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Updated: May 13, 2025
Yes, Holger Danske may come in many forms, so that one hears in every country of Denmark's strength. But the little lad in the bed saw plainly the old Kronenburgh, with the Oer Sound, and the real Holger Danske, who sat deep below, with his beard grown through the marble table, dreaming of all that happens up here.
So he looked around until he found a flat bit of shell that just suited him, when he sat down upon it, and grew fast, like old Holger Danske, in the Danish myth. Only, unlike Holger, he didn't go to sleep, but proceeded to make himself at home.
There he read about Holger Danske; and the man read that the tale had been invented and put together by a monk in France, that it was a romance, "translated into Danish and printed in that language;" that Holger Danske had never really lived, and consequently could never come again, as we have sung, and have been so glad to believe. And William Tell was treated just like Holger Danske.
The ships sailed by and saluted the castle with the boom of the cannon, and Kronenburg returned the salute, "Boom, boom." But the roaring cannons did not awake Holger Danske, for they meant only "Good morning," and "Thank you." They must fire in another fashion before he awakes; but wake he will, for there is energy yet in Holger Danske.
Never was he seen without his hands behind him, and the poet Holger Drachmann started a theory that as Ibsen could do nothing in the world but write, the Muse tied his wrists together at the small of his back whenever they were not actually engaged in composition. His regularity in all habits, his mechanical ways, were the subject of much amusement.
The wooden figure threw a gigantic shadow on the wall, and even on part of the ceiling; it seemed as if the real Holger Danske stood behind it, for the shadow moved; but this was no doubt caused by the flame of the lamp not burning steadily.
Then he will come forth in his strength, and strike a blow that shall sound in all the countries of the world. An old grandfather sat and told his little grandson all this about Holger Danske, and the boy knew that what his grandfather told him must be true.
Just look at little Miss Glove, how she's pointing her fingers! "'Could I but have my love, Who then so happy as Glove! Ah! If I from him must part, I'm sure 'twill break my heart! 'Bah! The last word was spoken by Mr. Pipe-head; and now it's Mr. Waistcoat's turn: "'O Glove, my own dear, Though it cost thee a tear, Thou must be mine, For Holger Danske has sworn it!
"You're quite right, father," she said. "But I'm afraid we'll have to kill them to-night. In two days is Morten Gooseday and we must make haste if we expect to get them to market in time." "I think it would be outrageous to butcher the goosey-gander, now that he has returned to us with such a large family," protested Holger Nilsson.
Tradition does not say at what time it was that this mighty hero honoured the isles of the Baltic with his actual presence, but, in return, it informs us that Holger, like so many other heroes of renown, "is not dead, but sleepeth."
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