As one approaches my little city from the sea on a summer's day, one sees only the tall, round clump of trees on the ramparts and, overtopping it, the old bell-tower with its fantastically shaped and ornamented stories and dome-top of deep cobalt blue. The land to either side is barely visible, and the green foliage flooded with pale sunshine seems to drift in the sun-mist on the grayish yellow waters. It is a dreamy little town, that once in Holland's prime had a short-lived illusion of worldly grandeur. Then gaily-rigged vessels embellished with gilded carvings and flaunting flags entered...

The Marchen or child's story, is a form of literature primevally old, but with infinite capacity of renewing its youth. Old wives' fables, tales about a lad and a lass, and a cruel step-mother, about three adventurous brothers, about friendly or enchanted beasts, about magical weapons and rings, about giants and cannibals, are the most ancient form of romantic fiction. The civilised peoples have elaborated these childlike legends into the chief romantic myths, as of the Ship Argo, and the sagas of Heracles and Odysseus. Uncivilised races, Ojibbeways, Eskimo, Samoans, retain the old wives'...

Ik zal u iets van den kleinen Johannes vertellen. Het heeft veel van een sprookje, mijn verhaal, maar het is toch alles werkelijk zoo gebeurd. Zoodra gij het niet meer gelooft, moet ge niet verder lezen, want dan schrijf ik niet voor u. Ook moogt ge er den kleinen Johannes nooit over spreken, als ge hem soms ontmoet, want dat zou hem verdriet doen en het zou mij spijten, u dit alles verteld te hebben.