SPECTATOR'S LIBRARY.

GEOGRAPHY,

The World Surveyed in the Nineteenth Century; or recent Narratives of Scienthle and Exploratory Expeditions. (Undertaken chiefly by command of Foreign Governments.) Translated, and where necessary abridged, by W. D. Cooley. Vol. I.—Parrot's Journey to Ararat Longman and Co. Tasvm.s, Scenes on the Shores of the Atlantic. By the Author of " Souvenirs of a Summer

in Germany," &c. &c. In two volumes Newby.

MILITARY ADVENTURE,

Recollections of Four Years' Service in the East with H. 3f. Fortieth Regiment : comprising an Account of the Taking of Kurrachee, in Lower Scinde, in 1839 ; Operations in Upper Scinde, in 1840 and 1841 ; and the Operations of the Candabar Division of " the Avenging Army of Afghanistan," In 1841 and 1842, under Major. General Sir W. Nott, G.C.B. By J. Martin Bladen Neill, Captain in the Fortieth

Regiment Bender.

FICTION,

Only a Fiddler ! and 0. T., or Life In Denmark. By the Author of " The Improvilla. tore, or Life in Italy." Translated by Mary Howitt. In three volumes.

Bentkg: POETRY,

King Rene's Daughter ; a Lyric Drama. From the Danish of llenrich Herta. By Jane Frances Chapman, Translator of " Waldemar." Smith and Elder.

ONLY A FIDDLER! AND 0. T.

Or these two fictions by Hans Christian Andersen, the subject of Only a Fiddler! is essentially the same as that of his former novel : the privations, dreams, and mental struggles, of a poor and perhaps an im- perfect genius, form the theme of each. Only a Fiddler 1 is, how. ever, a far superior work. The scene is laid in Denmark, where the an- thor's own miseries and struggles took place ; everything both in the picture of the hero's mind and in the accessories is consequently more na- tural and truthful. The author has done little more than vary and idealize his individual experiences : indeed, several of the passages are evidently transcripts from his own life as briefly indicated in his auto- biography. A musical genius in abject poverty, without the means of acquiring a fiddle, a book, or the slightest instruction—placed through the rough kindness of a skipper with a provincial musician—leaving him to try Copenhagen, on the strength of recommendations as futile as Andersen himself took thither, and striving against patronage, poverty, and starvation in a great eapital—are much more within the author's experience and calibre than the improvisatore of Italy, protected by good friends, and suffering rather by wild aspirations and deficient industry than the pressure of want. Hans Christian Andersen is also more at home in describing life in Denmark than life in Italy, especially the kind of life he has naturally to present,—the connexions of a poor journeyman tailor ; a mother left a widow with an afflicted son, and going through all the vulgar spells to cure him ; the boy tossed about the world, mingling with the very dregs of society, or the foolish patrons and dis- reputable practitioners of the lower arts, and seen by the better classes only as a sort of show. Andersen is, we think, equally true to nature in exhibiting his hero, Christian, failing in his high aspirations, settling down as a country teacher, and dying early of disappointed hopes or an under- mined constitution. The laxity of the moral tone is quite as natural, but not quite as well fitted for English readers.

Though the incidents in Only a Fiddler! are sufficient, it is not to be considered as a novel of adventure, but as a display of character and manners. In the case of Christian the fiddler hero, and Naomi the heroine, the author's aim is deeper. He endeavours to depict the inmost feelings of childhood, and childhood with strong or peculiar tendencies, when the opening mind first looks abroad in the visible world, and, com- paring it with the fairy tales it has heard, or on the principle of " omne ignottun pro magnifico," magnifies the commonest productions of nature or art into supernatural scenes or objects. This species of metaphysics personified has not unfrequently been attempted, but never, we think, with such success as by Andersen in time earlier scenes of Only a Fiddler I though its use requires great judgment, as it is rather philosophy than fiction. A moral purpose seems to lurk in some of the middle or later parts ; which, so far as we can make it out, is to inspire sympathy with the outcasts of society, by showing that they are as much the victims of circumstances as of vice,—often a melancholy fact, but involving so many considerations of weakness, vicious disposition, or ill-governed temper, in addition to extenuating circumstances, that the philosophy of the case is beyond Hans Christian Andersen's cast of mind and acquire- ments.

Time romance, as in all these Northern novels, is indifferent, and in very equivocal moral taste. In Only a Fiddler I it turns npon the character of Naomi. This heroine is the natural daughter of a Jewess, under circumstances similar to those on which the plot of Otway'a Orphan is founded. Taken care of by her grandfather in infancy, on his death by fire she is brought up by the nobleman who seduced her mo- ther. An independent, fiery, selfish nature, coupled with the mystery and stigma of her birth, induce her alternately to slight and coquet with poor Christian, and subsequently to elope with a strolling equestrian, of Byronic appearance. To do Andersen justice, however, he confines the resemblance to outward look : M. Ladislaf, the horse-rider, talks very little, and that in strict conformity to his character. He is, too, beaten at last; whilst Naomi's protector's wealth carries her through. The story is also contrived with more consistency and judgment than Frederika Bremer's analogous adventures. Nor is it devoid of skill, assuming. a state of society where young women moving " in the first circles" elope with mountebanks, and that a heroine should be one who

can inspire no sympathy: s

From the character of the work it is well adapted to partial reading; as it depends for effect upon the minute painting of particular scenes, the development of peculiar characters, and the exhibition of Danish life, rather than upon a rapid and stirring narrative of events. Here, for example, is a good scene, and complete in itself--the burial of Naomi's grand- father, who lost his life by returning to the fire in which his property was destroyed. "Old Joel" is an an attached sort of follower or servant

Christian's father, the " tailor," has been a traveller in his youth, and is enthusiastic about Southern lands.

AN OUTCAST'S FUNERAL.

In the almost empty hovel stood old Joel, near to where the hole was in the wall. He supported himself against the wall, whilst his dark moist eye was riveted upon an object which, imperfectly covered, lay on an empty bedstead. thin pale lips moved convulsively, and in a scarcely audible voice he spoke the following words to himself—" A box, then, shall be thy coffin, thou rich son of the race of Solomon ! the apron of a poor woman thy pall ! Ah ! no daughters of Israel will wash thy body; the red flames have done that. The fire was more dry than the herbs, more red than the roses which we cast into the bath of our dead. But thy tombstone shall stand at Bet achaint,* even should poor Joel be thy only follower. Thou shalt enter thy consecrated grave, where the black under- ground stream will carry thee to Jerusalem." He removed the apron, and raised the lid from the box in which lay the con- sumed remains of his master: his lips quivered convulsively, tears streamed down over his wrinkled cheeks, but his words were hollow and not to be understood.

"Lord Jesus be merciful to him!" exclaimed Marie, as she entered; but a blush overspread her countenance when she had spoken these words: she feared to have wounded the mourner by pronouncing the holy name in which he did not believe. " God may," repeated she, therefore, quickly and with emphasis—" God will be Merciful to him."

"His tombstone shall stand near his daughter's," said Joel, and again covered the melancholy remains.

"She lies buried in Frideritz," said Marie; "you must be taken a long distance to find a grave. I remember very well the night she was removed: her coffin was packed in straw, and her father, who now lies there in coal and ashes, and you, Joel, were with it. The rain fell in torrents from heaven. The poor child is the only one remaining. The old grandfather was Naomi's sole support," " Her mother was of our people," pursued Joel; and then added, in a somewhat proud tone, "our community allows no one of its body to perish. I, old man as I am, shall receive my bread, and I will divide it with her, if she find not a place at a more wealthy table. In the house of the Christian belongs the Christian child," added he, but in so low a tone that Marie could not bear.

" The child is with us," returned Marie: "for God's sake, let her remain here until something better offers: where the pot cooks for three, a fourth can eat his meal."

Late on the following evening, when it was become dark and quiet in the streets, there moved along a little band through the town towards the bridge of boats: first went the tailor, with a little lantern in his hand; Joel followed him, his bundle on his shoulder, the box under his arm; Marie, with Christian and Naomi, brought up the rear. The little girl wept bitterly; Joel kissed her hand and brow, and went on board the yacht, which was lying under weigh. But few words were exchanged. Silently stood the rest of the party on the bridge, where the cables were loosened.

And by the light of the rising moon did Christian see how the sails unfolded themselves, and the vessel glided slowly along over the mirror of the sea, for all outlines showed themselves distinctly in this moon-twilight. Poets tell us of the gypsies who took down their chief from the gallows, placed

crown upon his head, and clothed him in a purple robe, thus to !ay him in the stream which should bear him to Egypt, where he would rest in the pyramids. A similar thought filled the boy's soul: it seemed to him as if Joel were travel- ling with the dead into a distant land of fancy, which perhaps was not far from the Jewish city Jerusalem.

"How similar to the Rhine scenery near Mayence!" exclaimed the tailor, pointing across the straits to the island of Thorseng.

" Good Heavens !" exclaimed Marie, "how is it possible for thee to think of 'such things now? We ought to be in a rather graver mood, even though it be a .Jew whom we bury. Poor people! even in death they have no rest: they must even travel to be laid beneath the earth!"

She looked sorrowfully after the vessel, which slowly glided along the waves, and every moment removed itself from the eyes of those who remained behind.

A DANISH GARDEN.

In country-towns, generally, each house has a garden; but the tailor's house had none. Yet one must have some sort of a garden, if it be only to grow a little garlick in; and this they had managed. It was, if we may be allowed to . say so, a kind of banging-garden, such as the poor in Northern countries possess. A large box filled with earth was their garden: it was fastened up high on the roof of the neighbouring house, so that the ducks might not get to it.

Is green stuff wanted for the kitchen, a ladder must be put up to the box; and this had to be done out of the kitchen. Between the shelves, ornamented with their pewter-plates and dishes, and the hearth, was the ladder fixed; one person held the unsteady stairs whilst the other ascended to the ceiling, and, with half their body protruding through the opening, reached the garden. It was, indeed, a joy for the little lad when his turn came to climb up the ladder ! Once he had been permitted, swinging in his mother's arms, to ascend out of the opening, and even touch the edge of the box with his feet.

The two following seem evidently extracts from Hans Christian Ander- sen's own experience.

PATRONAGE.

" Ah, dear Sir," said he, and the tears came into his eyes, "I have nobody in -the whole city who can help me. Yet so gladly as I would learn music ! Oh, I would think night and day upon that which people would tell me." And he re- lated to the Count about his home, and described to him his wholly helpless con- dition.

The Count looked compassionately on him; and Christian pressed the hand of the kind gentleman to his lips, wetted it with his tears, and besought him to let him be his servant. He would clean his boots and shoes, run errands for him, or whatever else it might be, if he would only assist him, so that he might be able to learn what was necessary, that at length he might become such an artist as those of whom he had told him.

" Yet, my good youth," said the Count, " that is not so easy as you fancy it to be. Besides this, you must also be possessed of a great deal of genius; and whether that is the case or no, time can only prove. You MUST NEVER FORGET THAT YOU ARE A POOR CHILD If you are possessed of real genius, it will make for itself a track, though you may have to buffet about on the sea for yet another long year. Per aspera ad ash-a! Adversity purifies. If it be so that anything is to come out of you, a higher power will help you; that you may of a surety believe! I, alas ! can do nothing for yon; I have so many others to care for."

With these words he drew out his purse, and gave the boy a silver dollar; re- peating at the same time the consoling assurance that real talent always made for itself a way. He then folded his cloak more closely about him, and leaned his head on the wall in order to sleep.

A REHEARSAL AND SUCCESSFUL DABUT.

By means of a dirty back-staircase the temple of Thalia in the fifth story was reached, in which the actors looked as if they bad all been set upon a waiter. It was a rehearsal; and therefore the greatest disunion and confusion prevailed. The lover threatened that he would immediately go his ways if it were not per- mitted to him to interpolate wherever he was not able to remember his part. That which he said was just as good as that which stood in the book, and it * Bet achaim," i.e. the house of the living; the name given by the Jews to their bmial-grounds.—Authoes Note.

might quite as well be permitted to him as to the war-counsellor to make inter- polations. The lady of thirty, who was to act the grandmother, would on no , consideration allow that she should be painted older: she looked quite old enough, she said, very prudishly. In short, all was strife and discord. At length the Friday evening came. Christian borrowed a black suit of clothes, and his hostess curled his hair with the fire-tongs. His cheeksglowed, his heart beat violently, as the curtain rose and he now stood there before the whole, for the most part, citizen-public which stared at him.

He played extremely well; and the directors received him behind the scenes, shook him by the hand, and complimented him. A barber, who played the violin himself, and a lottery-collector who beat the kettle-drum, sprung upon the stage to thank him, and lifted him up into the third heaven by praising his flageolet- tones and his wonderful management of his instrument.

"My fortune is made," thought Christian: "this evening everybody will s only of me, will think only of me." Every performer, down to the poor satellite who has only spoken the single word " Back ! ' had thought the same of his per- formance. Not until half-past eleven was the representation at an end; and only in regard to him can it be said of this sort of pleasure that it holds out. Christian could not sleep when he was come back to his garret: he looked out into the star-bright night, and thought upon his good fortune, on Lucie and Peter \leek, on warm summer days, and on Naomi. Every letter which he wrote home breathed joy and youthful courage; he ex- pressed in them livingly every hope. His mother received gladly the sweet thought that his fortune was already half made; he was admitted really into great families, and played his violin in the theatre! In her poverty she imagined it to be a splendid life. She knew his good heart; and as God had taken her little child to himself, she got a seat as gratis passenger beside the driver, and set off, although but poorly, in the middle of winter, to Copenhagen, that she might live there with her Christian, of whose good fortune she had told all her neighbours and friends.

It would be such a surprise to her dear son when she arrived!—and so, indeed, it was.

There sat now the mother and son in that little three-cornered garret ! The snow blew in at the window, and the hostess was discontented with the visit.

"Things are going on well with thee," said Marie: "with me they got worse: but thou-hast indeed a good heart. I thank my God that he has given thee to me for comfort."

She slept upon Christian's bed; and he stood at the window, at the frozen win- dow, and prayed with a pious heart—" Thou God of mercy have pity upon us!"

0. T. or Life in Denmark is inferior to Only a Fiddler! It shows as much skill in depicting Danish modes of life and character as affected by manners; but they are rather introduced for themselves than as a medium of a story, and want the interest which attaches to Only a Fiddler! from its obvious reference to the author. The incidents are the commonplaces of daily life,—well once, but the number of Frederika Bremer's works, where the same mode of painting prevails, has palled the appetite for Northern traits of behaviour and housekeeping. The source of interest, too, is false, or rather absurd; adopted by second- rate geniuses in an early stage of a nation's literature, but afterwards dropped to melodrama, and now almost abandoned there. "0. T." has been tattooed upon the shoulders of Otto Thostrup; whom we take to be the hero. The letters also stand for Odense Tugt-huus,—that is, Odense house of correction; and thereby hangs the tale. The grand- father of Otto is a Colonel and a gentleman ; his father a scamp,—for, inter alia, he robs the Colonel, he robs the servants, and persuades a young girl whom he has seduced to take the robberies on herself. In the house of correction aforesaid, Otto and a sister are born; and there they remain, till the father, dying, confesses his crimes; and the Colonel takes home the grandson, but leaves his granddaughter to her fate. The story opens with Otto, a young student of good prospects, but gloomy— being haunted by dread of the man who tattooed the "0. T." upon his shoulder, and who crosses him more than once; and being anxious, moreover, to discover liis sister. These causes of his miseries are mysteries till town, ds the close of the story ; but they are mysteries that excite small interest, and are scarcely worth the trouble of unravelling by so long a process as the reader has to undergo.