have dared to hope. Not only did our revolution find a favorable echo
there, as was natural in a independent nation free and hostile to the
pope, but the Italian leaders and the events of recent times are as
familiarly known as those of France and Germany. The best newspapers
have Italian correspondents and furnish the public with the minutest
details of our affairs. In many places portraits of our most
illustrious citizens are seen. Acquaintance with our literature is no
less extended than knowledge of our politics. Putting aside the fact
that the Italian language was sung in the halls of the ancient counts
of Holland, that in the golden age of Dutch literature it was greatly
honored by men of letters, and that several of the most illustrious
poets of that period wrote Italian verses or imitated our pastoral
poetry,--the Italian language is considerably studied nowadays, and
one frequently meets those who speak it, and it is common to see our
books on ladies' tables. The "Divina Commedia," which came into vogue
especially after 1830, has been twice translated into rhymed triplets.
One version is the work of a certain Hacke van Mijnden, who devoted
all his life to the study of Dante. "Gerusalemme Liberata" has been
translated in verse by a Protestant clergyman called Ten Kate, and
there was another version, unpublished and now lost, by Maria
Tesseeschade, the great poetess of the seventeenth century, the
intimate friend of the great Dutch poet Vondel, who advised and helped
her in the translation. Of the "Pastor Fido" there are at least five
translations by different hands. Of "Aminta" there are several
translations, and, to make a leap, at least four of "Mie Prigioni,"
besides a very fine translation of the "Promessi Sposi," a novel that
few Dutch people have not read either in their own language, in
French, or in Italian. To cite another interesting fact, there is a
poem entitled "Florence," written for the last centenary of Dante by
one of the best Dutch poets of our day.

It is now in place to say something about Dutch literature.

Holland presents a singular disproportion between the expansive force
of its political, scientific, and commercial life and that of its
literary life. While the work of the Dutch in every other field
extends beyond the frontier of the land, its literature is confined
within its own borders. It is especially strange that, although
Holland possesses a most abundant literature, it has not,