"Tell me, O tell me, dear Mr. Ulf; you have
only to say the word, and I obey."

"Very well. I will now confess that I
have the good luck to possess, not only a few
wretched bags of ducats, but more money than
you could spend in all the rest of your days,
were you to live as long as Methusalem and
as magnificently as Solomon. My master has
granted me permission to dispose of this
money as I please, with the condition that it
can be given only to those who will invoke my
master."

"Is that all? Go on. Who is your
master?"

"You know very well; the proprietor of the
mines. It is an honour for you to be patronised
by him, for he is a person of distinction and
enormous wealth. He is always dressed in
brilliant scarlet."

"I have a horror of everything that is red in
clothing."

"Get rid of your foolish prejudices. While
confiding in my master's power, and promising
to serve him, you ought to swear eternal hatred
to his enemies."

"Naturally. But, my dear Ulf, if one of my
friends should be one of his enemies?"

"A wretched consideration."

"Granted. Go on."

"Repeat after me, word for word, what I
say:—I hate light, and love darkness."

"I cannot say that."

"In that case I cannot help you."

"I will out with it: I hate light, and I love
darkness."

"I hate the brightness of the moon."

"But how pleasant moonlight is by night."

"Pleasant or not, what does it matter?"

"I hate the brightness of the moon."

"I hate gay flowers."

"I am particularly fond of flowers, especially
roses; but since you insist: I hate gay
flowers."

"I hate the blue sky."

"Ah! that is too strong. What can be more
beautiful than the deep blue sky?"

"Am I to keep my money?"

"No. What does it signify what I think of
the sky? It is a matter of taste: I hate the
blue sky."

In this way poor Walter is led on to curse
mankind, virtue, and the Christian religion, and
to invoke the Evil Spirit, and to pawn his soul.
He walks off with five hundred thousand ducats,
and also with the anguish of remorse. His wife
dies, his children die. He returns to his seducer,
and offers to restore the money; but all in vain.
Ulf causes him to be guarded by demons, while
he goes in search of Satan, to fetch his prey.
But his daughter Rose, whom he believed to be
lost, obtains the protection of Titania, the queen
of the fairies, who rescues him from the powers
of darkness.

Andersen has quite as much right to claim
the title of poet as of novelist and dramatic
writer. He especially displays the national
sentiments of tenderness and family affection.

His Improvisatore is an animated description of
artist life in Italy. His O. T. is an attractive
picture of Danish life and landscapes, as seen in
the island of Funen. Take the following sample
of his style:

"Grandmamma is very old; she is wrinkled
and has snow-white hair, but her eyes are bright
and mild. She tells the most charming tales,
and she wears a silken dress with large flowers,
which makes a rustling sound as it grazes against
the walls. Grandmamma knows a great deal;
the reason is, that she has lived a long time, long
before papa and mamma, that is certain.
Grandmamma has a book of canticles with a silver
clasp, and she is often reading in that book. In
the middle of the volume there is a rose, flattened
and dried, which is not so beautiful as the roses
in the glass; and yet grandmamma smiles
happily when she looks at it, and her eyes fill with
tears. Why does grandmamma gaze in this way
on the dried flower in her book of canticles?

"You want to know? Every time that one
of grandmamma's tears falls on the flower, its
stem uprises, its colours resume their brightness,
it fills the chamber with its perfume; and the
walls of the room fall, as if they were floating
clouds, and all around grandmamma stretches
the green magnificent forest, where the
sunbeams make their way between the foliage. At
that moment grandmamma is quite young; she
is a charming girl with light brown hair and
fresh cheeks, brilliant and beautiful; no flower
is fairer. By her side a young man is seated,
tall and well-made, who offers her a rose, and
she smiles. Grandmamma no longer smiles in
that way—yes, indeed, her smile is still the
same.—He is gone. A thousand visions and a
thousand thoughts have taken his place. The
handsome young man is gone; the rose is laid
in the book of canticles; grandmamma falls
back in her large arm-chair; she looks at the
faded rose in the book. Grandmamma is dead!

"She was laid in a black coffin, wrapped in a
white linen shroud. How beautiful she was!
Her eyes were closed, but every wrinkle had
disappeared. She lay at full length, with a
smile on her lips, and adorned by her silver and
venerable locks. No one was afraid to come
and see the corpse; she was still grandmamma,
so good and so dearly beloved. The book of
canticles was placed in the coffin, beneath her
head; such was her wish. The rose was in the
book. And then they buried grandmamma. On
her grave, close to the church wall, they planted
a rose-bush, whose roses waved in the wind, and
said, 'It is pleasant to bathe in the dew and
the moonbeams. If we are the fairest flowers,
a friendly hand will come and gather us for the
prettiest girl. Let us summon all our brightness
and all our perfume.'

"And the nightingale heard what the roses
said; and he sang in honour of the rose which
the young girl placed in her book of canticles,
keeping it faithfully until her once fresh cheeks
were wrinkled.—It is so beautiful to live in the
memories of the past!—And while the nightingale
sang, the church organ intoned the