HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN IN SPAIN.*
THE principal charm of the writings of H. C. Andersen, the fervent love and admiration of all that is great, and good, and beautiful in the world, reaches its climax in the latest of his works, descriptive of a short trip through the Iberian penin- sula, entitled In Spain. Though now verging upon three score,
the Danish poet is more than ever joyful of life, warm in his feelings, and childlike in his wonder and admiration. The sketch of this little tour in Spain is nothing but a constant shout of rapture, of ecstacy, and delight, finding vent now in poetry and now in prose. With an enthusiastic praise of travelling—even of railway travelling—the book opens, and with a praise of life, and o( God who created the blessed course of human existence, the last chapter closes. The concluding lines are in verse :—
" I live, and, rejoicing, any soul is at rest,
Happy and quiet on eternity's breast.
Though my life be short, and I heed it not, It yet was a kiss from the lips of God."
" Des Leben let des schonste Miihrchen"—Life is the most beau- tiful tale—Andersen repeats over and over again. Those who reap doubt the charm of the" tale" he recommends to go to Spain. "Glance at the map, and you will see that Spain is the head of Europe, the fair maiden; I have looked deep into her beautiful eyes, her sweet face, and shall never, never forget her." The appeal is decidedly more powerful, as well as more felicitous, than the famous "Feder Napoli e poi morire I" Andersen's happy journey through the Iberian peninsula began at Perpignan, where he took the stage over the Pyrenees. Two Spanish ladies, mother and daughter, were his travelling com- panions in the coupe', "both in crinolines of unwarrantable size," the mamma very sleepy, but the daughter most loquacious. Though knowing no Spanish, the author felt himself in duty bound, as a man and a poet, to say something to the young lady, on whose steel-hoop he was sitting as on a balloon, and he, therefdre, began a4-sight of the sea with "El marl" There- upon the fair Spaniard started off in a musical rattle, not giving her tongue any rest for the whole of the remaining journey. It was elocution under difficulties, for a road there was not, the dili- gence being drawn by twelve strong mules, over rocks, stones, and stumps of trees, up hill and down hill, through rapid streams and deep rivers, passing which the travellers had to lift their feet high in the air, performing curious gymnastic evolutions. There was no accident, however, for, as explained, "the coach had no time to turn over." At last the town of Medina was reached and the railway-station. Andersen's views on the modern iron high roads differ considerably from those of many other people. "There is much talk," he says, "about 'the poetry of travelling' having been lost with the old fashion of being drawn along by horses. To me it seems that the real poetry has commenced with railways. We now rush onward on the wings of steam ; picture upon picture, in rich variety, rise to the right and left, and towns and villages, hills and valleys, forests and mountains, are thrown upon us like bouquets of flowers!'
• In Spaniers. Von H. C. Andersen. Deutsche, von. Vertaaser besorgte Original- Ausgabe. Leipzig: L. Wiedemann. London: Dolan and Co.
While flying along on the railway from Medina to Barcelona Andersen gives free vent to his poetical feelings. "How magni- ficent," he exclaims, "it is to slide swiftly through a land our heart has longed for—swiftly, in the blight moonlight, towards the rolling sea. Words are poor, even song is poor, to express such delight. In me it expressed itself in a fervent though silent hymn of praise to the great, good God. . . . It was on the 6th of September that I, a boy, set foot, for the first time, at Copen- hagen; on the 6th of September, many years later, that I stepped, for the first time, on the soil of Italy ; and now, on the same day, in the same month, my eyes beheld Spain. 'It so happened,' as the saying is ; or, 'accident ordered it so.' "—It is in no such " accident " that Hans Christian Andersen believes; but in the ruling of an all-wise Providence, which lifted him, the poor cobbler's boy, from out of poverty and despair; which gained him the esteem and love of his fellow-men, and allowed him to see and admire the great and beautiful world. These thoughts and feelings re-echo, as in all the works of Andersen, so in this last book on Spain. Simple as a child, like all true men of genius, his heart is constantly overflowing with gratitude for all that heaven has granted him; and he scarcely ever remembers the troubles and hardships of the world. The past, like the future, appears to him in the light of morning, never fading and never failing. All the anxieties and sufferings of that terrible 6th of September, when he arrived at Copenhagen, a helpless, homeless boy, with scarce a penny in his pocket, and not a friend, save his widowed old mother, in the wide world; when he was scorned and despised by men; trgated as a beggar, which, indeed, he seemed ; and looked down upon as an outcast by the respectable, polished, well-dressed society of the Danish capital—all these calamities and miseries he has long forgotten. He only remembers the romance of his life ; the happiness and sunshine granted to him by a kind Maker and Ruler of all things, whose very name implies the essence of benignity. It is a fact upon which Andersen lovers to dwell that, in the Teutonic languages, the word God is derived from good. Both the German and Danish race of zealots have been very hard upon him for this admission. The King of Hanover especially, who patronizes Satan, and has tried hard for the last ten years to get him a place of honour in the Hanoverian catechism, has set more than once the police at the heels of poor Andersen.
Spaniards cannot be but highly pleased with the description which the Danish poet gives of their country. He says that before venturing across the Pyrenees all his friends advised him in the sense of Punch's counsel to those about to marry—Don't! The roads, they said, were frightful ; the vehicles mere instru- ments of torture ; all highways and byways infested by robbers; the inns swarming with vermin and cutthroats ; and last, not least, no dinner to be had anywhere, either for love or money. Notwithstanding these frightful prospects held out before him, Andersen ventured into the peninsula, and was delighted to find that everything was just the contrary of what it had been described to him. Certainly, the ordinary roads were not as smooth and well-kept as a Prussian Landstrasse ; but they were passable nevertheless, and what defect they possessed, in an engineering point of view, was richly compensated, at least to the poet's mind, by the rich scenery on either side. As to the rail- ways, the traveller describes them as far superior to anything of the kind in northern Europe. A first-class carriage in Spain means not a narrow cabin with stuffy, dirty seats, a continual draught from one side to the other, and no more room to move than in a barrel of herrings ; but a large apartment, with sofas all round, with damask curtains, and the softest of cushions, and space enough to walk, or sit, or lie down at leisure. The French, who sneer at Spain, have nothing to equal this comfort in travel- ling; and their sense of luxury is surpassed even in what they fancy they possess in highest perfection, their cafés. Speaking of Barcelona, Andersen says :—" In no other country in the world had I seen such splendid cafés, so much magnifi- cence combined with so much exquisite taste, as here. Paris itself stands far behind in this respect. I used to visit a café in the Rambla gorgeously lighted by hundreds of gas jets ; the ceiling, very tastefully painted, was carried by slender and elegant columns ; on the walls hung first-rate paintings and costly mirrors, and all round the apartment ran a large gallery, giving access to numerous saloons and retiring-rooms. Adjoining the chief apartment was a garden full of fountains and exotic flowers, covered by a tent roof during the day, and open at night to the stars and the soft light of the moon." But the greatest calumny of Spanish life, the author holds, is to say that the inns and hotels have nothing to eat. He thinks that, on
the contrary, the art of feeding has been carried to the highest
• perfection in the peninsula, the maximum of irreproachable victuals being obtained at a minimum price. Here is an example which must carry conviction even to travellers who have "done" Norway with a knapsack on their shoulders. When at the ancient city of Murcia, Andersen and a friend took up their quarters at the first hotel, the "Antigua casa de la hospedage de la cruz," where they had the best of everything that kitchen and cellar offered, including game, fowl, the finest fruit, and the best wines. For lodging and board in this style the two travellers paid sixteen reales per day, being at the rate of one shilling and eightpence each. The fact, we think, needs but to be known to make Murcia and the "Antigua casa " the head- quarters of the legion of perambulating ladies and gentlemen who enjoy "limited incomes."
Andersen's itinerary was by way of Barcelona, Valencia, Alicante, Murcia, Malaga, and Granada to Gibraltar. From thence he made a trip across the straits to the African coast, then came back to Cadiz, and by way of Sevilla went to Madrid. The road home was by Toledo and Bnrgos, and over the Pyrenees to Biarritz. He thus visited nearly all the important towns of Spain, of the whole of which, with one exception, he speaks in the highest terms of praise and admiration. The exception was Granada, where, he says, "I felt as if a whole heap of miseries came tumbling down upon me." It was here he fell ill, was robbed and cheated, had to pay extravagantly for modest accommodation, and, he exclaims, "received more than one letter in which 1 felt the cruel-cold breath of the land to which I am tied witlrbody and soul r The allusion will be understood by those who are acquainted with the details of Andersen's life and career, illus- trated, on this occasion, by a little anecdote having reference to the robbery at Granada. The writings of Andersen, it is well known, have met with an immense popularity, and been trans- lated in most of the European languages, in spite of which the criticism of his own countrymen has always been strangely hostile to him. For many years, the influential literary journals of Copenhagen treated his productions either with silent or expressed contempt, while many low-class papers did not spare invective against one accused, right or wrong, of the dreadful crime of "Germanizing tendencies." On the occasion of one of these bitter newspaper attacks, Andersen tells us, "when I was very sad [tief betriibt], I was cheered up by Oehlenschlager." The noble poet of " Correggio," in his deep sympathy with his suffering sensitive friend, took from his own neck the decoration of the order of the "Northern Star," and fastened it to Andersen's breast, with words of kindness and encouragement. This precious gift of a great and kind friend, which, Andersen says, "I carried with me on my journey as an amulet," was stolen from him in an un- explained manner at Granada. The loss, which he considered most severe, and his illness, and the " cruel-cold letters "—probably extracts from the Copenhagen journals, sent by kind friends at home—were the only things that embittered the poet's sojourn in sunny Spain. To the heavy hotel charges he only alludes in passing, yet in a way that is quite touching. "The living here was dearer than it ought to have been, and the consequence was that the time I had allowed myself for the Spanish tour was shortened by several weeks." Fortune, it seems, has not come together with fame to Hans Christian Andersen.
Among the prettiest sketches of the book is the description of the author's trip from Gibraltar to the African coast, whither he went by invitation from the English Consul-General, Sir John Drummond Hay. The family of Sir John, consisting of his wife, a daughter of the late Danish Consul-General in Morocco, M. Carstensen, and two daughters, were living in an Oriental Villa close to the sea, which existence seemed to the poet like one of the wonders of the Thousand and One Night Tales. The English comfort and luxury within the house, the tropical vegetation in the garden and terraces, and the howling of the jackals, with an occasional real lion, within a stone's throw of all this European art and elegance, strongly impressed the traveller from the north. "I lived as in a dream," he exclaims, "through golden days and nights never to be forgotten, adding a new and rich leaf to the wonderful legend of my life." Here once more Andersen strikes the key-note of his thoughts and musings. It is as if he cries, again and again, " How wonderful that I, a poor untaught orphan boy, born to poverty and obscurity, should have been carried thus far in the stream of mysterious existence ! " The mental portrait thus formed becomes life-like by the pretty little sketch
which Bayard Taylor gives of the poet, whom he visited at Copenhagen, in 1857. " He " (Andersen), says Bayard Taylor, "was greatly delighted when my friend, told him of having read his
'Improvisatore ' in the Sandwich Islands. 'Why, is it possible?' he exclaimed ; when I hear of my books going so far around the earth, I sometimes wonder if it can be really true that I have written them." There is a charming simplicity in remarks like these, coming from such a man as our Danish poet. The descrip- tion of his tour in Spain is full of the expression of similar senti- ments, clothing the story with a peculiar charm seldom found in books of travel. The peninsula has often been painted by admiring as well as detracting artists, but none have given such brilliant tints to the sketch as Hans Christian Andersen.
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