The greatest threat to Denmark's territorial integrity in the past year, however, did not originate from "the East" but from the opposite direction. Donald Trump, America's president-elect, recently sent Copenhagen into crisis mode by openly demanding the annexation of Greenland, by military force if necessary.

Danish leadership found itself trapped between outrage at unacceptable demands and deep dependence on America. Generations of fanatical Atlanticism and unquestioning loyalty to Washington left the Danish elite unable to respond with anything beyond deflections and the mantra "America is our most important ally."

Trump eventually distracted himself with other malevolence, though expansionist desires presumably still percolate somewhere in his mind.

The king's address was the obvious moment to articulate a response. Since the royals apparently experience the world through tourism, Mr. Montpezat introduced the subject by recalling his recent Greenland trip. Compared to the long, bellicose sermon about Russia, the response to the most serious territorial threat since World War II was buried in euphemism and gone in seconds. Greenlanders, we were told, "stand firm with strength and pride," creating "unity internally and respect externally."

That was it.

From there, he segued into another holiday memory, this time from the Faroe Islands. He spent more time rhapsodizing about chain dancing and natural beauty than he had defending sovereignty moments earlier. Chain dancing became a metaphor for inclusivity: "For he or him who stands outside it can mean the world when the circle doesn't hesitate to open." This is true in the dance, and also in life.

Holiday memories from summertime yachting between Danish coastal towns followed. When the royals dock, local dignitaries often parade them through upscale craft shops, and seeing things made by hand had evidently left an impression on the monarch. The king shared his insight that "the labor of the hand has been perfected for centuries and been a living for many for just as long."

The king connected this keen observation to how skilled tradespeople are still necessary today. Who would have thought? During the year, someone had taken the king to see a championship for young tradespeople, and this was apparently a huge inspiration for him.

The king graciously shared his wisdom regarding apprentices. They "can work wonders with their hands" and therefore shouldn't "just lend a hand" but rather "take on work with steady hand" at the workplaces fortunate to have them. He extolled young people in the trades and talked about how we needed more young people who choose to go to trade school.

One suspects his own children will not be pursuing careers as carpenters or auto mechanics, but hope springs eternal. They might surprise us.

Having exhausted his topics, the king meandered toward conclusion, discoursing on changing seasons, sunshine and clouds succeeding one another, spring following winter, and how "when what has been given to us is given less" makes us appreciate it more.

A competent editor would have pruned this ruthlessly, but no part of the speech bore any trace of professional refinement. Amateur hour, start to finish.

Perhaps the mediocrity is part of the appeal. A king who acted the part would be unbearable to our sloppy, informal Scandinavian sensibilities. We feel much more comfortable with a king who, at heart, is as much of a lumbering oaf as the rest of us.

He ended by removing his glasses and offering the traditional benediction: "God save Denmark!"

If this performance reflects the competence of Denmark's elite, divine intervention is indeed advisable.

The crowd outside the palace cheered as if a World Cup goal had been scored, and the camera cut to the 19th-century reenactors of the Royal Guard preparing to treat the crowd to a traditional choreography involving guns, swords, and flags being paraded back and forth.

Then someone committed the cardinal sin in Danish society: they threatened the hygge.

Protesters leapt in front of the formation holding orange banners. The cameras dutifully panned away as fast as possible, but for a moment one could read that the message was related to climate change—an actual crisis that threatens freedom, liberty, and all that, and which the Danish regime seems to have abandoned.

The crowd booed. A uniformed cosplayer came running and tackled a protester. Off-camera, a bystander punched the protester in the face. The crowd cheered again, joyful that order had been restored through immediate violence.

The choreography resumed.

The court stenographers performed admirably by not mentioning the incident. One remarked vaguely that something "remarkable" had happened, meaning the applause following the speech. Soon after, everyone from angry Facebook uncles to cabinet ministers felt a burning desire to publicly express shock and outrage at the banners. You may oppose planetary incineration if you can't help yourself, but don't you dare do it during the monarchy show.

Rule number one in Denmark: don't fuck with the hygge.