Before telling you about the collection more fully, however, I wish to explain to you the time-honored custom of naming the Danish kings, lest you become utterly bewildered among the Christians and Fredericks. The system is really a very simple one; for, since the accession of the Oldenburg house to the throne four hundred and fifty years ago, all of the kings—with one single exception—have been Christians or Fredericks, appearing alternately. The exception was the son of Christian I who ruled as King Hans. Ideally, he should have been named Frederick, for his successor was Christian; but, as it was, the Christians got the start of the Fredericks by one reign; so the late Christian IX was succeeded by the late Frederick VIII. And I suppose that henceforth even to the end of Danish kings the alternation of Fredericks and Christians will continue.

Every Christian and every Frederick is, I presume, represented at Rosenborg by at least one relic, but I have no intention of boring you with an exhaustive catalogue of them. However, a few of the objects which for one reason or another caught my attention may not be without interest to you. Christian IV, the builder of the castle, who is generally considered Denmark’s best-beloved king, is naturally well represented in the museum. It was this Christian, you will remember, who led the unsuccessful Protestant forces during the Danish period of the Thirty Years’ War. While the struggle was on, Christian had a vision—or thought he had—with reference to the war. In one of the show-cases at Rosenborg is a miniature painting of the vision, accompanied by a description by the king. A further proof that Christian IV had a part in the superstition of his time is a piece of jade which he wore as a charm against gout.

After taking his turn in the Thirty Years’ War, Christian valiantly fought the Swedes in the great battle of the Baltic; but in the engagement one of his eyes was put out by a splinter. The cap which he wore, with a green patch attached to protect the wounded organ, is another souvenir of Christian IV’s reign to be found at Rosenborg. You remember well, I am sure, Longfellow’s translation of Evald’s song, “King Christian,” which is one of the favorite national songs of the Danes. It begins:

That King Christian was Christian IV, and the battle was the battle of the Baltic.

In the exhibit belonging to the period of Frederick III, the successor to this famous Christian, are pieces of alchemical gold. I was surprised at this, for I had not supposed that the attempts to change the baser metals into gold lingered so late as the seventeenth century. But perhaps the Danish “artificial gold” was not the result of any serious attempt to find a short-cut to wealth.

It was during the reign of the next Frederick that Czar Peter of Russia visited Denmark. Frederick IV and Peter were pretty good friends, partly because of their common enmity for Charles XII of Sweden, “the madman of the North.” In the Corridor of Frederick IV is the bust of Peter, and also a goblet and a compass of ivory, both of which were made by Peter, who knew how to use his hands as well as his head. In the apartments of Frederick are also a bottle containing a little of the oil with which the Danish king was anointed at coronation, and a table and a chair of chased silver used by him and his successors at the formal opening of the Danish parliament.

Frederick VI lived in the troubled period of the Napoleonic wars; and as a result of his desire to remain neutral, he saw his capital bombarded by the British fleet. This provoked the Danes to ally themselves with France, against England, and they paid for doing so, in 1814, by the loss of Norway to Sweden. A curious souvenir of this Napoleonic war time is a ship of the line made by Danish sailors from bones found in the soup served to them while they were prisoners of war of the English.

I particularly wish, Cynthia, that you could have seen the grand old banqueting hall on the top floor of Rosenborg. It restored to me the atmosphere of fairy lore and romance which the museum of relics of defunct royalty had dispelled. The great room is finely proportioned, and is well lighted by large windows which give a fine view of the park. On the pane of one of these windows was the name “Alexandra”—scratched with a diamond—to which a guard near at hand proudly called my attention. The dowager Queen Alexandra of England is the daughter of the late Christian IX, you remember. The present appearance of the room dates from the time of Christian V, two hundred years ago. The ceiling is of dark oak set with panels painted by famous artists. On the walls are twelve Gobelin tapestries, woven at the order of Christian V in honor of some rather doubtful victories won by him in southern Sweden. Tall silver candle-sticks have been placed at intervals around the sides of the room; and, here and there, against the walls are great arm chairs, and stiff, grand-looking, high-backed ones, upholstered in rich embroidery. Before the fireplace are two silver firedogs and a silver firescreen bearing Christian V’s monogram. The royal thrones stand at one end of the room; that of the king was constructed from the ivory of whales’ teeth in the 1660’s, while the queen’s, which is of silver, was made in 1725. But to me, far more impressive than these antique seats of the mighty were three couchant silver lions, large as Newfoundland dogs, which stand in front of thrones.

The lions represent the three divisions of Scandinavia, which, through the Union of Calmar, were, in 1397, united by the great Queen Margaret under Danish rule. In 1523 Sweden revolted against the tyranny of Christian II, “the Nero of the North,” and established her independence under Gustav Vasa; and Norway was finally lost to Denmark a century ago. Nevertheless, these three particular lions are still used at royal funerals, at special solemn audiences granted by the king, and at the opening of the Danish parliament when the king is present. And three lion emblems still appear upon the Danish coat-of-arms. Sweden, however, has long since ceased objecting to the implied insult, for she well knows that Denmark has no unholy designs upon Swedish territory. Indeed, it is a case of tit for tat; for during the long period of enmity and warfare between Denmark and Sweden, following the separation, Sweden retaliated by placing three Scandinavian crowns upon her shield; and there they are to-day, even though the two countries are now the best of friends. Norway, on the other hand, is more modest; probably made so by her four centuries of domination by Denmark and her later unequal union with Sweden. Upon Norway’s coat-of-arms are seen one solitary rampant lion and one solitary Scandinavian crown. Rejoicing in her tardy freedom, Norway is satisfied merely to be free; “Alt for Norge” (All for Norway), the motto which appears upon her coins beneath the head of King Haakon, reflects only this intense patriotic joy; the “Alt” carries no thought of unfriendly designs upon the property of Norway’s neighbors.