On Monday morning, September 5th, 1819, I saw from the heights of
Frederiksburg, Copenhagen, for the first time. At this place I alighted
from the carriage, and with my little bundle in my hand, entered the
city through the castle garden, the long alley and the suburb.
The evening before my arrival had been made memorable by the breaking
out of the so-called Jews quarrel, which spread through many European
countries. The whole city was in commotion [Footnote: This remarkable
disturbance makes a fine incident in Anderson's romance of "Only a
Fiddler."--M. H.]; every body was in the streets; the noise and tumult
of Copenhagen far exceeded, therefore, any idea which my imagination had
formed of this, at that time, to me great city.
With scarcely ten dollars in my pocket, I turned into a small
public-house. My first ramble was to the theatre. I went round it many
times; I looked up to its walls, and regarded them almost as a home. One
of the bill-sellers, who wandered about here each day, observed me, and
asked me if I would have a bill. I was so wholly ignorant of the world,
that I thought the man wished to give me one; I therefore accepted his
offer with thankfulness. He fancied I was making fun of him and was
angry; so that I was frightened, and hastened from the place which was
to me the dearest in the city. Little did I then imagine that ten years
afterwards my first dramatic piece would be represented there, and that
in this manner I should make my appearance before the Danish public. On
the following day I dressed myself in my confirmation suit, nor were the
boots forgotten, although, this time, they were worn, naturally, under
my trousers; and thus, in my best attire, with a hat on, which fell half
over my eyes, I hastened to present my letter of introduction to the
dancer, Madame Schall. Before I rung at the bell, I fell on my knees
before the door and prayed God that I here might find help and support.
A maid-servant came down the steps with her basket in her hand; she
smiled kindly at me, gave me a skilling (Danish), and tripped on.
Astonished, I looked at her and the money. I had on my confirmation
suit, and thought I must look very smart. How then could she think that
I wanted to beg? I called after her.
"Keep it, keep it!" said she to me, in return, and was gone.
At length I was admitted to the dancer; she looked at me in great
amazement, and then heard what I had to say. She had not the slightest
knowledge of him from whom the letter came, and my whole appearance and
behavior seemed very strange to her. I confessed to her my heartfelt
inclination for the theatre; and upon her asking me what characters I
thought I could represent, I replied, Cinderella. This piece had been
performed in Odense by the royal company, and the principal characters
had so greatly taken my fancy, that I could play the part perfectly from
memory. In the mean time I asked her permission to take off my boots,
otherwise I was not light enough for this character; and then taking up
my broad hat for a tambourine, I began to dance and sing,--
"Here below, nor rank nor riches, Are exempt from pain and woe."
My strange gestures and my great activity caused the lady to think me
out of my mind, and she lost no time in getting rid of me.
From her I went to the manager of the theatre, to ask for an engagement.
He looked at me, and said that I was "too thin for the theatre."
"Oh," replied I, "if you will only engage me with one hundred rix
dollars banco salary, then I shall soon get fat!" The manager bade me
gravely go my way, adding, that they only engaged people of education.
I stood there deeply wounded. I knew no one in all Copenhagen who could
give me either counsel or consolation. I thought of death as being the
only thing, and the best thing for me; but even then my thoughts rose
upwards to God, and with all the undoubting confidence of a child in his
father, they riveted themselves upon Him. I wept bitterly, and then I
said to myself, "When everything happens really miserably, then he sends
help. I have always read so. People must first of all suffer a great
deal before they can bring anything to accomplishment."
I now went and bought myself a gallery-ticket for the opera of Paul and
Virginia. The separation of the lovers affected me to such a degree,
that I burst into violent weeping. A few women, who sat near me,
consoled me by saying that it was only a play, and nothing to trouble
oneself about; and then they gave me a sausage sandwich. I had the
greatest confidence in everybody, and therefore I told them, with the
utmost openness, that I did not really weep about Paul and Virginia,
but because I regarded the theatre as my Virginia, and that if I must be
separated from it, I should be just as wretched as Paul. They looked at
me, and seemed not to understand my meaning. I then told them why I
had come to Copenhagen, and how forlorn I was there. One of the women,
therefore, gave me more, bread andebutter, with fruit and cakes.
On the following morning I paid my bill, and to my infinite trouble
I saw that my whole wealth consisted in one rix dollar banco. It was
necessary, therefore, either that I should find some vessel to take me
home, or put myself to work with some handicraftsman. I considered that
the last was the wiser of the two, because, if I returned to Odense, I
must there also put myself to work of a similar kind; besides which, I
knew very well that the people there would laugh at me if I came back
again. It was to me a matter of indifference what handicraft trade
I learned,--I only should make use of it to keep life within me
in Copenhagen. I bought a newspaper, therefore. I found among the
advertisements that a cabinet maker was in want of an apprentice. The
man received me kindly, but said that before I was bound to him he must
have an attestation, and my baptismal register from Odense; and that
till these came I could remove to his house, and try how the business
pleased me. At six o'clock the next morning I went to the workshop:
several journeymen were there, and two or three apprentices; but the
master was not come. They fell into merry and idle discourse. I was as
bashful as a girl, and as they soon perceived this, I was unmercifully
rallied upon it. Later in the day the rude jests of the young fellows
went so far, that, in remembrance of the scene at the manufactory, I
took the resolute determination not to remain a single day longer in
the workshop. I went down to the master, therefore, and told him that I
could not stand it; he tried to console me, but in vain: I was too much
affected, and hastened away.
I now went through the streets; nobody knew me; I was quite forlorn. I
then bethought myself of having read in a newspaper in Odense the name
of an Italian, Siboni, who was the director of the Academy of Music in
Copenhagen. Everybody had praised my voice; perhaps he would assist me
for its sake; if not, then that very evening I must seek out the master
of some vessel who would take me home again. At the thoughts of the
journey home I became still more violently excited, and in this state of
suffering I hastened to Siboni's house.
It happened that very day that he had a large party to dinner; our
celebrated composer Weyse was there, the poet Baggesen, and other
guests. The housekeeper opened the door to me, and to her I not only
related my wish to be engaged as a singer, but also the whole history
of my life. She listened to me with the greatest sympathy, and then she
left me. I waited a long time, and she must have been repeating to the
company the greater part of what I had said, for, in a while, the door
opened, and all the guests came out and looked at me. They would have
me to sing, and Siboni heard me attentively. I gave some scenes out of
Holberg, and repeated a few poems; and then, all at once, the sense of
my unhappy condition so overcame me that I burst into tears; the whole
company applauded.
"I prophesy," said Baggesen, "that one day something will come out of
him; but do not be vain when, some day, the whole public shall applaud
thee!" and then he added something about pure, true nature, and that
this is too often destroyed by years and by intercourse with mankind. I
did not understand it all.
Siboni promised to cultivate my voice, and that I therefore should
succeed as singer at the Theatre Royal. It made me very happy; I laughed
and wept; and as the housekeeper led me out and saw the excitement under
which I labored, she stroked my cheeks, and said that on the following
day I should go to Professor Weyse, who meant to do something for me,
and upon whom I could depend.
I went to Weyse, who himself had risen from poverty; he had deeply
felt and fully comprehended my unhappy situation, and had raised by a
subscription seventy rix dollars banco for me. I then wrote my first
letter to my mother, a letter full of rejoicing, for the good fortune
of the whole world seemed poured upon me. My mother in her joy showed
my letter to all her friends; many heard of it with astonishment; others
laughed at it, for what was to be the end of it? In order to understand
Siboni it was necessary for me to learn something of German. A woman
of Copenhagen, with whom I travelled from Odense to this city, and
who gladly, according to her means, would have supported me, obtained,
through one of her acquaintance, a language-master, who gratuitously
gave me some German lessons, and thus I learned a few phrases in that
language. Siboni received me into his house, and gave me food and
instruction; but half a year afterwards my voice broke, or was injured,
in consequence of my being compelled to wear bad shoes through the
winter, and having besides no warm under-clothing. There was no longer
any prospect that I should become a fine singer. Siboni told me that
candidly, and counselled me to go to Odense, and there learn a trade.
I, who in the rich colors of fancy had described to my mother the
happiness which I actually felt, must now return home and become an
object of derision! Agonized with this thought, I stood as if crushed
to the earth. Yet, precisely amid this apparently great un-happiness lay
the stepping-stones of a better fortune.
As I found myself again abandoned, and was pondering by myself upon what
was best for me next to do, it occurred to me that the Poet Guldberg, a
brother of the Colonel of that name in Odense, who had shown me so
much kindness, lived in Copenhagen. He lived at that time near the new
church-yard outside the city, of which he has so beautifully sung in his
poems. I wrote to him, and related to him everything; afterwards I went
to him myself, and found him surrounded with books and tobacco pipes.
The strong, warm-hearted man received me kindly; and as he saw by my
letter how incorrectly I wrote, he promised to give me instruction in
the Danish tongue; he examined me a little in German, and thought that
it would be well if he could improve me in this respect also. More than
this, he made me a present of the profits of a little work which he had
just then published; it became known, and I believe they exceeded one
hundred rix dollars banco; the excellent Weyse and others also supported
me.
It was too expensive for me to lodge at a public house; I was therefore
obliged to seek for private lodgings. My ignorance of the world led
me to a widow who lived in one of the most disreputable streets of
Copenhagen; she was inclined to receive me into her house, and I never
suspected what kind of world it was which moved around me. She was a
stern, but active dame; she described to me the other people of the city
in such horrible colors as made me suppose that I was in the only safe
haven there. I was to pay twenty rix dollars monthly for one room, which
was nothing but an empty store-room, without window and light, but I had
permission to sit in her parlor. I was to make trial of it at first for
two days, meantime on the following day she told me that I could decide
to stay or immediately go. I, who so easily attach myself to people,
already liked her, and felt myself at home with her; but more than
sixteen dollars per month Weyse had told me I must not pay, and this was
the sum which I had received from him and Guldberg, so that no surplus
remained to me for my other expenses. This troubled me very much;
when she was gone out of the room, I seated myself on the sofa, and
contemplated the portrait of her deceased husband.
I was so wholly a child, that as the tears rolled down my own cheeks,
I wetted the eyes of the portrait with my tears, in order that the dead
man might feel how troubled I was, and influence the heart of his wife.
She must have seen that nothing more was to be drained out of me, for
when she returned to the room she said that she would receive me into
her house for the sixteen rix dollars. I thanked God and the dead man. I
found myself in the midst of the mysteries of Copenhagen, but I did
not understand how to interpret them. There was in the house in which
I lived a friendly young lady, who lived alone, and often wept; every
evening her old father came and paid her a visit. I opened the door to
him frequently; he wore a plain sort of coat, had his throat very much
tied up, and his hat pulled over his eyes. He always drank his tea with
her, and nobody dared to be present, because he was not fond of company:
she never seemed very glad at his coming. [Footnote: This character will
be recognised in Steffen Margaret, in Only a Fiddler.--M. H.] Many years
afterwards, when I had reached another step on the ladder of life, when
the refined world of fashionable life was opened before me, I saw
one evening, in the midst of a brilliantly lighted hall, a polite old
gentleman covered with orders--that was the old father in the shabby
coat, he whom I had let in. He had little idea that I had opened the
door to him when he played his part as guest, but I, on my side, then
had also no thought but for my own comedy-playing; that is to say, I was
at that time so much of a child that I played with my puppet-theatre and
made my dolls' clothes; and in order that I might obtain gaily-colored
fragments for this purpose, I used to go to the shops and ask for
patterns of various kinds of stuffs and ribbons. I myself did not
possess a single farthing; my landlady received all the money each month
in advance; only now and then, when I did any errands for her, she
gave me something, and that went in the purchase of paper or for old
play-books. I was now very happy, and was doubly so because Professor
Guldberg had induced Lindgron, the first comic actor at the theatre, to
give me instruction. He gave me several parts in Holberg to learn, such
as Hendrik, and the Silly Boy, for which I had shown some talent. My
desire, however, was to play the Correggio. I obtained permission to
learn this piece in my own way, although Lindgron asked, with comic
gravity, whether I expected to resemble the great painter? I, however,
repeated to him the soliloquy in the picture gallery with so much
feeling, that the old man clapped me on the shoulder and said, "Feeling
you have; but you must not be an actor, though God knows what else.
Speak to Guldberg about your learning Latin: that always opens the way
for a student."
I a student! That was a thought which had never come before into my
head. The theatre lay nearer to me, and was dearer too; but Latin I
had also always wished to learn. But before I spoke on the subject to
Guldberg, I mentioned it to the lady who gave me gratuitous instruction
in German; but she told me that Latin was the most expensive language in
the world, and that it was not possible to gain free instruction in
it. Guldberg, however, managed it so that one of his friends, out of
kindness, gave me two lessons a week.
The dancer, Dahlen, whose wife at that time was one of the first
artistes on the Danish boards, opened his house to me. I passed many
an evening there, and the gentle, warm-hearted lady was kind to me. The
husband took me with him to the dancing-school, and that was to me one
step nearer to the theatre. There stood I for whole mornings, with a
long staff, and stretched my legs; but notwithstanding all my good-will,
it was Dahlen's opinion that I should never get beyond a figurante.
One advantage, however, I had gained; I might in an evening make my
appearance behind the scenes of the theatre; nay, even sit upon the
farthest bench in the box of the figurantes. It seemed to me as if I had
got my foot just within the theatre, although I had never yet been upon
the stage itself.
One night the little opera of the Two Little Savoyards was given; in
the market scene every one, even the mechanists, might go up to help in
filling the stage; I heard them say so, and rouging myself a little,
I went happily up with the others. I was in my ordinary dress; the
confirmation coat, which still held together, although, with regard to
brushing and repairs, it lookedebut miserably, and the great hat which
fell down over my face. I was very conscious of the ill condition of my
attire, and would have been glad to have concealed it; but, through the
endeavor to do so, my movements became still more angular. I did not
dare to hold myself upright, because, by so doing, I exhibited all the
more plainly the shortness of my waistcoat, which I had outgrown. I had
the feeling very plainly that people would make themselves merry about
me; yet, at this moment, I felt nothing but the happiness of stepping
for the first time before the foot-lamps. My heart beat; I stepped
forward; there came up one of the singers, who at that time was much
thought of, but now is forgotten; he took me by the hand, and jeeringly
wished me happiness on my debut. "Allow me to introduce you to the
Danish public," said he, and drew me forward to the lamps. The people
would laugh at me--I felt it; the tears rolled down my cheeks; I tore
myself loose, and left the stage full of anguish.
Shortly after this, Dahlen arranged a ballet of Armida, in which
I received a little part: I was a spirit. In this ballet I became
acquainted with the lady of Professor Heiberg, the wife of the poet, and
now a highly esteemed actress on the Danish stage; she, then a little
girl, had also a part in it, and our names stood printed in the bill.
That was a moment in my life, when my name was printed! I fancied I
could see it a nimbus of immortality. I was continually looking at the
printed paper. I carried the programme of the ballet with me at night to
bed, lay and read my name by candle light--in short, I was happy.
I had now been two years in Copenhagen. The sum of money which had been
collected for me was expended, but I was ashamed of making known my
wants and my necessities. I had removed to the house of a woman whose
husband, when living, was master of a trading-vessel, and there I had
only lodging and breakfast. Those were heavy, dark days for me.
The lady believed that I went out to dine with various families, whilst
I only ate a little bread on one of the benches in the royal garden.
Very rarely did I venture into some of the lowest eating-houses, and
choose there the least expensive dish. I was, in truth, very forlorn;
but I did not feel the whole weight of my condition. Every person who
spoke to me kindly I took for a faithful friend. God was with me in my
little room; and many a night, when I have said my evening prayer, I
asked of Him, like a child, "Will things soon be better with me?" I had
the notion, that as it went with me on New Year's Day, so would it go
with me through the whole year; and my highest wishes were to obtain a
part in a play.
It was now New Year's Day. The theatre was closed, and only a half-blind
porter sat at the entrance to the stage, on which there was not a soul.
I stole past him with beating heart, got between the movable scenes and
the curtain, and advanced to the open part of the stage. Here I fell
down upon my knees, but not a single verse for declamation could I
recall to my memory. I then said aloud the Lord's Prayer, and went out
with the persuasion, that because I had spoken from the stage on New
Year's Day, I should in the course of the year succeed in speaking still
more, as well as in having a part assigned to me.
During the two years of my residence in Copenhagen I had never been out
into the open country. Once only had I been in the park, and there I had
been deeply engrossed by studying the diversions of the people and their
gay tumult. In the spring of the third year, I went out for the first
time amid the verdure of a spring morning. It was into the garden of
the Fredericksberg, the summer residence of Frederick VI. I stood still
suddenly under the first large budding beech tree. The sun made the
leaves transparent--there was a fragrance, a freshness--the birds sang.
I was overcome by it--I shouted aloud for joy, threw my arms around the
tree and kissed it.
"Is he mad?" said a man close behind me. It was one of the servants
of the castle. I ran away, shocked at what I had heard, and then went
thoughtfully and calmly back to the city.
My voice had, in the mean time, in part regained its richness. The
singing master of the choir-school heard it, offered me a place in
the school, thinking that, by singing with the choir, I should acquire
greater freedom in the exercise of my powers on the stage. I thought
that I could see by this means a new way opened for me. I went from the
dancing-school into the singing-school, and entered the choir, now as
a shepherd, and now as a warrior. The theatre was my world. I had
permission to go in the pit, and thus it fared ill with my Latin. I
heard many people say that there was no Latin required for singing
in the choir, and that without the knowledge of this language it was
possible to become a great actor. I thought there was good sense in
that, and very often, either with or without reason, excused myself
from my Latin evening lesson. Guldberg became aware of this, and for the
first time I received a reprimand which almost crushed me to the earth.
I fancy that no criminal could suffer more by hearing the sentence
of death pronounced upon him. My distress of mind must have expressed
itself in my countenance, for he said "Do not act any more comedy." But
it was no comedy to me.
I was now to learn Latin no longer. I felt my dependence upon the
kindness of others in such a degree as I had never done before.
Occasionally I had had gloomy and earnest thoughts in looking forward
to my future, because I was in want of the very necessaries of life; at
other times I had the perfect thoughtlessness of a child.
The widow of the celebrated Danish statesman, Christian Colbj÷rnsen,
and her daughter, were the first ladies of high rank who cordially
befriended the poor lad; who listened to me with sympathy, and saw
me frequently. Mrs. von Colbj÷rnsen resided, during the summer, at
Bakkehus, where also lived the poet Rahbek and his interesting wife.
Rahbek never spoke to me; but his lively and kind-hearted wife often
amused herself with me. I had at that time again begun to write a
tragedy, which I read aloud to her. Immediately on hearing the first
scenes, she exclaimed, "But you have actually taken whole passages out
of Oehlenschl ger and Ingemann."
"Yes, but they are so beautiful!" replied I in my simplicity, and read
on.
One day, when I was going from her to Mrs. von Colbj÷rnsen, she gave
me a handful of roses, and said, "Will you take them up to her? It will
certainly give her pleasure to receive them from the hand of a poet."
These words were said half in jest; but it was the first time that
anybody had connected my name with that of poet. It went through me,
body and soul, and tears filled my eyes. I know that, from this very
moment, my mind was awoke to writing and poetry. Formerly it had been
merely an amusement by way of variety from my puppet-theatre.
At Bakkehus lived also Professor Thiele, a young student at that time,
but even then the editor of the Danish popular legends, and known to
the public as the solver of Baggesen's riddle, and as the writer of
beautiful poetry. He was possessed of sentiment, true inspiration, and
heart. He had calmly and attentively watched the unfolding of my mind,
until we now became friends. He was one of the few who, at that time,
spoke the truth of me, when other people were making themselves merry
at my expense, and having only eyes for that which was ludicrous in me.
People had called me, in jest, the little orator, and, as such, I was
an object of curiosity. They found amusement in me, and I mistook every
smile for a smile of applause. One of my later friends has told me that
it probably was about this period that he saw me for the first time. It
was in the drawing-room of a rich tradesman, where people were making
themselves very merry with me. They desired me to repeat one of my
poems, and, as I did this with great feeling, the merriment was changed
into sympathy with me.
I heard it said every day, what a good thing it would be for me if I
could study. People advised me to devote myself to science, but no one
moved one step to enable me to do so; it was labor enough for me to keep
body and soul together. It therefore occurred to me to write a tragedy,
which I would offer to the Theatre Royal, and would then begin to study
with the money which I should thus obtain. Whilst Guldberg instructed
me in Danish, I had written a tragedy from a German story, called The
Chapel in the Wood; yet as this was done merely as an exercise in the
language, and, as he forbade me in the most decided manner to bring it
out, I would not do so. I originated my own material, therefore; and
within fourteen days I wrote my national tragedy called the Robbers in
Wissenberg (the name of a little village in Funen.) There was scarcely
a word in it correctly written, as I had no person to help me, because
I meant it to be anonymous; there was, nevertheless, one person admitted
into the secret, namely, the young lady whom I had met with in Odense,
during my preparation for confirmation, the only one who at that
time showed me kindness and good-will. It was through her that I was
introduced to the Colbj÷rnsen family, and thus known and received in all
those circles of which the one leads into the other. She paid some one
to prepare a legible copy of my piece, and undertook to present it for
perusal. After an interval of six weeks, I received it back, accompanied
by a letter which said the people did not frequently wish to retain
works which betrayed, in so great a degree, a want of elementary
knowledge.
It was just at the close of the theatrical season, in May, 1823, that I
received a letter from the directors, by which I was dismissed from
the singing and dancing school, the letter adding also, that my
participation in the school-teaching could lead to no advantage for me,
but that they wished some of my many friends would enable me to receive
an education, without which, talent availed nothing. I felt myself
again, as it were, cast out into the wide world without help and without
support. It was absolutely necessary that I should write a piece for the
theatre, and that _must_ be accepted; there was no other salvation for
me. I wrote, therefore, a tragedy founded on a passage in history, and
I called it Alfsol. I was delighted with the first act, and with this I
immediately went to the Danish translator of Shakspeare, Admiral Wulff,
now deceased, who good-naturedly heard me read it. In after years I
met with the most cordial reception in his family. At that time I also
introduced myself to our celebrated physician Oersted, and his house has
remained to me to this day an affectionate home, to which my heart has
firmly attached itself, and where I find my oldest and most unchangeable
friends.
A favorite preacher, the rural dean Gutfeldt, was living at that time,
and he it was who exerted himself most earnestly for my tragedy, which
was now finished; and having written a letter of recommendation, he
sent it to the managers of the theatre. I was suspended between hope and
fear. In the course of the summer I endured bitter want, but I told it
to no one, else many a one, whose sympathy I had experienced, would have
helped me to the utmost of their means. A false shame prevented me from
confessing what I endured. Still happiness filled my heart. I read then
for the first time the works of Walter Scott. A new world was opened to
me: I forgot the reality, and gave to the circulating library that which
should have provided me with a dinner.
The present conference councillor, Collin, one of the most distinguished
men of Denmark, who unites with the greatest ability the noblest and
best heart, to whom I looked up with confidence in all things, who has
been a second father to me, and in whose children I have found brothers
and sisters;--this excellent man I saw now for the first time. He was at
that time director of the Theatre Royal, and people universally told me
that it would be the best thing for me if he would interest himself on
my behalf: it was either Oersted or Gutfeldt who first mentioned me to
him; and now for the first time I went to that house which was to become
so dear to me. Before the ramparts of Copenhagen were extended, this
house lay outside the gate, and served as a summer residence to
the Spanish Ambassador; now, however, it stands, a crooked, angular
frame-work building, in a respectable street; an old-fashioned wooden
balcony leads to the entrance, and a great tree spreads its green
branches over the court and its pointed gables. It was to become a
paternal house to me. Who does not willingly linger over the description
of home?
I discovered only the man of business in Collin; his conversation was
grave and in few words. I went away, without expecting any sympathy from
this man; and yet it was precisely Collin who in all sincerity thought
for my advantage, and who worked for it silently, as he had done for
others, through the whole course of his active life. But at that time I
did not understand the apparent calmness with which he listened, whilst
his heart bled for the afflicted, and he always labored for them with
zeal and success, and knew how to help them. He touched so lightly upon
my tragedy, which had been sent to him, and on account of which many
people had overwhelmed me with flattering speeches, that I regarded him
rather as an enemy than a protector.
In a few day I was sent for by the directors of the theatre, when Rahbek
gave me back my play as useless for the stage; adding, however, that
there were so many grains of corn scattered in it, that it was hoped,
that perhaps, by earnest study, after going to school and the previous
knowledge of all that is requisite, I might, some time, be able to write
a work which should be worthy of being acted on the Danish stage.
In order therefore to obtain the means for my support and the necessary
instruction, Collin recommended me to King Frederick the Sixth, who
granted to me a certain sum annually for some years; and, by means of
Collin also, the directors of the high schools allowed me to receive
free instruction in the grammar school at Slagelse, where just then a
new, and, as was said, an active rector was appointed. I was almost
dumb with astonishment: never had I thought that my life would take this
direction, although I had no correct idea of the path which I had now to
tread. I was to go with the earliest mail to Slagelse, which lay twelve
Danish miles from Copenhagen, to the place where also the poets Baggesen
and Ingemann had gone to school. I was to receive money quarterly from
Collin; I was to apply to him in all cases, and he it was who was to
ascertain my industry and my progress.
I went to him the second time to express to him my thanks. Mildly and
kindly he said to me, "Write to me without restraint about everything
which you require, and tell me how it goes with you." From this hour I
struck root in his heart; no father could have been more to me than he
was, and is; none could have more heartily rejoiced in my happiness,
and my after reception with the public; none have shared my sorrow more
kindly; and I am proud to say that one of the most excellent men
which Denmark possesses feels towards me as towards his own child. His
beneficence was conferred without his making me feel it painful either
by word or look. That was not the case with every one to whom, in this
change of my fortunes, I had to offer my thanks; I was told to think
of my inconceivable happiness and my poverty; in Collin's words was
expressed the warm-heartedness of a father, and to him it was that
properly I was indebted for everything.
The journey was hastily determined upon, and I had yet for myself some
business to arrange. I had spoken to an acquaintance from Odense who had
the management of a small printing concern, for a widow, to get "Alfsal"
printed, that I might, by the sale of the work, make a little money.
Before, however, the piece was printed, it was necessary that I should
obtain a certain number of subscribers; but these were not obtained, and
the manuscript lay in the printing-office, which, at the time I went to
fetch it away, was shut up. Some years afterwards, however, it suddenly
made its appearance in print without my knowledge or my desire, in its
unaltered shape, but without my name.
On a beautiful autumn day I set off with the mail from Copenhagen to
begin my school-life in Slagelse. A young student, who a month before
had passed his first examination, and now was travelling home to Jutland
to exhibit himself there as a student, and to see once more his parents
and his friends, sate at my side and exulted for joy over the new life
which now lay before him; he assured me that he should be the most
unhappy of human beings if he were in my place, and were again beginning
to go to the grammar school. But I travelled with a good heart towards
the little city of Zealand. My mother received a joyful letter from
me. I only wished that my father and the old grandmother yet lived, and
could hear that I now went to the grammar school.