A look at the life and sensibilities of Hans Christian Andersen

For nearly 40 years, I've been telling Andersen stories at the statue of Hans Christian Andersen in New York City's Central Park. One story that never fails to delight both the audience and me is "Hans Clodhopper." I had read every one of Andersen's 156 stories, but it was not until I heard Kathryn Farnsworth's wonderfully wry, whimsical telling that Clodhopper came alive for me. In celebration and commemoration of the 200th anniversary of Andersen's birth—he was born on April 2, 1805—I would like to explore this particular story, for it reveals much to us about the life of its author, his craft, as well as the storyteller's craft. Here is a brief synopsis; the full text is available here. The princess announces that she will marry the man who can speak for himself. Two brothers prepare by memorizing the dictionary and the local newspapers. The father gives each of them a horse. Clodhopper, the third and youngest brother, leaps onto a billy goat and takes the princess three gifts: a dead crow, a broken wooden shoe, and dirt. Dirt? Yes, but the finest quality dirt! Indeed, what could be of more importance to the well-being of a kingdom than the quality of its earth? With his outrageous yet meaningful choice of gifts, (heaven, human, earth—a bird, a shoe, dirt), Hans Clodhopper wins the princess. But winning is not keeping, and each hero must secure his own treasure. The youngest brother must now be bold and defend his treasure before the media (who were as inclined to distort facts in 1858 as they are today). Born the child of a washerwoman and a cobbler, Andersen was an innovator, an outsider, and a daring upstart. Some even believed he was crazy, for from the time he was a child, he continually refused to accept society's norms. At six years old, when a teacher hit him, he never returned to that school. At 11, when he was working at a cloth mill and the adults shamed him by pulling off his clothes to see if he were a girl or boy, he ran away and never returned to the job. Fortunately, both his mother and father doted on their only child and protected him, refusing to allow others to abuse him. At 14, the young Andersen had the extraordinary courage and self-confidence to leave his town of Odense to set off by himself for Copenhagen to win his heart's desire—artistic success and the possibility of being able to express himself ("speak for himself"). He first tried his luck by singing until, after a few months, his high soprano voice cracked; next he tried dancing, then acting. He persisted with his intense desire to express himself and wrote poetry, novels, plays, and travelogues until, at the age of 30, he invented a new art form that became a mixture of all the forms he had previously experimented with. Andersen's artistic success was the fairy tales he crafted. As unexpected an innovator as Clodhopper, Andersen broke the established literary precedent with both his style and his content. Previously, Danish literature was constructed in a formal language that had little relationship to the colloquial speech of the day. Andersen, whose background was as a performer—a singer, dancer, actor—understood the need to connect directly with his audience and was the first Danish writer to write in the language that people spoke. In context as well, Andersen was an innovator and a revolutionary. In rewriting the folktales he had heard as a child, he gave the poor, the less fortunate, and the child the role of chief protagonist. He animated and elevated everything in the ordinary world from the beetle to the needle. And he transformed the endings. A most marvelous example of transformation (which all writers will enjoy) occurs when his story "The Emperor's New Clothes" was at the printer's and Andersen had a last-minute inspiration. In his original version everyone admires the Emperor's new clothes, and the story ends with the Emperor saying, "I must put on that suit of clothes." In the version that was revised at the printer's, the child murmurs, "But he hasn't anything on!" With these words, the child, like Hans Clodhopper, becomes the unexpected voice of wisdom and authenticity in the kingdom. "Hans Clodhopper" also offers many profound insights for the craft of the storyteller. Andersen begins his tale by poking fun at memorizing as a means of connecting with oneself, with the world, as well as with achieving one's goals. The two older brothers, who fill their minds with facts and structures, prepare for the future and lose the present. When they enter the palace to speak to the princess and she does not ask them the questions they are prepared to answer, they are speechless. They are so intent on the future that they lose the joy of the moment. Most experienced storytellers learn with time that when they are too worried about the correctness of each word or transition, they lose the opportunity to enjoy and participate in a relationship with their audience, which is the soul of storytelling. Clodhopper has no script in his mind. He has intention. He wants to win the princess and says, "If she takes me, well and good; if not, I'll take her anyhow!" He is filled with joy as well as consideration. He is the only one to think to bring her gifts. When his father doesn't have a horse for him, he improvises and jumps onto a billy goat. So, too, the storyteller or performer needs to remember that there are alternate transports to taking a journey; maybe the storyteller needs to enter the audience, maybe to stand on a crate. The means are not as important as the willingness to experiment and to communicate. Upon entering the palace, Hans, who has no answers prepared, responds to the circumstances in which he finds himself. It's summer and a stove is lit. It's hot! He does not complain about the heat, as his brothers do; rather he rejoices in the possibilities of cooking his crow. Just as the story is about to reach a happy folktale conclusion, Andersen surprises us with his protagonist heaving the finest quality dirt at the "Quality" (those who are recording what is happening). Not only are the journalists and politician jolted, but the audience is as well. A bit of Brecht is thrown into the fairy tale, and the princess is not offended. In fact, she's delighted and says, "I would never have thought of that. But I'll learn!" If, indeed, we go to listen to stories to understand more deeply, Andersen is throwing reality in our faces. At the moment the story reaches its happy conclusion, Andersen surprises us for the third time. He widens the context of his relationship with the story and its listeners. He walks in front of the scrim, breaks down the fourth wall, and reveals that the story we have just shared together is just that…a story. As the tale ends, we return to the narrator's voice. In storytelling, it is important to be aware of our voice. Who is telling the story? We are not the story; we are telling the story. Andersen, who experimented with all aspects of story—the writer, the director, the actor—engages us with the trickster's device of the story within the story, so that for a moment, the crack in our perceptions opens and we are all caught—storytellers and audience—in the play of imagination. The storyteller, as fool and trickster, allows us to see ourselves as mere perception. After years of storytelling, it is clear to me that storytellers choose to tell those stories that engage the work of their soul. They continue to tell those stories until that particular work is completed. I love the character of Hans Clodhopper because he does not memorize, because he revels in the joy of life, because he appreciates what is broken, what is dead, what is ordinary. And also because he is bold. In our times, it seems especially relevant to rescue and care for what is discarded and broken (the broken wooden shoe) and not leave it to decay but to recycle and transform its possibilities. Death awaits each of us every moment and Clodhopper does not avert his eyes before death. He honors the dead crow. He picks it up and offers it a proper, although unexpected, funeral by transforming it into nourishment. And as for the finest quality dirt, we are all standing on this dirt. We shall all return to this dirt. We need to acknowledge and appreciate its well being. How silly a gift—the finest quality dirt—and yet how profound; and also, revolutionary. The fool, the simpleton wins the kingdom, for the one who can perceive and express the truth deserves to be king. Hans not only perceives reality; he is daring enough to express it, and, like a Zen monk, to deliver it directly to those who "claim" they are in search of it. Part of the appeal of the story of "Hans Clodhopper" is that it touches children who relish boundary-breaking fun and silliness. Adults enjoy fun as well, and we also know that the path to such joyful liberation is through much perseverance, mindfulness, and courage. The story, for those who have come in contact with it, reaches out to every age and continues after 200 years to delight and inspire. Is it true? The child asks. And Andersen answers, as true as our imagination. A complete schedule of Andersen stories to be performed this summer in Central Park can be found at www.dianewolkstein.com/events.

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Diane Wolkstein is an author and storyteller. To celebrate Andersen's anniversary, she has created a lively new program of Andersen stories accompanied by original music on violin and percussion.