Late in the evening on Tuesday 13th of February the Danish prince consort, Prins Henrik, died in Fredensborg Castle after a period of severe illness.

He was transferred from hospital shortly before and spent his last hours with his family in his beloved residence of Fredensborg which, surrounded by beautiful gardens, was his favourite place in the world, probably next to his castle , Chateau de Caix in France.

Throughout Wednesday Denmark was in mourning, TV and radio had only one issue: The Danish Prince. A man of arts, gastronomy, kindness and humour had left the country and this world. A poet, a cook, a sculptor and a serious joker indeed. A man of the Renaissance.

He may have had a bit of a hard time making his way into the hearts of the Danish people with his French accent and his differentness, but being a nation of ironies and jesters we grew to love him and he, us.

Shortly before his illness he demonstrated his polemic side, refusing to be buried next to Queen Margrethe in the sarcophagus in Roskilde Domkirke and his wish to be called a king. Well, he will be cremated and his ashes divided into two parts: half to be spread over the waters in Denmark, half to be buried in the gardens of Fredensborg.

He never became a king, but he was a damn good prince.

Sleep well, my sweet prince of Denmark.