on his face.

I suffered much in this state of things ; but being still somewhat
subdued from the effect of my school life, I took everything without
reply. I was too soft, too unpardonably good natured. Every one knew
that this was my way, and some became almost cruel on the strength
of it. All wanted to teach me ; nearly all declared that I was being
spoiled by praise, and that therefore they were anxious to tell me the
truth ; accordingly, I heard nothing spoken of but my faults, my real
and alleged weaknesses. At times, indeed, the spirit of opposition was
kindled within me, and then I declared that I would yet be a poet who
should be honoured. But any word of this kind was at once caught
up as the manifestation of unbearable vanity on my part, and was dili-
gently repeated as such from house to house. I was a good fellow, so
the general verdict said, but one of the most conceited people in the



The Story of my Life. 753

world ; and this opinion was held of me at a time when I was often
^eady to despair of my own ability, and frequently thought, as in the
Darkest days of my school-time, that the idea of my talent was all self-
delusion. I was ready to hold this belief myself, but to hear it uttered
in hard and scornful words by others was more than I could always
bear, and if at any time I gave vent to a proud, unconsidered word, this
was turned into a scourge wherewith I might be chastised. But when
used by those we love, such scourges become whips of scorpions.

Collin accordingly gave it as his opinion that I should undertake a
little journey, for instance, to Northern Germany, to recreate myself
and gain new ideas. In the spring of 1831 I left Denmark for the first
time. I saw Lubeck and Hamburg ; everything was new and surprising
to me. I saw the first mountains, the Harz ; the world seemed spread-
ing and widening marvellously around me ; my good humour came back
to me like a bird of passage. But care is like a flock of sparrows remain-
ing behind to hatch a brood in the nest of the bird of passage ; and I
did not yet feel quite strengthened.

In Dresden I made the acquaintance of Tieck ; Ingemann had given
rne a letter to him ; and one evening I heard him read a play of Shake-
speare's. At my departure he wished me success as a poet, and embraced
me heartily. This made a very deep impression upon me : I shall never
forget the expression in his eyes. I left him with tears, and prayed
earnestly to God for strength to tread the path my soul longed to follow
for strength to express what I felt in my heart ; and I prayed that
when I should see Tieck again, I might be known and valued by him.

Not till many years afterwards, when my later writings had been
translated and appreciated in Germany, did \ve meet again. Then I
felt the warm pressure of the hand of him who had given me the initia-
tory kiss in my second fatherland. In Berlin a letter of Oersted's pro-
cured me the acquaintance of Chamisso. The grave man with the
flowing locks and the honest eyes opened the door to me himself. He
read the letter I brought, and I know not how it was, but we seemed
to understand each other at once. I felt full confidence in him, and
could speak freely to him, though in bad German. Chamisso, however,
understood Danish. I submitted my poems to him, and he was the first
who translated some of them into German, and thus introduced them
into Germany. In the " Morgenblatt" he spoke of me in the following
generous words : " Gifted with wit, humour, and popular naivete, Ander-
sen has moreover at his command notes that awaken deeper echoes.
Especially he shows the ability to create little pictures and landscapes
by a few light but graphic touches. These pictures are, however, often
too local in their nature to appeal to men not born in the poet's father-
land. Perhaps those parts of his works that could be translated, or
that have been translated, are least calculated to give a picture of him."
Chamisso became my friend for life, and the pleasure he took in the
success of my later works is manifest in the letters to me that have been
printed in the collected edition of his works.

The little voyage to Germany had a great influence upon me, and mf

ccc



T54 Sfories for the Household.

friends in Copenhagen admitted the fact. The impressions of my jour-
ney were at once written down by me, and published under the title,
" Shadows of Travel." But even if I had really improved, the old petty
tendency still remained at home, to find out my faults and to educate
me, and I was weak enough to bear this from people who had no right
to assume such a position towards me. I seldom jested at the precepts
I received, and if I allowed myself to do so, this conduct of mine was
ascribed to my boundless vanity, and my friends declared that I would
not listen to the advice of sensible people. One of these educationists
once asked me if I wrote " Hound " with a small h.* It appears he had
found a clerical error of this kind in my last book. I replied, laughing,
" That I had been speaking of a small hound." My readers will say that
these were petty grievances ; but continual dropping will wear a hole in
a stone. I allude to the matter here, because I feel constrained to pro-
test against the accusation of vanity, which was brought against me
when no other fault could be found' with my private life, and which I
still occasionally encounter, like an old coin that has almost passed out
of circulation.

From the end of the year 1828 till the beginning of 1S39 I was com-
pelled to support myself solely by my writings. Denmark is a small
country. In those days very few books \veat to Sweden and Norway,
and thus my emolument could not be great. I found it difficult to pay
my way ; doubly difficult, because I was obliged to suit my dress in
some measure to the circle in which I was received. To continue pro-
ducing and producing was ruinous, indeed impossible ; accordingly I
translated a couple of pieces for the theatre, " La Quarautaine " and
" La Eeine de Seize Ans ;" and as at that time a young composer named
Hartmann, a grandson of him who composed the Danish national song,
" King Christian stood by the lofty mast," wished to have a text for an
opera, I declared myself ready to furnish one. Through Hoffman's
writings I had become acquainted with Gozzi's mask comedies. I read
" II Corvo," considered it a capital subject, and in a few weeks had
completed my libretto, "The Haven." To the ears of my countrymen
it will seem strange that it was I who recommended Hartmanu, and
who pledged myself in my letter to the directors of the theatre for the
fact that lie was a man of talent, who could furnish something good ;
for now he takes rank as the first among our living Danish composers.
For Bredal, another young composer, I prepared a text from Sir Walter
Scott's " Bride of Lammermoor." Both works were produced on the
stage, but I was subjected to very harsh criticism as one who had spoiled
the works of foreign authors : it seemed to be forgotten that I had ever
had any good in me, and I was declared to be a man wholly destitute of
ability. The composer Weyse, on the other hand, of whom I have
already spoken as my first benefactor, was completely satisfied with my
treatment of the subject. He told me that he had long wished to
compose an opera on the subject of Sir Walter Scott's " Kenilworth,"



In Danish, as in German, every substantive has a capital initial letter



Tlie Story of my Life. 755

and asked me to work with him in the production of a book. I did not
imagine that I should he entirely outlawed by the critics for this. I
required money for my expenses, and this was another reason for under-
taking the task ; moreover, I felt gratified at the idea of working with
"Weyse, the most celebrated of our composers. I was glad that he, who
had first spoken on my behalf at Siboni's house, was ready to enter into
more intimate relations with me. But I had scarcely half finished the
libretto, when I began to hear myself blamed for making use of a well-
known romance. I wished to retire from the task, but AVeyse encou-
raged me, and dissuaded me from drawing back. Afterwards, when I
was going abroad, before he had finished the music, I left my fate, so far
as the book was concerned, entirely in his hands. Accordingly he inter-

Eolated whole stanzas, and the altered finale is entirely his. It was a pecu-
arity with this strange man to like no work that ended mournfully ;
therefore Amy Robsart was to be made happy with Leicester, and Eliza-
beth to abandon the Earl and sing the air, " Proud England, I am thine."
At first I protested against this, but afterwards yielded, for the piece
was written for Weyse. It was brought upon the stage, but only the
songs have been printed. Then followed anonymous attacks upon me,
coarse letters sent to me by the post, whose concealed writers jeered
and abused me. However, in the same year I produced another volume
of poems, entitled " The Twelve Months of the Tear." This book has
afterwards been considered as containing some of my best lyrical pieces,
but at the time of its appearance it was a failure.

In those days a certain monthly periodical of literature, now defunct,
was in full bloom : at its first appearance it numbered many eminent
men among its contributors ; but it lacked men who could efficiently
express themselves on aesthetic subjects. Unfortunately, every one
considered himself competent to express an opinion on matters of that
kind ; but a man may write most efficiently on medicine, or on the
science of education, and may have made himself a name, and yet be a
tyro in poetry. And the proof was shown in this case. Gradually the
editor found it more and more difficult to get a critic for poetical works,
but the man who always showed himself most zealously ready, in speech
and writing, to step into the arena of criticism, was the historian and
state councillor Molbeck, who has played so prominent a part as a
Danish critic that I must be allowed to describe him more closely. He
is a painstaking collector, writes Danish very correctly, and his Danish
Dictionary is a very meritorious work, whatever its faults may be ; but
as a poetical critic he is one-sided and partial even to fanaticism. Un-
fortunately he belongs to that class of scientific men who have only one-
sixty-fourth of poetry in their composition, and these are the wors'_
.aesthetic judges; and by his censures on Ingemann's romances he hn:,
shown how incapable he is of appreciating the works he criticises. Ho
has himself produced a volume of poems of a mediocre kind, " A Pil-
grimage through Demnai'k," written in a weak, florid style, and "A
Journey through Germany, France, and Italy," in which the informa-
tion seems to be derived not from experience but from books. He was

rcc 2



756 Stories for the Household*.

sitting in his study, or in the royal library, in which he holds an office,.
7\-hen suddenly he was made director of the theatre and censor of the
works offered for acceptance there. He was in bad health, prejudiced,
and ill humoured. The consequence may be imagined. Of my first
poems lie spoke very favourably ; but soon my star waned before a
rising orb that of a young lyric poet, Paludan Miiller ; and as he no
longer loved me, he hated me, and that is the whole truth. In the same
periodical the very pieces that had been praised were decried by the
same critic who had lauded them, now that they appeared in a new and
augmented edition. AVe have a Danish proverb which says, " When the
waggon sticks, all hang on to it ;" arid I now experienced its truth.

It happened, moreover, that a new star arose in Danish literature.
Henrik Hertz appeared anonymously with his " Spectral Letters." It
was a kind of expulsion of the profane from the Temple. The deceased
Baggesen sent polemic letters from Paradise, written in a style very
much resembling his own. These letters contained a kind of apotheosis-
for Heiberg and cevcain attacks upon Oehlenschliiger and Hanch. The-
old story of my orthographical blunders saw the light once more. Ms-
name and my career as a pupil at Slagelse were mentioned in connection
with St. Anders. I was satirized, or, if people will have it, chastised.

Hertz's book at that time filled all Denmark. No one was spoken of
but he. The anonymous nature of the letters gave additional piquancy
to the affair : people were charmed, and with reason. Heiberg, in his
" Flying Post " exculpated a few aesthetically unimportant men, but not
me. I felt the wound of the sharp knife deeply, and my opponents
looked upon me as effectually excluded from the world of culture. Never-
theless, I soon afterwards published a little book, " Vignettes of Danish
Poets," in which I characterized living and dead celebrities, devoting a
lew words to each, but only speaking of their excellences. The book
attracted attention : it is still considered one of the best things I have
done, but the critics passed it by in silence. Here, as before, it ap-
peared that they passed by those of my writings which were the most
successful.

My affairs now stood at the lowest ebb ; and just iu the year when
Hertz had made himself known, and was to receive a pension with which
to travel, I had preferred a request for a similar favour. The universal
opinion was that I had reached my culminating point: if ever I were to
travel, it must be now. I felt, what has afterwards been acknowledged,
that travelling would be the best thing for me. In order that I might
come into notice, I was told that I must endeavour to obtain a kind of
recommendation from some of the chief poets and men of science, for
just now many young men of merit were preferring a request similar to
mine, and I should find it difficult to make myself heard among them.
Accordingly, I procured recommendations, and, so far as I know, I am
the only Danish poet who has had to produce vouchers for that fact in
his own country. It was remarkable, moreover, that the men who
recommended me found I possessed the most various qualifications.
Oehleuschlager, for instance, praised my lyrical talent, my serious ten-



The Story of my Life. 757

dency ; Ingemann, my power of portraying popular life ; Heiberg declared
that since Weasel's time he had met with no Danish poet who had more
humour than I ; Oersted was pleased to observe that all my opponents
and my upholders were agreed upon the fact that I was a true poet ;
and Thiele expressed himself warmly and energetically upon the genius
which he said he had seen combating in me against the weight of poverty
and adverse circumstances. I received a travelling pension : Hertz got
a larger and I a smaller one, and this was just and right.

" Now you must be glad," said my friends. " Take care to appreciate
your boundless good fortune. Enjoy the present moment heartily, for
it will probably be the only opportunity you will have. You should
hear what people say about your intention of travelling, and how we are
obliged to defend you, and sometimes we are unable to do so."

That was rather painful to hear. I felt a burning desire to get away,
so that I might breathe freely ; but care sits firm on the rider's horse.
More than one care pressed upon my heart, and though I am unlocking
its chambers before the world, one or two doors I must needs keep
closed. At my departure my prayer to God was, that I might die far
away from Denmark, or that I might return strengthened for labour,
.and able to produce works which should do me credit and give satisfac-
tion to my good friends.

Now that I was to depart, the picture of those who were dear to me
rose warmly in my heart. Among those whom I have alrcadv named
were two who had an especial influence upon my poetry and my life.
and whom I must here mention again. A motherly friend, a woman of
unusually cultivated mind, Madame Liissoe, had admitted me into her
pleasant family circle. Often she listened with deep sympathy to my
.sorrows, turned my attention more and more to the beautiful and the
poetical in the details of life, and when almost every one had despaired
of me as a poet, she kept up my courage ; and if in anything that I have
written purity of feeling can be traced, it is to this lady especially that
I am indebted for it. Another friend of great consequence to me was
a son of Colliu, Eduard. He had grown up in easy and happy circum-
stances, and possessed a boldness and decision of character of which I
was entirely destitute. I felt that he loved me sincerely, and my whole
;soft soul flew out to meet him. He was more deliberate and more prac-
tical than I, and this made me often misunderstand him. He wished to
infuse some of his own spirit into me, who stood like a swaying reed
blown to and fro by every wind. In the practical part of life, he, my
junior, stood protectingly at my side, helping me in many things, from
Xiatin style to the arrangement of my affairs and the publication of my
writings. He has always remained the same, and if a man may number
his friends, I must put him in the first rank among mine. When we
go from the mountains we begin to see them in their real form, and it
is the same with friends.

Over Cassel and the Ehine, I reached Paris ; but I retained no vivid
impression of what I saw. The idea for a poem was growing more and
more firmly in my mind, and as it became clearer to me, I hoped to win



758 Stories for the Household.

my enemies over by it. There is an old Danish popular song, " Aguete
and the Man of the Sea," which accorded with my own state of mind,
and which I felt a wish to use as a subject. The song sets forth how
the fair maid Agnete was wandering alone by the sea shore, when a man
of the sea came forth out of the waves and lured her down with his
honeyed words. She followed him to his home beneath the waters, and
in the seven years that she was his wife she bore him seven children.
One day she was sitting by the cradle, the church bells sounded down
.o her through the sea, and she felt a longing to visit the church, once
more. With her tears and entreaties she moved the man of the sea to
lead her upwards : she promised to return immediately. He begged her
not to forget his children, and especially the youngest in the cradle :
then he stopped her ears and her mouth, and carried her up to the sea
shore. But as soon as she entered the church, all the pictures on the
wall turned away their faces when they saw the daughter of sin from
the depths of the sea. Then she was frightened, and would not go
back, although the little children were crying below. I treated the song^
freely in the lyric and dramatic style. I may aver that the subject
seemed to take hold on my very heart, and all the remembrances of our
beech woods and of the open sea appeared to melt together in it.

Thus in the midst of bustling Paris the national tones of Denmark
surrounded me. I became filled with the deepest gratitude to God, for
I felt that everything I had was the gift of His mercy. And I now re-
ceived a vivid impression from what was passing around me. I witnessed
one of the July celebratious at a time when they had the charm of
novelty ; it was in the year 1833. I was present at the unveiling of"
the Napoleon statue. I saw the experienced King Louis Philippe, on.
whom the hand of Providence had so openly manifested itself; his son,
the Duke of Orleans, danced merrily and joyously in the charming popular
ball in the Hotel de Yille. Accident brought me into contact for the
first time with the poet Heine, who then occupied the throne in my
world of poesy. "When I expressed to him how rejoiced I was at meet -
ing him, and at his friendly reception of me, he replied that this could,
scarcely be so, for I had not been to visit him. I replied that just be-
cause 1 had such a high appreciation of his powers I had feared that he-
might find it ridiculous if I, an unknown Danish poet, sought him out ;.
" and," I added, " your smile would have hurt me deeply." He gave a
friendly answer. Several years later, when we met again in Paris, I was
very kindly received in his house, and was allowed to look into the bright
poetic part of his soul. Paul Dupont also made friendly advances to-
wards me, and Victor Hugo received me likewise. During my whole
journey to Paris, and in the month that I passed there, I did not hear a
single word from home. Could not my friends have found something
pleasant to impart to me ? At length one day a letter arrived a big
expensive letter: my heart beat with hope and expectation, for it was
the first letter I had had. I opened it, and beheld not a written line,
but a Copenhagen newspaper with a satirical poem about me. This had.
been sent so far to me, unpaid, probably by the anonymous author him-



The Story of my Life,



759



self. This hateful piece of malice hurt me deeply. I never found out
who was the author ; perhaps one of those who afterwards called me
friend and pressed my hand. People have sometimes bad thoughts ;
well, I have mine too.

It is a weakness of my countrymen, that in foreign lauds, during
their residence in a large city, they live almost entirely in a circle of
their own people ; they must dine together, meet in the theatre, and see
all the sights in each other's company ; letters are shown about, news
from home is discussed, and at last one hardly knows if one is at home
or abroad. I partook of this weakness, and accordingly determined,
when I quitted Paris, to board for a month in Switzerland, in some quiet
place, and to associate only with Frenchmen, that I might learn their
language, a knowledge of which I felt to be in the highest degree im-
portant to me.




THE LAMPOON.



In the little town of Locle, in a valley of the Jura mountains, where
snow fell in August, and the clouds floated beneath us, I was received
by the amiable family of a wealthy clockmaker. They would not hear
of my paying anything, I lived among them as a relative ; and when the
time came to part, the children shed tears. These little people had be-
come my friends, though I did not understand their patois, and they
would shout into my ears, fancying that I must be deaf, to be so dull.
AVhat a stillness, what a silence was there in nature, up yonder, in the
evening! "We could just hear the bells sounding from the French
frontier. A short distance from the town stood a solitary house, white
and cleanly. The visitor descending through two cellars came upon
noisy mill-wheels, turning in a stream which rushed along here, hidden
from the world. On my solitary walks I often visited this place ; and
here I finished my poem, " Agnete and the Man of the Sea," which I
had begun in Paris. From Locle I sent it home to Denmark, and never



760 Stories for the House/told.

was one of my earlier or later works accompanied by greater hopes.
But the poem was coldly received. The verdict was, that I was trying
to imitate Oehleuschlager, who had once sent masterpieces home. In
these last years the poem has, I think, begun to be more generally read,
and to find friends. But it was a step in advance : unconsciously to
myself, this poem closed my simply lyrical activity. Of late the opinion
has been expressed in Denmark that although at its first appearance the
piece e-xcited far less attention than was accorded to other and inferior
works of mine, the poetry had a deeper and stronger tone. For me,
the poem closed an epoch of my life.



V.

OK the 5th of September, 1833, 1 went across the Simplon into Italy.
On the anniversary of the day on which, fourteen years before, I had
entered Copenhagen, poor and helpless, was I to tread this laud of my
longing and of my poetic fortune. It seemed here, as it had often
happened before, without any premeditation on my part, as though I
had especial days of fortune in the year; but fortune has come to me
so often, that perhaps I have only chronicled her visits on days that I
particularly remembered. All around me was like spring, though the
grapes hung in long clusters from tree to tree ; never afterwards have I
seen Italy in such beauty. I sailed on the Lago Maggiore, visited the
cathedral of Milan, passed a few days in Genoa, and from thence under-
took the beautiful coast journey to Carrara. In Paris I had seen statues,
but my eyes had been closed to them ; only in Florence, before the
Venus de Medici, it seemed as though a veil fell from them. A new
world of art lay open before me : that was the first fruits of my journev.
Here I learned to comprehend the beauty of form, the spirit that
manifests itself in outlines. The life of the people, the aspect of