His world was the child's
world, in which there is but one grand division into good and bad, and
the innumerable host that occupies the middle-ground between these poles
is ignored. Those who praised what he wrote were good people; those who
ridiculed him were a malignant and black-hearted lot whom he was very
sorry for and would include in his prayers, in the hope that God might
make them better.
We may smile at this simple system; but we all remember the time when we
were addicted to a similar classification. That it is a sign of
immaturity of intellect is undeniable; and in Andersen's case it is one
of the many indications that intellectually he never outgrew his
childhood. He never possessed the power of judgment that we expect in a
grown-up man. His opinions on social and political questions were
_naive_ and quite worthless. And yet, in spite of all these limitations,
he was a poet of rare power; nay, I may say in consequence of them. The
vitality which in other authors goes toward intellectual development,
produced in him strength and intensity of imagination.
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