The Danish Revival

31. It Takes a Lot of Ball

Ameliensborg Palace Ballroom
The Evening of March 13th 1841

The mellow tones of Beethoven washed over the lavish ballroom. Cherubs, golden and magnificent hung from various points, and on the large wood-panelled floor was the hypnotic sight of dancing, perfectly executed as one would expect from those at the very top of society. Leading the way was the King himself, who danced with an elegant sway befitting a monarch. His partner was his daughter the Princess Maria, who was said to have a vast amount of suitors from every court in Europe, including the likes of Greece and Montenegro. Despite this, she was yet to see her twentieth winter.

The Princess was dressed in a splendid white ball gown, thoroughly decent and respectable yet incredibly revealing in a unique way. This was offset against her pearly white skin, shining blue eyes and thick blonde hair. Tonight, she looked every inch a princess.

The ball was now in full flow, and the King moved on to dance with a very excited old lady from the Court of Moldavia, although no one quite knew who she was or why exactly she was there. No one had invited Moldavia as far as anyone knew.

“May I have the next dance?” The voice was soft, yet reassuring. The Princess Maria, startled, looked up into a pair of dark, brooding eyes. The man was middle-aged, ancient to her, yet as she looked upon his visage she felt a flutter in her stomach. There was something about his wavy brown hair and his demeanour that made her think that saying no was not an option. She smiled coyly.

“I suppose so. You would be…?”

“Jonsson, Mathias Jonsson. I’m surprised you don’t recognise me? I see your father regularly.” The Princess avoided his eyes, and looked to the floor.

“My father does not like me disturbing the important people.”

The court musicians came to the end of the piece they were playing, and as fresh notes filled the air Mathias and Maria began to dance. They moved with ease, both acquainted with the fashionable dances as the nobility should be, and they did they spoke.

“I have heard of you, of course.” The young lady spoke with purpose and confidence, and Mathias raised an eyebrow. “You’re the Chancellor, the one with the Swedish name.” She said these words as if issuing a challenge. Mathias chuckled, and nodded.

“I can assure you, Princess, that I am as Danish as the Dannebrogen. My unfortunate name comes from the fact my mother, a Knudsen of Copenhagen,marri ed into the Swedish nobility as an only child and thus an heiress. I never knew my father, though, he died when I was but a baby.” Maria looked embarrassed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. My mother raised me to be Danish through and through.” There was a pause filled only by the music and the dance, until Mathias spoke.

“So I suppose you are to marry a foreign Prince?” He had obviously hit a raw nerve as a pained expression flashed across her face, defying the cool neutrality with which she had composed herself in the conversation thus far.

“So it seems. I believe father favours Prince Maximilian of Habsburg.” Mathias grinned and winked.

“You want to watch out for the Habsburgs, especially their webbed feet.” For a moment Maria’s face was blank, and then she burst into all-consuming giggling which drew glances from some of the more conservative, proper attendees of the ball.

A few minutes later was a recess, and the various dancers stumbled from the dance floor. Maria had scurried off to talk with her maidservant, a young mousy girl who seemed to giggle a lot. As Mathias stood sipping from a glass of wine Lars Sandlund rushed up and pulled him to one side.

“Come on, we have to go.”

“But I’m having so much fun!” came the weak protest, Mathias’ mind on focussed squarely on young, beautiful Maria. He was dragged off unwillingly into the hall outside, where there were fewer people to overhear their talk.

“There are quite a few important people missing tonight, aren’t there?” Mathias nodded, and smiled. Yes, there were several people who were conspicuous by their absence, and neither he nor Lars needed two guesses as to where they were and what they were doing. The plan was going perfectly.

As they strode out of the palace Mathias checked his pocket watch anxiously. Lars shook his head and smiled.

“Don’t worry, old boy, we’ll be back in time for the last dance!”

“I sure hope so.”

----------------------------------------------------

The ride to the mansion was fairly quick, and as the two men alighted they noticed how dark and empty it looked. They both knew how false that impression was. With care and deliberation they ran to the bank of a stream that lay at the bottom of the hill upon which the mansion rested, and felt around the ground. Anyone who did not know about the mansion would have been mystified by this, but it was not long before it became apparent what was going on. Mathias’ hand fumbled around until it gripped something metallic, which was the handle for a door that was normally hidden by the various flora that grew around the light trickling stream. The door opened to reveal a dark tunnel that burrowed right into the hill, and as Lars and Mathias entered the chanting that had been on the very edge of hearing now became more pronounced.

The door shut with a quiet click, and the men were now in total darkness, guided only by the eerie, blasphemous incantations that filled the grim catacombs. However, they needed no guidance for they had been here many times before.

It was not long before the foul noise was so loud that it seemed to pervade everything, and the passage turned sharply into the large chamber where the Secret Order of the Temple met. Mathias peeped round, and sure enough there was the Grandmaster and slightly less than half of the total membership. Lars snuck his head round, and was sweating with worry.

“What now?” he whispered.

“Just watch.”

Mathias strode round the corner, and to Lars’ amazement he started jumping around, waving his arms wildly. The chanting became quieter until there was total silence in the hall. Mathias was pleased to notice the look of absolute horror on the Grandmaster’s face, and grinned madly.

“This seems like quite a little party you’ve got going on here!” The words echoed around the hall, and in the ensuing silence one could have heard a pin drop.

In a sudden movement the Grandmaster whipped out his duelling pistol and fired, but to his astonishment the bullet stopped in mid air just inches from Mathias’ temple. He plucked it out of the air and threw it to the ground, the clattering metal ringing around the hall.

“Now that’s not very civilised, is it? I just came to make sure that Nilsson had been in touch. I believe he had something to tell you?” The Grandmaster’s face was blank, and he shrugged.

“I know no one called Nilsson.”

“Oh come on, you know, that little scruffy man? The one who ‘accidentally’ overheard a conversation yesterday at Ameliensborg?” Mathias watched on as at first the Grandmaster’s face was a sea of incomprehension. Eventually the penny dropped, and his eyes widened.

“You mean he was your man…?”

Mathias nodded, and grinned. In the background Lars was muttering incantations in some daemonic language, stopping and stuttering occasionally as he stumbled over the words. The assembled members of the Order sat paralysed by the spectacle before them, and despite desperate looks from the Grandmaster not one of them got up to help. A moment later Mathias too began chanting, and the panicking shouts of the Grandmaster were drowned out. This was not Templar magic, he knew that much, this was something he could not defend against. He knew what it was though, and could not believe that Lars and Mathias had been able to master the High Magic of Atlantis. As he stood transfixed, he knew that even the power of the crystal skull could not help him, for that would be like fighting fire with fire.

A few moments later the chanting stopped, as they now entered the eye of the storm. The Grandmaster wracked his brains for anything that could help him, but his mind failed him. He was the victim of a clever trick by Mathias, and screamed out curse after curse to no avail.

A light, with no obvious source now flooded from the floor of the cave, and Mathias’ outstretched arm seemed to be absorbing it like a lightning rod. Eventually, he struck what could only be called the classic pose of the magi, and the horrific mysterious light began to take on a form so evil and malign that it cannot be described, and a terrible stench unlike any other filled the air. The monster, or whatever it was, leapt from the light into the darkness which surrounded the Grandmaster, and the on looking members of the Order looked on with sheer terror as the thing devoured their leader, with various slurpings and gurgling sounds causing several to empty their stomachs of their dinners.

Mathias now raised his hand once again, and the energy of the beast seemed to sag. Before it could feast on any more human flesh Mathias shouted some ancient words that, despite a ferocious struggle, drew the creature back into the vast beam of light, which eventually dwindled until there was darkness once again. He fell to the floor, sapped of energy, and Lars helped him back up. Where the Grandmaster stood there was just a small stain of blood, and the foul smell lingered with unsettling potency. The assembled men of power now looked to Mathias, with nothing but fear and deep respect.

“Brothers!” Mathias cried out, “the magic of Baphomet has been shown to be powerless and nothing more than an insult to that which we call the occult! No more shall we ponce around calling ourselves “The Secret Order of the Temple,” he spat, “for the secret knowledge of the Templar’s is nothing compared to that of which I am in command of, the magic of the Higher Ones themselves, that of Atlantis. I hereby establish the Hermetic Order of Atlantis, with I as your leader!”

Ten minutes later the meeting had been dismissed, and Mathias and Lars were on their way back to the ball. He looked a mess, but that did not matter. No longer would he have to be subordinate to anyone, least of all him. With control of both the political and the magical heart of Denmark, surely nothing could stop him from executing the final plan, the one that would change everything forever.​

32. The Magic of Atlantis

“…and once again we see how adept he is. The blood sacrifice, once destined to be the one called Jens Stemme, was instead the master of Templar magic himself. He is powerful, maybe too powerful. We will have to wait and see…”

Excerpt from “A Treatise on the Magic of Atlantis” by Mathias Jonsson, First Published 1854

There exist in the world certain items of power, that were crafted by the Higher Ones themselves or those with racial memory or mental archetypes of that magnificent race. One example of such items are the crystal skulls, made by the Aztecs as a vessel for the knowledge preserved by the survivors of the great cataclysm that shook the world two hundred thousand years ago. One single skull is powerful, but when all thirteen are brought together and a certain type of light shines upon them they bestow on their beholder knowledge beyond that which we can comprehend. The power of a single skull can be obliterated through the following incantations, found in the Atlantean Grimoire of the Dead:


If one reads these syllables aloud in the presence of the crystal skull there is a queer reaction, as the dimension splitting qualities of the item are brought to bear. If one desires to use this against a crystal skull one should be aware that reading the incantation backwards after reading it forwards summons forth the beast Y’ng’nyuxu, and once should be advised not to bring up things that one can not put back down again. Anyone attempting to raise Y’ng’nyuxu should practise extreme caution, and must be prepared to sacrifice a human in it’s honour (for more on daemonology and summoning daemons, angels and other beings from the pit etc see Chapter 3).

Using this incantation one can draw from the power of the skull itself, rendering it useless to it’s holder. A queer aspect is how even one who knows not of the secrets contained within the Grimoire of the Dead will understand the futility of bringing the skull to the light, and the psychic force of both the crystal skulls and the incantation are qualities that will be requiring more research on my part.

The knowledge contained by the crystal skulls was delivered to the Aztec’s through their communion with the Higher Ones, who they worshipped as Gods. The priests of the Aztec religion would telepathically make contact with the Nobility, and the secrets of how to make the skulls and the immense reservoir of knowledge from Atlantis were passed from one to another.

The skulls themselves are made from the purest quartz, to which the creators were guided by their communion with the Secret Masters. The quartz’s crystalline structure was altered so that in a certain type of light the knowledge would flow forth like a river that has burst it’s dam. Thus far there are six skulls that remain unaccounted for, but my telepathic contact with the Nobility is gradually revealing their locations, as if those that are higher are biding their time. My time, clearly, is not now, but later, when they deem it fit to show to me where the six skulls lie.

The Grimoire of the Dead itself may be considered an item of power, as it has certain queer qualities that go beyond the text that lies within. I know that all magic is the same, and that there is no such thing as a higher form of magic, but it is wise to let others think that this is the case. For example, the secrets of Atlantis may be more hidden and vast than that of the Templars, the Druids or whoever, but the magic itself always remains the same, neutral. One sufficiently talented in occult matters versed in the secrets of the Templars may overcome someone of lesser talents wielding Atlantean magic, for that which the Templar’s knew originated from Atlantis anyway. The survivors of Atlantis gave their knowledge to the druids of ancient Europe, and this knowledge was preserved by secret societies and eventually taught to the Templars, who represented the Higher Ones in the very diluted from of the idol Baphomet. To make an allegory, the difference between Atlantean and other forms of magic is like the difference between sea water and the water one finds in a well.

There is something queer and altogether unsettling about the Grimoire of the Dead, as if the words on the page strive for a higher form of existence. I have found out that the book is instilled with the spirits of the deceased of Atlantis, and this may account for it’s oddities. I know not what the exact link between the Grimoire and the crystal skulls is, other than their shared origin. The Nobility only share that information about the past, present and future that they wish for me to know.​

33. The Final Curtain

Excerpt from “The Danish Revival” by E. J. Cobban, Oxford University Press 2005

With Falun liberated and Stockholm within sight it seemed that in early March the war was near an end. On March 8th Krieger’s army was ordered to march towards Vasteras, and on March 14th Thiele’s army arrived outside Stockholm where the Swedes were putting up a desperate yet ultimately futile defence, joining the other Danish and Russian divisions that laid siege to the city

Late March and early April saw little action, and it was not until April 23rd the Swedish defence of their capital faltered, with them being forced towards Vasteras where Krieger laid in wait. With the defenders ousted Stockholm was open for the taking, and as it turned out the Russians were able to enter the city several hours before the Danes, capturing King Karl XIV and most of his government. The Danes were furious, and there is evidence that the irritation actually boiled over into violence in some isolated incidents, with Danish soldiers firing on Russian troops.

The issue was peaceably resolved in the end as Chancellor Jonsson and Ludvik Gudmunsson met with the Tsar’s special representative in the city, agreeing to joint occupancy while the last remnants of the war raged on. Part of the deal saw the King fall into Danish custody.


Karl XIV was kept under house arrest at the Stockholm Royal Palace for the remainder of the war, and was later executed after a show trial established his crimes against the Kingdom of Denmark, with the Danes citing the refused demands that triggered the war as justification for this verdict. International opinion was highly negative, but the Danes, Chancellor Jonsson notably, showed little more than contempt for foreign opinions during this period of Danish history.

May saw fighting in Vasteras as the Swedish Army was surrounded and destroyed by Krieger’s army. However, most of the action during this month took place off the battlefield, at the negotiating table in the city of Kiel. Representing the Swedes was Henrik Cronstedt, who was the leader of the military authority established by the Danish Army in the occupied territories. Cronstedt was a Swede by birth but had lived in Denmark for twenty years. He had fought in Oman back in 1836, thus cementing his loyalties to the Danish crown. He was initially touted as the future Prime Minister of Sweden by the Danes, but a lack of ambition on Cronstedt’s part but paid to these hopes. He would negotiate the peace for the Swedish nation but refused to be a part of any new administration, mainly because his home and family were in Denmark. The French diplomatic corps were brought in to mediate.

The initial Danish peace offer demanded the return of Norway, Skane and Gotland as well as a new Swedish administration chosen by Denmark. This was rejected, as were several other proposals along the same lines. A notable thing about all these offers is that there was never any mention of the Russians gaining any territory, mostly as a result of what the Danes considered a lacklustre invasion of northern Sweden as well as the Stockholm incident.

Armistice Day eventually came on June 9th 1841, drawing to a conclusion nine months of war in Scandinavia. Sweden was a ruined country, with her economy in a shambles. Denmark, on the other hand, was quite the opposite, and despite quite substantial losses on the battlefield the Danish nation never looked better. Her standing on the international stage had not been higher since the 12th century in terms of prestige and her economy was booming. She had also shown herself to be quite a military power, especially considering how few divisions the Russians had been willing to contribute to a war in which they ultimately gained nothing.

The Kiel Treaty itself was seen by most to be excessively harsh, even though the land gained by Denmark was less than what she had originally been demanding. The crown and lands of Norway were repatriated to the Danes, as was western Skane (the city of Malmo and it’s environs) and Gotland. The treaty also stipulated the right of Denmark to have a direct say as to who the new King and government would be, effectively re-establishing the Kalmar Union that most if not all thought long dead. Sweden was now little more than a Danish satellite.


There was some disagreement in Denmark over who should be in the new Swedish government, although most agreed that it should be composed of Swedes sympathetic to the Danes. Many formerly overlooked Swedish ministers saw this as an opportunity to exploit, coming out publicly as a supporter of Denmark. The issue, as it turned out, would run for some time.

The issue of crowning a new monarch of Sweden was less taxing. It was decided that King Christian VIII of Denmark should become the new King Christian III of Sweden, as a symbol of Danish overlordship. This angered many ordinary Swedes, many of whom would have preferred no monarch at all to a Danish king. This discontent was to linger under the surface throughout the next decade.

Overall, it can be said, without fear of contradiction, that the Northern War of 1840-1841 was a calculated act of Danish greed. The reasons for the war were spurious and weak, and there is even some documentary evidence that suggests that the assassination of the Danish Prime Minister Otto Joachim, the prime catalyst for the war, was carried out by a Swedish assassin in the pay of the Danish government. Essentially, this was a deliberate warning shot fired to the rest of the world; they had better sit up and take notice of Denmark, for the Kalmar Union had risen anew and the Danes were now a power to be reckoned with.

End of Part II​

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34. The Absurdity of it All

“And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic mills?”

Excerpt from “The Danish Revival” by E. J. Cobban, Oxford University Press 2005

As of June 9th 1841 the Danish Kingdom was once again at peace, and thus concentrated its focus on more scholarly pursuits. The period immediately following the war saw the revival of the artistic and philosophical practices that had begun to flourish in the mid 1830s, with a renewed sense of vigour.

Artistically, Denmark was still undergoing it’s “Golden Age”, producing art that was filled with a sense of ordinariness mixed with a romanticism portraying a rural idyll that many felt (in the artistic community at least) was being destroyed by the rise of industry, as the English poet William Blake put it, “these dark satanic mills”. Most of what the romantics portrayed was false, or at least was a severe distortion of the truth, although some argued that the contrast between the humble lives lead in the past by simple fishermen sailing simple boats and the grimy, noisy mechanisation of the Copenhagen Shipyard Company (which effectively controlled all of Denmark’s industry) was plain to see.

Danish philosophical thought was not particularly representative of the concurrent artistic feeling, and this is of course due to the fact that Danish philosophy at this time was pretty much centred on one man, Søren Aabye Kierkegaard. Kierkegaard is remembered as being one of the founders of a line of thought what would later become existentialism, although his strong and often controversial religious beliefs shows a clear distinction between his modes of thought and those of later existentialists like Sartre and Camus.


Kierkegaard’s philosophy is mostly religious in nature, concerned with matters such as doctrine and faith. His philosophy is also fairly melancholic in nature, melancholy being something of a family trait among the Kierkegaard. The religious part of Kierkegaard’s philosophy is concerned with discovering “how to become a Christian in Christendom”. He saw the existing Lutheran church in Denmark as being decadent and dogmatic, ignoring the emotion and passion that faith should bring about in one who is in communion with God. He regarded the clergy as being unable to fulfil these needs, as one must undertake a personal journey to discover ones faith, and the church can only serve to get in the way.

Crucial to his philosophy is a sense of the absurd, and it is here that one can see why Kierkegaard is regarded as a proto-existentialist. To him, dogma presented a central paradox, the idea that God is both transcendent, eternal and infinite, yet also finite, temporal and human (in the form of Jesus). Here, one can either be offended by the obvious contradiction or have faith that both may be true. What one cannot do, however, is to believe through reason alone. In order to have faith we must suspend our ethical values, based on reason, for a higher purpose. Kierkegaard illustrates this with the example of the biblical Abraham, who agrees to sacrifice his son Isaac on the basis of pure faith alone. He disregards the normal sense of moral revulsion one may feel at being asked to perform this deed, as he has faith in God’s plan. To Kierkegaard, the fact that Abraham is eventually reprieved from having to do this is by virtue of the absurd.

--------------------------------------------

The Kirsebær Blå, Copenhagen
29th June 1841

This was a well earned drink. Every drink was, of course, earned in some way, but this one more so than ever. The reason for this was one piece of paper, that Søren Aabye Kierkegaard had carefully placed in the pocket of his cheap, shabby jacket. It was his degree, from the University of Copenhagen. For ten years he had been studying Philosophy and Theology, and now finally, with his dissertation completed and held up as a fine example of writing by the University, he was free. And that called for a drink.

As he sipped on his beer he thought with satisfaction back to his dissertation, which had been named “The Concept of Irony with Constant References to Socrates”. The references to the great old philosopher had not been as constant as he had planned, but he got a few good mentions nonetheless. He laughed under his breath as this thought meandered through his consciousness, and took a gulp from his stein. There was no doubt in his mind as to what he would be doing with his life, now that University was finished. He was going to write.

Tonight the Kirsebær Blå was buzzing, alive with the voices of the young artists and intellectuals who preferred the lure of intoxicating liquor to that of coffee, which was admittedly most of them. Nevertheless, Søren had his own little space, free from those who would seek to disturb him. This was because conversations which combined religion and melancholic depression were not everybody’s cup of tea.

Thus, it was surprising that he did not notice the light, feminine footsteps that came his way. He was too consumed with thought, and when a Hauntingly familiar voice spoke he almost fell off his stool.

“Søren, you remember me, don’t you.” He looked up, into a face that he had not seen for eleven years. He nearly choked on his beer, but swallowed and nodded.

“Yes, I do remember you.”​