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384
STORE HEDINGE.
Chap. LVL
waggons rolling and rattling through the streets on the
following morning.
October 6th.—We are in the dominions of the Elf
King, a most important personage in these parts. Store
Hedinge is his capital. According to the old
tradition we mentioned at Skjelskør, no sovereign dares to
plant his foot within the precincts of his kingdom—the
Elf King would not allow it. “ We’ll soon see that,”
said King Christian IV.; so down he came in all
the pomp and state of majesty, and made, after the
manner of the day, a royal progress through the country.
But the people did not believe in him a whit. “It’s
only,” cried the peasants, “ the Elf King, who, for good
reasons known only to himself, has assumed the
appearance of earthly royalty.” A charming operetta, styled
‘Elverhøi,’ in which the best of the Danish national
airs are introduced, has been composed on this subject.
The Elf King was, however, affronted, quitted his
residence at Stevns Klint, and took up his abode in the now
deserted monks’ prisons of the round church of Store
Hedinge. We visited, as you may imagine, this
celebrated edifice, but over its desecration let us drop a
veil. What a deal of mischief well-intentioned ignorant
people may and do do in this world. The sum of two
thousand pounds English has been lately raised and
expended on its restoration. It’s too horrible to talk
of; the architect deserves the fate of Marsyas. A
pendent wooden roof of our own Henry VII.’s period ;
the character of the building entirely destroyed. On
entering the churchyard my eyes first lighted on the
stone cross erected to the memory of the defunct
gjæst-giver, so vainly sought last night. He died some nine
years ago, and has not since been replaced, speaking
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