Holger Danske
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N Denmark there stands an old castle called Kronenburg. It lies near the Sound of Elsinore, where large ships, both English, Russian, and Prussian, daily sail past by hundreds. And they salute the old fortress with cannons that say, "Boom!" And the fortress answers with its cannons, "Boom!" which is the way cannons say, "Good-morning," and "Your servant." In winter no ships sail by, for all is covered with ice as far as the Swedish coast; but it looks quite like a high road, and Danish and Swedish flags are waving, and Danes and Swedes say to each other, "Good-morning," and "Your servant." But not with cannons—no, indeed! but with a friendly shake of the hand; and they mutually purchase white bread and cracknels of each other, because foreign goods taste the nicest. But finest of all is the old castle of Kronenburg, where Holger Danske sits in a deep, dark cellar, which nobody enters. He is clad in iron and steel, and supports his head on his strong arm: his long beard hangs over the marble table, in which it has taken root. He sleeps and dreams; but in his dreams he sees everything that takes place up above here in Denmark. Every Christmas evening an angel comes to tell him that all he has dreamed is true, and that he may go to sleep again in peace, for that Denmark is as yet in no real peril; but should danger ever occur, then will old Holger Danske rise, and shiver the table to pieces as he withdraws his beard. And then he will come forth in his might, and lay about him, till all the world shall ring with his fame.
An old grandfather sat telling all these particulars about Holger Danske to his little grandson; and the little boy knew that what his grandfather said was true. And as the old man sat talking, he was carving a large wooden figure representing Holger Danske, which was to ornament the prow of a vessel; for the old grandfather was a carver of images, whose trade it was to make figures for ship-heads, according as each ship might be named; and, in the present case, he had carved Holger Danske, who stood proud and erect, with his long beard, holding in one hand his broad battle-sword, while he supported himself with the other against the Danish coat-of-arms.
And the old grandfather related so many histories about distinguised Danish men and women that at length his little grandson fancied that he knew as much as Holger Danske himself, who only dreams about things; and when the little fellow went to bed, he kept thinking and thinking, till he pressed his chin against the counterpane, and then imagined that he had a long beard that became rooted to it.
But the old grandfather still sat at his work, carving the last portion of it, namely,—the Danish arms. At last he completed them, and then looked at the whole, and thought over all he had read and heard, and what he had related that evening to the little boy; and he nodded his head, wiped his spectacles, put them on again, and said: "Ay, Holger Danske won't make his appearance in my lifetime, but that boy in bed there will perhaps be able to see him, and will be present when it really comes to pass." And the old grandfather nodded again; and the more he looked at his Holger Danske, the more obvious it was to him that he had carved a good figure,—nay, it even seemed to him as if it assumed the colour of life, and as if the armour glittered like iron and steel: the nine hearts in the Danish arms seemed redder and redder, while the lions, with their gold crowns on their heads, were actually leaping.
"They are certainly the finest arms in the world," said the old man. "The lions stand for strength, and the hearts for mercy and love." And he gazed at the uppermost lion, and thought of King Knut, who chained illustrious England to the Danish throne; and he looked at the second lion, and thought of Waldemar, who united Denmark, and conquered the Vandal states.
