The Sun.
London, England, 1845-04-28 00:00:00

said of the French authorities being so terrified by
the very name of Nelson, that they had chained to-
gether all their gun-boats to prevent them being cut
out. He makes no allusion to the circumstance,
because he knows it to be a fact. No men
tion is made of chains, though he admits
an iron cable saved one boat. That boat was com-
manded by Gueroult, an energetic officer, and while
he was defending himself on deck, the English
vessels which surrounded him endeavoured to cnt.the
cables. " Fortunately one was an iron cable, and
resisted all tl.e efforts to break it." This is the
only allusion to the scheme which saved the flotilla.
From these details it is evident that M. Thiers'
history of every battle between the English and
French must be regarded as a mere fable, and
utterly destitute of truth, except the conclusion,
which he could neither gloss over nor deny. He
does not injure England, but he injures himself
and his gallant countrymen, by perverting the truth
of history, and exhibiting one of the bravest of na-
tions in the most contemptible light. What a con-
trast between his chicanery, his inventions, his
falshoods, and his bigoted hostility to Englishmen,
and the animated descriptions of Colonel Napier, in
which the fullest merit is given to the French
officers and soldiers engaged in the Peninsular war,
and if any favour is shown, it is by the candid
and generous Englishman shown to the enemy. We
may read a lesson, however, of vast importance, in
this single volume. Should M. Thiers ever be re-
stored to the Cabinet, war with England will be
his darling object. His vanity makes him confident
of success, and his malignant spirit will never
rest satisfied till lie has tried the hazardous expe-
riment of another bloody contest. Some have been
inclined to blame Lord Palmerston for the rapidity
with which he brought the Eastern question to
a crisis—but Palmerston was right—he knew his
man—he was admitted behind the scenes—saw the
storm must come soon or late, if Thiers remained in
power, and like a man of spirit he brought the
question at once to an issue. He was resolved
that there should be no mistake, and M. Thiers,
finding he had met with his match was forced to
resign. Luckily for the peace of the world, this far-
famed work proves that M. Thiers is utterly desti-
tute of judgment.

THE IMPROVISATORE ; or, Life in Italy. From
Cie Danish of Hans Christian Andersen. Translated
by Mary Howitt.
To Mrs. Ho witt we owe our acquaintance with the
literature of the North ; by her translations the novels
of Sweden are familiar as our own. She now directs
our attention to Denmark, introducing us not only to
a new country, but to an author differing entirely
from the preceding. Miss Bremer's tales were cele-
brated as descriptions of real We—as perfect delinea-
tions of domestic character ; " The Improvisatore,'
on the contrary, is the history of genius, the faithful
picture of a poet's trials, described with all a poet's
power. In the introduction we find a sketch of the
author's life ; and here we have a key to the whole
work. What he relates, he has himself endured : the
hero's adventures are the reflection of his own. " Hans
Christian Andersen," says the biography, " is one of
those men who, from their earliest youth, have had
to keep up a warfare with circumstances ; a man like
Burns and Hogg, who seemed destined by Fate to
end their lives unnoticed in a village, and yet through
an instinctive sense of their destined pre-eminence in
the beautiful regions of art and literature, and sus-
tained by an irrepressible will, have made themselves
a part of the great world." Like all those who have
fought their way to fame, the life of Andersen
has been a constant and unceasing struggle,
a continued series of frustrated hopes, an un-
ending source of bitter mortification. Of humble
origin, reared in penury—he had no education, no
hope of improvement ; but the mighty spirit was
strong within him—the seeds of genius find deepest
root in the soil of adversity. Like many an ardent
enthusiast, he battled with the storm, but unlike the
majority, he lives to see his triumph. At the age of
fourteen he was to become the apprentice of a tailor,
when he earnestly implored his mother to let him
first make a voyage to Copenhagen, to see the theatre;
she reluctantly consented, and friendless and alone he
reached the capital. Here he remained for many
yeafs, struggling with his fate. Here, by the aid of
chance friends, he obtained the instruction he so
much desired, being ignorant even of his own lan-
guage ; and here at length he appeared as an author.
His poems obtained celebrity for a time, but the un-
known poet had many enemies. His rivals were
powerful and relentless, and again he was doomed .to
despair. At this time he received a royal stipend to
enable him to travel through Germany and Italy.
This good fortune excited general envy—even his
friends wrote to him to say they too thought that
" his day was past." His day was past indeed, but
it was the day of doubt and despair—the day of leis
triumph was to come. Full of hope he reached Italy,
and there " a change came o'er the spirit of his
dream." The genius which had dawned amid the
northern snows, burst forth in full glory under
the Italian sun. In that beautiful land he awoke
to a new life —his was no common patriotism.
Italy was the country of his soul, to her he turned
with all the ardour of a poet—the devotion of a
patriot. In the " Improvisatore" he poured forth the
feelings of his soul ; the hero, like himself is a child tee
song ; in him are reflected his own daring hopes, tit,
bitter realities of experience, the proud consciousness
of genius, above all, the adoration of the sunny south.
A tone of melancholy, the melancholy of his own
life, pervades the whole poem; for it is a poem, though
dressed in the garb of prose, though translated to s
foreign language, no transformation can affect the
poetic spirit breathed in every line. Though un-
acquainted with the original, we feel certain Mrs.
Howitt has done it justice, even as we decide on the
truth of a portrait, without knowing whose likeness
it is, because we feel the spirit that animates it, and
know that it must be real. This book changed the
fate of Andersen—envious murmurs were turned to
flattering plaudits, his enemies became his humblest
friends—he found, like all the world, " success is
►irtue, and misfortune blame." This sudden altera-
tion is related in the biography.
" Immediately after his return he published his novel,
The Improvisatore,' which was received with universal
applause—which was read and re-read, and which the
public never tired of reading. That a work of such
singular originality and beauty was universally admired
was not at all remarkable ; but an extraordinary effect
was produced which, it seems to me, tells greatly to the
honour of the Danish heart. Not only did Andersen's
friends, and the public generally, acknowledge the merit
of his work, but they who had treated the poet. with
severity came now forward and offered him the hand of
congratulation, and among them was the rector of the
school, the hard-hearted teacher of the poor youth, who
had taken all possible means to crush into the dust the
talent which God had given him. He now came for-
ward, acknowledged his fault, and deplored it, which
touched the good heart of Andersen not a little. And
this is but one of the many instances of generous enthu-
siasm which was excited by this beautiful work towards
its author."
We cannot join in Mrs. Howitt's astonishment at this
.change of conduct, it is ever thus, it seems the stern
decree of Fate during the hard struggle up the hill
of fame every obstacle is thrown in the way of genius—
when he has reached the summit and is above assis-
tance every hand is proffered. The history of the
world has no severer trials than those endured by the
young and ardent ; where can they look for counsel
in their hour of need—
" Who will hear the friendless lay?
Whci dare the modest youth approve?
The world is mute—he turns away,
W hile envy tears the laurel'd bay,
By Fancy's fairy fingers wove."
Andersen has passed through the trying ordeal, may
he long live to enjoy his hard-earned fame. We
subjoin an extract of his praises of Italy, and one
of his poetic descriptions :
" Beautiful Italy !" shout,d Federigo, triumphantly.
" Yes, thus stood thy image before me in the distant
north. In my remembrance blew this air which I now
inspire with every breath I draw. I thought of thy
olive-greves when I saw our willows ; I dreamed of the
.abundance of the oranges when I saw the golden apples
in the peasants' gardens beside the fragrant clover field ;
but the green waters of the Baltic never become blue
like the beautiful Mediterranean ; the heavens of the
north never become so high, so rich in colour, as the
warm, glorious south. It is gladness was inspiration, its
speech became poetry.
What longings I had in my home ?" said he ;
" they are happier who have never seen Paradise, than
they, who having seen it, are driven forth, never to
return. My home is beautiful ; Denmark is a flowery
garden, which can measure itself with anything on the
other side of the Alps ; it has beech-woods and the sea.
But what is earthly beauty compiled with heavenly ?
Italy is the land of imagination and beauty ; doubly
happy are they who salute it far the sceond time !

" We had now arrived at the great blocks on which
many strangers were standing. I also mounted one,
and before me, down the mountain-side, glided slowly
the fresh torrent of lava ; it was like a redly glowing
fiery slime, as of melted metal streaming from a furnace
and which spread it out below us far and wide, to a vast
extent. No languege, no picture, can represent this in
its greatness and its fearful effect. The very air ap-
peared like fire and brimstone ; a thick steam ft sated
upwards over the lava stream, red with the strongly
reflected light; but all around was night. 'lt thundered
below in the mountain, and above us ascended the pilfar
of fire, with its glowing stars. Never before had I felt
myself so near to God. His omnipotence and greatn6ss
filled my soul. It was as if the fire around me burned
out every weakness within me ; I felt strength and
courage ; my immortal soul lifted its wings.
" Almighty God !' breathed forth my spirit, I
will be Thy Apostle. Amid the storms of the world I
will sing Thy name, Thy might, and majesty ! Higher
s
shall my song resound than that of the monk in
re.
lonely cell. A poet I am ! Give me strerl.g_tti %nri
of
.ser've soul purzr trel_the'44utLargbors-Id3l,
'Nature's ought to be lf folded my ban 3
red out my thank
and, kneeling amid fire and cloud, polys
to Him whose wonders end whose greatness spoke 0
ply soul. '