H. C. (Hans Christian) Andersen.

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ANDERSEN'S WORKS




LIBRARY

CAU

SAN DIEGO






XWG7



A POET'S BAZAAR.



A PICTURESQUE TOUR IN GERMANY, ITALY,
GREECE, AND THE ORIENT.



BY

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN,

AUTHOR OF "THE IMPROVISATORS," "IN SPAIN AND A VISIT TO
PORTUGAL," ETC.



V attrition*




BOSTON:

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY.
<j. br Htoerfitte Press,



CONTENTS.



GERMANY.

PAGB

I. THE SPANISH DANCERS ....... i

II. BREITENBURG 3

III. A REMINISCENCE FROM THE STEAMBOAT "STOREN" . 6

IV. LISZT 8

V. THE MAID OF ORLEANS n

VI. THE RAILROAD ......... 13

VII. GELLERT'S GRAVE 17

VIII. NUREMBERG 18

IX. A WISH ACCOMPLISHED 24

X. MUNICH 26

XI. TYROL 34

ITALY.

I. ENTRANCE INTO ITALY 40

II. A NIGHT ON THE APENNINES 46

III. THE BRONZE HOG 49

IV. TRAVELLING WITH THE VETTURINO 60

V. ARRIVAL AT ROME 77

VI. THE BORGHESE FAMILY ....... 80

VII. THE CHURCHES IN ROME 82

VIII. FAIRY PALACES IN REALITY 86

IX. CHRISTMAS EVE IN ROME 92

X. THREE ROMAN BOYS 94

XI. RELIGIOUS CUSTOMS ....... 96

XII. THE CASCADES OF TIVOLI 102

XIII. MY BOOTS 105

XIV. THE EMPEROR'S CASTLE 109

XV. ST. CANUTE ......... in

XVI THE COLISEUM 113

XVII. THE CARNIVAL 115

XVIIL PEGASUS AND THE VETTURINO HORSES . . . .119

XIX. MALIBRAN-GARCIA is DEAD 124

XX. A PROSPECT FROM MY WINDOW IN NAPLES . . 126



iv CONTENTS.

turn

XXI. A NEAPOLITAN CORRICOLO . * . 129
XXII. DEPARTURE FROM ITALY .131

XXIII. THE STEAMER'S PASSAGE 135

XXIV. SICILY 136

XXV. MALTA 140

GREECE.

I. A FEW DAYS IN THE MEDITERRANEAN .... 149
II. PANORAMA OF SOUTH MOREA AND THE CYCLADES . . 154

IIL THE BAY OF PIRAEUS 160

IV. ARRIVAL AT ATHENS 161

V. THE ACROPOLIS 167

VI. A RAINY DAY IN ATHENS 171

VII. THE RHAPSODISTS 173

VIII. DAPHNE 177

IX. THE FF.AST OF FREEDOM .181

X. THE MARBLE LION 186

XI. THE EASTER FESTIVAL IN GREECE 187

XII. THE COURT IN ATHENS 189

XIII. PROKESCH-OSTEN 193

XIV. A SHORT JOURNEY 196

XV. FRIENDSHIP'S COVENANT 198

XVI. DEPARTURE FROM GREECE 207

THE EAST.

I. A STORM IN THE ARCHIPELAGO 211

II. SMYRNA 213

III. A ROSE FROM HOMER'S GRAVE 215

IV. A LITTLE BIRD HAS SUNG ABOUT rr 217

V. THE DARDANELLES AND THE SEA OF MARMORA . . . 218

VI. ARRIVAL AT CONSTANTINOPLE AND PERA .... 224

VII. THE BAZAARS 228

VIII. A RAMBLE THROUGH CONSTANTINOPLE .... 231

IX. THE DERVISES' DANCE 236

X. A TURKISH SKETCH 242

XI. THE CEMETERY AT SCUTARI 244

XII. MOHAMMED'S BIRTHDAY 246

XIII. VISIT AND DEPARTURE 253

XIV. THE BOSPHORUS 258

XV. THK BLACK SEA 266

XVL A STEPPE-JOURNEY BETWEEN THE BLACK SEA AND THE

DANUBE 269



CONTENTS. V

THE PASSAGE OF THE DANUBE.

*AGB
I. FROM CZERNA-WODA TO RUSTZUK 276

II. WE SAIL 281

III. A TURBULENT PASSAGE 282

IV. SERVIA'S DRYADS . . 287

V. THE PASHA OF ORSOVA 293

VI. THE QUARANTINE 294

VII. IT is SUNDAY TO-DAY 300

VIII. A JOURNEY ALONG THE DANUBE FROM ORSOVA TO DREN-

COVA 301

IX. A VOYAGE UP THE DANUBE FROM DRENCOVA TO SEMLIN . 308

X. FROM SEMLIN TO MOHACS 315

XI. THE SWINEHERD 319

XII. FAIR GUESTS 321

XIII. PESTH AND OPEN 323

XIV. THE DANUBE FROM PESTH TO VIENNA .... 326

HOMEWARD BOUND.

I. VIENNA'S THEATRE 332

II. PROFILES 335

III. THE WORKMAN 337

IV. A GRAVE 338

V. A NORTHWARD FLIGHT 339



A POETS BAZAAR.

GERMANY.
I.

THE SPANISH DANCERS.

IN the summer of 1840, some Spanish dancers, who were
staying in Copenhagen, drew all the inhabitants of that
city to the old theatre in Kongens Nytorv (the King's new
market, which is no market). The whole town talked about the
Spanish national dance, and the newspapers spread the report
of their fame throughout the land. I was at that time on a
visit to Baron Stampe at Nyso, that home which our immor-
tal Thorwaldsen found, and which, by the works he executed
there, has become a remarkable place in Denmark.

From Thorwaldsen I got the first verbal account of the
Spanish dancers ; he was transported and inspired, as I had
never before seen him. " That is a dance ! there are attitudes !
there are forms and beauty ! " said he, and his eyes glistened
while he spoke. " See ! one is in the South when one sees
that dance ! "

One forenoon when I entered his atelier, I saw a bass-relief
representing a dancing Bacchus and Bacchante completed in
clay. " The Spanish dancers have given me the idea," said
he ; " they also can dance thus ; I thought of their charming
dance when I did this."

I was very desirous of seeing these children of Spain of
seeing the charming Dolores Serral. The Copenhagen public
has now forgotten her.

I went to Copenhagen, and saw a dance that made me for-
get the painted scenery and the lamp-lights. I was with them



2 A POET'S BAZAAR.

in Valencia's dales ; I saw the beautiful beings whose every
motion is grace, every look passion.

After my arrival in the city I saw Dolores dance every evetc
inij : but I never met her off the stage, I never saw her ex-
cept when she danced in public.

It was now the end of October, as cold, rainy, and stormy
as we generally have it in our dear country. The Spanish
dancers were going ; Dolores said, like Preciosa : " To Valen-
cia ! " but the way from Copenhagen to Valencia is over
Kiel. She must go with the steamer Christian the Eighth, in a
northern autumn, cold and stormy. Half of the good folks
who had collected together to bid their friends farewell, were
sea-sick on the little trip from the land to the steam-vessel.

It was a northern billow-dance ! Dolores was immediately
faint ; her pretty limbs were extended for a rest, which was
no rest. One sea after the other washed over the deck ; the
wind whistled in the cordage ; once or twice the steamer
seemed to stand still, and as if bethinking itself whether it
were not best to turn back again. The decanters and plates,
although they were lashed fast, trembled as if with fear or by
instinct. There was such a clattering and creaking ; every
plank in the vessel groaned, and Dolores sighed so loud that
it pierced through the deck. Her fine, pliant foot stretched
itself convulsively against the thin, wooden partition her
forehead touched the other.

A ship is, however, a strange world ! To the right we are
separated from a death in the waves to the left another thin
plank is as a cherub's sword. Dolores sighed, and I sighed
also. We lay here a. whole night, and literally sighed for each
other ; and the waves danced as Dolores could not dance, and
-ung as I could not sing ; and during all this the ship
went on its powerful course until the bay of Kiel encompassed
us, and by degrees one passenger after the other went on deck.

I told Dolores what an impression her dancing had made
on the first sculptor of our age ; I told her about Bacchus and
icchante, and she blushed and smiled. I really fancied
that we danced a fandango together on the green plain under
the fragrant acacias. She gave me her hand, but it was to
take leave she travelled direct to Valencia.



BREITENBURG.

Many years hence Dolores will be an old woman, and she
will dance no more ; but then the towns and cities which she
had delighted with her presence will dance before her; and
she will then remember the metropolis on the green isle in the
North amidst the stormy sea which she sailed over ; she will
think of that bass-relief in which she still soars so young and
beautiful : and her fingers will glide down the rosary which
she sits with in the balcony, and she will look over the
mountains. And they who stand around the old woman, then
will ask her : " What are you thinking of, Dolores ? "

And she will smile and answer : " I was on a voyage to the
North 1 "



II.

BREITENBURG.

MY carriage turned off from the highway between Kiel and
Hamburg over the heath, as I wished to pay a visit to Breiten-
burg : a little bird came twittering toward me, as if it would
wish me welcome.

The Liinenburg heath is year after year more and more
covered with plantations, houses, and roads, whereas its con-
tinuation through the Duchies of Sleswick and Holstein, and
into Jutland, has still for the most part the same appearance
as in the last century.

There are character and poetry in the Danish heath : here
the starry heavens are large and extended ; here the mist soars
in the storm like the spirits of Ossian, and solitude here gives
admittance to our holiest thoughts. Groups of crooked oaks
grow here like the ghosts of a forest, stretching out their
moss covered branches to the blast ; an Egyptian race, with
chestnut skin and jet black eyes, here leads a herdsman's life,
roasts in the open air the stolen lamb, celebrates a marriage,
and dances outside the house, which is quickly raised with
ling-turf, in the midst of this solitary heath.

My carriage moved but slowly on in the deep sand. I really
believe one might be sea-sick from driving here. We go con



4 A POET'S BAZAAR.

tinually forward through a desert and deserted Jegion ; the
few houses one comes to are extended barns, where the smoke
whirls forth through the open door. The houses have no
chimneys ; it is as if the hearth were wanting, as if within
there was no home, as if only the stranger, in wandering over
the heath, had kindled a hasty fire here in the middle of the
floor, to warm himself a little, and had then proceeded on his
way. The chimneys on the peasant's house, and the curling
smoke make it homely ; the chimney ornaments enliven almost
as much as the flower-beds before the house ; but here the
houses were in harmony with the heath and the cold autumn
day. The sun certainly shone, but it had no warm rays ; it
was perhaps not even the sun itself, but only its shining garb
which glided over the sky. We met not a human being not
a drove of cattle was to be seen. One might almost believe
that everything was asleep, or bound by enchantment.

Late in the afternoon a fertile landscape for the first time
presented itself ; we saw a large wood, the sunshine gave its
brown leaves the appearance of a copper forest, and just then
as a large herd of cattle came out of the thicket, and stared
at us with their large eyes, a whole adventure arose before me
of the enchanted city in the copper forest

Behind the wood we passed through a large village which,
if it did not lead me into the land of adventure, yet brought
me back into another century. In the houses, the stable,
kitchen, and living-room seemed to be in one. The road was
deep mud, in which lay large blocks of stone. This was very
picturesque, but it became still more so ; for in the midst of
that thick forest, a knightly castle with tower and gable front
shone in the evening sun, and a broad and deep stream wound
its way between it and us.

The bridge thundered under the horse's hoofs ; we rolled
on through wood and garden-grounds, into the open castle-
yard, where busy lights flitted behind the windows, and every-
thing appeared rich and yet homely. In the centre of the
yard stands a large old well, with an artificially wrought iron
fence, and from thence flew a little bird it was certainly the
same that had twittered a welcome greeting to me when I be-
gan my drive over the heath. It had come hither before me,



BREITENBURG. 5

it had announced my coming j and the castle's owner, the
noble Rantzau, led his guest into a pleasant home. The
dishes smoked on the table, and the champagne exploded
Yes, it was certainly enchantment ! I thought of the stormy
sea, of the solitary heath, and felt that a man may, neverthe-
less, be at ease in this world.

The birds twittered outside whilst I looked out of the win-
dow ; the light fell by chance on the well, and it appeared AS
if the bucket went up and down of itself, and in the middle
of the bucket sat a little brownie or fairy, and nodded a wel-
come to me. I certainly did not mistake, for the brownie's
grandfather once presented a golden cup to a Rantzau of
Breitenburg, when the knight rode by moonlight through the
forest. The goblet is still preserved in the old carved oak
press in the knight's hall over the chapel. I have seen it my-
self, and the old pictures on the wall, all proud knights, moved
their eyes ; it was in the clear sunshine : had it been on a
moonlight night, they would assuredly have stepped out of
their frames, and drunk a health to the worthy Count who
now rules in old Breitenburg.

" The happiness of Paradise has no history ! " says a poet ;
" the best sleep has no dreams," say I ; and in Breitenburg
night brought no dreams. By daylight, on the contrary, old
sagas and recollections anticipated thought : they greeted me
in the ancient alleys of the garden, they sat and nodded to
me on the winding stairs of the watch-tower, where the Scotch
lay on the alert, when Wallenstein's troops had encamped
without. Wallenstein put the men to death by the sword, and
as the women in the castle would not, at his command, wash
the blood from the floor, he had them also killed.

In the beautiful scenery around were old reminiscences.
From the high tower of the castle I looked far and wide over
the richly fertile Marskland, where the fat cattle wade in the
summer up to their shoulders in grass. I looked over the
many forests in which Ansgarius wandered, and preached
the Christian religion to the Danish heathens. The little vil-
lage of Willenscharen in this neighborhood still bears evi-
dences of his name ; there was his mansion, and there he
lived ; the church close by Heiligenstadte, where the ground



6 A POET'S BAZAAR.

was grown up around the walls, is also from his time ; and
it is still, as it was then, reflected in the Storen, over which he
rowed in his miserable fishing-boat to the little path between
the reeds.

I wandered in the castle garden under the old trees, by the
winding canals ; elder-trees and rose-bushes bent themselves
over the watery mirror to see how prettily they flowered. The
gamekeeper with his dog took his way into the copper-colored
forest The post-horn clanged, and it was as if wood and field
were made vocal, and joined in the death-hymn of autumn :
" Great Pan is dead I "

When the sun was down, the sound of glass and song was
heard in the castle. I wandered through the saloon, whose
dark red walls encompass bass-reliefs by Thorwaldsen, and
give relief to the beautiful busts and statues. A hedge of
roses and sweet-briers outside leaned up against the windows
with its leafless branches, and it dreamt of the summer life
within the saloon that it was itself young and flourishing
and that every brier was a bud that would open itself on the
morrow. The brownie sat on the edge of the well, and kept
time with his small feet ; the little bird twittered, " It is pretty
in the North I it is well to be in the North ! " and yet the
bird flew to the warm lands, and the poet did the same.



III.

A REMINISCENCE FROM THE STEAMBOAT " STOREN."

BY the waters of the Storen there lay two small houses, one
on each side of the river, each of them snug and pretty, with
a green gable and a few bushes ; but outside the one hung
an outstretched net, and a large vane turned itself in the wind.
How often had not two pretty eyes looked from one of these
small houses over to this vane when it turned itself, and a
faithful heart then sighed deeply.

We took a pretty young woman on board here ; she was of
what we call the lower class, but so neatly dressed, so young,
to pretty, and with a beautiful little child at the breast. The



REMINISCENCE FROM THE STEAMBOAT "STOREN." J

good folks nodded to her from both the houses, they wished
her joy and happiness ! The weather-cock turned so that it
creaked, but her pretty eyes did not look up to it ; for now
she did not care to know which way the wind blew ! and so
away we went. All was green, but flat, and always the same
on each side ; the little river runs in one continued curve.

We were now on the Elbe, that great high-road from Ger-
many ; and vessels came and went on it. Our boat darted
across ; we went over to the Hanoverian side to fetch passen-
gers, and then to the Holstein side, and then again to the
Hanoverian, and yet we got no passengers. I looked at the
young woman ; she seemed to be equally as impatient as my-
self; she was always at the forepart of the vessel, and looking
intently forward, with her hand over those pretty eyes. Was
it the towers of Hamburg she sought ? She kissed her child,
and smiled, yet tears were in her eyes ! Two steam- vessels
darted past us ; and a ship in full sail was taking emigrants
to America. Before us lay a magnificent vessel ; it had come
direct from thence, and was now sailing up against the wind.
The flag waved ! as we approached, a boat was let loose ; four
sailors seized the oars ; a strong, active, black-bearded man,
who appeared to be the steersman on board, took the rudder ;
we lay still, and the young wife flew, rather than ran, with her
sleeping child. In a moment she was in the light, rocking
boat, and in the arms of that black-haired, sunburnt man.

That was a kiss ! that was the bouquet of a long year's
sweet longing : and the child awoke and cried, and the man
kissed it, and took his wife around the waist ; and the boat
swung up and down, as if it sprang with joy, and the brown
sailors nodded to each other, but we sailed away, and I
looked on the flat and naked shores.



8 A POET'S BAZAAR.

IV.

LISZT.

IT was in Hamburg, in the hotel Stadt London, that Listt
gave a concert. In a few moments the saloon was quite filled.
I came too late, yet I got the best place, close up to the
tribune where the piano-forte stood, for they conducted me
up the back stairs.

Liszt is one of the kings in the realm of tones ; and my
friends, as I said, for I am not ashamed to acknowledge it,
conducted me to him up one of the back stairs.

The saloon, and even the side rooms gleamed with lights,
gold chains, and diamonds. Not far from where I stood lay
a fat, dressed-out young Jewess on a sofa ; she resembled a
walrus with a fan. Wealthy Hamburg merchants stood walled
up against each other as if it were an important matter " on
Change " that was to be discussed. A smile sat on their
mouths, as if they had all bought Exchequer bills and railway
shares, and gained immensely.

The Orpheus of mythology could set stones and trees in
motion with his music. The modern Orpheus, Liszt, had
electrified them already ere he played. Fame, with her many
tongues, had opened the eyes and ears of the multitude, so
that all seemed to recognize and hear what was to follow. I
myself felt in the beams of those many sparkling eyes an ex-
pectant palpitation of the heart, on the approach of this great
genius, who with magic fingers defines the boundaries of his
art in our age !

Our age is no longer that of imagination and feeling ; it
b the age of intellect. The technical dexterity in every art
and in every trade is now a general condition of their exer
cise ; languages have become so perfected that it almost be-
longs to the art of writing themes to be able to put one's
thoughts in verse, which half a century ago would have passed
for a true poet's work ; in every large town we find persons
by the dozen who execute music with such an expertness, that
twenty year* ago they might have been accounted virtuosi



LISZT. 9

All that is technical, the material as well as the spiritual, is in
this our age in its highest development.

Our world's geniuses, are they not the modern scum or
foam wrought on the ocean of our age's development ? But
real spirits must be able to suffer a critical dissection, and
raise themselves far above that which can be acquired : each
in his intellectual sphere must not only complete the work,
but add something more. They must, like the coral insect,
make an addition to art, or their activity is as nothing.

In the musical world our age has two pianists who thus fill
their allotted place they are Thalberg and Liszt.

When Liszt entered the saloon, it was as if an electric
shock passed through it. Most of the ladies rose ; it was as
if a ray of sunlight passed over every face, as if all eyes re-
ceived a dear, beloved friend.

I stood quite near to the artist : he is a meagre young man,
his long dark hair hung around his pale face ; he bowed to
the auditory, and sat down to the piano. The whole of Liszt's
exterior and movements show directly one of those persons
we remark for their peculiarities alone ; the Divine hand has
placed a mark on them which makes them observable amongst
thousands. As Liszt sat before the piano, the first impres-
sion of his personality was derived from the appearance of
strong passions in his wan face, so that he seemed to me a
demon who was nailed fast to the instrument from whence the
tones streamed forth, they came from his blood, from his
thoughts ; he was a demon who would liberate his soul from
thralldom ; he was on the rack, the blood flowed, and the
nerves trembled ; but as he continued to play, the demon
disappeared. I saw that pale face assume a nobler and
brighter expression ; the divine soul shone from his eyes, from
every feature ; he became beauteous as spirit and enthusiasm
can makt their worshippers.

His " Valse Infernale " is more than a daguerreotype pic-
ture of Meyerbeer's " Robert le Diable ! " We do not stand
apart and contemplate this well known picture ; we gaze
fixedly into its depths, and discover new whirling figures. It
sounded not like the chords of a piano ; no, every tone seemed
Uke trickling water-drops.



10 A POET'S BAZAAR.

He who admires art in its technical dexterity must respect
Liszt ; he who is charmed by his genius must respect him
still more.

The Orpheus of our times has caused his tones to resound
through the world's great emporium, and they found and ac-
knowledged, as a Copenhagener has said, that, " his fingers
are railroads and locomotives ; " his genius still mightier in
drawing together the intellectual spirits of the universe than
all the railways on earth. The modern Orpheus has caused
the European counting-house to resound with his tones, and
at that moment at least, the people believed the Evangelist:
the gold of the spirit has a mightier sound than the world's.

We often hear the expression " a flood of tones," without
defining it ; but it is indeed a " flood " which streams from
the piano where Liszt sits. The instrument appears to be
changed into a whole orchestra ; this is produced by ten fin-
gers which possess an expertness that may be called fanatical
they are led by the mighty genius. It is a sea of tones,
which, in its uproar, is a mirror for every glowing mind's
momentary life's problem. I have met politicians who con-
ceived that from Liszt's playing the peaceful citizen could be
so affected by the tones of the Marseillaise Hymn as to seize
the musket, fly from hearth and home, and fight for an idea.
I have seen peaceful Copenhageners, with Danish autumn's
mist in their blood, become political bacchanals from his
playing; and mathematicians have become dizzy with figures
of tones and calculations of sounds. The young followers
of Hegel the really gifted, and not the empty-headed who
only make a spiritual grimace at the galvanic stream of phi-
losophy, beheld in this flood of tones the billowy-formed prog-
ress of science toward the coast of perfection. The poet
found in it his whole heart's lyric, or the rich garb for his
most daring figures. The traveller, thus I gather from myself,
gets ideas from tones of what he has seen, or shall see. I
heard his music as an overture to my travels ; I heard how
my own heart beat and bled at the departure from home;
I heard the billows' farewell billows which I was not to
hear again ere I saw the cliffs of Tcrracina. It sounded like
the organ's tones from Germany's old minsters ; the avalanche



THE MAID OF ORLEANS. II

rolled down from the Alpine hills, and Italy danced in her
carnival dress, whilst her heart thought of Caesar, Horace,
and Raphael ! Vesuvius and ^Etna threw out their lava, and
the last trumpet sounded from the mountains of Greece where
the old gods died ; tones I knew not, tones I have no words
to express, spoke of the East, the land of imagination, the
poet's other father-land.

When Liszt had ceased playing, flowers showered around
him : beautiful young girls, and old ladies who had once been
young and beautiful, cast each her bouquet. He had cast a
thousand bouquets of tones into their hearts and heads.

From Hamburg Liszt was to fly to London, there to throw
out new bouquets of tones, which exhale poesy over that
prosaic every-day life. That happy one, who can thus travel
all his life, always see people in their poetical Sunday dress !



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