But the showpiece of it all is still old Kronborg castle. And under Kronborg in the deep dark cellar where no one goes sits Holger the Dane, dressed in iron and steel and resting his head on his strong arms. His long beard spreads out over the marble table, where it’s grown fast. He’s sleeping and dreaming, but in his dreams he sees everything that happens in Denmark. Every Christmas Eve an angel of God visits him and tells him that what he’s dreamed is true, and that he can sleep on because Denmark is not yet in any real danger. But if that were to happen, well, then old Holger the Dane would rise up so the table would crack when he pulled his beard towards him. Then he would come out swinging so you could hear it all over the world.

This story about Holger the Dane was being told to a little grandson by an old grandfather. The little boy knew that whatever his grandfather said was true. While the old man told his story, he was whittling a big wooden figure that was to represent Holger the Dane as a figurehead on a ship. The old man was a wood carver who carved figureheads for ships according to the ship’s name, and now he had carved Holger the Dane. He stood so straight and proudly with his long beard, and in one hand he held a big broad sword, and his other hand was leaning on the Danish coat-of-arms.

The old grandfather talked so much about remarkable Danish men and women that the little grandson at last thought that he knew just as much as Holger the Dane did, who could only dream about it, after all. And when the little boy went to bed he thought so much about it that he pressed his chin tightly into his comforter and felt that he had a long beard that had grown fast to it.

But the old grandfather continued his work and carved the last part, the Danish coat-of-arms, and then he was finished. He looked at his work and thought about everything that he had read and heard, and about what he had told the little boy that evening, and he nodded, wiped his glasses, put them on again, and said, “Well, Holger the Dane probably won’t come in my time, but that boy in the bed there may get to see him and be there when it really counts.” Then the old grandfather nodded, and the more he looked at his Holger the Dane, the clearer it became to him that he had made a really fine image. He thought it seemed to have color, and that the armor shone like iron and steel. The hearts in the Danish coat-of-arms became redder and redder, and the lions leaped with golden crowns on.

“That is really the most beautiful coat-of-arms in the world,” said the old man. “The lions are strength, and the hearts are gentleness and love.” He looked at the topmost lion and thought about King Canute,¹ who added mighty England to Denmark’s realm. He looked at the second one and thought about Valdemar I,² who unified Denmark and subdued the Slavic Wends. He looked at the third lion and thought about Margrethe I³ who united Denmark, Sweden, and Norway, but as he looked at the red hearts they shone even brighter than before and became flames that moved, and his thoughts followed each of them.

The first flame led him into a narrow, dark prison. A prisoner was sitting there, a beautiful woman. It was Christian IV’s daughter, Leonora Christina Ulfeldt.⁴ The flame sat as a rose on her breast and flowered together with her heart. She was the noblest and best of all Danish women.

“Yes, that’s one heart in Denmark’s coat-of-arms,” said the old grandfather.

And his thoughts followed the flame that led him out onto the ocean where the cannons boomed, and ships were lying shrouded in smoke. The flames attached themselves like a royal ribbon on Huitfeldt’s⁵ chest as he saved the fleet by blowing up himself and his ship.

And the third flame led him to the miserable huts of Greenland where the pastor Hans Egede⁶ worked with love in word and deed. The flame was a star on his chest, a heart in the Danish coat-of-arms.

The old grandfather’s thoughts flew ahead of the flickering flame because his mind knew where the flame was going. In a peasant woman’s simple main room Frederick VI⁷ was writing his name with chalk on a beam. The flame moved on his chest and moved in his heart. His heart became a heart in Denmark’s coat-of-arms in the home of the poor farmer. And the old grandfather dried his eyes because he had known and lived for King Frederick with his silver white hair and the honest blue eyes. He folded his hands and stared silently into space. Then the old grandfather’s daughter-in-law came to tell him that it was late. It was time to rest, and supper was ready.

“But what a great job you have done, Grandfather!” she said. “Holger the Dane and our whole old Danish coat-of-arms! I think I’ve seen that face before!”

“No, I don’t think you have,” said the old grandfather. “But I’ve seen it, and I’ve striven to carve it into the wood as I remember it. It was at the time of the Battle of Copenhagen on April 2, 1801 when we learned that we were like the Danes of old! I was on the Danmark in Steen Bille’s⁸ fleet, and there was a man by my side. It seemed as if the cannon balls were afraid of him! He sang old songs cheerfully and shot and fought as if he were super-human. I still remember his face, but where he came from and where he went afterwards, I don’t know. No one knows. I’ve often thought that maybe it was old Holger the Dane himself who had swum down from Kronborg to help us in our time of danger. That was my thought, and there is his image!”

The figure cast its huge shadow way up the wall, even onto the ceiling. It looked as if it were the real Holger the Dane himself standing back there because the shadow moved, but that could also be because the candle flame wasn’t burning steadily. His daughter-in-law kissed the old grandfather and led him into the big chair by the table. She and her husband, who was the old grandfather’s son and the father of the little boy in the bed, ate their supper, and the old grandfather talked about the Danish lions and hearts—about strength and gentleness, and he quite clearly explained that there was a strength other than that which lay in the sword. He pointed to the shelf where old books were lying, among them all of Holberg’s plays. They were often read because they were so entertaining, and you really felt that you knew all the characters from the old days in them.

“See, he knew how to carve too,” said the old grandfather. “He cut the wrong and rough stuff off of people the best he could.” And old grandfather nodded over at the mirror, where the calendar was hanging with a picture of the Round Tower, and then he said, “Tycho Brahe⁹ was another one who used the sword, not to cut flesh and bone, but to hew a clearer way through the stars in the sky. And then he whose father was of my trade, the old wood carver’s son, whom we ourselves have seen with his white hair and the strong shoulders, who’s known all over the world! Yes, he could carve. I only whittle. Holger the Dane can appear in many ways so that the whole world hears of Denmark’s strength. Let’s drink a toast to Bertel!”¹⁰

But the little boy in the bed clearly saw old Kronborg by the Øresund, and the real Holger the Dane, who sat deep down there with his beard grown fast to the marble table and dreamed about everything that happens up here. Holger the Dane also dreamed about the poor little room where the wood carver sat. He heard everything that was said and nodded in his dreams and said, “Just remember me, Danes! Keep me in your thoughts! I will come in your hour of need!”

And out at Kronborg it was a clear, sunny day, and the wind carried the sounds of the hunting horns from neighboring Sweden. The ships sailed by with their greeting “boom! boom!” and from Kronborg came the reply “boom! boom!” But Holger the Dane didn’t wake up no matter how loudly they shot since they were just saying “good day” and “many thanks.” It will take a different kind of shooting to wake him up, but he will do so, for there is plenty of courage and strength in Holger the Dane.