, 1 August 1790.

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fifty persons; whereas it amounts to two hundred and fifty at Copenhagen; and at Berlin to two hundred and twenty or thirty’.112 Gustaf Stenbock was one of the first to be banned from court; another was Jeanna Stockenström, a close friend of the Duchess, and an outspoken critic of the king. When she was ordered to retire to her estate and not show herself at court, it created a sensation in Stockholm113; thus far, members of the cercle intime had been shielded from political banishment. This was followed by the arrests, in 1789, of Baron Gustaf Adolf Reuterholm, Charles De Geer (son-in-law of Count Anders Johan von Höpken), the former courtier Adolf Ludvig Hamilton, and others, among them Count Axel Fersen (who, strikingly, implored some members of the Fersen family to stay on, apparently to retain some influence and political stability). The result was the destabilization of the body politic. The king, realizing this and deeply upset, spent the years after 1789 trying to persuade the estranged aristocrats to return to court. For him it was a political and a personal disaster. One of his closest advisors wrote to the absent, veteran courtier Count Claes Julius Ekeblad that the king ‘is in his heart the friend of the Count, is missing his company and is longing for it. I have heard him talk about the Count several times but never without those feelings’.114 The efforts to replace the aristocrats who were shunning the court were ridiculed by the opposition: they said the king was forced to rely on such second-rate figures as Bror Cederström and his unpleasant wife. Others were said to have ‘looked like a queen in a play, stiff, dressed up, haughty, and tiresome. All these were emergency company as the king was abandoned by his old friends’, or, like the royal favourite Georg Johan De Besche, were dismissed as ‘useless people belonging to the class of thieving boys’. After the 1792 Diet, the king was elated. ‘A large part of the nobility has returned to me and have even attended my cour. I am very pleased with it’.115 He completely failed to realize that many aristocrats were so implacably opposed to him that within a few months he would be the victim of a wholesale conspiracy. The compact between king and aristocracy had truly failed.  Fortia de Piles (1809, 392).  Gustaf to Armfelt, [1789] in Tegnér (1883, i. 119). 114  KB Engestr. B.VIII.1.6 Elis Schröderheim to Claes Julius Ekeblad, Stockholm, 7 June 1790. 115  Tegnér (1883, i. 427). 112 113

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Conclusions In 1764, an old, disillusioned former courtier wrote that ‘Her Majesty the Queen has a favoured blackamoor, who is allowed as much liberty as he wants, so it may be considered where nature leads a human left to his own devices. The lackey of the Chancery Council, Klingenstierna, eager to make his fortune, in all seriousness asked his master to recommend him as Court Blackamoor. The plague of our times is a foolish affliction with titles’.116 The eighteenth-century court was the beating heart of a sprawling system of patronage with tentacles all over the country and in all walks of life. To be Badin the ‘favoured blackamoor’ was thought an attractive position—and in reality, it probably was preferable for many. A world centred on aristocratic values and the politics of familiarity was not open to everyone. The court acted as a filter, holding back some aristocrats, lifting others to high office, and pushing aside commoners, with whom Gustaf III had no wish to rule. His court was inclusive by its own lights, as it extended to members of the aristocracy who were known to be critical of the king. By including critics and not investing all favour in one person, the court arguably struck a balance between winners and losers in the pursuit of offices and influence. This inclusive court life fractured under the political pressures of the 1780s. The alliance between monarch and nobility was already creaking as opposition grew to a number of policies, and when the king made himself virtually absolute in 1789, he also abolished an old centre of aristocratic power by abolishing the Council. Their exclusion from influence and frustrations at royal policies led straight to regicide. The assassination of the king demonstrated that even he could be a loser in the brutal politics of the court.

References Published Sources Andersson, Gustaf (ed.), Kon. Gustaf IIIs bref till Riks-Drotsen Grefve Carl Axel Wachtmeister och Stats-Sekreteraren Ulric Gustaf Franc (Örebro: N.M. Lindh, 1860). Boëthius, Simon Johannes (ed.), Statsrådet Johan Albert Ehrenströms efterlemnade historiska anteckningar 2 vols (Uppsala: Schultz, 1882–83).  KB L 82:1:18 Tessin’s diary 1764.

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Bonde, Carl & Cecilia af Klercker (eds), Hedvig Elisabeth Charlottas dagbok, 9 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1902–42). Falk, Alma (ed.), ‘Gustaf Adolf Reuterholms dagbok från åren 1775–1776’, Personhistorisk Tidskrift, 1923. Frykenstedt, Holger (ed.), Johan Gabriel Oxenstierna: Journal för Året 1780 (Lund: Gleerup, 1967). Fryxell, Anders (ed.), Bidrag till Sveriges historia efter 1772 (Stockholm: Hierta, 1882). Geijer, Erik Gustaf (ed.), Konung Gustaf III:s efterlemnade och femtio år efter hans död öppnade papper, 3 vols (Uppsala: Wahlström & Låstbom, 1843–45). Henel, Andreas Joachim von, Det anno 1729 florerande Swerige (Stockholm, 1730). ———, Det anno 1735 florerande Swerige (Stockholm, 1736). Historiska Handlingar, ii (Stockholm, 1862). Kellin, Sam (ed.), Anders Schönbergs bref till bergsrådet Adlerwald (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1920). Klinckowström, Rudolf Mauritz (ed.), Riksrådet och Fältmarskalken m.m. Grefve Fredrik Axel von Fersens historiska skrifter, 8 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1867–72). Knigge, Adolph, Om omgänget med Menniskor, 3 vols (Stockholm: Carl Fr. Marquard, 1804). Lagus, Wilhelm (ed.), Mathias Calonii bref till Henrik Gabriel Porthan (Helsinki: Svenska litteratursällskapet i Finland, 1902). Levertin, Oscar (ed.), ‘Adolf Ludvig Hamilton: Anekdoter till svenska historien under Gustaf IIIs regering’, in id. (ed.) Svenska memoarer och bref, iv (Stockholm: Bonnier, 1901). Liljecrona, Carl Wilhelm (ed.), Statssekreteraren Elis Schröderheims anteckningar (Örebro: N. M. Lindh, 1851). Montan, Erik Vilhelm (ed.), Dagbokanteckningar förda vid Gustaf III:s hof af friherre Gustaf Johan Ehrensvärd, 2 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1877–78). Oxenstierna, Johan Gabriel (ed.), Konung Gustaf III:s skrifter, 6 vols (Stockholm: Carl Delén, 1806–12). Fortia de Piles, Alphonse, ‘Travels in Sweden’, in John A Pinkerton (ed.), A general collection of voyages and travels, vi (London: Longman, Hurst, Rees & Orme, 1809). Sylvan, Otto (ed.), En Stockholmskrönika: Ur C.  C. Gjörwells brev (Stockholm: Bonnier, 1920).

Secondary Publications Duindam, Jeroen, Myths of Power: Norbert Elias and the Early Modern European Court (Amsterdam: AUP, 1995). Elgenstierna, Gustaf, Den introducerade svenska adelns ättartavlor, 9 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1925–36).

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Elias, Norbert, The Court Society (Oxford: Blackwell, 1983) (first pub. as Die höfische Gesellschaft: Untersuchungen zur Soziologie des Königtums und der höfischen Aristokratie, 1969). Erdmann, Nils Carl Michael Bellman (Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand, 1899). Hirn, Hans, Gustaf Fredric Stjernvall, 1767–1815 (Helsingfors: Svenska litteratursällskapet, 1931). Le Roy Ladurie, Emmanuel, Saint-Simon and the Court of Louis XIV (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001). Lewenhaupt, Sten, Svenska högre ämbetsmän från 1634: Högre ämbetsmän och chefer för statliga verk inom central och lokal förvaltning m. m. (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1962). Price, Munro, ‘The court nobility and the origins of the French Revolution’, in Scott & Simms 2007. Ribbing, Gerd, Gustav III:s hustru Sofia Magdalena (Stockholm: Bonnier, 1958). Tegnér, Elof, Gustaf Mauritz Armfelt: Studier ur Armfelts efterlämnade papper, 2 vols (Stockholm: F.G. Beijers förlag, 1883–84).

CHAPTER 6

Survival and Revolutions

When Charles XIV John lay dying in 1844, his great favourite Count Magnus Brahe stoically remained by his side all the time, despite suffering from the tuberculosis that would soon kill him. Count Brahe’s persistent, hollow cough became a byword in Stockholm society, so that even young children would mention it when attempting grown-up conversation.1 The favours the king had lavished on Brahe were repaid with complete devotion. This relationship was symptomatic of the reign of Charles XIV John—if the French Marshal, born a commoner and a survivor of revolutionary wars and Napoleonic upheaval, could have chosen one person who incarnated traditional continuity, that person would be Brahe. The Brahe family had been the most aristocratic Swedish family for over three centuries. Brahe’s grandfather had been executed for his part in a royalist conspiracy in 1756; his father had been a prominent, though less than brilliant, courtier of Gustaf III; his mother had been a great beauty at the same court. After the death of Charles XIV John, one observer wrote that he fought off new liberal ideas while enslaving the nobility ‘by drawing it to court and transforming it into an aristocratic crowd of servants. He surrounded himself with an army of Chamber Gentlemen, recruited from the old families and lowered them by giving them court offices. He used this bait to such a degree that he gave the title of Groom of the Chamber even to 1

 von Matérn (2002, 23).

© The Author(s) 2020 F. Persson, Survival and Revival in Sweden’s Court and Monarchy, 1718–1930, Palgrave Studies in Modern Monarchy, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52647-4_6

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young sons of the nobility while they were students’.2 A perceptive remark, but also deeply mistaken. It was true that Charles XIV John had a large court and that he continued to appoint courtiers from old and established aristocratic court families, but it was a misconception that this was humiliating servitude, except in the eyes of convinced liberals. Instead, the court of Charles XIV John gave the Swedish aristocracy an opportunity to continue its old influence. The court stood out for its continuity in personnel (families as well as individuals), continuity in structure, and continuity as a power broker. The first and last of these issues were well illustrated by what contemporaries called Brahe Rule, meaning the influence Brahe wielded throughout the first Bernadotte’s reign. Charles XIV John’s decision to pick his great favourite from the most ancient of leading Swedish noble families was not without parallel in Europe, for the restored Bourbons in France saw a Richelieu government. It was, however, a remarkable move, in that it signalled an intention to pursue a policy of continuity and not change: a policy of monarchy and traditional aristocracy in tandem. The period from 1789 to 1818 had put severe strain on the ruling elite’s shared values and the joint venture between monarchy and aristocracy, yet nevertheless, the court demonstrated remarkable institutional resilience in the period from the assassination of Gustaf III in 1792 to the death of Charles XIV in 1844. Even in a world such as the court, which put such a high price on tradition and stability, change was unavoidable, as the European turbulence during these decades showed. In Sweden, two political upheavals counted against the court as an instrument to keep monarchy and aristocracy together: the regicide of 1792, the result of a large aristocratic conspiracy; and the coup of 1809, when Gustaf IV was arrested by a group of aristocrats, several of them long-term courtiers. The subsequent deposition and exile of the Gustaf IV and his family and the introduction of the 1809 Constitution, which aimed at a Montesquieu-inspired balance of power by reducing the reach of royal authority, but still leaving strong personal rule as a possibility, shook the foundations of a world built on professions of loyalty to and adulation of the monarch. The House of Holstein held the throne for another nine years in the form of the deposed king’s elderly uncle, Charles XIII, after which he was succeeded by the Napoleonic Marshal Jean Baptiste Bernadotte, whom he had adopted in 1810 after the first elected Crown Prince Charles August died from a stroke. 2

 Lallerstedt (1856, 179–80).

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The ruptures of 1792 and 1809 were indicative of the monarchy losing the support of parts of the elite. It was Gustaf III’s divisive politics that had led to his assassination in 1792. This was followed by a limited purge of Gustavian adherents until his son Gustaf IV came of age in 1796. From 1792 to 1809, most of the elite coalesced around the throne, with some exceptions in the Diet of 1800. An even deeper shock to the body politic, however, was the trauma of losing Finland, the eastern half of the kingdom, to Russia in the war of 1808–09. This would have undermined any form of government, especially since Sweden’s last remaining German possession, Pomerania, came under French occupation in 1807. The military disasters lost King Gustaf IV significant support, made worse by policies which alienated the politically important Guards regiments by stripping them of their high rank as a punishment for the military losses. The result was a military rebellion in early 1809 when Sweden’s Western Army marched on Stockholm. As the king prepared to flee to join loyalist troops in the south of Sweden, a junta of high officers and courtiers seized him in March 1809. These men would later form a more conservative counterweight to more radical elements in the rebel army under Georg Adlersparre. Efforts to save the ten-year-old Crown Prince Gustaf’s place in the succession by more conservative officers and loyalist courtiers such as Axel von Fersen, Jakob De la Gardie, and Gustaf Mauritz Armfelt foundered, as did efforts to save the Gustavian absolutist Constitution, redrafted with only marginal changes by ‘old champions of the monarchy’.3 The old courtier and favourite Gustaf Mauritz Armfelt expressed himself strongly in favour of a return to absolute monarchy.4 These moves were firmly squashed by more radical politicians, who forced a new succession, which saw a Danish prince elected as the new crown prince, and a new Constitution. One political operator wrote how coldly the court treated him in 1810, as they were still devoted to the deposed Crown Prince Gustaf.5 However, some members of court sided against the little prince in retaliation for perceived slights by his mother, ex-Queen Frederica. Countess Ulrika Eleonora Rålamb, who kept an open house or salon ‘to gain a political influence, which would serve her likes and dislikes’, had been refused a court office by the former queen, and joined forces with Gustaf Lagerbielke,  Stjernquist (1959, 19).  Schinkel and Bergman (1854, v. 160). 5  Schück (1904, iv. 90). 3 4

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whom Fredrika had treated ‘with coldness’, to be ‘the most active in overthrowing her’, together with the rebel army under Adlersparre, which still played a political part.6 The court obviously did not stop the ruptures from opening up in 1809. Damage limitation after the military disasters was beyond the existing political system to manage. However, the court could be used to try and create a new cooperation between monarchy and elite. Aristocratic courtiers shared interest with Bernadotte in upholding strong royal power, and the loathing many of them felt towards the 1809 Constitution waned when it became apparent that a determined monarch could still wield strong personal power nevertheless. There was a rapprochement between the aristocracy and the monarchy; a reaffirmation of government using the court as a channel of recruitment, a centre for elite life, and a framework for the traditional trappings of royal power and prestige. The smooth succession in 1818 to a former French Marshal and his commoner wife, transformed into King Charles XIV and Queen Desirée, and the retention of the existing system emphasized its flexibility and usefulness.

New Royals and Adaptable Aristocrats King Gustaf IV, Queen Frederica, their children, the Queen Mother Sophia Magdalena, Duke Charles and Duchess Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta, and Princess Sophia Albertina: the members of the Swedish royal family in 1809 had all been born into royal or princely families. Their successors, though, had not been trained since childhood for their roles. The crown prince elected in 1809, a forty-one-year-old Danish prince called Charles August, was a member of a minor German cadet branch of the royal Danish family (Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Augustenburg). Awkward and lacking in royal demeanour, courtiers saw him as a serious, hardworking, and frugal man—but also a crashing bore. He was a man without ‘world’. Queen Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta, Charles XIII’s wife, was said to have shrugged her shoulders and made a moue whenever Charles August nodded off during royal suppers.7 Charles August, for his part, was critical of the aristocratic courtiers in letters to his brother.8

 Suremain (1902, 140, 161).  Schinkel and Bergman (1854, v. 163). 8  Svenskt Biografiskt Lexikon, s.v. ‘Karl August’. 6 7

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After his sudden death in 1810, Charles August was succeeded as crown prince by a complete upstart, Jean Baptiste Bernadotte, whose experience of court life was limited to some years at the court of Napoleon. This would shine through when, as Charles XIV John, he met a French diplomat, Ernest de Cadoine, Marquis de Gabriac, and remembered him as a Page at court: ‘Were you not in waiting one day, when I had an audience of His Majesty, when he gave you a message to Madame Pauline?’9 Perhaps not the most promising start at the hidebound, highly aristocratic Swedish court. The opportunistic choice of Bernadotte, designed to curry favour with Napoleon, at first caused revulsion in court circles. A diplomat in Stockholm reported in 1810 that ‘the courtiers are possessed by prejudices against the crown prince. His manners cannot be approved by these people, petty-minded beyond belief and in thrall to etiquette. These gentlemen and their wives cannot conceive of the possibility of forming a court with a prince who was not born under a baldachin’.10 Yet that is what they did. The initial clashes between the upstart Bernadottes and the aristocratic courtiers were retold in various anecdotes. Thus, when Countess Carolina Lewenhaupt, the Mistress of the Court, presented her two daughters proudly to the new Crown Princess Desirée, she was said to have said, ‘Votre Altesse Royale sait que mes filles sont princesses de l’empire’. To which Crown Princess Desirée snapped back, ‘Je sais, Madame, que je suis fille de négociant’.11 Ordinary Swedes were also said to have been sceptical about their jumped-up royals. As the queen progressed eastwards through the province of Blekinge an old woman in the crowd protested ‘But the queen is no real queen. Her father was a merchant!’—which indeed he was, in Marseille.12 As crown prince (1810–18) and king (1818–44), Charles XIV John quickly adapted to his new role and dazzled people with his charm and manners. Gustaf III’s old favourite, Gustaf Mauritz Armfelt, even compared him to his old patron.13 It was clear, though, that while he could act like a royal in public, the king did find it a strain, and over time, he cut down on his public appearances. His famous irascibility also caused  Bloomfield (1884, i. 261).  M. von Dernath in 1810, in Anker and Wrangel (1897, 87). 11  Spencer (1912, 162). 12  Wachtmeister (1915, 303). 13  Tegnér (1894, iii. 246). 9

10

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unseemly scenes, though he often tried to smooth things over afterwards. He liked to take his meals with a small circle of confidants, the so-called chamber meals (kammarspisningarna) where he could freely converse and enjoy himself. One courtier frequently noted that the king was in a ‘charmante humeur’, and characterized him as a brilliant host, for with his ‘polite amiability and consideration without match, it is not possible to be a more solicitous host than His Majesty … arranging for his guests like no one else, and also inquisitive, to which is added his knowledge, his intelligence, and his great talent in telling stories; you will soon value His Majesty, even if it were only as a host’.14 This courtier, Count Jakob Gustaf De la Gardie, was not a man prone to disliking royalty, but his enthusiasm for Charles John is still palpable: as early as 1812, De la Gardie was an old Gustavian well and truly won over, noting that the new crown prince was a proud man ‘and it is hard to find greater skill in winning people, as he matches the good manners of Gustaf III, with an honesty you often doubted Gustaf III had in his protestations.’15 When necessary, Charles XIV John could act majestically, for as will be argued here he maintained a framework of ceremonies and even expanded the court. His personal demeanour was also regal, and the people he met were not allowed to forget that behind the charm and the stream of anecdotes from his time as a Marshal of France was a monarch who believed in his power and majesty. ‘However affable, kind, and condescending Charles John might be, he always knew how to keep royal dignity sacred’.16 While Charles XIV John appears to have blended into his royal persona without great effort, his wife Desirée, the daughter of a silk merchant, openly struggled. She had personal ties to the court of Napoleon (she had been his fiancée for a while, and her sister Julie married the Emperor’s brother Joseph Bonaparte and become queen of Spain), and she complained to her sister about that life—‘how boring courts are when you have not grown up there’.17 Her unhappiness at the Swedish court was a recurring theme in her correspondence as queen, bewailing ‘when you live surrounded by a court and must express your feelings in the form of polite phrases as required by the court, which makes for so many complexities

 LUB, De la Gardiesamlingen 310 JG De la Gardies dagbok 10 July 1830.  Svenskt Biografiskt Lexikon, s.v. ‘Jakob De la Gardie’. 16  Troil (1885, 46). 17  Girod (1960, 221). 14 15

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coming into play, that you rather refrain’.18 Her many missteps with etiquette became well known. As she herself lamented, ‘I am not yet familiarised with the formal etiquette which has to be maintained at Court’.19 Desirée first arrived in Sweden in 1810, disliked the climate and the people, and soon left for Paris again. In 1823, she returned to Sweden and was for some years supported by her niece and Court Mistress, Countess Marcelle Tascher, who also disliked Sweden. The queen wrote that she preferred to be alone while Tascher took part in social life—‘her pleasures made the lack of my own feel even sharper, I always remained in the shadows while she was the sun’.20 Tascher’s return to Paris marked a step up in the increasing isolation of the queen. Preparing for her coronation in 1829, Desirée referred to her need for the Countess, saying ‘It will be very hard and I would have needed Marcelle [Countess Tascher] to give me courage, but I have to do without that’.21 Queen Desirée was commonly mocked behind her back. The king’s great favourite, Count Magnus Brahe, often made fun of the queen in letters; she was called ‘dotty’, indecisive, and impossible in general.22 Her own court was composed of people with whom she did not get along, which was hardly unsurprising as her own influence over her household and its selection was limited. When she arrived in 1823, she found that the king, somewhat insensitively, had even promoted his own Mistress Mariana Koskull from Maid at Honour to Lady of Honour. When a Lady of the Palace was appointed, one courtier remarked s dryly to another ‘how pleasant she will be for the queen is another matter, but probably this has been the least important consideration in this case’. Desirée herself complained to her sister that ‘The women who attend on me are not particularly fun’.23 Her strained relationship with the members of her court was obvious. In 1831, she wrote ‘You are bound to have found Countess Piper very affable and entertaining; she is a superior person. Josephine [the queen’s daughter-in-law and crown princess] was lucky to get her as Chief Court Mistress, mine is a real icicle!’24 Over time, and especially after the  Ibid., 218.  Bloomfield (1884, i. 188). 20  Girod (1960, 222–3). 21  Ibid., 227. 22  RA Skoklostersamlingen E 8618:14 Magnus Brahe to Aurora Vilhelmina Koskull, Stockholm, 3 December 1833. 23  Ibid., 226. 24  Ibid., 234. 18 19

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king’s death in 1844, Queen Desirée withdrew from society. One courtier later remembered that ‘she spent most of her time in her own apartment, where her longing thoughts escaped to an age when she was surrounded by devoted friends, living in France, free from the shackles of etiquette’.25

Courtier Continuity In 1818 Charles XIV John inherited a court system and did not change it. In fact, this newcomer into the select group of European monarchs changed the court far less than some of his predecessors. A constant problem at eighteenth-century courts had been how to balance the elite’s hunger for court titles and offices with the risk of debasing the value of court office by handing out too many. Salary or not, duties or none, court titles—having the ‘character’ of a court position without the corresponding office—meant rank, and that still had real meaning: a court title gave a place in the world of the court, with better seating at ceremonies, places in processions, and rights in etiquette. It conveyed status, and could bring members of the elite closer to the court. Inflation in court offices was an ever-present temptation at early modern courts as soon as unsalaried offices were introduced. As we have seen, in Sweden the number of unsalaried courtiers ballooned after 1719. While this ensured the court remained integral to aristocratic life, it also threatened to devalue its status. Thus in 1751, the new King Adolph Frederick and Queen Lovisa Ulrika tried to distance themselves from behaviour in the 1740s, when the old king’s favourites had clearly been selling court titles, by introducing a system whereby a set number of Chamber Gentlemen and Court Gentlemen were labelled as being in attendance (tjänstgörande, lit. ‘doing service’). The Chamber Gentlemen in attendance were given ceremonial keys, and were sometimes referred to as such. This reform was a humiliation to the many courtiers who were not selected, even those who had served for a long time or even had a salary. As one Chamber Gentleman wrote ‘although I was a salaried Chamber Gentleman … not to be among many much younger than me and as well appointed later, to be made a Chamber Gentleman in attendance’ with a key, led him quit the court.26 Another veteran courtier sneered at

 Hochschildt (1889, 59–60).  RA GA Sturnegks samling E 5674 Adam Fredenstiernas ‘Mine dagar’.

25 26

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‘keyed-­up Chamber Gentlemen’.27 The new system collapsed within a few years, as it proved too difficult to abstain from having unsalaried courtiers when the royals were trying to muster support. In June 1783, Gustaf III again tried to revamp the upper echelons of the court by changing titles and making them more exclusive, giving his court ‘great éclat’.28 He duly created the new court office of Grand Chamber Gentleman (Överste Kammarjunkare). The six existing Chamber Gentlemen in attendance on the king himself were all given this new office, along with rank number 5  in the table of ranks (the same as Lieutenant Generals), an improvement from their previous rank number 8. While this was evidently in imitation of the four Premier Gentilhommes de la Chambre at Versailles, the king justified the change by arguing that ‘the title of Chamber Gentleman has at present been given to so many people at court that the six waiting on Us are often mixed up with the others, and, particularly at foreign courts, are not always given the distinction they should by their access to Our Own Person’.29 Simultaneously, it was decided to create another new office, the Groom of the Chamber (Kammarjunkare)—‘or rather reanimate’ it, in the words of the historically minded king.30 The need for this office was explained in an addendum to the 1778 Court Ordinances: since the beginning of his reign the king had not given out court titles to people not actually in service at court, so now on various occasions he was lacking the ‘necessary attendance by such persons who earlier through their birth and their merits had been deigned worthy of name of court office’, and thus he had decided to resurrected the office of Groom of the Chamber used by Charles IX (1604–10).31 Only the two highest ranks of the nobility would be eligible for this office (the first consisted of counts and barons, and the second of descendants of councillors of the Realm).32 The Grooms of the Chamber received number 25 in the table of ranks, above the lowest court office for adult aristocrats (Court Gentlemen, ranked at number 36) and the same as the former Chamber Gentlemen not in waiting, which caused some wounded feelings. One hostile observer 27  RA Börstorpsamlingen Brev till Carl Leuhusen, n.d. [1753] note in the hand of Carl Axel Leuhusen. 28  Schartau (1822, ii. 138). 29  SLA RMÄ Hovexpeditionen, 6 June 1783. 30  Ibid. 31  SLA Riksmarskalksämbetet D I:1 Hovordning 1778, addition 6 June 1783. 32  Ibid.

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said the king intentionally wanted to humiliate old courtiers from previous reigns; another that many Chamber Gentlemen were upset to be sharing the same rank as these new Grooms of the Chamber.33 It was clear that the king was not keen on debasing court offices, and wanted clear distinctions between his courtiers and the multitude of people who had procured court offices, or court titles, before his reign. In one letter he stated ‘I never give court titles’, meaning he would never hand out empty ‘characters’ at court (in that instance he instead offered a government title to the applicant).34 Gustaf III’s insistence on distinguishing between courtiers and particularly keeping many old Chamber Gentlemen at arm’s length was also clear in his enforcement of the regulation that only Chamber Gentlemen in waiting on himself, the queen, or the queen mother had the right to wear golden keys.35 Duly resurrected, the Grooms of the Chamber were supposed to be twenty-four in number, and, on Gustaf III’s instructions, ordered according to noble title and then by family rank, as recorded when the family had been introduced into the House of Nobility (Riddarhuset).36 The provision that only members of the two top classes of the nobility were eligible appears to have been forgotten almost immediately, even if the first appointees were normally counts and barons. After the king’s death in 1792, this hierarchy within the group was also abandoned, and new appointees were just added at the bottom of the list. Their numbers had continued to grow. By 1788 there were already over twenty-four, but they were still listed as ‘His Royal Majesty’s Twenty-Four Grooms of the Chamber’ until this specification was dropped in 1803 (when they had risen to thirtytwo). By the death of Charles XIV John in 1844, there were ninety-­one Grooms of the Chamber. With regicide in 1792, a coup in 1809, the loss of Finland in 1809, and a new dynasty in 1818, one might think the Swedish court would have gone through a dramatic transformation. And yet while there was some turnover, it remained a very stable court by European standards. A number of courtiers fell prey to a political purge after the murder of Gustaf III, including Gustaf Mauritz Armfelt and Nils Philip Gyldenstolpe, but most  KB D 963 Konung Gustaf den tredjes annaler; Klinckowström (1870, v. 177).  Gustaf III to Stedingk [1788?], in Oxenstierna (1810, v. 115). 35  SLA RMÄ Hovexpeditionen B I:6 1774 5 June 1774. 36  Geijer (1845, iii. 79), Gustaf III to Gustaf Philip Creutz, 20 October 1783, Augsburg. 33 34

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courtiers survived the 1790s, having honed their survival skills through years of court service. One was said to be ‘a fine and supple courtier, who with ease took on any shape’.37 Bror Cederström, sometime favourite, was ‘above all a smooth courtier, and this skill has made him liked by the Regent, even though he was an adherent of the late king’.38 Other courtiers who had been in disgrace or even banned from court in the late 1780s bounded back after the assassination, the chief of them being Baron Gustaf Adolf Reuterholm, who was given high court office and was a powerful favourite of the Duke Regent until the end of the regency in 1796. A systematic analysis of the courtiers who served in the period from 1792 to 1818 speaks of stability. This was true of both individuals and families. There was some tweaking of course, as no system was ever completely impervious to change. Gustaf IV (1792–1809) mainly kept the court as it was, but cutbacks meant there were fewer positions available. Unlike his father and grandparents, the changes Gustaf IV carried out were not aimed at increasing the éclat of the court or the rank and exclusivity of the courtiers; instead, they were mainly focussed on economizing. Indeed, in 1805, Gustaf IV reduced exclusivity by abolishing the strictest regulations about the golden keys. All Chamber Gentlemen, past and present, were allowed to wear golden keys, with only two small dark blue tassels distinguishing those in waiting to the king, the queen, and the queen mother.39 Thrift also led to the abolition of the corps of Pages after 1792, leaving only a few Chamber Pages. This closed off an opening for young boys of impoverished noble families to get a toehold at court. The king also decided to cut the attendance at court of a number of high-­ ranking officers such as the Grand Chamber Gentlemen. When Charles XIII became king in 1809, he retained his Grand Chamber Gentlemen, though he did have them in waiting again. Instead, he reintroduced the defunct office of Cabinet Chamber Gentlemen (Kabinettskammarherrar), which had been used for Chamber Gentlemen in waiting in the 1720s–1740s. The Chamber Gentlemen who had served him as Duke now became his Cabinet Chamber Gentlemen. This novelty was reported by his Master of Ceremonies Leonhard von Hauswolff, who wrote that the Duke’s Chamber Gentlemen ‘are said to have become  Boëthius (1882, i. 411).  Suremain (1902, 16). 39  SLA RMÄ Hovexpeditionen B I:10 29 July 1805 & 9 October 1805. 37 38

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Cabinet Chamber Gentlemen, a position which is claimed to have existed in the time of King Frederick; but I really cannot say what their duties were’.40 There was no break with the change of dynasty in 1818. The same courtiers who had served Charles XIII in his dotage now served his French successor. The only shift was among the Cabinet Chamber Gentlemen, with five of the nine given leave of absence. This reflects the close contact between them and the monarch, and the fact that Charles XIV John naturally enough wanted his closest courtiers to be people he trusted and liked personally. The new Cabinet Chamber Gentlemen were not appointed immediately, but over a number of years. Charles XIV John also took the opportunity to appoint some new Grand Chamber Gentlemen, ranging from men who were passionately loyal to the new king (the mystic Edvard Fredrik von Saltza) to aristocrats who had been critical to the regimes of Gustaf III and Gustaf IV, but who had mellowed with age and were now safe to include at the court, such as Carl De Geer (son of Eleonore von Höpken) and Knut Kurck. The latter had expressed his contempt for titles and honours in 1793, and a boundless enthusiasm for French Revolutionary ideals.41 Thirty years later, those ideals appear to have been almost as dead to him as they were to his new king. The institutional inertia inherent in early modern courts was exacerbated by the use of survivances. Used to give people an assurance that they would succeed to an office when the present holder died or retired, in Sweden, survivances appear to have been a French-inspired custom. Under Gustaf III, letters of survivance were issued from the 1770s onwards. In some cases, a survivance appointment had repercussions for decades. Count Gustaf Lewenhaupt had the survivance of his father’s office as Chief Master of the Stable (Överhovstallmästare) when he was a newborn in 1780; only in 1805 was he finally ready to step into the office, his father having died in 1791.42 After only two years, he was freed from attendance, though he kept the salary.43 Survivances meant that highly favoured courtiers could ensure that their offspring took over their offices. In 1793, the  Clason and af Petersens (1909, 110), Leonhard von Hauswolff to Nils Posse, Stockholm, 8 June 1809. 41  Svenskt Biografiskt Lexikon, s.v. ‘Knut Kurck’. 42  SLA RMÄ Hovexpeditionen A I:2 27 February 1805. 43  SLA RMÄ Hovexpeditionen B I:10 4 August 1807. 40

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thirteen-year-old son of the Court Marshal Bror Cederström took over his office. When he died in 1877, he was the last courtier remaining from the 1790s.

An Army of Courtiers If the Swedish court families from the eighteenth centuries clung on like barnacles into the nineteenth century, did this leave room for new families? Did the House of Bernadotte herald a wave of French courtiers? The answer on both counts was no. At most, there were a few hesitant moves, soon beaten back by the entrenched families. In 1810, a very small number of French courtiers served Charles John as crown prince until they were pushed out. Chief among these unpopular intruders were his Aide-­ de-­camp Louis de Camps and the Master of the Stable Louis Flichet. The latter’s language and conduct, ‘betrayed a rough upbringing’ which had not precluded a court appointment.44 An émigré, Count Nicolas Alexis Gabriel Montrichard, obtained a court office, as did Paul Athanase Fouché d’Otrante, son of Napoleon’s feared minister of police, whose descendants would continue in court service. Otherwise, the French who accompanied the Bernadottes to Sweden were body servants, tending to the physical comfort of the royal family. The king had French Valets and the queen French Chamberers and Valets.45 Flichet soon left, as did the queen’s loathed favourite Elise La Flotte and the queen’s niece, Countess Marcelle Tascher. After that there were few traces left of the French background of the new dynasty. Instead, Swedish courtiers had the monopoly. Of the holders of noble court titles in 1820, over 95% had been at court before the king’s accession in 1818. The decision to keep the court intact and continue to recruit courtiers from established court families demonstrated Charles XIV John’s conscious strategy to be accepted as the legitimate ruler by the Swedish elite, and to rule in conjunction with the aristocracy as a traditional ancien régime monarch. It was evidently also standard practice for leading courtiers to recommend their friends and relatives for vacancies.  Suremain (1902, 215).  Joachim Moulier, and Jean Barthelemy Doutta served the King, while Eleonore Felix, Virginie Brunot, Sophie Martin, Josephine Sorreij, Flore Pontus, Melanie Breuil, and Louis Brunot served the Queen. 44 45

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This can be compared to the situation in France at the same time. At the court of Napoleon, there was a dramatic increase in positions for members of the new elites who had been barred from Versailles. Even after the Bourbon Restoration in 1814, the old court families had to mix with Napoleonic elites and even commoners, as a good fifth of the courtiers appointed in 1820 were commoners—in stark contrast to Sweden.46 The position of Gentilhommes honoraires was used to satisfy the hunger for court positions as these unsalaried places could expand indefinitely. Louis Philippe I, however, abolished them in 1830. While the French court was very different to the Swedish in the extent of the changes, several German courts showed greater similarities, especially when boosting the numbers of Chamber Gentlemen. For example, there were more than 400 Kämmerer at the Bavarian court in 1781.47 At the Saxon court, the number of Chamber Gentlemen (Kammerherren) also increased drastically in the eighteenth century.48 In a similar fashion, about 10% of the Hesse Ritterschaft in 1830 had court titles.49 The same expansion of the court was visible in Prussia, where old court offices were resuscitated in the nineteenth century and the number of courtiers grew.50 Hanover was the outlier among German principalities, with a very small cadre of courtiers.51 This can possibly be ascribed to British influence. Denmark’s court had a very similar structure to Sweden’s, and the number of Chamber Gentlemen was also substantial: in 1821 over 160 were listed as Chamber Gentlemen and more than 210 as Grooms of the Chamber at the Danish court (from a total of some 400 noble courtiers).52 In Sweden, the inflation in court offices had been checked by Gustaf III, but after his death, there was no clear strategy to maintain the exclusivity of court office. There had been 180 non-military court offices in 1790, but in 1800, this had risen to 222 and in 1810 to 243. In 1820, the number of aristocratic courtiers, at about 350, was slightly below the Danish court’s 400, but under Charles XIV John, this group expanded even further, and by 1840 had grown to almost 424. The courtiers under Charles XIV John remained the same as under his predecessor, and when  Mansel (1989, 125).  Klingensmith (1993, 148). 48  Rexheuser (2005, 161). 49  Pedlow (1988, 150). 50  Barclay (1997, 63). 51  Roolfs (2005, 240). 52  Kongelig dansk hof- og stats-calender for aar 1821. 46 47

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he appointed new courtiers, which he did at a fast rate as inflation ticked on, he chose members of existing court families. While Louis XVIII of France in the 1820s tried to appoint a mix of old nobility, new nobility, Napoleonic nobility, and even commoners, Charles XIV John in Sweden stuck to recruiting the existing court nobility. In 1820, two years after his accession to the throne, only nineteen out of 347 noble courtiers (excluding eleven Norwegians) lacked any service or family connections to the pre-1818 court; in 1844, the year of his death, only twenty-nine courtiers out of 424 noble courtiers (excluding forty-five Norwegian courtiers) had no close links to the pre-1818 court: over twenty-four years, a rise from 5% to 7% of courtiers as lacking links to the previous courts was minimal. One intriguing category of courtier was those explicitly freed from attendance (tjänstfria). Honorary positions gave the monarch an opportunity to bind members of the elite closer to the throne. Being unsalaried, they were cheap, but they came at a price, as Gustaf III obviously knew: the inflation in court offices could reduce the value of these titles. Unsalaried and honorary court offices have often been brushed aside by historians as being of little account, but a more nuanced analysis is needed. As Jeroen Duindam has remarked in an Austrian context, honorary positions mattered.53 In a society where rank and status was all, unsalaried offices were still valuable and sought after. Thus, a Swedish nobleman noted triumphantly in 1739 that he could impress (and depress) his fellow government clerks when he was made a Chamber Gentleman and gained the right to wear a hat with gold braid.54 There was a Europe-wide demand for honorary court offices, as has been shown above for the Austrian, French, Danish, and German courts. In Sweden as elsewhere, honorary positions offered rank, and that could upset people who were not part of the court world. Thus, when Constans af Pontin was made Chamber Gentleman as a twenty-year-old student, he had a higher rank than all the professors at his university.55 A court title, even unsalaried, provided a place in society and helped to be part of ‘the world’, taking part in court ceremonies and entertainments such as balls, meals, and concerts. When Athanase Fouché wanted to meet Metternich, it was made easier because he had the title of Swedish Chamber Gentleman.

 Duindam (2003, 124).  Wichman (1966). 55  Svenskt Biografiskt Lexikon, s.v. ‘M E Constans af Pontin’. 53 54

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In some cases, an honorary position could also be a stepping stone to higher office, and to power. Gustaf III’s policy was aimed at preserving the lustre and exclusivity of his court, partly by keeping court offices select. This policy was evident in the published court calendars’ treatment of courtiers without attendance. The first time the category was mentioned in the court calendars was 1773, the first volume published after the 1772 coup, which had a list of six attendance-free courtiers (all men, five Chamber Gentleman and one former Tutor), specified as salaried but not obliged to wait on the king.56 In 1775, this was tweaked so that it referred to courtiers without attendance duty, without any mention of salaries, which could have meant including a long list of men and women with court titles from previous reigns. Clearly, the king did not want to include most of the people with old court titles, as that would undermine his efforts to secure the prestige of his court. The main principles for inclusion seem to have been an office higher than Page or Court Gentlemen, and not holding a higher office that trumped your last court office (thus giving you a new title and rank). That said, at least fifty people who would have been eligible according to these principles were still excluded from the list. Almost all the surviving but retired courtiers of King Frederick (who died in 1751) were excluded, as were all courtiers who had explicitly been given ‘characters’ or ‘the name, honour and dignity’ of an office, but not the office as such (this hit a number of Court Masters of the Hunt), and of course all Court Gentlemen no longer in active service. At some point however, possibly in the 1790s, Court Gentlemen who ceased to serve were no longer struck from the list of those in attendance, but stayed on it indefinitely. This was the case for Charles Adolph Peyron. A son of the king’s favourite Carl Adrian Peyron, the king only became aware of the boy’s existence after Peyron père had died in a duel in Paris (possibly his father felt that his charms would be less effective on the king if it were known he was married). As a special mark of favour, Peyron fils was made a Court Gentleman at the age of three in 1784, and was listed in the Court Calendar among the serving Court Gentleman from the 1780s until the 1840s. It is highly unlikely that he ever served or even set foot in Sweden, as he lived with English relatives and died a Captain of the East India Company in the Bengal Cavalry in 1807.

 Hof-calender för åhr 1773 (Stockholm: Lars Salvius, 1772) 62.

56

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Where Peyron remained on the court calendar list long after his demise—over thirty decades, in fact—others had to wait years to be included in the first place. In many instances, this seems to have been because of natural lapses, oversights, and delays. One extreme case (Chamber Gentleman Carl Fredrik Reuterhielm) was appointed in 1770, but only appeared in the court calendar in 1810. In some cases, opposition to the king’s policy may have been behind their exclusion, but other absences are hard to explain. One was the Chamber Gentleman, Claes Wilhelm Grönhagen, a key politician who had argued in the Diet for royal power, although perhaps his services rendered in the 1750s and 1760s were now considered redundant. That Gustaf III was determined to control the court calendars was obvious. When in 1782 the queen dowager managed to smuggle her Lady of the Palace Countess Christina Cronhielm into the court calendar, whose appointment the king had refused to ratify, the outraged king published a humiliating declaration in a newspaper that this was an error. Gustaf III was not alone in his interest. After Gustaf IV had been arrested in the 1809 coup, the court calendar was one of the books he would read.

Yes-Men and Powerbrokers Power was still intertwined with the court after the 1809 coup. Crucially, King Charles XIV John was determined to uphold the personal rule for which the new Constitution still gave opportunity. Among his critics this was known as ‘ruling alone’ (allenastyrandet), in reference to the wording in the Constitution that the monarch ‘alone rules the kingdom’. That did not mean absolute power, but that the king wielded executive power, while legislative power rested primarily with the Diet. The Diet continued in its old form of four Estates (nobles, clergy, burghers, and peasants), and the king continued to seek support for his regime from the nobility. The king selected the government ministers and almost invariably chose aristocratic officials and officers, though the first commoner was appointed in 1828 (the influential politician and merchant Hans Niclas Schwan). Until reform in 1840 gave ministers more leeway to act, the king largely hamstrung them. As a group, the Ministers (Statsråd) were primarily men with court experience and court connections: of the twenty-seven who served between 1818 and 1840, seventeen had served at court as civilians or military officers, and of the remaining ten, five had close family members at court and four were newly ennobled. He did not have a complete grip on

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his government ministers, but it was clear that Charles XIV John preferred to appoint people from within a limited aristocratic circle. One of his secretaries emphasized that the king would not make decisions if all of the ministers were united against him, but he would if he just had one minister on his side. As several former courtiers were referred to as yes-men (‘ja-­ herrar’), this was not normally a problem for him.57 Famously, the king’s bedchamber in his inner rooms became his study, where he decided matters of state presented to him by secretaries. During Diets, the court presence in the Estate of the Nobles was also commented upon. In 1823, one diarist noted ‘beside a multitude of Grand Chamber Gentlemen, Court Marshals, and Cabinet Chamber Gentlemen, there are in the House of Nobility already 32 Chamber Gentlemen. Fortunately not all of them depend on the government, or more correctly the Cabinet’. (Fig. 6.1)58 The pervasive power of the court was, to outsiders, most visible outside official channels. Newspapers, despite official censorship, began to criticize what was called ‘side influence’ (sidoinflytandet) on royal decision-­ making. Most infamous in this genre was the great courtier and favourite, Count Magnus Brahe, who was castigated under the name Excellentissimus. A scion of the oldest family in Sweden, he was destined for court service, and Charles XIV John was quick to choose him as his favourite. It was clearly a decision made to signal to the Swedish nobility that he would continue with the same form of government, with the same aristocratic families, as his House of Holstein predecessors had done. However, it was also evident that the king felt confidence in and, as much as he could, friendship for Brahe, while Brahe for his part was passionately devoted to the king. Brahe was the heart of a nexus of family, friends, and dependents. One of his cousins was the king’s mistress, the Maid of Honour, Mariana Koskull. She had already been the mistress of his predecessor, Charles XIII, and was rumoured to have exerted some influence then over appointments. The ageing Charles XIII would say of various positions he granted, ‘this is for Mariana’.59 Koskull continued to be a presence at court until Charles XIV John’s wife, Queen Desirée, unexpectedly returned to Sweden in 1823 after more than a decade in Paris,

 Boëthius (1907).  RA G.A. Montgomerys samling vol. 6 E 4811 Montgomery diary, 28 January 1823. 59  Brander (1926). 57 58

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Fig. 6.1  Charles XIV John was born a commoner but became an autocrat known for his bed chamber rule in later years, when he would stay in bed and make decisions. (Credit line: Carl Stefan Bennet, Bed Chamber Rule (Karl XIV Johans “sängkammarregemente”), 1840s, Copyright Nationalmuseum (Stockholm))

If Koskull could use her influence to help friends and family, the scale of her cousin Brahe’s power was very different. The last fifteen years of Charles XIV John’s reign saw a remarkable development: the king partially outsourced audiences to Brahe. One reason was the king’s lack of Swedish; another was his age. The courtier Nauckhoff wrote, ‘His Majesty thereby got rid of a lot of audiences and the supplicants saved an infinite amount of time that would have been wasted waiting week after week, as, particularly in the later part of this period, audiences with the king became increasingly difficult to achieve’. (Fig. 6.2)60  Ahnfelt (1880, ii. 95).

60

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Fig 6.2  Only a select circle gained entrance to the King. Here he is working in his study. (Credit line: Carl Stefan Bennet, King Working in his Study, 1840s, Copyright Nationalmuseum (Stockholm))

In 1830, several newspapers (Minerva, Nya Argus, and others) began to carry attacks on Brahe.61 A recurring theme in the liberal press for more than a decade, he was a rewarding subject to caricature, dishing out vague promises both on his own behalf but also for the king. He was clearly perceived as the dragon at the king’s gate and a person whose influence could achieve almost anything. As Marshal of the Realm, Count Brahe lived in the royal palace. Most days before noon, he would receive people in audience in his rooms in the south-west wing. A description from 1838 claimed that lower-class supplicants waited in an antechamber:  Stensson (1986).

61

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a peasant who was suing a bank, a shabby person with greasy notes talking about his lack of pension, two elderly women wanting rights to make candles or keep an inn. The inner room was reserved for elite supplicants. Here an aide-de-camp filled the same function as a Chamber Gentleman at royal audiences. A couple of clergymen, an officer, and a burgher were all waiting here. Sometimes, more important people such as generals or ministers would be received immediately, bypassing the waiting crowd. Problematically, Count Brahe rarely said no—‘God knows, if a dejecting ‘No!’ has ever been uttered in this room’—which could complicate matters when the same office was promised to several different people.62 The courtier Johan Otto Nauckhoff wrote that Brahe would arrive at ten o’clock and it could take three or four hours for him to see everyone. He was very polite to supplicants, and made little pencil notes for later discussions with the king.63 It is clear from a number of cases that it could be effective to go via Count Brahe. Esaias Tegnér used Brahe several times to get preferential treatment for relatives. In 1837, he asked the Count to help his niece’s husband get a specific benefice.64 Brahe could not help with that, but found another parish to give the man.65 The following year, Tegnér pushed hard to get his son-in-law promoted to major—and succeeded.66 The year after that Tegnér wanted a parish for his son. The competition was hard, and a better-qualified candidate was backed by the Bishop of Lund. Brahe advised Tegnér to ask for an audience with the king.67 This did the trick. The more qualified candidate had to stand down, and Tegnér’s son was duly appointed (Fig. 6.3). Office hunters could play the system by appealing not just to the king but also to other key players. Brahe was the most visible and powerful courtier in the reign of Charles XIV John, but there were others. The Court Marshal Claes Fredrik Posse was a popular channel, both to Crown Prince Oscar and Charles XIV John himself, while Count Jakob De la Gardie and Claes Fleming habitually received pleas for intercession with  Stensson (1986, 146).  Ahnfelt (1880, ii. 94–95). 64  Palmborg (1963, viii. 90). Esaias Tegnér to Magnus Brahe, n.d. [1837]. 65  Palmborg (1963, viii. 123 & 135). Esaias Tegnér to Magnus Brahe, 12 May 1837 Östrabo & 4 June 1837 Östrabo. 66  Palmborg (1963, viii. 241–42 & 275–6). Esaias Tegnér to Magnus Brahe, 12 June 1838 Östrabo & 21 September 1838 Östrabo. 67  Palmborg (1969, ix. 77). Esaias Tegnér to Magnus Brahe, 23 May 1839 Stockholm. 62 63

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Fig. 6.3  The autocratic Charles XIV John stayed with constitutional boundaries but his solitary regal bearing demonstrated a monarch determined on personal rule. (Credit line: Carl Stefan Bennet, Charles XIV John with Aide de Camps, (“Karl XIV Johan tillsammans med en adjutant i Karl XI:s galleri på Stockholms slott”), 1845, Copyright Nationalmuseum (Stockholm)

the monarch.68 This meant that the usual scramble for offices and influence continued after 1809—and the sour comments not just from liberal journalists but also from courtiers who lost out. In 1825, one veteran courtier, Erik Reinhold Adelswärd, who had been outmanoeuvred for a plum position, wrote bitterly that ‘whoever in these times does not push forward and demands, will receive nothing’.69 Another noted how a 68  This can be seen in Posse’s papers at RA; in the De la Gardie collection at LUB; and in Claes Fleming’s papers in UUB. 69  RA Mikrofilmssamlingen Erik Reinhold Adelswärd diary, 3 January 1825.

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minister on his deathbed had been promised a position for his nephew and an honour for another person, Magnus Christian Retzius; another minister and long-time courtier Count Mattias Rosenblad was also present and ‘wanted to faint in Retzius’ arms from grief, but when W [the nephew] some days later asked about the position Rosenblad replied, “Know your place! That was then, but now your uncle is dead”’.70

Conclusion In January 1840, the last Diet of the reign of Charles XIV (1818–44) was opened. The criticism of the king, his ‘rule alone’, and his favourite Brahe had reached new heights. Royal power faced greater challenges than it had in a long time, and the walls the king and his conservative allies had erected to contain the rising flood of criticism were beginning to give way. An opposition noble and newspaper writer, Carl Wilhelm Lilliecrona, followed the opening of the Diet, watching with repugnance as the monarchy was exalted. The speakers of the four Estates kissed the hand of the ageing king and then had to back away from the throne. This incensed Lilliecrona, who hoped that the Archbishop would trip and fall, ‘but you saw that he is used to finding his feet at court, and he found his way’.71 What made Lilliecrona even more upset was ‘a nasty custom’ he witnessed after the king had processed from the Hall of State with his entourage: ‘Even after the king had left and the throne was left empty, many of the nobility bowed in front of it as they passed—just like Catholic choirboys as they pass the host’.72 Lilliecrona found it ‘terrible to behold such a humiliating devotion’ to monarchical authority.73 It would have pleased the king, though, who was ‘extremely sensitive as to his royal dignity; very keen on displays of reverence and obedience’. The sight of aristocrats reverently bowing front to an empty throne prompted disgust and loathing in Lilliecrona; at the same time, it was evidence of a reverence and almost religious devotion to the monarchy, which was still alive in broad sections of the nobility. It was not just ultra-royalists who expressed such feelings; even a moderate such as Arvid Posse had it  KB I.b.26 Bernhard von Beskows kalenderanteckningar.  Aldén (1917, 30). 72  Aldén (1917, 31). 73  Aldén (1917, 31). 70 71

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in him to give speeches on the ‘age-old virtue [of the Swedish people] to love the king and revere his Majesty’. Even the sharply critical courtier Johan Otto Nauckhoff would talk about the importance of the ‘Idea of Majesty’.74 Despite the assassination of Gustaf III, the 1809 coup, a new dynasty, and the loss of Finland and Pomerania, the Swedish monarchy and court demonstrated a remarkably degree of institutional resilience. It was in the interests of Charles XIII after 1809, Charles XIV John, and the Swedish aristocracy, but not, in the long run, Sweden’s populace. Charles XIV John’s strategy towards his government and court was one of big-tent inclusivity. He abandoned some of Gustaf III’s efforts to create a court where offices were exclusive and highly valued, and instead handed out court offices freely to buy support and reward allies. Yet, he stopped short of being as inclusive as Louis XVIII was in 1820s France—the new commoner elites were not included. It should also be noted that Gustaf III had actually changed part of the court structure, whereas Charles XIV John paradoxically represented continuity more than Gustaf III had. This was both political expedience and a reflection of the king’s personality. As one courtier noted, he was ‘no friend of change or transitions in general’.75 His few serving Pages became older and older, so that the First Chamber Page was over forty, rather than the traditional youth. A court physician later wrote that he ‘loved to keep persons whom he was used to when it came to those who served in his inner circle’.76 He also followed revolutionary movements abroad with some apprehension. The courtier Jakob De la Gardie noted how the news of the July Revolution in France in 1830 left the king ‘highly agitated’.77 Still, gradual change was slowly creeping in behind all the strong continuity. De la Gardie himself noted with contempt the first appointment of a commoner as a government minister. To his mind, it merely gave the commoners in the Diet pretensions, and ‘the plebs of our time hate and envy the nobility, but they do not care for being governed by their equals’.78 Charles XIV John had carefully nurtured royal power and ­aristocratic power, and thus preserved the royal court in the form he had  KB I.n.1.2 [Nauckhoff].  KB I.n.1:1. 76  Pontin (1850, 90). 77  LUB DLG 310 JG De la Gardies dagbok 8 August 1830. 78  LUB DLG 309 JG De la Gardies dagbok 3 February 1828. 74 75

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Fig. 6.4  Monarchs were still performing after their death at the lit de parade. Here the King is accompanied by his devoted courtier Count Brahe who was dying himself with consumption. (Credit line: Karl XIV Johan på Lit de Parade, Copyright Skoklosters slott)

inherited it and even expanded it considerably. The reverent noblemen bowing in front of his throne in 1840 would see how the old covenant between monarchy and aristocracy would break under his successor Oscar I, though this was not immediately visible in the old-fashioned ceremonies and numerous courtiers surrounding the ageing king (Fig. 6.4).

References Published Sources Ahnfelt, Arvid (ed.), Ur svenska hofvets och aristokratiens lif, 7 vols (Stockholm: Lamm, 1880–83). Aldén, Gustaf (ed.), Bakom riksdagens kulisser. C.W. Liljecronas dagbok under riksdagen 1830–41 (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1917).

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Anker, C. J. & Fredrik Ulrik Wrangel, Utdrag ur danska diplomaters meddelanden från Stockholm 1807–1808, 1810 och 1812–1813 (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1897). Bloomfield, Lady Georgiana (ed.), Memoir of Benjamin, Lord Bloomfield (London: Chapman & Hall, 1884). Boëthius, Simon Johannes (ed.), Statsrådet Johan Albert Ehrenströms efterlemnade historiska anteckningar 2 vols (Uppsala: Schultz, 1882–83). ——— (ed.), Från Karl XIV Johans dagar: Historiska anteckningar af presidenten Georg Ulfsparre (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1907). Clason, Sam & Carl af Petersens (eds), Skildringar och bref från revolutionsåren 1809–1810 (Stockholm: Hugo Gebers förlag, 1909). Geijer, Erik Gustaf (ed.), Konung Gustaf III:s efterlemnade och femtio år efter hans död öppnade papper, 3 vols (Uppsala: Wahlström & Låstbom, 1843–45). Klinckowström, Rudolf Mauritz (ed.), Riksrådet och Fältmarskalken m.m. Grefve Fredrik Axel von Fersens historiska skrifter, 8 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1867–72). von Matérn, Åke (ed.), Ottos minnen. En 1800-talborgares öden och äventyr i Stockholm och på kontinenten (Stockholm: Norstedts, 2002). Oxenstierna, Johan Gabriel (ed.), Konung Gustaf III:s skrifter, 6 vols (Stockholm: Carl Delén, 1806–12). Palmborg, Nils (ed.), Esaias Tegnérs brev, 11 vols (Malmö: Allhems förlag, 1953–76). af Pontin, Magnus Martin, Samlade skrifter, 3 vols (Stockholm: Hörberg, 1850–57). Schartau, Ivar Ejlert (ed.), Hemliga handlingar hörande till Sveriges historia efter konung Gustaf III:s anträdande till tronen, 3 vols (Stockholm: Ecksteinska boktryckeriet, 1821–25). Schinkel, Bernd von & C. W. Bergman (eds), Minnen ur Sveriges nyare historia, 16 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1852–93). Schück, Henrik (ed.), Excellensen grefve A.  F. Skjöldebrands memoarer, 5 vols (Stockholm: Geber, 1904). Spencer, Sarah (ed.), Correspondence of Sarah Spencer Lady Lyttelton 1787–1870 (London: John Murray, 1912). Suremain, G. de (ed.), Generallöjtnant de Suremains minnen från hans anställning i svensk tjänst 1794–1815, tr. Oskar Heinrich Dumrath (Stockholm: Geber, 1902). Tegnér, Elof (ed.), Minnen och anteckningar af Lars von Engeström, 2 vols (Stockholm: Beijer (ed.), Från Tredje Gustafs dagar: Anteckningar och minnen af E.  Schröderheim, G.  G. Adlerbeth och G.  M. Armfelt, 3 vols (Stockholm: Beijer, 1892–94). Troil, Samuel Gustaf, ‘Minnen af landshöfding von Troil’, in Minnen, från Carl XIV:s, Oscar I:s och Carl XV:s dagar af Carl Akrell och S. G. von Troil, 2 vols (Stockholm: Oscar L. Lamm, 1884–85).

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Wachtmeister, Hugo (ed.), Anteckningar och bref från Karl Johanstiden: Landshöfdingen grefve Hans Wachtmeister den äldres papper. (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1915). Wichman, Holger (ed.), Daniel Tilas: Curriculum Vitae I–II, 1712–1757 (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1966).

Secondary Publications Barclay, David, Frederick William IV and the Prussian Monarchy, ‘Monarchy, Court, and Society in Constitutional Prussia’, in David Wetzel & Theodore Hamerow (eds), International Politics and German History (Westport: Praeger, 1997). Brander, Uno, Hov och societet under Karl Johans-tiden (Stockholm: Hökerberg, 1926). Duindam, Jeroen, Myths of Power: Norbert Elias and the Early Modern European Court (Amsterdam: AUP, 1995). ———, Vienna and Versailles: The Courts of Europe’s Dynastic Rivals, 1550–1780 (Cambridge: CUP, 2003). Girod de l’Ain, Gabriel, Desirée Bernadotte (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1960). Hochschildt, Carl Fredrik Lotharius, Desideria, Sveriges och Norges drottning (Stockholm: Fritze, 1889). Klingensmith, Samuel John, The Utility of Splendor: Ceremony, Social Life, and Architecture at the Court of Bavaria, 1600–1800 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993). Lallerstedt, Gustaf, Skandinavien, dess farhågor och förhoppningar (Stockholm: Bonnier, 1856). Mansel, Philip, ‘Monarchy, Uniform and the Rise of the Frac, The Court of France 1789–1830 (Cambridge: CUP, 1989). Pedlow, Gregory, The Survival of the Hessian Nobility, 1770–1870 (Princeton: PUP, 1988). Rexheuser, Rex, Die Personalunionen von Sachsen-Polen 1697–1763 und Hannover-­ England 1714–1837 (Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz, 2005). Roolfs, Cornelia, Der hannoversche Hof von 1814 bis 1866 (Hannover: Hahnsche, 2005). Stensson, Rune, Magnus Brahe och Carl XIV Johan (Uppsala: Carmina, 1986). Stjernquist, Nils, ‘Regeringsformens tillkomst’ in Erik Fahlbeck (ed.) 1809 års regeringsform: Minnesskrift till 150-årsdagen den 6 juni 1959 (Lund: Gleerup, 1959). 6–41.

CHAPTER 7

Living Etiquette

One day is a repeat of the other, and I almost believe that I breathe par etiquette, so much is everything imbued with ceremony. I am by no means bored by this, but try to obey the command to keep my eyes and ears open.1 (The courtier Leonhard von Hauswolff, 1770)

In 1757, King Adolph Frederick, Queen Lovisa Ulrika, and Crown Prince Gustaf repeatedly used ceremony to humiliate the ruling aristocrats of the Council of the Realm. In October, when the court moved from the summer palace of Drottningholm to the royal palace in Stockholm, the councillors gathered in the king’s audience chamber to welcome him back, but were given the curt reply that His Majesty had already retired to his inner rooms and was just about to eat—‘another sign of the undeserved disgrace shown by His Majesty’. The councillors were later to learn that the meal was in fact not served until half an hour later, leaving ample time for the king to meet the Council.2 In similar fashion, the crown prince pretended to be unwell in order to avoid playing cards with a leading politician. What should have been a sign of grace and prestige was turned on its head to become a humiliation.3 His 1  UUB, Uppsala, L 509 Leonhard von Hauswolff to Justus Christoffer von Hauswolff, 13 August 1770, copy. 2  KB, Stockholm, Engestr. Osign 59.11 Claes Ekeblads journal, 13 October 1757. 3  Ibid., 9 November 1757.

© The Author(s) 2020 F. Persson, Survival and Revival in Sweden’s Court and Monarchy, 1718–1930, Palgrave Studies in Modern Monarchy, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52647-4_7

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father King Adolph Frederick used the same tactic, and indeed in the summer the Council had discussed how the king ‘intends to be unwell’ to avoid dining with a Hat party grandee.4 The royal family used etiquette to punish the ruling Hat councillors for a number of years, to the point where the councillors’ wives began to stay away from court as they were coldly treated or even humiliated.5 The most brazen in her use of etiquette was Queen Lovisa Ulrika. In February 1757, the Council discussed their duty to maintain their dignity in the face of ‘Her Majesty’s strange and unpleasant conduct towards the Council’.6 And it was not just the Council who were on the receiving end. One woman who felt especially maltreated was Vilhelmina Ribbing, married to Count Anders Johan von Höpken, the Prime Minister (Kanslipresident, lit. President of the Chancery). Countess Höpken had served as a Maid of Honour before her marriage, and as such was generally assumed to be part of the social world of the court. Even so, on the birth of her daughter Eleonore in 1755 she chose not to tell the royal family, and did not receive any formal congratulations either, which greatly upset her husband. When she decided not to pay court to the royal family at New Year in 1758, it was consequently seen as an intentional slight, and when she later attended another event ‘Her Majesty passed her by at the Cour without greeting her’, as the queen herself noted.7 The queen had never liked her, but this was a pointed insult of a former Maid of Honour. The result was a complete breakdown in relations between court and Council. Immediately following his wife’s humiliation, Count Höpken rallied the wives of all but three councillors to boycott the court. The queen later claimed to have taken this news with a broad smile, happy in the knowledge that, in the long run, staying away from court would prove too high a price for them to pay. As for the three wives who continued to frequent court, the queen ‘redoubled her gracious welcome’.8 When the queen’s brother, Prince Augustus Wilhelm of Prussia, died in 1758, she was certain the recalcitrant wives were eager to return to court, ‘but Her Majesty was not in the mood to let a reconciliation depend on their pleasure after they had so recklessly gone on the offensive’.9 Thus,  Ibid., 9 June 1757.  Fryxell (1869, xxxix. 302), quoting a report by a Danish diplomat in 1757. 6  KB, Stockholm, Engestr. Osign 59.11 Claes Ekeblads journal, 15 February 1757. 7  Klinckowström (1869, iii. 264). 8  Ibid. 9  Ibid. 4 5

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the king forbade the two Chamber Gentlemen tasked with officially notifying people of the prince’s death from telling the councillors’ wives— except the faithful three. The Chief Marshal admitted that ‘to avoid new troubles, I have hidden this from the Council’.10 The Hat politician (and sometime court favourite) Count Carl Gustaf Tessin recorded the list of insults the royals inflicted on the dignity of the councillors: denying their carriages entrance to the courtyard at Ulriksdal Palace; guards not giving them proper salutes; giving them stools (tabourets) to sit on in Cabinet rather than chairs; making them wait forever in the antechamber.11 It got to the point that Secretaries of State were left to wait for hours ‘among lackeys and runners’. Court life was replete with actions charged with ritual meaning. Coronations, funerals, processions of all sorts, yes, but besides these major ceremonies, daily life was an endless sequence of situations in which traditional behaviour and respect guided people’s actions, such as meals, greetings, and interactions at cour receptions. Ordinary early modern life was a framework of ritualized behaviour, and at court, this was intensified with higher stakes. There were a couple of key factors in this ritualized behaviour, whether we call it ceremony or etiquette, which contributed to its enduring importance. Court etiquette was adaptable. It changed to reflect the realities, despite being superficially rigid. People caught up in court life often referred to etiquette as being strict, but that was a way to shore up their own pretensions or failures. For those whose status was favoured by etiquette, it was in their interest to emphasize that it was unchangeable; for those at a disadvantage, they could use etiquette as an excuse for their lack of status or poor treatment. For in reality etiquette was often flexible, and it certainly changed over time. If anything it was vibrantly alive, though caricatured as stiff and dead. If etiquette had been clear-cut and unchanging, there would have been no endless wrangles, no opportunity for dispute. It was not, of course: most of what happened at court, even in a more ritualized context, was never written down, and the concepts of ceremony and etiquette were vaguely used. Etiquette was often taken to mean either the overarching system, as in ‘the Swedish etiquette’, or the small acts of social interaction that peppered the day—when to bow, when to kiss someone’s hand, when to remove one’s hat. The word ceremony was often applied to larger  KB, Stockholm, Engestr. Osign 59.12 Claes Ekeblads journal, 3 July 1758.  KB, Stockholm, L 82:1:11 Tessins dagbok 1760.

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rituals, such as coronations or royal funerals. Ceremonials (ceremoniel) were drawn up for these occasions, and, from the mid-eighteenth century, printed. Bourgeois outsiders in particular mocked court etiquette as empty, fossilized, and ridiculous, and even a courtier could be appalled by the cold stiffness with which someone like Gustaf IV could take leave of a courtier and friend.12 Yet, closer scrutiny reveals that etiquette had a practical side. Representatives of other powers had to be treated according to their rank; members of the elite had to be integrated into everyday functions; everyone had to find their place in unusual ceremonies: etiquette was largely about order and hierarchy in a complex and deeply competitive system. Court ordinances regulated in straightforward terms—if with only partial success—the kitchens, stables, financial accounts, and all other parts of court life, and its more ceremonious aspects had to be regulated too in order not to confuse, embarrass, or enrage those present. Etiquette and ceremony were far more practical than is often admitted. It was introduced, abolished, tweaked, reformed, exchanged for something else, and all the while, claimed to being ancient, and yet it endured. That said, late eighteenth-century Sweden did stand out as more ‘old-­ fashioned’, though in reality that meant marginally stricter etiquette compared to, say, Austria, Britain, and post-revolutionary France.13 Sweden was closer to many German courts, where there had been no revolution and where the importance of aristocratic birth was still strong. When Gustaf III’s favourite Gustaf Armfelt visited the court of Gotha or celebrated New Year at the court in Dresden, he found it all irksomely ­ceremonious; he suspected there were not ‘any European courts with such strict etiquette as the little sovereigns of Germany’, and ‘a match to these curialier has never existed in the world’.14 The revival of strong monarchy left Gustaf III and Gustaf IV keen to assert royal superiority in etiquette, especially having been held back by decades of parliamentarian rule. Thus, the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century saw a codification of etiquette at the Swedish court, a process in which the courtier Leonhard von Hauswolff played a crucial part as an organizer and meticulous observer—in fact, many of those who documented and discussed it were part of arranging etiquette in practice as  Svenska Akademien, Stockholm, vol. 85 fol. 222.  See, for example, Beales (1987, i). 14  Tegnér (1884, ii. 83 & 85). 12 13

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well. In much the same way, court ceremony was not normally the creation and instrument of just one mind. Unlike Norbert Elias, Giora Sternberg has argued that the French court was a complex system with many actors, rather than just one royal will imposing its stamp.15 Even to an observer at court, the royals all appeared to be prisoners of ‘the etiquette with its cold conventions’, but it was not just they who were deeply affected by living in a court environment; the same was true of a large part of the nobility.16 Etiquette was necessary for courts to function in the first place and was often far more malleable than its defenders or detractors were willing to admit. It was contradictory—it was constantly changing, but people claimed it was long established—but it also was a mark of ambition, of what you wanted to be perceived to be (although too wide a gap between ambitious etiquette and a poor kingdom could be seen as laughable or even an affront). Ritualized behaviour at court also depended on differences in what actors could do: as it changed, a multitude of actors tried to determine the direction to be taken. The scope to be proactive varied, of course. Members of the royal family were dominant—changing rules, actively shaping conduct—while most men and women at court were relegated to a far more passive role. They might scuffle about precedence, but largely they had to adapt, or simply stay away from key moments that would harm their status or be deemed humiliating. Giora Sternberg has described how avoidance was repeatedly deployed as a strategy at the French court.17

Who Decided What Fifty years of strong parliamentary and conciliar influence, the Age of Liberty, provides an unusual opportunity to analyse the royal family’s waging of a protracted, low-level war over etiquette. In Norbert Elias’s and Giora Sternberg’s Versailles, the battle was largely between the princes of the blood, the princes légitimés, and the dukes; in Sweden, there were no cadet branches of the royal family in this period, and only one legitimized royal bastard, Prince Frederick William von Hessenstein, who played a secondary role. Instead, the clash was between royal ambitions and aristocratic pretensions, and later between the monarch and foreign diplomats.  Sternberg (2014).  Svenska Akademien, Stockholm, vol. 85 fol. 222. 17  Sternberg (2014, 37–38 & 61–62). 15 16

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The lines were drawn at the coronation of King Frederick I (1720–51). The queen demanded to have all five regalia (crown, sceptre, orb, sword, and key) carried before her in the procession rather than the three normally allotted to a queen consort, and the Council initially refused but later backed down. The newly powerful Council also tussled with the royal couple over etiquette in matters such as mourning. When Peter the Great died in 1725, the Council wanted to appease the Russian government of Empress Catherine I by going into deep and prolonged mourning. At first, the court went along, with ‘all the apartments being hung with Bays, and the Pages and Servants putt into Black Liverys, which is more than has been done on the death of any Foreign Prince since King William’.18 Two months later, however, it was thought expedient that the Diet ‘waited on their Swedish majestys in a Body, to beseech them to continue the mourning for the Czar one month longer’.19 The royal couple were not won over. A few days later, it was noted that ‘Our mourning for the Czar is at present on a most odd foot; the Queen and her females have thrown it quite off, having already worn it longer than the Court of Russia did for the late Kg of Sweden. The king still adheres to a black coat to humour the Senate, who were pleasd to think this point important enough for their interposition; but at the same time that he may not absolutely break with the Queen and the Ldys, he has putt on a Gold brocade wastcoat; and I make no doubt but this Partly-colourd mourning will be made a crime at Petersbg’.20 The king wanted to strengthen royal power, but was not that keen on ceremony—as Count Carl Gustaf Tessin later remembered, ‘how little the late King Frederick cared for Ceremonies’.21 Ceremony was the order of the day, however, and dining at court was traditionally one of the highlights. Yet in 1733, a surprised courtier Baron Johan Gabriel Sack, noted, ‘It was ordered that no one under the rank of colonel would be admitted to eat at the king’s table or enter the Queen’s Audience Chamber. No Lieutenant, Ensign, or suchlike would be allowed to play in the Circle [a large round room]’.22 These novelties in etiquette were ascribed to a trio of royal advisors (Carl Gustaf Sparre, President  TNA SP95/36, Stephen Poyntz, Stockholm, 17 March 1725.  TNA SP95/37, Stephen Poyntz, Stockholm, 14 May 1725. 20  TNA SP95/37, Stephen Poyntz, Stockholm, 19 May 1725. 21  KB, Stockholm, L 82:1:5 Carl Gustaf Tessin’s Diary, 1758, fol. 1378. 22   RA Mikrofilmssamlingen Äldre serien vol. 168 Johan Gabriel Sacks journal, 19 February 1733. 18 19

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Dürenberg, and Captain Henrik Häckel). Quite soon regulations, at least concerning admittance to the royal table, became established. Unlike King Frederick, Crown Prince Adolph Frederick and Crown Princess Lovisa Ulrika were very interested, and in the 1740s breathed new life to efforts to improve court life and etiquette. Lovisa Ulrika was eager to strengthen royal influence and prestige, and as an enemy later said, ‘etiquette, ceremonies, and respect were her daily subject of conversation and orders’.23 Over the years, she displayed a marked interest in ceremony: as early as her coronation she was said to be busy helping prepare the ceremony.24 As will be seen, she tried to use etiquette as an aspirational strategy for the monarchy, using it to enhance royal status and to imply it was more significant than it actually was. An interesting parallel can be found in Britain thirty years earlier where, under somewhat similar political circumstances, Queen Lovisa Ulrika’s uncle King George II and Queen Caroline had tried to use ceremony to raise their profile.25 Lovisa Ulrika’s own Prussia had a rather restricted court life, but she may have seen her mother, Queen Dowager Sophie Dorothea, as a role model, as she did the lion’s share of royal duties such as receptions, or Courtage, in Berlin.26 It should be remembered, though, that the Berlin court provided a setting for an absolutist ruler—something for Queen Lovisa Ulrika to emulate.27 The importance attached to ceremony was evident from the fact that Adolph Frederick and Lovisa Ulrika wanted a new etiquette drawn up as soon as they succeeded to the throne in 1751.28 A trio of eminent courtiers—Carl Gustaf Tessin, Claes Ekeblad, Carl Hårleman—were appointed to carry out the work. After much discussion, it was agreed that a new etiquette could not be put into practice until the royal family moved into the new Stockholm Palace, for the rooms in the temporary royal residence were too few and too small. It was also feared that the new etiquette would cause friction, which would be easier to overcome if the changes were associated with the move to the new palace. Early in 1752, though, the work on the new etiquette appears to have run into even more serious problems. The powerful parliamentary Secret Committee suddenly made  Klinckowström (1868, ii. 21).  Ibid., ii. 34. 25  Hanham (2004, 294). 26  Hagemann. 27  Biskup (2012). 28  RA Kanslikollegium Utrikes Protokoll 1752 A II b:16 4 March 1752, fol. 245. 23 24

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clear that it was a matter for the Chancery, not a royal cabal—an illustration of how the Diet and the Chancery both wanted to have a hand in court etiquette, and refused to accept it might be purely a royal prerogative. On the initiative of the Secret Committee, the Council raised the issue of the new etiquette in March 1752.29 A few days later the Chancery took over and was given the draft that had been drawn up by the trio, which was divided into rules for life at court and regulations for diplomatic ceremonies.30 In November 1752, the Chancery discussed its collection of documents, when the importance of having foreign examples of etiquette readily available was underlined. The Master of Ceremonies was duly instructed to submit descriptions of all court festivities, audiences, and other ceremonies. Swedish diplomats abroad had previously been told to send in the etiquettes of foreign courts; now they were ordered to answer with any changes in etiquette that might have been made in the interim.31 There the project stalled. Nothing seems to have happened for over than a year, until the approaching completion of the new palace made progress necessary. In March 1754, the Chancery finally returned to the question, using the proposal drawn up in 1752 by Ekeblad and his colleagues. The Chamber Gentleman Axel Johan Kurck had been given the task of collating existing etiquettes for comparison, but progress had been slow. It was of the utmost importance to conform with established models as ‘you must not follow your own whim’ but build on ‘real precedent’; the models to follow were the courts of France, England, and Vienna as nowhere else was the etiquette ‘correctly established’.32 The matter was discussed again a fortnight later, when it was stated explicitly that the etiquette was meant to come into force once the royal family had moved into the new palace. There was now a draft, which included restricting access for foreign diplomats who wanted to dine at the king’s own table, bring Sweden into line with ‘most European courts’, mentioning England, Prussia, Denmark, and Poland by name.33 The link between a new etiquette and a new palace was spelt out. In June 1754, the matter was again discussed by the Chancery, because Stockholm Palace was nearing completion. They began by agreeing that  KB, Stockholm, Engestr Osign. 59:6. Claes Ekeblad notes 2 March 1752.  RA Ceremonialia vol. 4 Projekt till Ceremoniel 1754. 31  RA Kanslikollegium Utrikes Protokoll 1752 A II b:16 13 November 1752. 32  Ibid., 14 March 1754. 33  Ibid., 28 March 1754. 29 30

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since the reign of Charles XI no new etiquette had been formulated, partly because the temporary royal residence in the capital had been ‘a small and uncomfortable house’, and no new etiquette could be observed within such a restricted space. Indeed, foreign diplomats had been informed that the provisional residence was an obstruction for any modernization of Swedish etiquette.34 (What was not said was that King Frederick I’s indifference to both ceremony and the building of the new palace had not helped.) Again, it was stated that any new etiquette had to conform to the practice at major European courts. Two main forms of etiquette were said to be used: the Burgundian etiquette and the Oriental etiquette. The Russian court was claimed to be partly Oriental, but most other courts were Burgundian. As an expert, the Chancery contacted Carl Fredrik Scheffer. A voracious reader and a great Francophile, he had been ambassador to France (1744–52), and thus surely would know how French etiquette worked. The Chancery was wary of matters of etiquette that concerned the internal life of the court, rather than strictly diplomatic ceremony. Yet, it still had to take a view on those parts of the drafted etiquette. It was said that a Chamber Gentleman instead of the Court Marshal could handle applications for private audiences with the king. There was a comparison with France, where the Premier Gentilhomme de la Chambre arranged formal presentations. It is likely this was Scheffer’s French experience speaking. Where the Chancery was prepared to wade in was on the sensitive matter of who should be allowed to eat at the royal table. Hitherto, foreign diplomats and Swedes from the rank of colonel and above had been admitted to the king’s table. This was unusually generous—the Danish court, for example, was far more restrictive. To come into step with other courts it was decided that the practice should be more restricted in Sweden too. The royal family should eat alone.35 Across the board, the link between space and ceremony was very clear to the Chancery. It was decided that no further discussion of the new etiquette was possible until they had visited the construction site. ‘What more is needful for an Etiquette, the Royal Chancery found itself unable to regulate until it has gained knowledge of the nature of the rooms and other circumstances,  Ibid., 18 June 1754.  Ibid., 18 June 1754.

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and thus agreed that some day to go the new palace and look at the rooms’.36 The draft of the new etiquette, originally drawn up in 1752, was duly revised in the summer and autumn of 1754. In September, Scheffer presented a new draft to the Chancery.37 Changes to the seventeenthcentury precedents had been made in order to conform to French etiquette. However, Scheffer only went through the part dealing with diplomatic ceremony. The other half, detailing the etiquette for the royal court, was not addressed. In October and November, it was overhauled again, this time with professional advice from the Master of Ceremonies, Gustaf Palmfelt. In November 1754, the king signed the new etiquette, which was then distributed to diplomats, officials, and courtiers. The Master of Ceremonies made the rounds of foreign diplomats to prepare them for its launch. However, the Chancery only allowed parts of the etiquette to be copied and circulated, nor was it to be printed. The reason for the secrecy was that ‘as time may make some changes necessary, these will then in an invisible way be introduced and accepted’.38 Further, the division between diplomatic ceremony and daily courtly ceremony saw etiquette stakeholders prepare for a turf war: the Chancery took care of the diplomatic ceremony, while the royal couple and their advisors designed ceremony that would regulate life at court, which led to some criticism later. For example, Count Höpken accused King Adolph Frederick of pushing through the new etiquette on his own.39 On 7 December 1754, the royal family left Drottningholm Palace outside Stockholm and for the first time took up residence in the new Stockholm Palace. A cour was held, and the new etiquette launched with dinner in public.

Clashes Over Etiquette The launch of the new etiquette inevitably led to clashes with the Council. Only a week in, on 16 December, Prime Minister Höpken’s wife was stopped when her carriage turned into the courtyard of the new palace.40  Ibid., 18 June 1754.  Ibid., 10 September 1754. 38  Ibid., 8 November 1754. 39  Silfverstolpe (1890, i. 97). 40  Sahlberg (1976). 36 37

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‘Halt! No admittance for carriages!’ shouted the sentry. The guard on the south gate flatly refused to let her in. After some parley, she was admitted, but later when she was going to leave, she found her carriage had gone. She had to cross the courtyard on foot and look for it outside. The same thing happened to councillor Scheffer that evening. The chattering classes were in a ferment. It was rumoured that the carriages had been threatened at bayonet point, and the reason for this humiliating scene was that councillor Höpken had tried to stop the royal couple from strengthening their position. The following day the incident was discussed by the Council. The councillors were incensed, especially those from the Hat party. The Prime Minister Höpken ordered the sentries to be arrested. This brought an irate response from the king, who asked the Colonel of the Guards ‘What right has the Council to order you to arrest the sentries? It is a violation of my authority in my own palace and over my own household troops!’ The row escalated. The Council forbade the Colonel to obey any royal orders when the king was in town. The king was called account in Council, where he was accused of breaching the Constitution. The king backed down, but afterwards he was persuaded by the more resolute queen and her advisors to send a sharp letter to the Council. He even threatened to call a new Diet. Behind the ‘carriage affair’ was the on-going power struggle between king and Council, with the king and queen set on regaining royal power.41 It is possible that before the Secret Committee, the Council, and the Chancery took over in March 1752, the new etiquette had been planned on a more ambitious scale, with consideration of further ceremonial aspects such as levée and couchée. The main ceremonial thrust that survived was the plan that the royal family would dine in public once a week. This was a highly symbolic event, with a number of particular ceremonies linked to the occasion—how the napkin was carried to the table, the cleaning of hands with a basin, and so on. At coronations and weddings, dining in public was an important part of the ceremonial programme.42 At the French court, the public grand couvert was staged once or twice a week in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and under Louis XIV, sometimes even daily.43 At the Imperial court, public dining was frequent, if not as prevalent as in France. In his perceptive analysis of court life in Bavaria,  Lönnroth (1986), Jägerskiöld (1943 & 1945).  Völkel (2002). 43  Duindam (2003, 172). 41 42

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Samuel Klingensmith has described it as ‘an elaborate, stately ritual, conducted with all the solemnity of a high mass’.44 He also notes that there were different degrees, the most important being ‘Speisen en ceremonie’, which was conducted with even greater formality. At the English court, the queen’s maternal grandfather, George I of England, had frequently dined in public, but his was a far less ceremonious affair, and although people could watch, high-ranking subjects also joined him at table.45 Foreign courts were evidently the inspiration for the arrangements for dining in public at Stockholm Palace. When the Chief Marshal Count Claes Ekeblad drafted a new etiquette in 1752, he looked at foreign models. According to his notes, the Swedish etiquette would follow ‘French, Imperial and English’ practice.46 Further, ‘after French etiquette’, the Court Mistress (head of the noblewomen serving at court) would be assigned a tabouret of her own, and ‘according to Imperial etiquette’, the women serving the queen would remain standing until the queen had drunk for the first time and signed that they could withdraw. The queen saw the new ceremony as a way of boosting their power— she was the driving force, and as an enemy later said, ‘etiquette, ceremonies, and respect were her daily subject of conversation and orders’.47 Presentation at court, for example, was already a central mark of royal superiority, carefully graded so that noblewomen had the right to kiss the queen’s hand, while unmarried women had to kiss the hem of the royal dress (dreading doing so because of the risk of losing their balance).48 Now every week a reception, a cour, was to be held at the palace. Members of the elite were to gather in the main gallery and wait for the royal couple to emerge and talk to them. Specially favoured people were now granted the entrée to wait in the White Cabinet during these cours. The same day as the cour the royal couple would hold a grand couvert, dining in public. It was said that the king thought it a nonsense, snorting that ‘if he had been a burgher he would never have left his house and soup to watch any king eating’.49 It was also claimed that he found the new ceremony of  Klingensmith (1993, 162).  Beattie (1967, 264). 46   KB, Stockholm, B VII:1.20 Handlingar rörande Claes Ekeblads förvaltning av. överstemarskalksämbetet. 47  Klinckowström (1868, ii. 21). 48  Klinckowström (1868, ii. 21). 49  Klinckowström (1868, ii. 57). 44 45

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tabourets for councillors’ wives silly. New chairs had been purchased in 1754 for the king’s dining hall—eighty tabourets and sixty folding tabourets (plianger) from a Stockholm carpenter—and it did not go unnoticed that the royal family’s chairs were more elaborately carved and gilded than the councillors’ plain efforts. The Council also worried that it was only the royal family who dined from gold plate (Fig. 7.1).50 The Council were concerned about the new etiquette and the new palace. They recognized that the queen was bending the new etiquette to suit her own ends. In 1755, the Council noted with alarm that all foreign ambassadors had been stopped from dining at the royal table, except the Prussian ambassador, who was invited to eat in the royal couple’s private apartments—the queen being Prussian by birth. Neither did the queen stop at etiquette: she used the palace itself to enhance her power by awarding or denying access. The Council had to address why the queen was refusing free entry to her apartments not only to the Governor of the Crown Prince, but also to the courtiers serving the princes.51 These were people who had been handpicked by the ruling Hat party—and were looked upon as enemies by the royal family. In 1760, it was said that ‘Is regrettable and more than evident the contempt in which the Council is held, and how rarely they are spoken to either at cours or during meals’.52 Known Hat partisans among the courtiers could be made to wait in places or ways incompatible with their rank. When Count Carl Gustaf Tessin, the queen’s former favourite, wanted to discuss some business with her, he was kept waiting for a humiliating two hours before he was told that he would not be received.53 When the Chief Marshal had tabourets put out for the councillors’ wives for a theatrical performance after a cour, the king had them removed so they had to sit on the same benches as everyone else, away from the royal family.54

 KB Engestr. Osign 59.9 Claes Ekeblads journal, 23 April 1755.  KB Engestr. Osign 59.10 Claes Ekeblads journal, 6 December 1756. 52  KB L 82:1:11 Tessin’s diary, 8 August 1760. 53  RA Ericsbergsarkivet Fredrik Sparres samling vol. 1 Fredrik Sparre diary, 25 August 1758. 54  Ibid. vol. 3 Fredrik Sparre, 20 June 1761. 50 51

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Fig. 7.1  Dining in public had become a weekly feature of court life since 1754, and was highly regulated according to rank. Only the King and his family are eating and only a few women are given the right to use a tabouret. (Credit line: Pehr Hilleström, Repas public, Le Jour de l’An 1779, Copyright Nationalmuseum (Stockholm))

Difficult Children In 1758, twelve-year-old Crown Prince Gustaf decided that his dog Alcmène should go into mourning for his pet bird that had died the previous night. His attending Cavalier (Kavaljer), the pious and rather narrow-­minded Baron Fredrik Sparre, tried to stop him, but the prince defiantly told Sparre ‘when you are gone I will have my way’.55 This drove home the point of acting out court ceremony and establishing his superior rank, as some months earlier when the prince had insisted Alcmène should have a green ribbon instead of the usual red one because it was Sunday, and keeping the red would give the dog ‘Un air trop bourgeois’.56 Over the years, the royal children’s courtiers found themselves engaged in constant low-­level etiquette warfare. Most of them had been picked by the  Ibid., vol. 1 Fredrik Sparre, 5 December 1758.  Ibid., vol. 1 Fredrik Sparre, 16 July 1758.

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ruling Hat party, and after a failed royalist coup in 1756—which ended in several executions, long investigations, spying, and the torture of some thought sympathetic to the royalist cause—Hat party courtiers were personae non gratae at court. Baron Sparre kept a diary that shows him to have been a man of limited imagination and less intelligence, a dutiful favourite nephew of Count Tessin, and an easy victim of the little crown prince he served. Prince Gustaf was a demanding child with a passion for theatre and history, and an abiding terror of displeasing his mother Queen Lovisa Ulrika. He was clearly aware of how the king and queen used etiquette to humiliate the courtiers and aristocrats they despised, especially from the Hat party. Gustaf himself would talk about courtiers belonging to ‘the evil party’ and how ‘the people want Papa to have more power’.57 The prince was also alert to the importance of keeping up appearances during ceremonies. While playing cards at a cour reception in 1757, the eleven-year-old suddenly feigned a headache and asked for some lavender smelling salts from Countess Stromberg, which he then generously sprinkled over himself and over the women sitting next to him by the card table. This was a ruse to disguise the odour of the prince relieving himself. He did not dare to ask to leave the cour reception, as his mother Queen Lovisa Ulrika would not take kindly to that. Instead, he decided to wet his trousers and stockings, disguising the smell with the lavender and trusting that the dim light of the candles would not betray him.58 The importance of being an actor in various ceremonies was inculcated early in a child of any monarch and a son of Queen Lovisa Ulrika in particular. Baron Sparre tried, with little success, to control the prince’s sense of his exalted rank. Prince Gustaf was as innovative as his parents in finding ways to humiliate his courtiers and servants. Thus he refused to have tea from the same teapot as his long-suffering Valet Jacob Moëll, as Moëll ‘had desecrated’ it by pouring himself a cup from it.59 Another effort to create distance between himself and his surroundings came when the prince scolded his servants because one of them entered his chamber as Gustaf was being undressed—‘it was against his Dignity, he said, for a Lackey to come into his bedchamber while he was dressing or undressing’.60  Ibid., vol. 1 Fredrik Sparre, 3 July 1758.  Ibid., vol. 1 Fredrik Sparre, 17 February 1757. 59  Ibid., vol. 1 Fredrik Sparre, 26 July 1758. 60  Ibid., vol. 2 Fredrik Sparre, 17 July 1759. 57 58

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On another occasion, the Valet was dressing the prince in the morning when a dog began scratching at the door. The prince demanded that the dog be let in and that the Valet bow to it. When he refused to do so, the prince ran after him and tried to push him into a bow himself.61 When Baron Sparre came across the prince bullying his Valet Moëll as usual, he told him he should be polite to all people, whereupon the prince replied ‘in an impudent tone: But he is only a servant!’62 Of course Prince Gustaf was conscious of the hierarchy between servants as well. At supper the prince sent away three dishes and wanted to eat only one dish with some butter. When rebuked, he replied, ‘this is food for pigs and I do not eat pig swill. It might, at best, do for my lower servants; Moëll is too good, and Uttervall as well, to eat the food I got this evening’.63 Even attempts to make the prince behave in a dignified fashion could backfire, as when, at cards after a cour, the prince was told off for putting his elbows on the table because it ‘dishonoured his royal dignity’. The prince replied, ‘Yes, they could see that I was the one of highest rank at the table’.64 It was not just commoners. Noble courtiers were also made to feel their inferiority. To another noble Cavalier the prince said, in French, ‘The king will not deign to scold you as you are not worth it’.65 From his parents Crown Prince Gustaf also learnt who their enemies were in this struggle of ceremonial dominance. Baron Sparre often noted bitterly in his diary that the royal family singled out him and sometimes his colleagues for special humiliation. Thus the king and queen greeted Cavalier Creutz very graciously, ‘but I was greeted without the smallest nod’.66 Another time, he was prevented from entering the queen’s rooms, while his colleague Baron Liewen was allowed in.67 These humiliations could be embarrassingly public, so Baron Sparre had to find excuses to gloss over the worst. They also befell people close to Sparre, as at a ball in 1761, when he had to stand for eight hours holding the prince’s sword and hat, while his fiancée was the only woman ignored by the prince on the dance floor.68  Ibid., vol. 2 Fredrik Sparre, 22 April 1759.  Ibid., vol. 1 Fredrik Sparre, 4 August 1758. 63  Ibid., vol. 2 Fredrik Sparre, 6 April 1759. 64  Ibid., vol. 1 Fredrik Sparre, 29 November 1758. 65  Ibid., vol. 1 Fredrik Sparre, 15 July 1758. 66  Ibid., vol. 2 Fredrik Sparre, 5 April 1759. 67  Ibid., vol. 2 Fredrik Sparre, 22 April 1759. 68  Ibid., vol. 3 Fredrik Sparre, 30 Januari 1761. 61 62

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One recurring humiliation was the royal couple’s exclusion of certain people from their table. In the spring of 1759, the queen forbad the tutors of all three of her sons to eat at the princes’ table.69 This was mortifying, especially as the tutors were of noble birth. Soon afterwards it was noted that the Maid of Honour Ulrika Sperling was never invited to eat at their majesties’ table, ostensibly because she was in the service of the princess rather than the queen. Her rank was too low according to current etiquette.70 Sperling was something of a favourite of Crown Prince Gustaf, who would prattle political confidences to her, but this treatment upset her so much there was talk of her withdrawing from court. At much the same time, even Baron Sparre and his colleague Baron Carl Gustaf Liewen were excluded from eating with the princes—and that rated well below eating at the king’s table. In July 1759, Sparre recorded that, ‘for the third time in a row, Baron Liewen and I were excluded from the table of the princes’, but he got his own back by refusing to hold out the chair for the crown prince, a duty performed by Pages for the other two princes.71 Not long after he and Liewen were ‘as usual’ excluded from the princes’ table, they were now explicitly told that the table was to be considered as the king’s and they as in waiting on the princes were below those who waited on the king and queen and had the right to sit by the table.72 Later, however, they were allowed to eat with the two younger princes when crown prince was not present.73

Cut and Thrust A clear-sighted explanation for the emphasis the Swedish royal family put on etiquette was provided by a Swedish contemporary, Johan Christopher Georg Barfod, who concluded that the difference between Gustaf III and his Danish queen arose from very different political realities in the 1760s. ‘In Denmark, where the court is absolute, formalities are not so important, whereas in Sweden royal dignity was limited to etiquette, and thus every circumstance, be it ever so small, was made into a matter of great weight’.74 In Sweden, a wave of ceremonial assertiveness in the 1750s was  Ibid., vol. 2 Fredrik Sparre, 10 April 1759.  Ibid., vol. 2 Fredrik Sparre, 5 June 1759. 71  Ibid., vol. 2 Fredrik Sparre, 30 July 1759. 72  Ibid., vol. 2 Fredrik Sparre, 6 August 1759. 73  Ibid., vol. 2 Fredrik Sparre, 10 September 1759. 74  Hyltén-Cavallius (1846, 128). 69 70

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succeeded by a new wave of royal innovation in the 1770s with the introduction of levées and entrées. This time royal power was much stronger and the target was the Swedish elite in general, and to some degree foreign diplomats. After that, a period of maintaining ceremony followed, though etiquette and ceremony was always subject to change. Thus, just as Baron Sparre was upset at his exclusion from the crown prince’s table in the 1750s, so other courtiers were upset when etiquette was noticeably more flexible in the 1770s and lower-ranking officers were admitted. The changes in etiquette were not always evident to observers, but the emphasis and importance given to etiquette was not in question. The Danish diplomat Baron Joachim-Otto Schack-Rathlou observed that Gustaf III ‘keeps incredibly to etiquette’.75 A British diplomat wrote ‘it is in my opinion much to be lamented that this Monarch so justly admired for His many amiable and distinguished qualities should have this extreme passion and attachment for Etiquette, particularly at a time when all the great Courts in Europe endeavour to banish it as much as possible’.76 One Swedish view was that ‘Ceremonies and solemn acts he treated as matters of grave importance, and he regulated a procession with the same attention as the plan of a military campaign’.77 Etiquette and ceremony were not only instruments for princes, though, for almost everyone at court with any ambition had to take part in this typically early modern form of one-upmanship. One councillor, Count Carl Gustaf Frölich was said to arrive at Council meetings on a white horse, with a lackey carrying the train of his red councillor’s mantle and another lackey handing out coins to the poor.78 Another councillor, Count Magnus Julius De la Gardie, who was also Chief Marshal of the Court, was one of the last aristocrats to be served by noble pages himself. The official table of ranks was abolished in 1766 for the country as a whole, but this seems to have had little effect and it was still used at court. Even so, there was an eternal vagueness about status in everyday court life, which meant constant complaints about harassment, petty quarrels, and wounded feelings. ‘The strangest thing during this time has been that we have not had any tracasseries, and this is truly very rare in court circles’.79 The importance  Hennings (1935, 150).  TNA FO73/1 T Wroughton to Lord Stormont, Stockholm, 1781. 77  Adlerbeth in Hennings (1960, 304). 78  Weibull (1874, 125). 79  Bonde and af Klercker (1902, i. 271), December 1780. 75 76

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Gustaf III attached to rank shone through in his personal papers where there are several drafts of table of ranks in the royal hand, to the point where he was prepared to enforce his vision of etiquette on other family members.80 Thus he abolished the Life Guards (Livdrabanter) for his mother once she was queen dowager and refused her wish to be served by high-ranking Ladies of the Palace, only finally allowing it when she was on her deathbed. Similarly, the illegitimate son of King Frederick I, Count Hessenstein, had found it a ‘great mortification’ to be ‘obliged to yield precedence to so many Persons whom he regarded as his inferiors’.81 When Gustaf III granted him the rank of prince, Hessenstein at last outranked the councillors. The court was awash with members of the elite under obligation to maintain their status by guarding their rank, which meant that different ranks clashed over noble titles and official positions. For example, the Life Guards (Livdrabanter) were all of the same rank, but many, especially after 1772, were noblemen and most held brevet rank as officers. In 1725, the Life Guard Johan Wilhelm Thomson harassed two other Guards when they were on guard in the king’s antechamber, because he held brevet rank as an officer and they did not. The commander of the corps observed, ‘this inequality in character has created much confusion among them and causes daily disputes and nagging’.82 Two years earlier, it had even led one of them, Lillia, to kill a fellow Life Guard because he ‘felt he was superior to the latter’, eventually resulting in Lillia’s own execution.83 Reality was messy, with numbers of unregulated visitors and courtiers encroaching on the regulations that did exist. When an Ottoman envoy was received for a meal at court in 1733, one diarist noted that among the councillors at the king’s table was also a Lieutenant General who ‘against the will of the king pushed his way to the table’.84 With a large group of arrogant young aristocrats present, order often crumbled. At court there would always be a few outsiders who had managed to climb the greasy  UUB, Gustavianska samlingen.  TNA SP95/126 Lewis de Visme to Lord Suffolk, Stockholm, 26 April 1776. 82  RA Ämnessamlingar Militaria Livdrabantkåren M 557 J Giertta to the King, Stockholm, 12 January 1725. Thomsen was sentenced to death for drunkenness and fighting, but pardoned and dismissed (KrA Livdrabantkåren Rulla 1722). 83  RA Ämnessamlingar Militaria Livdrabantkåren M 557 J Giertta to the King, Stockholm, 12 January 1725. 84   RA Mikrofilmssamlingen Äldre serien vol. 168 Johan Gabriel Sacks journal, 12 April 1733. 80 81

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pole to high office. One of these upstarts was Samuel af Ugglas, who at one ceremony displayed how etiquette largely was ‘silent knowledge’ rather than something committed to paper. When Ugglas had taken part in a procession, he mixed up whether to keep his hat on or take it off. When he afterwards realized his mistake, he complained to the Master of Ceremonies that no one had told him about this. The cutting answer was that ‘this is understood by itself’ and should need no explanation for real dignitaries taking part in the procession. The understanding was that any sophisticated courtier had a knowledge of proper conduct, expertise even, that would be hard to convey quickly to an outsider. Etiquette was a framework where small tweaks could have important repercussions for status, while actions within that ceremonial could favour or humiliate participants. Sternberg has highlighted that subordinates tended to resort to avoidance. This was Countess Vilhelmina Höpken’s tactic: she stayed away. Yet, she did not have the same kind of agency as the king or queen. The royal couple could deploy several strategies towards recalcitrant members of the elite, such as simply cancelling ceremonies. Another was exclusion, though this was very difficult during the Age of Liberty and rarely used even afterwards. One example of exclusion was when at the end of the 1739 Diet, the queen ostentatiously failed to invite the Hat party chief, Count Carl Gyllenborg, and Count Edvard Didrik Taube, father of the king’s mistress, to a court entertainment.85 As with meals, one straightforward way to humiliate people was to use ritual interaction. To kiss the hem or the hand of the king or the queen was an act of deference, which simultaneously conferred status, as only people of high rank were allowed to kiss the royal hand, yet to be refused was a humiliation. In 1739, Queen Ulrika Eleonora not only excluded Count Carl Gyllenborg from receptions; when he tried to kiss her hand, she pulled back, leaving the Count hanging; similarly, when Gyllenborg’s stepdaughter tried to kiss the hem of the queen’s dress, she whipped it away. In fact, Ulrika Eleonora had form when it came to hand-kissing. As an eight-year-old princess in 1696, she had held her hand so low that one kisser, Isac Cronström, almost fell over, while at her coronation in 1719, she only proffered her gloved hand for the Speaker of the Nobility to kiss, flatly refused the rest of the Estate of the Nobles, but then proceeded to proffer it to all the other Estates.86 And she was not the only queen to  Nilzén (2006), diary entry, 1 March 1739.  Schlözer (1768, i. 281), Thanner (1953, 258).

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withhold this honour. Leonhard Hauswolff was clearly hurt when he was presented as the new Master of Ceremonies in 1790, but was not given Queen Sophia Magdalena’s hand to kiss—‘why, I do not know, as the position is of a rank to deserve it’.87 Queen Sophia Magdalena was restrictive with hand-kissing in general. One New Year it was noted that, unlike other royals, she only allowed men of the rank of colonel or above to kiss her hand.88 One of her courtiers made a note that she had to remind Sophia Magdalena who had the right to kiss her hand.89 The question of knowing what to expect was acute in 1798, when shy young Queen Fredrika was to take part in a cour and grand couvert. She did not know most of the women who would be present, nor if they had the right to kiss her hand. To avoid confusion, an order was issued that all women who were to kiss the queen’s hand, rather than the hem of her dress, were to have no glove on their right hand.90 Those of highest rank could expect to receive a kiss on the cheek, le salut, in return for kissing the royal hand, but this could also be denied. In 1774, for example, the Queen Dowager Lovisa Ulrika refused to give two Ladies of the Palace ‘le Salut’.91 Similarly, at a levée in 1792, the king, when he addressed Count Brahe, ‘welcomed him coldly, not giving him the salut; told him he had become fat’.92 Another embarrassment was to be forced to kiss hands when it was deemed unsuitable. In 1778, Princess Maria Teresa von Salm-Reifferscheid, the wife of the Austrian envoy to Sweden, Count Kageneck, refused to be presented to Queen Sophia Magdalena.93 The reason was that to be presented meant kissing the hand of the queen and the princesses, while Countess Kageneck in return expected to be kissed on the cheek; that, however, was reserved for wives of councillors and for Ladies of the Palace. The impasse left Countess Kageneck barred from attending court functions and court entertainments, and this escalated when, unwisely, she decided to attend an assembly at the Bourse. This coincided with Gustaf III and his court also attending, and the king was enraged at the presence of Countess Kageneck  RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 5 13 December 1790.  Ibid., vol. 7 31 December 1795. 89  Hedvig Rålamb quoted in Wieselgren (1843, xx. 56). 90  RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 10 25 February 1798. 91  VLA, Vadstena, Ridderstadsarkivet Adolf Ludvig Hamilton Diary 1 May 1774. 92   RA Rålambska stiftelsens arkiv vol. 26 Albrekt von Lantingshausen to Jeanna Stockenström, Gävle 23 January 1792. 93  Bonde and af Klercker (1902, i. 154). 87 88

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despite having opted not to be presented. The Master of Ceremonies was ordered to make Countess Kageneck leave the building. This resulted in Austrian diplomatic representation in Stockholm ceasing for six years. In a similar fashion, some years earlier a diplomat’s mistress had got a front-­ row ticket to an opera in the Hall of State in Stockholm Palace. When the king saw her there, he sent a Lieutenant of the Life Guards to expel her.94 In the 1770s and 1780s, members of the Swedish aristocracy feared that the love affairs of the king’s brother, Prince Frederick Adolphus, would result in a royal duchess whose hand might be difficult to kiss. When the prince was besotted with the seventeen-year-old Countess Sophie Fersen, it upset the prince’s mother, Queen Dowager Lovisa Ulrika, who ‘could never have laid aside those Ideas of Royalty which direct her conduct’.95 The mother of the intended bride was also upset and stated ‘she would never consent to kiss her own daughter’s hand at Court’.96 The young woman’s closest friend was the prince’s sister-in-law, Duchess Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta. She was said to have advised strongly against the match. A few years later, the prince was similarly excited about a Miss Wrangel. Countess Brahe, who belonged to the most distinguished aristocratic house in the country, declared that she would rather stay away from court than kiss the hand of Miss Wrangel.97 Observers were alert to how members of the royal family treated people. When Frederick I met the leader of a rebellion in 1743, it was noted that he talked with the man about old wars and invited him to stay for supper.98 In this instance, it was in fact a charade, and the man was arrested afterwards as part of quashing the uprising. Nevertheless, the theatrical display of gracious attention was a reality, and something that monarchs had to master. Lovisa Ulrika and Gustaf III both strove to turn etiquette into an instrument of royal power by publicly rewarding or punishing people. Queen Lovisa Ulrika even went so far as to humiliate members of the royal family. In 1760, she ordered that her youngest son, the ten-year-­ old Prince Frederick Adolph, should go through the humiliation of being seen in public at evensong without his sword, Order decoration, and sash.99 In later years, a critic of Gustaf III described his cour receptions:  UUB L 509.  TNA SP95/126 Lewis de Visme to Lord Suffolk [1776]. 96  Ibid. 97  Bonde and af Klercker (1902, i. 287). 98  Klinckowström (1867, i. 143). 99  RA Ericsbergsarkivet Fredrik Sparres samling vol. 2 Fredrik Sparre, 3 August 1760. 94 95

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After the presentation, the king walked around the circle. His sharp gaze had already seen through it, so he knew who was present, and he had decided how many words with which to grace each and every one. The smallest fortune was a gracious nod, the next one a How are you?, then a short conversation, and the highest was a longer conversation. In this happiness was not only the flattering mark of favour, but the king talked so wittily and politely that it was a pleasure to listen to him. Happy the person who could give a reply which caused a Ha ha. Then the conversation was prolonged. … After he had gone round the circle he gave it a gracious nod and everyone left. Then it could be seen on everyone’s face if they had been favoured with any of the different degrees of fortune, and if the degree they had enjoyed matched their expectations.100

Cour receptions, with card games and meals to follow, were used to mark favour and disfavour. Queen Lovisa Ulrika was criticized for not talking to royal councillors at Cour receptions or meals, thus humiliating them.101 When in 1766 the councillor Count Pehr Kalling was so presumptuous as to accept a Russian chivalric order, the royal family responded by shunning Kalling at court functions. At the crown prince’s Cour, Kalling was duly ignored, so he withdrew before it ended. As he was making his sortie, though, he heard some people loudly exclaim, ‘See the Swedish ass with the Russian bridle’. Kalling went on to the king’s Cour reception, but was ignored there too, and when a Chamber Gentleman presented Adolf Fredrik with a list of possible partners for a game of cards, the king took a pen and wrote ‘Cessat’ by Kalling’s name, and another player had to be found’.102 The humiliations continued for several months, so Kalling tried a rapprochement. Together with other councillor he travelled out to the royal summer palace of Drottningholm, but as soon as Adolf Fredrik heard that Kalling was among the party, he declared himself unwell, and the royal family dined in their rooms, thus precluding any meal which might feature the royal councillors.103 Some weeks later, Kalling again visited Drottningholm, but on that occasion the royal table, which had already been laid, was cleared again and the royal family ate in private.104 This continued for months, with Kalling trying ‘in several  Schück (1904, i. 56–7).  KB L 82:1:11 Tessins dagbok 1760. 102  Jägerskiöld (1974, 264–5), 23 April 1766. 103  Ibid., 360, 14 August 1766. 104  Ibid., 375, 31 August 1766. 100 101

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different fashions to gain the favour of his Majesty’. At last he was allowed into the king’s presence in front of several others, where he fell to his knees, admitted his fault, and begged for forgiveness while promising to change.105 Public shame left attendees at the mercy of royal humour. The thin-­ skinned and much-humiliated Baron Sparre was not only bossed around by the crown prince, but was ignored by the king and queen too. After a ball in 1763, he wrote ‘I had an incredibly wretched time, as I and my wife were the only ones present to whom the royal persons did not show any sign of grace or favour, and as court favour sets the tone in society these day, we were not surprised that at this occasion almost everyone avoided and shunned us. Still, we were careful not to show that we took any less joy in the festivities than the others’.106 At one cour reception, the Prussian envoy Count Karl Friedrich Ludwig von Nostitz-Rieneck was unhappy because he had ‘been either not spoken to, or treated with particular coolness’.107 Apart from hurtful comments or simply cutting someone, royals could exclude attendees from the traditional marks of favour such as invitations to dine or play cards. People of a certain rank expected these favours and felt publicly shamed if they were not offered. One Russian diplomat was said to have demanded to be recalled because the queen dowager repeatedly chose not to play cards with him.108 In 1770, a Polish German nobleman and mystic, Ernst von Kortum, was presented at court, but later complained about not being invited to the royal table.109 The public character of inclusion or exclusion was further stressed when Gustaf III began to carry a piece of paper at cours on which he very publicly jotted down who was to be invited to supper with him, ‘a new façon which makes many embarrassed’.110 One Prussian diplomat asked Hauswolff why he was not invited to play cards with the king and made the Master of Ceremonies look into the matter.111 Conversely, when someone was unexpectedly invited to play cards this was also noted. Thus the Polish Count Georg  Ibid., 416, 2 October 1766.  RA Ericsbergsarkivet Fredrik Sparres samling vol. 3 Fredrik Sparre, 18 December 1763 (under January 1764). 107  TNA SP95/126 Lewis de Visme to Lord Suffolk, Stockholm, 9 February 1776. 108  Montan (1877, i. 24). 109  UUB L 509. 110  Näsström (1951, 35), January 1773. 111  RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 6 10 November 1793 p.152. 105 106

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Potocki attended a Cour and Grand Couvert in 1796 and ‘had the favour to play with His Majesty, which has not happened at other Cour days since his congé from court, though he has attended all Cours and Grand Couverts’.112 Count Potocki had a few years earlier been the only foreign diplomat not ignored by the king at a Cour after a fracas over a ban on coffee.113 A degree worse than being ignored was to suffer the indignity of the monarch turning his back on you. Frederick I was reported to have turned his back on the courtier and Hat politician Count Tessin several times during the 1738–39 Diet.114 In 1801, the former favourite Armfelt returned after a long exile and attended the king’s rapport in the Great Bedchamber (the rapport was a ceremony in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century when military officers reported to the king and it took on some of the characteristics of the levée after the latter had been abolished). He then sneaked behind the golden rail and tried to make contact with his old enemy, Duke Charles, but the duke studiously turned his back on him.115 Courtiers and others felt a turned back was among the worst humiliations possible.116 A monarch could also turn away his or her face from someone at the moment of greeting to demonstrate displeasure.117 At the zenith as well as the nadir of royal power, then, Sweden’s monarchs wielded strong influence over etiquette. In discussion in 1810, Queen Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotte spoke to the Court Mistress (Hovmästarinna) Countess Fersen, who it was known felt that the queen had encroached on the privileges of her office by herself presenting the women of the highest rank to the new crown prince. The queen supposedly said, ‘remember that I was at the court of Gustaf III when you were but a child and could not have any idea of what happened there. It is always the king who decides in matters of etiquette’.118 That much was true: Gustaf III, invoked by his sister-in-law as a great authority, did not hesitate to take the lead in arranging ceremonies. When one courtier tried to argue that the Finance Minister Liljencrantz should be seated at a better  Ibid., vol. 8 28 April 1796.  Ibid., vol. 6 9 November 1794. 114  Fryxell, xxvii. 110. 115  Ahnfelt (1881, iii. 260). 116  RA Tosterupsamlingen Skrivelser till I L Silfversparre vol. 59 Sebastian Moltzer Stael to Isak Lars Silfversparre, Naples 23 April 1793 117  Bonde and af Klercker (1942, ix. 607), July 1817. 118  Bonde and af Klercker (1939, viii. 495), January 1810. 112 113

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table at supper, the king acceded that Liljencrantz held one of the main offices of state, ‘but birth is an important consideration at court, and I want people to get used to these, to my mind necessary, distinctions’.119 Thus he had placed Liljencrantz at a table with other high officers who did not belong to the old aristocracy. Visits by foreign princes provided opportunities to display status. When Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick visited in 1778, the king tried to use the seating plan to establish that his councillors outranked foreign princes. He kept up a conversation with Prince Ferdinand and when supper was announced took him under his left arm, and, as if by accident, courtier and councillor Count Bielke under his right arm, and walked to the table. There it was then natural to sit down in the same order.120 By stressing the high rank of his own councillor, the king further emphasized his own exalted status. Again, when the king’s cousin, Prince Peter of Holstein, visited Stockholm, one of the royal councillors tried to claim superior status by positioning himself in good time by the King’s Bedchamber door so he could enter first; however, the king gave the prince the formal entrée, thus squashing the councillor’s efforts. As one courtier observed, ‘where there are many forms of etiquette introduced, there are a thousand opportunities to turn them to the advantage of whoever you please’.121 Yet while members of the royal family had the upper hand in deciding etiquette, they were to some degree dependent on the aristocracy’s acceptance. In the thick of the conflict with the queen in 1810, Countess Fersen absented herself by pretending to be ill. Avoidance, like its sibling obstruction, offered members of the court a degree of leverage, and was used to channel discontent, for example about royal appointments, by freezing out new courtiers.122 In 1795 the court became aware that the wife of one Major Carl von Cardell, who was in favour with Duke Regent Charles, was to be presented, which created uproar as it ran counter to established etiquette. Noblewomen or wives of ennobled men of high rank could be presented at court, but Major Cardell was a commoner and a foreigner, and his wife was rumoured to be both divorced and Jewish. Thus it was made clear to the Duke that Mrs. Cardell was not of a rank to merit presentation. The Duke, infuriated, demanded the presentation go  Montan (1877, i. 306).  Tegnér (1892, i. 86). 121  Montan (1878, ii. 87), 23 February 1780. 122  Bonde and af Klercker (1939, viii. 494). 119 120

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ahead, at which point the necessary noblewomen serving at court refused en masse to be involved. Normally, a woman who was presented would be shepherded by another who was already presented at court, and would then work her way through a long list of visits to be presented to the most important members of the court. On this occasion, as one courtier wrote, ‘as none of the Ladies wanted to escort her, her husband himself did it without being presented to anyone’.123 A presentation without the guidance of court aristocrat must have been deeply humiliating. Another courtier mentioned that one of the Maids of Honour was nearly caught up in the sorry business, and how damaging that would have been.124 Later, Hauswolff himself noted that Mrs. Cardell was the daughter of ‘Moses’, a Court Jew in Berlin (in fact, Moses Isaac Fliess), and ‘there was a great deal of strife before she was presented, but she was never summoned to any [royal] suppers’.125 After the outrage and humiliation, Mrs. Cardell remained an outsider even though she had been presented. There was a repeat performance twenty years later, when a Mrs. Hall, the nobly born sister of the king’s mistress, Maid of Honour Mariana Koskull, was to be presented. A storm of protest met the king’s plan, and several aristocratic women at court who were ordered to be in charge of the presentation conveniently fell ill. In the end it fell to the Lady of the Palace Ruuth to perform the task, but she was so uncomfortable about it that ‘she immediately afterwards fainted’.126 Courtiers were not slow to seize any and all opportunities to ‘make distinctions’ among themselves, as when Gustaf III introduced suppers hosted by Ladies of the Palace (Statsfruar) in imitation of Versailles.127 And while Queen Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta may have said that the monarch decided etiquette, it was still recognized that courtiers not only had a say in the matter, but also had rights. When her Mistress of the Court was asked to hand the crown prince a teacup, this was strictly a duty for a Chamber Gentleman. On this occasion, the Countess agreed to the task

123  RA Ruuthska samlingen vol. 5 [E 5217] Carl Mörner to Erik Ruuth Stockholm 12 January 1795. 124  RA Ericsbergsarkivet Sophia Albertinas samling vol. 28 Caroline Rudenschöld to Sophia Albertina, 18 January 1795. 125  RA Sjöholmsarkivet Manuskript- och avskriftssamlingen vol. 2. 126  Carlquist (1921, 130). 127  Montan (1878, ii. 15).

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on the understanding that it was done in the inner rooms, away from the public eye, and that it would not in any way prejudice her future duties.128

Ceremonial Memory and Codification From the 1750s to the 1780s, Queen Lovisa Ulrika and her son Gustaf III bolstered royal power by introducing etiquette. This was seen as going against the general European trend, but now can be seen for what it was: a means to strengthen unusually weak royal power. With the importance of etiquette dunned into them since infancy, the king and his siblings upheld the key feature of the late eighteenth-century Swedish monarchy. However, whereas Gustaf III’s tact and personal touch could temper etiquette and defuse awkward situations, in the decades following his death, etiquette was adhered to, but was used with less imagination. His son, Gustaf IV Adolph (1792–1809) was always one for the literal interpretation and deeply revered his murdered father. His aunt, Duchess Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotte, said he once claimed he would never change what his father had decided.129 He was also a strict disciplinarian, who demanded obedience to rules and raged against subordinates who did not meet his standards. His aunt characterized him in matters of etiquette as ‘terribly particular and keeps strictly to old customs’.130 This meant that etiquette was carefully observed but was entirely lacking in its earlier flexibility, which coincided with a process of codification that made changes and improvisations more difficult, resulting in temporary ossification until the 1820s. The codification of etiquette was driven by the interest of members of the royal family such as Lovisa Ulrika and Gustaf III, but also by a number of courtiers who became engrossed in court customs in the reign of Gustaf III.  Naturally, an interest in ceremony was nothing new, but the documentation of Swedish court ceremonies and etiquette had been quite rudimentary. Compare that to the French court, where on the introduction of the office of the Master of Ceremonies in 1585, records were ordered to be kept.131 The Swedish court was about a century behind the French in keeping close track of ceremony and etiquette. On the birth of  RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 22 21 January 1810.  Bonde and af Klercker (1936, vii. 146), November 1801. 130  Ibid., vii. 198, October 1802. 131  Sternberg (2014, 13–14). 128 129

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the crown prince in 1778, the records were combed for detailed descriptions of ceremonies around royal births, but the result was meagre: apart from printed descriptions from the births of the king and his siblings in the 1740s and 1750s, nothing was found apart from letters of notification to other princes.132 Older ceremonials for solemn acts such as coronations or royal funerals were largely lists of processions—limited use when recreating such ceremonies or plundering them for useful ideas. Etiquette for diplomats was better preserved than almost any other. Before the 1754 ceremonial was established, diplomats were treated according to prescriptions drawn up in 1692. The journals of the Master of Ceremonies, which survive for 1699 and then from 1719 onwards with a few gaps, provided brief outlines for the reception of diplomats. In 1727 there was a regulation that covered how people of quality should pay their respects to the royal family at festivities such as New Year, royal birthdays, and name days133: people were to be admitted according to rank and shepherded through the rooms to avoid unseemly disorder; no ‘common people’ were to be allowed in, but ‘honest burghers’ were to be admitted, though not so many as to crowd out ‘those who should be at court’, and ‘when they have been a little inside, they should leave’. Tessin had an abiding interest in ceremonies, and collected old documents of this kind in the 1750s and 1760s. Yet very few had been written down, and instead they were learnt by being in a court environment. An old courtier pointed out that a later historian had clearly failed to grasp the social niceties when he thought that the king could socialize with his advisors of common birth.134 Other ‘court customs’ included turning away when the king read a letter.135 Mastery of court rules and manners would set you apart from outsiders, who were unaware of the social codes of the court; it equipped you with a knowledge of precedence, of greeting rituals and kissing and bowing, and of how to comport yourself—how to stand, how to hold your hands, your tone of voice, the proper words to use. Once you had mastered the complex codes of behaviour, you were ready to try to game the system and change it in your favour. With the new Court Ordinance of 1778, it was clearly stated that the Chief Chamber Gentleman was responsible for ceremonies and was to  RA Ceremonialia vol. 2 Carl Johan Spantz (?) to Secretary of State NN, n.d. [1770s].  RA Ceremonialia vol. 2 12 December 1727. 134  Löwenhielm published by Fryxell (1882, 234). 135  Ibid., 193. 132 133

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keep records.136 This resulted in one volume, kept primarily by Count Fredrik Ridderstolpe (Chief Chamber Gentleman, 1766–87), but with some entries by the likes of Leonhard von Hauswolff. The latter was appointed Master of Ceremonies in 1790, and unlike most of his predecessors in the eighteenth century stayed in office for several decades until his death in 1826. He had already served as a Court Gentleman since 1767 and was passionately interested in rank, ceremony, and etiquette. Hauswolff was also meticulous in his record-keeping in a way his predecessors had not been, and although strictly speaking his job was limited to diplomats and diplomatic ceremony, his journals increasingly documented other areas of court etiquette. Hauswolff was determined to preserve etiquette for generations to come. An overview of the order of ranks used at the Congress of Vienna was marked by Hauswolff ‘for my successor’.137 In 1826, when the official journal and other notes were passed to the new Chief Master of Ceremonies Carl Gustaf d’Albedyhll, he noted that they were ‘most useful annotations concerning this office which all testify to the excellent order and attention to detail which characterized all the actions of this respectable man as well as his zeal on all occasions diligently to promote all that behoved the exalted dignity of Majesty’.138 Hauswolff’s decades of experience and collections of documents made him the doyen of elite etiquette, and he became a figure of fascination in the 1810s and 1820s. By then in manner and dress, he was the embodiment of a long-gone age. One observer noted that Hauswolff always wore make-up, unless the court was in mourning, and walked on tiptoe in a way quite unlike men’s gait in the 1820s (Fig. 7.2). It is clear that Ridderstolpe and Hauswolff also had to rely on their own experience and on oral tradition. They were both described as living lexica. Gustaf III himself called Ridderstolpe a ‘living lexicon’ of ceremonious occasions, and Hauswolff was characterized by a courtier as ‘a living lexicon in anything concerning etiquette and ceremony; this oracle was also often used, not just for the court but also for private occasions’.139 Hauswolff was later portrayed as the guardian of the existing court  SLA Riksmarskalksämbetet D I:1 Hovordning 1778.  RA Palmstiernska samlingen vol. 75. 138  RA Ericsbergsarkivet Familjens Bondes papper vol. 30 Journal by d’Albedyhll 1 June 1826. 139  Geijer (1844, iii. 135), Gustaf III to Gustaf Philip Creutz, Parma 27 April 1784; KB, Stockholm, I.n.1.2 [Nauckhoff]. 136 137

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Fig. 7.2  Anders Emanuel Müller, Leonhard von Hauswolff, copyright Norrköpings Konstmuseum/Mats Arvidsson

etiquette. It was said that changes in etiquette around 1820 ‘were as knife blows to the chest of the Chief Master of Ceremonies … as to him there was nothing grand, beautiful, admirable if “blessed King Gösta’s”—as he always called Gustaf III—etiquette was debased’.140 Another guardian of the eighteenth-century etiquette was Claes Fleming, an old courtier who eventually became head of the court. He ‘was pained by digressions from the laws of etiquette, which he as Chief Marshal often had to witness, always noted on, but rarely could pre-empt’.141 Similarly the old courtier Jakob De la Gardie also tried to preserve etiquette in the 1820s and 1830s. When Hauswolff, Ridderstolpe, De la Gardie, and Fleming made decisions on etiquette, their instinct was always to check if there was a precedent. What had been done before? Typically, the funeral of the queen  Crusenstolpe (1881, ii. 210).  Ahnfelt (1880, ii. 135).

140 141

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dowager in 1813 was to follow the last funeral of a queen dowager (1782) ‘as much as the changes of the time will permit’: precedent was extremely important, but it had to be tempered with necessary adjustments for the changing times.142 Precedents could be found in various sources. Hauswolff read Ehrensvärd’s diary from the 1770s and the published diary of Charles XI, along with historical works, descriptions of ceremonies at foreign courts, and his own journals. He also asked older courtiers for advice, especially Count Nils Posse, who as Chief Chamber Gentleman had been responsible for ceremonies after he succeeded Ridderstolpe in 1787. Adolph Frederick and Lovisa Ulrika’s new etiquette had been established in 1754, but how far did ceremonial memory stretch? In the work on the 1754 etiquette, the Diet declared in committee that ‘Ceremony and Etiquette at Courts draw their greatest lustre and greatest strength from age and long custom, so that what now is decided should in the main remain unchanged unless necessary; though the example of other Courts and the change of times might sometimes give cause to that’.143 However, the more detailed sources and the memories of living courtiers available to Hauswolff, Fleming, De la Gardie, and Ridderstolpe could not have dated any further back than the 1740s. There were indubitable elements of court life that had a long history, but claims to ancient etiquette and precedent were normally shaky at best.

Change After 1809 At a wedding in 1776, the courtier Baron Gustaf Johan Ehrensvärd wrote, ‘At royal weddings the Councillors of the Realm dance the torch dance in their robes, at court weddings only the courtiers and the former are a much more entertaining spectacle to behold. You cannot deny yourself the ridiculous sight of old men who want to govern the fate of Europe, with trembling knees and a dripping torch, tripping some Polonaise steps and with all Roman gravitas dancing to another’s tune’.144 The torch dance illustrated the changes in etiquette over time. It had been part of court life under Vasa rule in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Like many customs and ceremonies, it was probably an import from German courts. It was also a custom that fell out of use in the seventeenth century.  RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 25 22 August 1813.  RA Ceremonialia Sekreta Utskottet. 144  Montan (1877, i. 65). 142 143

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For the wedding of Crown Prince Adolph Frederick and the Prussian Princess Lovisa Ulrika, the torch dance was reintroduced at the Swedish court in an invention of tradition—or a re-invention. It was finally abolished in the 1830s.145 The process of codification continued after Hauswolff’s death, but the efforts to keep records of the Master of Ceremonies soon faltered. Instead, various collections of documents, often drawn up by Hauswolff, continued to be used as guidance until the end of the nineteenth century. This, paradoxically, meant that eighteenth-century etiquette continued to be the model for the nineteenth century in a way that the seventeenth century had not been for the eighteenth. At the same time, the existence of documentation made changes in ceremony much clearer than they had been a hundred years before. Hauswolff, his successor Baron d’Albedyhll, Fleming, and De la Gardie all continued to fight to preserve established etiquette.146 So, the decades of codification were followed by decades of adaption, but still most of the ceremonial framework was retained. A popular writer described Hauswolff’s disgust at new customs in the 1820s. He found it repulsive to ‘begin your step with the heel and the noise of iron heels, sabres and spurs, especially at court. It was when he was overwhelmed in his disgust at these new manners in the royal residence that old man Hauswolff, tripping on the polished floor in the King’s Great Bedchamber over the long spurs of attending Aide-de-Camp Baron Gustaf Koskull, exclaimed “My God, what a court!”’147 Hauswolff’s criticism of new manners was clear in the increasing number of ‘observations’ (anmärkningar) he made in his journals. At a royal ball, he noted with abhorrence the sigh of ‘all summoned officers and civilians dancing in boots. The former are no novelty to me in these times, but to find all the same attire, where some used to have stockings and shoes. It was truly the first court ball since 1768 which I have attended where all the dancers wore boots!’ He also disagreed with sending invitations to royal balls as the tradition was to command attendance—‘A prince can order, but does not need to invite’. 145  It has been claimed it was abolished in the 1820s, but was still danced in 1833. RA Skoklostersamlingen E 8618:14 Magnus Brahe to Aurora Vilhelmina Koskull, Stockholm, 10 December 1833. 146  Hauswolff’s successor Baron d’Albedyhll was brought back in 1844 to prepare the ceremony for both the royal funeral and the coronation that year (SLA Riksmarskalksämbetet E 1:19). 147  Crusenstolpe (1881, ii. 211).

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Hauswolff also noted that he had to contact the foreign office ‘as the ignorance of Ceremony and Etiquette of those ruling and working in the Cabinet since 1809 has been insufferable to me and leads to unforgivable confusion’.148 In general, Hauswolff had little patience with people unwilling to conform to etiquette—‘when you remember that in the time of Gustaf III, you always danced in black court dress, those who then were present now find it strange that it is seen as a difficulty’.149 Hauswolff wrote he could not abide see ‘etiquette being boxed about the ears’.150 De la Gardie remembered wistfully ‘the days of Gustaf III and Gustaf Adolf when court etiquette otherwise was observed with such diligence’.151 Change was in itself a source of confusion, especially if it was administered by people without a firm grasp of etiquette. Hauswolff’s successor d’Albedyhll tried to uphold standards, but did not receive support from the royal family, who were upstarts themselves. In 1826, the British envoy Lord Bloomfield’s wife wore a hat when presented to Princess Sophia Albertina, for which faux pas Bloomfield apologized, blaming ‘her ignorance of the customs here’ and bad advice.152 The Master of Ceremonies Baron D’Albedyhll noted that the Court Mistress Countess Marcelle Tascher de la Pagerie, a niece of Queen Desirée and like her a commoner by birth, was ‘extremely vague and indecisive in her decisions’. An earlier serial offender was the British diplomat Sir Edward Thornton, the son of an innkeeper, and not the kind of person who could have reached high office in Sweden. Thornton complained that his wife’s carriage was not allowed into the palace courtyard—at the Court of St James’s, diplomats’ wives did have that privilege, but in Sweden, it was the preserve of Lords of the Realm (Rikets herrar) and their spouses. Hauswolff was unimpressed and replied that ‘I only replied that every court has established their own etiquette, which you had to revere and submit to’, and ‘I have to much reverence for the honour to drive into the courtyard to let it be desecrated’.153 The following day, Hauswolff discussed Thornton’s efforts with the Chief Court Mistress (Överhovmästarinna), 148  RA Palmstiernska samlingen vol. 75 Leonhard von Hauswolff to Hiort (22 June 1813), copy, with comment by Hauswolff. 149  RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 28 1 January 1816. 150  Clason and af Petersens (1909, 214). 151  LUB DLG 308 JG De la Gardies dagbok 4 July 1826. 152   RA Ericsbergsarkivet Familjens Bondes papper vol. 30 d’Albedyhll journal, 27 December 1826. 153  RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 28 20 October 1816.

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Countess Christina Charlotta Stierneld. She agreed with Hauswolff not to back down, and let it be known that diplomats’ wives planning to visit her had to be properly instructed in etiquette.154 At the same time, Countess Stierneld had to parry the attempts by the Dutch envoy, who wanted the etiquette for the presentation of diplomats’ wives to be further toned down by allowing them to be presented on their own rather than together with other women.155 Only a few weeks later, however, Thornton was at it again. ‘With amazement I have learnt that the minister [Thornton] wore a tailcoat, and when he received the Duke did not have his hat in his hand, but could easily be mistaken for a servant who also wore colourful tailcoats. It is unusual in Sweden to receive royal persons so casually; though it may be the custom in England, the general rule is to adapt to existing custom’.156 Thornton’s later successor Bloomfield was also lackadaisical in matters of ceremony. In 1826, it was noted that he did not instruct Englishmen who were presented at court to go through the extensive round of visits that came with a presentation.157 Bloomfield also managed to extract the privilege to drive his carriage into the palace courtyard.158 The American envoy, John James Appleton, was similarly casual in his approach to court presentation.159 Hauswolff was also highly disapproving of two young Counts d’Otrante, sons of Napoleon’s minister of police Joseph Fouché, who were presented at court—‘they are said to be very young’ and ‘they have taken the presentation lightly and wore black tailcoats’.160

A Changing Constant At New Year in 1764, Baron Sparre, at last relieved from his duties attending on the crown prince, observed the antics of Badin, an African servant of the queen.161 He was allowed free rein, which resulted in all sorts of things from trying to ‘bite the stomach of fat Ribbing’ to calling  Ibid., 21 October 1816.  Ibid., vol. 28 31 October 1816. 156  Ibid., vol. 28 23 November 1816. 157  RA Ericsbergsarkivet Familjens Bondes papper vol. 30 Journal by d’Albedyhll, 16 September 1826. 158  Ibid., November 1826. 159  Ibid., 2 November 1826. 160  RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 34 11 juni 1822. 161  RA Ericsbergsarkivet Fredrik Sparres samling vol. 3 Diary, 1 January 1764. 154 155

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the crown prince ‘Gustaf, you rascal’. ‘In the rooms he runs around how he pleases, pushing everyone aside, whomever it may be, who is in his way. At the table he dangles between the chairs of the queen and the king, swinging back and forth how he likes. For the dessert, he was hoisted onto the table, where he walked back and forth between plates and plateaux, talking incessantly and often saying the dirtiest foolishness’. Badin was considered comic relief at a court where etiquette was always present, and was inflicted by members of the royal family and courtiers on one another, and too much etiquette seemed to shackle daily life. Indeed, etiquette survived coups and upheavals. Three days after King Gustaf IV had been imprisoned in a coup d’état in March 1809, his uncle Duke Charles, the new Regent, gave his first cour reception and issued instructions that cours would be held every Thursday.162 When the deposed king some months later was hastily sent out of the country with his family as a political risk, there was still time to observe the niceties. When he reached the border under heavy guard, and prepared to embark for Germany, a courtier arrived from the new king, his uncle Charles XIII, sending the former royal family ‘compliments for their felicitous journey and to ask after their health’.163 On the same occasion, the former king himself said to a countess who had served his wife and was now parting with them, ‘Madame, I do not kiss you; since I am no longer king it is not for me to give you the salut’. The courtier who reported this added disapprovingly, ‘etiquette with its cold conventions prevailed even in this solemn moment over the affections of the heart!’164 The salut was a kiss on the cheek by a royal person, a privilege only granted a few high-ranking women. The queen, always less strict when it came to etiquette, ‘followed Countess Taube a few more steps and kissed her again’. The royal family then set sail and left Sweden forever. A lifetime spent at court meant that court values and courtly conduct were deeply ingrained. The meticulous Chief Master of Ceremonies, Leonhard von Hauswolff, noted in 1809 that the new king Charles XIII was ‘born with the noble dignity with which he acts in public, so you are used to it’.165 Hauswolff himself had cut a somewhat ridiculous figure when keeping up with the prescribed etiquette under these circumstances.  RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 21 16 March 1809.  KB, Stockholm, I.b.26 Bernhard von Beskows kalenderanteckningar. 164  Svenska Akademien, Stockholm, vol. 85 fol. 222. 165  RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 21 6 June 1809. 162 163

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On the day of the coup, Hauswolff had been sent around Stockholm as a herald to formally declare that the Duke had assumed the Regency. Malicious rumour had it that with his bright velvet cassock, plumes, and high-pitched voice, some Stockholmers thought it was the queen dowager traipsing around town to beg the mob spare her son.166 Gustaf IV had been drilled in etiquette, as had his father Gustaf III. After the toppling of Gustaf IV in 1809, his impetuous aunt Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta was worried she would ‘look stupid’ if she made a mess of things at the coronation, and made her court give her lessons in etiquette.167 She rehearsed greeting the crowds as she processed to church, how to make her reverence to the king, and other key moments. A ‘dress rehearsal’ was arranged where the queen wore her coronation outfit with its long train, and walked solemnly through her rooms greeting chairs and tables who were standing in for members of the Diet, Chinese porcelain figurines who were officers, and a large vase who was the king himself. A former maid of honour said rehearsals went well—despite the queen’s audible and frequent self-reproof, ‘Damn, this is not good enough’—and she managed to learn how to perform in public, ‘transformed into queen’ from a mere royal duchess. The maid of honour who retold this scene many years later obviously downplayed the decades of experience the queen already had. She was well aware of her rank, and was, for example, displeased when someone had forgotten that she had the right to be escorted by two, rather than one, Excellencies to church at a later ceremony.168 Even a royal famed for being casual was etiquette aware. The whole Swedish royal family was invested in etiquette from the 1740s to the 1810s. Etiquette is sometimes seen as epitomizing the dead hand of regulation. In reality, it was often the result of negotiation and adaption to real circumstances. Etiquette was ever changing—even though the ancient and unchanging nature of etiquette was often claimed to be the source of its legitimacy. When new court ordinances and regulations were drawn up, they reflected an ambition to compete with other courts. At first Danish and German and later also Imperial, Spanish, and French models were used. Court ordinances and descriptions of court occasions were eagerly collected. When the new royal palace was completed in 1754, new etiquette was deemed essential.  KB, Stockholm, I.n.1.2 Nauckhoff.  Schück (1919). 168  RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 24 11 December 1814. 166 167

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Etiquette also reflected the ebb and flow of power. King Gustaf III, raised with etiquette as one of the few remaining weapons the royal family had at its disposal, was very active in using it to entrench royal dignity. Equally, it is evident that Queen Lovisa Ulrika had consciously used etiquette to enhance the weakened royal authority and to denigrate the ruling royal councillors. This strategy was complicated, as the councillors and their families would sometimes boycott court functions in retaliation. Etiquette was in many ways a never-ending round of negotiations. Would the people taking part accept it or any changes, or would they obstruct or try to change etiquette according to their own interests? It was also an indispensable instrument to maintain order. At court there was constant competition within the hierarchy—at all courts, the hierarchy was always an apple of discord—and to keep some semblance of order etiquette was essential, even as it was matter of negotiation and pressure, which saw different groups and individuals gain or lose status. As Hauswolff put it, ‘all etiquette is to impose a limit on pretensions’.169 Hauswolff himself was quoted as replying to a Countess Piper, ‘Most gracious Countess, etiquette at a court is an unavoidable necessity, comparable to order in the house of an ordinary burgher’.170 From the 1770s, there was also a process of codification, and long-­ serving courtiers such as Ridderstolpe and Hauswolff left extensive journals and notes, which gives us a chance to follow how etiquette evolved and changed. A ceremonial memory was created that would continue to serve courtiers and the royal family until the end of the nineteenth century. This also made changes in etiquette visible in a way that had not been the case in the early eighteenth century. Furthermore, the establishing and strict adherence to etiquette, albeit always an etiquette that would adapt and change (despite claims to the contrary), was internalized by courtiers from at least the late eighteenth century, if not before. It was not just the royal family who were deeply affected by living in a court environment that also applied to much of the nobility drawn into the orbit of the court.

 Ibid., vol. 28 9 October 1816.  LUB, Lund, DLG 310 JG De la Gardies dagbok 23 June 1830. In 1816, Hauswolff does express his views on etiquette in similar terms. RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 28 20 October 1816. 169 170

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References Published Sources Ahnfelt, Arvid (ed.), Ur svenska hofvets och aristokratiens lif, 7 vols (Stockholm: Lamm, 1880–83). Bonde, Carl & Cecilia af Klercker (eds), Hedvig Elisabeth Charlottas dagbok, 9 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1902–42). Carlquist, Gunnar (ed.), Landshöfdingen Gustaf Wathier Hamilton och hans anteckningar från Karl Johanstiden (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1921). Clason, Sam & Carl af Petersens (eds), Skildringar och bref från revolutionsåren 1809–1810 (Stockholm: Hugo Gebers förlag, 1909). Fryxell, Anders (ed.), Bidrag till Sveriges historia efter 1772 (Stockholm: Hierta, 1882). Geijer, Erik Gustaf (ed.), Konung Gustaf III:s efterlemnade och femtio år efter hans död öppnade papper, 3 vols (Uppsala: Wahlström & Låstbom, 1843–45). Hennings, Beth, Ögonvittnen om Gustav III (Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand, 1960). Jägerskiöld, Olof (ed.), Daniel Tilas: Anteckningar och brev från riksdagen 1765–1766 (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1974). Klinckowström, Rudolf Mauritz (ed.), Riksrådet och Fältmarskalken m.m. Grefve Fredrik Axel von Fersens historiska skrifter, 8 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1867–72). Montan, Erik Vilhelm (ed.), Dagbokanteckningar förda vid Gustaf III:s hof af friherre Gustaf Johan Ehrensvärd, 2 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1877–78). Nilzén, Göran (ed.), Axel Reuterholms dagboksanteckningar under riksdagen i Stockholm 1738–39 (Stockholm: Kungl. Samfundet för utgivande av handskrifter rörande Skandinaviens historia, 2006). Näsström, Gustaf (ed.), En gustaviansk dagbok: Johan Fischerströms anteckningar för året 1773 (Stockholm: Lagerström, 1951). Schück, Henrik (ed.), Excellensen grefve A.  F. Skjöldebrands memoarer, 5 vols (Stockholm: Geber, 1904). ——— (ed.), Den sista gustavianska hofdamen: Ur Marianne Ehrenströms minnen (Stockholm: Geber, 1919). Silfverstolpe, Carl (ed.), Riksrådet grefve A. J. Höpkens skrifter, 2 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1890–93).

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Tegnér, Elof (ed.), Minnen och anteckningar af Lars von Engeström, 2 vols (Stockholm: Beijer (ed.), Från Tredje Gustafs dagar: Anteckningar och minnen af E.  Schröderheim, G.  G. Adlerbeth och G.  M. Armfelt, 3 vols (Stockholm: Beijer, 1892–94). Wieselgren, Peter (ed.), De la Gardieska archivet, 20 vols (Lund: Lundbergska boktryckeriet, 1821–43).

Secondary Publications Beales, Derek, Joseph II, 2 vols (Cambridge: CUP, 1987–2009). Beattie, John M., The English Court in the Reign of George I (Cambridge: CUP, 1967). Biskup, Thomas, ‘The hidden queen: Elizabeth Christine of Prussia and Hohernzollern queenship in the eighteenth century’, in Campbell-Orr, Friedrichs Grösse: Inszenierungen des Preußenkönigs in Fest und Zeremoniell 1740–1815 (Frankfurt am Main: Campus Verlag, 2012). Crusenstolpe, Magnus Jakob, Karl Johan och svenskarne: Romantiserad skildring, 4 vols (Stockholm: Bonnier, 1881). Duindam, Jeroen, Vienna and Versailles: The Courts of Europe’s Dynastic Rivals, 1550–1780 (Cambridge: CUP, 2003). Fryxell, Anders, Berättelser ur svenska historien, 46 vols (Stockholm: Hjerta, 1823–79). Hanham, Andrew, ‘Caroline of Brandenburg-Ansbach and the “Anglicisation” of the House of Hanover’, in Campbell-Orr 2004. Hennings, Beth, Gustav III som kronprins (Stockholm: Gebers, 1935). Hyltén-Cavallius, Gunnar Olof (ed), Märkvärdigheter rörande Sveriges förhållanden 1788–1794, af J. C. Barfod (Stockholm: Hjerta, 1846). Jägerskiöld, Olof, Hovet och författningsfrågan 1760–1766 (Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1943). ———, Lovisa Ulrika (Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand, 1945). Klingensmith, Samuel John, The Utility of Splendor: Ceremony, Social Life, and Architecture at the Court of Bavaria, 1600–1800 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993). Lönnroth, Erik, Den stora rollen: Kung Gustaf III spelad av honom själv (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1986). Sahlberg, Gardar, Mera makt åt kungen: Revolutionsförsöket 1756 (Stockholm: Bonnier, 1976). Schlözer, August Ludwig von, Schwedische Biographie, 2 vols (Leipzig, 1760–68). Sternberg, Giora, Status Interaction During the Reign of Louis XIV (Oxford: OUP, 2014). Tegnér, Elof, Gustaf Mauritz Armfelt: Studier ur Armfelts efterlämnade papper, 2 vols (Stockholm: F.G. Beijers förlag, 1883–84).

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Thanner, Lennart, Revolutionen i Sverige efter Karl XII:s död (Uppsala: Almkvist & Wiksell, 1953). Völkel, Michaela, ‘Die öffentlichen Tafel an den europäischen Höfen der frühen Neuzeit’ in Hans Ottomeyer & Michaela Völkel (eds), Die öffentliche Tafel. Tafelzeremoniell in Europa 1300–1900 (Berlin: Minerva, 2002). Weibull, Martin (ed.), ‘Anteckningar af Carl Christoffer Gjörwell om sig sjelf, samtida personer händelser’, in id. (ed.) Samlingar utgifna för de skånska landskapens historiska och arkeologiska förening (Lund, 1874).

CHAPTER 8

Ties of Honour

Day of the Orders. Celebrated with the usual ceremonies in the new palace. Sermon given in the Palace Chapel where presidents Zander, Ridderstolpe, Admiral Ruuth and General Marcks von Würtemberg were dubbed. Chapter was held afterwards in the gallery. One novelty seen the meal was that their Majesties ate at their own table, and that the tables where the knights ate only touched their Majesties’ table. The other novelty was that their Majesties alone dined from golden plate and the knights from the silver.1

A mere seven years after the introduction of chivalric orders in Sweden in 1748 and already they were established enough to be described as ‘the usual ceremonies’ by a royal councillor. The same observer noted how the royal family used order ceremonies to exalt their own position. That use of orders by the monarchy would be a constant theme. Even before they began dining from gold plates, King Adolf Fredrik and Queen Lovisa Ulrika had been interested in an honours system. In August 1744, the day before their wedding, the royal party set out in barges for Drottningholm Palace. In the process, the princess broke her fan. Crown Prince Adolf Fredrik gathered up the pieces and handed them out to the present people as a keepsake. From this was founded, a year later, the Order of Harmony—L’Ordre de l’Harmonie. With a symbol depicting a barge and fans and the inscription ‘La liaison fait ma valeur’ on 1

 KB Engestr. Osign 59:9 Claes Ekeblads journal över rådslag 1755, 23 April 1755.

© The Author(s) 2020 F. Persson, Survival and Revival in Sweden’s Court and Monarchy, 1718–1930, Palgrave Studies in Modern Monarchy, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52647-4_8

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one side and ‘La division ma perd’ on the other, it was both a playful reminder of the event and a political statement. Count Tessin was the prime mover at the young court and managed to be allied with the crown princess and at the same time a leading politician in the ruling Hat party. Count Tessin and the crown princess rarely missed an opportunity for courtly entertainment, but they also wanted to send a message: Sweden had to be united in the face of political strife, and above all united under the Hat party and the heirs to the throne. Attempts to formalize the Order of Harmony soon foundered and no new members were accepted after 1746. However, in 1748, Count Tessin launched a new, more ambitious project: a whole system of Swedish orders where previously there had been none.2 One stated reason was that the crown prince was a knight of the Russian Order of St Andrew, and wearing a foreign order and no Swedish one, as they did not exist, would look bad at a coronation which, considering the failing health of the king, could not be far away. Another, probably weightier reason was that orders provided an opportunity to reward people without ennoblement or handing out characters (the rank and name of an office without the actual office). It also promised to bolster the crown prince’s then close ties to the ruling Hat party. The opposition Caps were propped up by Russia and the Russian envoy in Stockholm was said to be prepared to distribute Russian honours to buy more support. The international angle was unmissable. The result was that in 1748 three orders were created: the Order of the Seraphim, the Order of the Sword, and the Order of the Polar Star. In form they imitated both the prestigious foreign medieval orders—spurious precedents were produced for the statutes of the Order of the Seraphim, claiming the order originated in the Middle Ages—and more newly created orders such as the Order of August III. It was made quite clear that the three orders would serve three different categories. The Seraphim was only for the most illustrious recipients, aspiring to the cachet of the Danish Order of the Elephant or the English Order of the Garter; the Order of the Sword was only for military officers; and the Order of the Polar Star was for civilians. Crucially, the introduction of an honours system in 1748 had a strong impact on the Swedish elite, as the quest for orders became a cursus honorum that was hard to avoid. From the start, military officers were privileged and were given a lion’s share of the orders,

2

 Bergroth (1997–98).

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as demonstrated in a study by Gunnar Artéus.3 In reviving a court society, the introduction of chivalric orders helped strengthen royal authority. As will be seen, orders became highly sought after and were used as an instrument to reward people and tie them to the king. Orders were also ingrained in the deeply hierarchical world view of the court. After the mid-­nineteenth century, however, orders gradually became a political problem, still desirable but increasingly rejected and even ridiculed by a new political elite. The whole world of chivalric orders was deeply monarchical and tailored to strengthen courtly attitudes and values, even though they had begun as an invention of Hat politicians to buy support for their party and conciliar rule. In 1751, the new King Adolf Fredrik demanded that the power to appoint new knights and commanders would be unequivocally transferred to him. The Hat Council fought this proposal, but with support from the Cap opposition the royal initiative carried the day.4 Foreign diplomats reported that ‘les partisan de la cour’ had won.5 As a result, the honours system was one of the main forms of rewards at the disposal of the monarchy. One critic of this concession called it a ‘step towards absolutism’.6 Count Tessin, who had initiated the system but later became estranged from the new royal couple, lamented how orders were coveted and used (no longer by his own Hat party)—in the 1760s, he wrote ‘Our orders, and the uncommon craving for them worries and troubles me. Hope to God that these our ribbons will not tie us’.7 Tessin was right in that members of the elite craved honours and this would bind them to the royal family in a manner unforeseen by the Hats in 1748. He noted sourly in 1762, ‘We already have enough court offices and sashes for orders, which ensnare the foolish crowd’.8 Tessin’s Hat ally, Count Ekeblad, recognized that the king refused to let the Hat party and the Council use orders to rally support for the war against Prussia, remarking that Councillor Höpken had begged the king to dub knights from among the officers who had distinguished themselves in the war. These entreaties fell on deaf ear as the king was hostile to the ruling Hat party. Höpken tried to argue that the Diet had given the king a freer hand in  Artéus (1982, 205–213).  Olsson (1963, 121). 5  Ibid., 122. 6  Lantingshausen, according to a Prussian diplomat in Stockholm, in Fryxell (1869, xxxix. 36). 7  Bergroth (1997–98, 80). 8  KB L 82:1:16 Tessin’s diary 5 July 1762. 3 4

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distributing the Order trusting him to reward men in this way, but it proved fruitless.9 Adolf Fredrik would not let his enemies in the Hat party off the hook or gloss over what he saw as ‘their’ unsuccessful war by dishing out orders to serving officers.

Orders as Part of Elite Life Chivalric orders rapidly became part of elite life—and death. The Order of the Seraphim saw its first death in 1750 and an elaborate funeral was staged that would serve as model for later funerals of members of the order.10 The knightly sword and golden spurs were placed on the coffin while he lay in state, and the chain of the Order of the Seraphim and the yellow sash and star of the Order of the Sword were displayed on velvet cushions on tables next to the coffin. The funeral procession saw members of the order and six royal lackeys escort a royal carriage in which the order’s Master of Ceremonies carried the Order of the Seraphim on a velvet cushion and another Master of Ceremonies carried a velvet cushion with the yellow sash of the Order of the Sword. The coffin was covered in a black velvet cloth with a white silk cross, made particularly for funerals of the order. All the Knights of the Seraphim followed in procession and then all the Commanders of the Order of the Sword. Indeed, Knights of the Seraphim were buried in the uniform designed for their order. This included the monarchs. In 1751 the Chief Marshal Count Claes Ekeblad noted ‘My enquiry about His Majesty’s burial shroud. Will be in chivalric dress’.11 For the banquet for the Grand Day of the Orders, the knights of the Seraphim wore their uniforms, and kept their hats on even though the monarch was present. As one courtier waspishly remarked, ‘it is not a particular pleasure to dine in your burial shroud’.12 Orders could be handed out at various times, but especially on the Grand Day of the Orders in April, on the birthday of the founder King Frederick, and the Little Day of the Orders in November. These occasions tended to be important ceremonial landmarks in the schedule of the Swedish elite. Thus under Gustaf III, the Grand Day of the Orders was

 KB Engestr. Osign 59.13 Claes Ekeblad’s Journal, 26 November 1759.  The funeral of Carl Cronstedt, in Wieselgren (1841, xv. 216–9). 11  KB Engestr. Osign. 59.5 Claes Ekeblads journal över rådslag 26 March 1751. 12  Montan (1878, ii. 165). 9

10

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usually held in conjunction with a levée, a Cour, and a diné publique.13 Empty chairs and coat of arms stood in for absent foreign monarchs who were knights of the Seraphim.14 New knights were dubbed by the king and then kissed the royal hand. Knights who had died were commemorated. In 1785, for example, it was noted that the king ‘held a rather long and beautiful speech in praise of both dead and living knights’.15 It was not unknown for recipients to be gleeful, such as one general, of whom it was said ‘To be dubbed a knight again must be good, as can be seen by the pleasure of His Excellency Meijerfelt. As he took his place under his coat of arms after being dubbed he happily gazed up at the Maids of Honour sitting in the gallery, pointing at his Order chain and his feathered hat. The good sir has aged, but he had not been believed to have reverted to childhood again’.16 Such days were often crowded affairs, and in 1802, efforts were made to keep undesirables out by issuing entrance tokens.17 Disorder could also stem from tussles about rank between participants. Several courtiers fell out at one Little Day of the Orders—‘The issue of seniority came up between myself and Count Fersen. He claimed that I should either be older than Bonde or younger than himself. Neither of us ceded to other and after the procession Count Fersen made a complaint to the Duke [the Regent]’—and two years later continued the squabble— ‘today I ceded my rights only because of my respect as a subject of the king, around whose person I held it to be indecent to jostle each other, and Count Fersen maintained the stubbornness with comes with an unjust cause’.18 In a world where hierarchy was fundamental, orders added yet another important aspect where people defended their positions or tried to clamber higher or tear down others.

 RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 2 28 April 1783 fols. 75–6.  RA Ruuthska samlingen vol. 5 [E 5217] G A Reuterholm to Erik Ruuth, Stockholm 24 April 1785. 15  Ibid. 16  KB D 142 g:9 (JC Barfods anteckningar) 30 April 1799, p. 912. 17  SLA RMÄ Hovexpeditionen A I:1 1802. 18  RA Ericsbergsarkivet Autografsamlingen vol. 92, C. D. Hamilton to Magnus Stenbock, Stockholm, 28 April 1796. 13 14

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Visibility In 1748 one of the royal pages saw the leading Hat politician Höpken ‘without Order or a groom, with a stranger carrying his lamp, late in the evening on his way to Mrs Holmer, dressed in a grey coat’, and the fifteen-­ year-­old then spied from ‘the window of the Page chamber that Höpken was caressing Mrs. Holmer by the window in front of the candles’.19 In other words, when Höpken wanted to meet his mistress discreetly, he did not wear his order. Otherwise, knights and commanders of the orders were obliged to wear their insignia in public (while wearing insignia without the right to do so carried a very considerable fine).20 They were often delighted to do so. In the 1790s it was said that the archdeacon of Uppsala when giving lectures at the university would smile and play with his Polar Star saying, ‘My gracious king has honoured me’.21 Bishop Gadolin of Åbo, who was known for only leaving home carefully wrapped up in furs against the cold, began to wear just a coat to show off his ‘shining star’.22 Others were known to wear their insignia in private, for ‘Baron Leijonhufvud was always seen with the big star on his night-rail’, and rumour said that ‘Chancellor Sparre had the star on his combing-cloth’.23 And ‘No one adhered more closely to the statute of the orders’ than the successful merchant David Schinkel, who when someone came to see him when he was dressing, ‘would go into the next room to put on the Vasa sash before he came back’.24 How people changed their style of dress in order to show off new insignia often met with derision from those who considered themselves superior. Thus it was said that ever since one of the royal chaplains was made a member of an order, he had ‘defied all weathers, cold and wet, never pulling a coat over his chest so that this decoration would not be hidden’, while ‘Equally insistent to shine was Assessor Hultman who never failed to parade with it in Riddarhus Square’.25 Hultman was known to look right  UUB Nordin 947 Voltemats anekdoter 194v.  Statutes for the Order of the Sword § 16; Statutes of the Order of the Polar Star (1748) § 15. Similar conditions applied in Denmark, where knights who failed to wear the Order of the Elephant were subject to steep fines. 21  KB D 142 g:9 (JC Barfods anteckningar) 30 April 1799, p. 913. 22  KB D 142 g:9 (JC Barfods anteckningar) 30 April 1799, p. 913. 23  KB D 142 g:9 (JC Barfods anteckningar) 30 April 1799, p. 913. 24  KB D 142 g:9 (JC Barfods anteckningar) 30 April 1799, p. 913. 25  KB D 142 g:9 (JC Barfods anteckningar) 30 April 1799, p. 912. 19 20

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and left to see if ‘his brilliance’ was being duly noted. In contrast, the disgraced courtier and politician Count Tessin acidly wrote in his diary that he was shunned whenever he wore orders when out and about, and ‘when I want to avoid many greetings in my carriage in the street, I display the side on which the Star is on my coat’, though it probably more reflects his weariness with a world that he had loved, but from which he was now excluded.26 Even people you did not see in person would know you had been made a member of an order, as newspapers carried lists of new honours. The annual published calendar listing civil servants and military officers also carefully noted after each name the honours that person had received. People discussed who got orders and, of course, those who did not.27 All this meant that orders emphasized the standing of their members in court society. One man remembered seeing a successful courtier and military officer use his insignia to gain entrance to the king’s summer palace of Rosendal. ‘When we had been sitting there for a while, we saw a carriage stop close to us and out stepped his Excellency Tawast followed by a shaggy dog. When he passed us, we stood up and doffed our caps and he returned our greeting with a superior, gracious nod. But as he approached the palace, one of the guards on duty stopped him and cried that no dogs were allowed in the vicinity of the palace. Tawast took no noice and continued to walk in with the dog. The guard then repeated that he had orders not to let any dog pass and grabbed it by the neck so it started to whine. Tawast then unbuttoned his overcoat and showed the Seraphim star on his chest, and shouted “Can’t you see who I am? Let go of the dog!”’28

Hoping for Distinction On 9 February 1797, the courtier Carl Fredrik Fredenheim noted in his diary, ‘A truly touching visit from Director Pasch, who threw his arms around my neck and kissed me out of gratitude for my little contribution in procuring the Order of the Vasa for him’.29 Pasch, an elderly painter, was evidently thrilled at the distinction. It demonstrates how the chivalric  KB L 82:1:11 Tessins dagbok 19 December 1760.  Mustelin (1965, 59), Mikael Anckarsvärd to N G Schultén, Kalmar, 1 December 1794. 28  Frängsmyr (2008, 95). 29  KB If.19:2 Fredenheim’s diary, 9 February 1797. 26 27

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orders worked in a court society like Sweden’s: for orders to bind members of the elite to the monarch, they had to be desirable. And desirable they were. Courtiers such as Fredenheim acted as go-betweens, and thus could reap some of the gratitude and influence, because having a say in the distribution of orders was also a way to show your influence. Fredenheim was not alone in displaying his power in this manner. When the honours system was created in 1748, the Crown Princess Lovisa Ulrika wrote to her brother Frederick the Great, ‘At present one is busy with the orders. It is complete madness; the ones not sure of receiving an order lose their appetite for both food and drink out of anxiety. I look on this with a philosophical eye, smiling at the folly of mankind, happy when it is limited to trivial matters’.30 Yet her philosophical stance was something of a pose. How quickly the hunger for orders became ingrained in the aristocratic psyche was shown by how much the few people to actually make a stand against orders stood out. In 1789, a bitter opponent of the king refused an order, which made him into a hero with the opposition. When orders were first introduced in 1748, one General declined and wanted money instead, although he later did accept the Order of the Seraphim.31 Later, it was said a recipient of the Order of the Sword refused to wear his decoration, but carried it around in a box so as not to violate the regulations.32 Similarly, members of the court elite sometimes treated honours as something of a joke, but simultaneously were part of the system. In 1795, the queen’s new Chief Chamber Gentleman described how he had been given another order, so his correspondent could ‘imagine how impressive I am with two orders and a key with big golden tassels’.33 Like Lovisa Ulrika, his was more pose than conviction, as ‘it looks honourable to have an old grey-haired Philosoph as Usher’. In general, there was a constant hunger for honours. This gave rise to many malicious stories. On army captain was said to have admitted ‘I have run not a little to get this’ when confronted by a fellow officer who knew his poor service record; another example was a clergyman who tried to deflect pious criticism by faux humility, declaring to listeners ‘you must think I have run after this’, while observers agreed that ‘the old man’ had  Arnheim (1909, i), Lovisa Ulrika to Frederick the Great, 2 April 1748.  Marcks von Würtemberg. 32  Crusenstolpe (1836, 444). 33  KB Ep.S.16 J J De Geer to Göran Silfverhielm, Stockholm, 26 November 1795. 30 31

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not run ‘as in reality he had grovelled for it’.34 Count Gustaf Adolf Horn was another who willingly abased himself. In 1795, the forty-year-old, now a retired colonel living on his estate, approached Baron Gustaf Adolf Reuterholm, who wielded the real power during the young king’s minority. He asked for Reuterholm’s recommendation to the Duke–Regent for the character of Major General and to be knighted. ‘Which would so rejoice me and my whole family that a tender and beneficial and great man, as His Excellency is, who has promoted the happiness of the whole country, would also stoop to think of a friend from his youth, who prays to God for his wellbeing, and do me the great grace of coming to major prominence in my remaining days. As an officer or nobleman without an order who is of mature years, as I am, and who has made ware, I beseech to be graciously remembered. Otherwise I will be viewed as a burgher and a peasant in society’.35 He drew a blank, so the following spring renewed his efforts. Horn now pleaded that his father-in-law would leave him a larger inheritance if Horn received some honour. Petitioning the favourite Reuterholm again, Horn quoted his father in law as saying, ‘I know if you petitioned His Excellency Reuterholm to be made Major General he would quickly get that. He is too great, too just, to see you suffer more than others’.36 Horn persisted in wanting an order. He said he had been promised the Order of the Sword by the late king, although if needs be he would settle for the Order of the Vasa, as it had ‘many vacant Commander’s sashes free’, and failing that, ‘if I will not get the grace of being Commander, will not my most gracious Excellency procure for me at this time to become a knight of the Vasa. It is true, it is not much for a man who has been to war and has the fortune of a good name, and all at this age have been given the sash, but I would be happy with anything’.37 Horn added that his more successful courtier brother, seeing the agricultural improvements he had undertaken, ‘was amazed and said if His Majesty knew this

 KB D 142 g:9 (JC Barfods anteckningar) 30 April 1799, p.911.  RA Ericsbergsarkivet Autografsamlingen vol. 103 Count Gustaf Adolf Horn af Åminne to ‘högvälborne Herr Baron och President Riddare och Commendeur af alla Kongl. Majts Orden’, Linköping 26 October 1795. 36  RA Ericsbergsarkivet Autografsamlingen vol. 103 Count Gustaf Adolf Horn af Åminne to GA Reuterholm, Linköping 12 April 1796. 37  Ibid., vol. 103 Count Gustaf Adolf Horn af Åminne to GA Reuterholm, Linköping 12 April 1796. 34 35

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I would be Commander of the Order of the Vasa’.38 In fact, Horn was green with jealousy of his brother and other aristocrats. I will manage, but I have the unfortunate vanity that I daily see others who have a good name and are faithful to their king given orders in their place, even if they have quit service; it pains me considerably, to see a younger Brother a Major General, with the Great Star … Baron Adelswärd is only colonel but is made Commander, Chamber Gentleman Carl De Geer got the Grand Cross immediately without being a knight, and Baron Rabbe Wrede is a Commander etc. … I have been to war and should have been a knight of the Sword 17 years ago, according to the gracious promise on my return, but always forgotten. … Furthermore it is a chagrin in society, wherever you go there is a mix of people and I can be taken for a shop assistant, as everyone dresses the same, but an Order distinguishes what you are.39

His brother may have ended up an Excellency and Knight of the Seraphim, but obsequious Horn was never given an order. Likewise, Mathias Rosenblad, one of Gustaf Adolf Reuterholm’s enemies later remembered how Reuterholm made sure he was not awarded an order. Reuterholm himself had been out of favour with Gustaf III, but during the minority in the 1790s, he became a political force to be reckoned with, which meant he got a blue sash while Rosenblad ‘was completely passed over’. A year later, Rosenblad got his own back when a crowd of supplicants tried to make the most of Reuterholm’s waning power before the king came of age, as ‘Several showed me on the last day petitions for favours with approval jotted down on them, but as they had not been prepared officially I refused to countersign them’.40 Reuterholm’s power as favourite of the regent was extraordinary, but even normally the honours system was highly dependent on networks of patronage. It was perfectly believable that a courtier might get the Order of the Vasa ‘on the recommendation of a certain countess’.41 County governors would often ask for honours for inhabitants of their provinces, colonels would procure honours for officers of their regiments, and even in the late nineteenth century, the governor of Stockholm noted he could usually get fifteen to twenty orders a year for various people. The people  Ibid.  Ibid. 40  UUB F 647:m Mattias Rosenblads självbiografi. 41  KB D 963 Konung Gustaf den tredjes annaler. 38 39

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best placed to act as go-betweens were courtiers. An early favourite of King Gustaf IV Adolf was proud that he had only used his power to further three such suits.42 The arch-courtier Jacob De la Gardie wrote in his diary ‘I was anyway rather pleased with the time I used here as after a long conversation with His Majesty after supper … I got His Majesty’s promise of the Commander’s sash’ for a former county governor, who ‘fervently wished for this distinction although he already is Commander of the Polar Star and knight of the Vasa’.43 Even well-placed people occasionally failed in securing honours for others. In 1829 the crown prince himself, among others, set about getting the blue sash for the head of his court. For some reason, the king was unwilling to agree and instead gave the person the title of Excellency.44 One of Charles XIV’s ministers remembered how in January 1844, he had visited the king to remind him of one case, and ‘got to leave a list of clergymen promised stars by the king’, but ‘The illness and death of Charles John meant all these hopes came to nothing’.45 The king’s death meant a number of people lost their hoped-for honours.

Proliferation Over the years there was a considerable inflation in honours, to the point when ‘Promotions and orders were handed out in all directions, possibly too generously, especially to the Western Army. This created discontent in other, more deserving, parts of the army, and caused Baron Wrede’s well-­ known utterance when encountering an undecorated officer of the Värmland section: “Introduce me to him! He must be a capital fellow, he hasn’t got the Order of the Sword”’.46 The number of people who received orders increased fast, with the Order of the Sword by far the most numerous. In 1782 that order alone had about 1050 knights.47 Then there were the commanders of the order, and knights and commanders of the other three orders, the Seraphim, Polar Star, and Vasa (created in 1772). Between 1748 and 1815, 42  F 823 UUB Anmärkningar wid Grefwe Adolph Ludvig Hamiltons Anecdoter (by Claes Fleming, Lydinge 14 October 1822). 43  LUB DLG 310 JG De la Gardies dagbok 1 Augusti 1830. 44  LUB DLG 310 JG De la Gardies dagbok 24 August 1829. 45  LUB Heurlin självbiografi p.129. 46  Björnstjerna (1851–2, ii. 127). 47  Hofcalender 1782, 1781.

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monarchs named 3570 knights of the Order of the Sword, 534 knights of the Order of the Polar Star and seventy-four clergymen as members rather than knights, and 330 knights of the Order of the Vasa.48 The Swedish elite was not numerous and this largesse had a considerable impact. In 1750, roughly 9000 people in Sweden belonged to the nobility. If half of them were men, and we only count men over thirty as likely recipients, while fewer than half of noblemen would have been a member of an order, practically everyone in the elite would have known several people who had received honours. An increase in numbers and the addition of new categories and great crosses was a trend across all the orders. The Order of the Seraphim began with a maximum of twenty-four Swedish knights and eight from abroad in 1748, but this was upped to thirty-two in 1798. There was only one rank, but in 1787, King Gustaf III added another called ‘Commander of all His Majesty’s Orders’ (later abolished after the 1809 coup d’état). At first the Order of the Sword had consisted only of Commanders and Knights, but in 1772 Gustaf III added Commanders with the Grand Cross. Knights with the Grand Cross were added in 1788, and in 1814, these were then split into two classes. In 1748 a maximum twenty-four Commanders was set which was increased to forty-eight in 1798. The number of knights of the Order of the Sword had no set limit and in the first year alone, 356 knights were created. The Order of the Polar Star was meant for men who had distinguished themselves as civil servants, scholars, or scientists. Originally only Commanders and Knights were created, but the years 1844 and 1873 saw the addition of the Commander of the Grand Cross and two different classes of the other Commanders; the number of recipients was a maximum of twelve Commanders and twenty-four Knights in 1748, and this was increased to fifty Knights in 1751. Later there was no limit to the number of knights. For the coronation in 1772, King Gustaf founded the Order of the Vasa, aimed at men who had distinguished themselves in commerce, agriculture, or the arts. The same year he planned for another order, to be called the Royal Gustavian Order, which would have had three classes and a red star.49 This was never realized, as was the case with the king’s planned Order of Jehovah for members of the clergy. At special occasions, orders

 Kungl Maj:ts Ordens arkiv Matriklar D I:1.  Karlsson (1907, 80).

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flooded the market.50 At the coronation in 1772, 184 new knights of the Sword were created and after the coup in August the same year another 145 were added.51 In the first 150  years after 1748, more than 28,000 honours were handed out.52 The honours system had a great impact on the elite that composed the upper strata of the court.

Dissatisfaction Already in 1752, the Council dealt with a man who had uttered unseemly words against ‘the royals and the chivalric order’.53 Orders were a source of considerable dissatisfaction. When a mother reported to her son that his brother had been made a knight, she joked that ‘from the gazettes you will have heard of all the promotions at this occasion so I will say no more; there are certainly, as you say, many who are pleased and even more who are dissatisfied, Axel is now so handsome with his star on his chest’.54 An officer who felt forgotten said that ‘Every post, every newspaper was full of newly made knights and other promotions in the army, but my name was never to be seen’, and things were not improved by a fellow officer’s barbed comments.55 A courtier and diplomat lamented that ‘No one has seen fit to tell me, but I can see from all the gazettes that Nolcken in England has been given the Commander’s sash of the Polar Star; I have due respect for all that, but it cannot stop me from feeling acutely this distinction, and all that I suffer, I have served almost twice as long as Creutz and Nolcken … you cannot believe how hard this is and how I personally suffer and am humiliated’.56 Receiving the wrong order was as upsetting as getting no order at all. One of King Gustaf III’s great favourites, the diminutive Bror Cederström, was dubbed a Commander of the Order of the Sword in front of the army. A friend congratulated him after the ceremony, but an enraged Cederström, in his yellow sash, replied, ‘This is a decoration fit for a Court Marshal,  See, for example, the discussion by Tandefelt (2008).  Kungl Maj:ts Ordens arkiv Matriklar D I:1. 52  Nordisk Familjebok (1914, xx. 830). At the end of the old form of the honours system, in 1970, 24,000 people were knights or commanders of the Swedish orders. 53  KB Engestr. Osign 59.6 Claes Ekeblads journal över rådslag 1752. 54  LUB De la Gardieska samlingen vol. 343:a Hedvig Eva Rålamb to Jacob De la Gardie, Stockholm 26 November 1799. 55  Bruun (1994). 56  RA Börstorpsamlingen Bengt Sparre to Fredrik Sparre, Aranjuez 19 juni 1773. 50 51

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good to parade in front of the royal table at public dinners. I did not think myself undeserving of the Grand Cross of this order’.57 In 1762, the councillor Gustaf Adolf Hjärne was deeply upset at not receiving the Order of the Seraphim, and by threatening to boycott order ceremonies managed to get the desired blue sash after all. In 1765 a huge battle raged over orders. After three decades in power, the resurgent Cap party in the Diet ousted the Hat regime. The king, however, awarded the Order of the Seraphim to leading Hats, even though the Caps ‘are horribly embittered over Fersen’s and Schwerin’s blue sashes’.58 A new Cap councillor, Baron Pehr Kalling, was particularly outraged, as he had counted on a blue sash for himself. He was insistent in his claims on the embarrassed Adolf Fredrik that he should get it.59 Disappointed, he then turned to the paymasters of the Cap party, Russia, and instead extracted a blue sash from them in the form of the Order of St Andrew. The king and the crown prince then declared that Kalling, who was a knight of the less exalted Order of the Sword, could not wear the blue Russian sash apart from the feast days of the order. Kalling was furious: ‘I will shit on the yellow order [the Sword] and wear the other anyway’.60 This snowballed into a power struggle between the newly ascendant Caps and their erstwhile ally King Adolf Fredrik. Kalling, forbidden by the king to wear the Order of the Sword ‘en collier’ under the Russian Order, took his grievances to the Council and to the Diet, where the Caps now enjoyed a majority, while the king protested that he had sole authority over orders—‘alone as the Lord and Master to dispose over this’. Voting in the parliamentary Secret Committee went against the king’s wishes. One Hat close to the court commented that ‘Thus Kalling can wear his so highly desired Russian order, and he has won against the will of his king. But I predict that sash will eventually turn into a rope around his neck and strangle him, and it will be a snare around the foot of the [Cap] party’.61 The royal family now viewed Kalling, who once had been part of what was loosely called the ‘court party’, with hostility. Hats and courtiers alike made ‘an unmerciful noise about Kalling’s Russian sash’ and the  Boëthius (1882, i. 318).  Jägerskiöld (1974, 177), 27 November 1765. 59  Ibid., 175, 25 November 1766. 60  Ibid., 243, 18 March 1766. 61  Ibid., 259, 14 April 1766. 57 58

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infringement of the king’s unquestionable rights.62 In a court society, being in royal disgrace was highly uncomfortable, even for a powerful politician. The royal family, as we have seen, felt free to ignore and embarrass Kalling at court functions. When finally, after months of carefully staged humiliation by the royal family, a superficial reconciliation of sorts was achieved, Kalling continued to work against the king. After the royal coup in 1772, his political relevance was ended. He never received the Order of the Seraphim. Another veteran denied this honour was Wolter Reinhold Stackelberg. When he was in his mid-nineties, it was noted that ‘Old General Stackelberg cannot get the blue sash so he can say “I will now depart in happiness and peace”’, though he tried to console himself by saying that ‘the yellow sash [the Order of the Sword, of which he was a Commander with a Grand Cross] has never brought shame upon itself’.63 This was not strictly true, however, as several commanders of the Sword had been humiliatingly stripped of their sashes a few years earlier after a mutiny in Finland.

A Ridiculous System Among King Oscar II’s many glittering medals and sashes, one more humble medal stood out. He had been awarded it for stopping a bolting horse and carriage in Paris in 1867. As king, he would later joke that it was the only one he deserved of all his many honours. In his clearer moments, the king could not but help share the growing ambivalence about the honours system. In 1888, he criticized the Portuguese court for its ‘Hunger for orders and unmiltariness to a high degree, both!’64 At the same time King Oscar himself handed out orders generously. Several thousand people received honours from him in the 1870s alone.65 In 1886 he wrote, ‘How great is not my joy on the coming Oscar Day to give to my best friend the rarely bestowed Grand Cross of the Order of the Vasa’, adding ‘I know full well that superficial glitter in itself does not

 Ibid., 260, 15 April 1766.  KB D 142 g:9 (JC Barfods anteckningar) 30 April 1799, p. 914. 64   Bernadottebiblioteket (Bernadotte Library), Bernadotteska arkivet (Bernadotte Archives) Stockholm (BA), Gustaf V vol. 38 Oscar II to Gustaf, Lisbon Palais d’Ajuda 17 May 1888. 65  RA Kungl Maj:ts Ordens arkiv Matriklar D I:5. 62 63

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mean anything for you or me’.66 What he called superficial glitter still mattered to members of court society, but in truth, profound societal changes were making the honours system increasingly irrelevant.67 The old system of honours was tailored to reward an aristocratic elite and bind them to the throne, and as power in society shifted from the old nobility to new elites this became increasingly obvious. Rising mercantile elites could get the Order of the Vasa, but the other orders were not designed for them, and were even less suited to the rising political liberal and social-democratic forces in the late nineteenth century. To liberals and socialists, honours were an integral part of a society of privilege they wanted to abolish, so it is unsurprising that from the mid-nineteenth century on parts of the press were loud in their criticism and ridicule of orders. The critics drew moral support from developments elsewhere. In the US, an order of sorts was created in 1783 in the shape of the Society of the Cincinnati, but it was seen as incompatible with the principles of the new republic and the order soon fell into abeyance. After the July Revolution in France in 1830, King Louis Philippe abolished the orders of St Esprit, St Michel, the Order of Military Merit, and St Louis. The Napoleonic Legion of Honour did survive this bonfire of vanities, however. On a practical level, fashion in male dress also meant that fewer people wore orders from the mid-nineteenth century. To a court society convinced of the importance of hierarchy, and that honours were an integral part of that hierarchy, it was a challenge. In the 1890s, the right to be presented at court was extended to wives and unmarried daughters of commanders of the orders.68 Members of the royal family continued to select people for these distinctions. As the crown prince toured Europe in 1879, he wrote to his mother to suggest his ­physician be given an honour—‘a star around his neck’.69 The queen in turn was prepared to bend some of the rules to allow courtiers better

 BA Oscar II vol. 24 Oscar to Victor Ankarcrona, Stockholm, 1 December 1886.  On early critic was Fredrik Cederborgh, who in 1816 wrote a play about a brewery inspector angling for the Order of the Vasa. 68  SLA Riksmarskalksämbetet E 1:30 (1896–1899) 24 July 1897. A new decision on 10 January 1898 included wives and unmarried daughters of knights of the Order of Charles XIII too. 69  BA Sophia vol. 2 Gustaf to Sophia, 16 February 1879, Rome. 66 67

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chances of picking up orders from foreign princes.70 Yet at the same time, orders increasingly came in for open criticism. To receive an order was to support a view of society that was going out of fashion. In 1868, the explorer Adolf Erik Nordenskiöld refused the Order of the Polar Star; some years later, Victor Rydberg, one Sweden’s most prominent authors and secretary of the Swedish Academy, accepted the Order of the Polar Star not to hurt the king’s feelings, but never wore the order, which made for some awkwardness. Other luminaries in Swedish public life also refused orders.71 Courtiers at the late nineteenth-century and early twentieth-century court had scant potential for political power. That meant many members of the old elite lost interest in court life, but the social cachet provided by orders still attracted some. The minor but indefatigable courtier Magnus Lagerberg was relentless in his quest to extract honours for himself, to the point where a friend reminded him ‘that you are supposed to have achieved something to get an honour’.72 Lagerberg was typical of the breed of politically insignificant courtiers around 1900 who still used the court to obtain social standing. Yet even members of court society were beginning to edge away from the honours system. In 1880 King Oscar offered the bank chairman Count Casimir Lewenhaupt the Order of the Polar Star. Lewenhaupt had served both in the Guards and as Chamber Gentleman to the queen dowager, but now he refused the order. Eventually he did agree, but by then the king was incensed and it had leaked to the press.73 The insult to the royal honour was widely publicized and the king was outraged. One courtier wrote to the queen that no one understood Lewenhaupt’s ‘unforgivable’ actions as his ‘rude behaviour has annoyed the king and is disliked by all right-minded people’, adding that he ‘ought to be thoroughly castigated’.74 Another courtier reported to the queen that one newspaper had criticized Lewenhaupt’s behaviour—Figaro had a piece on the cause célèbre with the headline ‘From the ridiculous to the

 BA Oscar II vol. 39 Sophia to Oscar II, 13 August 1897 Skinnareböl.  See, for example, the architect Carl Westman, the poet Erik Axel Karlfeldt, and the educator Hasselquist. 72  Gamby (1992). 73  BA Drottning Sophia vol. 11 Carl Gustaf von Rosen to Sophia, Stockholm Palace 9 January 1881. 74  BA Sophia vol. 7 Sixten Flach to Sophia, 7 December 1880 Stockholm. 70 71

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pitiful’.75 On royal orders, the offender was struck from the list of the late queen dowager’s Chamber Gentlemen in the published court calendar (though some courtiers thought that the unworthy among them should also be purged from the court calendar—‘what a smart coup de filet one could pull off and still have many left’).76 The press coverage of the Lewenhaupt affair was symptomatic of the tide having turned against the honours system. In the early nineteenth century, newspapers still wrote admiringly of the honours adding lustre to royal balls with all their sashes and stars.77 By 1845, though, several newspapers were criticizing the distribution of new honours, recipients were seen as unworthy, the very system of honours was held to be useless, and abolition was the obvious way forward—‘everyone must agree that the sash of an order cannot increase the real worth of a person’—but the chances were slim given ‘the weakness for superficial honours is so marked that many people would deem it “poor” to see members of the Cabinet without a single star’.78 In 1870 it was said that ‘there are many tragicomic stories about how sashes and stars are awarded’.79 Even newspapers that defended the monarchy against republicanism were lukewarm in their defence of the honours system. ‘What is most commonly attacked and ridiculed, such as the court, the servile official phrases, the honours system etc., are merely the surface and not the essence’ of monarchy, claimed Blekingeposten in 1873.80 News reports about royal balls concentrated on the discomfort of the new elite trying to fit in at court. A merchant might be admitted to a select group at a major ball, but ‘his black tailcoat had not even one order. He almost immediately found it far from interesting to play the part of Cinderella and retreated to us out there, who were ranked from colonel—to nothing at all’.81 Newspapers did not mince their words. ‘One thing is certain, to quote a great author, there are many who shine with beautiful order sashes around  BA Drottning Sophia vol. 11 Carl Gustaf von Rosen to Sophia, n.d.  BA Drottning Sophia vol. 11 Carl Gustaf von Rosen to Sophia, n.d. 77  Stockholms Dagblad, 12 January 1836. 78  Aftonbladet, 11 December 1845. Aftonbladet mentions similar views printed in Nerikes Allehanda. 79  Faluposten, 12 January 1870. 80  Blekingeposten, 15 July 1873. 81  Wernamo Tidning, 3 February 1883. 75 76

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their chests, even though they rather deserve—a rope around their necks’.82 The more radical newspapers often carried jokes and caricatures on the theme, such as: What is the similarity between flowers and sashes of orders? You have to bow down low to get them.83

Every year, honours were announced on the king’s name day. By the end of the century, this met equally predictably with mocking caricatures in the press, or even as a menace—a corrupt way for the king to exert influence over the judiciary, for example, or to rein in the opposition. In 1883, a newspaper asked if two out of a hundred liberal ‘birds’ were given court titles and chivalric orders, how many would be left. The answer was that the rest ‘will immediately fly over to the court garden and make their nests there’.84 The rise of the Liberals, and after 1917 the Social Democrats, meant that a generation of top politicians now reached power in the 1910s who were not just indifferent to honours, but actively hostile towards them. One of the compromises to which King Gustaf V had to agree when in 1917 he had to give up the power of choosing his prime minister was that Liberals and Social Democrats would not have to accept honours. By then decades of ridicule and a significant shift in what constituted the elite had made orders redundant. In 1913, a local newspaper reminisced about court life in the 1850s. A royal cortege that had passed through town on 1 May was by 1913 only a memory: ‘The heart will still beat faster for some old white-haired dowagers as they remember King Oscar I and his three young princes on horseback, followed by the dashing staff with flashing stars, all riding along with floating plumes and twirling moustaches—those were the days! Yes, today is a different time, more democratic’.85 The leading Swedish encyclopaedia, Nordisk Familjebok, was openly critical in its account of the honours system in 1914: ‘Honours can be both beneficial and damaging. They may win adherents for the  Faluposten, 30 April 1881.  Faluposten, 14 June 1884. 84  Tidning för Wenersborgs stad och län, 29 March 1883. 85  Kalmar 19 May 1913. 82 83

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powerful—and not just for those inside our borders—and bind them, as was the original intention; they can be an encouragement for deserving work, which is not rewarded with power or money; they can spur ambition to serve the common good through actions and donations: but they can also foster fortune hunting and sycophancy’.86 As a monarchical tool the honours system was now in its twilight years. The last Swedish politician to be given the Order of the Seraphim received it in 1935. Parliament several times discussed the abolition of the honours system, which was said to be rotten, ridiculous, and unnecessary. The elite had changed, and the honours system with it.

References Published Sources Arnheim, Fritz (ed.), Luise Ulrike, die schwedische Schwester Friedrich des Grossen: Ungedruckte Briefe an Mitglieder des preussischen Königshauses, 2 vols (Gotha: Perthes, 1909–10). Boëthius, Simon Johannes (ed.), Statsrådet Johan Albert Ehrenströms efterlemnade historiska anteckningar 2 vols (Uppsala: Schultz, 1882–83). Crusenstolpe, Magnus Jacob, Skildringar uti det inre af dagens historia (Stockholm: Hjerta, 1836). Frängsmyr, Carl (ed.), Knut Olivecrona: Hågkomster samlade från en lång lefnad (Stockholm: Atlantis, 2008). Jägerskiöld, Olof (ed.), Daniel Tilas: Anteckningar och brev från riksdagen 1765–1766 (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1974). Montan, Erik Vilhelm (ed.), Dagbokanteckningar förda vid Gustaf III:s hof af friherre Gustaf Johan Ehrensvärd, 2 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1877–78). Mustelin, Olof (ed.), Gustavianska opinioner: M.  Anckarsvärds brev till N. G. Schultén, 1790–1808 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1965). Wieselgren, Peter (ed.), De la Gardieska archivet, 20 vols (Lund: Lundbergska boktryckeriet, 1821–43).

Secondary Publications Artéus, Gunnar, Krigsmakt och samhälle i frihetstidens Sverige (Stockholm: Militärhistoriska förlaget, 1982).

 Nordisk Familjebok (1914, xx. 830).

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Bergroth, Tom, ‘En egen Swensk Riddare-Orden’. Kring instiftande av ordensväsendet i Sverige år 1748’, Livrustkammaren 1997–98. Björnstjerna, Carl Magnus (ed.), Anteckningar af grefve Magnus Björnstjerna, 2 vols (Stockholm: Bonnier, 1851–2). Bruun, Patrick (ed.), Vardagsslit och sjuårskrig upplevt och beskrivet av den nyländske dragonen Carl Johan Aminoff (Helsingfors: Svenska litteratursällskapet i Finland, 1994). Fryxell, Anders, Berättelser ur svenska historien, 46 vols (Stockholm: Hjerta, 1823–79). Gamby, Erik, Magnus Lagerberg. Museiman, numismatiker, kammarherre (Gothenburg: Göteborgs numismatiska förening, 1992). Karlsson, Karl Henrik, ‘De svenska riddare-ordnarnas historia’, in Robert Södermark (ed.) Kungl. Svenska Riddareordnarna (Lund: C.  Lunds förlag, 1907). Nordisk Familjebok, 38 vols (Stockholm: Nordiska familjeboks förlag, 1904–26). Olsson, Gunnar, Hattar och mössor. Studier över partiväsendet i Sverige 1751–1762 (Gothenburg: Akademiförlaget, 1963). Tandefelt, Henrika, Konsten att härska: Gustaf III inför sina undersåtar (Helsingfors: Svenska litteratursällskapet i Finland, 2008).

CHAPTER 9

The Rift Between Monarchy and Nobility

An odd sight to see these strange faces in our usual place. Where the oldest counts used to sit, now sit Mr Wallenberg and Mr Schartau.1 (Chief Chamber Gentleman Count Adam Lewenhaupt at the opening of the new bicameral Parliament in 1867)

On his accession in 1844, King Oscar I wanted to be a more progressive monarch than his father Charles XIV John, but still keep personal royal power intact. One way to mark his more modern stance was by changing his court. Already a few weeks after the old king’s death, newspapers reported that the new king would retain only a minimal court. One reported that ‘the new royal court is said to have already abolished some costly ceremonies incompatible with old Swedish seriousness, and it will also have far fewer attendants than the old court’.2 Newspapers were hopeful about rumours of a new direction, eschewing the conservative rule and style of the late king. It was said of King Oscar that ‘Higher court offices and Gentlemen of the Chamber in Waiting will not be appointed at his new court, and only Court Marshals and Gentlemen of the Chamber actually in service will be retained’.3 The king, according to these reports, would also cease the custom of making decisions in his bedchamber or  Lewenhaupt (1936, 142).  Lidköpings Tidning 30 March 1844. 3  Jönköpings Tidning 13 April 1844. 1 2

© The Author(s) 2020 F. Persson, Survival and Revival in Sweden’s Court and Monarchy, 1718–1930, Palgrave Studies in Modern Monarchy, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52647-4_9

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before Cabinet meetings. It was even rumoured that King Oscar would decline to be crowned.4 The reports were a mixture of wishful thinking and political reality. Oscar’s more modern credentials had been signalled when he was crown prince in several ways. He wrote about prison reform. On occasion he had dressed down (in 1839, a Lady of the Palace noted with displeasure that he had appeared in the royal box at the opera in a civilian coat—‘this sign of the evil of the time struck everyone who was used to see HRH in military uniform here and in other public places, but times change’).5 An aristocrat wrote of Oscar in 1845, ‘I wonder if he doesn’t want to play Louis Philippe’.6 Oscar’s attempts came at a price often paid by half-hearted reformers— disappointment and hostility from all quarters. Conservative courtiers and aristocrats who had supported, and been supported by, his father felt betrayed by the new regime, for Charles XIV John, as a courtier noted, had not been ‘a friend of alterations or of change in general’.7 The freeze on court appointments in 1844 was an obvious Oscarian policy. The death of Count Magnus Brahe, head of the court, the same year would have made it easier. Oscar I pursued a clear strategy to modernize, with some titles and positions now falling into abeyance. No Groom of the Chamber were appointed between 1843 and 1850, no Grand Chamber Gentlemen between 1841 and 1854, no Court Gentlemen after 1842. The king’s mother Queen Dowager Desirée had new Ladies of the Palace in 1846, but Queen Josephine did not appoint any for her own court. Only after the death of Oscar I were Ladies of the Palace appointed once again for the queen consort in 1862. No new Lady of Honour (Kammarfröken) was appointed after the death of the retired incumbent in 1841. The next appointment only came after King Oscar’s death in 1859.8 A suspension of court appointments was not the dramatic measure wanted by the opposition. In 1844, the number of noble court officeholders was 469 (not counting military officers of the various Guards regiments); in 1850, the number of noble officeholders at court had shrunk,

 Göteborgs Handels- och Sjöfartstidning 5 August 1844.   UUB Lång 105 Dagboksanteckningar av. Ulrika Lagerbielke, f. Rosenvärd, 2 September 1839. 6  Söderhjelm and Palmstierna (1944, 321). 7  KB I.n.1:1 Anteckningar av. J O Nauckhoff. 8  Numbers mainly from SLA Riksmarskalksämbetet E I:14 to E I:30. Also the printed Hovkalender for these years. 4 5

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but only marginally, to 451.9 It was a clear change of direction on Oscar I’s part, but to liberals, the pace of change was glacial. Other changes were quicker, but were far more superficial. At his coronation, Oscar dispensed with the traditional ‘Burgundian’ outfit in cloth of silver and instead wore a tightfitting velvet suit in a striking blue. The palace judicial court (Borgrätten) was abolished as it was hopelessly out of date.10 The law under which courtiers and servants worked (hovartiklarna) was also scrapped, and replaced by shorter regulations that had less legal force. New rules were also issued for court dress.11 In September 1844, knee breeches were abolished apart from major balls.12 The king also dispensed with the old uniforms ‘that strike me as bordering on the ludicrous’ worn for the annual ceremonies of the chivalric orders.13 When it came to the business of politics, there were changes too. The Cabinet was a fairly small group of men, and remained a bastion of aristocrats with court connections until the 1840s. Under Charles XIV John, then, the king’s choice was still made from a limited circle of aristocrats, and often courtiers or former courtiers—of twenty-seven cabinet ministers appointed by the king between 1818 and 1840, seventeen had served at court as civilians or military officers, and of the remaining ten, five had close family members at court, while four were newly ennobled. However, a seismic shift was coming: the first commoner was appointed to the Cabinet in 1828, and after 1844, under Oscar I, the aristocratic policy was reversed so that by 1850 several of his cabinet ministers were commoners. Oscar I’s measures were not enough for liberal critics and far too much for loyal courtiers. Matters were not helped by the fact that in the early years of his reign, he floated the idea of constitutional reform, abolishing the Diet of Estates, and thus ending the automatic political representation of the nobility. In his diary, Oscar made it clear he was prepared to push through reform, but only to a degree.14 In 1845, he proposed a bicameral Parliament to replace the old Diet. The lower chamber could be liberal, but ‘on the express condition that the upper chamber should be  Ibid.   10 April 1844, letter from Oscar I that the Palace Court is abolished (SLA Riksmarskalksämbetet E 1:19). 11  Draft by Arvid Posse 19 November 1845 with ‘Approved’ written on it by Oscar (SLA Riksmarskalksämbetet E 1:20). 12  SLA Ceremoniel vol. 7 printed order, 21 September 1844. 13  BA Oscar I vol. 36 Konung Oscars Is dagbok 1845–1846 28 April 1846. 14  BA Oscar I vol. 36 Konung Oscars Is dagbok 1845–1846 10 December 1845. 9

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composed in an enlightened but strongly conservative spirit’.15 The king did not want to handpick the entire upper chamber, realising that if he did it would ‘soon be seen as a court institution’, and instead at least half should be chosen through the ballot box.16 Only a few days later, the king wrote disapprovingly of ‘ultraconservatives’.17 A week after the king in 1846 made his annual pilgrimage to his father’s tomb to mourn the late authoritarian Charles XIV John, Oscar I’s diary was far less liberal in tone. In a discussion with a minister about whom to appoint as the new prime minister, Oscar thought he had made it clear he would not bow to pressure and name the man many expected. ‘I would never allow such an aping of the English and French constitutions, which have been characterized by the known phrase “Le Roi regne et ne gouverne pas”’, and while the Swedish Constitution assumed the king would surround himself with responsible advisors, in no way did he have to submit to the will of the ministers in government—and if things ever went that far, it would be ‘difficult to return from that’.18 Oscar picked the head of his court, Marshal of the Realm Count Arvid Posse, as prime minister, who others viewed as an uninspired choice.19 Liberal politicians and journalists welcomed the measures to curtail the court, but found them lacking. The press descried courtiers as the servile handmaids of monarchy, lacking in any true bond with the people, as when one newspaper wrote with distaste that ‘the aristocrat still retains some interest in common with the people, but the courtier has none’.20 The Liberal newspaper Aftonbladet reported that there were ‘young lieutenants and Grooms of the Chamber’ who were opposed to the attempts at liberalization, and this was a theme other papers would echo later.21 Many members of the nobility felt ousted and betrayed by the king’s actions, much like the two Palmstjerna brothers. The two hard-core royalists Nils Fredrik and Carl Otto Palmstjerna had both held high office as well prominent court offices, but the reorientation under Oscar I meant they had to leave their court positions. In a similar fashion, the  BA Oscar I vol. 36 Konung Oscars Is dagbok 1845–1846 19 December 1845.  Ibid., 19 December 1845. 17  Ibid., 24 December 1845. 18  Ibid., 16 March 1846. More commonly, the phrase is given as ‘Le Roi règne mais ne gouverne pas’. 19  Svenskt Biografiskt Lexikon, s.v. ‘Arvid Posse’. 20  Hvad Nytt? 29 May 1844. 21  Aftonbladet 27 March 1845; for example, Vestmanlands Läns Tidning 15 December 1853. 15 16

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conservative Count Anton Gyldenstolpe was denied court promotion due to his opposition to the shift in royal policy, and eventually left the court.22 A former courtier, Johan Otto Nauckhoff, sneered at the new king’s efforts to be less regal than his father.23 For some years, many noblemen and courtiers were ‘more royalist than the king’, to the thinly disguised pleasure of the liberals, who liked to make fun of reactionaries such as the courtiers Leonhard Rääf and Gustaf Herman Ehrenhoff, the latter known as ‘the last Groom of the Chamber’.24 As one newspaper wrote, ‘It is probably the new fresh air, which the old party cannot abide. The citizen-­ minded king, the simple life at court, the tendency to bow to the wishes of the Diet, respect for the people, the general way of thinking and the free press, the less generous hand with Orders, titles, patents of nobility et cetera’.25 This was how Oscar I wanted to be perceived, even if it upset the old phalanx at court. A known controversialist, Magnus Jacob Crusenstolpe, wrote in 1844, ‘How ideas grow and change!’ and went on to lash out against the coronation as a ‘useless, costly, outdated, half-Catholic ceremony’ that the kings of France, Prussia, Denmark, and Belgium had already dispensed with. Oscar should do the same, and be content with being ‘by common acclaim a sufficiently celebrated sovereign’.26 At least the king did not create any counts, barons, or noblemen at his coronation.27 The liberal press were only too happy to report that a Groom of the Chamber, Fredrik von Nackreij, had had to go into trade, opening a shop to sell snuff:28 a sign of the changing times. Liberals welcomed the sight of any court being dismantled, and thus were quick to report the supposed abolition of Grooms of the Chamber in Saxony.29

A Nineteenth-Century Apogee? When the dust settled over Europe after the Napoleonic Wars (1803–15), it was not a new liberal, modern world that met the eye. It was the courtly world of the eighteenth century, restored by Metternich and his  Fåhræus (1880, 193).  KB, Stockholm, I.n.1.2 [Nauckhoff]. 24  Aftonbladet 8 June 1841. 25  Dagligt Allehanda 2 March 1846. 26  Crusenstolpe (1844, 26). 27  Ibid., 31. 28  Malmö Allehanda 14 May 1844. 29  Linköpingsbladet 10 February 1844. 22 23

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colleagues. These were court societies where the court was at the centre of national politics and elite sociability. Philip Mansel has pointed out that Napoleon, by abolishing the Italian republics and fifty-three formerly ‘free cities’ in Germany, made Europe far more monarchical than before 1800 by rubbing out other forms of government.30 Not only was practically all of Europe now in the hands of monarchical courts, it was ruled by monarchs whose courts continued to grow. For centuries, aristocracies had been crucial to monarchical power. The reliance on the nobility as the dominant group at court was relatively self-­ evident until the French Revolution. After 1800, though, this joint venture between monarchy and aristocracy began to creak and buckle. Shifts in the economic and social foundations of European societies put increasing pressure on court societies, whether of long standing or recently revived. As David Barclay has put it, ‘the growing financial and cultural autonomy of non-aristocratic elite groups meant that nineteenth-century courts had to compete with alternative sources of social authority, prestige, and status’.31 Scholars have discussed the staying power of European aristocracies. Indeed, one of the leading scholars of the modernization of the British monarchy, David Cannadine, began his career with a thesis on nineteenth-­ century aristocracy.32 The issue of how the aristocracy weathered the challenges of a changing society has been of continuing interest. In 1981, Arno Mayer argued that aristocratic dominance was maintained until the First World War.33 His thesis has not been generally accepted, but an ­aristocratic presence in many centres of powers, such as the foreign service, has found some recognition.34 Aristocracy did not go well with male suffrage in many countries, though it should be remembered that in new bicameral parliaments, the nobility often had a strong presence in the upper chamber. Bicameral parliaments also went hand in hand with the introduction of constitutions that set out to define, and limit, the sovereign’s authority. Often constitutional reform also meant dismantling noble privilege and power. This  Mansel (2012, 255–6).  Barclay (1995, 14). 32  Cannadine (1975). 33  Mayer (1981). 34  Godsey (1999). 30 31

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meant not only that the aristocracy as the main ally of royal power became much less useful, but also that courts lost influence if its members, who had often spent their lives there, were no longer in control of other levers of power. The result was a daunting challenge. Even if courts managed to maintain the bond between royal and noble power, was it enough to keep a grip on power overall? The example of France in 1789 and 1830 was not encouraging. At the same time, across Europe, aristocrats had remarkable staying power, which was useful in retaining royal influence. An overview of noble representation in the ruling councils in a number of countries gives a very clear picture of noble hold over the highest offices all through the eighteenth century. I have looked at the composition of cabinets or equivalent governing councils, which, while a crude measure of noble influence (the formal machinery of government had many levels beneath that group), nevertheless is an indication of how far the nobility maintained its formal power.35 Before the French Revolution, cabinets were crushingly aristocratic and this continued afterwards. In 1800, Denmark, for example, still had a Cabinet consisting of nobles with court experience, a duke of a cadet line of the royal family, and an ennobled Saxon. This was a fairly standard set-up for royal cabinets at this time: nobles and only the occasional newly ennobled member. The court connection was especially strong in some countries such as Denmark and Saxony. By 1825, order had been restored after revolution and war. Most cabinets in Europe were still staffed by members of the old aristocracy with only a few newly ennobled interlopers. There were also the odd cabinets where a commoner was represented, such as Leonardo Frullani in Tuscany and George Canning in England (who was unusually prominent).36 Danish cabinets were traditionally highly aristocratic and had close links to the court, so it is noteworthy that a commoner was included in the 1825 Cabinet.37 The Portuguese Cabinet continued its eighteenth-century composition by including cardinals. The Cabinet that really stood out for its social diversity was the Dutch Cabinet, for only two were old aristocracy, half were newly ennobled, and almost 35  In the Introduction, European comparisons were made using the Europäisches genealogisches Handbuch (Schumann 1732 & 1752; Krebel 1776). In what follows, they are supplemented by Jacobi (1800), Almanach de Gotha (1825, 1850, 1875, and 1900). 36  Ibid. 37  Ibid., the councillor in question being Ove Malling.

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half were commoners. This partly reflected a different Dutch experience, where much power until recently had rested with the patriciates in the towns. By 1850, the winds of change had begun to blow through the aristocratic cabinets of Europe. The revolutions and new constitutions of 1848 were soon reversed in some countries, but in general, commoners were now admitted to cabinets. Ministers also made clear their loyalty was to the nation rather than the prince. In Hesse, the nobleman Moritz von Baumbach, later Minister of Justice, returned his golden key when he was made an appellate court judge in 1825 to mark his independence from the princely court.38 By 1875, change had proceeded further. In many Germany states there was a veneer of noble influence by the practice of ennobling commoners who had risen to power. Thus in Saxony, three cabinet ministers were old nobility and two were new nobility; in Württemberg, there were two from the old nobility and three newly ennobled; and in Bavaria, all six cabinet ministers were noble, but four of them were new creations. In Prussia, three ministers were newly ennobled, three were old nobility, and one was a commoner. Even after the fall of the Empire, the republic of France was divided evenly between aristocratic ministers and commoners. In Italy, however, commoners had broken through and held six places, while the old nobility only held three; in Belgium, the commoners were in majority; and in Denmark, only one of seven ministers was a nobleman (though all but one of the commoners held or had held court office). Interestingly, the Swedish Cabinet was still dominated by aristocrats in 1875, and in that respect was closer to many German principalities than to Denmark, Belgium, the Netherlands, or Italy. It was also obvious that the nobility retained key ministerial positions such as foreign minister or minister of war or the navy. Contrast this with the state of Europe’s cabinets in 1900: in France, commoners held nine places and noblemen only two, and in Denmark, aristocratic influence in the Cabinet was almost gone. Yet while in some German states, such as Baden and Hesse, commoners now dominated completely (they were generally middle-class civil servants with law degrees), in others such as Bavaria, Saxony, Württemberg, and Mecklenburg, the nobility still dominated the cabinets. Thus noble power held up until at least the 1820s in most countries. The socio-political pressures of 1848 resulted in commoners being  Deutsche Biographie, s.v. ‘Moritz von Baumbach’.

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brought in at the top level in many countries, although a number of German countries did continue to fight back against the commoners. So if noble power was on the wane in a number of countries, though not all, by the mid-nineteenth century, how did courts survive? In answering this question, it simplifies things to divide European nineteenth-century monarchies and their courts into three broad categories: the pervasive court, the limited court, and the minimalist court.

The Pervasive Court In the eighteenth and early nineteenth century, the pervasive court was by far the most common model of princely court. It was large so it could encompass not just a tiny sliver of the elite. Normally, the elite in this instance would be the nobility as these courts tended to be highly aristocratic. The royal courts were pervasive through their size and the doors which life at court opened. Often politicized in the way that courtiers could hold important political office, over the course of the nineteenth century, it became clear that a number of authoritarian monarchies maintained such court-based polities. A prime example was the Austrian court. In 1825, about 1800 aristocrats, mostly men, held court office. This did not equate with blind loyalty to the Emperor, but it was a way to reward the nobility and keep them close. Naturally, most of these courtiers were not in attendance, though they may have attended major ceremonies— and both during visits to Vienna and in their provincial context, court office could enhance status. In 1844, only a few Kammerherren attended court (zu inneren Dienst, five) and only fifteen pages. At the same time, a vast army of noblemen enjoyed the title and rank of Wirkliche Kämmerer (2363). Hannes Stekl has noted that the cost and size of the Austrian court grew between 1828 and 1847, and Brigitte Haman has found that the Austrian court continued to be very large after the turbulence of 1848, so that in 1900, there were still some 1600 Kämmerer in court service in Vienna.39 The civil list covering the costs of the Austrian court was also larger than other courts at 6.4 million florins in 1856.40 At the start of the nineteenth century, the Russian court was medium-sized when it came to offices for the nobility (e.g., thirty-five Chambellans actuels and twelve

 Stekl (1990, 23–7), Hamann (1990, 77).  Heuschling (1981).

39 40

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Gentilhommes de la Chambre).41 Interestingly, noblewomen had a remarkably large number of openings at court with twenty-three Dames d’honneur and fifty-two Demoiselles de cour, though it is evident that most of them were in fact retired.42 By the 1850s, the number of places for aristocrats had ballooned to 100 Chambellan ayant le clef and 214 Gentilhommes de la Chambre, and women too were more numerous, although it was now spelt out that of nineteen Dames d’honneur à portrait seven were ‘en congé’, and of 185 Demoiselles d’honneur eighty-nine were ‘en congé’.43 France had a pervasive court before 1789 and again between 1804 and 1830. Austria, and Russia, and France were European superpowers, but even much smaller powers had large courts. The expansion after the revolutionary years was visible in most parts of Europe. On the Italian peninsula, similar numbers of aristocrats were tied in to the princely courts, and various Italian courts followed the traditional system of having large numbers of honorific positions for the nobility. In 1792, the court of the Kingdom of Two Sicilies had 119 Gentiluomini di Camera con esercizio, thirty-four Gentiluomini di Camera di Entrata, twenty-six Maggiordomi di settimania, and forty Dame di Corte; by 1826, there had been some expansion, with 127 Gentiluomini di Camera con esercizio, fifty-one Gentiluomini di Camera di Entrata, forty-four Maggiordomi di settimania, and sixty-eight Dame di Corte; and by the 1840s, this was reduced though it was still large, so that in 1857, for example, there were eighty Gentiluomini di Camera con esercizio, sixty-seven Gentiluomini di Camera di Entrata, sixty-four Maggiordomi di settimania, and forty-five Dame di Corte.44 It was evident that after the unrest in 1848, new court appointments became scarce in Naples. Existing noble courtiers were kept on but an almost freeze existed on appointing new ones (there had been a freeze in 1834–38 as well). In other principalities such as Modena and Parma, similar trends are noticeable.45 A number of German courts also fall into the category of pervasive courts, most obviously the Bavarian. Samuel Klingensmith has analysed the lavish Bavarian court of the eighteenth century, which dominated the  Almanach de la cour (1802).  Ibid. 43  Almanach de la cour (1856). 44  Calendario e Notiziario di Corte per l’anno 1792; Almanacco della real casa 1826; Almanacco reale del regno delle Due Sicilie 1857. 45  Almanacco della R. Corte for Modena and Almanacco di Corte for Parma. 41 42

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country’s politics and culture.46 In the mid-nineteenth century over 600 aristocrats held court office in Munich, and this continued to the end of the century. The Bavarian court was also well financed. Its civil list in 1830 was a massive 2.35 million florins, though to this was added other expenses so that in 1873 the total was 3.1 million.47 This lavish and aristocratic court did not mean complete fossilization. Courts always had to change, though often without admitting the fact. King Maximilian I, for example abolished service at meals by noble Kammerherren and Pages.48 A majority of the higher officials in Bavaria under Maximilian II (1848–64) were commoners who had been ennobled, though the higher the office, the more likely the holder was born noble.49 The newly ennobled still had to integrate into an aristocratic lifestyle, and while the incorporation of newcomers into courtly life could make things run more smoothly, it also deprived the monarch of the opportunity to experience different points of view. Raquel Sánchez has argued that ‘Gentilhombres’ at the nineteenth-­ century Spanish court were not from traditionally aristocratic backgrounds, but their presence did not expose the monarch to a greater diversity of views and attitudes as these more bourgeois courtiers quickly became socialized into the courtly world.50 Prussia has often been perceived as austere and militaristic, and the court in Berlin as dull and a ‘rather lean operation by the standards of other European monarchies’, but it was not unimportant, and Thomas Biskup has analysed its importance in staging the eighteenth-century monarchy.51 I would argue that the Prussian court continued its association with several hundred noblemen through court titles. King Frederick William IV, for example, represented an alternative to France or England: in 1843–45, he set about restructuring his court, creating new ‘grand-­ sounding’ offices to create a more splendid court that would add prestige to the Prussian monarchy.52 The result was that in the 1850s, ‘The officer corps, the upper reaches of the bureaucracy, and the court all remained

 Klingensmith (1993).  Heuschling (1881). 48  Weis (1990, 90). 49  Brunner (1987, 349). 50  Sánchez (2018). 51  Barclay (1995, 60), Biskup (2012). 52  Barclay (1995, 71). 46 47

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bastions of aristocratic privilege’.53 Even on the eve of the First World War, William II was served by no fewer than 292 Chamber Gentlemen.54 The court of the Danish kings was very similar in structure and size to both many German courts and the Swedish court.55 In 1749, the main offices of Kammerherr, Kammerjunker, and Hofjunker together numbered 103, while there were nineteen offices for women. Like other European courts, this comparatively large court continued to grow. In 1801, there were 249 Kammerherren, 128 Kammerjunker, and six Hofjunker; in the closing decades of absolutism, it continued to expand, reaching 211 Kammerherren, 272 Kammerjunker, twenty-one Hofjunker, and fifty-three Jagtjunker.56 After the promulgation of a new Constitution in 1847, the Danish court begin to contract, like many other kingdoms mid-century, but it was still a considerable size in 1870 with 207 Kammerherren, 165 Kammerjunker, five Hofjunker, and sixteen Jaktjunkare.57 Compare this to the Swedish court, which was similar in both size and cost to the Danish court, and was plainly a pervasive court of the old-fashioned kind: over 300 aristocratic men and women held court positions in 1850, a contraction from the 400 in 1825, but nevertheless numerous when counting aristocratic courtiers. In the 1860s, the Swedish Civil List, including various sub-courts, rose to 1.4 million riksdaler (despite increasing opposition in the Diet); at the same time, the Danish Civil List was 713,000 riksdaler (not counting extra appendages). For a long period, the Saxon court at Dresden had a reputation for magnificence. Elector August the Strong had a well-earned reputation both for absolutism rule and for lavish display.58 He also created a corps of so-called Silver Pages for young noble boys. Over the next century, however, Saxony was much reduced, partly swallowed by stronger neighbours. Saxony’s court, however, continued to be one of Germany’s largest until the 1810s, when the more bourgeois, liberal kings, Frederick August and John reformed it. By 1900, the court had shrunk to about half its size in 1819.59 That said, the kings continued to spend more than most monarchs on their court. Saxony’s Civil List in the mid-nineteenth century  Ibid., 219.  Philippi (1990). 55  Königlich-dänischer Hof- und Staatskalender 1749. 56  Kongelig Dansk Hof- og Stats-Calender 1844. 57  Kongelig Dansk Hof- og Statskalender 1870. 58  Czok (1991). 59  Blaschke (1990, 188). 53 54

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accounted for about 9% of the annual expenditure of the country, even after cutbacks in the 1840s.60 One method to counteract the contraction was to increase invitations to court balls.61 This may have been an uphill struggle, as Josef Matzerath has noted a sharp fall, a collapse even, in aristocrats residing in Dresden while serving at court: in 1797, there were fifty-one noblemen, but in 1865 only thirteen.62 Even smaller principalities had expanding courts. Take Mecklenburg-­ Schwerin, a medium-sized principality on the Baltic coast with 528,000 inhabitants in 1850, which continued with old-fashioned, strong princely power into the twentieth century.63 Its court had about 100 offices for noblemen (though only a tiny number for noblewomen). In 1776, the main categories of court offices for men had only encompassed about twenty-five people.64 The Mecklenburg court grew during the French Revolution and the decades following, and what put a stop to it appears to have been the 1848 unrest. All over Europe, from Prussia to the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, it was evident that appointments to aristocratic court offices fell dramatically in the turbulent years of 1848 and 1849. After this point, however, the numbers of some court appointments began to rise again. In 1846, the duchy of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha had 147,000 inhabitants, but its court was more impressive than the principality itself, and at least eighty-four noblemen and six noblewomen held court offices—at the time when the British equivalent was fifty-eight noblemen and twenty-six noblewomen.65 It is clear that an Englishman such as the author William Thackeray found this European world baffling. Britain, an imperial power on a world scale, had a court that had fewer serving aristocrats than tiny Saxe-Coburg-Gotha or the Italian duchy of Parma. When Thackeray described the court of Weimar, though he called it Pumpernickel, he was bemused by the experience of a pervasive German court. The size of the court, its many out-dated offices, and its centrality to the life of the little principality puzzled a man used to a court which was far less centre stage in either politics or social life. Yet until at least the 1850s, it was the UK that was the oddity in a European perspective.  Almanach de Gotha (1850, 595–6).  Matzerath (2006, 127). 62  Ibid., 132. 63  Almanach de Gotha (1850, 482). 64  Herzoglich-Mecklenburg-Schwerinscher Staatscalender (1776). 65  Not counting officers in the guards. 60 61

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The Limited Court While old-fashioned, autocratic rulers tended to have pervasive courts, more modern, parliamentarian countries often had small courts. Political change could force a ruler to reshape his court. Italian courts, for example, were traditional and had numerous offices for aristocrats, but under the pressure of increasing chaos, King Charles Albert of Sardinia gave way and accepted a Constitution in 1848, and the following year, he abdicated. At the same time, the court was drastically reduced, leaving mainly military aide-de-camps to attend on the next king. The earliest example of this politically motivated transition to a smaller court with greater parliamentary scrutiny was Britain. In 1844, the main offices for aristocrats were few compared to continental courts: eight Lords in Waiting, nine Grooms in Waiting, one Mistress of the Robes, nine Ladies of the Bedchamber, eight Maids of Honour, nine Bedchamber Women, and thirty-nine Gentlemen of the Privy Chamber.66 Several of these appointments were largely controlled by Parliament (such as the Lords and Grooms in Waiting and to some extent the Ladies of the Bedchamber). These numbers, after initial adjustments for a reigning queen, had been stable for decades. A slow decrease in the number of Gentlemen of the Privy Chamber was apparent, though, from fifty-three in 1780 to forty in 1830 and thirty-nine in 1844.67 For a country the size and wealth of the UK, this was a very small court, and its top stratum was small and partly under political control. Naturally, states were not locked into one model. In the eighteenth century, the Württemberg court expanded dramatically, reflecting both the general European trend and the ambitions of its ruling dukes. In 1736, the court calendar listed seven Wirkliche Kammerherren, but this number had grown to 115  in 1775 and was then supplemented by sixty-seven Wirkliche Kammerjunker and fifty-eight Hofjunker.68 In 1806, Duke Frederick I was refashioned as a king, which was more attuned to his ambitions. Naturally, his court continued to increased, becoming more expensive and with twice the number of Kammerjunker and Kammerherren.69 King Frederick’s successor William I accepted a constitution in 1819, and, more reform-minded and more austere than his  The Royal kalendar 1844.  The Royal kalendar (1783). 68  Das Jetzt lebend- und florirende Würtemberg… 1736; Jetzt florirendes Würtemberg 1775. 69  Sauer (1990, 97). 66 67

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predecessor, cut the number of court dignitaries drastically—only the Kammerherren in waiting were left in office, and all the rest had to hand back their golden keys—and refused to allow people to hold military and court office in tandem. In 1812 there had been 361 offices for aristocrats at court, but by 1824 this had fallen to eighty-six; in 1815, King Frederick had had 195 Kammerherren and ninety-six Kammerjunkern, but again by 1824 only two Kammerherren were in attendance, sixty-eight noted as non-attending, and all the Kammerjunkern and more than a hundred Kammerherren had been dismissed.70 After these swingeing cuts, the court remained much the same size for the rest of the century, although a few Kammerjunkern were reintroduced.71 The Württemberg Civil List allocated 913,000 florins to the court in 1872.72 Both the Netherlands and the UK had largish elites who while not strictly noble still enjoyed similar status. The experience of highly influential groups of regents and gentry respectively, influenced the country’s political landscapes. In 1800, the Netherlands had a very small court, but it gradually expanded over the century, to the point where it arguably fell into the pervasive category. The Dutch Civil List earmarked 900,000 florins for the court and ancillary courts in 1849, which was relatively speaking a substantial sum.73 Set the Netherlands’ 900,000 florins (in a country with a population of 3 million) against the grand duchy of Baden’s 985,000 florins in 1870 (in a country with a population of 1.3 million), and it is apparent that smaller principalities in general spent a greater proportion of their budget on the ruling court, which in proportion were larger and more expensive than those of larger principalities.74 In ­comparison, the poorest was probably the Greek court, which was allotted 1 million drachmas in the country’s Civil List in the 1830s, later raised to 1.25 million in the 1864 under its new king, George I.75 Meanwhile, in 1873, the empire from which Greece gained independence, the Ottoman Empire, cost even after considerable cuts 43 million francs.76

 Ibid., 119.  Hof- und Staats-Handbuch des Königreichs Württemberg 1877. 72  Heuschling (1881). 73  Heuschling (1881). 74  The population figures are taken from Almanach de Gotha (1850), Civil List according to Heuschling. 75  Ibid. 76  Heuschling (1881). 70 71

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The Minimalist Court The July Revolution in 1830 wiped out the restoration court of the Bourbons. Charles X had been served by 256 Gentilhommes de la Chambre honoraires, thirty-two Gentilhommes de la Chambre, a further thirty-nine Gentilhommes de la Chambre, and sixty Pages, as well as a number of Chambellans and other senior court dignitaries.77 This system was abolished, and the new king, Louis Philippe I, had no Gentilhommes de la Chambre, Chambellans, or Pages; instead he had only a handful of courtiers, numbering fifteen military aides-de-camp and eight Officier d’Ordonnances du Roi. Spending on the court also collapsed—in 1830, court expenditure was eleven times higher than in 1831.78 Thibaut Trétout has emphasized that Louis Philippe tried to integrate a simpler lifestyle into his image, determined to be different from both the Bourbons and Napoleon and their lavish courts. By doing away with a magnificent court, by dismissing hundreds of aristocratic courtiers, he made a clear statement: his reign would be different. He would rule in conjunction with the rising middle classes in the Senate, commercial interests, and the press. That said, Trétout does discern a creeping ‘courtization’ over the course of Louis Philippe’s reign and efforts to use the court politically.79 After Napoleon III seized power in 1852 he recreated an Imperial court, aiming for cultural and social significance. Painters, composers, and artists were all part of the imagery of the Second Empire court. Yet despite having a Civil List of 25 million francs (about twice Louis Philippe), what Napoleon III did not do was revive the old, lavish court with hundreds of honorary positions for aristocrats.80 He appointed a small number of Chambellans and Chambellans Honoraires, but otherwise kept the system of having aides-de-camp and officier d’ordonnances du Empereur as his courtiers.81 He even appointed military aides-de-camp honoraires, similar to previous monarchs’ Gentilhommes de la Chambre honoraires, though they were very few indeed.82 It is evident that Napoleon III set out to use his court to strengthen his ties to his more illustrious uncle, and in a similar fashion, many courtiers had family connections to the First Empire,  Almanach Royal (1830).  Trétout (2009, 124). 79  Trétout (2009). 80  Heuschling (1881). 81  Almanach Impérial (1868). 82  Almanach Impérial (1868). 77 78

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including the Prince of Moscow (a son of Marshal Ney), the Duke of Bassano, and a nephew of Marshal Berthier. When Belgium was created as an independent kingdom after gaining independence from the Netherlands in 1830, it already had a court in Brussels. The new king, Leopold I, chose not build on this, however. Instead, he followed the example of his soon-to-be father-in-law, Louis Philippe, and did away with his entire court. Again like Louis Philippe, Leopold was instead served by a few aide-de-camps and officier d’ordonnances. In this he was not driven by financial need, though, as the Civil List grant to Leopold was 4.3 million francs. Another example was the kingdom of Norway, ruled as a personal union by the Swedish king, but carefully kept apart from Sweden. Over the nineteenth century, Norway, once a glittering prize for Charles XIV John, developed into a running sore. Its politicians were more obstreperous than Sweden’s and it had less of the traditional aristocratic culture on which courts thrived. In the beginning, the Norwegian court of the 1810s was very small and was led by Baron Carl Ferdinand Wedel-Jarlsberg and his sister-in-law Countess Karen Wedel-Jarlsberg. They remained in office for decades, despite hasty appointments as the court had to be organised fast and from scratch. This would also lead to some regrets, such as Queen Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta noting that Baron Wedel was ‘a real farm oaf with no reputation’.83 Norwegians were happy to have court offices that provided sought after status—it was reported they were received ‘avec un grand plaisir’—especially the ladies.84 To integrate the Norwegian elite into Swedish rule, Charles XIV John let the Norwegian court expand rapidly. At his accession, there were eleven Norwegians in offices traditionally held by aristocrats, but on his death in 1844 that number had risen to forty-seven. He also supported Norwegians and Swedes at court to intermarry, a step towards the merger of its people. Norwegian officers were encouraged to be in Stockholm and ‘acquire the ton which marked high society’.85 Swedes took the Norwegian elite’s simpler customs as an opportunity to sneer at ‘foolish Norwegians also learning to become people’. Some appointments, such as Eleonora Clauson Kaas who was made Lady of the Palace, would have been inconceivable in Sweden, as she was the wife of a professor of surgery—to the Swedish way of thinking, a nobody.  Bonde and Klercker (1942, 397).  Lindbæk and Omang (1938, 31, 27). 85  Höjer (1960, 196–7). 83 84

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One constant problem for king and court alike was that Norway had abolished ennoblement in 1814. In 1846, King Oscar I said he wished there were nobles in Norway.86 The Norwegian Constitution also banned courtiers from serving in the Diet. After the death of Charles XIV John in 1844, the Norwegian court soon shrank, not helped by the smallness of its budget from the Norwegian Parliament. This was a source of constant friction. When the Norwegian Parliament refused to cooperate in making provisions for the newly married crown prince in 1881, King Oscar II was infuriated. ‘The utterly rotten behaviour of the Norwegian Storthing about your maintenance embittered me all the more as until the last moment I thought I could count on a better outcome! … In the meantime you should not spend anything on Norway and not have any Norwegian court’.87

A Return to Royal Conservatism In the 1840s, King Oscar I soon began to waver about his attempted reforms. The Europe-wide disturbances of 1848 reached Stockholm and led to riots and bloodshed. After that, the king lost all sympathy for liberals and radicals. He was heard saying at supper that he ‘Thought radicalism should be smothered. Thought Charles X and Louis Philippe had fallen because they did not use canister shot in time. The law must have its say’, while Queen Josephine added that ‘it would have been better if the young Emperor in Austria had not had to begin his career with blood on him, and if one of the older ones, at the end of his career anyway, could have got all the horribleness out of the way’.88 Their younger son Prince Oscar (later Oscar II), wrote to a friend that ‘still old Sweden stands despite all efforts by the “rabble” or the so-called people (which is not the people) to trample law and right under their feet. It makes one happy that in the general troubles in Europe one still sees a country far away in the distant North still standing firm around its king and upholding his throne, so that it is not dragged by a furious crowd in the filth of the street!!! For this throne we will all willingly live and die’.89

 KB I.b.26 Bernhard von Beskows kalenderanteckningar 22 February 1846.  BA Gustaf V vol. 38 Oscar II to Gustaf, Bad Ems 25 June 1881. 88  KB I.b.26 Bernhard von Beskows kalenderanteckningar 22 November 1849. 89  BA Oscar II vol. 27 Oscar II to Richard Björkstén, Stockholm 31 March 1848. 86 87

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A courtier in attendance noted in his official journal in March 1848 that the most worrying news had come from France. The railway around Paris was destroyed—‘blood running on the streets and anarchy alone rules. The king was said to have abdicated and fled to England? But one did not want to believe this!!!’90 A few days later, the courtier felt reassured when the royal family attended the theatre and were greeted by the audience singing royal anthem, which was then the royalist hymn Folksången—‘the audience used this opportunity to show HM the King their devotion at a moment when thrones tumble in Europe’.91 Disturbing news continued to pour in—a republic in France, riots in Munich—while the court held balls and attended the theatre. Then on 18 March, the royal family attended the opera to hear the famous Swedish soprano Jenny Lind in Weber’s Der Freischütz. At first, they were assured by ‘the unanimous and strongest hurrahs’ that had ever been heard and another rendition of Folksången. During the performance, however, news arrived that a large crowd had gathered and was now laying siege to the house of one of the king’s more notorious conservative officials. The police were overwhelmed. King Oscar and his four sons left the opera and rode to the spot to rally the troops that had been sent in. The crowd was ordered to disperse, which it did so with shouts of ‘Long live the king!’ The fickleness of the mood was evident when people began throwing stones at windows, ‘sometimes singing Folksången and sometimes La Marseillaise’.92 The following day, the military fired on protesters. ‘The battle was short, within a few hours the rebellious were scattered, and in the north of town where barricades were being thrown up the people were immediately pushed back, and the same in the south. A multitude of men of all classes came in the evening to the palace to offer themselves as volunteers’.93 More troops arrived a couple of days later, the royals ventured to drive around town in their carriages, and theatres reopened. News from abroad was still very worrying, though, and ‘from Berlin, real dread. One hardly believes some people are sane and one fears a general revolution’.94 There was palpable relief when the king heard that ‘the revolution in Milan has been quelled by the Radetzky’s cannons’.95  BA Oscar I vol. 32 Kammarherrejournal 6 March 1848.  BA Oscar I vol. 32 Kammarherrejournal 9 March 1848. 92  BA Oscar I vol. 32 Kammarherrejournal 18 March 1848. 93  BA Oscar I vol. 32 Kammarherrejournal 19 March 1848. 94  BA Oscar I vol. 32 Kammarherrejournal 29 March 1848. 95  BA Oscar I vol. 32 Kammarherrejournal 4 April 1848. 90 91

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In truth, Oscar I had become disillusioned even before the turbulence and bloodshed of 1848. The king was heard saying in 1847 that it had dawned on him that ‘the intent of the liberals had been to make royal power into a mere name stamp on the decrees of the Estates’.96 Not long before his son had said, ‘the liberals are always the worst tyrants when they come to power’.97 By now, the entire royal family was conservative, with the king possibly the most hard-line. ‘Papa is more conservative than either you or me’, Crown Prince Charles, no liberal, told a courtier in 1851.98 King Oscar even exclaimed that if Gustaf IV Adolf ‘had not been mad’, the Gustavian absolutist Constitution could have survived.99 Napoleon III’s 1851 coup left his admiring relative the king of Sweden to muse that parliamentary fictions had proven useless in turbulent times.100 The restoration of the empire the following year was duly celebrated with champagne at the Swedish court.101 Oscar I also thought the freedom of the press should be abolished to safeguard order—and only people with an education and who could offer a cash surety should be allowed to write in the press.102 An effort to push this through in 1853–54 failed, however. The king and his sons now cooperated with the conservative opposition. At the Diet of 1847–48, a party critical of the government began to take shape. Contemporaries talked about the ‘Junkers’ (Junkrarna): conservative aristocrats, many of them with court offices, opposed to the government’s liberal tendencies.103 One of their leaders was Carl Otto Palmstierna, the previously alienated aristocratic courtier with whom the king now cooperated. The king had previously tried to gather moderate support during the Diets of 1844–45 and 1847–48, but now in 1850–51, he hoped for the support of the Junkers instead. The Junkers drafted parliamentary reforms that retained some influence for the nobility.104 Time, however, was running out.

 Söderhjelm and Palmstierna (1944, 326).  KB I.b.26 Bernhard von Beskows kalenderanteckningar 9 April 1846. 98  Söderhjelm and Palmstierna (1944, 335). 99  KB I.b.26 Bernhard von Beskows kalenderanteckningar 7 May 1850. 100  Söderhjelm and Palmstierna (1944, 336–7). 101  KB I.b.26 Bernhard von Beskows kalenderanteckningar 13 December 1852. 102  Söderhjelm and Palmstierna (1944, 368). 103  Förhammar (1975). 104  Förhammar (1975). 96 97

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Going Their Separate Ways King Oscar I was a remote, easily offended, in some ways insecure person. He preferred to be ‘a sealed envelope rather than an open book’ to other people.105 By 1850, he was becoming increasingly distant, even absent, when conversing. The reason for this change was in reality a brain tumour. Over the next few years, he lost his strength and became paralysed and completely silent. In 1857, he had to be held upright when he went for carriage rides by being strapped into place.106 The same year it was observed that the queen was lifting the king’s arm in a wave when out in his carriage.107 As he wasted away, Oscar I’s capacity for action dwindled, and in 1857, Crown Prince Charles was made regent. When Oscar died in 1859 and Charles XV became king, the battle for a strong monarchy was lost. Not that the new king had any intention of giving up on royal power, for his world view was traditional and he could be very engaged in some causes. Yet compared to his father he was less intelligent, blustering, often lazy, and not a details man. With these disadvantages, he found it difficult to hold his own against better-prepared government ministers. This became apparent in several ways over the next decade as royal power rapidly drained away. Charles XV normally did not fight his corner in matters of appointments, and though he tended to make promises, he often had to break them. This soon enough led yet more precedents as he rubber-­ stamped decisions made by others. Another way the king’s lack of determination showed was in his acceptance of a new Parliament to replace the old Diet of Estates. His brother Oscar later wrote that monarchs in constitutional monarchies had a tendency to give way to others.108 As King Oscar II, he was open about his distaste for the new Parliament, for ‘My brother’s great reform of 1865 I disliked as much as he himself did’, but under different circumstances, Oscar claimed to have ‘defended the principle, importance, and power of tradition in every ordered monarchical society. I am really most proud of that, though few would understand that, of course’.109

 Söderhjelm and Palmstierna (1944, 370).  Ibid., 451. 107  Ibid., 448. 108  BA Oscar II vol. 31 Oscar II to Alexander Wilde, Sofiero 4 October 1869. 109  Ibid., Stockholm 4 December 1892. 105 106

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Charles XV and Oscar II were not the only ones unhappy about change and parliamentary reform. One nobleman wrote in 1850 of his fear of a revolution, and wondered ‘where will we, the worshippers of monarchy, go?’110 Another said in 1848 that any sensible person would react to the news of the February Revolution in Paris by acknowledging the harm done by liberals and their followers of ‘dockers getting the upper hand and overthrowing everything, but standing against the stream is hard, and it is hardest of all for our poor king … whatever happens, I will not change my views, I was born with aristocratic principles, and so help me God I will leave them as a legacy to my children’.111 Once the 1848 crisis had passed, conservative courtiers and nobles set themselves to fight the abolition of the Diet of the Estates. In 1865, King Charles XV publicly lent his support to the abolition, which deeply disappointed courtiers who felt abandoned. Chamber Gentleman Corfitz Beck-­ Friis wrote to his wife describing the battle against the proposed new bicameral Parliament. The aristocrats despaired because they ‘lack all the support from above which is rightfully ours’.112 The king’s abandonment of his aristocratic courtiers cut deep and Beck-Friis deplored ‘the decay of royal authority, and the Fatherland falling prey to unknown dangers’.113 A couple of days later, he still had some hope, since he thought the king’s attempts at persuasion had backfired, and even if some were wavering, most of the southern Swedish aristocrats ‘stand firm as a wall’ against the new Parliament.114 The following day, though, a dejected Beck-Friis wrote, ‘Now we have lost the battle, and thus a new era begins at this moment’.115 He added that the populace might not force a revolution this time, but it would come soon enough. Soon after he wrote of the depression felt by the defeated friends of the old Constitution, and how ‘the plebs cheer’.116

 Söderhjelm and Palmstierna (1944, 334).  KB L 70–45–2 Carl Anton Philip von Saltza to CAF Funck, Sörby 29 April 1848. 112  RA Börringe klosters arkiv vol. 140 Corfitz Beck-Friis to Stina Nordenfelt, Stockholm 2 December 1865. 113  Ibid., Stockholm 2 December 1865. 114  Ibid., Stockholm 4 & 6 December 1865. 115  Ibid., Stockholm 7 December 1865. 116  Ibid., Stockholm 9 December 1865. For other courtiers who remarked on the gloom of the conservatives, see for example, RA Sjöholmsarkivet Lewenhauptska släktarkivet vol. 156 Adam Lewenhaupt to Charlotte Gyldenstolpe, Stockholm 8 December 1865. 110 111

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‘I have from the very start hated the new Constitution’, he said a few years later.117 Beck-Friis was not the only courtier who was an enemy of parliamentary reform, of course. Another was the loyal royalist Gustaf Ehrenborg, who reflected at the close of a later Parliament that ‘many important matters have been decided, but worst of all is that power is now in the Parliament instead of the hands of His Majesty. We are coming closer and closer to the day when peasants will rule. In this country it will not be as bad as in Norway, but we who were against the great parliamentary reform, mostly on the grounds that royal power would shrink and it would come under a peasant rule … we already see that our fears were justified’.118 Some courtiers openly acknowledged that they had opposed parliamentary reform, some worked against it in secret.119 Most seemed to have shared the sentiments of one ultra-royalist courtier, who wrote in his diary that he opposed parliamentary reform because ‘it will move Sweden closer to a republican Constitution and in future without doubt topple the monarchy’.120

Consequences In 1890 a young diplomat was called to the palace. He was told that the king had given him a court office—to his dismay. The young diplomat was not averse to the idea of being a courtier, indeed, he was fascinated by courts, but he wanted to be a courtier like his father had been in the 1850s rather than at a court that had had its wings clipped. Power now rested with Parliament and not with the court. The relationship between nobility and monarchy had changed irretrievably, and the royal court no longer offered opportunities to young aristocrats. This was not unique to Sweden. The role of European aristocracies underwent a sea change in the first half of the nineteenth century. In many principalities, commoners now held the kind of formal political positions previously reserved for aristocrats. As Europe’s nobility changed over the century, its courts, remarkably resilient in the face of many challenges, also began to change. In its most  Ibid., Stockholm 30 January 1868.  LUB Gustaf Ehrenborg vol. 10 16 May 1872. 119  Lindahl (1897, i. 75), Lindahl (1898, iii. 165; 1900, iv. 223). 120  KB L 106.40.3 10 September 1865. 117 118

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dramatic if not iconic form there was the decapitated court society—a court society where a coup or revolution removed the head of the court and the monarchy alike, as in France in 1792—yet the decline of the European courts did not come with the French Revolution. Rather, most courts remained more or less static or even continued to expand. It was only mid-century that various courts began to crack under the demands for liberal reform. In the nineteenth century, a variety of categories of monarchy emerged. Large and politically and culturally influential, the pervasive court had long been the standard model and remained so in Europe until the mid-­ nineteenth century. Many principalities had such courts, including Bavaria, Denmark, and of course Sweden, as did leading autocratic monarchies such as Russia, Austria, and Prussia, as well as Italian states such as the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies. Since the Glorious Revolution in 1688, the British court was more limited as models went, and it certainly offered fewer positions for the nobility. Added to that was a degree of political influence over the court that would have been unthinkable in, say, Sweden or Prussia. A third model, the minimalist court, with its few noble courtiers and smaller size, was represented by Belgium and France after 1830. Liberals invariably favoured either minimalist or limited courts as offering fewer ways for royal and aristocratic power to endure. After 1850, some of the pervasive courts were increasingly on the wane. Such changes often required longer periods of adjustment as elites traditionally focussed on the court, and the monarchy had to come to terms with a new reality. In Sweden, the succession of King Oscar I in 1844 weakened the pervasive court model and its reliance on the nobility. Even though the king changed tack and became increasingly conservative after 1848, royal power continued to drain away over the next two decades, accelerating in the 1860s, when he largely ceased making appointments and influencing major political decisions. The turning point was the abolition in 1866 of the Diet and its replacement by a bicameral Parliament. This undermined aristocratic power, as the nobility no longer had a guaranteed, official political platform, which the Estate of Nobles in the Diet had offered them—as anticipated by a number of courtiers, who had been vehemently opposed to parliamentary reform. Plainly, many aristocrats felt betrayed by the king’s decision to reform Swedish politics, however lukewarm his enthusiasm for the changes. The court as a joint venture between monarch and a powerful nobility was fast dissolving in the 1860s.

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The courtier Gustaf Ehrenborg wrote despondently in 1870 that the common people would continue to be ‘monarchically minded, if only this beautiful feeling were taken care of and nurtured’. Instead, he feared that royalism would go unnurtured, if only because ‘the highest in society do everything to destroy this sentiment which is innate to any Swede. In this they do such wrong. With the direction time has taken, everything happens so fast—you could say with electric speed—and if these tendencies are not stopped in a wise manner, I know the consequences!’121

References Published Sources Almanach de Gotha… 1825 (Gotha: Justus Perthes, 1825). Almanach de Gotha… 1850 (Gotha: Justus Perthes, 1850). Almanach de Gotha… 1875 (Gotha: Justus Perthes, 1875). Almanach de Gotha… 1900 (Gotha: Justus Perthes, 1900). Almanach de la cour: Pour l’année 1802 (St Petersburg: Academie Imperial des Sciences, 1802). Almanach de la cour: Pour l’année 1856 (St Petersburg: Academie Imperial des Sciences, 1856). Almanach Impérial pour MDCCCLVIII (Paris 1868). Almanach Royal… 1830 (Paris: Chez A. Guyot et Scribe, 1830). Bonde, Carl & Cecilia af Klercker (eds), Hedvig Elisabeth Charlottas dagbok, 9 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1902–42). Crusenstolpe, Magnus Jacob, Skildringar uti det inre af dagens historia (Stockholm: Hjerta, Ställningar och förhållanden: Tionde brefvet (Stockholm, 1844). Herzoglich-Mecklenburg-Schwerinscher Staatscalender Auf das Jahr 1776 (Schwerin: W. Bärensprung herzogl. Hofbuchdrucker, 1776). Jacobi, Christian Friedrich, Europäisches Genealogisches Handbuch auf das Jahr 1800 (Leipzig: Johann Friedrich Gleditschens handlung, 1800). Krebel, Gottlob Friedrich (ed.), Europäisches genealogisches Handbuch (Leipzig, 1776). Lewenhaupt, Adam, Hågkomster från barndomen (Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand, 1936). Lindbæk, Sofie Aubert & Reidar Omang (eds), Stattholder Carl Mörners brev til Carl Johan 1816–1818 (Oslo: Jacob Dybwad, 1938). The Royal kalendar, and court and city register … 1783 (London: J. Debrett, 1783).  LUB Gustaf Ehrenborg vol. 9 15 May 1870.

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Schumann, Gottlieb (ed.), Jährliches genealogisches Handbuch (Leipzig, 1732). ——— (ed.), Europäisches genealogisches Handbuch (Leipzig, 1752). Stekl, Hannes, ‘Der Wiener Hof in der ersten Hälfte des 19. Jahrhunderts’, in Möckl 1990.

Secondary Publications Barclay, David, Frederick William IV and the Prussian Monarchy 1840–1861 (Oxford: OUP, 1995). Biskup, Thomas, ‘The hidden queen: Elizabeth Christine of Prussia and Hohernzollern queenship in the eighteenth century’, in Campbell-Orr, Friedrichs Grösse: Inszenierungen des Preußenkönigs in Fest und Zeremoniell 1740–1815 (Frankfurt am Main: Campus Verlag, 2012). Blaschke, Karlheinz, ‘Hof und Hofgesellschaft im Königreich Sachsen wärend des 19. Jahrhunderts’, in Möckl 1990. Brunner, Max, Die Hofgesellschaft: Die führende Gesellschaftsschicht Bayerns während der Regierungszeit König Maximilian II (Munich: Kommissionsvlg UNI-Druck, 1987). Cannadine, David, ‘The aristocracy and the towns in the nineteenth century: a case-study of the Calthorpes and Birmingham, 1807–1910’, D.  Phil, Oxford 1975. Czok, Karl, August der Starke. Sein Verhältnis zum Absolutismus und zum Sächsischen Adel (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1991). Fåhræus, Olof Immanuel, Skildringar ur det offentliga lifvet (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1880). Förhammar, Staffan, Reformvilja eller riksdagstaktik? Junkrarna och representationsfrågan 1847–54 (Stockholm: Göteborgs offsettryckeri, 1975). Godsey, William, Aristocratic redoubt: The Austro-Hungarian Foreign Office on the eve of the First World War (West Lafayette: Purdue University Press, 1999). Hamann, Brigitte, ‘Der Wiener Hof und die Hofgesellschaft in der zweiten Hälfte des 19. Jahrhunderts’, in Möckl 1990. Heuschling, Xavier, ‘Civil List’, in Frederick Martin (ed.), Statesman’s Manual: Statistical and historical annual of the states of the civilised world for the year 1881 (New York: St Martin’s Press, 1881). Höjer, Torvald, Karl XIV Johan, 3 vols (Stockholm: Norstedts, 1939–60). Klingensmith, Samuel John, The Utility of Splendor: Ceremony, Social Life, and Architecture at the Court of Bavaria, 1600–1800 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993). Lindahl, Carl Fredrik (‘Lazarus’), Svenska millionärer: Anteckningar och minnen, 10 vols (Stockholm: P. A. Huldbergs bokförlags-aktiebolag, 1897–1910).

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Mansel, Philip, ‘Monarchy, Uniform and the Rise of the Frac, ‘The Court in the nineteenth century: Return to the limelight’ in Marcello Fantoni (ed.) The Court in Europe (Rome: Bulzone Editore, 2012). Matzerath, Josef, Adelsprobe an der Moderne: Sächsischer Adel 1763 bis 1866 (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2006). Mayer, Arno, The Persistence of the Old Regime (New York: Pantheon, 1981). Philippi, Hans, ‘Der Hof Kaiser Wilhelms II.’, in Möckl 1990. Sánchez, Raquel, ‘Los Gentilhombres de Palacio y la Política Informal en Torno al Monarca en Espana (1833–1885)’, Aportes: Revista de Historia Contemporánea, 33/96 (2018). Sauer, Paul, ‘Der württembergische Hof in der ersten Hälfte des 19. Jahrhunderts’, in Möckl 1990. Söderhjelm, Alma & Carl-Fredrik Palmstierna, Oscar I (Stockholm: Bonnier, 1944). Trétout, Thibaut, ‘Louis-Philippe et la Cour’, in Hélène Becquet & Bettina Frederkind La Dignité de Roi (Rennes: Presses universitaires de Rennes, 2009). Weis, Eberhard, ‘Hof und Hofgesellschaft in Bayern unter König Max I.’, in Möckl 1990.

CHAPTER 10

Magnificent, Engaging, or Remote

Whenever a royal carriage rattled past the guards in Gustaf Adolf Square in Stockholm, the sentry shouted ‘At arms!’ and drumrolls sounded, male passers-by took off their hats and bowed, and women ‘curtsied as deep as at a cour reception at the palace’. As the carriage and its outriders disappeared, the square resumed its normal pace, ‘but not for long, as the same ceremony was repeated on its return, or when some other royal lady, or the king himself, was driven or went past’.1 A critic of the monarchy in 1846 wrote that members of the royal family hardly ever showed themselves on the streets of Stockholm without royal pomp.2 This irritated the journalist in question beyond belief, but there were plenty who were certain that people appreciated it, or like one courtier could write that Queen Dowager Desirée, despite not knowing any Swedish, ‘is loved, because she is benevolent, shows herself constantly to the people in theatres, public festivities, and driving through the streets, and keeps the old royal pomp, all things the Swedes demand of their Royals’.3 In the 1820s, an English diplomat in Stockholm noted how the royal family preserved their remote and exalted status more than many other courts: ‘The character of the Copenhagen society is quite different from that at Stockholm. The Royal Family go about like other people’.4  Wrangel (1924, 140).  Lindeberg (1846). 3  LUB Gustaf Ehrenborg vol. 1 22 January 1858. 4  Bloomfield (1884, i. 163–164). 1 2

© The Author(s) 2020 F. Persson, Survival and Revival in Sweden’s Court and Monarchy, 1718–1930, Palgrave Studies in Modern Monarchy, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52647-4_10

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Royal carriages could make an impression that lasted a lifetime. An aristocrat remembered how they were an important aspect of the Stockholm of his childhood. The gleaming carriages and handsomely dressed servants added colour. ‘We had in the years ’59 and ’60 one queen, two queen dowagers, and one duchess, who almost daily went by carriage to Djurgården or Ulriksdal. Queen Desirée’s carriage I only remember because of noticing the tiny queen, who was shrunk into a corner of the closed barouche. I have a vivid memory, though, of Queen Dowager Josephine’s handsome horses, always black, and the fat coachman on the gigantic coach-box, and I thought it was the most enviable thing to drive such a black team of horses’.5 Carriage drives were a statement of presence by the royal family, as were visits to the opera or the races. Even when partly paralysed in 1857, King Oscar and Queen Josephine would go for drives with the king held upright by straps and the queen waving his hand for him. For a century from at least the 1770s, May Day was the traditional day for a cavalcade of royal carriages to drive to the park at Djurgården.6 This was fixture in the Stockholm calendar until Oscar II let it fall into abeyance because interest was waning, fewer royals and carriages took part, and some did not dress up. At one of the last May Day cavalcades, the courtier Gustaf Ehrenborg wrote that ‘Djurgården was in its most beautiful bloom and the streets and the park were crowded with people. At every window you saw happy and curious faces, longing to see the handsome king on horseback’, as he set out in the early evening with his aides-de-camp and the ladies of the royal family.7 Windows from which to enjoy the spectacle were highly sought after. It was later remembered that the king greeted all and sundry, and was met by jubilation and cheering.8 The royal carriages drove round Djurgården a couple of times and then returned to the palace. Carriages continued to delight and impress people for a few more decades, but in the early twentieth century, cars largely replaced them. This did not come easily to everyone. King Oscar II, then an old man, ventured out in a car on the Riviera in 1906, and wrote to a friend ‘Imagine, me in an automobile!’9 By that stage, his son Crown Prince  Wrangel (1924, 139).  The royal cavalcade was sometimes postponed from 1 May, but never for long. 7  LUB Gustaf Ehrenborg vol. 9 15 May 1870. 8  Selander and Selander (1920). 9  BA Oscar II vol. 24 Oscar to Victor Ankarcrona, Hôtel Capmartin 5 March 1906. 5 6

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Gustaf had already bought a car in 1900, and the wife of his younger son Prince Charles also took an interest.10 The king’s grandson, the Prince Hereditary Gustaf Adolf, also had a car in 1905, described as a means to get away from royalist crowds.11 This came with new problems, as in 1909 when another grandson, Prince Wilhelm, was involved in a crash with a cab.12 Cars were here to stay, though, and also in 1909, people arriving at a court ball were described alighting from a variety of carriages and automobiles.13 Members of the royal family on the move in carriages were not just about transport or taking the air, but also about display and interaction. Carriages were mostly slow enough to permit royalty to interact with people—and vice versa. One of the ways people marked their devotion to the king or queen was by unhitching the horses from the royal carriage and drawing it themselves, a well-known display of loyalty throughout Europe.14 John V of Portugal was treated to this in 1823, Duke Charles of Lucca, and Ferdinand VII of Spain and in Denmark in 1839.15 In 1789, loyal burghers drew the king’s carriage through Stockholm on his return to the capital.16 In 1794, peasants did the same during a royal visit to their province, though one them broke his leg in the process; the burghers of the little town of Landskrona did the same in 1807; and when Charles XV was pushed into supporting parliamentary reform in 1865 and the royal proposal was accepted, enthusiastic crowds wanted to draw his carriage as well.17 Over time, though, it came to be seen as excessive as the magic of majesty began to fade. When students in 1895 offered to draw the king’s carriage, several newspapers were hostile to the ‘distasteful’ idea; when the crown princess in 1908 visited Lund University, the students wanted to pull her carriage themselves, which was ridiculed in the more radical press.18 A less contentious way to display royalist fervour was to throw flowers into a royal carriage. A ‘rain of flowers’ became a known concept,  Lindorm (1936, 393 & 429).  Östgötaposten 21 July 1905. 12  Kalmar 22 January 1909. 13  Kalmar 1 February 1909. 14  It could be noted that not just royals but also great stars of the day such as Jenny Lind, Kristina Nilsson, and Giuseppe Verdi were offered this act of adulation. 15  Aftonbladet 25 February 1839. 16  Fryxell (1882, 42). 17  Aftonbladet 28 February 1839; Bååth-Holmberg (1891, 236). 18  Falukuriren 7 March 1895; Karbasen 24, 1908. 10 11

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used to describe how royal carriages could fill up with floral tributes.19 Flowers strewn in their path was another favoured means of celebrating royalty. Equally, such events could make a lack of support very public if few people turned out to see the royal spectacle. Few or no flowers, few cheers—all these things were an embarrassment. A courtier wrote of the very last May Day cavalcades that he ‘Saw the Djurgården promenade of the royal family. The king and the crown prince on horseback. The queens and the little princes in carriages. It was a splendid journey and watched by an incredible number of people, though without hearing any cheers. A silent crowd makes an unpleasant impression on me’.20 The proximity to the public that carriages provided came with very real risks, too. After all, Henry IV of France had been assassinated when Ravaillac climbed into his carriage in a traffic jam. Casting yourself as a citizen king like Louis Philippe was no protection either. In 1836, there was an assassination attempt on him when he was out in his carriage; in 1838, an ‘infernal machine’ was aimed at the king while riding; in 1839, Stephanie Girondelle threw a stone into his carriage; and in 1840, Marius Darmès tried to shoot him, again as he drove past in his carriage. And assassination attempts during transport were not limited to France. In 1844, a man tried to murder the king of Prussia as he drove past in his carriage.21 Tsar Alexander II of Russia was attacked in his carriage together with Napoleon III in 1867 in Paris, and in 1881, the Tsar was assassinated as he travelled his usual route by carriage. A bomb detonated but the bulletproof carriage—a gift from Napoleon III—saved the Tsar, but as he inspected the damage, a second assassin threw a bomb which killed him. In 1908, the king and crown prince of Portugal were assassinated while driving in an open carriage. When Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife were assassinated in Sarajevo in 1914 they were in an open car, and so too was King Alexander of Yugoslavia, shot in Marseilles in 1934. And royalty had long been aware of the risks and also that they need to be visible to the public. King Oscar II wrote to his son in 1879 that he was sorry to hear of the king and queen of Italy’s ‘anxiety about renewed attempted assassinations. At the same time, remember, dear son, if you were sent such tribulations by God to show more courage … They still felt confident and then they were brave. To lose your confidence is difficult. I am  Post- och Inrikes Tidningar 4 June 1844.  KB L 106:40:6 Magnus Lagerbergs dagbok 22 May 1873. 21  Barclay (1995, 119). 19 20

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confident yet. Please God that I am right in being so! If not, I still do not think I would show fear. Old Emperor William is a good example. He still travels in a small, open carriage, just as before. May God protect him’.22 King Umberto I had good reason to fear further attempts on his life, as he was eventually killed in an open carriage in Monza in 1900.

Royal Appearances in Public In her later years, Queen Dowager Desirée turned night into day. She would rise in the evening, drive to the theatre or opera, and then go for a drive in her carriage round and round the palace courtyard.23 Desirée’s nights out were designed so she could be seen participating in the social world of the Stockholm elite, and had little to do with her own experience of the play or opera, as she normally arrived during the last act. The entrance of the monarch in an auditorium was normally greeted with cheers, applause, and the singing of the royal anthem.24 Courtiers were very alert to the audience’s mood on such occasions. Cheers were taken as a good sign. When the audience cheered and sang the royal anthem during the turbulence of 1848, the court felt reassured, even though clearly the opera audience was not representative of the Stockholm population. One courtier remarked on a royal theatrical visit in Gothenburg in 1869 that he was pleased he held a court position which gave him a good seat (‘no wonder people are jealous of me’). ‘When the king arrived fanfares were sounded, Folksången, and after that solo and choir, and then Don Pasquale’.25 Sometimes there were overt political messages, as in 1850 when the king, the queens, and the rest of the royal family attended a soirée. The item that made the most impression was a skit called ‘A

 BA Gustaf V vol. 38 Oscar II to Gustaf, Stockholm 6 January 1879.  LUB Gustaf Ehrenborg vol.1 22 January 1858. 24  The royal anthem had various incarnations. The first, Folksången (‘The People’s Song’) was more correctly Bevare Gud vår Kung, composed in 1805 to the tune of Britain’s God Save the King. In 1818, a new song, Karl Johan vår kung (‘Charles John our King’), replaced it. In 1844, yet another new anthem, sometimes called Kungssången (‘The King’s Song’), was composed for King Oscar I. Officially adopted in 1893, it has been used to celebrate the Swedish monarch ever since: in 1949, King Gustaf V was still greeted at the opera by Kungssången (Gustaf von Platen 2002, 150). 25  KB L 106:40:5 Magnus Lagerbergs dagbok 14 June 1869. 22 23

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communist’—‘a very sharp, but also amusing and witty satire about communist ideas in practice, performed to general enjoyment’.26 The performative aspect of European monarchy in the second half of the nineteenth century has been the focus of several important studies. In Matthew Truesdell’s analysis, Napoleon III emerges as a skilful imperial impresario and a ruthless manipulator of the press.27 At the same time, under very different political circumstances in the shape of strong parliamentary power and a freer press, the British monarchy developed its popular performative aspect, as shown by David Cannadine. He has cast the 1860s and 1870s as decades when the British monarchy was reinvented, partly using existing traditions, and launched on a grand public scale through jubilees and other occasions.28 In Sweden, from the reign of Charles XIV Johan (1818–44) to Gustaf V (1907–1950), the interaction between monarch and people changed fundamentally. There was a long period of fumbling around for new ways to reach larger sections of the Swedish populace, though it was impossible to keep up with the pace of changing political realities and, eventually, universal suffrage. This also made demands on how royals had to act. Whereas Lovisa Ulrika in the 1750s loathed visiting the provinces as that put her constantly in the public eye, Swedish royals after 1818 had little choice. The press printed increasingly critical stories and denounced flattery and subservience, but that also meant there were ever more royal anecdotes and accounts of royal life, some of it even true. The interest in the lives of royals was consistently intense, while control of the press decreased (Fig. 10.1). At first, the impulse had been to maintain the status quo. After Charles XIV John’s death in 1844, however, efforts were to give elite commoners greater opportunities to be part of court life and to attend royal ceremonies. Royal balls expanded enormously over the century.29 In 1800, a large ball at court would have been 200–300 people, but in due course, an annual ‘great court ball’ was instituted, to which increasing numbers of people not normally part of the court sphere were invited. The last traditional court ball, held in 1906, had nearly 2500 guests.30 The great court ball lingered on for some years, but cut in two so that the younger, more  Stockholms Dagblad 15 January 1850.  Truesdell (1997). 28  Cannadine (1983). 29  Persson (2011). 30  Persson (2011). 26 27

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Fig. 10.1  The distribution of coins at the funeral of Charles XIV John was just one of many occasions when people were scandalised by the the ugly fighting over money at a royal ceremony. (Ferdinand Tollin, Begrafningspenningarne eller Kalabaliken vid slottsbacken, 1844, Kungliga biblioteket (National Library of Sweden) KoB Sv. HP. C.XIV J. A. 23)

aristocratic set did not have to rub shoulders with Members of Parliament or academics. King Gustaf V also made clear he did not want long descriptions of clothes and jewellery in the press—which was seen as a testimony of ‘the king’s sound and democratic taste’.31 The last court balls were in 1913, as a period of royal mourning in 1914 put them on hold, and then the outbreak of World War I made it impossible to resume them. If nothing else, it removed an annual opportunity for liberals and social democrats to boycott the king’s invitations, with all the press coverage that would entail. Decades before that, another ball had already ceased. The New Year’s Ball at the Exchange (Börsen) was a moment when the royal  Kalmar 17 February 1911.

31

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family and the court attended a ball as the guests of the Stockholm bourgeoisie. Members of the royal family would dance with the most prominent commoners, and it was a way to interact with the leading non-noble families. This appears to have lapsed in the 1860s, possible as it was dwarfed by the court balls. A similar expansion is visible in royal audiences. In Charles XIV John’s reign, audiences with the king were part of a power-broking process. Personal meetings with the monarch enabled people to circumvent procedures put in place to safeguard meritocracy. Evidently, this counted as corruption. Yet, it should be remembered that the shortlists drawn up for the king before appointments could also be manipulated. County governors, colonels, and other public officials had many opportunities to influence the process and reward their own candidates. Many audience seekers were disappointed: they did not get a promise for the desired position, or a promise would be broken. Audiences were also an elite business. Commoners who wanted to petition the king were referred to a Chamber Gentleman, while the people who met the king in person were usually nobles, higher officials, and military officers. When they did meet the king they often got substantial time to press their suits, even if some of that time was taken up in social niceties and the king’s enthusiastic conversation. After 1844, King Oscar I evidently decided he had to safeguard his personal power. He tried to use a system of weekly audiences, which cut the time each person had alone with the king. He was also more open to the idea of giving commoners an audience. The king’s weakness here was his sensitivity to what was written in the press, and his attempts were derailed by press campaigns against royal appointments and even actions in Parliament to that effect. When Charles XV succeeded to the throne in 1859, he too wanted to preserve royal power in the same way as his father. He failed miserably. But his audiences were highly sought after, with as many as 2000 people wanting to meet the king in a given year. This was perhaps because the king was liberal in promising favours and offices. Sometimes he kept these promises, but it is obvious that often he had to back down. When King Oscar II succeeded to the throne in 1872, royal audiences at first decreased, perhaps reflecting a growing realization that the king would no longer circumvent the process of public appointments. Quite simply, there was less to be gained from an audience with the king. However, it was also the case that there was a gradual shift in who sought

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an audience. Nobles, high officials, and military officers were replaced by industrialists, bankers, and academics, and commoners were in the clear majority.32 When numbers of petitioners began to increase after 1890, they were joined by another category: middle-class people seeking small gifts of money or the social cachet of having met the king. This was reinforced by a slew of press reports about the rewards of poor commoners having an audience with the good king. The press no longer raged against the dangerous corruption of royal power or royal favourites abusing the system of public appointments. By 1900, royal audiences were an instrument of propaganda for a less powerful monarchy, and source of entertainment for the readers of newspapers and satirical magazines. Royal interaction with the Swedish people nominally increased when presentation at court was opened up to non-noble women in 1865. This caused a furore in aristocratic circles, but in reality, the new women admitted were few and had existing links with the nobility.33 The doors remained shut to most women who were not noble. Even when all wives and daughters of men with the same rank as colonel were allowed to be presented in 1907, it remained an exclusive privilege.34 Changes in technology put pressure on how royalty interacted with the people. The introduction of press photography, commercial memorabilia, newsreels, and cars, all made royalty more accessible to millions of Swedes, rather than thousands as before. Older forms of accessibility rituals such as the May Day cavalcades were at the same time more vulnerable to being boycotted or lampooned in the press.

Public Interest in Royal Events In April 1873, Swedish newspapers carried adverts selling places at windows to get good views of the impending coronation.35 This was not new. Windows had been rented out for the coronations of 1844 and 1860.36 The interest in getting close to royalty created a lot of pressure. Whenever there was a major royal event, crowds of thousand could turn up to get a glimpse—there were reports of crinolines breaking in the push to see the  Study on royal audiences by Fabian Persson to be published.  Tidning för Wenersborgs Stad och Län 14 March 1865. 34  RA Edsbergsarkivet Hovhandlingar Circular 10 January 1907. 35  Stockholms Dagblad 29 April 1873; Dagens Nyheter 9 May 1873. 36  Aftonbladet 26 September 1844; Stockholms Dagblad 30 April 1860. 32 33

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royals, and newspapers described how dishevelled people became after pushing and shoving for hours to view one funeral.37 The same was true of royal funerals, including the renting out windows as viewpoints.38 Stands were erected near the House of Nobility for King Oscar’s funeral, and tickets sold briskly.39 For the funeral of Charles XV, windows were full of spectators: ‘It was a solemn and moving Ceremony. On all streets and in all windows where the procession made its way every place was full of people who all kept a respectful silence, flowers rained over the coffin, and the autumn sun cast its pale rays over all’.40 When a centenarian was interviewed in 1883, the moments to remember were often royal ones. She had witnessed the king’s funeral in 1818 from a good spot indoors, and when Crown Princess Josephine arrived in 1823, she had ‘lived on a loaf of rye bread all day, as I wanted a good spot at Djurgården, and then it took so long before anything happened’.41 A royal funeral was just one element in a whole chain of events. Starting with the royal illness there was an opportunity for interaction with a wider audience. Courtiers would be on duty in the palace, ready to receive members of the public who wanted to formally write down their names as wishing a speedy royal recovery. Bulletins from the royal physicians were published in newspapers. If a member of the royal family died, a condolence cour reception was held at the palace, after which people went into mourning. It went without saying that the court would go into mourning, finely tuned to reflect the status of the deceased. Outside the court, wearing black varied over time. National mourning was first decreed after the death of Queen Ulrika Eleonora in 1693, when all public officials were ordered to dress in black, as were the nobility, clergy, and some of the burghers. This was repeated in 1697, 1715, 1741, 1751, and 1771.42 On the death of Charles XIII in 1818, the nobility and people of quality were encouraged to wear black; in 1844, a similar decree went out which called for three months of deep mourning to be followed by three months of 37  Jönköpingsbladet 25 August 1863; Söndagsnisse 13 October 1872; Dagens Nyheter 16 May 1873. 38  Stockholms Dagblad 19 April 1844. 39  Stockholms Dagblad 8 August 1859. 40  BA Sophia vol. 25 Uppvaktande kammarfrökens minnesbok 9 October 1872. 41  Lindorm (1936, 159). 42  Bringéus (1984)

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lesser mourning. Interestingly, after the death of King Oscar I in 1859, all Swedes were encouraged to wear black, not just the elite. This was the last time official decrees encouraged mourning. The custom of wearing black after a royal death continued a while yet, though, and examples of it were seen in 1950 (including shops dressing their windows with black as a mark of respect), but by the death of Gustaf VI Adolf in 1973, it seems to have faded away.43 Before royal funerals, there was always a lit de parade. After the royal corpse had been embalmed, it was dressed and the face refreshed with make-up. The court painter Westin in 1844 was tasked with making Charles XIV John look his best, for example, after his corpse had been varnished.44 This was not always a success: Princess Sophia Albertina thought her late sister-in-law looked frightening once she had been made up. A number of days would then be set apart and the lying in state publicly announced. This was a huge draw. People queued in their thousands, and the elite could sometimes as a favour arrange a private viewing. In 1854, a paper described Prince Gustaf’s lit de parade as making up for the fact that the theatres had shut out of respect: ‘The curiosity of Stockholmers is, as usual, insatiable, and the crowd immense. Coronations or funerals, the pomp in Riddarholmen Church … all is equally dear as long as they can gape!’45 In 1871, over 10,000 people queued round the royal palace under umbrellas, sustaining themselves on gingerbread sold by old women to those who lacked the foresight to bring their own sandwiches. One paper wrote that 90% of those queuing were women from the poorer classes. Thousands were not admitted and places at the front were sold to people at the back.46 The last lit de parade appears to have been for the queen dowager in 1914. One man later remembered as a boy seeing Riddarholmen Church decorated and illuminated for the funeral of Adolf Frederick in 1771, and kept open for viewing. ‘I also got to see this, after which a number of boys and I made up a game that we played as often as we met, and which was called the throng in Riddarholmen. That resulted in plenty of good bumps and bruises’.47 The funeral was a great occasion, and people were eager to  Bringéus (1984).  Lagerqvist (2005, 216). 45  Folkets Röst 22 March 1854. 46  Blekingeposten 21 April 1871. 47  Schück (1904, i. 24). 43 44

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get good positions to view the spectacle. Until 1844, specially minted coins were thrown to the crowd. At the funeral of Charles XIV John in 1844, however, the scenes of people fighting over the coins were deemed too unsightly, and the custom was discontinued. New technology also made both lying in state and royal funerals more accessible. First it was newspapers that carried detailed descriptions with illustrations, later they were documented in newsreels. Those who had not been themselves could see ‘Oscar II’s lit de parade’ at the cinema, or could buy picture postcards of the same event. For royal memorabilia, thanks to new technology and modes of production, were now available to everyone. While before a pressed flower given by Queen Josephine or a piece of fabric worn by Charles XIV John was unusual and the preserve of the elite, now anyone could buy a memento of a royal person. In the first decade of the twentieth century, royal photographs in miniature were sold either mounted on pins or set in tiny frames. Other inexpensive royal mementoes were brooches made out of silver coins, which had the royal profile. In the 1890s, royal postcards began to take off, and in the following decade, they became increasingly stylish and artistic. The photographers of the firm Jaeger produced large numbers of postcards of the royal family. Products with royal names attached flooded the market—everything from pen nibs to tinned fish. One shop tried to attract customers by putting a bust of King Oscar II made entirely of soap in the window.48 Hairstyles could also be associated with royalty. On her arrival in Sweden, Crown Princess Viktoria is said to have sparked a craze for the Viktoria fringe.

Doing One’s Royal Duty In 1890, Oscar II sent Crown Prince Gustaf a scolding. The crown prince wanted to stay abroad with his wife Victoria, and his royal father thought it unacceptable. ‘I fear that you, in the anxiety of the moment, forget this our irrefutable rule of duty, our way of life: “Royauté Oblige”. Viewed in this incorruptible purity of a looking-glass, many, otherwise quite understandable “human” feelings, are transformed into nothing but selfishness’.49 The concept of an exalted royal duty was not new. A century earlier,

 Bollnäs Tidning 13 December 1879.  BA Gustaf V vol. 39 Oscar II to Gustaf, Stockholm 20 April 1890.

48 49

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Emperor Joseph II has written a stern letter that the Imperial family ‘must be ruled first and foremost by the words “commitment” and “duty”’.50 In the 1740s and 1750s, the future Gustaf III had been trained rigorously to do his duty. A committee in the Diet had examined his knowledge and his governors had published their correspondence with their royal charge. Most important of all, however, a young royal had to learn how to be royal. Geography, history, French, and other subjects were not unimportant, but knowing how to act was essential. Gustaf’s own son underwent similar training the 1780s, and his grandchildren in the early 1800s. In 1802, Crown Prince Gustaf, aged two, and his sister Sophia Wilhelmina received ‘their Excellencies, courtiers, ladies frequenting the court, and the diplomatic corps’, because at New Year receptions it was expected that people would queue to be presented to the royal children and kiss their hands.51 When older it was part of their upbringing to hold weekly or even daily cour receptions.52 Born a commoner, Charles XIV John still succeeded brilliantly in acting the part of king. Old courtiers were reminded of Gustaf III, for ‘However charming, friendly and condescending Charles John could be, he knew always to keep royal dignity sacred’.53 The nineteenth century, however, brought new bourgeois ideals of family happiness. In Britain, Victoria and Albert were its incarnation, although reality may have differed. In Sweden, Crown Prince Oscar and his wife Josephine were widely thought to have that lifestyle, characterized by close family life and less strict traditions. Yet at the same time being royal meant being anything but bourgeois; it demanded detailed knowledge of arcane etiquette, a personal knowledge of numerous members of the elite, a specific mode of behaviour, and a regal bearing. Royal life was lived so much on the public stage that it had a strong theatrical element, unless one actively ignored convention and lived a more retired life like Queen Desirée or Queen Sophia. When it came to ‘being royal’, some members of the family were better at it than others, of course. For example, Queen Josephine generally impressed people. ‘Queen Josephine, whom I often saw in my childhood and later, I remember very well, and I admired her for her handsome appearance and dignified, impressive posture’.54 Another observer contrasted Josephine  Blanning (1994).  RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 14 1 January 1802. 52  Ibid., vol. 19 5 October 1807. 53  Troil (1885, 46). 54  Wrangel (1924, 179). 50 51

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with her daughter-in-law, the Dutch Princess Lovisa married to Prince Charles: at a New Year’s ball at the Exchange, Queen Josephine shone, and ‘you really admire how she can talk to everyone, but the daughter-in-­ law is so shy, even though she has made great progress and now can speak the language; last year she hardly dared utter a few words’.55 When Oscar and Josephine succeeded to the throne in 1844, there were cuts to the court. The conservative backlash was fierce. One former courtier mused that court office was once hotly desired, because one could ignore the humiliation of court service ‘as long as the crown spread its own atmosphere which blinded the many, and made the outsiders believe that anything that happened there was sublime’, but the new dispensation broke the spell when ‘princes seeking popularity sacrificed dignity’.56 The pursuit of popular approval dispelled the mystique, ‘and when the general public begin to understand that what happens at Court has the same causes and course as elsewhere, and that court service is nothing but attending on the prince, then vanity itself must eventually feel hurt and at a loss’.57 Court Marshal Johan Otto Nauckhoff who mused on the idea of majesty was affronted by Oscar I’s simpler ways.58 When travelling by boat the new king took a steamer, just like anyone else.59 Royal duties were slowly moving from actually ruling the country towards being seen in public. Travelling, holding balls, giving audiences, being in the public eye: it all meant being more in the public eye, which meant the middle and lower classes. The theatricality inherent in this took various forms. Oscar I was an immaculate dresser, though he also tried to look more imposing by resorting to tricks—in 1846, a courtier saw when he was shown the king’s boots that they ‘had heels as if he were lame, 3 inches high’.60 Queen Josephine was similarly proper in her behaviour and steely dutifulness. Unfortunately, their eldest did not act in a manner befitting his station: Crown Prince Charles was overly familiar with people, boastful, and often displayed dubious judgement. In 1855, a courtier noted that the queen ‘lamented certain royal person’s lack of royalty’.61 He refused to dress properly when in mourning, and when admonished  Von Steyern (1960, 167).  KB, Stockholm, I.n.1.2 [Nauckhoff]. 57  KB, Stockholm, I.n.1.2 [Nauckhoff]. 58  KB, Stockholm, I.n.1.1 [Nauckhoff]. 59  Söderhjelm (1944, 323). 60  KB I.b.26 Bernhard von Beskows kalenderanteckningar 20 March 1846. 61  Ibid., 7 November 1855. 55 56

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Fig. 10.2  Magnus Lagerberg dressed up in a uniform for a nobleman for his first audience with Charles XV. (Magnus Lagerberg, Kungliga biblioteket (National Library of Sweden), MS, L 106:40:4)

replied ‘I crap on that’.62 He was known to dance so badly that he fell on top of his dancing partners.63 On one occasion, when a new Chamber Gentleman was formally presented to him, he carried on playing billiards, smoking a cigar.64 Newspapers talked fawningly about his common touch, but much of it seems to have been boorishness, and it carried over into his public persona (Fig. 10.2). Once king, Charles XV’s behaviour in public may indeed have resulted from insecurity, thinly masked by macho bravado, but the impression he gave was not good, however much the papers wrote it up as ‘manly’ and  Ibid., 4 April 1854.  Ibid., 12 January 1847. 64   RA Börringe kloster arkiv vol. 139 Corfitz Beck-Friis to Christina Nordenfeldt, Stockholm 7 May 1854. 62 63

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‘jaunty’. One courtier, Magnus Lagerberg, who had been dazzled by him when they first met, was soon disillusioned, and left this account of the then forty-three-year-old king in 1869: The impression Charles XV made on me, is, in short, that he is very straightforward, as familiar as a young student, highly frivolous in the company of women, drinks like a fish, is elegant in his movements if absolutely necessary, has difficulty opening more than one eyelid, his forehead is getting wrinkled, his hair and beard black, hands delicate with rings, a fast gait, often switches between subjects when speaking, sometimes just quoting a poem, does not tolerate being contradicted, is in conclusion a monarch who does what he can to facilitate the imminent collapse of the institution of monarchy, having reigned ten years as king, but unlikely to last another ten years.65

He was far from alone in his royal shortcomings—one need only remember Prince Napoleon (‘Plon-Plon’), who when he visited Sweden in 1856 was criticized for behaving ‘like a pig’.66 Personal acquaintance with royals could be disillusioning. One courtier reported to his wife that the king’s sister-in-law, the Duchess of Dalarna, ‘looks half mad but is said not to be fully as mad as she looks’.67 Duchess Theresia, wife of Oscar and Josephine’s youngest son, was generally thought to be somewhat unhinged. With a reputation for eccentricity that dated back decades to her first arrival in Sweden, her lack of social skills was evident not just in being actively nasty to her Maids of Honour, but on occasions such as a supper when she was the hostess: ‘The supper as always excellent and with very good old wines, pleasant and jolly. The Duchess ceremoniously ran around at such speed, and greeted her guests by taking everyone’s hand, but turned her head to see who was next and have something to say—so you never knew to whom she was speaking’.68 After the death of Charles XV in 1872, his brother Oscar II ruled for the next thirty-five years. He was a far less abrasive character, being well read, well spoken, and well liked for his dignified yet charming demeanour. One courtier admired Oscar II ‘for the dignity with which he always

 KB L 106.40.5 Magnus Lagerbergs dagbok 16 June 1869.  KB I.b.26 Bernhard von Beskows kalenderanteckningar 26 oktober 1856. 67  RA Börringe klosters arkiv vol. 140 Corfitz Beck-Friis to Stina Nordenfelt, Stockholm 10 February 1866. 68  BA Gustaf V vol. 51 Victor Ankarcrona till Gustaf, Stockholm Palace 17 November 1890. 65 66

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knew to represent royalty in public’.69 He ruled through the last phase of the period when the court tried to include new elites by expanding attendance at balls, royal audiences, and occasions. He did complain about his disappointments as a monarch—‘it is true that my crown is partly decorated with thorns’—but he took a professional approach to his duties.70 He held rehearsals before his coronation, with a hat as the crown and a walking stick as the sceptre; he was observed in front of a mirror, practising how to address ministers.71 He was proud of his talent in making speeches and his skill in improvising—‘I hope the Countess, with her exquisite taste as a good judge, liked my speeches. They were all completely ex tempore’—and when struggling with laryngitis, he spent all day using a machine to counteract his hoarseness so he could speak to the throng he had to address in the evening, ‘which he also did meticulously’.72 Public speaking was a key royal skill, and there was palpable relief among courtiers when seventeen-year-old Crown Prince Gustaf, a much less assured speaker than his father Oscar, acquitted himself well in a speech to the Norwegian Parliament: ‘It was impossible to do it more calmly or more dignifiedly, with a more clear or distinct voice. And you could feel a silent and general approval breathing through the hall!’ (Fig. 10.3)73 Social awkwardness on the part of royalty was inescapably a public concern by this period. Just a month before Gustaf made his speech, he was ordered by the king to do his bit—as a courtier reported to his mother, Queen Sophia, ‘His Majesty has decided that 400 kronor will be handed out personally by the princes to the poor on Christmas Eve’.74 This was intended not only as a good deed, but also as an educational experience, for as the courtier duly reported back, ‘The princes have had both the benefit and the satisfaction of seeing poverty and misery at close hand, and to some degree of easing it, but it was very hard to make them talk to those in need and so learn what their needs are and to show their compassion. Especially Prince Gustaf finds it frightfully difficult to talk to strangers. I don’t believe that deep down he is as cold and indifferent as he  Dardel (1918, 46).  BA Oscar II vol. 27 Oscar II to Mathilda de la Gardie, Drottningholm 30 September 1892. 71  KB L 106.40.6 Magnus Lagerbergs dagbok 10 May 1873; Palmstierna (1952, 47). 72  BA Oscar II vol. 27 Oscar II to Mathilda de la Gardie, Drottningholm 30 September 1892; BA Gustaf V vol. 51 Victor Ankarcrona to Gustaf, Kristiania 14 February 1889. 73   BA Drottning Sophia vol. 11 Leonard Wilheln Stjernstedt adjutantsdagbok 7 February 1877. 74  BA Sophia vol. 9 Carl Malcolm Lilliehöök to Sophia, 24 December 1876. 69 70

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Fig. 10.3  Pomp and circumstance were still part of opening of parliamentary and tickets to watch the event were sought after. (Oscar II opens the Swedish parliament 1905, in Oscar II.  En Lefvnadsteckning by Andreas Hasselgren, (Fröleen: Stockholm, 1908))

appears, but it does not help when he comes in contact with people who do not know him’.75 When appearing in public, even Oscar II had his shortcomings. In 1889, Queen Sophia and a courtier felt they had to conspire to make the king consult a dentist to get new dentures ‘which have a better fit, as what His Majesty has now is absolutely hideous’, and they even brought in Crown Prince Gustaf to help persuade him.76 One part of being a dutiful, professional royal was marrying according to your rank, and then living a demonstrably happy family life (in which many fell pathetically short, although infidelities were carefully covered up). As a young man the future Oscar II had been passionately in love, but was acutely conscious of the impossibility of a love match. As he wrote to a close friend, ‘Oh! I feel that if the princely crown did not weigh me down, if these thick palace walls did not lie as lead on my heart, my spirit  Ibid. Stockholm 25 December 1876.  BA Gustaf V vol. 51 Victor Ankarcrona to Gustaf, Kristiania 16 February 1889; ibid., Kristiania 19 February 1889. 75 76

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would fly into the nooks of the forest, and like two lovebirds she and I would coo through our blessed lives! But that is not to be’.77 Not long after he acknowledged that he was even more in love than before, ‘making me forget everything but my born tact, which you know, and which makes me never forget that I am a prince when the human, so much, wants his due’.78 The whole business of finding a royal spouse was not an easy one. Oscar II’s youngest son Prince Eugen was sent to tour Germany to look at prospective brides, but found the German royals painfully common and bourgeois, and as one of his courtiers noted, was deeply dejected by his failure: ‘The prince wants everything done so he can look around and if possible make a good choice, but sometimes the prince is so depressed that he sees everything in black and then it seems impossible’.79 There was a carefully engineered meeting at a flower show in Frankfurt with Princess Thekla of Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt—who eight years before had been on the long list for the future Emperor Wilhelm II—but it did not go well, and as the prince felt it was too insulting to afterwards inspect Princess Thekla’s niece, a single disastrous encounter ruled out two promising candidates.80 When Prince Eugen’s brother, the future Gustaf V, had toured Germany to inspect princesses, their mother Queen Sophia was anxious that he not choose a Hanoverian princess—‘the person in question is said to be unusually ugly and likely to remain as short as a dwarf! Thus: G must not be bound’.81 Some members of the royal family, of course, were simply not interested in playing the part. When a Swedish prince married the Russian Grand Duchess, Maria Pavlovna, she proved far freer in her opinions than was usual for royalty, to the delight of the press. She was also profoundly unimpressed by family life as the Swedish royal family lived it. A courtier reported a conversation when he had enquired what Princess Maria thought of a new-born princess, to which she ‘replied, ghastly like all children, so I do not think that Her Royal Highness is very fond of

 BA Oscar II vol. 27 Oscar II to Richard Björkstén, Stockholm 31 March 1848.  Ibid. Stockholm 12 March 1850. Such memories led him later to worry about his grandson, Prince Gustaf Adolf: ‘I can see that Gusty is “very well liked” in society, not least by the ladies. If only he does not fall in love; but perhaps he is calmer than I was at his age!’ (BA Gustaf V vol. 39 Oscar II to Gustaf, Stockholm 22 February 1903). 79  BA Sophia vol. 37 Handlingar Fredrik Adelborg to Märta Eketrä, Vevey 27 April 1887. 80  Eugen (1942), Schönpflug (2013, 68). 81  BA Oscar II vol. 36 Sophia to Oscar II, 1877. 77 78

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Fig. 10.4  Oscar II excelled at the public duties performing in front of people even though he did not want to be a “jubilee king”. Magazines did make fun of the royal posing and the sycophantic behaviour his presence brought forth. (Oscar II waving from a train, 1894, in Söndagsnisse 1894 vol.44)

children’.82 She absconded to Paris after a few years, leaving her son to be raised by his paternal grandmother, Queen Victoria (Fig. 10.4). Royal duties were changing tack by the end of the nineteenth century. The inauguration of new railway stations or scientific congresses was typical of the new royal activities. Socialist newspapers mocked Oscar II as a talented ‘exhibition king’ or ‘jubilee king’: ‘He unites to a rare degree the  BA Gustaf V vol. 51 Victor Ankarcrona to Gustaf, Stockholm Palace 20 April 1910.

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skills a king needs to look good playing the main part in a tableau vivant with Bengal lights and regimental music’.83 This was certainly not what King Oscar wanted to be, yet even he could write in 1903 that ‘I do try to do my royal duty as far and for as long as I can, but I cannot deny that it begins to feel more difficult and onerous than in bygone days’.84 In another letter, after the personal trauma of Norway breaking free from the union, he wrote ‘I’m almost off on my travels now, and will not deny that I feel a strong need to rest and free myself of this service, which almost feels like slavery, so I await the strengthening and reviving influence of the glorious Mediterranean air, which I’ve loved from my youth, and which my ancestors breathed!’85

A Different Kind of Royalty When Charles XIV John said he did not want to have his image on low denomination copper coins, he was told that it was the only way for the poor to see an image of their king. He replied ‘Vous avez parfaitement raison, mon ami’, and agreed.86 The decades following his death in 1844 transformed what ordinary Swedes could see of their royal family. Newspapers printed images, mass-produced royal memorabilia and postcards were readily available, and from the 1890s, film. Oscar I, Charles XV, and Oscar II all tried to adapt the ways in which royalty and people interacted. They found it a challenging task. The traditional royal style was grand and imposing, but with some opportunities for interaction as they drove about in open carriages or attended the theatre and opera. The courtier Johan Otto Nauckhoff later said of the first decade of the nineteenth century that it was still a time when royal courts ‘mostly lived within themselves’.87 Later monarchs tried to open up the court to broader groups within the elite. At first, their strategy was to retain various forms of interaction, but to extend them and invite the bourgeois elite to join in. Queen Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta, who had been schooled at the court  Arbetet 1 September 1897; Socialdemokraten 18 September 1897.  BA Oscar II vol. 27 Oscar II to Mathilda de la Gardie, Stockholm 19 January 1903. 85  Ibid., Stockholm Palace 18 February 1906. 86  KB I.b.26 Bernhard von Beskows kalenderanteckningar 13 november. 87  Dagens Nyheter ‘Garnisons- och sällskapslifvet i Stockholm för 70 år sedan’ 17 December 1880. 83 84

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of Gustaf III, disapproved of such fraternizing with the bourgeoisie and veteran courtiers such as Jacob de la Gardie and Leonhard von Hauswolff were similarly appalled. The population of Stockholm had grown beyond all recognition, as had the social elite, so existing forms of public sociability (the May Day cavalcades, the royal balls) necessarily expanded, while rituals such as presentations at court were opened up slightly. The far larger numbers involved made for a more demanding form of royal life, and required a strenuous adherence to duty from the royal family. By the end of the century, the strategy of inclusion through expansion was largely abandoned: the May Day cavalcades ended in around 1880; the New Year ball at the Exchange ten years earlier; lying in state in 1914. New forms of interaction were then tried, which in general were less grand, but also more remote, as fewer people were included. This was royal sociability with less effort at inclusion. There was a return to a small group of confidantes, as in Queen Lovisa Ulrika’s day; 1907 and the following years saw the first royal garden parties.88 When the White Sea Ballroom was used to screen films for the royal children and their friends in 1920, it typified the combination of old habits and new uses.89 Though not a public occasion, there was still an element of ceremony to it, as there were special programmes printed just as for a royal ball, and the royal family entered to a march and a round of applause; but then they all settled down to watch Charlie Chaplin and the adventures of Marie Osborne and her little friend ‘Africa’.90 Court events were not wholly exclusive—a select number of liberal and social-­democratic politicians were included, for example, and indeed some of the new ministers’ wives were presented at court—but the magnificence of court life under Gustaf III or Charles XIV John was a distant echo when Gustaf V invited ministers to the palace to watch films.91 Whenever Charles XIV John or Queen Desirée drove through Stockholm in one of the royal carriages it was a magnificent spectacle. 88  SLA Räkenskaper för fester vol.20 [garden party 29 July 1907]. Before that, Princess Ingeborg gave garden parties in 1902. Kalmar 28 July 1902. After that the less ostentatious garden party was a recurring event. Dalpilen 9 July 1909; Dalpilen 5 August 1910; Kalmar 8 July 1912. 89  RA Edsbergs arkiv Hovhandlingar vol. 9. 90  RA Edsbergs arkiv Hovhandlingar vol. 9. The interest in cinema flourished at court as both Crown Prince Gustaf Adolf and his uncle Prince Charles had cinema equipment installed in their apartments. 91  RA Edsbergs arkiv Hovhandlingar vol. 9.

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They would have been puzzled by King Gustaf getting on a tram in 1908, and buying him a ticket like everyone else, though ‘His Majesty seemed to take much enjoyment from his little adventure’.92 Indeed, public transport was something of a royal trope—King Manuel II of Portugal was rumoured to use trams as a token of his modest lifestyle, and King Haakon of Norway wanted to travel by tram with Queen Maude to mix with ordinary people and boost his popularity—although the British courtier Frederick Ponsonby warned against this strategy, thinking it ‘a great mistake as familiarity bred contempt … People invested the Monarch with every conceivable virtue and talent. They were bound therefore to be disappointed if they saw him going about like an ordinary man in the street’.93 Yet it cannot be denied that the contrast between King Gustaf V’s life and his great-grandparents’ lives was considerable. Nauckhoff’s ideas of the sublime atmosphere at court were now a thing of the past. The members of the Estates reverently bowing to King Charles XIV John’s empty throne in the 1840s were equally distant. The age of the superficially democratic court had arrived.

The Twentieth-Century Court The day before the great court ball in 1890, the young diplomat Carl Georg Fleetwood was called to the palace for a meeting with King Oscar.94 The monarch was ‘more gracious than ever’ and announced that ‘to give me a token of his special friendship and favour’ he intended to appoint Fleetwood Chamber Gentleman. This sign of royal favour was most unwelcome. Fleetwood wrote in his diary that ‘the Chamber Gentlemen’s key is one of the things I have been determined to avoid, but it cannot be helped now’. In 1890, ambitious young men avoided the court, as Fleetwood noted earlier in his diary. The court was no longer a s­ pringboard, it was a cul-de-sac. The courtiers of the twentieth century were not people who would change the world. They tended to be nostalgic aristocrats with no political clout, attracted to the court by an aura most people could no longer see. They may have been descendants of the courtiers of Gustaf III and Charles XIV John, but they were cut from very different cloth. The hard-nosed courtiers of earlier generations would have found these people baffling.  Fäderneslandet 8 February 1908.  Kalmar 30 July 1909; Welch (1951, 193–194). 94  Fleetwood (1968, 986). 92 93

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The changes that left the Swedish monarchy and court largely drained of power were not initiated by progressive monarchs. Rather, it was political forces beyond the control of the country’s mildly reactionary monarchs that pushed them onwards. Oscar I made clear in his diary his absolute resistance to being a monarch who reigned but did not rule, in the British or French style. Yet, his son Oscar II had to contemplate exactly this reality half a century later. He glumly acknowledged that ‘It is my conviction that nothing can be more demoralizing for your character than being a constitutional monarch. I have been that for twenty years and I know. To have a view and so rarely be allowed to follow it, but always be forced first to listen to that of others and then in most cases follow theirs. Can there be anything which destroys a character more than that?’95 His disillusion reflected the sheer speed with which the Swedish monarchy had been hollowed out. The phantom pain of lost royal power in a constitutional monarchy often made for nostalgia for what once had been, and unrealistic attitudes about what was still possible. Oscar II could fool himself that he was acting decisively, especially towards the Norwegian politicians he so detested—‘I may have treated the Norwegians with overly thick velvet gloves on the iron fist, but I have meant well, and it is part of my character in old age, after 25 years of constitutional monarchy so very changed compared to the autocratic tendencies of my youth’96—but the future still looked dismal to the old king. I must say that to me the future seems pretty shadowy (I’d rather say that than dark). All warning voices are silent, and ‘universal suffrage’ is all I hear nowadays from home; which used to be the call of only the radicals and socialists! Perhaps it is pointless under these circumstances to seek the harness of restraint? Perhaps it would be most right and wisest if royalty itself stood at the forefront of the reform? I would with sorrow in my innermost heart do this, as I do not think it would gain the country glory or happiness; but what is the point if royal power alone resists, if it has been abandoned by all its natural allies?!97

The story of European courts after the French Revolution was in many ways the story of resisting liberal demands, first to do away with the aristocratic dominance in government and then to diminish royal authority.  Hadenius and Nevéus (1960, 5).  BA Gustaf V vol. 39 Oscar II t Gustaf, Grand Hôtel Biarritz 26 March 1899. 97  Ibid., Ems 1 June 1902. 95 96

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Many monarchies succeeded in fending off change for a long time, using large courts that pervaded much of the machinery of government as well as elite society. This was the normal state for many monarchies until the mid-nineteenth century. At the beginning of the twentieth century, Prussia, Austria, and Russia all had extensive courts and strong monarchical regimes that used the nobility as support. In Sweden, the alliance fell apart earlier, in the mid-nineteenth century, at the same time as power seeped away from the monarch. The Swedish court changed from a pervasive court to a waning pervasive court. The monarchy tried to keep up with societal change by various measures to be more inclusive numerically speaking, but the choice to abandon the nobility, the natural ally of the court, in the 1860s when the king embraced a new Parliament created a lot of bitterness. As power drained away from court, the noble courtiers who stayed on after 1866 became political ciphers—all prestige and no power. A handful of loyal allies remained, such as the diplomat and former Chamber Gentleman who wrote to Gustav V as he locked horns with the liberal government in 1914, promising he was on the king’s side against ‘those demagogues who until recently usurped the place of advisor to Your Majesty’, but though the king did manage to push out the liberal government through a staged manifestation of support from peasants, fewer and fewer in important positions were prepared to act for the king by this stage.98 In his youth, Oscar II had experienced the final decades of Swedish court society in full swing in the 1820s, 1830s, and 1840s. The speed of the subsequent transition made acceptance harder, when people knew how different it had been only a generation before, yet the transition itself was comparatively smooth. The Swedish court remained superficially intact for over two centuries, while the nature of the court changed. When he became king in 1907, Gustaf V promised to modernize and simplify the court, but his chief, almost only, innovation was to forego a coronation. A few commoners were appointed Chamber Gentlemen as part of the modernization of the court, but they were industrialists, and the rising liberal and social-democratic political elite could not be accommodated, even in a revamped court. Coronations and the grand annual balls were abolished, but a number of ceremonies survived such as presentation at court and the opening of Parliament, and some low-key, ‘democratic’ ceremonies were introduced such as garden parties, musical soirées, and  BA Gustaf V vol. 56 Herman Wrangel to Gustaf, London 26 February 1914.

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entertainments such as magic shows and cinema. The king himself decided to dispense with the celebration of Gustaf’s Day on 6 June, and instead it took on the character of a national day. Instead of court balls and palace banquets, there was now the annual Nobel banquet, at which the king was a guest rather than the host. In 1912, eighteen important court meals were listed for the year, the most numerous being a garden party for 1064 persons and a supper for the Olympic Games committee with 247 invitees, and the majority being much smaller, with twenty to seventy guests.99 In 1920, this had shrunk further to sixteen meals, and only two larger events which had 381 and 342 invitees, both of them musical soirées at times when the court balls used to be.100 In 1921, the two largest functions were tea parties with 350 and 215 invitees.101 The most lavish functions were generally the musical soirées and receptions for international meetings— hence, the tea parties for the World Postal Congress and International Law Association in 1924 and International Congress of Radiology in 1928—and every year there were dinners for the Noble laureates.102 In the early 1930s, the number and size of formal meals had shrunk even further, with a blip when the International Art History Congress was served tea in 1933.103 A New Year ceremony at which people came forward and bowed to the royal family on a dais was much mocked and was understandably short-lived. In reality, little appears to have been done to reform the court. Presentation at court had been widened in 1865 and 1907, but it was still an exclusive privilege. When Gustav V accepted he had lost the right to decide who was prime minister and appointed a Liberal and Social Democratic government in 1917, it was not clear if the wives of the new ministers would attend court, although in the end, a number of them did go through with the ceremony and thereafter attended court functions in court dress.104 As late as the 1940s, Gustaf V continued to hand out traditional court titles and kept a large court similar to his father Oscar II and his grandfather Oscar I. He even filled court offices his grandfather had deliberately left vacant in the 1840s. In the year of his death, 1950, Gustaf V had 174 men and women in traditional noble court offices, of whom 11% were commoners. The court was smaller compared to the previous  SLA Hovmarskalksämbetets arkiv D I:2 Matrikel över middagsbjudningar 1912.  SLA Hovmarskalksämbetets arkiv D I:3 Matrikel över middagsbjudningar 1920–35. 101  SLA Hovmarskalksämbetets arkiv D I:3 Matrikel över middagsbjudningar 1920–35. 102  SLA Hovmarskalksämbetets arkiv D I:3 Matrikel över middagsbjudningar 1920–35. 103  SLA Hovmarskalksämbetets arkiv D I:3 Matrikel över middagsbjudningar 1920–35. 104  SLA Uppslagsbok på presenterade damer sedan 1908; RA Palmstiernska släktarkivet Ebba Carlheim-Gyllenskölds arkiv vol.1 Minnen 4 December 1917. 99

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century, with only 54% of the courtiers in 1850, but in international terms, it was still on the larger side, and very aristocratic.105 And it still carefully listed the men and women who had equal rank with the ‘councillors of the Realm’—an office abolished in 1789. King Gustaf V’s successor, Gustaf VI Adolf, was known for his frugal and dutiful temperament, and while he kept on his father’s large, traditional court, he ceased to fill vacancies among the highest court offices. The result was a gradual decline in court offices as the incumbents died off in their eighties and nineties. With the aged courtiers gone, the similarly aged king abolished all the high offices, and with them the office of Groom of the Chamber, to which he had appointed a number of men as late as the 1960s. Some traditional lesser titles for court servants such as lackey were also abolished. As a result, Gustaf VI Adolf’s court shrank to twenty people (of whom twelve were aristocrats) serving in the traditionally noble positions, not including other positions. The court not in attendance was no longer listed with the rest.106 The Cour ceremony was abolished in 1962, as were court dress and court presentation for women. In 1974, the last old-style inauguration of Parliament was held with the king seated on a silver throne, the crown beside him. After that the court had changed not only on the inside but also on the outside. The modernization heralded for generations had at last transformed the court.

References Published Sources Bloomfield, Lady Georgiana (ed.), Memoir of Benjamin, Lord Bloomfield (London: Chapman & Hall, 1884). Dardel, Nils von (ed.), Fritz von Dardel: Dagboksanteckningar, 3 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1916–20). Eugen, Breven berätta. Upplevelser och iakttagelser: Åren 1886–1913 (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1942). Fleetwood, Gwendolen (ed.), Carl Fleetwood: Från studieår och diplomattjänst: Dagböcker, brev och skrifter 1879–1892, 2 vols (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1968). Fryxell, Anders (ed.), Bidrag till Sveriges historia efter 1772 (Stockholm: Hierta, 1882). [Lindeberg, Anders], Två år af Konung Oscars regering (Stockholm: Schultze, 1846).  Sveriges statskalender (1950).  Sveriges statskalender (1970).

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Schück, Henrik (ed.), Excellensen grefve A.  F. Skjöldebrands memoarer, 5 vols (Stockholm: Geber, 1904). Selander, Nils & Edward Selander, Två gamla stockholmares anteckningar (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1920). Sveriges statskalender för året 1950 (Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1950). Sveriges statskalender 1970 (Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1970). Troil, Samuel Gustaf, ‘Minnen af landshöfding von Troil’, in Minnen, från Carl XIV:s, Oscar I:s och Carl XV:s dagar af Carl Akrell och S. G. von Troil, 2 vols (Stockholm: Oscar L. Lamm, 1884–85). Wrangel, Fredrik Ulrik, Barndomsminnen från stad och land (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1924).

Secondary Publications Bååth-c, Cecilia Carl som enskild man, konung och konstnär (Stockholm: Fahlcrantz, 1891). Barclay, David, Frederick William IV and the Prussian Monarchy 1840–1861 (Oxford: OUP, 1995). Blanning, Tim, Joseph II (London: Longman, 1994). Nils-Arvid Bringéus ‘Att sörja i svart vid kungliga dödsfall’, Rig, 77/2 (1984). Cannadine, David, ‘The Context, Performance, and Meaning of Ritual: The British Monarchy and the “Invention of Tradition”, c.1820–1977’ in Eric Hobsbawm & Terence Ranger (eds), The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge: CUP, 1983). Hadenius, Stig & Nevéus, Torgny Majestätet i närbild: Oscar II i brev och dagböcker (Uppsala: Lindblad, 1960). Lagerqvist, Lars, Karl XIV Johan: En fransman i Norden (Stockholm: Prisma, 2005). Lindorm, Erik, Oscar II och hans tid. (Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand, 1936). Palmstierna, Erik Orostid 1914–1916. Politiska dagboksanteckningar (Stockholm: Tiden, 1952). Persson, Fabian, ‘En bal på slottet: Hovbalernas sociala funktion i ett föränderligt 1800-tal’ in Åsa Karlsson (ed.), Arkiven Sjunger! Riksarkivets Årsbok 2011 (Stockholm, 2011). Platen, Gustaf von, Bakom den gyllne fasaden: Gustaf V och Viktoria: Ett äktenskap och en epok (Stockholm: Bonnier, 2002). Schönpflug, Daniel, Die Heiraten der Hohenzollern: Verwandtschaft, Politik und Ritual in Europa 1640–1918 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013). Söderhjelm, Alma & Carl-Fredrik Palmstierna, Oscar I (Stockholm: Bonnier, 1944). Steyern, Maud von, Herrgårdsliv i Sörmland (Stockholm: Natur & Kultur, 1960). Truesdell, Matthew, Spectacular politics: Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte and the Fête impériale, 1849–1870 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997). Welch, Colin (ed.) Recollections of Three Reigns by Sir Frederick Ponsonby (London: Eyre & Spottiswoode, 1951).



Epilogue

In 1818, a nine-year-old boy called Anders Andersson Dunder walked with his mother all the way from the province of Dalarna to Stockholm to sell the merchandise they were carrying in their backpacks. Almost ninety years later, he still remembered the coronation procession he saw there, with the richly caparisoned coronation horse and the handsome king. All the roofs of the houses were crowded with people wanting to see the royal show. The strongest impression of all was when coronation coins were thrown to the people and violent fights broke out between the street boys. The boy from Dalarna and his mother were also admitted to see the rooms of the royal palace, where he carefully walked around in stockinged feet. He thought the palace was ‘heaven’.1 Anders was one of thousands of Swedes who eagerly congregated in Stockholm to witness the spectacle. Monarchy and court were fantastical places of wonder to children and adults alike. The wonderful and magnificent rubbed shoulders with the repugnant and nasty. Courts were far removed from the reality of most people’s lives, and still they were omnipresent. Yet, even if some were born to be part of aristocratic court society, it was becoming increasingly important for the monarchy that Anders too was part of it, albeit on the farthest margins. The court needed to fascinate and find support from aristocrats and commoners alike. Over the course of 1

 Dalpilen 12 December 1902.

© The Author(s) 2020 F. Persson, Survival and Revival in Sweden’s Court and Monarchy, 1718–1930, Palgrave Studies in Modern Monarchy, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52647-4

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the nineteenth century, Anders and his kind would become more important than ever before. And by adapting some of its inner functions, the outer structure of the court survived. What to visitors appeared magnificent and wonderful was to courtiers a workplace with extraordinary advantages, but also real dangers. Swedish political history in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries had bouts of remarkable turbulence and violence. The constitutional solution of rendering the monarch powerless after 1719 was a European oddity, comparable only to Britain. This resulted in attempts to overthrow the existing political order, in which the royal family, courtiers, and court servants were all implicated. One of them at the time noted matter-of-factly that ‘courtiers walk on thin ice’.2 For a number of royalists that meant torture and execution after the failed coup in 1756. If the coup of 1772 had not succeeded, it too would have had a similarly bloody aftermath. The result was not just a return of direct royal power, but also the revival of the court. For almost a century after the Swedish court resumed the guise of a large pervasive court, similar to many European ones. The eighteenth century had been an age of courts; of expansively large courts, and small courts growing to sizes unimaginable in the seventeenth century. The apogee of the European courts thus came after Louis XIV, perhaps even after the French Revolution. Royalists may have been worried by the sight of revolution on the one hand and the longstanding English constitutional settlement with weak royal power on the other, but both were exceptions compared to the host of European courts which were neither decapitated like the French nor early adapters like the British. Instead, a more normal way was either a strong monarchy with influential courtiers that remained so up to the twentieth century as in Russia, Prussia, and Austria, or a strong monarchy and pervasive court, both of which slowly waned after 1850. In Sweden after 1719, Queen Ulrika Eleonora and King Frederick failed to claw back royal power, but they did manage to restore the machinery of the court. Younger courtiers gradually replaced the old, and the court resumed its function as a point of contact for the elite by the appointment of a large number of unsalaried courtiers. The Swedish court was a large operation, and the increasing number of courtiers in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries helped to keep them connected to the noble elite. Although this did not buy automatic loyalty, especially as most 2

 KB L 82:1:15 Tessins dagbok 18 April 1762.

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courtiers, and even some servants, were unpaid, in the 1750s and 1760s, Queen Lovisa Ulrika and King Adolf Frederick built on this foundation to create a better functioning and bigger court. Now the court regained its role as the centre of the aristocracy’s social and cultural life. However, it was only with his coup d’état in 1772 that Gustaf III revived the court as the centre for political power as well. It then brought the nuts and bolts of decision-making much closer to courtiers who were intent on using it to their own advantage. Winners and just as many losers crowded around Gustaf III’s throne. He also organized a court landscape that would last a century. It was at court that young aristocrats first entered the world—a world that for many became more-or-less synonymous with the court. The elite’s world views, attitudes, and values became completely enmeshed with that of the court. Etiquette was codified, thus freezing the court to some degree as it was in the reign of Gustaf III, though etiquette always had moving parts, which were often given a patina of dubious age. The sons and daughters of the powerful aristocratic politicians of the mid-­ eighteenth century viewed the world through court-tinted glasses. The revival of court society was triumphant, and for decades retained the stamp of Gustaf III. The dangers of Swedish politics were again demonstrated by Gustaf III’s assassination in 1792. His closest courtiers and favourites fell from power, and some were even put on trial. The court structure that he had overhauled remained in place, despite his violent end and the coup d’état against his son in 1809, despite a new Constitution, and, in 1818, a new dynasty. The new king in 1818, Charles XIV John, carefully preserved royal power in the form he had inherited it and even expanded it considerably, and he also worked to preserve aristocratic power. The compact between monarchy and aristocracy cracked under his successor Oscar I, however. The Swedish court was one of many resilient eighteenth-century courts that carried on untrammelled into the nineteenth century. From Portugal and the Two Sicilies to Mecklenburg, Sweden, and Russia, courts remained places of power until the mid-nineteenth century, and in some monarchies such as Mecklenburg and Russia on until the 1910s. This resilience was a key feature of courts. It was also necessary, as courts existed only as long as monarchies existed, though in a few places like France and Belgium they were kept to a bare minimum. Courts were also places of paradox, where the very rich met the very poor, and the very old-fashioned met the very new. It was symbolic that Charles XIII on his deathbed in 1818 was surrounded both by traditional

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etiquette and ritual as well as physicians with the latest knowledge; indeed, it was said his queen fought to keep him alive by any means possible in order not to be pushed aside as queen dowager, forcing his doctors to use to the most modern methods of mesmerism and electric shocks from galvanic batteries. In the midst of the very old, the very new thrived at court. Later, the court was among the early adopters of modernity, whether photography, film, or cars. That said, courts were also special places. They always revolved around the centre of the court: the monarch, members of the royal family, and their favourites. Chief Master of Ceremonies Leonhard von Hauswolff noted at a masked ball that there was plenty of space ‘as you could not tell where the royal personages were, and without the desire to show yourself to them, you did not gather in just one room, but used them all’.3 This intense fixation on one person meant that courts kept pace with human lives in a way that other institutions did not. Princes and princesses often disliked replacing old courtiers and servants, so the court followed their own life cycles. It was young with a young monarch, and like the monarch, it matured and grew old. Visitors like Anders only saw glimpses of this world as he stood in his stockinged feet in the middle of the parquet floor. He remained an outsider, knowing little of what happened behind the closed doors to the White Room or the inner rooms of the palace. Inside was a heightened, intense world. The men and women who served there jostled for power, or money, or favour. It was also often a toxic world where competition, jealousy, and failure left their mark. The two Maids of Honour said to be on the attack against a colleague—‘The Misses Falbe are likely to scratch her eyes out if she doesn’t defend herself’—were not so very unusual.4 The court not only gave power, or the illusion of it, but it could also give a sense of who you were—a way to be that set you aside from the world at large. The men at court were often thought arrogant, the women brazen. They dressed differently, as from 1778, there was an official court uniform for all courtiers, male and female. Even their behaviour was different. In the modern age, they struck unfavourable observers as ghosts living in the past. A woman recalled meeting one of the Falbes, about whom she had heard so much: ‘Anything more affectatious I had hardly ever seen: half Swedish, half Norwegian, a vacant gaze up at the sky, and an ever-repeated  RA Överceremonimästarämbetets arkiv vol. 34 19 February 1822.  RA Sjöholmsarkivet Lewenhauptska släktarkivet vol.155 Adam Lewenhaupt to Charlotte Gyldenstolpe, Drottningholm, 8 October 1852. 3 4

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“Yes, my dear—No, my dear”’. When asked, her aunt said Miss Falbe had not broken free from her ‘slavery’ at court, because ‘this life has a certain nimbus about it, which they cannot forego’.5 Cathinka Falbe did not make a good impression, but there was a quality of self-assurance about life at court, a knowledge that you were part of the elite. The outside world might not understand your manners, but you were proudly different. You could tell yourself that you mattered. Much about the court was humiliating and grubby, but it was also important and enchanting. Courtiers and the court revolved around the monarch, but they also survived monarchs and even dynasties. Courts and their inhabitants were by profession survivors, but they were also a means for the monarchy itself to survive. After two centuries of turbulence, the place of the monarchy in the twentieth century was not self-evident. As long as the nobility was an important part of power and government, a joint venture between monarchy and nobility could help hold both in place. The advent of male suffrage, a freer press, and real parliamentary debate were in some countries exacerbated by devastating military defeat, in a heady cocktail that swept away monarchies and courts in France, Germany, Austria, and Russia. In many places where royal power survived, it was already on the wane, and courts became machineries to project an image of benevolent and modern monarchy. This shape-shifting quality of monarchy and court could save them both at the price of hard power. As in many countries, the Swedish court was key in upholding the monarchical system and instilling its values in the aristocracy. To its inhabitants, the court was the world. A world of promise and danger, boredom, and wonder—but above all, simply the world.

5

 Vogt (1903, 152–4).

Glossary of Court Positions

Fateburshustru  Linen Mistress Fateburspiga  Linen Maid Fyrbytare  Keeper of Lights Försnidare  Carver Hovjungfru  Maid of Honour Hovjunkare  Court Gentleman Hovmarskalk  Court Marshal Hovmästare  Court Master Hovmästarinna  Court Mistress Husgerådskammare  Furnishings Chamber Husgerådsmästare  Furnishings Master Jungfruknekt  Groom of the Maids Kabinettskammarherre  Cabinet Chamber Gentleman Kammarfru  Chamber Mistress Kammarherre  Chamber Gentleman Kammarjungfru  Lady of Honour Kammarjunkare  Chamber Groom Kammarpiga  Chamberer Kammartjänare  Valet Kavaljer  Cavalier Lakej  Lackey Landshövding  County Governor © The Author(s) 2020 F. Persson, Survival and Revival in Sweden’s Court and Monarchy, 1718–1930, Palgrave Studies in Modern Monarchy, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52647-4

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GLOSSARY OF COURT POSITIONS

Livdrabant  Life Guard Livpage  Page of the Body Riksdag  Diet Riksmarskalk  Marshal of the Realm Riksråd  Councillor of the Realm Stallmästare  Master of the Stable Statsfru  Lady of the Palace Sällskapsfru  Lady Companion Städerska  Cleaner Tvätterska  Laundress Överhovmästarinna  Chief Court Mistress Överkammarherre  Chief Chamber Gentleman Överkammarjungfru  Chief Lady of Honour Överstekammarjunkare  Grand Chamber Gentleman Överstemarskalk  Chief Marshal Överståthållare  Chief Governor

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© The Author(s) 2020 F. Persson, Survival and Revival in Sweden’s Court and Monarchy, 1718–1930, Palgrave Studies in Modern Monarchy, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52647-4

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Author Index1

A Adamson, John, 6 Akkerman, Nadine, 6 Aylmer, Gerald, 4 B Beattie, James, 109 Biskup, Thomas, 110, 267 Brunner, Max, 9 Bucholz, Robert, 109 Büschel, Hubertus, 11 C Caiani, Ambrogio, 6, 10 Cannadine, David, 10, 262, 290 Cole, Laurence, 11

1

D de Jongh, Krista, 6 Deneckere, Gita, 12 Deploige, Jeroen, 12 Dickens, A. G., 5, 6 Duindam, Jeroen, 5–7, 13, 77, 179 Elias, Norbert, 5, 6, 138, 197 G Giloi, Eva, 12 Glenncross, Matthew, 12 H Heinzen, Jasper, 11 Hibbard, Caroline, 6 Horowski, Leonhard, 6 Hull, Isabel, 9

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AUTHOR INDEX

J Jørgensen, Harald, 9 K Keller, Katrin, 6 Kettering, Sharon, 6 Kjølsen, Klaus, 9 Kleinman, Ruth, 6 Klingensmith, Samuel, 6, 204, 266 L Lampe, Joachim, 4 M McLean, Roderick, 12 Mansel, Philip, 9, 11, 110, 262 Mehrkens, Heidi, 9, 10 Merton, Charlotte, 6 Möckl, Karl, 8 Müller, Frank Lorenz, 9, 10 N Newton, William Ritchey, 6 P Paulmann, Johannes, 12 Plunkett, John, 11 Prochaska, Frank, 12

R Riotte, Torsten, 11 Röhl, John, 9 Roolfs, Cornelia, 9 S Sandin, Per, 12 Schaich, Michael, 10 Smith, Hannah, 7, 52, 109 Solnon, Jean-Francois, 5 Sternberg, Giora, 6, 197, 212 Stolberg Rilinger, Barbara, 7 T Thurley, Simon, 6 Truesdell, Matthew, 11, 290 U Unowsky, Daniel, 11 V Vehse, Eduard, 9 W Wagner-Kyora, Georg von, 11 Werner, Karl Ferdinand, 8 Winterling, Aloys, 5 Wortman, Richard, 11

Place Index1

A Austria/Vienna, 13, 14, 16, 29, 53, 60, 101, 110, 196, 200, 222, 265, 266, 274, 280, 309, 314, 317 B Bavaria, 9, 16, 204, 264, 267, 280 Belgium, 261, 264, 273, 280, 315 Britain, 1, 2, 8, 15–17, 29, 36, 67, 75, 108, 109, 196, 199, 269, 270, 289, 297, 314 D Denmark, 2, 3, 13, 15–17, 29, 77, 178, 200, 209, 240, 261, 263, 264, 280, 287

1

F France, 1–3, 5, 7, 8, 10, 13, 14, 27, 29, 74–76, 90, 109, 112, 122, 145, 150, 166, 170, 172, 178, 179, 188, 196, 200, 201, 204, 250, 261, 263, 264, 266, 267, 275, 280, 288, 315, 317 H Hesse, 31, 35, 51, 106, 264 M Mecklenburg-Schwerin, 16, 269 N Norway, 35, 273, 274, 279, 305, 307

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PLACE INDEX

P Portugal, 13, 15, 29, 287, 288, 307, 315 Prussia, 3, 13, 15, 16, 29, 53, 60, 68, 75, 110, 178, 194, 199, 200, 237, 261, 264, 267, 269, 280, 288, 309, 314 R Russia, 2, 11, 13, 16, 29, 148, 158, 159, 167, 198, 236, 248, 266, 280, 288, 309, 314, 315, 317

S Savoy, 13 Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, 269 Saxony, 14–17, 261, 263, 264, 268 T Two Sicilies, 16, 266, 269, 280, 315 W Württemberg, 17, 264, 270

Subject Index1

A Appointments, 25, 27, 31–33, 35, 37, 38, 40, 46–48, 52, 66, 74, 78, 111, 139–143, 152, 156, 176, 177, 181, 182, 188, 218, 258, 266, 269, 270, 273, 277, 280, 292, 293, 314 B Bedchamber, 16, 62, 84, 86, 90, 93–96, 182, 207, 218, 257, 270 Boredom/bored/boring, 57, 60, 61, 63–65, 115, 119, 144, 149, 170, 193, 317 C Car, 286–288, 293, 316 Carriage, 42, 68, 99, 100, 106, 119, 128, 150, 195, 203, 226, 227, 238, 241, 249, 275, 277, 285–289, 305, 306 1

Chamber meals, 170 Character (referring to appointments), 33 Court Calendar, 17, 180, 181, 252, 270 Coronation, 105, 106, 171, 195, 196, 198, 199, 203, 212, 221, 225, 229, 236, 246, 247, 259, 261, 293, 295, 301, 309, 313 Cour ceremony/cour reception/Cour, 34, 64, 74, 88, 89, 94, 97, 100, 101, 110, 115–118, 124, 125, 129, 146, 155, 156, 160, 194, 195, 202, 204, 205, 207, 208, 213–217, 228, 239, 285, 294, 297, 311 Court Ordinance, 91, 173, 196, 221, 229 D Dining in public/grand couvert, 66, 74, 88, 101, 115, 117, 204–206, 213

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© The Author(s) 2020 F. Persson, Survival and Revival in Sweden’s Court and Monarchy, 1718–1930, Palgrave Studies in Modern Monarchy, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-52647-4

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SUBJECT INDEX

E Ekolsund Uniform, 82 Entrées/entrée, 83–86, 88, 97, 129, 205, 210, 218

N New Year, 62, 194, 196, 213, 221, 227, 291, 297, 298, 306, 310

F Film, 305, 306, 316

O Opera, 73, 84, 85, 97–99, 110, 115, 214, 258, 275, 286, 289, 305

G Golden keys, 65, 66, 82, 156, 174, 175, 264, 271 H Hand-kissing, 212, 213 Hierarchy, 14, 83, 89, 94, 107, 124, 125, 174, 196, 208, 230, 239, 250 Humiliation, 27, 67, 94, 172, 193, 194, 208, 209, 212, 214, 215, 217, 219, 249, 298 L Letter recommendatory, 49 Levée, 84, 86, 88, 94, 97, 100, 118, 125, 129, 146, 155, 156, 203, 210, 213, 217, 239 Life Guard, 39, 75, 87–89, 92, 96, 142, 150, 211, 214 Lit de parade, 189, 295, 296 M May Day cavalcade, 286, 288, 293, 306 Merchants/burgher, 26, 30, 31, 62, 94, 119, 125, 126, 129, 169, 170, 181, 185, 205, 221, 230, 240, 243, 252, 287, 294 Mourning, 105–107, 116, 198, 206, 222, 291, 294, 295, 298

P Patronage, 5, 27, 31, 46, 150–154, 161, 244 petitioners’ audience, 80–82 Poverty, 45, 78, 133, 138–140, 143, 301 Presentation at court/presented at court, 105, 110–114, 204, 216, 218, 219, 227, 250, 293, 306, 309, 310 R Royal power/royal authority, 2–5, 7–9, 13, 18, 19, 26–28, 30, 32–34, 44–52, 56–58, 66–68, 75, 80, 107, 109, 137, 158, 166, 168, 181, 187, 188, 198, 203, 210, 214, 217, 220, 230, 237, 257, 263, 276–280, 292, 293, 308, 314, 315, 317 S The salut, 213, 228 Sociability, 7, 52–57, 108–111, 115, 129, 262, 306 T Tabouret, 195, 204–206

  SUBJECT INDEX 

U Unsalaried (courtiers), 13, 27, 36, 40, 44, 45, 68, 172, 173, 314 Upstart/climber, 16, 110, 123, 129, 139, 141, 169, 212, 226

W Wardrobe, 30, 91–95 Wardrobe Way, 89, 93 White Room, 84, 85, 88, 96, 97, 316

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