of Christian Graugaard
Politiken newspaper, 2010

Christian X's summer residence in Skagen celebrated its first decade as a refuge for artists and scientists in 2010. And there is still a sense of eccentricity, high-mindedness and royalty in architect Plesner's distinguished dune estate.

There is a gentleman with no last name standing in front of a house.

The photograph is yellowed and dotted with decades of insect footprints, but there is no doubt that this man must be something about music. First of all, there is the stance. The tall, straight figure leans a degree or two to the left, his hands clasped behind his back like a colonel inspecting his battalion.

Then there is the careless well-dressedness, which, without frills, oozes power and worn aristocracy: the long-legged leather boots, the form-fitting tweed suit, the narrow tie that disappears discreetly behind a buttoned vest. And as the crowning glory: the soft hat of refined Italian manufacture. Yes, this is a gentleman who knows his worth. Even his shadow creeps reverently in the moor grass.

But let's start at the beginning: When young Prince Christian received his Alexandrine in a low-key ceremony in Cannes in 1898, there was a flurry of activity at the old town hall in Aarhus. It was certainly taken for granted that Christian's accession to the throne had long prospects (it was still his grandfather, Christian IX, who presided over the regalia at Amalienborg), but if the mainland wanted to secure a piece of the monarchy of the future, it was important to think ahead and big.

With a gracious nod from the court in Copenhagen, the city council decided to gift the young bride and groom a country palace in the forests south of the 'city of smiles', but even though the result was a fine little baroque pastiche with a view of Aarhus Bay, Marselisborg Castle quickly found competition from an unexpected source: the princess had fallen head over heels in love with the northernmost and most remote corner of her new homeland. Here, she felt strangely at home.  

The princess's sense of dunes

It is unknown when Christian and Alexandrine first visited Skagen, but it is certain that their journey there was somewhat more comfortable than was the case for poor poet Andersen, who in 1859 took the stagecoach trip along the beach, leaving his hard-pressed cadaver in knots for days afterwards.

From being a forgotten and backward fishing village with minimal connection to the outside world, Skagen experienced a regular boom in the late 19th century, and with the opening of the railway from Frederikshavn in 1890, new types were seen strutting around between skippers and furred fisherwomen: A colony of beautiful souls found much-needed inspiration in the exotic desert landscape, while the capital's civilization-weary bourgeoisie enjoyed saltwater baths and mocha at Brøndums Hotel. Skagen was the kingdom's best bet for an eccentric voyage of discovery, and the newly-made princess fell head over heels for the west wind, the dunes and the high, fairy-tale light.

In January 1906, Christian became Crown Prince of Denmark, and at the inauguration of Skagen Harbour the following year, the Crown Prince and Princess cast a royal glow over the North Jutland festivities. In all discretion, they took the opportunity to visit a number of attractive properties along the West Coast, but nothing was to the taste of the discerning Crown Princess. It was only after the unexpected accession to the throne in 1912 that things took off: Queen Alexandrine missed a place in her representative duties, a hideaway far from Amalienborg and of a less pompous caliber than the palace in Aarhus. She wanted a free space without lackeys and masters of ceremonies. An ordinary summer house for a most extraordinary family.

Christian X let a word fall to Skagen's mayor Schwartz, and before long the city council could proudly present a building plot of almost nine acres a few kilometers south of the city, approximately at the place where for centuries the post coach had made a sharp left turn to be able to cover the last distance to the city along a fairly civilized country road. The regent couple were enthusiastic, and now all that was needed was to find an architect who was both locally known, innovative and reliable. A man with a sense for the interaction between brick and wasteful nature.

Plesner's pearl

The answer was obvious: 51-year-old Ulrik Plesner had put his signature on several of Skagen's most striking buildings for twenty years, and in the capital he had almost earned a reputation as a city architect by devising some of the city's most beautiful apartment blocks and thoroughly doing away with the era's penchant for historicist frills and embellishments. In sharp opposition to his old teachers at the Academy of Fine Arts, Plesner swore by large, sunlit rooms and clean, unadorned facades. "Houses should be built from the inside out," was his motto, and he did not hesitate when he received the royal commission.

The design work began in 1913 with Court Marshal Rothe as the liaison between the design studio and the throne room. And as in so many other matters, King Christian was a stern ruler who did not mind being swayed by expertise, and who continuously – and in unambiguous terms – expressed his opinion. ”His Majesty wants the wooden staircase, the wooden panelling and the railing around the hall’s attic opening to be exactly like the one in Professor Fischer’s,” reads one of the many royal designs, for example, and although Plesner fought bravely, it was usually the self-confident client who had the last word.

The result was magnificent in all its simplicity: a dense, three-story building with delicate yellow walls, whitewashed chimneys and a steep rise on the red tile roof. Added to this was the interior design in functional Danish skønhedværk style with generous use of pine and spruce in plank floors, ceilings, frames and meter-high panels. The furniture was designed by Plesner himself, and for the decoration of the dining room, the artist Harald Slott-Møller was asked to deliver 55 plates adorned with zodiac signs, regional costumes and city coats of arms from Danish market towns.   

The living rooms were spacious and welcoming, with a great deal of light from the southeast, and from the bedrooms on the first floor the royal family could open the balcony door every morning directly onto the roaring ocean. In the early years the villa was located fifty meters from the sea, but after a heavy autumn storm in 1919 the painter Michael Ancher had to inform his friend the regent in despair that the royal beach had been largely eliminated. Today the distance to the surf is only a few meters.

Klitgården was inaugurated on a spring day in 1914, and the whole town was in a state of uproar when the royal special train rolled in. Since then, it has been home to many happy holidays for the royal family and its minimalist traveling court, and the Easter holidays in particular were the focus of Klitgården for decades – with the exception of the dramatic Easter days in 1920, when the king put Prime Minister Zahle on the doorstep, and the nation teetered on the brink of a constitutional crisis. That spring, the people of Skag had to look far for the high monarch.

From royal residence to refuge

Christian X died in 1947, and until her own death five years later, the Queen Dowager resided for long periods at Klitgården. After that, the house passed to Crown Prince Knud, while his older brother Frederik inherited the more stately castle in Marselisborg. Knud and his family were also frequent users of Plesner's summer villa, but after the Crown Princess's death in 1995, an era came to an end, and the heirs put the place up for sale.

Now good advice was expensive if one was to prevent the priceless treasure from being divided up into genderless condominiums. In a hurry, municipal director Karen Krause-Jensen set up a fundraising committee with cultural figures such as Klaus Rifbjerg and Knud W. Jensen at the forefront. The idea was to create a refuge for artists and scientists, modeled after the Italian San Cataldo monastery, and in record time a considerable sum of 20 million kroner had to be raised.

It succeeded – with help from the EU, private foundations, various educational institutions and a risk-taking municipal council. After a thorough renovation, the Klitgården Refuge opened its doors in the summer of 2000 to 14 beautiful study rooms, meeting rooms, artist studios and a furniture that was largely taken over as if possessed with creaky wicker chairs and Morsø wood-burning stoves imprinted with the equestrian king's monogram. Of course, there was also the sound of the waves crashing and the cries of seagulls, the smell of linseed oil, English grass and seaweed, the constant antics of the light, the magnificent sunrises and the silhouette of the sandy church in the twilight. Not to mention the three daily meals served with style on starched damask. And most importantly: the sublime tranquility of the living rooms.

”I don’t know of any other place, other than my office, where I can lock myself in and get started right away,” says one of Klitgården’s ’super users’, the author, literary figure and critic Niels Barfoed, who flees north ”as soon as charitable institutions or my own savings account allow it.” He elaborates:

”"Klitgården is wonderfully far from everything, yet the universe is more present here than anywhere else I know. The villa possesses a warmth and a dignity that goes straight to the soul. I don't hesitate to call it magic.".           

But how does it actually work to put the landscape painter, the orthopedic surgeon, the poet and the mathematics professor under the same roof – don't they get on each other's nerves? Klitgården's director since 2008, Birthe Mortensen, smiles and shakes her head:

”"No, on the contrary. They enrich each other, so that sometimes sparks fly. When guests tell me that they have been so inspired that they have done a month's work in one week, I straighten my back and feel warm in my heart. It's great.".         

Niels Barfoed can fully confirm the electrical synergy that can arise in happy moments around the dinner table or over a cup of coffee in the adjacent:

”"The best thing is when the young researchers roll out. I still haven't gotten over the impression of the anesthesiologist who, one midnight hour by the fireplace, recounted how she had recently cut the hearts out of 20 piglets. Something like that really gets my thinking going. It's strong tobacco for an old humanist like me.".

The sandbank stands yellow and still in the midday heat. A few beached ships routinely fly over the cadastre, and out in Ålbæk Bugt a handful of heavy coasters lie at anchor with their undoubtedly precious cargo. The tall man in the moor grass smiles at the photographer. It is his fantastic house.

Sources used:

Kristian Hvidt & Janne Klerk. Klitgården. Rhodes, 2003.

Pernille Stensgaard & Anne P. Schaldemose. Skagen. Gyldendal, 2003.

Gyldendal's Great Dane