XI

[1]To Mejuffrouw Zeehandelaar.

[2]Government countries under the direct administration of the Dutch-Indian Government.

[3]Henri Borel, novelist and journalist born in 1869. Also noted as an authority on Chinese art and literature. The author of "Kwan Yin," "De Laatste Incarnatie," "Het Jongetje," etc.

[4]An "aspirant" is the lowest in rank among the Dutch officials in Java.

August, 1900.[1]

"If we do not go to Holland, may I not go to Batavia and study medicine?"

Father's answer to this was easy enough to comprehend; "I must never forget that I am a Javanese"; that it would not be possible for me to take such a step now, after twenty years it will be different—now it would never do. There would be too many trials and difficulties to be overcome because, "I should be the first." Father could not contain himself any longer, but sprang up and put an end to the conversation. Father said that he must first think about this earnestly and speak with others and ask their advice.

At least Father did not wholly reject my idea, for Father knows that I wish to become at any price, free, independent and unshackled, and that I could never be happy in a married life as marriages are now, and have always been.

Then I asked, "If the native girls' school of Dr. Abendanon should materialize, may I not become a teacher?" and I told him what Mevrouw Abendanon had proposed to me.

Moedertje, it was as though the doors of Heaven had sprung open and an eternal splendour blazed before my eyes when I heard Father say: "That is good; that is a splendid idea, you could do that very well."

"But first I should have to be trained for the position; I should have to go to school for a year or so and study, to be able to pass the examination, because I would not undertake the work unless I were fitted for it."

And Father thought I was right and agreed with me.

I was unspeakably happy, I had never thought that it would be so easy, not a single bitter sharp word had been spoken; I felt as though a great weight had been lifted from my heart. Father had been so tender, so loving. Then I had not been mistaken in my faith in his love for me, in my belief in his sympathy for his child: I knew that Father would suffer more than I, if he should cause me misery and that he hoped even as fervently as I, that a way might be found for me.

It was because of him that I felt so miserable for months; that I was so vacillating, weak and cowardly; because I could not bear to hurt him, and I felt that I must; for I could not debase myself or allow my woman's heart, my dignity as a woman, as a human being, to be trampled upon. I would have set myself against my parents. I was morally bound by my own pride and self-respect, my duty to myself not to submit in silence. The inward strife has been terrible.

And now I have won Father over to my side. With that the greatest difficulty is overcome, the greatest stumbling block cleared from the way. I can go forward now to meet the enemy unafraid, gay and self-confident, with a smile on my face.

Now everything depends upon myself alone. It will be the fault of my own will if by any chance I shall fail to reach my goal, but I am full of hope and courage. I have already asked Father if I may tell the good news to Mevrouw Abendanon, and I may; this very evening I am writing to you and to her.

It is still doubtful whether the native girls' school will come into existence, but I never despair. It will be accomplished one way or another, for there are some, though not many, it is true, who are striving to help our native world and to bring light to the native woman.

At Djokja we went to see Mevrouw Ter Horst, as I have already written you. She was very cordial to us and went to the station to meet us, where however she missed us, for we got off a station further on. She had a table already spread for us when we arrived. We went to see her because she had something to talk about with me.

She told me that the plans of Resident de B., of which we had known nothing, differed from those of Dr. Abendanon. His idea was to build a domestic school for daughters of native chiefs, with the Government's help, if possible. If not, by some other means.

The Resident had asked her to sketch out a plan, the details of which he would fill in; she now asked for my ideas, and what I thought the native girls, daughters of chiefs, high and low, should be taught.

If the endeavour of Dr. Abendanon to found a native girls' school, should fail, which Heaven forbid, and I should not become a teacher after all; then you will not desert me Moedertje, will you? But you will try to help me to obtain Father's permission to study medicine. May I not have that assurance from you and your husband too? You could do so much because you have great influence with Father.

Since that memorable noonday talk, Father has been so affectionate to me; he takes my hand between his two hands tenderly, and puts his arm around me so lovingly, as though he would protect me from some impending danger. Through everything I feel his immeasurable love, and it makes me very happy.

Since we have come back from Batavia, we have a queer feeling as though we had only come home to rest until evening, to say "Good day" and then to fly away again. Whither? I shall enjoy being at home now to the utmost for nowhere in the whole world will it be as pleasant to me as in my own parents' house, and I am so thankful because whenever—be it today or tomorrow—I shall leave that house, it will be with their blessing; and I hope also from my heart, with the blessing of its other inmates too.

As a child I could learn with a fair amount of ease, I was never backward, but between then and now lies a whole lifetime. Everything that I learned at the grammar school I have forgotten. I was twelve and a half years of age when I left it. But one can almost always accomplish what one wishes to very hard. Is it not true, Moedertje?

I have written this confession with the full conviction, the firm trust that no one can take a warmer interest in my plans than you and Mijnheer, and what I have just related concerns my whole future. I know that I can go to you at any time when I need advice, support and comfort; in the time to come I shall certainly go to you many times.

[1]To Mevrouw Ovink-Soer.

7th October, 1900.[1]

I calmly bide my time. When it comes then men shall see that I am no soulless creature, but a human being with a head and a heart, who can think and feel. It is frightfully egotistical of me to make you a sharer in every thing that concerns me. It brings light to me, but to you, it must be vexation! Everything for myself, nothing for you. I long to tell you everything simply because I love you so much. Draw back from me, thrust me from your thoughts, from your heart, forget me, let me struggle alone, for O God, you do not know into what a wasps' nest you stick your hand, when you reach it out to me!

Let me alone, I shall only be thankful for your sympathy and because you have crossed the path of my life and caused sunshine and flowers to fall across it. Let our meeting be as that of ships on the wide ocean that pass in the dark night. A meeting—a blithe greeting—a foamy track through the smooth water and then—no more! But I fear—I know that you could never go—by like that—even though you might wish it. Let us never speak of it again.

A little while ago in talking to Mama, about something of interest to women, I told her what I had said so many times before, that nothing attracted me more, that nothing was more longed for by me than to be able to fly alone upon my own wings. Mama said, "But there is no one now, not among us, who does that!"

"Then it is time that some one should do it."

"But you know very well that every beginning is difficult. That the fate of every innovator is hard. That misunderstanding, disappointment on top of disappointment, ridicule, all await you; do you realize that?"

"I know it. But it is not today nor yesterday that these ideas have come to me; they have lived in me for years."

"But what will come of it for yourself? Will it bring you contentment, make you happy?"

"I know that the way I wish to go is difficult, full of thorns, thistles, pitfalls; it is stormy, rough, slippery and it is—free! And even though I shall not be happy after I have reached my goal, though I may give way before it is half reached, I shall die gladly, for the path will then have been broken, and I shall have helped to clear the way which leads to freedom and independence for the native woman. I shall feel a great content because the parents of other girls who wished to become independent would never be able to say 'There is no one, not among us, who does that.'"

Strange, but I am not uneasy or disturbed; I am calm and full of courage; only my stupid, foolish heart feels sick.

[1]To Mevrouw Abendanon.

October, 1900.[1]

I wish to prepare myself to teach the two grades, lower and higher; and also to take courses in hygiene, bandaging and the care of the sick.

Later I should like to take a language course. First to learn thoroughly my own mother tongue. I want to go on with my studies in Holland, because Holland seems to me in all respects a more suitable place of preparation for the great task which I would undertake.

How shall we greet each other when we meet at last? I know exactly what you will say to me at first: "But child how stout you have grown!"

And I shall whisper between two hugs, "I have grown old, both outwardly and inwardly, but that little spot in my heart where love is written in golden letters remains the same, for ever young."

[1]To Mevrouw Ovink-Soer.

9th January, 1901.[1]

New conditions will come into the Javanese world, if not through us, through others who will come after us. Emancipation is in the air; it has been foreordained. And she whose destiny it is to be the spiritual mother of the new age must suffer. It is the eternal law of nature: those who bear, must feel the pain of bearing; but the child has all our love, though its very existence, above that of all others living, has harassed us. Though it has been received through suffering, it is eternally precious to us.

Nothing is more miserable than to feel the power to work within one, and yet to be condemned to idleness. Thank God, this curse has been taken from me.

A short while ago, a professor from Jena, Dr. Anton, with his wife, was here with us; he was travelling in pursuance of his studies. They came here to make our acquaintance.

I am afraid that people see too much in me. I am certain that they allow themselves to be misled through the charm of novelty and perhaps also through sympathy. We are a novelty to many people, especially to those from a distance, to whom everything that is new is more or less attractive. The professor expected us to be half savage, and found us quite like ordinary people. The strangeness was all in our headdress, clothes and surroundings, and these merely gave to the common place a stamp of individuality.

Is it not pleasant to find one's own thoughts reflected in another? And when the other is a stranger, some one of another race, from another part of the world, of different blood, manners and customs, it but adds to the charm of kinship of soul.

Still I am convinced that not a quarter so much notice would have been taken of us, if we had worn petticoats instead of sarong and kabaja; had Dutch manners, and if European instead of Javanese blood had flowed through our veins.

Our friends made us a present of several books; among them that splendid work by Baroness von Suttner, "De Wapens Neer Gelegd" (Lay down your arms).

I have read several other books, among which "Moderne Maagden"[2]impressed me most, because I had found in it much that I myself had thought and experienced. Marcel Prévost has spoken the truth, and knows how to express his ideas, I think his book very beautiful. Nowhere have I seen the aim of the "Woman's movement" expressed with so much truth and power. Still I am just as far from the solution of that great problem as I was before making the acquaintance of "M.M."

I do not take it amiss that the writer—and this not in a spirit of childish mockery—represents all opponents of the woman's movement with the exception of Fedi and Lea, as absolutely base and detestable. What splendid words he puts into the mouth of the lovable and deformed apostle of feminism—Piruet—at the end of the book-words which express clearly the whole aim of the woman's movement. I have taken a double pleasure in this book because a man thought of it and wrote it.

Just before I read "Moderne Maagden," I wrote long letters to my two best friends here. Now I want to write to them again while I am still under its influence. I want to point out the analogies between much that is in the book and both the intimate letters.

[2]Dutch version of "Les vierges fortes" by Marcel Prévost.

I wish that I had some one here to talk to me about "M.M." There is so much in it that I should like to discuss with some one of experience and understanding.

I have a great deal to tell you about the establishment of schools for native girls. It is now generally discussed but I must be brief today. The plan of Dr. Abendanon was looked upon with interest by every one. Many influential European officials gave it their warm support, and it is upon them its success depends.

We have many friends among the high European officials and these are striving with Dr. Abendanon to lift our native women out of their age-long misery. There are also many unknown to us personally who are deeply interested in the cause. I shall send you a circular by Dr. Abendanon addressed to the heads of the provincial Government, concerning the establishment of these schools. "In all ages the progress of woman has been an important factor in the civilization of a people." "The intellectual education of the Javanese people can never progress if the woman is to be left behind."

"The woman as the carrier of civilization." Stella, does not your heart beat warmly for our friend?

For the last year there has been great progress among the natives. They are growing more earnest and are interested in the study of your beautiful language. Many Europeans see this with regretful eyes. Although there are others who are noble-minded and rejoice.

In many cities small Dutch schools have sprung up like mushrooms, and they are filled with little children as well as with grown men, who have been for years in the service of the state.

Influential men in the Government, with the Governor-General at their head, are strongly in favour of spreading the Dutch language among the natives, not only for enlightenment but as a means of bringing the Javanese nearer to the Hollanders; so that these last may seem, not as strangers, but as loved protectors.

[1]To Mejuffrouw Zeehandelaar.

21 January, 1901.[1]

We went at midday to the shore with Mevrouw Conggrijp to bathe. It was splendidly calm, and the sea was all one colour. I sat on a rock with my feet in the water, and my eyes on the distant horizon. Oh! the world is so beautiful! Thanksgiving and peace were in my heart. If we go to Mother Nature for consolation she will not allow us to go away uncomforted.

I have thought so long and so much about education, especially of late, and I think it such a high, holy task that I feel that it would be a sin to dedicate myself to it, and not be able to fill in my account to the utmost; if I thought otherwise, I should be a teacher without worth.

Education means the forming of the mind and of the soul. I feel that with the education of the mind the task of the teacher is not complete. The duty of forming the character is his; it is not included in the letter of the law, but it is a moral duty. I ask myself if I am able to do this? I who am still so uneducated myself.

I often hear it asserted that when the mind is cultivated, the spirit grows of itself; but I have seen for a long time that that is not always the case, that education and intellect are not always a patent of morality. But one must not judge those whose spirits remain unawakened, who lack the higher education of the soul, too harshly; in most cases the fault lies not in themselves, but in their bringing up. Great care has been taken in the cultivation of the understanding, but in the cultivation of the character, none!

I subscribe warmly to Mijnheer's idea, which is set forth so clearly in his paper on the "Education of Native Girls," "Woman as the Carrier of Civilization!" Not because she has always shared the fate of man, and is a partner in his destiny, but because as I too am firmly convinced, she has a great and far-reaching influence, which can be for either good or evil; and because she, most of all, can help toward the spiritual regeneration of the world.

Man receives from woman his very earliest nourishment, at her breast, the child learns to feel, to think and to speak; and I see more and more clearly that the very earliest education has an influence which extends over one's whole after life. But how can the native women teach their children when they themselves are so ignorant?

There is great interest in education in the whole world of native women, so far as we know it. Many wish that they might be children again, so that they might profit by this opportunity. And splendid! the number of native scholars at Parti, Kodoes, Japara and the other districts are the first visible foreshadowings of success. Already there are some girls' schools among the people and their number is increasing.

Tomorrow my mother will send a little girl (half orphan and child of her Anek Mas[2]) to school and last month our parents sent a good studious boy to learn to read in Dutch.

[1]To Mevrouw Abendanon.

[2]Foster nurse.

31st January, 1901.[1]

I turn my face pensively to the far away, staring into the blue light, as though I expected to find there an answer to the tumultuous questions of my soul. My eyes follow the clouds as they journey through the vast heavens till they disappear behind the waving green leaves of the cocoanut trees. I see the glistening leaves painted with the gold of the sun, and suddenly the thought comes, "Ask them why does the sun shine? What sends his rays? O my sun, my golden sun! I shall strive to live so that I may be worthy to be shone upon, and tended and warmed by your light."

Do not be distressed dear, if things do not go as I would have them. My life shall not have been in vain: there is always something to be done. I will have it so! Those who seek God do not live in vain—and whosoever seeketh after God will find happiness, truth and peace of soul—and these are to be found at Modjowarno[2]as well. Who knows? perhaps there sooner than somewhere else. Never be discouraged; never be dismayed! We are only thankful that in any event a beginning has been made, that the foundations of our freedom and independence are being built.

[1]To Mevrouw Abendanon.

[2]In the Residency of Soerabaja. The most important as well as the oldest mission station in Java. It includes schools and hospitals. A medical missionary at Modjowarno had offered to train Kartini as a mid-wife, if her plan of going to Holland should fail.

19 March, 1901.

Highly Honoured Dr. Adriani:

For a long time I have wanted to write to you, but several things, among them the indisposition of almost all of my family, have prevented me.

Now that the whole kaboepaten, great and small, is again rejoicing in excellent health, I shall not allow this letter to remain any longer unwritten. It has been in my thoughts so long, and doubtless you have expected it as well. Forgive me for the delay.

First of all I want to send my hearty thanks for your amiable letter to my sister Roekmini, and for your kindness in sending the books.

The three of us were made so happy by them, and are still for that matter. We think it is splendid that you should think of us. We also think and speak of you and of your Toradjas,[1]of your work, and of everything that we discussed that evening at the Abendanons'. The hours that we spent in your company are among the most delightful memories of our visit to Batavia.

We hope with our whole hearts that will not be our only meeting, but that we may see you often again. What a pleasure it would be to us, if some day we might bid you welcome to Japara.

We have much sympathy for the work of the Christian missionaries in Dutch India, and we admire the nobility of heart of those who have established themselves in the most remote stretches of wilderness, far from their own country and kindred, and from all congenial companions, and cut themselves off from the world in which by virtue of birth, ability and education they would have an honourable position, to bring light into the lives of fellow men called by the cultivated world "savages."

We read both your letters with deep interest and I am grateful to you for telling us so much that was interesting, and of which we were ignorant.

In 1896 we had the privilege and pleasure of witnessing a solemnity the memory of which will probably remain with us all of our lives. That was the dedication of the new church at Kedoeng Pendjalin. It was the first time that we had ever been in a Christian church, and at a Christian service, and what we saw and heard there made a deep impression upon us. It was long ago, but it is still fresh in my memory. The spacious building was decorated with green foliage and the singing which echoed under the high roof was beautiful. With the reverent attentive multitude we followed the words which came forth from the chancel in pure Javanese.

Besides the Heer Hubert, there were three missionary students, who preached upon the occasion; and it was certainly not the least solemn moment of the whole solemn service, when an old decrepit Javanese stood up to speak of his faith to his fellow-countrymen. Everything was so impressive that the occasion has always been a memorable one to me.

It was on that morning that I had seen the outside world again for the first time since my school-days.

We read in the paper under the sailing news that Mevrouw was back again in India, so she will be with you very soon. We were right glad for your sake, when we read it. This letter is as though we made you and Mevrouw a visit of felicitation upon her return, to wish her, although we are still unknown to her, a hearty welcome to Mapane. Are not the Toradjas very happy to have their "Mother" among them again?

[1]A race in middle Celebes among whom Dr. Adriani worked.

20th May, 1901.[1]

I have been through so much in my young life, but it is all as nothing in comparison with what I have suffered in these last dreadful days of Father's illness.

There were hours when I was without will, but trembled with inward pain and the lips that had defiantly proclaimed "Come what may," now stammered "God pity me." My birthday was a double feast—a celebration also of Father's restoration to health. I let Father see your present, and told him how pleased you were with his portrait. Father lay upon a lounging chair; I sat next to him on the floor, his hand resting upon my head; it was thus that I spoke to him of you.

Father smiled when I told him of your enthusiastic expression of sympathy for him, and with that smile on his face, and certainly with a thought for the distant and loved friend of his child, my sick one slept.

See how near you are to me, Stella—to us. Do you believe now that it was not lack of affection which kept me silent for so long, and can you forgive that silence now?

Let me earnestly thank you now for your friendship and your love, which have added so much to my life, and let me now press you fast to my heart in thought. If I could only see you in reality, face to face and heart to heart, so that I could open my soul to you—my soul which is so full of sadness. Stella, my Stella, I should be so glad if I could make you happy with but one rejoicing letter, cheer you with the tidings that we had succeeded, that we had reached our goal. Alas, instead this bears a complaint; I do not like to complain but the truth must be told.

An unexpected turn has come in our affairs; the question is now more difficult than ever; it is a matter of standing or falling, of blessed success or of complete undoing, and—OUR HANDS ARE BOUND.

There is a duty which is called gratitude; there is a high holy duty called filial love, and there is a detestable evil called egoism! Sometimes it is so difficult to see where the good ends, and the bad begins. One may go a certain distance, and then the boundary between the two extremes is hardly visible. Father's health is such that he is subject to severe heart attacks. Do you know what that means? We are defenceless—delivered over to the pleasure of blind fate.

We have stood so close to the fulfillment of our dearest wishes, and now we are again far away. It is a bitter awakening after we had thought that all stumbling blocks had been cleared from our way. The poor, tortured heart cries out, "What is my duty?" and no answer comes, while those who wait grope round in deepest darkness.

We can no longer seek for consolation in that splendid plan of the Government to open a school which would educate the daughters of Regents to become teachers; nothing will ever come of it. For many Regents whose consent had to be obtained, declared themselves against any innovation that would interfere with the custom of secluding young girls, and releasing them from their imprisonment by allowing them to go away from home to school.

It has been a hard blow for us, for we had built all our hopes upon it. Adieu illusions—adieu golden dreams of the future! You were too beautiful to be true.

I used to sit idly and take pleasure in the thought of how your eyes would shine when you heard the splendid news. And now the whole proposal has evaporated like smoke—has gone to the moon.

I do not know exactly how the matter stands; our friends at Batavia are away on a journey, but it goes very, very badly. Now if the plan for the domestic school for native girls should be in the same case, put down through the unwillingness of the parents themselves, there will be nothing left.

My fingers burn to write about the splendid plans of the Director of Education, and about the proposed education of Regents' daughters to be teachers, but I remain idle. I must not express my opinions on important subjects, least of all through means of the press.

Many persons in our immediate surroundings know nothing of what is brooding and raging within us; they know nothing of our plans. One of our acquaintances who comes to the house often, read in the newspapers about the proposed school for Regents' daughters, and said to my sisters, that would be just the thing for me, and that she and her husband would urge me to think seriously about it! Her husband spoke to me of the same thing, and with a blank face, as though knowing nothing, I let him speak.

Both husband and wife are enthusiastic for the work of emancipating the native woman. He is a government official, and for that reason can do much for our cause. He will soon be promoted, and then they will both be able to do much more for our people.

We have devised a plan for her, and she and her husband have listened to it with interest. When he becomes Assistant Resident, she is to invite the little daughters of the native officials serving under him to come to her house on certain fixed days, and give them instruction in handiwork and cooking; perhaps also in reading and writing. That would be a useful and beneficent work; the lady is delighted with the idea.

I have naturally told her much about you. She will become with pleasure a member of the Onderlinge Vrouwenbescherming.[2]She has two little daughters in Holland; one wishes to become an advocate, and the other too will study a profession.

I told her that it was my earnest wish before I started out in life in whatever capacity, to spend first at least half a year at work in a hospital to learn something of the care of the sick because now if sickness should fall under my hands, I should not know which way to turn. She said at once that her brother-in-law who is a doctor, would help to initiate me into the secrets of sick nursing. The doctor is a newcomer, speaks no Javanese and very broken Malay. I can be of service to him in turn by acting as interpreter, for a large majority of his patients are either natives or Chinese.

I am thinking seriously of this plan of spending some time in a hospital, it would add a great deal to my education; I have sat and pondered over it long. What do you think of it? Oh it is misery on top of misery to see some one suffer frightful pain, and not to know how to alleviate that pain. Those who watch suffer even more than the patient himself. I have sat by many sick beds, even as a child, and speak from experience. The idea of studying nursing came to me at the bed-side of a dear one.

Later I shall speak out and say frankly what I have in my heart in regard to the education of girls. I shall plead for the importance of a knowledge of hygiene and of the structure of the human body to women. I want to see hygiene and physiology placed on the curriculum of the school, which is to be erected. Poor bunglers, eh? who after so much hodge-podge must gulp down those subjects. What an ideal school that Institute for Native Young Ladies will be! Science, cooking, house-keeping, handiwork, hygiene and vocational training; all must be there! It is only a dream, but let us dream if it makes us happy. Why not?

What I have written thus far for the public has been but nonsense, suggested by some special happening or other. I may never mention serious subjects, alas! Later, when we shall have wholly wrested ourselves loose from the iron grip of age-long traditions, it will be different.

It would be different now, were it not for the love which we have for our dearest parents. Father would not be pleased if the name of his daughter should be rolled under the tongues of men. When I am wholly free and independent, I shall speak out and say what I think. So till that time comes, patience, Stella, for I cannot send you nonsense. When I write something in which I myself am pleased, in which my deepest convictions are expressed, I shall send it to you.

[1]To Mejuffrouw Zeehandelaar.

[2]Society for the Protection of Fallen Women.

10th June, 1901.[1]

We know what Borel has written on the gamelan (he calls it soul music). Do you know other things by him as well? "Het Jongetje" is charming. Many think Borel morbid and unwholesome, but we enjoy him. "De laatste incarnatie" is very fine, and his "Droom uit Tosari" is still finer, in that he writes of the wonderful natural beauty of Java's blue mountains. How much we enjoyed it! One must be an artist, or at least, have been subjected to a lively dose of artistic feeling to see and take pleasure in the beauties of Mother Nature, and to be able to express it in fine, clear style; such an one must be a dear privileged human child, upon whose forehead the muses have pressed a kiss.

I hope some day to have an opportunity to study your beautiful, musical language; I shall not let the chance go by without making use of it, you may be assured. To be able to read and write it would make me happy above everything. And if I should ever be so fortunate as to master the German language then I shall go and look for you. Will it not be a good idea? In the meantime flying machines will have come into use, and on some golden day you will see one of them flutter over Jena's blue horizon bringing a guest from afar!

I should indeed have been born a boy; then, perhaps, I should be able to carry out some of my high-flying plans. Now, as a girl, in our present native civilization, it is almost impossible to take a little walk down a turnpike. How can anything else be expected, when in Europe, the centre of civilization, and of enlightenment, the strife should have been so long and so bitter for the good right of the woman? Could one in earnest expect that India, uncivilized, unenlightened, slumbering India, should take it well that her daughters, women who through centuries had been looked upon as beings of a lower order—yes, why should I not say it—as soulless creatures, should suddenly be regarded as human beings, who have a right to independent ideas, to freedom of thought, of feeling and of conduct?

Alas! nothing will come of that splendid plan of the Government, from which we expected so much; nothing will come of it because the majority of native chiefs opposed it. Adieu illusions! Ah! I have often thought and repeated aloud, that dreams and ideals were useless ballast in our Native civilization, a superfluous and dangerous luxury! But that says the mouth alone, at the instigation of the cold understanding. It makes no impression upon that stupid crazy thing, the heart. For dreams of freedom have taken such deep root in our hearts, that they are never more to be uprooted without making desolate the soil from which they have sprung.

I think it is very good of you to give yourself such concern in regard to my future. I am deeply grateful. But oh, do you know nothing but sadness concerning me? We know what awaits us. We three are going hand in hand through life that for us will be full of struggle and disappointment! The way that we have chosen is certainly not strewn with roses; it is filled with thorns, but we have chosen it out of love, and with love and a joyous mind we shall follow it.

It leads to the raising of thousands and thousands of poor oppressed and down-trodden souls, our sisters; it leads toward freedom and happiness for millions. For our fellow countrymen too will inevitably be brought to a higher moral condition, and then they will work with us on that eternal work of striving for perfection. That giant's work at which through the centuries the noblest and best have toiled, trying to lead mankind upward toward the light, and in short, to bring our beautiful earth nearer to Heaven. Is not that worth striving for all one's life?

It is the dream of "Tiga Soedara," the three Javanese sisters in the distant sunny land. Oh, could we but go to the land of changing seasons, the land of warmth and cold, the fatherland of learning, to prepare ourselves there for the good fight that we wish to make for the future happiness and well-being of our people. Above all the mind should be cultivated, before one can do good. Although people assert that to do good and to be intellectual are two different things; but I think that it takes the greatest wisdom to overcome the opposing forces that we human beings all feel in us, to temper them, and to regulate them so that they may work harmoniously together. I have seen so often that to try to do good ignorantly, does more harm than good.

Europe! Must you then remain always unattainable for us? We, who long for you with heart and soul.

But I do not believe in repining. Life is too beautiful—too splendid—to be wasted in complaints about things which can never be changed. Let us be thankful for the many blessings that the good God has bestowed upon us. Are we not fortunate above thousands and thousands of others, in the possession of our dear parents, good health, and in a number of little blessings, which make up the sum of our daily lives?

When we have enjoyed the music of singing birds then we are thankful that God has not created us deaf! When we are at Klein Scheveningen, that idyllic spot by the sea, where everything breathes quiet and peace, and watch the sun go down, then we know that we cannot be grateful enough that we have good eyes to enjoy the beautiful light which plays upon the golden water, and in the Heaven above it! and a still prayer of thanksgiving toward the invisible Great Spirit who created everything and governs everything—a joyful thanksgiving rises from my heart, thanksgiving that I may, and am able to see so much. For there are many who cannot. Not only the poor people to whom the days and nights are as one, an impenetrable blackness, but there are many who are in full possession of their faculties, yet never see.

And we realize how privileged we are above so many of our fellow men, and gratitude for all the blessings of the good God fills our souls. But is it not a sad thought that we must be reminded of the lack in others, in order to appreciate our own advantages?

There are many educated native women; many, many cleverer and more talented than we, who have been hampered not at all in the cultivation of their minds, who could have become anything that they would, and yet they have done nothing, have attempted nothing that could lead to the uplifting of their sex, and of their race. They have either fallen back wholly into the old civilization, or gone over to that of the Europeans; in both cases being lost to their people to whom they could have been a blessing, if they had but willed it. Is it not the duty of all those who are educated and on a higher plane to stand by with their greater knowledge and seek to lighten the way for those who are less fortunate? No law commands this, but it is a moral duty.

Forgive me if I have tired you by writing at too great length. How did I come to take up so much of your valuable time with the babble? Forgive me, but you yourself are not without blame; your two letters which are lying before me are so sympathetic; when I read their cordial words, it is as though I had you before me, and that is what I have imagined all the time that I have been writing.

That one of Java's volcanoes on the Eastern cape has broken out frightfully, and cost many lives, you will certainly have learned from others, so I shall not write of that. According to the papers, two other volcanoes are now active. Oh, inscrutable, beautiful blue mountains!

The eclipse of the sun on the 18th of May, for the observation of which scientists from all over the world came to Java, we could scarcely see here at all, owing to the unfortunate weather. The day was cloudy and there was, and is still rain. But what was vexation to us, was a blessing to the farmers! Father was made very happy by the good rain which refreshed the thirsty fields, and so much depends upon that. So much can depend upon a single shower of rain, woe or weal to hundreds, yes to thousands.

[1]To Professor and Mrs. G.K. Anton of Jena.

June 6, 1901.[1]

Dear Hilda:

Let me begin by sending you both, in the name of my sisters too, heartfelt wishes of happiness on the birth of your second son. We hope from our hearts that he may become just such a sweet, healthy little fellow as his brother, who will grow in time into a fine man, and make you both right proud.

How does our little friend act under his new dignity of big brother? Does he not want to play with Alfred right away? The little one is too eager, is it not true?

A May child! De Genestet has written such a beautiful poem about that; the ending is sad but I fervently hope that the prayer of the poet in the last two couplets may be fulfilled for your May child. Although naturally you know the lines yourself, I cannot help repeating them again here:

"De God der lente spreide[2]U rozen voor den voetDe God der liefde leideU sachtkens, trouw en goed!Bloei in uw vaders gaarde,Bloei aan uw moeders zijHun schoonste bloem op aarde,Gij, knaapje van den Mei!"

I hear you laugh when you have read the verses, how foolish, eh? but do not be surprised at them, all old aunts become more or less sentimental, and to that category belongs she who now writes.

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