老路燈的故事講的是一個路燈的一生。它在路邊爲過路人照亮，因爲它爲人們服務了很多年，所以人們親切的叫它“老路燈”。後來它被一個老太太買走了，老太太十分愛惜它。最後老路燈在這個老太太家生活了一輩子。
老路燈的故事
你聽見過那個老路燈的故事嗎?它並不是怎麼特別有趣，不過聽它一次也沒有關係。
這是一個非常和善的老路燈。它服務了許多許多年，但是現在沒有人要它了。現在是它最後一晚待在杆子上，照着這條街。它的心情很像一個跳芭蕾舞的老舞女：現在是她最後一晚登臺，她知道明天她就要回到頂樓①裏去了。這個“明天”引起路燈的恐怖，因爲它知道它將第一次要在市政府出現，被“36位先生”②審查一番，看它是不是還能繼續服務。
①即屋頂下的那間低矮的房間。一般是當作儲藏室使用的。只有窮學生和藝術家住在裏面。
②這是丹麥市政府裏參議員的總數。
那時就要決定：要不要把它送去照亮一座橋，還是送到鄉下的一個工廠裏去，也可能直接送到一個鍊鐵廠去被熔掉。在這種情形下，它可能被改造成爲任何東西。不過，它不知道，它是不是還能記得它曾經一度做過路燈——這問題使它感到非常煩惱。
不管情形怎樣，它將會跟那個守夜人和他的妻子分開——它一直把他們當做自己的家屬。它當路燈的時候也正是他當守夜人的時候。那時他的老婆頗有點自負。她只有在晚上走過路燈的時候，才瞧它一眼;在白天她是不睬它的。不過最近幾年間，他們三個人——守夜人、老婆和路燈——都老了;這位太太也來照料它，洗擦它，在它裏面加加油。這對夫婦是非常誠實的;他們從來不揩路燈的一滴油。
現在是路燈在街上的最後一晚了;明天它就得到市政府去。這兩件事情它一想起就難過!人們不難想象，它現在點燃的勁頭不大。不過它的腦子裏面也起了許多別的感想。它該是看過多少東西，該是照過多少東西啊，可能它看過的東西還比得上那“36位先生”呢。不過它不願意講出來，因爲它是一個和善的老路燈。它不願意觸怒任何人，更不願意觸怒那些當權的人。它想起許多事情;偶爾之間，它的亮光就閃一下，好像它有這樣的感覺：
“是的，人們也會記得我!曾經有一位美貌的年輕人——是的，那是很久很久以前的事了!他拿着一封信走來——一封寫在有金邊的、粉紅色的紙上的信，它的字跡是那麼美麗，像是一位小姐的手筆。他把它讀了兩次，吻了它一下，然後擡起頭來看着我，他的眼睛在說：‘我是一個最幸福的人!’只有他和我知道他的戀人的第一封信所寫的是什麼東西。我還記起了另一對眼睛。說來也真妙，我們的思想會那麼漫無邊際!街上有一個盛大的送葬的行列。有一個年輕美麗的少婦躺在一個棺材裏。棺材擱在鋪滿了天鵝絨的、蓋滿了花朵和花圈的柩車上，許多火炬幾乎把我的眼睛都弄昏了。整個人行道上都擠滿了人，他們都跟在柩車後面。不過當火炬看不見了的時候，我向周圍望了一眼：還有一個人倚着路燈杆子在哭泣呢。我永遠也忘記不了那雙望着我的悲傷的眼睛!”
許多這類的回憶在老路燈的思想中閃過——這個今晚最後一次照着的老路燈。
一個要下班的哨兵最低限度會知道誰來接他的班，還可以和接班的人交代幾句話。但是路燈卻不知道它的繼承人;它可能供給一點關於雨和霧這類事情的情況，關於月亮在人行道上能照多遠、風兒多半會從哪方吹來這類材料。
有三個東西站在排水溝的橋上，它們把自己介紹給路燈，因爲它們以爲路燈可以讓位給它們。一個是青魚的頭——它在黑暗中可以發出亮光。它覺得如果有它待在路燈杆子上，人們可以節省許多油。另一個是一塊朽木——它也可以發出閃光。它對自己說，它的光起碼比魚頭的光要亮一點;何況它還是森林中一株最漂亮的樹的最後遺體。第三個是螢火蟲。這一位是什麼地方的，路燈想象不出來。但是它卻居然來了，而且還在發着光。不過朽木和青魚頭髮誓說，螢火蟲只能在一定的時刻內發光，因此不能考慮它。
老路燈說它們哪個也發不出足夠的光，來完成一個路燈的任務。但是它們都不相信這話。當它們聽說老路燈自己不能把位置讓給別人的時候，它們很高興，覺得這是因爲路燈老糊塗了，不會選擇繼承人。
在這同時，風兒從街角那邊走來，向老路燈的通風口裏吹，並且說：
“我剛纔聽到的這些話是什麼意思呢?難道你明天就要離開嗎?難道這就是我看到你的最後一晚麼?那麼我送給你一件禮物吧!我將用一種特殊的方式向你的腦蓋骨裏吹，使你不僅能清楚地記得你看見過或聽到過的一切東西，同時還要使你有一個清醒的頭腦，使你能看到人們在你面前談到或講到的事情。”
“是的，那真是太好了!”老路燈說。“我感謝你，只要我不會被熔掉!”
“大概還不會的，”風兒說。“現在我將吹起你的記憶。如果你能多有幾件這樣的禮物，你的老年就可以過得很愉快了!”
“只要我不會被熔掉!”路燈說。“也許，即使如此，你還能保證我有記憶吧!”
“老路燈，請放得有理智些吧!”風兒說。於是風就吹起來。這時月亮走出來了。
“你將送點什麼禮物呢?”風兒問。
“我什麼也不送，”月亮說。“我快要缺口了。燈兒從來不借光給我。相反地，我倒常常借光給他。”
說完這話以後，月亮就又鑽到雲塊後面去了，它不願意人們來麻煩它。
有一滴水從通風口裏落進來。這滴水好像是從屋頂上滴下來的。不過它說它是從烏雲上滴下來的，而且還有一件禮物——可能是一件最好的禮物。
“我將浸潤你的全身，使得你——如果你願意的話——獲得一種力量，叫你一夜就把全身鏽掉，化成灰塵。”
不過路燈認爲這是一件很不好的禮物;風兒也同意這種看法。
“再沒有更好的嗎?再沒有更好的嗎?”風呼呼地使勁吹着。
這時一顆明亮的流星落下來了，形成一條長長的光帶。
“那是什麼?”青魚頭大聲說。“不是一顆星落下來了麼?我以爲它落到路燈裏去了!如果地位這樣高的人物也來要他的位置，那麼我們最好還是回去睡覺的好!”
它這樣做了，其餘的兩位也這樣做了!不過老路燈忽然發出一道強烈的光來。
“這是一件可愛的禮物，”它說。“我一直非常喜愛這些明星，他們發出那麼美麗的光，不管我怎樣努力和爭取，我自己是怎麼也做不到的;他們居然注意起我這個寒磣的老路燈來，派一顆星送一件禮物給我，使我有一種機能把我所能記得的和看見的東西也讓我所喜歡的人能夠看到。這纔是真正的快樂哩。因爲凡是我們不能跟別人共享的快樂，只能算是一半的快樂。”
“這是一種值得尊敬的想法!”風兒說。“不過你不知道，爲了達到這種目的，蠟燭是必要的。如果你的身體裏沒有燃着一支蠟燭，別人也不會看見你的任何東西。星星沒有想到這一點，他們以爲凡是發光的東西，身體裏都有一根蠟燭。但是我現在困了!”風兒說，“我要睡了!”於是風就睡下了。
第二天——是的，我們可以把第二天跳過去。第二天晚上，路燈躺在一張椅子上。這是在什麼地方呢?在那個老守夜人的屋子裏。他曾經請求過那“36位先生”准許他保留住這盞燈，作爲他長期忠實服務的一種報酬。他們對他的要求大笑了一通;他們把這路燈送給了他。現在這燈就躺在一個溫暖的火爐旁的靠椅上。路燈彷彿比以前長得更大了，因爲它幾乎把整個椅子都塞滿了。
這對老夫婦正在坐着吃晚飯，同時用溫柔的眼光望着這個老路燈。他們倒很想讓它坐上飯桌呢。
他們住的地方事實上是一個地窖，比地面要低兩碼。要走進這房間裏去，人們得通過一個有石子鋪地的過道。不過這裏是很舒適的;門上貼着許多布條，一切東西都顯得清潔和整齊;牀的周圍和小窗上都掛着簾子。窗臺上放着兩個奇怪的花盆——是水手克利斯仙從東印度或西印度帶回來的。
那是用泥土燒成的兩隻象。這兩隻動物都沒有背;不過代替背的是人們放在它們身軀中的土，土裏還開出了花：一隻象里長出美麗的青蔥——這是這對老年人的菜園;另一隻象里長出一棵大天竺葵——這是他們的花園。牆上掛着一張大幅的彩色畫，描寫維也納會議①的情景。你一眼就可以看到所有的國王和皇帝。那架有沉重的鉛擺的、波爾霍爾姆鍾②在“滴答!滴答!”地走着，而它老是走得太快。不過這對老年人說，這比走得慢要好得多。
①維也納會議，是法國拿破崙帝國崩潰的時候，英、俄、普、奧等歐洲國家於1814—1815年在維也納召開的重新瓜分歐洲領土的會議。但這個會議沒有解決什麼問題。參加的要人們只是開跳舞會，舒服了一陣子。
②波爾霍爾姆(Bornholm)是丹麥的一個小島，以制鐘著名。
他們吃着晚飯。這個路燈，正如剛纔說過了的，是躺在火爐旁邊的一個靠椅上。對路燈說來，這就好像整個世界翻了一個面。不過這個老守夜人望着它，談起他們兩人在雨和霧中，在短短的明朗的夏夜裏，在那雪花紛飛、使人想要回到地窖裏的家去的那些生活經歷，這時候，老路燈的頭腦就又變得清醒起來。那些生活又清清楚楚地在他面前出現。是的，風兒把它弄得亮起來了。
這對老人是很樸素和勤儉的。他們沒有浪費過一分鐘。在星期日下午他們總是拿出一兩本書來讀——一般說來，總是遊記一類的讀物。老頭兒高聲地讀着關於非洲、關於藏有大森林和野象的故事。老太太總是注意地聽着，同時偷偷地望着那對作爲花盆的泥象。
“我幾乎像是親眼看到過的一樣!”她說。
這時路燈特別希望它身體裏能有一根蠟燭在燃着，好叫這個老太太像它一樣能把一切東西都看得清清楚楚：那些枝丫交叉在一起的、高大的樹啦，騎在馬上的裸體黑人啦，用又寬又笨的腳在蘆葦和灌木上踩過去的一羣一羣的象啦。
“如果我沒有蠟燭，那麼我的機能又有什麼用呢?”路燈嘆了一口氣。“他們只有清油和牛油燭，這個不成!”
有一天，地窖裏有了一紮蠟燭頭，頂大的那幾根被點着了;最小的那幾根老太太要在做針線時用來擦線。這樣一來，蠟燭倒是有了，但是沒有人想起放一小根到路燈裏面去。
“我現在和我稀有的機能全在這兒!”路燈想。“我身體裏面什麼都有，但是我沒有辦法讓他們來分享!他們不知道，我能在這白色的牆上變出最美麗的壁氈、豐茂的森林，和他們所能希望看到的一切東西。”
但是路燈待在牆角里，被擦得乾乾淨淨，弄得整整齊齊，引起所有的眼睛注意。人們說它是一件老廢料;不過那對老年夫婦倒不在乎，仍然愛這路燈。
有一天老守夜人的生日到來了。老太太走近這盞燈，溫和地微笑了一下，說：
“我今晚要爲他把燈點一下!”
路燈把它的鐵蓋嘎嘎地響了一下，因爲它想：“現在我要爲他們亮起來了。”但是它裏面只是加進了油，而沒有放蠟燭。路燈點了一整晚，只有現在它才懂得，星星所送給它的禮物——一切禮物之中最好一件禮物——恐怕只能算是它餘生中一件專用的“祕寶”了。這時它做了一個夢——凡是一個有稀有機能的人，做夢是不太難的。它夢見這對老夫婦都死了，它自己則被送進一個鐵鋪裏被熔掉了。它驚恐的程度，跟它那天要到市政府去、要被那“36位先生”檢查時差不多。雖然假如它願意的話，它有一種能力可以使自己生鏽和化爲灰塵，但是它並不這樣做。它卻走進熔爐裏去，被鑄成了一架可以插蠟燭的最漂亮的燭臺。它的形狀是一個抱着花束的安琪兒;而蠟燭就插在這個花束的中央。這燭臺在一張綠色的寫字檯上佔了一個地位。這房間是非常舒適的;房間裏有許多書籍，牆上掛着許多名畫。這是一個詩人的房間。他所想的和寫的東西都在它的周圍展開。這房間有時變成深鬱的森林，有時變成太陽光照着的、有顴鳥在漫步的草原，有時變成在波濤洶涌的海上航行着的船。
“我有多麼奇妙的機能啊!”老路燈醒來的時候說。“我幾乎想要熔化了!不成!只要這對老夫婦還活着，我決不能這樣做!他們因爲我是一個路燈才愛我。我像他們的一個孩子。
他們洗擦我，餵我油吃。我現在情況好得像整個維也納會議，①這真是一件了不起的事情!”
從那時候起，它享受着內心的平安，而這個和善的老路燈也應當有這種享受。
①這裏安徒生說的是一句諷刺的話。
老路燈的故事英文版
The Old Street Lamp
Have you ever heard the story of the old street lamp? It is not really very amusing, but one can bear to hear it once, anyway. There was once a respectable old street lamp who had performed his duties faithfully and well for many years; but now had been declared to be too old-fashioned. This was the last evening that it would hang from the lamppost and illuminate the street; and he felt like a ballerina who was dancing for the last time and knew that tomorrow she would be a has-been. The lamp was very frightened of the coming day, for he had been told that he would be inspected by the six and thirty men of the town council. They were to decide whether the lamp was fit for further service and, if so, what kind. They might suggest that he be hung over one of the lesser bridges, or be sold to a factory, or condemned altogether, which meant that he would be melted down. Then he would be made into something else, of course; but what worried him was that he did not know whether he would then be able to recall that he had been a street lamp. No matter what happened to him, one thing was certain: tomorrow he would be separated from the night watchman and his wife, and that was a tragedy, for he considered them to be his family. He had been hung on his lamppost the very year that the man became a night watchman. His wife had been young and snobbish. She would look at the street lamp at night but she wouldn't so much as glance at it in daylight. During recent years, however, when all three of them--the night watchman, his wife, and the street lamp--had grown old, the wife had taken care of the lamp: polished it and filled it with oil. The old couple were an honest pair who had never cheated the lamp out of a single drop of oil. This was to be the last night that the old lamp would shine down upon the pavement. Tomorrow it would be taken to a room in the town hall. These two facts made the lamp feel so sad that he flickered. Other thoughts came: memories of all he had seen. He had cast his light upon many a curious sight and had seen more than all the six and thirty men of the town council put together. But the old lamp would never have expressed such a thought out loud, for he had the greatest respect for the authorities. It is always pleasant for the old to reminisce, and each time the lamp remembered something different, the flame inside him seemed to grow brighter. "They will remember me as I remember them," thought the lamp. "Many years ago there was a young man who stood right under me and opened a letter. It had been written on pink stationery and the handwriting was a woman's. He read it twice; then he kissed it. His eyes when he looked up at me said, 'I am the happiest of all men.' He had received a love letter from the girl he loved; and only he and I knew it. "I remember another pair of eyes.--How strangely one's thoughts can jump!--There had been a funeral. Someone who had lived in this street had died: a young, rich woman. The hearse had been drawn by four black horses and the coffin had been covered with flowers. The mourners had walked behind it carrying torches, which had outshone my light. But when the procession had passed and I thought the street was deserted once more, I suddenly noticed someone standing right under me and weeping. I shall never forget those sorrow-filled eyes that stared right into me." Such were the thoughts--the memories---of the old street lamp as it shone for the last time. A sentry who is to be relieved of his duty is allowed to exchange at least a few words with the man who will take his place. But the lamp did not even know who his successor would be, so he would not be able to give him a bit of advice about the wind, and tell him from which corner it usually blew; or the moon, and explain how it shone upon the sidewalk.
Down in the gutter there were three who were ready to take over the job of lighting up the street as soon as it became vacant; and thinking that the lamp could appoint his own successor, they presented them selves to him. The first was a rotten herring head, which can shine in the dark, as you know. It pointed out that his appointment would mean a great saving in oil. The second was an old piece of dry rotten wood. It can also glow and that a lot brighter than an old codfish, as it said itself. Besides, it was the last piece of a tree that had been the pride of a whole forest. The third was a glowworm. The old street lamp could not imagine where it could have come from, but there it was shining like the others. The herring head and the piece of old, dry, rotten wood claimed that the worm did not glow all the time but only when it had fits, which ought to disqualify it.
The old lamp tried to explain to them that none of them had sufficient light to become a street lamp. But none of the three would believe that; and when they were told that the lamp could not, in any case, appoint his own successor, they all declared that this was good news, for--as they all agreed--the old lamp was too senile to make such an important decision.
Just then the wind came around the corner and whistled through the cowl of the lamp. "What's this I hear about your leaving us tomorrow? Will this be the last evening that I shall find you here? Well, let me give you a farewell present, since we must part. I shall blow your brain clean of all cobwebs, so that you will not only be able to remember everything you have ever heard or seen, but you will be able to see clearly anything that is told or read aloud in your presence, as well."
"What a marvelous gift!" said the old lamp. "If only I am not melted down."
"It hasn't happened yet," replied the wind. "And now I'll blow on your memory. If you can get a few more presents like mine, your retirement and old age will be a pleasure."
"But what if I am melted down?" sighed the lamp. "Can you ensure my memory then too?"
"Be reasonable, old lamp," said the wind, and blew with all its might. Just then the moon came out from behind a cloud. "What will you give the old lamp?" asked the wind.
"Me? I will give him nothing," said the moon. "I am on the decline; besides, the lamp has never shone for me, though I have shone for him." And the moon hid behind the clouds because it hated anyone who made demands on it. A drop of water fell upon the cowl. It announced that it had been sent by the gray clouds above and that it brought a valuable gift. "Now that I am inside of you, you can rust into dust in one night--any night that you choose, even tonight." The lamp thought that a very poor present and the wind agreed with him. "Hasn't anyone anything better to offer . . . anything better to offer?" screeched the wind as loudly as it could. A shooting star fell from the sky, making an arch of fire.
"What was that?" shouted the herring head. "I think a star fell right down into the old lamp! Well, if the office is being sought by those of such high rank, the rest of us might as well go home." And that was what all three of them did. The old lamp shone more brightly than it ever had before. "That was a lovely gift!" exclaimed the lamp. "The brilliant stars above, whom I have always admired and who shine so much more clearly than I have ever done--even though I have striven, throughout my whole life, to do just that--have sent down to me--poor, dim street lamp that I am--a most wonderful gift! They have given me the power to make those whom I love see clearly anything that I can remember or imagine. What a marvelous present! For that happiness that cannot be shared with others is only half as valuable as the one that can."
"A very respectable and decent sentiment, old lamp," said the wind. "I am afraid, though, that they forgot to tell you that you need to have a lighted wax candle inside you in order for anything to happen. Without the burning candle, nobody will ever see anything. The stars probably didn't think about telling you because they think that anything that shines down here has at least one wax candle inside it. But now I am tired. I think I'll rest." And the wind was gone.
The next day . . . Oh, we might as well skip the next day and jump to the next evening, when we find the lamp lying in an easy chair. But where? In the home of the old night watchman. He had petitioned the six and thirty men of the town council to reward his long and faithful service by giving him the old street lamp. Although they laughed, it had been good-naturedly, and the old man had been allowed to take the lamp home with him. Now the lamp lay in the easy chair next to the stove and looked twice as big as it had when it hung from the lamppost. The old couple, who were having supper, looked fondly toward it. They would have given the lamp a seat at the table had there been a point to it. The room where they lived was in a cellar, two feet under the ground, which had to be entered through a stone-paved corridor. Around the door there was weather stripping, and the room was warm. It was also clean, neat, and cozy. Curtains concealed the bed and covered the two tiny windows. On the window ledges stood two strange-looking flowerpots which their neighbor, who was a sailor, had brought home from the Indies--whether it was the East or the West Indies, the old people didn't know. They were two ceramic elephants whose backs had holes in them that could be filled with earth. In one there grew leeks, and that was the old couple's vegetable garden. In the other a geranium bloomed, and that was their flower garden. On the wall hung a large colored print of The Congress of Vienna. In this picture, all the kings and emperors of Europe were portrayed, and you could see them all in one glance. In the corner an old grandfather clock ticked away. It was always fast but, as the old man said, that was better than if it had been slow. While the old couple were eating dinner, the lamp lay in the easy chair--as we have already been told--near the old stove. The lamp felt a bit as if his world had been turned upside down. But as soon as the old man began reminiscing, talking about all the things that he and the lamp had experienced together--in rain and shine, during the clear summer nights and the long cold winter ones--the lamp realized how pleasant it was to be sitting by a warm stove in the cellar. The lamp remembered everything as vividly as if it had just happened. The wind had really done a good job of refreshing its memory.
The old people were very hard-working; they never wasted a moment. Sunday afternoon, the old watchman would take down a book and read aloud. He preferred travel books, especially ones about Africa. He liked to read about the great tropical forests where the elephants roamed. His wife would glance up at the window ledges where the two clay elephants were and say, "I can almost see it all." How much the old street lamp wished he had a lighted candle inside him! Then the old people would be able to see it all just as he envisioned it. He saw the tall trees growing so close together that their branches intertwined; the naked natives riding on horses; and herds of elephants tramping through the underbrush, crushing reeds and breaking saplings with their great broad feet.
"What is the good of my gift if they have no wax candles?" sighed the street lamp. "They cannot afford them; they are too poor to own anything but tallow candles or oil."
But one day a whole handful of wax candle stumps arrived in the cellar. The old couple used the larger ones for light, but it never occurred to them to put one in the old street lamp. With the smaller pieces of candle the woman waxed her thread for sewing.
"Here I sit, possessing a rare gift," complained the lamp. "I have a whole world within me, and I cannot share it with the old couple. They don't know that I could decorate these whitewashed walls with the most splendid tapestries. They could see the richest forest. . . . They could see anything they desired; but alas! they do not know it."
The lamp had been polished and cleaned and now stood in a comer where all the visitors could see it. Most of them thought it was a piece of old rubbish, but the night watchman and his wife truly loved the lamp.
It was the night watchman's birthday. The old woman stood before the lamp and said with a smile, "I think that you ought to be illuminated in his honor." Hopefully, the lamp thought, "A light has dawned on them. Now they will give me a wax candle." The old woman filled the lamp once more with oil and he burned all evening. And now he felt certain that the gift the stars had given him--the best present he had ever received--would remain a useless, hidden treasure during the rest of his life. That night he dreamed--and anyone who possesses a talent as great as the lamp's really can dream--that the old couple had died and that he had been sent to the foundry to be melted down. He was just as frightened as he had been on the day that the six and thirty men had inspected him. But even though he had the ability to rust and disappear into dust, he didn't make use of it. When he had been melted down, the iron was used to make the most beautiful candlestick, which was cast in the shape of an angel holding a bouquet of flowers. In the center, among the flowers, there was a hole for a wax candle. The candlestick was placed on a green writing desk that stood in a very cozy room, which was filled with books and had many paintings hanging on the walls. It was the room of a poet. All that the poet thought, imagined, and wrote down seemed to exist within the room. The dark solemn woods, the sunlit meadows where the stork strode, even the deck of a ship sailing on the billowy sea.
"What a gift I have!" said the old lamp. "I could almost wish to be melted down. No! Not as long as the old couple are alive. They love me for myself. I am like a child to them; they have given me oil and polished me. They honor me as much as they do The Congress of Vienna and that picture is highborn."
From then on, the old street lamp seemed to have acquired within him the peace that he deserved; he was, after all, a very respectable old street lamp.
老路燈的故事點評
舊的路燈被淘汰了，成爲廢鐵，面臨進熔鐵爐的命運——當然這也不一定是最悲慘的命運：它可能重新被鑄成一架可以插蠟燭的最漂亮的燭臺。老路燈就在做着這樣的夢。老路燈做了那些美妙而荒唐的夢後，最後也不想要熔化了，其實愛它每天照顧它的人，就在它的身邊，我們也是如此，其實不一定要有多偉大，只要愛護好身邊的每一個愛自己的人。這樣就會很幸福。
老路燈的作者
安徒生不只是一個童話作家，他也寫過詩、小說、劇本和遊記，其中也有不少的名篇。安徒生在童話方面的作品，對世界兒童文學創作的發展所起的影響是無法估量的。他的童話作品受到了世界廣大讀者的喜愛，這種成功主要是因爲他的作品表現出一種民主主義精神和人道主義精神，這在當時具有一定的積極意義，因爲它的對立面是封建主義的殘暴和新興資產階級的無情剝削，因而在一定程度上表達出人民的思想感情。另一方面，安徒生在語言風格上具有高度的創造性，在作品的內容上又是一個偉大的現實主義者。這兩種結合使他的作品在兒童文學中放出異彩，開闢出一條新的道路。
