ity. Who can read that marvellous little tale, "The
Ugly Duckling," without perceiving that it is a subtle, most exquisite
revenge the poet is taking upon the humdrum Philistine world, which
despised and humiliated him, before he lifted his wings and flew away
with the swans, who knew him as their brother? And yet, as a child, I
remember reading this tale with ever fresh delight, though I never for a
moment suspected its moral. The hens and the ducks and the geese were
all so vividly individualized, and the incidents were so familiar to my
own experience, that I demanded nothing more for my entertainment.
Likewise in "The Goloshes of Fortune" there is a wealth of amusing
adventures, all within the reach of a child's comprehension, which more
than suffices to fascinate the reader who fails to penetrate beneath the
surface. The delightful satire, which is especially applicable to Danish
society, is undoubtedly lost to nine out of ten of the author's foreign
readers, but so prodigal is he both of humorous and pathetic meaning,
that every one is charmed with what he finds, without suspecting how
much he has missed. "The Little Mermaid" belongs to the same order of
stories, though the pathos here predominates, and the resemblance to De
la Motte Fouque's "Undine" is rather too striking. But the gem of the
whole collection, I am inclined to think, is "The Emperor's New
Clothes," which in subtlety of intention and universality of application
rises above age and nationality. Respect for the world's opinion and the
tyranny of fashion have never been satirized with more exquisite humor
than in the figure of the emperor who walks through the streets of his
capital in _robe de nuit_, followed by a procession of courtiers, who
all go into ecstasies over the splendor of his attire.

It was not only in the choice of his theme that Andersen was original.
He also created his style, though he borrowed much of it from the
nursery. "It was perfectly wonderful," "You would scarcely have believed
it," "One would have supposed that there was something the matter in the
poultry-yard, but there was nothing at all the matter"--such beginnings
are not what we expect to meet in dignified literature. They lack the
conventional style and deportment. No one but Andersen has ever dared to
employ them. As Dr. Brandes has said in his charming essay on Andersen,
no one has ever attempted, before him, to transfer the vivid mimicry and
gesticulation which ac