The Fairy Tale of My Life by Hans Christain Anderson

Author:Hans Christain Anderson
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781461741695
Publisher: Cooper Square Press

as it is sung in “The Lay of the Last Minstrel.” Here on the right, on our return down the lake, we passed Rob Roy’s cavern. A boat arrived with a large company; among them was a young lady, who looked fixedly and penetratingly at me; a little while after one of the gentlemen came up to me and told me that she was a young lady who thought she knew me from a portrait, and asked me if I was not the Danish poet, Hans Christian Andersen? “Yes,” I said, and the young lady ran toward me, happy and affectionate, and like an old friend confidentially pressed my hand, and expressed naturally and beautifully her happiness at seeing me. I asked her for one of the many mountain flowers she brought with her from Rob Roy’s rock, and she selected the best and most beautiful one. Her father and the whole family surrounded me, and urged me to accompany them to their home, to be their guest, but I neither could nor would leave my company. It pleased Mr. Hambro to see the respect that was shown me, and the attention of all the passengers was soon directed to me, and it was astonishing to see how large a circle of friends I had. There is a peculiarly happy feeling, when so far from home, in being so well received and made to belong to so many kind people.

We landed at Balloch, passed by Smollet’s monument in his little native town, and arrived toward evening at Dumbarton, a real Scotch town near the Clyde. In the night a storm raged with long, gigantic gusts, and it was as if I continually heard the rolling of the sea; there was a constant crash; the windows rattled, a sick cat mewed all the time, it was not possible to shut my eyes; but at dawn it grew calmer, — a sepulchral calm after such a ni6ght. It was Sunday, and that signifies something in Scotland, where all is at rest; even railway trains were not going, except only that from London to Edinburgh, but which does not stop, that it may not give offense to the puritan Scots. All the houses were closed, people were staying at home, reading the Bible or getting drunk — so I was told. It was entirely against my nature to stay in doors a whole day. I proposed to take a walk, but I was told that it would not do and would give offense. Toward evening, however, we all took a promenade out of town, but there was such a silence, such a looking out at us from the windows, that we soon turned back again. A young Frenchman, with whom I spoke, assured me that he had recently been out one Sunday afternoon with two Englishmen with a fishing-rod, when an old gentleman passed by and with the most hard and angry words reproached them for their wickedness in diverting themselves on Sunday,

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