ANDERSEN ' S IMPROVISATORE.

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN is a Danish celebrity, who seems to us to be rather characterized by poetical temperament than by poetical power, and to possess the superficial brilliancy and fluent rhetoric that belong to the "gifted" improvisatore, rather than the sound judgment, deep thought, and regulated imagination, which distinguish the great genius. The struggles and difficulties of his youth have no doubt ope- rated unfavourably on the formation of his intellectual charaCter. /Es parents• were. in an abject state of poverty; but they seem to havel had a feeling above their condition. Hans Christian was born in 1805, .and educated at a charity-school. His first occupation was reading to the widow and sister of Bunkeflod, .a small Danish poet. The books he area called upon-to read, and the reputation of the deceased with his own determined-the child's destiny. He composed a tragedy to begin .with; which, together with a subsequent production in the comic vein, exposed him to the ridicule of his companions and the censure of his schoolmaster. His father having died, and his mother's poverty in- _creasing, the boy was sent to a manufactory ; where a beautiful voice and a facility of recitation excited the attention of the journeymen, and the other lads were forced to do his work while Master Hans sang Danish songs and recited scenes from plays. Possibly he presumed upon this ; at all events, he got some sound drubbings ; ran home, and re- fused to go any more to the factory. At this time he was twelve years old : his mother thought of making him a tailor ; the neighbours said he should become a player. Some of the higher families in his native city of Odensee so far patronized him as to have him to their houses for-the sake of his singing and self-exhibition ; but his chief employment, for a year or two, was reading such books as he could get hold of, especially a prose translation of Shakspere, dressing puppets to act plays, and wan- dering in the woods. When the time came that he should be apprenticed to the tailor, he vehemently resisted; and, after consultation with a for- tune-teller, his mother permitted him to start for Copenhagen, with his strivings, amounting to thirty shillings English, (how acquired, we cannot conjecture,) and a letter of introduction to a danseuse at the theatre royal, who was to act the part of patroness towards him. Andersen's ap- pearance was not likely to conciliate the favour of the corps de ballet; the .:dancer knew nothing of the gentleman who had written to her ; the boyish poet's manners and discourse impressed her with the idea that he was insane. An attempt upon the manager was equally unsuccessful. His first objection, that the candidate was too thin, Andersen disposed of by offering to get fatter—at the manager's expense. The offended mo- mnarch of the players then delivered his ultimatum—he " was not in the habit of engaging any but people of education."

For some years after this, Andersen's life was that of a dependent and eleemosynary genius—" toil, envy, want, the patron " ; and the "gaol " was only not added because nobody would trust him. His money was exhausted ; he could get no employment ; he was tramping the streets disconsolately, when

" It occurred to him that nobody asyet had heard his fine voice. Full of this thought, he hastened to the house of Professor Siboni, the director of the Royal 'Conservatorium, where a large party was that day at dinner, among whom were Bag nthe 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 re- lated quite openheartedly how forlorn and friendless he was, and how great was 'his desire to be engaged at the theatre; which the goodnatured young serving- woman immediately retailed again to the company; who became curious to see .the little adventurer, as Baggesen called him. Ife was now ordered in, and was desirel to sing before the company, and to declaim scenes from Holberg. Whilst he was so doing, he came to a passage which brought to his remembrance his own melancholy circumstances, and he burst into tears. The company applauded him.

" I prophesy,' said Baggesen, that he will tarn out something some day; only don't become vain when the public applauds thee,' said he to him."

• 'Siboni undertook to teach him singing ; but before the rudiments were mastered his voice broke. The poet Guldbrog, finding the youth could "scarcely write a word correctly," gave him instruction in Danish and trxermma ; Weyse, Huhlau, and others, furnished him some little assist- lame ; Guldbrog engaged an actor to teach him declamation ; a Danish Vestiis volunteered to make a dancer of him ; and he was permitted to sing in the choruses and to take a part in the ballets, but no ostensible 'debut was allowed. He scribbled some dramas which were not accepted ; and he was tossed about hither and thither, pretty much in rags, till he Tell under the notice of the " distinguished Conference-Councillor Col- lin," who procured him what we should call a "nomination" to a pub- lic-school. The master, having no opinion of a •youth of seventeen that had to be placed with boys often, ill-used him ; and Collin, having heard lof•the pedant's harshness, placed his protégé under a private tutor. "A year after this, in 1828, Andersen was academical citizen of Copenhagen." Shortly afterwards, he published his first printed work : it was received with much applause; and he then commenced the career of a ready svriter,—producing tours, poetry, dramas. Some years later, he was enabled to travel in Italy. On his return, he published the work before ns, apparently his most successful production. Its subject is essentially his own career ; the scene 'being transferred from Denmark to Italy, and *the narrative altered with the design of giving it a more romantic in- terest and a little adore of dignity than the original possessed.

The plan is not badly contrived in this point of view, or for the exhi- iition of Italian character and scenery. Antonio, the improvisatore, hero, and autobiographer of the fiction, is represented as a young Roman of poor parents, whose widowed mother is accidentally killed by the car- liege of a noble. The money he sends as an expiation is of no advantage to the boy, who is brought up by old peasants of the Campagna; which serves to introduce some pictures of that region. By an accident, for which novelists are never at a loss, Antonio saves the life of the noble by 'whose horses his mother had perished; is carried to Rome, put to the 'Jesuits' school, petted when young for his extemporaneous verses, pa- tronized when grown up, and led through a variety of adventures, at Naples, Venice, and other places, all tending to introduce Italian scenery, or some incidents which had their counterpart in Andersen's own career. The theatrical part of the business is indicated in the episode of Annun- Ciata, a paragon of an actress, with whom Antonio 'is violently in love; but the lady beingailent, besides kissing his rival when Antonio avows his passion, he wanders away, to fall into adventures; only meeting Annun- iiiata again when she has lost her voice by illness, and is reduced to the last misery—an actress retaining her skill and ambition, but devoid of -the physical power to attract applause. 'The childishness which seems long to have stuck by Andersen, and possibly has not quite left him now, 'is shadowed in the attempts of Santa, a Neapolitan dame galante,Ito in- veigle the simple-minded religious, pupil of theJesuits into a liaison. -The miseries of patronage are well enough pictured, in the description of-his dependent life at Rome; where his patrons are supercilious, the guests indifferent, and all prone to carp and criticize. There are some other episodes, of a purely romantic kind; one-of them ending inthe improvi- satore's marriage to a lady of fortune.

The character of this work is altogether exotic—in matter, Style,' tone, and moral views; and we should think pretty much as exotic-to Danes as to Britons, unless in the last article. There is none of that indigenous and primitive air which gave such character and attraction to the best Swedish novels of Frederika Bremer, opening up a new world of man- ners. On the contrary, the plan and the style seem both borrowed from the modern French school ; the faults and merits of which are each con- spicuous in The Improvisatore. It has their skilful selection and group- ing of subjects, their forceful and fluent -rhetoric, their rapid succes- sion of character and incident, mixed with occasional long-winded de- scriptions and discussions. On the other hand, it displays their gross and palpable tricks of art, their scenes that end in nothing, their-affecta- tion of sentiment, and of morals when a -Frenchman is trying to seem pure. It is, however, a very clever and skilful book ; but indebted.for its real attraction to the manner in which it shadows forth Andersen% own career, and to its florid descriptions of Italian life and land- scapes,—though these, sooth to say, have a very theatrical air, like the reflections of nature that scene-painting exhibits. Such is this picture.

SUMMER IN THE CAMPAGNA.

When the rainy season was over, the heavens showed for whole months Itheir unchangeable blue. I then obtained leave to go out, but not too far, nor too near to the aver, because the soft ground might so easily fall in with me, said Dome- nico. Many buffaloes also grazed there, which were wild and dangerous; but, nevertheless, those had for me a peculiar and strange interest. The something i

dmmon-like in the look of the buffalo—the strange red fire which gleamed 'in -its eyeballs—awoke in me a feeling like that which drives the bird into the fangs of the snake. Their wild running, swifter than the speed of a horse their mutual combats, where force meets with force, attracted ray whole attention. I scrawled figures in the sand to represent what I had seen, and, to make this the more in- telligible, I sang it all in its own peculiar words to its own peculiar melody, to the great delight of old Domelike, who said that I was a wise child, and fatness sweetly as the angels in heaven. The sun burnt hotter day by day; its beams were like a sea of fire which streamed over the Campagna. The stagnant water infected the air; we could only go out in the morning and evening: such heat as this I had not known in Rome upon the airy Monte Pincio, although I well remembered then the hot time when the beggars had prayed for a small coin, not for bread but for a glass of iced water. I thought in particular about the delicious green water-melons whiCh lay one on another, divided. in halves, and showed the purple-red flesh with the black seeds; my lips were doubly parched with thinking of these. The sun burned perpendicularly; my shadow seemed as if it would vanish under-my feet. The buffaloes lay like dead masses upon the burnt-up grass, or, excited to mad- ness, flew, with the speed of arrows, round in great circles. Thus ny.soul con-

ceived an idea of the travellers' sufering in the burning deserts of Africa. ,

During two months we lay there like a wreck in the world's sea. Not a sines living creature visited us. All business was done in the night, or. else in the early hours of morning; the unhealthy atmosphere and the scorching heat excited fever-fire in my blood; not a single drop of anything cold could be had for refresh- ment; every marsh was dried up; warm yellow water flowed sleepily in the bed of the Tiber; the juice of the melon was warm; even wine, although it lay hidden among stones and rubbish, tasted sour and half boiled; and not a cloud, not a single cloud, was to be seen on the horizon; day and night always the everlasting never-changing blue. Every evening and morning we prayed for rain, or else a fresh breeze; every evening and morning, Domenica looked to the mountains to see if no cloud raised itself; but night alone brought shade—the sultry shade of night; the sirocco alone blew through the hot atmosphere for two long long months. At the sun's rise and setting alone was there a breath of fresh air; but a dul- ness, a death-like lethargy produced by the heat, and the frightful weariness which it occasioned, oppressed my whole being. This and all kind of tormenting insects, which seemed destroyed by the heat, awoke at the first breath of air to redoubled life; they fell upon us in myriads with their poison-stings; the buffaloes often looked as if they were covered over with this buzzing swarm, which beset them as if they were carrion, until, tormented to madness, they betook themselves to the Tiber and rolled themselves in the yellow water. The Roman, who in the hot summer days groans in the almost expiring streets, and crawls along by the house-sides, as if he would drink up the shadow which is cast down from the walls, has still no idea of the sufferings in the Campagna, where every:breath which he draws is snl .hurous, poisonous fire; where insects and crawling thinge,

like daimons, torment who is condemned to live in this sea of flame.

This is in- another vein, but better, because drawn from a deeper im- pression.

PATRONAGE.

I was considered as an excellent young man of talent, out of whom so might be made; and, therefore, every one took upon himself my education. dependence permitted it to those with whom I stood connected; my good-nature permitted it to all the rest. Livingly and deeply did I feel the bitterness of my position, and yet I endured it. That was an education. Excellenza lamented over my want of the fundamental principles of knowledge: it mattered not how much soever I might read: it was n but the sweet honey, which was to serve for my trade, which I

out of books. The friends of the house,. as well as of my p trons, kept comparing me with the ideal in their own minds, and thus I could not do other than fall short. The mathematician said that I had too much imagination, and too little reflection: the pedant, that I had not sufficiently occupied myself with the Latin language. The politician always asked me, in the social circle, about the political news, in which I was not at home, and inquired, only to show my want of knowledge. A young nobleman, who only lived for his horse, lamented over my small experience in horse-flesh, and united with others in a Miserere over me, because I had more interest in myself than in his horse.. A noble lady- friend of the house, who, on account of her rank and great self-sufficiency, had gained the reputation of great wisdom and critical acumen, but who had actually very little of the sense she pretended to, requested that she-might go through-my poems, with iermence to their beauty and structure; but she must have:them copied out on loose papers. Habbas Dandah considered me as a person whose talent bad at one time promised great things, but which had now died out The first dancer in the city despised me because .I could not make a figure in the ball-room; thegra, because I made use of a full stop where he placerta semicolon; andFrancesca said, that I was quite spoiled, because people made so much of me; and for that reason she must be severe, and give me the benefit of her instruction. Every one cast his poison-drop upon my heart: I felt that it mast either bleed or heoonae callous.