e heads of the vanquished dangling
from their girdles, of bull and tiger fights, of the frenzy of
opium-eaters, of the multitudes baptized with pomp, of a thousand
strange and wonderful incidents which produce a singular effect when
related by the phlegmatic people of this peaceful country.

Poetry, after it lost Da Costa, a disciple of Bilderdijk, a religious
poet and enthusiast, and Genestet, a satirical poet who died very
young, had few champions in the last generation, and these are now
silent or sing with enfeebled voice. The stage is in a worse
condition. The untrained, ranting Dutch actors usually appear only in
French or German dramas, comedies which are badly translated, and the
best society does not go to see them. Writers of great talent, like
Hofdijk, Schimmel, and Van Lennep, wrote comedies which were admirable
in many ways, but they never became popular enough to hold the stage.
Tragedy is in no better condition than comedy and the drama.

From what I have said it would appear that there is not at present any
great literary movement in Holland; but on the contrary, there is
great literary activity. The number of books published is incredible,
and it is marvellous with what avidity they are read. Every town,
every religious sect, every society, has its review or newspaper.
Besides this, there is a multitude of foreign books: English novels
are in the hands of all; French works of eight, ten, and twenty
volumes are translated into the national language. This is the more
remarkable in a country where all cultivated people can read the
originals, and it proves how customary it is not only to read, but to
buy, although books are a great deal more expensive in Holland than
elsewhere. But this superabundance of publications and this thirst for
reading are precisely those elements which are injuring literature.
Writers, in order to satisfy the impatient curiosity of the public,
write in too great haste, and the mania for foreign literature
smothers and corrupts the national genius. Nevertheless, Dutch
literature has still a just claim to the esteem of the country: it
has declined, but has not become perverted; it has preserved its
innocence and freshness; what is lacking in imagination, originality,
and brilliancy is compensated by wisdom, by the severe respect for
good manners and good taste, by loving solicitude for the poorer
classes, by the effective energy with which it advances charity and
civil education.