ANDERSEN'S TRUE STORY OF HIS LIFE.

THE formal autobiography of Hans Christian Andersen loses somewhat of freshness by the manner in which he has already used its inward feelings and outward incidents in other works. The Improvisatore, indeed, only presented the essential traits of the Danish litlerateur's mind, and the misery of indiscreet and selfish patronage to a youth possessing the temperament rather than the power of genius; but the introduction gave a complete account of the events of his life nearly up to the period of that publication ; while in Only a Fiddler we had a minute description of persons, manners, and such outward things as small lodging-rooms and city gardens, together with many of his own feelings and adventures. So completely is this the case, that with the full and formal narrative before us, we could add but little to the precis of Andersen's life which we gave, or to the opinion we expressed of his genius and character, in reviewing those two books.* The only things that have impressed us more strongly are the positive call which Andersen felt for something connected with art,—though he knew not what, since dancing and music were his first objects, as reciting was his childish employ ; and the firmness, or rather the instinct, with which he pursued his vocation, through contemptuous discouragement and destitution in its worst shape of hunger and rags. We think, too, we perceive a source of income which he left unnoticed in his former works, and is not explicit about in this biography. When he went from house to house to recite and exhibit, money was unques- tionably given to him in his native place at Odense; and in Copenhagen he seems to have "amused the company," till the Royal scholarship procured for him by Coffin, and afterwards the sumss of his hterary works, gave him an independent subsistence. He also, it seems, travel- * Spectator 1845, page 257; "The Improvisatore." Page 831; "Only a Fiddler."

led to Italy with a Royal stipend,—that is, an allowance out of a fund set apart to furnish travelling pensions to young Danish students, whe- Mier in literature or art.

When we speak of want of freshness, we must be understood gene- rally. Some of the incidents are perhaps more striking in their literal reality than in fictitious representation; and some details, unsuitable for fiction, are preserved in the biography. Moreover, the last ten or twelve years of The Story of 211y Life are new; and if? not so full of interest as the struggles of the poor, ill-educated, and virtually orphan boy, to fight his way in the world, have a feature in their display of character. This latter period may be divided into two parts,—the first when Andersen was eminent enough to be criticized, or as he thinks "attacked "; the second, when the translation of his works and foreign applause appear to have abated the severity of his home critics, or furnished a healing balm for their stings. During both periods, a sensitive vanity, redeemed by its simplicity and frankness, is the main feature of the story. Social remarks and a few critiques make him wretched : he flies to foreign travel to restore his shaken health and recover his composure : but even there criticism pursues him. At Paris, he only received one letter, and that a large one, postage unpaid : he opened it—to find a Danish journal with an attack upon him, which lasted him through France. On another occasion, he received letters at Rome, that spoke of a satire in which he was mentioned : but as they did not give a copy of what he says was poor wit, the dread of it tormented him till he left Naples and criticizing Europe behind him, for Greece. As a Swedish, German, and French reputation began to grow up, and foreigners, when he travelled amongst them, to Itte and serenade him, and even a German Duke to ask him to dinner, he bursts out in the fulness of delight—" How bright and beautiful is the world ! How good are human beings ! That it is a pleasure to live, be- comes ever more and more clear to me." On returning home, more honours awaited him. He was invited to accompany the living Majesties of Denmark in a tour, and daily dined with them. In the following re- flections on a day memorable to Andersen for several things, especially as being the anniversary of his arrival in Copenhagen, poor, obscure, and friendless, there is feeling enough to redeem many vanities.

"As I sat on the above-mentioned five-and-twentieth anniversary, on the 5th of September, at the royal dinner-table, the whole of my former life passed in review before my mind. I was obliged to summon all my strength to prevent myself burst- in into tears. There are moments of thankfulness in which, as it were, we feel a desire to press God to our hearts. How deeply I felt at this time my own no- thingness; how all, all, had come from Him. R' antzan knew what an interesting day this was to me. After dinner, the King and the Queen wished me happiness, and that so—graciously is a poor word—so cordially, so sympathizingly! The King wished me happiness in that which I had endured and won. Re asked me about my first entrance into the world; and I related to him some characteristic traits.

In the course of conversation, he inquired if I had not some certain yearly in- come: I named the sum to him.

" That is not much,' said the King.

"'Bat I do not require much,' replied I; and my writings procure me some- he King in the kindest manner inquired farther into my circumstances, and closed by saying,

" If I can in any way be serviceable to your literary labours, then come to me.'

"In the evening, during the concert, the conversation was renewed; and some of those who stood near me reproached me for not having made use of my oppor- tunity.

"

The King,' said they, 'put the very words into your month.' "But I could not, I would not have done it. If the King,' I said, 'found that I required i something More, he could give it to me of his own will.' "And I was not mistaken. In the following year King Christian VIII. in- creased my annual stipend; so that with this and that which my writings bring in, I can hve honourably and free from care. My King gave it to me out of the pare good-will of his own heart. King Christian is enlightened, clear-sighted, with a mind enlarged by science: the gracious sympathy, therefore, which he has felt in my fate is to me doubly cheering and ennobling.

His celebrity as an author, and Continental good-nature in the great, have brought Andersen into contact with princes and ministers ; but they seem to have dazzled his judgment t his accounts of the potentates are vague, and of their ministers rather general. His literary men are better, but curt : he is fullest and most at home with his first divinities, the players. The two following have an accidental English interest just now, from the presence of the heroines in Loudon.

JENNY LEND.

I now turn back to the year 1840. One day, in the hotel in which I lived in Gopeuhagen, I saw the name of Jenny Lind among those of the strangers from Sweden. I was aware at that time that she was the first singer in Stockholm. I had been that same year in this neighbour country, and had there met with honour and kindness: I thought, therefore, that it would not be unbecoming in mete pay a visit to the young artist. She was at this time entirely unknown ont of Sweden' so that I was convinced that even in Copenhagen her name was known only by few. She received me very courteously, but yet distantly, almost coldly. She was, as she said, on a journey with her father to South Sweden, and was come over to Copenhagen for a few days in order that she might see this city. We again parted, distantly; and I had the impression of a very ordinary character, which soon passed away from my mind. In the autumn of 1843 Jenny Lind came again to Copenhagen. One of my friends, our clever ballet-master Bournonville, who has married a Swedish lady, a friend of Jenny Lind, informed me of her arrival here, and told me that she re- membered me very kindly, and that now she had read my writings. He en- treated me to go with him to her, and to employ all my persuasive art to induce her to take a few parts at the Theatre Royal: I should, he said, be then quite enchanted with what I should hear.

I was not now received as a stranger; • she cordially extended to me her hand, and, spoke of my writings, and of Mies Fredrika Bremer, who also was her affec- tionate friend. The conversation was soon turned to her appearance in Copen- hagen; and of this Jenny Lind declared that she stood in fear. "I have never made my appearance," said she, "out of Sweden: everybody in my native land is so affectionate and kind to me, and if I made my appearance in Copenhagen and should be hissed I—I dare not venture on it."

said, that I, it was true, could not pass judgment on her singing, because I had never heard it neither did I know how she acted; but nevertheless I was convinced that such was the disposition at this moment in Copenhagen, that only

a moderate voice and some knowledge of acting would be au ; I believed that she might safely venture.

Bournonville's persuasion obtained for the Copenhageners the greatest enjoy- ment which they ever had.

Jenny Lind made her first appearance among them as Alice in Robert le Dia- ble—it was like a new revelation in the realms of art: the youthfully fresh voice forced itself into every heart; here reigned truth and nature; everything was full of meaning and intelligence. At one concert Jenny Lind sang her Swedish songs; there was something so peculiar in this, so bewitching, people thought nothing about the concert-room; the popular melodies, uttered by a being so purely feint.. nine, and bearing the universal stamp of genius, exercised their omnipotent sway —the whole of Copenhagen was in raptures. Jenny Lind was the first singer to whom the Danish students gave a serenade: torches blazed around the hospitable villa where the serenade was given: she expressed her thanks by again singing some Swedish songs; and I then saw her hasten into the darkest corner and weep for emotion.

"Yes, yes," said she, "I will exert myself; I will endeavour, I will be better qualified than I am when I again come to Copenhagen." On the stage, she was the great artiste, who rose above all those around her: at home, in her own chamber, a sensitive young girl with all the humility and piety of a child.

Her appearance in Copenhagen made an epoch in the history of our opera; it showed me art in its sanctity—I had beheld one of its vestals. She journeyed back to Stockholm; and from there Eredrika Bremer wrote to me—" With regard to Jenny Lind as a singer, we are both of us perfectly agreed; she stands as high as any artist of our time can stand: but asyet you do not know her in her full great. ness. Speak to her about her art, and you will wonder at the expansion of her mind, and will see her countenance beaming with inspiration. Converse then with her of God and of the holiness of religion, and you will see tears in those innocent eyes. She is great as an artist, but she is still greater in her pure human existence !'

There is not anything which can lessen the impression which Jenny Lind's greatness on the stage makes except her own personal character at home. An intelligent and child-like disposition exercises here its astonishing power. She is happy: belonging, as it were, no longer to the world, a peaceful, quiet home, is the object of her thoughts—and yet she loves art with her whole soul, and feels her vocation in it. A noble, pions disposition like hers, cannot be spoiled by ho- mage. On one occasion only did I hear her express her joy in her talent and her self-consciousness. It was during her last residence in Copenhagen. Almost every evening she appeared either in the opera or at concerts; every hour VMS in requisition. She heard of a society the object of which was to assist unfortu- nate children' and to take them out of the hands of their parents by whom they were misused and compelled either to beg or steal, and place them in other and better circumstances. Benevolent people subscribed annually a small sum each for their support; nevertheless the means for this excellent purpose. were small. "But have I not still a disengaged evening ? " said she: "let me give a night's performance for the benefit of these poor children—but we will have double prices!" Such a performance was given, and returned large proceeds: when she was informed of this, and that by this means a number of poor children would be benefited for several years, her countenance beamed, and the tears filled her eyes. "It is, however, beautiful," said she, "that I can sing so!"

RACHEL'S HOUSE IN PARIS.

At her house everything is rich and magnificent, perhaps too recherche. The innennost room was blue-green, with shaded lamps and statuettes of French an- thers. In the salon, properly speaking, the colour which prevailed principally in the carpets, curtains, and bookcases, was crimson. She herself was dressed in black, probably as she is represented in the well-known English steel engraving of her. Her guests consisted of gentlemen, for the greater part artists and men of learning; I also heard a few titles amongst them. Richly-apparelled servants announced the names of the arrivals: tea was drunk and refreshments handed round, more in the German than the French style.

Victor Hugo had told me that he found that she understood the German Ian

guage. I asked her; and she replied in German, " Ich kann es leant; ieh bin ja in Lothringen geboren; ich habe deutsche Becher, sehn Sie hier !" and she

showed me Grillparzer's "Sappho," and then immediately continued the conver-

sation in French. She expressed her pleasure in acting the part of Sappho; and then spoke of Schiller's "Maria Stuart," which character she has personated in a French version of that play. I saw her in this part; and she gave the last act especially with such a composure and tragic feeling that she might have been one of the best of German actresses: but it was precisely in this very act that the French liked her least. "My countrymen," said she, "are not accustomed to this manner; and in this manner alone can the part be given. No one should be raving when the heart 18 almost broken with sorrow, and when he is about to take an everlasting farewell of his friends." Her. drawingroom was for the most part decorated with books, which were splendidly bound and arranged in handsome bookcases behind glass. A paint- ing hung on the wall, which represented the interior of the theatre in London, where she stood forward on the stage, and flowers and garlands were thrown to her across the orchestra. Below this picture hung a pretty little book-shelf, hold- ing what I call "the high nobility among the poets,"—Goethe, Schiller, Calderon, Shakspere, &c.

She asked me many questions respecting Germany and Denmark, art, and the theatre; and she encouraged me with a kind smile around her grave month when I stumbled in French and stopped for a moment to collect myself, that I might not stick quite fast.

"Only speak," said she. "It is trite that you do not speak French well: I have heard many foreigners speak my native language better-' but their conver- sation has not been nearly as interesting as yours. I understand the sense of your words perfectly, and that is the principal thing which interests me in yon." The last time we parted, she wrote the following words in my album: , L'art c'est le vrai 1 J'espere pie cot aphorisms ne semblera pas paradoxal I tin eeri- vain si distingue coin me M. Andersen."