LIII

[1]To Heer E.C. Abendanon.

[2]Indo-European used commonly to denote a many-mixed blood.

[3]Sinjo from the Portuguese "Senhor," indicating master, used toward natives with European blood.

December 12th, 1902.[1]

We think that your little table is the most beautiful of all the carved work that our Singo has done. A short while ago he was saved as though by a miracle, from a great calamity. Eleven houses near his own were burned to the ground. The cocoanut tree in his little garden was all ablaze, but by great good fortune his house remained uninjured. The whole village ran out to see the miracle and asked the lucky owner of the only remaining house, what "Ilmoe"[2]or "Djamat"[3]he had to protect him. For they thought, of course, that he had saved his house through some magic spell. No, he had no "Ilmoe" or "Djamat," nor magic spells, he had only "Goesti Allah" who had spared him for his own purposes. The day after the fire, the man came to us, and fancy! he thanked us for the preservation of his dwelling. He insisted that it was the power of our prayers for him that had kept his house from misfortune. Such naïve and simple faith is touching.

I asked myself if it would be right to take away from these poor souls the simple faith that makes them happy. What could I give them in its stead? The stupidest person can tear down, but it is quite another matter to build up.

We have found so many charming qualities in our humble friends.

We were turned away for a long time from all religion, because we saw so much uncharitableness under its mantle. We learned, at first slowly; that it is not religion that is uncharitable, but man who has made what was originally Godlike and beautiful, bad and ugly. We think that love is the highest religion, and must one be a Christian in order to love according to that Heavenly command? For the Buddhist, the Brahmin, the Jew, the Mohammedan and even the Heathen can lead lives of pure love.

A little while ago I received a letter from Dr. Adriani in which you would be interested. I told him what you had done for us, and he is so glad for our sakes. "What Mevrouw Van Kol has made you see," he wrote, "is the substance of all religion, the recognition of God as a person, not as goodness, but the Good."

There are many earnest things in his letter, I wish that I could read it to you and talk about it with you; I must answer it. Somewhere he says, "But I can see no other way, Christianity alone does not bring one happiness, only the personal love of God does that, of which Christianity is the symbol."

[1]To Mevrouw Abendanon.

[2]Magic power to obtain what one wishes.

[3]A talisman which protects from calamity.

January 14th, 1903.[1]

My brother; my little brother, will positively not become priaja, and enter the service of the Indian Government. If Mevrouw has told you something of my letters, you will know that I am not sorry, but am rejoicing with brother in his decision. We think it splendid that brother has not for an ideal that which thousands of his fellow countrymen have always looked upon as most desirable, as the very height of good fortune—to be a little Prince, glittering with buttons, under a gold striped parasol. It is a great joy to us that pomp and ceremony have no charm for him, and that he has realized so young that he wishes to go another way from the one that has always been followed, and trodden flat, by the feet of thousands.

I should have liked for him to dedicate himself to the service of suffering humanity, and to have studied medicine. That is perhaps part selfishness in me, I should have been glad to see him become a doctor because it is such a beautiful calling, and it would have inevitably taught him to understand our ideals. He could have done so much to further the mutual respect between the European and native elements. He could have taught his people to trust the European methods of healing, and he could have called the attention of the European world to the simple native methods whose value has been many times proven.

I spoke to little brother about the Doktor-Djawa School, but he had no inclination in that direction, and we do not wish to press him.

[1]To Dr. Abendanon.

January 17, 1903.[1]

For three longs weeks not a drop of rain has fallen. It is boiling hot as it has never been before, even in the dryest Oostmoesson.

Father is in despair; the young rice in the fields is turning brown, Oh, our poor people! So far they have had enough to eat here and they do not know the most frightful of all calamities which a land can suffer—Famine. But what has not been, may be; and this great drought in the time of the wet season presages anything but good. What will happen if it keeps up? For several mornings the wind has blown as it usually does first in May. Has the turning point been reached, has the dry season begun?

It is frightful, every one looks on helpless. It is hard to see everything that has been sown and planted turn brown and die, without being able to turn a finger to help it, and the great heat harasses the body too; one feels dull and listless.

What do you think of such a complaint from a child of the sun? Oh, how frightful for the people who are working out in the fields, if for us in here it is so scalding hot, and this is the wet season (Westmoesson). Do not be chary with your cold; could you not spare a little of it? You may take as much of our warmth as you wish.

[1]To Mevrouw Van Kol.

January 27th, 1903.[1]

I have been thinking of the time that is past, the old time when I sat with your father and your dear mother by the sea; those were moments of delight, such as one never forgets. The last time too that we sat with your father by the shore, and he talked to us of our plans, will always live in our memory.

It was splendid to speak heart to heart with one whom we knew to be such a noble, sincere friend. And what was the result; I could not sleep the whole night, I tossed about in my bed with your father's earnest affectionate words still in my mind and in my heart. That was what we had needed, what we had longed for; an earnest affectionate word, spoken face to face. The next morning early, your father had to go away, to our great sorrow. We went with his Excellency in the carriage past the way where we had talked on the sand; the result of that talk is that very soon, with the full consent of our parents, we are going to present a petition to the Government through the Governor General, asking it to give us an opportunity to help the Javanese woman of the future by completing our education at Batavia. Are you not startled, Brother? I do not know what you will think—that we are fickle? To strive with all our might at first to go to Holland, move heaven and earth to get there, and when at last, thanks to the work of our friends, we can go—to say "I am going to stay." What do you think of such instability? But is it not better to turn! back and acknowledge one's mistake than to persist in a wrong course for the sake of consistency?

Do you know when that idea of going to Holland first took such a fast hold of us? It was in the December days of 1901, when we suffered without knowing why. Then there came to us a wild longing to go away—far away. Away, away—away into another atmosphere—to another land, where we should breathe a different air, and all our soul's wounds should be healed, where we should be strengthened in spirit and perhaps also in body. Strengthened and born anew, we would come back to work for the regeneration of our people. While we were away, people would cease to think of us. Alas, that it would seem so good to be forgotten. We should be forgotten by those for whom we would work, whom we so longed to help.

O, poor illusions! You know that it has always been one of our dearest dreams to be educated for our work, in Holland. But Father's last, severe illness has made us think deeply. We understood at last as we stood over his sick bed how fast his dear heart was bound up in us. But I still ask myself, should we have come to this decision if your father had not been here and talked with us? I do not know, but there is no doubt that our parents have to thank your father for much, and we ourselves, are very grateful to his Excellency too.

Sister and I have talked and pondered over your father's words for a long time. The result is that our going to Holland is still in the air—has flown to the moon, but that we hope to go to Batavia with all speed.

This is all personal. More important, is the effect which our decision will have upon our cause. In the first place if we go to Batavia, we could begin to study at once. While if we go to Holland, we must wait a long time. I think always of your father's words, "Why not do what can be done at once—something will have been accomplished then, while in Holland everything would lie far in the future." Your father spoke of the wounded man who called for help; some one comes to him and says, "No friend—I cannot help you now, I must first study, and learn how wounds should be dressed." Then the some one goes away, and when at last he had learned the art of binding wounds, the man who had called to him, had long been dead.

Then your father spoke of a pearl lying deep in the sea. You know that it is there but you do not know precisely where. You wade out into the sea and try to find it. The water comes up to your lips, some one calls to you and says-"Friend do not do that, go no further. The water already comes up to your lips, if you are drowned, still you will not have the pearl; get into a boat, measure and fish for it."

Your father said we could open a school at once without having to pass a single examination. There is nothing in the law that compels one to pass examination before teaching native girls. We could get some European teachers to help us, that would be as we wished, but do you think it would be well for us to open it at all without adequate preparation? It is true that in "Our School" (how pleasant that sounds) we want to give more of a moral than an academic education. If it is not erected by the Government we would not have to follow the prescribed paths, and we want the whole idea of our school to be the education of children, not as though they were in a school, but in a home, as a mother would bring up her own children.

It must be like a great home community. Where the inmates all love one another and learn from one another, and where the mother is not a mother in name but in spirit, the educator of the child's soul and body.

We have thought much about that other idea of your father's; but in this way; if we are not able to study, but have to remain at home, could we not take the little daughters of regents here, as many as the kaboepaten would hold? Let them go to school outside, but give them their moral education here with us. We could lead the young hearts through play and help to form the young characters. During the hours when those children would be at school, we could take other little children of native chiefs here in our own neighbourhood and teach them elementary branches, handiwork and other things. All the while unperceived, we would be knocking at the little hearts and trying to get nearer to the little souls. But if we find that we can open a school, then we had rather study first. Do you not think we are right, Brother? The school would be at Magelang or at Salatiga. Your father has talked with ours about it, and there is no objection at all. That would be almost as good as going to Holland. It would be splendid—Hé Brother?

Our grandfather in the past brought up the sons of other nobles. Grandfather had a tutor for his children, and he took the sons of the Pangerang of Solo and of a regent of middle Java to be educated with his own sons. So you see there is nothing new under the sun; our idea which is called startlingly new, is old, inherited from our grandfather. Our plan of education—our spirit, has descended from him. Grandfather was a pioneer; we are only carrying on his work—they were good people, both grandfather and grandmother.

Your father has told us that according to form a note must be presented in which our plans, and ideas are set forth plainly and exactly. It must be written from the heart, not at all as though it was intended for the Governor General. We should like for your father to read the note first, but his Excellency does not think it necessary. We must write simply, just as we feel.

[1]To Heer E.C. Abendanon.

February 1st, 1903.[1]

I must thank you once more for your advice. Your talk did us a tremendous amount of good. Why should I not acknowledge to you that we had never looked at things in that light before, and had never dreamed that if we went to Holland we might endanger our own cause. Our "Friends" would be only too glad to spread abroad the report that we had grown to be wholly "blanda,"[2]and many parents would shudder at the mere thought of entrusting their children to us. You have opened our eyes; we are grateful from our hearts.

This morning we were taking a drive and we witnessed a naïve example of native faith. It was out in the fields. Men and animals were uniting in prayer to the All-Highest to bathe the thirsty earth with blessed rain.

In the foreground sat the priest and santries,[3]behind the priestesses in white garments and around them hundreds of men, women and children. Sheep, goats, horses and buffaloes were bound to stakes. A priest stood before them and led the service, praying in a loud voice. Most of the people fell in with "Amin-amin," in which chorus the Meeting of the sheep was blended.

This ceremony is called "sembajang istira." They prayed for three days and three nights. You can imagine the delight and gratitude of the people, because now it has rained. Their prayers were effectual and do you know what they say now? We cannot get the idea out of their heads, that we had a share in it.

Before this at other places the people had held "sembajang istira," but never a drop of rain fell. Chance willed it that we should be present at the solemnities here, so our simple people draw the conclusion that we gave strength to that last prayer and supplication which, plainly, was heard and answered.

Such childlike, confiding faith is touching.

I wish so often that I had a photographic apparatus and could make a permanent record of some of the curious things that I see among our people. There is so much which we should like to preserve, so that we could give to outsiders a true picture of us Javanese.

It would mean so much more than mere written description if they would see the whole scene on the paddi—the buffaloes and the botjok-angongs[4]included. I could then write what I, as a child of Java, think and feel about these things.

You know that I am always glad to be able to do anything for you, and when you ask a favour of me, it is a joyful occasion. I am also glad to do what I can for "East and West." I feel that I am only doing myself a service, for it is for our people, and I and my people are one. So dispose of my time as you will, with a quiet mind, and do not be afraid that you will be asking too much of me. I only ask your forbearance when something that you have ordered does not come quickly enough.

I have talked with the goldsmith about going to Solo to learn to work in tortoiseshell there. He is eager to go; already he can make little combs, he has the tools for that, but he does not understand polishing very well; he could learn that at Solo. He is also anxious to learn to work in horn and mother of pearl. That too could be learned there.

But the revival of our art is just beginning and naturally all of these things cannot be done at once. I have had a pleasant letter from Dr. Pijzel, one of the editors ofEigen Haard. I also received some copies of my article on wood-carving. The illustrations are reproduced beautifully. Do you not think so? I have one set of them made on very fine paper. Do you know what I think so splendid? That the very first time that I write for the public under my own name, "Moedertje" should introduce me. Though it is even as pleasant that the little article should be in demand. We have heard that in the Minahassa, a native girl has "crazy" ideas just as we have. You see we are not the only simpletons. If the nobles here disdain us, and we are rejected by the people too, then we can fly away and seek that sister soul. Far away from the whirl of the markets, in some forgotten place, together we will find work for the head, the heart and the hand. In the great wide world somewhere there must be a place for us.

My eldest sister has been here, but she went away yesterday, not back to Kendal, but to Koedoes to visit her mother-in-law and to try to arouse the latter's interest in our cause. Some one goes now to plead for us, who herself once bitterly opposed us. When she was coming here, we did not plan an elaborate speech that would soften her heart. We talked to her simply, just as we felt, and it was sweet and strange when our sister with moist eyes said tremulously "Good, may you carry out your plans and meet with success. I shall pray God to bless you."

We asked her, "Will you still cling to us if others revile us and condemn us?"

And she answered, "Even the loudest talkers will be silent some day." Sister thinks that her mother-in-law will help us, and that her husband too will have sympathy for us.

But how are things here at home? Formerly we must never speak to others about the subject nearest our hearts, now they bring it up themselves. We talked not long ago with a stranger about several things. My heart beat with joy and happiness when I saw Father standing next to me the whole time. "I am his child in spirit too," sang my heart! Father invited the stranger to come here so that we could exchange our thoughts and ideas. He thought it would be good for us. Oh is my dream to really become reality? Are we going on our way with our parents' full blessing? Before we had an opportunity to write to the Heer Sijthoff, we received a very cordial letter from him last week, reproaching us for our obstinacy. A few lines further on, he declared that we had forced his respect and promised to give us his support. When we need it, we have only to ask him.

[1]To Dr. Abendanon.

[2]Blanda: European.

[3]Those who live pious lives and scrupulously observe all forms of religion. A student of theology.

[4]Boys who herd buffaloes.

March 4th, 1903.[1]

I have been laid low by sickness; for days they watched over me anxiously—I was in the most frightful pain. Thank God, that is now behind me. And the suffering is a thing of the past. I was freed from my pain by such a strange remedy; we have preserved it and given it to all of our family. Later, it may do our children good.

Yesterday I began work again. And today for the first time, I went driving. Father's pleasure was touching. Naturally I sat next to him, and he held on to me tightly as if he were afraid of losing me. It was a delightful hour, the precious memory of which will be with me always.

[1]To Mevrouw Abendanon.

March 9th, 1903.[1]

We have received word that the tortoiseshell will be here before many days. And then the goldsmith will go with it to Solo. Now all three branches of the artistic industry of my birth place are growing and thriving. And we are still looking for others that can be spurred back into life. The people know that our aim is their well-being, and they show their appreciation by working with eagerness and enthusiasm. I am thankful that they understand that we have their good always before our eyes; otherwise everything that we might do for them would be useless.

It is splendid to see life waking and stirring around us. They are beginning to grow vegetables on a large scale, even in the Kampong, around the Malay camp. Everything goes so well. The goldsmith has taken more boys as apprentices, and there are some clever youths that want to be educated for the wood-carving trade also. I have noted one thing with great pleasure; among the apprentices, there is a boy from the kota, and consequently not a child of Blakang-Goenoeng, the wood-carving village. We have to seek out other apprentices, but this boy from the kota came of himself and asked us to take him.

The little ones here will carry on our work when we are gone. We can lead them from a distance so long as they need leading.

Some one complained to us about ingratitude, among our inferiors. We told him that if he were distressed at the ingratitude of the people, it was his own fault.

He looked at us with his great eyes and said; "My fault, when people are ungrateful to me?"

"Yes, your fault, when you allow yourself to be distressed by it. For we must never do good with the thought of gratitude before our eyes. We must do good, simply because it is good, and because only in so doing will we fulfil ourselves." I believe that to be happy ourselves, and to make others happy, we must understand. The more we understand the less bitterness we feel, and the easier it is to be just.

He asked us too, "What would happen if you should meet some one in whose presence your heart would beat?"

"I should be happy and thankful because that would indicate that I had met a companion soul, and the more companion souls we find, the better it is for our cause, and that of those whom we love."

"You will never meet a companion soul."

That was said forcefully. What did he mean? Does he place our men too low—or me undeservedly high. If he but knew, I had just received an enthusiastic letter from a young—and to me unknown—companion soul. I shall send the letter to you. It is from a student of the Native Artisans school. A spontaneous expression of sympathy about the article that appeared inEigen Haardwhich you induced me to write. It is so like a young boy—young in its glowing enthusiasm, but through it a spirit speaks that is far from commonplace; there is candour in every line.

That is a luxury which writers can enjoy, unknown people feel that they are friends when they strike a sympathetic chord. I love to think that it was you who induced me to make my own name known to the public, and such an introduction from one whom I admire deeply is like a benediction.

If that article has met with success, I attribute it to the fact that it first saw the light through your hands. There were many things that had to be included in that introduction, but in none of them did it miss its mark. Its success has meant much to our artists, and since its appearance many questions have come to me about our wood-carving.

[1]To Mevrouw Abendanon.

April 25th, 1903.[1]

It is stupid and unpardonable that we did not write to you as soon as the great decision was made; that we were not to eat the fruit of the noble work which you and others have done for us. No one could be more surprised at this determination than we ourselves. We had been prepared for anything, but we had never expected that we would say of our own free will "We want to stay." But do not think of us, think of the cause and what will be best for that; it is there we must rest our case.

Do not think that our feelings have changed, they have not. When our request was on the way to the Governor General, we believed firmly that for the sake of our future pupils, education in Europe was an absolute necessity. But after that another truth was impressed upon us: "At this time, it would be far better for the cause if we remained in India."

You know that it is our dearest wish to complete our educations in Europe. Can you realize what it will cost us to give up the idea on the very eve of its realization? We have been through a terrible struggle. But we threw aside our own desires, when we found that the cause could be served best in a different way. We saw this as soon as we ceased to think of ourselves, but only of our cause.

The people for whom we wish to work, must learn to know us. If we went away, we should become as strangers to them. And when after some years, we came back, they would see in us only European women. If the people do not like to trust their daughters to European women, how much less would they be willing to trust them to those who were worse in their eyes, Javanese turned European.

Our aim is our people; and if they should be set against us, of what good would the help of the Government be? We ought to strike as quickly as possible, and place before the public as an accomplished fact a school for native girls. Just now they are talking about us, and we are known over the whole of Java. We must strike while the iron is hot. If we went away, interest would grow luke-warm and after a time dwindle away altogether. Now we can make ourselves personally known to our people. Seek to win their sympathy, teach them to trust us. If we had their sympathy and their trust then we should be at peace.

We have not entirely given up the idea of going to Holland, Stella. We could still go, always, and if we should go from Batavia, it would be better than from here. Our parents would then be accustomed to having us at a distance, and after they had once gotten used to the idea, it would not be so hard for them, if the distance were made greater.

For us too that would have a good side. Consider this, we have never been away from home, and if we were suddenly taken from our warm little nest, from our own country, and placed in another environment far from all who loved us, the change would be great.

But that is only a side issue. We knew that all along, and had never seen anything against it. The main question is the danger to our undertaking itself. We had never looked at the other side, from defiant courage, or courageous defiance, call it what you will—carried away by our enthusiasm, we thought little—or not at all—of the temper of the public. Yes, we thought it to our credit to defy it, and to hold our own ideas high against the world. Not disturbing ourselves one way or another about its approbation, so long as we ourselves were convinced of the holiness of our cause. We still think that is right, but in this instance, we may not live up to our ideal. For now everything depends for us upon the good will of the public. Always we wish to work for the good of our people, and we must not set them against us by crushing with relentless hands the ideas upon which they have thriven and grown old through the centuries.

Patience, the wise have said to us all along. We heard them but did not understand. Now we are beginning to understand. Stella, now we know that the watchword of all reformers must be Patience. We cannot hasten the course of events, we only retard them when we try to push forward too hastily. If the public should be aroused against us, the whole cause would be held back. People would be unwilling to give their daughters a liberal education, for education would be held responsible for such impossible creatures as we.

Patience! patience, even unto eternity. Stella, I was so miserable when this truth penetrated at last. We must curb ourselves in our enthusiasm, we will not pass our goal without seeing it. Mevrouw Van Kol wrote to us, that before we can realize an ideal, we must first lose many illusions. The first illusion that we have thrown aside is not to give ourselves to the public frankly just as we are. No, that may not be. The public must not know what we are really fighting—the name of the enemy against which we take the field must never, never be cried aloud. It is—polygamy. If that word were heard no man would trust his child to us. I have struggled against this, it is as though we began our work with a lie.

We hoped to make ourselves known just as we were, and that even so, from conviction that we were right, parents would send their children to us. It would be impossible.

We have not yet begun our work and yet we have seen our illusions dwindle away one by one. Oh Stella, do not make the loss of this great illusion harder to us by your sorrow. It is hard enough as it is. You have always known that it was my dearest wish to go to your country and to gather wisdom there for my own people. Let us never speak of it again.

I thank you, in the name of my parents too, a thousand times for all that you have done for us and—for nothing. No, Stella, your work is not lost, the work of you all. Though we may make no use of its fruits now, it will be of great good to our cause, attention will have been drawn to it.

Before this, questions relating to the education of the Javanese people, have always been brought up by those who had some interest of their own at stake.

Now the interest is free from ulterior motive; would that have been the case if you had not drawn the attention of the liberal to us? Would the Government have been ready to help us if you had not worked for us? I thank you a thousand times for your great love. In the name of my people, I thank you sincerely. Great good will come of your work for the Javanese. Be sure of that.

Our plan is, if our request is answered favourably, to go at once to Batavia. Roekmini will study drawing, handiwork, hygiene and nursing. In drawing, she will have lessons from the teacher at the Gymnasium, and she will take the course in hygiene at the Dokter-Djawa School. I shall take a normal course, continuing the same studies, with which I have already been working here for several months.

[1]To Mejuffrouw Zeehandelaar.

July 4th, 1903.[1]—[2]

Whatever the future may have in store for us, I pray that we may always remain confident and gay and full of faith.

I have said so often to others, "do not despair, do not curse your cross, weary one. Through suffering comes power." Now it is my fate to apply what I have been preaching.

But I will not think any more of strife or suffering, of care and of anxiety. It makes my head so tired, and my heart so sick. I will smell the perfume of flowers and bathe in the sunshine; they are always here to comfort us.

Moeske, we have begun our work. We thank your husband for his advice to begin at once, just as we were. We had not dared to hope that it would begin so easily.

We started with one pupil, quickly the number jumped to five, and tomorrow morning eight will come to the kaboepaten, and soon there will be ten. We are so pleased when we look at our little children. They are such a fresh unspoiled little band; they always come exquisitely neat, and they get along so amiably together. They learned to trust us quickly; while they pay all due respect to form, they are still as free and unrestrained before us as though there were no such thing as rank or difference of degree.

The day before yesterday the djaksa of Karimoen Djawa[3]brought a daughter to me. Picture it Moeske, they send their daughters away from home, and let them eat with us here in a strange place.

Yesterday, a young mother came to me in great distress; she said that she lived too far away, if it were not so, she would be so glad to come and study with us herself. As that cannot be, she wants to provide for her little daughter, the education which she has not had the opportunity to gain. Her child is not yet a year old; as soon as she is six years old, her mother will send her to us, wherever we may be.

The children come here four days in the week, from eight to half past twelve. They study, writing, reading, handiwork and cooking. We teachers do not give lessons in art unless the pupils show a special aptitude for it.

Our school must not have the air of a school, or we that of school-mistresses. It must be like a great household of which we are the mothers. We will try and teach them love as we understand it, by word and deed.

In our own youth, we were guided by that simple precept which is universally understood: "Do not unto others what you do not wish done unto yourself."

Mevrouw Van Kol has told us much of your Jesus, and of the apostles Peter and Paul.

Of whatever belief or race a man may be, a great soul is a great soul—a noble character, a noble character. I have read "Quo Vadis," and I have been thrilled with admiration for the martyrs to their faith, who amid the bitterest suffering, still looked faithfully and trustingly toward the Highest and proclaimed His praise in beautiful song. I have suffered with them and I have rejoiced with them.

Do you know "We Two," by Edna Lyall? That is a very fine book. It treats of atheism and Christianity, of true Christianity and of its frightful perversion, of which, alas, there is so much in the world. The atheist, Luke Raeburn, is a great figure, and Erica Raeburn too is a noble character, who from a zealous atheist becomes a sincere and believing Christian. They were a father and daughter who loved each other devotedly, and depended each upon the other.

We read too the "Soul of a People." That is about Buddhism and is also a beautiful book. We are anxious now to read something about Judaism (do you not say that?). Perhaps Zangwill's book "Dreams of the Ghetto" will be what we seek.

[1]To Mevrouw Abendanon.

[2]Written with a pencil after an illness.

[3]A group of islands off the coast of Japara.

August 1, 1903.[1]

A few words to announce to you, as briefly as possible, a new turn in my life. I shall not go on with our great work as a woman alone! A noble man will be at my side to help me. He is ahead of me in work for our people; he has already won his spurs while I am just beginning. Oh, he is such a lovable, good man, he has a noble heart and a clever head as well. And he has been to Holland, where his bride would so gladly go, but must not for her people's sake.

It is a great change; but if we work together, and support and help one another, we may be able to take a far shorter road to the realization of our hopes than could either alone. We meet at many, many points. You do not yet know the name of my betrothed; it is Raden Adipati Djojo Adiningrat, Regent of Rembang.

And now, adieu! Soon, I shall write again, and I hope at greater length.

[1]To Mevrouw Van Kol.

August 1st, 1903.[1]

I want to make myself worthy of the highest title, and that is a Child of God. Have I not told you often that we were done with all personal happiness?

Now life comes to demand that promise of me. I have said that nothing could be too bitter or too hard for us, if it would but enable us to add one little grain of sand to the building of that great structure, the happiness of a people.

Now I have been tested—What am I worth?

Yesterday was again an exciting day for us. We received a communication from the Department of Education, telling us if we did not wish to make use of the opportunity granted us to be educated as teachers, to send a statement accordingly in writing to the Governor General. How must the statement which has been asked for, be worded? Briefly and to the point, that I no longer wish to make use of the offered opportunity because I am engaged to be married; or because now a still better opportunity has presented itself to me of working for our people at the side of a noble man, whom I respect, who loves the people with me, and who will ably support me in my work. I shall be of much greater service with him, than we two, as women standing alone, could ever be.

And Roekmini does not wish to take advantage of the opportunity, because she may not, nor does she wish even if she could, to go alone. She will reach her goal in a different way.

Then I wish to express my respect and gratitude to the Government for having taken the interests of Java to heart, and because when a child of the people asked for aid, it lent an ear to her request, and was willing to meet her half way in her regard for the future welfare of her race. Holland has now grown nearer to us. We are convinced now that the Netherlands wishes the happiness of India; that is no hollow phrase; we mean it.

All of my friends among my humble fellow countrymen have always wished and prayed this for me, "That Bendora Adjeng Tini might go nowhere but to a kaboepaten."

And the simple minded hearts rejoice now because their dream is to be realized, they are happy because their wish for their Bendora is coming true. You see how my simple friends triumph. "Vox populi vox dei." If that is true then it is under the guidance of a higher power that my path in life has taken a different direction from that which I myself had planned.

"May you be a blessing, a refuge to many, the tree in whose shade they find refuge from the heat of the day." That is what many old people here pray for me. May I live up to the expectations of these who are simple of heart.

A great task lies before me; unquestionably it is hard, but if I succeed, and bring it to a good end, I shall serve our people as I could never have served them in any other way. If my work is well done, it will be a lesson that will have a powerful effect upon our cause, because to my fellow countrymen my future will be the most beautiful and desirable in the world.

The mere fact of my marriage will do good; it will interest the parents, spur them on to educate their daughters, and impress them more than could a thousand inspired words. It stands for a fact, that beauty and riches are to be despised before gifts of the heart and mind.

I remember my own words, when some one asked me how the idea of education could be impressed upon our women and girls. The Javanese people are just like other children of nature: they are children of the sun, worshippers of splendour and brilliancy. Very well, gratify that wish, give them what their hearts desire, but at the same time give them something that is true, that is of real worth.

Now we shall not infringe too harshly upon the customs of our land, our childlike people can still have their pomp and splendour. The freedom of women is inevitable; it is coming, but we cannot hasten it. The course of destiny cannot be turned aside, but in the end the triumph has been foreordained.

We shall not be living to see it, but what will that matter? We have helped to break the path that leads to it, and that is a glorious privilege!

Do not be uneasy; my betrothed will not cut my wings short; the fact that I can fly is just what has raised me so high in his eyes. He will only give a larger opportunity to stretch out my wings; he will help me to broaden my field of work. He appreciates your Meiske for herself, and not as a possible ornament for his home.

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