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In 1840 a very flappy Hans Christian Andersen flounced out of his native Denmark and set off on a trip to "the Orient" which, at that time, meant nowhere fancier than Istanbul. You could always count on Andersen's spirits to be low, but this time they were sunk in his clown-sized boots. His latest play had attracted an embarrassing charge of plagiarism and his one-sided love affair with the stolidly heterosexual Edvard Collin, not to mention Collin's sister Louise, was getting nowhere. Travel, in the sense of transit rather than arrival, could always be guaranteed to soothe Andersen's shattered soul, and this time was no different. Hurtling through Germany, Hungary and Austria, he sought his usual salves of hectic sight- seeing and energetic schmoozing. No mid-European princeling, composer or generic man of genius was safe from Andersen's moist attentions. Pouncing on famous friends like other tourists collected postcards, Andersen stayed just long enough in the palaces and pleasure gardens of Europe to pump up his quivering ego until it was in a state to return home, ready to go another round in the bear garden that was literary Denmark.
Much of Andersen's wobbling unhappiness was due to his status as an outsider. Born into the very lowest of the working classes in provincial Odense, and odd-looking to boot, he would...