rove out the shy and solitary
boy.

And now came the crisis. He would go forth into the world. He would be
famous. All his early aspirations for distinction and celebrity had
become, as might be expected, associated with the theatre. But as yet he
had not the least idea in what department he was to excel--whether as
actor or poet, dancer or singer--or rather he seems to have thought
himself capable of success in them all. The passion for fame, or rather
for distinction, had been awakened before the passion for any particular
art. All he knew was, that he was to be a celebrated man; by what sort
of labour, what kind of performance, he had no conception. Indeed, the
remarkable performance, the work to be done, was not the most essential
thing in his calculation. "People suffer a deal of adversity, and then
they become famous." It was thus he explained the matter to himself. He
was on the right road, at all events, for the adversity.

We must relate his going forth in his own words. Never, surely, on the
part of all the actors in it, was there a scene of such singular
simplicity.

"My mother said that I must be confirmed, in order that I might be
apprenticed to the tailor trade, and thus do something rational.
She loved me with her whole heart, but she did not understand my
impulses and my endeavours, nor, indeed, at that time did I myself.
The people about her always spoke against my odd ways, and turned
me into ridicule. (They only saw the ugly duckling in the young
swan.)

"We belonged to the parish of St Knud, and the candidates for
confirmation could either enter their names with the provost or
with the chaplain. The children of the so-called superior families,
and the scholars of the grammar-school, went to the first, and the
children of the poor to the second. I, however, announced myself as
a candidate to the provost, who was obliged to receive me, although
he discovered vanity in my placing myself among his catechists,
where, although taking the lowest place, I was still above those
who were under the care of the chaplain. I would, however, hope
that it was not alone vanity that impelled me. I had a sort of fear
of the poor boys, who had laughed at me, and I always felt as it
were an inward drawing towards the scholars of the grammar-school,
whom I regarded as far better than other boys. When I saw them
Pl