Christian's Copenhagen: The King Who Built Too Much

In 1632, an English envoy said, "Such is the life of that king: to drink all day and to lie with a whore every night." I heard him. I let him think I didn't. But I built until the coffers ran dry. Now I stand on a square that didn't exist when I was alive. The city hall went up in 1905. I don't recognize the place, but I recognize the ambition. Look at the brickwork. Inspired by Siena, they say. I built Rundetårn, Børsen, Rosenborg. This square used to be a graveyard, the oldest church beneath us. They dug up bones in 2008. I walked these streets as a boy. Now it's a different city. But I will show you what a king builds when he cannot stop. Follow me. I left my mark everywhere. My cipher: C4, crowned. Look for it on the buildings. I counted everything — the height of my towers, the number of my cannons. At this square, there is no C4. This is not my building. It belongs to the city that came after. They say this ground held two power centers a thousand years ago. I built my power in stone, but I couldn't stop. I built myself into debt. Now the square is a board game — the most expensive property in Matador. I never played games. I built until the money ran out. That is my legacy. Come, I'll show you the rest. We leave the new square and head north. The asphalt ends, and the street narrows. This is the old city, the one I knew. The west gate and ramparts stood here when I was a boy. I rode through them on horseback, eleven years old, already a crown prince. The walls were thick, the guards stiff. I remember the smell of horse sweat and sea salt. The gate is gone now, but the street still follows the same line. You can feel the old boundaries. The pavement is worn, the buildings older. Some of them remember me. We are walking toward Gammeltorv, the oldest square in Copenhagen. It was here long before I was born. I gave it a fountain. It still works. That is the only gift I gave that still functions. The rest of my buildings need repairs, or they've been torn down. But the fountain still flows. I'll show you. But first, listen to the cobblestones. They have stories too. The old ramparts are buried under the street, but you can feel the slope. The city grew, and I grew with it. I built everything I could. Now I walk through it as a ghost. But you are here. You see what I saw. So come. The oldest square is waiting. And the fountain — my fountain — still pours water after four hundred years.