Picture this. It's the year 1644. You are standing
on the deck of the Danish flagship Trafalda Hayden.
Right in the middle of the Battle of Kohlberger
Heide. Exactly. The air is just thick with smoke,
fog, and the absolute... deafening roar of naval
artillery. It's chaos. Complete chaos. And suddenly
a Swedish cannonball strikes a Danish cannon
right near the commander. Shrapnel, you know,
splinters of wood and chunks of burning metal
just flies across the deck. And the king himself
is struck down. Yeah. King Christian IV, who
was personally commanding the fleet at 67 years
old, he loses his right eye. His ear is mutilated.
He collapses onto the blood -slicked wooden boards.
And for a terrifying moment, the entire crew
assumes their monarch is dead. I mean, you would.
But then, bleeding heavily and half blind, he
struggles back to his feet, props himself against
the main mast, and orders his men to keep firing.
It is a truly remarkable moment of historical
resilience. Welcome to the Deep Dive. I am your
host, and today we are looking at Denmark's royal
anthem and the bloody history of Kong Christian.
I'm our resident historian, and I am very excited
for this one. If you're joining us on this deep
dive into one of the world's oldest national
anthems, Kong Christian Stood Vade Hoojan Mast,
which translates to King Christian Stood by the
Lofty Mast, you are absolutely in the right place.
We're going to uncover the thrilling 17th century
naval battles, the mysterious debated musical
origins, and the surprisingly anti -Swedish lyrics
that were originally censored from the stage.
Whether you are a history buff, a classical music
lover, or just insanely curious about Danish
history, this deep dive unpacks the heroic tales
of King Christian IV, Niels Jule, and Peter Wessel
Tordenskild. Okay, let's unpack this. Our mission
today is to explore how this incredibly gritty,
violent naval battle was transformed over the
centuries into a revered national symbol. We
should probably establish the unique status of
this piece of music right away, because it occupies
a very specific and somewhat complicated space
in Danish culture. Right. It is the unofficial
royal anthem of Denmark, but it also officially
shares equal national anthem status with another
song. Right. Der er er et inded land, which translates
to There is a lovely country. Denmark is in that
rare club of nations with two officially recognized
national anthems. But there's a really strict
division of labor here. Very strict. Kong Christian
is reserved almost exclusively for the Danish
royal house and the military. If the monarch
is present or if it is a major military anniversary,
this is the anthem you're going to hear. And
even then, on official occasions, they usually
only sing the first verse. Exactly. The other
anthem, their Ere et Indit Land, serves as the
civilian anthem. That's what you would hear at
a football match or the Olympics. And the contrast
between the two is striking. The civilian anthem
is this romantic, pastoral piece focusing on
broad beech trees and blonde maidens. It is gentle.
While Con Christian is martial, rhythmic, and
just intensely aggressive. It is not a song about
the beauty of the landscape. It is a song about
dominating the sea and crushing your enemies.
But to understand its place in modern culture,
we have to look at how it bridges the gap between
the military and the civilian population today.
It is deeply woven into the fabric of Danish
celebration. Oh, the New Year's tradition. Yes.
Let's put you, the listener, right in the middle
of a modern Danish tradition. Imagine it's New
Year's Eve. You've had your dinner, you've celebrated,
and the clock has just struck midnight. The new
year has officially begun. On television, the
civilian national anthem has just been played.
And then, immediately following it, the Denmark's
Radio Girls Choir begins to sing Kong Christian.
And all across the country, people are standing
in their living rooms, holding a glass of champagne,
singing along. When you participate in that moment,
you are connecting to a very long legacy. Absolutely.
Having been adopted in 1780, It holds the impressive
title of being one of the oldest national anthems
in the world. To put that in perspective, the
United States was still in the middle of the
Revolutionary War when Denmark formalized this
piece of music. It's incredible. Let's go back
to that origin story. The lyrics first appeared
a couple of years prior to that adoption, in
May of 1778. They were written by a prominent
poet named Johannes Ewald. But they didn't debut
at a military parade or a solemn royal coronation.
No, they debuted in a theatrical play. The play
was called The Fishermen, or Fiskern in Danish.
It officially premiered at the Royal Danish Theatre
in January of 1780. This was for King Christian
VII's birthday, right? Yes. And Ewald categorized
the fishermen as a vaudeville, which in the context
of 1780s Europe meant a singspiel. So a musical
drama incorporating popular pre -existing street
melodies rather than the American variety shows
we picture today. Exactly. But the narrative
of the play itself wasn't directly about the
king. It focused on everyday people fishermen
from the northern part of Zealand. Who risked
their own lives to save a group of sailors from
drowning in a terrible storm. And the climax
of the story centers on the fishermen humbly
refusing to accept any financial reward for their
bravery. In 1780, that kind of selfless maritime
heroism functioned as an overarching tribute
to the Danish -Norwegian Navy. The fishermen
represented the ideal Danish spirit on the water.
Ewald used this narrative framework to insert
a song that celebrated the ultimate maritime
heroes. of Denmark and Norway's past. He specifically
highlighted their monumental naval wars against
Sweden in the 17th and early 18th centuries.
He did. I want to read some of the English translation
of these lyrics done by the famous American poet
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow because the imagery
is striking. It is a stark contrast to the peaceful
imagery you usually find in national anthems.
It definitely is. It starts with that scene we
described at the beginning, King Christian IV,
at the 1644 Battle of Kohlberger Heide. The lyrics,
Go King Christian, stood by the lofty mast in
mist and smoke. Setting the scene perfectly.
His sword was hammering so fast, through gothic
helm and brain it passed. It leaves absolutely
nothing to the imagination. You're smashing brains.
Yeah, the phrase gothic helm refers directly
to the Swedish enemy. It paints a picture of
a monarch who isn't just commanding from a safe
distance. He is physically engaged in the slaughter.
Smashing his sword through the helmets and brains
of his foes, it is designed to evoke a visceral,
almost terrifying sense of national power. And
Ewald didn't stop with King Christian. He structured
the song to name -drop other legendary Danish
-Norwegian naval commanders to build this crescendo
of maritime supremacy. Like Niels Jule, a hero
from the Scania War in the 1670s, the lyrics
detail how Jule hoisted his blood -red flag and
struck the enemy. Then the song moves on to Peter
Wessel Tordenskild, a legendary vice admiral
from the Great Northern War. The descriptions
of Tordenskild are downright apocalyptic. The
song states that where he went, terror and death
glared. It issues a direct command to the enemy.
Let each to heaven commend his soul and fly.
Tordenskild was famous for his audacious, highly
aggressive tactics. And Ewald captures that perfectly.
The sheer aggression in the text was carefully
calibrated to stir up deep patriotic fervor and
remind the theater audience of these monumental
life or death struggles at sea. But here's where
it gets really interesting. The censorship. Yes.
You have this intense, deeply patriotic song
debuting at the Royal Theater for the current
king's birthday. You would assume the crowd would
be on their feet cheering these verses. You would
think so. But in the original staging of the
play, verses one through three, the ones detailing
the smashing of Swedish brains, the blood red
flags, and the terror and death were completely
cut from the performance. Completely removed.
If we connect this to the bigger picture. The
theater director's sudden attack of stage fright
makes perfect sense. We have to look at the geopolitical
reality of 1780. Denmark was navigating a very
precarious diplomatic landscape at that exact
time. They were a key member of something called
the League of Armed Neutrality. This was an alliance
formed to protect neutral shipping rights, primarily
against the United Kingdom and France during
the American Revolutionary War. This implies
a level of censorship driven entirely by foreign
policy. Who was their crucial ally in this neutral
league? Sweden. Exactly. The League of Armed
Neutrality required Denmark, Sweden and Russia
to maintain a united front to protect their vital
maritime trade routes. And Denmark and Sweden
had spent centuries at war with each other. So
this alliance was strictly a marriage of economic
convenience. It was incredibly fragile. The diplomatic
nightmare of the Swedish ambassador attending
a royal birthday play. Only to hear a newly commissioned
song vividly celebrating the historical slaughter
of his countrymen is so easy to picture. Singing
about hammering swords through Swedish brains
would have been a catastrophic diplomatic blunder.
The court of Christian VII simply could not afford
to antagonize their primary ally. Not while British
warships were harassing neutral trade. Right.
So. Out of an abundance of caution, the theater
decided to completely omit the first three verses
during those initial performances. Only the fourth
verse was deemed safe enough to be sung out loud
on stage. The fourth verse is much more of a
general ode to the dark rolling waves of the
North Sea and facing maritime danger bravely
without specifically mentioning Swedish casualties.
It's a fascinating origin. It is fascinating
that one of the oldest national anthems in the
world essentially started out being heavily censored
by its own creators to avoid a geopolitical incident.
Eventually, the political tides shifted. The
league of armed neutrality dissolved, the immediate
need to placate Sweden faded, and the full, unedited
lyrics became the standard. The song cemented
its place in history. But the lyrical censorship
is really only half the story. The music itself
presents a massive historical blind spot. Yes,
the centuries -old musical whodunit. We know
Johannes Ewald wrote the words, but with lyrics
this iconic, who wrote the epic melody, the twist
is nobody actually knows for sure. The irony
is that while they were meticulously censoring
Ewald's lyrics to avoid a war, they were entirely
careless with the musical score itself. Let's
look at the suspects. The logical starting point
for historians was a man named Johann Hartmann.
Hartmann was the composer who wrote the rest
of the score for the original play, The Fisherman.
When the play debuted, it was naturally assumed
that he had composed the music for the Kong Christian
song as well. For a long time, he was given the
credit, but historians eventually crossed him
off the list. The musical style didn't match
his usual output rate. Musicologists noticed
severe discrepancies. Hartmann was a classically
trained composer who wrote in a very specific,
polished, operatic style. And the melody of Calm
Christian is rigid, repetitive, heavily rhythmic.
It functions much more like a traditional march
or a working class sea shanty than a piece of
high art theater music. It lacked the formal
hallmarks of Hartman's typical compositions.
That stylistic mismatch brings us to suspect
number two, Ditlev Ludwig Rodger. Roger brings
a completely different background to the table.
He wasn't a professional composer by trade. He
was a high court judge. But he was known to be
a highly skilled violinist. And more importantly
for this investigation, he was a close personal
friend of the lyricist Johannes Ewald. During
the 19th century, several prominent intellectuals
backed the theory that Roger, the violin -playing
judge, had actually composed the original melody
specifically for his friend's poem. The narrative
of a high court judge Casually composing one
of the most famous melodies in his country's
history and then just returning to the bench
is compelling. It is, but the modern consensus
points in a completely different direction, thanks
to a researcher named Wilhelm Carl Raven in 1880.
Raven's research fundamentally shifted the academic
understanding of the song. He didn't just guess.
He engaged in deep forensic musicology. What
did he find? He combed through 18th century musical
archives and traced the chord progressions in
rhythmic structures. He concluded that the musical
score didn't originate with the play at all.
And it certainly wasn't written by a high court
judge in 1778. No, he proved that the melody
significantly predated Johannes Ewald's poem
and likely has no single original composer at
all. So Ewald essentially culturally appropriated
a working class sea shanty or a traditional folk
tune and elevated it into high court propaganda.
That is definitely the most accurate way to describe
it. Raven believed the tune had been circulating
for decades, perhaps as an anonymous sailors
march or a traditional dance tune. Ewald simply
recognized a powerful, driving rhythm and repurposed
it, setting his new, violent lyrics to a melody
the public was already somewhat familiar with.
Exactly. Today, this remains the most commonly
supported theory among historians. But there
is another case of mistaken musical identity
here. Even today, if you ask people who composed
Kong Christian, many will frequently and wrongly
credit Friedrich Kulow. The confusion regarding
Kulow is entirely understandable. He is inextricably
linked to the song's massive cultural saturation.
Kulal didn't invent the melody, but he did write
an incredibly popular, sweeping orchestral arrangement
of the score. He used that arrangement in his
own play called Elverherge, or Elves' Hill, which
premiered in November of 1828. Elverherge is
a foundational piece of Danish romanticism, and
it was commissioned for an absolutely massive
royal event, the wedding between Crown Prince
Frederick and Princess Philomene. Kulaw took
this repurposed folk tune and gave it a grand,
majestic orchestration suitable for a royal wedding.
He made it famous, but he didn't invent it. He
elevated the song from a popular theatrical tune
to an undeniable institutional national anthem.
He gave the song its definitive sound. And the
reach of this melody eventually extended far
beyond Danish borders. I love this piece of musical
trivia. The legendary Russian composer Pyotr
Ilyich Tchaikovsky actually incorporated Kong
Christian into his own work. Tchaikovsky composed
a piece called the Festival Overture on the Danish
national anthem. It is a brilliant piece of musical
diplomacy. He wrote it for the visit of the Russian
Tsarevich to the Moscow Conservatoire. The Tsarevich,
the future emperor Alexander III, was accompanied
by his new wife, Princess Dagmar of Denmark.
Tchaikovsky blended elements of the Russian national
anthem with the driving melody of Kong Christian
as a musical welcome gift for the new princess.
That commission demonstrates just how universally
recognizable the melody had become across Europe
by the late 19th century. It had evolved from
a questionable, anonymous maritime folk tune
to a censored theater song to a grand orchestration
in Copenhagen, all the way to a symphonic tribute
by Tchaikovsky in Moscow. The historical journey
of this piece of music is just staggering. We
have traced it from a brutal, shrapnel -filled
naval battle at Kohlberger Heid, where a 67 -year
-old king refused to die, to an 18th century
sing -spiel about humble fishermen, to a censored
theatrical debut. Right, we've seen how geopolitical
precariousness forced a theater to cut verses
about smashing Swedish brains, and we've tracked
an unsolved musical mystery involving a high
court judge, an anonymous ancient tune, and a
royal wedding. And despite all of that messy
history, it has survived to become this cherished
New Year's Eve tradition where the entire country
sings along with a girls' choir at midnight.
So what does this all mean? Well, this deep dive
proves that the national symbols we often take
for granted are rarely as simple as they appear.
We tend to look at national anthems, flags, and
traditions as static, boring institutions that
arrived fully formed. The reality is that they
are usually born from incredibly dynamic, messy,
and fascinating histories. They are the products
of political compromise and debated origins.
Kong Christian wasn't created in a sterile vacuum.
It was forged in the memory of war, shaped by
the fear of diplomatic fallout, and carried forward
by the sheer power of an anonymous melody. It
definitely changes how you perceive every traditional
piece of music, which leads me to a final thought
for you, the listener, to mull over. Think about
your own country's patriotic songs or even your
favorite traditional anthems. Given that Kong
Christian was an old, recycled tune that had
its most passionate, violently anti -Swedish
verses censored from the stage to keep foreign
diplomats happy, how many of the sacred, traditional
songs that we sing today with total reverence
are actually masking a scandalous, controversial,
or highly pol - history that we've simply forgotten
over time. It requires us to look critically
at the art we consider traditional. Thanks for
joining us on this exploration of history, music,
and the secrets hiding in plain sight. We'll
be back next time to unpack another fascinating
topic.