view, and his personification of an old clothes-press or a
darning-needle was therefore as natural as that of a child who beats the
chair against which it bumped its head. In the works of more ambitious
scope, where this code of conduct would be out of place, Andersen was
never wholly at his ease. As lovers, his heroes usually cut a sorry
figure; their milk-and-water passion is described, but it is never felt.
They make themselves a trifle ridiculous by their innocence, and are
amusing when they themselves least suspect it. Likewise, in his
autobiography, he is continually exposing himself to ridicule by his
_naive_ candor, and his inability to adapt himself to the etiquette
which prevails among grown-up people. Take as an instance his visit to
the Brothers Grimm, when he asked the servant girl which of the brothers
was the more learned, and when she answered "Jacob," he said, "Then take
me to Jacob." The little love affair, too, which he confides seems to
have been of the kind which one is apt to experience during the pinafore
period; a little more serious, perhaps, but yet of the same kind. It is
in this vague and impersonal style that princes and princesses love each
other in the fairy-tales; everything winds up smoothly, and there are
never any marital disagreements to darken the honeymoon. It is in this
happy, passionless realm that Andersen dwells, and here he reigns
supreme. For many years to come the fair creatures of his fancy will
continue to brighten the childhood of new generations. No rival has ever
entered this realm; and even critics are excluded. Nevertheless,
Andersen need have no fear of the latter; for even if they had the wish,
they would not have the power, to rob him of his laurels.

Hans Christian Andersen was born in the little town of Odense, on the
island Fuenen, April 2, 1805. His father was a poor shoemaker, with some
erratic ambitions, or, if his son's word may be trusted, a man of a
richly gifted and truly poetic mind. His wife was a few years older and
a good deal more ignorant than himself; and when they set up
housekeeping together, in a little back room, they rejoiced in being
able to nail together a bridal bed out of the scaffolding which had
recently supported a dead nobleman's coffin. The black mourning drapery
which yet clung to the wood gave them quite a sense of magnificence.
Their first child, Hans Christian, grew up amid these mean surroundings,
constantly worried by the street