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London: WARD, LOCK & Co., Warwick House, Salisbury Square, E.C. TO THE CONFERENCE - COUNCILLOR COLLIN AN J) HIS EXCELLENT WIFE, IN WHOM r FOUND l'AKENTS, ANI) TO THEIR CHILDREN, IN WHOM I FOUND BROTHERS AND SISTERS? IN WHOSE HOME. A HOME ? I BF.INO, WITH A FILIAL AND A FRATERNAL HEART, THIS THE BEST WHICH I TOSSESS. THE AUTHOR" THE LIFE Of HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. Hans Christian Andersen is one of those men who, from their earliest youth, have had to keep up a warfare with circumstances; a man, like Burns and Hogg, who seemed destined by Fate to end their lives unnoticed in a village, and yet through an instinctive sense of their destined pre-eminence in the beautiful regions of art and literature, and sustained by an irrepressible will, have made themselves a part of the great world. During my residence in Copenhagen, says Marmier, in the year 1837? one day a tall young man entered my room. His timid, and embarrassed, and somewhat awk¬ ward manner, might, perhaps, have displeased a fine lady, yet at the same time his friendly behaviour, and his open, honest countenance, at the first meeting, must have awakened sympathy and confidence. This was Andersen. At that very moment a volume of his works was lying on my table; an acquaintance was thus soon made. Poetry is a sort of freemasonry; they who render homage to it are related, although they may come from the opposite ends of the world; they speak a word, make a sign, and immediately they know that they are brethren. They who live together impart to each other mutually the viii THE LIFE OP emotions of their hearts; they who meet, on foreigft ground relate to each other, like pious pilgrims, by what paths they have wandered thither, and through what cities they have come. Thus, then, it happened that Andersen, after we had passed a few hours together in conversation on poetry, which, more than any thing else, has the pecu¬ liarity of unlocking the heart and calling forth mutual confidence, told me of the adverse circumstances through which he had passed, and, at my request that he would make me acquainted with the history of his life, communi¬ cated to me the following details : — Andersen's grand-parents were, at one time, well to do in the world, and even possessed of a farm in the country. All kind of misfortunes, however, befell them; the worst of which was, that the husband lost his mind. The poor wife then removed to Odense, and placed there her only son as apprentice with a shoemaker. The boy, full of activity, found the beginning of his life happier than his later years; he employed his hours of leisure in reading Holberg, in making toys, and in composing music. When he was scarcely twenty, in the spring of 1804, he married a young girl who was quite as poor as himself; and so great, indeed, was their poverty, that, in going to housekeeping, the young bridegroom could not afford to buy a bedstead, and contrived to obtain one in this manner. A count was dead somewhere in their neigh¬ bourhood, and while he lay in state his coffin was supported on a wooden frame made for the purpose, and this, after the funeral, being sold, was purchased by the husband- elect, who prepared it for future family use; and yet he could not have made very great alteration in it, for many years afterwards it might still be seen' covered with its black cloth. Upon this frame, on which had rested the corpse of HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. the noble count, in his last splendour, lay, on the 2d of April, 1805, poor, but living, the first-born of his humble parents, Hans Christian Andersen. When the new-born child was taken to the church to be baptised, it cried resoundingly, which greatly displeased the ill-tempered pastor, who declared, in his passion, that " the thing cried like a cat;" at which his mother was bitterly annoyed. One of the god-parents, however, con¬ soled her by the assurance, that the louder the child cried, the sweeter he would sing some day, and that pacified her. The father of Andersen was not without education; the mother was all heart. The married couple lived on the best terms with each other, and yet the husband did not feel himself happy; he had no intercourse with his neighbours, but preferred keeping himself at home, where he read Holberg's " Comedies," " The Thousand-and- One Tales of the Arabian Nights," and worked at a puppet-theatre for his little son, whom on Sundays he often took with him to the neighbouring woods, where the two commonly spent the whole day in quiet solitude with each other. The grandmother also, who was an amiable old lady, and who bore the misfortunes of her family with Christian patience, had great influence on the mind of the boy. She had been very handsome, was kind to every body, and, besides that, was scrupulously clean in her poor clothing. With a feeling of deep melancholy, she would often tell how her grandmother had been the daughter of a rich gentleman of family in Germany, who lived in the city of Cassel; that the daughter had fallen m love with a comic-actor, had left her parents secretly to marry him, and after that had sunk into poverty. " And now all her posterity must do penance for her sin !" sighed she. X THE LIFE OF Young Andersen was extremely attached to this good grandmother. She had to take care of a garden at tile lunatic hospital, and here, among its sunny flowers, he spent most of the afternoons of his early childhood. The annual festival in the garden, when the fallen leaves were burnt, had for him an especial charm, although the pre¬ sence of the insane ladies, a few of whom were allowed to wander about, terrified him greatly. Frequently one of the old nurses would fetch him into the house, and take him into the spinning-room, where all the old ladies would praise him for his eloquence, and would recom¬ pense him for it with tales and ghost-stories, which they related with wondrous effect, so that certainly no child of his years ever heard more of such histories, neither could any child be more superstitious than he was. Among the earliest recollections of Andersen, was that of the residence of the Spaniards in Fyen, in the years 1808 and 1809* A soldier of an Asturian regiment one day took him in his arms, and danced with him along the street, shedding tears of joy, no doubt called forth by some tender home remembrance, whilst he pressed the image of the Madonna to his lips, which occasioned great trouble to the child's pious mother. In Odense, at that time, many old festivities were still in use, which made a deep impression upon the excitable temper of the boy; the corporation went in procession, with their escutcheons, through the city; the sailors also marched round in Lent, and the people made pil¬ grimages to the miracle-performing well of the holy Regisse. So passed on the first years of the youth of our poet, His father, in the mean time, read industriously in his Bible, but one day shut it with the words, " Christ became a man like to us, but a very uncommon man !" Upon HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. xl which his wife burst into tears, at what she called the blasphemy of her husband," which made such a deep impression upon the son, that he prayed in solitude for the soul of his father. " There is no other devil," said he, afterwards, " but that which a man bears in his own breast!" After which, finding his arm scratched one morning when he awoke, probably by a nail, his wife told him that this was a punishment of the devil, who, at least, would show him of his real existence. The unhappy temper of the father, however, increased from day to day: he longed to go forth into the world. At that time war was raging in Germany ; Napoleon was his hero; and, as Denmark had now allied itself to France, he entered himself as a private soldier in a recruiting re¬ giment, hoping that some time or other he should return as a lieutenant. The neighbours, however, thought that it was folly to let himself be shot to death for nothing at all. The corps, however, in which he served went no further than Holstein; the peace succeeded, and before long the voluntary soldier sat down again in the concealment of his citizen-dwelling in Odense. But his health had suffered. He awoke one morning delirious, and talked about cam¬ paigns and Napoleon. Young Andersen was at that time nine years old, and his mother sent him to the next village to ask counsel from a wise woman. " Will my poor father die ? " inquired he, anxiously. " If thy father will die," replied the sibyl, " thou wilt meet his ghost on thy way home." It is easy to imagine what an impression this oracle would make upon the boy, who was timid enough without that; it was, in fact, his only consolation, on his homeward way, that his father certainly knew how such an apparition would terrify his little son, and therefore he would not xii THE LIFE OF show himself. He reached home without any unfortunate adventure, without seeing the ghost of his father; and on the third day after that the sick man died. From this time young Andersen was left to himself J the whole instruction which he received was in a charity- school, and consisted of reading, writing, and arithmetic, the two last very imperfectly. The poor boy, at this time, gained an entrance into the house of the widow of the Pastor Bunkeflod, of Odense, who died in the year 1805, and whose name, on account of some lyrical productions, is known in Danish literature. He was engaged to read aloud to the widow and her sister-in-law; and here, for the first time, he heard the appellation poet, and saw with what love the faculty which made the dead a poet was regarded. This sunk deeply into his mind. He read some tragedies, and then determined to write a comedy, and to become also a poet, as the deceased pastor had been. And now, actually, he wrote a true tragedy, for all the characters lost their lives in it; and the dialogue was inter¬ larded with many passages of Scripture. His two first auditors received this first work of the young poet with unmingled applause; and, before long, the report of it ran through the whole street, and every body wished to hear the tragedy of the witty Hans Christian. But here the applause was by no means unmingled; most people laughed right heartily at it, whilst others ridiculed him. This wounded the poor boy so much that he passed the whole night in weeping, and was only silenced- by his mother's serious admonition, that if he did not leave off such folly she would give him a good beating into the bargain. Spite of the ill success of his first attempt, however, he now, unknown to any one, set about a new piece, in which a prince and a princess were introduced. But these lofty HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. Xiii characters threw him into great perplexity, for he did not at all know how such noble people as these conversed, imagining, of course, that it must be impossible for them to talk as other people did. At length it occurred to him to interweave German and French words into their con¬ versation, so that the dignified language of these princely personages became a perfect gibberish, which, however, ac¬ cording to the opinion of the young author, had in it a something very uncommon and sublime. This masterpiece also was introduced to the knowledge of the neighbourhood, the result of which was, that not many days elapsed before he was derided by the wild boys in the streets, who shouted, as he went by, " Look ! look ! there goes the comedy-writer ! " But it was not alone the rude boys, but the schoolmaster also, who entirely mistook the genius which clearly be¬ trayed itself, even in suchlike productions; for, one day, when young Andersen presented to him, as a birth-day present, a garland, with which he had twisted up a little poem of his own writing, he blamed him for it; and the only reward which the poor poet had for his first poetical attempt consisted of trouble and tears. In the meantime the worldly affairs of the mother grew worse and worse; and as the son of a neighhour earned money in some kind of manufactory, it was determined also that the good Hans Christian should be sent there. The old grandmother conducted him to the master of the manufactory, and wept right bitter tears, that the lot of her grandson should be so early that of care and sorrow. German workmen were principally employed in the ma¬ nufactory, and to them the children used often to sing their Danish songs. The new-comer, Andersen, was de¬ sired to do so, and that he did willingly, because he knew that he could produce great effect with his singing. The xiv the life of neighbours had always listened when at home he sung in the garden; and once, indeed, a whole party, who were assembled in the garden of the rich neighbour, had ad¬ mired his beautiful voice, and loudly applauded him. Similar applause fell to his share in the manufactory. " I can also act comedy ! " said poor Andersen one day, encouraged by their approbation, and forthwith recited whole scenes from Holberg's comedies. All went well for a time, and the other boys were compelled to do his woWc whilst he amused the workmen; but presently persecutions began, and he found himself so roughly handled, even by his former admirers, that he left the place, and flew back weeping to his mother, praying that he might never be sent there again. His prayer was granted, because, said his mother, he was not sent there for the sake of what he would get, but that he might be well cared for while she went out to work. " The boy must go to the theatre!" many of her neighbours had said to her; but, as she knew of no other theatre than that of strolling players, she shook her head thoughtfully, and determined rather to put her son ap¬ prentice to a tailor. Andersen was now twelve years old, was altogether quite at a loose end at home, and devoured the contents of every book which fell in his way. His favourite reading was, however, an old prose translation of Shakspeare. From this, with little figures which he made out of pasteboard, he performed the whole of " King Lear" and " The Merchant of Venice." He very rarely went to the play¬ house. but as he was in favour with the man who carried out the bills, he obtained a copy of eaeh of these from him, and then, seating himself in the evening before the stove, studied the names of the various actors, and thus supplied to every piece which was performed an imaginary text. HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 5T? Andersen's passion for readings and his beautiful voice, liad, in the meantime, drawn upon him the attention of several of the higher families of the city, who introduced him to their houses. The simple, childlike behaviour of the boy, his wonderful memory, and his sweet voice, gave to him, in fact, a something quite peculiar; people spoke of it, and several houses were very soon open to him.. But still the first family which had noticed him and had received him with so much sympathy, nay, indeed, who had even introduced him to Prince Christian, remained, his favourites. This family was that of Colonel Hoegh Guldborg, a man whose great accomplishments equalled his goodness of heart, and the brother of the well-known poet of the same name. About this time his mother married a second time, and, as the step-father would not at all interest himself about the education of the son, our young Andersen had still more liberty than hitherto. He had no playfellows, and often wandered by himself to the neighbouring woods, or, seating himself at home, in a corner of the house, dressed up little dolls for his theatre, his mother, thinking the while that, as he was destined to be a tailor, it was a good thing that he should practise sewing; and the poor lad consoled himself by thinking that, if he really must be a tailor, he should find many beautiful pieces of cloth from which he could, on Sundays, make new dresses for his theatrical wardrobe. At length the time for his confirmation drew nigh, for which occasion he obtained the first pair of boots he ever had in his life; and, in order that people might see them, he pulled them up over his trousers. Nor was this all his finery; an old sempstress was employed to make him a confirmation dress out of his deceased father's great coat J and with this his festal attire was complete. Never before E LIFE OF had Andersen been possessed of such beautiful clothes j his joy over which was so great, that the thoughts of them even disturbed his devotion on the day of consecration, and caused him afterwards such reproaches of conscience, that he besought of God to forgive him such worldly thoughts; and yet, at that very moment, he could not help thinking about the beautiful creaking boots. After the conclusion of the confirmation festival, it had been determined that Andersen was to begin his tailor-ap¬ prenticeship ; but he continually besought of his mother that she would permit him to go to Copenhagen, and visit the royal theatre there. He read to her the lives of celebrated men who had been quite as poor as himself, and assured her that he also would some day be a celebrated man. Already for several years had he hoarded up in a little save-all his spare money, and this had now grown into what seemed to him the inexhaustible sum of about thirty shillings of English money. The sight of this unexpect¬ edly large sum of money softened also the maternal heart, and she began to incline towards the wishes of her son; but yet, before she fully consented, she thought it best to consult a wise woman on his future prospects. The sibyl was accordingly fetched to the house, and after she had read the cards, and studied the coffee-grounds, the oracle spoke these memorable words: — " Your son will become a great man. The city of Odense will be illuminated in his honour /" So good a prophecy of course removed the last impedi¬ ment. " Go, then, in God's name !" said his mother. When, however, her neighbours represented to her how foolish it was to let the boy of fourteen years old set off to the great city in which he did not know a single soul, she replied that he let her have no rest, and that she was con* HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. S.Vfl vinced he would soon come back again when he saw tha great water which he would have to cross. Some one had mentioned to young Andersen a certain female dancer at the royal theatre, as being a person of very great influence: he obtained, therefore, from a man universally esteemed in Odense a letter of recommendation to this lady; and provided with this important paper, and his thirteen rix-dollars, he commenced the journey on which depended his whole fate. His mother accompanied him to the gate of the city, and here he found waiting for him the good old grandmother, whose still beautiful hair had become grey within a few weeks. She kissed, with many tears, her beloved grandson; her grief had no words; and within a very short time the cold grave covered all her troubles. Andersen travelled as gratis passenger by the mail as far as Nyborg, and not until he was sailing across the Great Belt did he feel how forlorn he was in the world. The discomfort of a sea-voyage, even though short, would make him feel this if nothing else did. As soon as he came on shore in Zealand, he stepped to a spot that lay apart, and, falling on his knees, besought of God for help in his forlorn condition. He rose up comforted, and went on now uninterruptedly for a day and a night through cities and villages until on Monday morning, the 5th of September, 1819, he saw the towers of Copenhagen. He had travelled, as before, free of cost, through the good-nature or compassion of the drivers of the mail, and now before he reached the gate of the city was obliged, of course, to dismount, and, with his little bundle under his arm, entered the great city. The well-known Jews' quarrel, whisli at that time ex¬ tended from the south to the north of Europe, had broken 2 xviil THE IiIFE Ot out here the my evening before, and all was in corn- motion. His journey had cost him three rix-dollars, and, with the remaining ten in his pocket, the young adventurer took up his lodgings in a public-house. His first ramble into the city was to the theatre, and with astonishment he sur¬ veyed the magnificent building, walked round it, and prayed fervently that it might soon open itself to him, and that he might become a skilful actor therein. At that time certainly he had no presentiment that ten years afterwards his dramatic work would be received with applause, and that he would address the public for the first time. On the following day, dressed in his confirmation suit, he betook himself, with his letter of introduction in his hand, to the house of the all-potential dancer. The lady let him wait a long time on the steps; and when at length he was permitted to enter her presence, his awkward and naive behaviour displeased her so much, that she regarded him as insane, more especially as she knew nothing of the gentleman who had addressed the letter to her. After this unsatisfactory attempt, Andersen turned his steps towards the director of the theatre, requesting from him some appointment; but here also his efforts were unsuccessful. "You are too thin for the theatre," was the answer which he obtained. "Oh," replied Andersen, "if you will ensure me one hundred dollars, I will soon become fat!" But the director would not enter into arrangements on these terms, and dismissed the poor supplicant, with the information that they were not in the habit of engaging any but people of education. The poor lad went his way truly dejected in spirits: he knew no creature who could give him counsel or comfort, HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. XIX no human being on whose breast he could weep. He thought on death, and the terror of this thought drove him back to God. " When every thing," said he, ec goes quite unfortu¬ nately, then God will help me ; it is written so in every book that I ever read,—and in God I will put my trust!" He then went out and bought a ticket for the gallery for " Paul and Virginia." The scene in the second act, where the lovers part, affected him so much that he burst into loud sobs, which drew upon him the attention of those who sat near to him. They spoke kindly to him, and inquired who he was. Their friendly sympathy unlocked his whole heart, and he told all that related to himself — who he was, and whence he came, and that his love to the theatre was not less than Paul's love to Virginia, and that he certainly should become as unhappy as Paul if he did not obtain some little post in the theatre. They all looked at him in amazement. The next day brought no more cheering prospects, and his money had before long all melted away to one single dollar. What was he to do? Either he must work back his passage in a vessel to his native city, and be laughed at there for his pains when he arrived, or else he must put himself here to some handicraft trade, which would be his fate if he returned to Odense. A joiner at that moment wanted an apprentice, and to him Andersen introduced himself, but here again it did not succeed: after a short time poor Andersen was perse¬ cuted by the journeymen, who found him an object of sport, and the end was like the working in the manufactory at Odense; and, with tears in his eyes, he parted from his master. As now with a heavy heart he was walking through the streets crowded by his fellow-beings yet without the 2—2 XX THE LIFE OF consciousness of having one friend among them, it occuried to him that nobody as yet had heard his fine voice. Full of this thought, he hastened to the house of Professor Si- boni, the director of the Royal Conservatorium, where a large party was that day at dinner, among whom were Baggesen the poet, and the celebrated composer, Professor Weyse. He knocked at the door, which was opened by a very lively young housemaid, and to her he related quite open-heartedly how forlorn and friendless he was, and how great was his desire to be engaged at the theatre, which the good-natured young serving-woman immediately re¬ tailed again to the company, who became curious to see the little adventurer, as Baggesen called him. He was now ordered in, and was desired to sing before the com¬ pany, and to declaim scenes from Holberg. Whilst he was so doing, he came to a passage which brought to his re¬ membrance his own melancholy circumstances, and he burst into tears. The company applauded him. ,c I prophesy," said Baggesen, " that he will turn out something some day ; only don't become vain when the public applauds thee !" said he to him. On this, Professor Siboni promised that he would cul¬ tivate Andersen's voice, in order that he might make his dSbut at the Theatre Royal, and, highly delighted, the poor lad left that happy house. The next day he was ordered to go to Professor Weyse's, who entered with the kindest sympathy into the forlorn condition of the poor youth, and who most nobly made a collection for him, which amounted to seventy dollars. After this Professor Siboni took him to his house, and half a year was spent in elementary instruction. But Andersen's voice was in its transition state; and, by the end of this time, seemed entirely gone. Siboni, therefore, counselled him to return home and put himself to some handicraft HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. XXi trade. And once more poor Andersen stood alone in the world as hopeless as at first. Yet, even in his apparent misfortune, there lav the seed of a better progress. He recalled to his memory, at this dark moment of need, that there lived in Copenhagen a poet named Guldborg, the brother of the kind colonel in Odense. To him Ander¬ sen bent his steps, and was kindly received by him. When Guldborg saw that the young native of Odense could scarcely write a word correctly, he offered to give him in¬ struction in the Danish and German tongues, and made him a present of the profits arising from a little work which he had just published. The noble-minded Weyse, Kuhlau, and other respectable men, also extended to him a helping hand. Andersen now hired a lodging for himself in the city: he lived with a widow, who seemed reasonable in her charges ; and yet, after all, she was a hard, unfeeling wo¬ man, who was not ashamed to fleece the poor lad of twenty dollars for his month's charges, although she allotted to him only a disused store-closet for his accommodation. He gave her, however, the required sum, and received from her now and then a few half-pence when he did errands for her in the city. Yet nobody could feel them¬ selves happier than the young Andersen in his present condition, for Professor Guldborg had engaged the actor Lindgren to instruct him, whilst one of the solo-dancers had taken it into his head to make a dancer out of him. Thus he went daily to the dancing-school, made his appearance in one or two ballets, and, as his voice also was beginning to recover itself, he had to sing in chorus too. Thus then actually he had become one of the theatrical corps, and nothing was now wanting but his dSbut and the acquisition of the fixed salary belonging to it. Always, however, the slave of superstition, he determined with xxxil TITE life of " Only a Fiddler," " O. T.," " The Two Baronesses," and " To Be or Not to Be," all romances, comprise his "Wonder- Tales for Children," several volumes of travels, as " The Poet's Bazaar," " Sweden, Spain, and Portugal," the " Hartz Mountains," " Switzerland and England," besides several volumes of poems and the same of dramatic pieces, comedies, and vaudevilles, which still are acted. In a letter to a friend, Andersen thus writes of his love of travel—"It is a delight, and, indeed, a necessity for me to travel. Economy and frugality at home have made this possible to me; but I have often thought how much finer it would be if one were so rich as to take a friend with one, and this also has now and then been permitted to me, in spite of my narrow means. I have several times received from princes presents of breast-pins and gold rings. My noble donors will, I am sure, pardon me, and be glad that I sent these articles to the jewellers, got money for them, and so could say to a dear young friend, who had never seen anything outside of his home, Take a trip with me for a month or two, as long as the money lasts." The personal appearance of Andersen, says an English writer, who evidently knew him well, " was somewhat singular; a tall body, with arms of very unusual length, and features that recalled, at the first instant, the usual blunt type of the Danish peasant. But it was impossible to hold this impression after a moment's observation. The eyes, somewhat deeply set, under arched eyebrows, were full of mysterious and changing expression, and a kind of exultation, which never left the face entirely, though fading at times into reverie, gave a singular charm to a countenance that had no pretensions to outward beauty. The innocence and delicacy, like the pure frank look of a giri-child, that beamed from Andersen's face, gave it a unique character, hardly to be expressed in words. Not¬ withstanding his native shrewdness, he seemed to have HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. Jodil this respect, and it was as much as the poor lad could do to obtain enough to keep body and soul together. In his great need lie wrote a new dramatic piece, in the hope that it would be accepted; but the hope was disappointed, and, notwithstanding that, he persevered in a second and a third attempt. Just at this time the distinguished Conference-councillor Collin, no less distinguished as an officer than universally esteemed for the goodness of his heart, became director of the theatre, and this wise and clear-sighted man soon, per¬ ceived what slumbered in the young poet. It is true that he thought but little of his dramatic works; but he went immediately to the king, and obtained permission from him that young Andersen should be sent at government charges to one of the learned schools in the provinces, and became from this moment a father to him in the noblest sense of the word. Andersen now went from dancing-lessons, romances, and dolls, to mathematics, Latin, and Greek ; and the youth of seventeen had to place himself among boys of ten years old to learn the first elements of these things. The school-rector in the meantime treated him with great se¬ verity, pronounced him to be devoid of all intellectual ability, and so greatly forgot himself, and mistook so en¬ tirely the duty of a public instructor, as to make the poor youth the object of ridicule among his schoolfellows, which produced in him such a state of mental suffering as within a short time must have been the death of him, had he not been rescued from this misery. Two years had thus been spent here, when one of the teachers Went to Cooen- hagen, and informed the Conference-councillor Collin how unkindly and negligently poor Andersen was treated by the rector. No sooner was the good man made acquainted with this than he took Andersen immediately from the- XXIV TKE LIFE CTf school, and placed him in the hands of a private tutor. A year after this, in 1828, Andersen was academical citizen of Copenhagen. Within a few months from this time appeared his first literary work in print, under the title of " A Journey on Foot to Amack" (a small island on which a part of Copenhagen is built), a humorous piece, which met with such great success, that within a very few days a second edition was called for, and after that a third. The young poet was now received, every where with the most flattering attention. The Danish translator of Shakspeare, Com¬ mander Wulff; and the celebrated naturalist, Orsted, received him at once as a friend of the house; whilst he found quite a paternal home with the Collin family. " The Journey to Amack " was succeeded by a dramatic work, an heroic vaudeville, entitled, " Love on the Nicholas Tower," which was brought on the stage and reviewed by Professor David. After this, Andersen passed his second academical examination, in which he obtained the highest honours. A short time afterwards he published his first col¬ lection of grave and humorous poems, which mei with great favour from the public. At school, Andersen had been so often accused of weakness, that afterwards he was frequently ashamed of his best feelings; and not seldom, when he had written a poem from the full, noble emotions of his soul, he would, as a sort of excuse for himself, write a parody upon it; hence, in this volume, there are fre¬ quent instances of this kind, which displeased many, who saw that a mind thus directed would be injurious to itself as well as others. In the summer of 1830, Andersen made a journey through the Danish provinces, and, after his return, pub¬ lished a new collection of lyrical poems, under the title of HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. XXV " Fancies and Sketches," which showed that a great change had taken place in him; and, as if he would avenge him¬ self for his former self-ridicule, these poems all bore the impression of a quiet melancholy. Many poems in this volume were translated into German; and one poem in particular, " The Dying Child," is said to be possessed of such extraordinary pathos and beauty that it has -been translated into German, French, English, Swedish, and Greenlandish. The poor Greenlanders, indeed, sing it when out on their desolate seas in their fishing excursions ; and it is to be found printed in their song-books. This poem I have never met with ; indeed, I regret not being possessed of this volume of Andersen's poems; how¬ ever, I will subjoin here a translation of one which Cha- misso has rendered into German, and which is so full of tenderness and beauty, that I am sure the reader will thank me for it: — THE MILLER'S JOURNEYMAN. In this mill I was a servant, even when I was a boy ; And here have fled for ever my days of youthful joy. The miller's gentle daughter was kind and full of grace, One seem'd to read her gentle heart whilst looking in her face. In the evening oft so trustfully she sat down by my side ; We talk'd so much together, I could nothing from her hide* She shared with me my trouble, in my pleasure she had part; One only thing conceal'd I — the love within my heart. 1 think she might have seen it; if she had loved she would ; Tor there needs no word, no word at all, to make love understood ! I spoke unto my foolish heart — ' Forego it, and be still ! For tliee, poor youth, such joy comes not — comes not, and never will And whilst I thus was grieving, she said, with tenderest tone, ' Ah, why art thou so alter'd, and why so pale hast grown ? Thou must again be joyful; thy sorrow gives me pain !' And thus, because I loved so much, did I my love restrain. One day, beside the rocky wall, she took by me her stand, Her eyes flash'd clearer light, and she laid on mine her hand, ' Now must thou wish me joy,' she said, ' must greet me as a bride, And thou, thou art the fir: t to whom I would my joy confide I' TH£ li?2 05 The while I kiss'd her hand I eonccal'd from her my face; I could not speak a single word, my tears flow'd down apace; It seem'd as if had perish'd, in that same hour of woe, Jly thoughts and all my hopes in the deepest depths below I That eve was the betrothal, and even I was there; They set me in the chiefcst place, beside the happy pair; They clink'd their merry glasses, they sung their songs of glee; I made myself seem happy, lest all the truth should see. Upon the following morning, my head spun round and round; How stupid and perplex'd was I where all were happy found! What wanted I ? one only thing! 'Twas wonderful, yet true, And they all loved mo—she herself, and he, the lover, too! They were so kind unto me, but my woo tlicy could not guess! And as I saw them love and talk, so full of happiness, The wish to wander far and wide took hold upon my heart; So I made my bundle ready—'twas right I should depart! Said I, 'Now let me see the world, and by its joy be bless'd!' Hut I only meant, forget the world that lies within my breast, She look'd at me, and said, 'Oh, Heavens! what's come to tneet We love thee here so kindly, where canst thou better be? * Then flow'd forth fast my tears, this time it was but right, 'One always weeps at parting!' sail she, that parting night. They went with me for company some distance on my track- Now sick—sick unto death—they again have brought me back. With gentlest love and kindest care they tend mo in the mill, And she with her beloved comes to me when she will. In July is the wedding; and ever doth she say, That I shall have a home with them, and soon again be gay, IIow dreamily I listen to the frothing waterwkeel, And think beneath it I might find the peace I cannot feel! There know no longer sorrow, from every pain be free!— They wish me to be happy, and thus then let it be 1 But let us now return to his life. Andersen's health was not strong, and, in 1831, he made rt journey into the Saxon Switzerland, of which he pub¬ lished an account the same year. Neither were his pecu¬ niary circumstances flourishing; like most authors, he had HAN'S CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. XXV11 many anxieties; and, at this time, to add to his other perplexities, he furnished opera-text to the music of Bre- dahl, from Sir Walter Scott's " Bride of Lammermoor ;" and for his old benefactor, Professor Weyse, " Kenilworth," from the same author. For these works the critics handled him severely. Yet, in the meantime, Andersen proved how true a lyrical poet he was, by his " Vignettes to the Danish poets," and his "Twelve Months of the Year." About this time, however, there appeared " Letters of a Wandering Ghost," a satirical work, in which Andersen was held up to ridicule, among other things, for his im¬ perfect orthography. The poet's heart was wounded, his health was indifferent, his circumstances unprosperous, and the public laugh was against him, rather on account of his misfortunes than his faults. But, as had always been the case through his life, light broke in when the darkness seemed deepest, and at the very moment when he was smarting under the lash of these jeering letters, he received a royal stipend to enable him to travel through Germany, France, and Italy. This stipend was granted to him on the recommendation of Ohlenschlager, Ingemann, Heiberg, Orsted, and Thiele; and it is very remarkable that all these gentlemen had recommended the poet, each for a peculiar qualification; the one for his deep feeling, another for his wit, and a third for his humour. This mark of favour excited still more the envy of the baser class of minds, and many anonymous attacks were made upon him, which wounded him so deeply, that, despairing of himself and his own powers, he set out on the journey, which was to be to him the noblest school. He went immediately to Paris; and it is singular that the first letter which he received from his native land waa merely a blank envelope containing a newspaper, in which was a satirical poem on himself. Andersen made the ac» xxviii TUB LIFE OF quaintance of the first literary men in Paris; thence he went to Switzerland, where he was invited by a family with whom he was acquainted, and who were living in the valley of the Jura Mountains, to pay them a visit. This invitation he accepted, and under their roof, amid the deen solitudes of nature, he completed a dramatic poem, entitled "Agnes and the Waterman," which he had begun in Paris. In this poem he poured out his whole soul, aud hoped that his fellow-countrymen when, through it, they became better acquainted with him, would not begrudge him the favour of his king. On the anniversary of the day on whieh Andersen, four¬ teen years before, a stranger and friendless, had entered the gate of Copenhagen, he wandered over the Simplon into that beautiful land which was to open to him a new spiritual world, and call forth the noblest characteristics of his soul. He went though Milan, Genoa, and Florence, on to Rome, where Thorwaldsen and all his countrymen there received him with the greatest affection. His residence in Rome began like a sunshiny summer day; but while it yet was morning, clouds arose ; the poem which he had sent to Copenhagen, and which he hoped would warm the hearts of his countrymen towards him, was quite overlooked—a new young poet had just arisen, who was the star of the moment. His friends wrote to him of all these things, and candidly told him that they, like every one else, thought that he was past his best. Another letter brought him the sad intelligence of the death of his mother, the last o: hi® family connections. Andersen felt her death severely, and many poems which he wrote at that time express the dejection of his mind. Spite, However, of sadness and untoward events, the glorious treasures of art around him, and the fine country within which he was a sojourner, with its bright southern life, operated beneficially on his HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. YY?Y spirit. With that intense love for Italy, which is peculiar to the most spiritual-minded inhabitants of the cold north, and, in some cases, has amounted to a passion like the attachment of the Swiss to their mountains, Andersen en¬ tered into the spirit of the life of the people, and has re¬ flected all back with the most beautiful colouring in his • Improvisatore." Thorwaldsen gratified the poet by the warmest admi¬ ration of his recent unlucky production, " Agnes and the Waterman," and from the great sculptor he received the utmost kindness. Thorwaldsen told him how poor he also had been, how, too, in his early artist-career, he had had Co contend against envy, and how he also had been mis¬ understood. At this moment Andersen's bitterest enemy, Herz, the author of the " Letters of the Wandering Ghost," arrived in Rome; and, as might often be the case would literary enemies only condescend to a personal knowledge of each other, no sooner did these two men meet than they became fast friends. This was a bright event to the warm heart of Andersen. They travelled together to Naples, and ascended Vesuvius during a splendid eruption. They visited Psestum and the Grotto Azurra together; of all of which we have such an exquisite reflex in the following work. The greatest harmony existed between these two Danish sons of the Muses, and existed, we believe, to the end of Andersen's life. In the following year Andersen returned home through Venice, Vienna, and Munich, making in the two last cities the acquaintance of the first German poets and artists. Immediately after his return he published his novel, " The Improvisatore," which, though it found many ad. mirers, yet failed to win the entire favour of the prejudiced XXX TIIE IiIFE 05? and narrow-minded critics of his own country. Still it made him many friends, and amongst others the rector of the school, the hard-hearted teacher, who had taken all possible means of crushing the talent which God had con¬ ferred on his poor scholar. This man now came forward, acknowledged and deplored his fault, which touched no little the child-like, forgiving heart of Andersen. But though the merits of this work were acknowledged by translation into foreign languages, and edition after edition came out in his own country, yet the author though he wept for joy at the favour it received, and felt grateful both to God and man, yet as he received only nineteen pounds for the copyright, he could not live upon it; therefore he brought out other works in rapid suc¬ cession. Amongst these, besides poems and plays, are his " Picture-Book without Pictures," " Wonderful Tales for Children," " Only a Fiddler," and " O. T." " He was poor and depressed," as he himself says, " there was no help for him, he was compelled to write that he might live." Critics and even friends were hard upon him. Other friends he had, warm-hearted and generous, or he might have died. The family of the Conference-raad Collin, was ever most kindly disposed to him; II. C. Orsted was his friend, whilst an excellent elderly widow lady, who had read his writings with pleasure, opened her hospitable house, and showed him the kindness of a mother. His heart was very sad, yet even then, in that season of despondency and want, as he himself tells us, he never lost the conviction which he had so strongly when a child, that God would help him, and that without irreverence, he yet might regard his Heavenly Father as his star of hope and trust. One day, therefore, as he sat in his little room, a stranger with a friendly countenance entered. It was Count Con¬ rad Bantzau Breitenburg, a Holsteincr, and at that time one of the Ministers of State. He loved poetry and Italy HANS CHEISTIAN ANDEBSEN. XXXI where lie had. travelled; had read the "Improvisatore" with great pleasure, and now came to make the acquaint* ance of the author. With all the frankness natural to him, Andersen opened his heart, confessing how hard was the necessity which compelled him to write for his daily bread. The stranger pressed his hand warmly at parting, and promised to be his friend. Shortly afterwards the king, Frederick VII., settled upon him an annual pension sufficient for all his wants. Andersen's heart was now filled with gratitude and joy. He was no longer compelled to write that he might live; he had, as he says, a secure resource in case of sickness. A new chapter of his life had begun, from that day forth spring sunshine entered into his existence. He felt an increased security in the Divine Providence; for on reviewing his life, as he says, he saw clearly that the loving care of God had watched over him, that everything had been directed by a higher power to his best interests. "As a red thread," says he, "iswoven into every rope, large or small, which belongs to the English Marine Ser¬ vice, to prove that it belongs to the crown, so through every human life, great or small, goes an invisible thread, to show that it belongs to God. This conviction lives in me and penetrates my whole being." From this time a more cheerful, happier life began for Andersen. He travelled much; few, if any, authors more, and his writings, especially his " Eventyr, or Won¬ der Tales for Children," already known in most of the European languages, insured him the kindest welcome everywhere, especially at Courts and in the houses of the great of this world ; for with all his native simplicity of character, no one loved the rich and the courtly more than he; he was at home with them, and his child-like naivetd and gentleness, which was genuine as truth itself, made its way to their hearts with irresistible force. Andersen's prose works, besides The Improvisatore," KXli THE LIFE OF himself that, if now, on this new-year's day, when ho came to the theatre, he were able there to declaim a piece, he would hold it to be a certain token that, in the course of the following year, he should be advanced to the dig¬ nity of an actor. But, alas ! when he reached the house, he found that, on this day, it was closed, and only by ac¬ cident a small side-door was open. Through this he crept, trembling as if he had something evil in his mind; on¬ ward he went to the dark stage, where not a creature was to be seen, and, falling down upon his knees on the lamp- stage, uttered the Lord's Prayer, the only thing, and the best thing, which then offered itself to his mind, and, after that, returned home comforted. He always kept hoping that, by degrees, his fine voice would surely return to him; yet that was scarcely to be expected, because the poor youth, through want of money, was almost always obliged to go with torn boots and wet feet; neither had he any warm winter clothing. He was now already sixteen years old, yet he was quite a child ; so much so, that he spent the whole evening alone in his chamber, busied in making dolls for his little theatre, which he dressed from the patterns which he was in the habit of begging from the shops. In this manner wore away his best years for learning; and many a sorrowful day had he yet to spend before a milder period arrived. Guldborg practised him in the Danish style, and, before long, he produced a rhymed tragedy, which, from the facility and freedom of its lan¬ guage, won the attention of Ohlenschlager, Ingemann, and others. But no debut was permitted to him in the theatre ; they excused him from any further attendance at the dancing-school, or from singing in chorus, as it was wished, they said, that he should dedicate his time to Scientific studies; yet nobody did any thing for him in HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. XXxiii gone through the world not only undefiied by, bat actually ignorant of, its shadow side." With all this tenderness and unworldliness of character, Andersen had yet his one engrossing weakness, the main¬ spring of much of the painful experience of his life—a morbid sensitiveness and an utter self-absorption. Had it been possible for him to have been present at his own funeral, it would probably have been the most gratifying portion of his life. All that was petty and pro¬ vocative of a smile in the egotism and vanity of the man was now forgotten. The sensitive, imaginative poet, the tender, child-like spirit, the graceful fancy, the humanity which his sympathetic mind felt in all things, were remembered then only; criticism and even cool common- sense were silent, and the civilized world rose, as it were, to do him honour. Andersen's life, but for his own morbid sensitiveness, might have been singularly happy. lie lived in the midst of his own people; his literary career was marked by success. His " Improvisatore " and his " Wonder Tales," which he continued to write almost to his last day, embodying his peculiar genius and reflecting himself, made him known throughout the civilized world. He was the poet in all he wrote, but his harp, so to speak, had ono powerful string which vibrated to his own idiosyncrasy. The " Improvisatore," like the " Ugly Duckling," are but reflexes of the same nature—the same character—born out of i>lace; misunderstood; the divine nature not as yet penetrating the hard, outer coating of circumstance. A disposition like his creates its own unhappiness; never¬ theless, but few men lived to realize so literally and fully the desires of their hearts. Andersen loved children, and he loved crowned heads, whether men or women, and children and crowned heads did him honour. Few lives, therefore, it may be asserted, were more successful than his. The patrons of his youthful genius, in the days of XXxiv THE 1IEE 01 his indigence and suffering, remained the fast, dearest friends of his manhood and fame. Welcomed at many Courts, reading his " Wonder Tales" to admiring audiences of the great and the noble, reading them to little sick children in hospitals, receiving from children across the Atlantic testimonies of love and gratitude, his seventieth birthday, his las;, honoured as a public festival, when a copy of one of his " Wonder Tales," printed in many lan¬ guages, was presented to him—nothing was wanting to make the decline of his life singularly happy, and filled with that personal distinction the love of which was so characteristic af the man. Andersen lived during the summer months at the beau¬ tiful residence of the Itolighet, belonging to the family o1- Melchior, where a couple of pleasant rooms were devoted to his use. "I am certainly well placed," wrote he to a friend, " my two rooms are snug and sunny, and adorned with flowers, books, and statues; and what my lady friends especially provide for me are flowers, and something green, which are always there." In winter he removed to the city. " All doors," says one of his friends, writing of this time, " stood open to him. He had his regular resorts, too, where he dined, one for each day of the week; seven tables at which he was day by day a welcome guest." Andersen loved the theatre, and was constant in the seat which was expressly appropriated to him, as long as his health permitted; and when he was unable to be present, the placard of the evening's performance hung on the wall of his room, and he would follow the progress of the theatrical business from one half hour to another through the whole evening. llefore closing this brief account of Andersen, we must refer to an early circumstance in his life, when, as a boy, with the dread of the tailor's apprenticeship before him, he begged his mother to be permitted to go to Copen¬ hagen, and she, unable to give her unassisted consent, HANS CHRISTIAN AND3BSEN. XXXV called in a wise woman, who, after consulting the coffee grounds, replied oracularly, " Your son will become a great man. The city of Odense will he illuminated in his honour." Half a century afterwards, the town of Odense, anxious to show its x'espect to the poet, had in the month of Decem¬ ber a festival, on the occasion of presenting him with the freedom of the town. " I was to fulfil the prophecy," writes Andersen, " which the old Woman made when I left my birth-place, Odense should be illuminated for me. I stepped to the open win¬ dow, there was a blaze of light from the torches, the place was full of people. They sung, and I was overcome in my soul. I was physically overcome indeed; I could not enjoy this summit of fortune in my life. I had an intoler¬ able toothache, which the icy air that rushed in at the window caused to blaze up into terrible pain, and in place of fully enjoying the good fortune of those minutes which could never be repeated, I looked at the printed song to see how many verses had yet to be sung. . . . "When the flames and the torches piled together had sunk down, then my pain decreased. How thankful was I to God!" Andersen died at the age of seventy. His property, amounting to about £4,000, he left by will to the Collin family, his early and faithful benefactors and friends, and in whose family vault his remains are now laid; a few small legacies are also left to some of the charitable institutions of Copenhagen and Odense- His proof edition of Charles Dickens' works, given by the author, together with various manuscripts, are left to the ICing's Library. His trinkets, and many small valuable souvenirs, given to him by royal and distinguished per- sons, are bequeathed to his various friends, whilst the many letters, which he received from royal and notable personages, authors, and others, will be published, accord¬ ing to directions left in his will. sxxvi THE XIFE OP Andersen died on August 4th, 1875, and his funeral took place on the 12th, at the hour of noon. " Long before that hour," says the correspondent of the Daily News, from whose report the following details are given, " the precincts of the church were densely crowded. In the choir stood the members of the University, number¬ ing several hundreds, with banners. Along the body of the church were the "Working-men's Association and the Copenhagen Singing Association with banners. Among those present were 1he Minister of Foreign Affairs, Count Moltke Bregentved, the German Minister, the English Minister, the Swedish Minister, and the heads of all the departments, military and civil. A deputation from the poet's native town, Odense, was also present, headed by Bishop Engelstoft. " The coffin was placed at the front entrance of the choir, covered with wreaths. There were long rows on each side sent from all parts, a palm branch and wreath from Odense, a laurel wreath from the Press Association of Berlin, with the inscription, ' Thou art not dead though thine eyes are closed. In children's hearts thou shalt live for ever.' Up to the last moment other wreaths were added. A little after twelve the King, the Crown Prince, Prince John, and the whole staff arrived in full uniform, taking their places to the right of the choir, in front of chairs reserved for the families of Collin and Melchior, the late poet's dearest friends. The ceremony commenced by a prelude on the organ, and a psalm composed by the late poet, sung by the choir. Dean Rothe then stepped in front of the choir, and deli¬ vered a touching funeral oration. After drawing attention to Andersen's talents, his long and good life, the high appreciation in which he stood with