Part 16

Every thing that is high and fine in life is poetry; love, devotion, truth, belief, art, everything that elevates and ennobles. And poetry means so much to the Javanese people. The least, the very humblest Javanese, is a poet. And what do you think of the deep respect which children have for their parents? And of the touching piety of the living toward the dead? There is no joyful occasion where the dead are not called to our remembrance, and their blessing and the blessing of heaven invoked. In joy and in sorrow, we think of our dead always.

And the name of Mother--how holy that is! In hours of pain and doubt, the pale lips always murmur that name. It is Mother, and again Mother who is called upon, if we need help, if we need support. The honour of motherhood lies in this, in the calling of her name in deep, sorrowful hours. Why do we not call upon our father--why just our mother? Because we feel from childhood, instinctively that Mother, means a world of love and devotion.

Each object that falls out of our hands is picked up with the saying; "Oh, Allah, my child." Do I have to explain the meaning of that to you, what it shows?

Stella, I shall work earnestly at your language, so that some day I may be such a mistress of it that I can make all that is beautiful among our people clear and intelligible to the outside world. I want to study my own language hard as well. I want to teach our people to know that white race as I know it in its finer, nobler aspects. They must learn of your nobleness, of your greatness, so that they will honour and love you. I want to do so much that sometimes I wish that I had a double pair of hands. The will is great, but the strength is little. And I must not injure my health, that would be the most stupid thing that I could do. And yet I am often stupid, sometimes sitting and working till late at night and that is not good for me. I may defeat my own object if in the end it should do me harm and I could not overcome my bodily weakness, so I am doing my best to live soberly and sensibly.

[1] To Mejuffrouw Zeehandelaar.

[2] Mevrouw Nellie Van Kol.

XLIV[1]

_August 15th, 1902._

Hurrah for our native Art and Industry! They are well started now on the road to a splendid future. I cannot tell you how pleased I am. We like to admire our own people and it is so easy to make us proud of them!

The future of our Javanese artists is assured.

Heer Zimmerman was in ecstasies over the work that he saw here by the despised brown race: Wood carving, the art of the gold smith, and textile weaving have reached a high degree of excellence. Our artists here have received a large order from _East and West_ for St. Nicholas. We are delighted. Now the clever artist can bring out new ideas and express his poetic thoughts in graceful undulating lines and in ravishing, glowing, changing colours. Oh, it is splendid above everything else to seek the beautiful--a spark of God is everywhere, even when things outwardly appear most evil.

There was once a child who went to an old woman who asked her what she would like to have, for the little one had neither sweets, nor ornaments, nor clothes; but the child said "Oh Mother, give me a flower that opens in the heart."

How do you like that? You must see it in the original--the answer of the child sounds so sweet. There is a deep meaning in bloementaal.[2]

"Njoewoen sekar melati hingkang mekar hing poendjering ati." That is what one hears all the time. We are now busy writing down everything interesting that we hear from the mouths of the people. There is no word for poetry in our language. We say "bloementaal," and is it not well said.

We are learning songs. Not songs of rejoicing--have you ever heard one of that kind from a Javanese? The gamelan never rejoices, even at the most extravagant festivals, its tone is mournful. Perhaps that is well, life is mournful; not a song of rejoicing.

These pages have been written under the influence of sweet and sad singing. It is evening, windows and doors are open; the fragrant breath of the blooming tjempaka beyond our chamber comes to greet us with the cool breeze that rustles through its branches. I sat upon the floor, just as I do now at a long low table, at my left was sister Roekmini also writing. To the right of me was Annie Glazer, she too on the floor. Before me was a woman who read from a book of songs. They were very beautiful, and the pure, serene, sonorous tones seemed to carry our souls far away, nearer to the realm of the blessed. How I wish that you could be sitting there with us in that little circle. You would have felt with us and dreamed with us. Dreams! Life is not a dream. It is cold, sober reality, but even reality does not have to be ugly, unless we make it so.

It is not ugly--it is beautiful. We always have beauty within us. This is the reason that I wish that in education, emphasis were laid upon character forming, and first of all upon the cultivation of strength of will; it should be instilled into the child.

But I am wandering from my subject. This time I wanted to write to you about our people, and not about education.

There is an old woman here from whom I have gathered many flowers that spring from the heart. She has already given me much, and has still more to give, and I wish for more; always more. She is willing, but first I must earn her treasures, I must buy her flowers--why? Why must I pay?

Solemnly the words sounded from her lips; "Fast a day and a night, and pass that time awake and in solitude."

"Door nacht tot licht,[3] door storm tot rust, door strijd tot eer door leed tot lust."

sounds like a requiem in my ears.

The meaning behind the words of the old woman is: Fasting and waking are symbolical; "Through abstinence and meditation, we go toward the light." No light, where darkness has not gone before. Do you not think that a beautiful thought? Fasting is the overcoming of the material by the spirit; solitude is the school of meditation.

As a child I did everything mechanically without question, because others around me did the same thing; then a time came when my mind began to question, why do I do that, why is so and so? why--why----? It is endless.

I would not do things mechanically without knowing the reason. I would not learn any more lessons from the Koran, saying sentences in a strange language, whose meaning I did not understand and which probably my teachers themselves did not understand. "Tell me the meaning and I am willing to learn everything." I was wrong, the Book of Books is too holy to be comprehended by our poor intelligence.

We would not fast and do other things which seemed senseless to us. Every one was in despair; we were in despair, no one could explain the things which were incomprehensible to us. Our God was our conscience, our Hell and our Heaven too was our own conscience; if we did wrong our conscience punished us; if we did good, our conscience rewarded us.

The years came and went; we were called Mohammedans because we had inherited that faith, and we were Mohammedans in name, no more. God--Allah--was for us a name--a word--a sound without meaning.

Now we have found Him for whom unconsciously our souls had yearned during the long years. We had sought so far and so long, we did not know that it was near, that it was always with us, that it was in us.

It had been working in us unconsciously for a long time; but she who opened the door for which we had sought, was Nellie Van Kol. And who leads us now, and shows us the way toward Him? It is Mamma. We have been so stupid all our lives; we have had a whole mountain of treasure under our hands and we have not known it.

Foolish, headstrong, pedantic persons that we were, we reproach ourselves now for our own conceit and self sufficiency. We say to console ourselves: "It has pleased God to open your hearts at last, be thankful for that."

God alone understands the riddle of the world. It is He that brings together paths that were far asunder for the forming of new roads.

[1] To Dr. Abendanon.

[2] Flower tongue.

[3]

Through night to light, Through storm to rest Through strife to peace Through sorrow into joy.

XLV

_August 17th, 1902._[1]

Good morning; here comes sister to prattle to you again. It is a splendid fresh morning, and I am sitting here in a cosy corner by the window where I have a view of the garden. Another time I shall try and describe all our surroundings to you. Our home, which is our doenia (little world) and our cloister. Now however, I shall continue my talk of yesterday. It is pathetic to see the joy of our elders over the return of the strayed sheep.

Out of pure joy, an old woman here sent us her collection of books, old Javanese manuscripts; many written in Arabic characters. We are going to study Arabic so that we can read, and write it.

You know perhaps that Javanese books are very rare, and hard to find because they are written with the hand. Only a few of them are printed. We are reading now a lovely poem in the flower-tongue. How I wish that you knew our language. I should be so glad if you could enjoy all our fine things in the original. Have you any desire to learn the Javanese language? It is difficult--certainly, but it is beautiful. It is a sentient language; often the words seem to be conscious, they express so much. We are astonished sometimes, own children as we are of the country, at the cleverness of our fellow countrymen. Things of which one could never imagine anything could be made, they express charmingly. Name something in the dark, give out a subject at random, and a simple Javanese will immediately make a rhyme that astonishes by its aptness and clearness. This facility belongs peculiarly to our Eastern people. It is a pity that when the precious gifts were meted out, your sisters should have been neglected. That is not fishing for a compliment, we mean it literally. As one can see, though one fairy gave us wit in step-motherly wise, another sister fairy has made reparation by endowing us richly with her gift of sensibility. I do not think so very much of her gift myself, and we have to take good care that this virtue does not degenerate into a vice. A certain amount of feeling is good; but you will soon see, if you have not seen already, that it is often hard for your sisters to keep themselves in the golden middle way. It is very difficult for one who naturally goes to extremes. Now that you know all my faults, here is a prayer: try to understand them. Help me to overcome them. Will you not do that? Your sisters know of things in themselves that are not good.

After having had days of rain, we went out one morning to see how our flower children were getting along. We were afraid that they would have suffered from the over-abundant rain, but we found our rose-bushes full of green buds. The days came and the days went; our roses were full of luxuriant leaves and of beautiful blossoms. Rain, rain, they needed it, before they could bear those splendid blossoms.

Rain--rain--the soul needs it in order to grow and to blossom.

Now we know that our tears of today serve only to nourish the seed, from which another, higher joy will bloom in the future.

Do not struggle, do not complain and curse sorrow when it comes to you. It is right for sorrow to exist in the world too; it has its mission. Bow your head submissively before suffering. It brings out the good that is in the heart. But the same fire which purines gold, turns wood into ashes.

Now I want to tell you how it was that we happened to get into touch with Nellie Van Kol. Perhaps you have already read something about it in the paper. One evening in the latter part of April, we had a visit from the Heer Van Kol. He was sent to us by a Dutch lady, who has much sympathy for the cause of your sisters. It was one of the most pleasant meetings of our whole lives. Already, long ago, he had won our esteem through what he has been to Java, and the Javanese. But the personal meeting secured for him a place in our love. It is delightful to meet superior people. It was a great occasion in our lives, when we met your dear parents, it was a turning point for us; it waked us up to reality. Before that we had only seemed to live, we had been asleep, always sleeping and dreaming. Now we are alive, fighting and struggling, hoping, despairing, suffering and rejoicing, weeping and laughing; that is life. We have climbed to the heights of joy, and we have descended into the depths of misery. I am happy just to be alive.

I have heard from your mother that you sympathize with our struggles and ideas; and you have told us so yourself. So it will certainly please you to know there are others who are interested in our cause; superior people like Heer Van Kol and his wife.

We told the Heer Van Kol everything. It was to hear about our plans that he had come, and he promised to support our endeavours with all his might; just as your father has promised to do. Are you not glad that the cause of your sisters has found a warm defender in Holland--in the council halls of the country? He will do everything that he can to help us. He asked us if we would not write to his wife; she would prove a true, faithful advisor. He spoke of his wife with such love and respect he called her his guide and his counsellor. It touched us to hear a man--and such a man--speak so of a woman. Would that there were more such men--who would see the highest in woman and honour her for it.

I did not let the grass grow under my feet; immediately after he had left, I wrote to his wife. Was it instinct--I wonder! for when I was writing to her I had no feeling at all that it was to an utter stranger, which was the fact. It had been the same way, when I was talking to her husband. As though she had been my mother, I blurted out without reserve, just what I felt. It was easy to be frank with her husband, for he was so modest, so friendly, met us so cordially, and was so fatherly towards us. I am glad that I followed the voice of my heart and wrote at once to Mevrouw Van Kol. We received a letter from her at once--and such a letter! We feel ourselves rich in her sympathy. God has given us as a gift, the heart of a true friend, and through that friend's heart, he has found us himself. If I could only tell you how happy we are.

"We will find the right human friends, when we cease to seek for support among men, but depend upon ourselves and upon our Father--God." We are deeply grateful to Nellie for that. Again she says: "The loveliest and best among us are but weak blundering creatures; nestle on your Father's heart, he will heal your wounds and dry your tears."

In the days since I have begun this letter something very unpleasant has happened. Before our acquaintance with Nellie, it would have plunged us into despair, but now it is different. We do not seek consolation from men--we hold fast to His hand, and then the darkness becomes light, and the storm wind a gentle breeze.

We are not afraid, we are never afraid, wherever we may be, there is a father that watches over us, who judges us with love. We are ready for anything. For there is no light where darkness does not go before--the dawn is born out of the night.

Now that we have found Him, our whole lives are changed, our work seems nobler, higher. What do you think of all this, Edie?

I know one thing for certain, that you are glad for your sisters. I have still other things to prattle about, and then I must let this letter go; otherwise it will grow stale, and it is too long already. Perhaps it seems very formidable to you. Honestly, tell me the truth? Candour must be the basis of our friendship. Do not be afraid to tell me something because it might give me pain, when you know that it would be wholesome for me.

From you we did not expect anything else, but that you would not allow the workmen under your orders to be beaten. We share to the fullest your ideas in the matter. I cannot bear to see any one struck; it hurts me so to see the beast in man, unfettered, hot tempered, the man made lower than the beast.

We cannot understand how men, and even women, can go to see an execution, it is worse than heartless. You know very well that unfortunate convicts are often beaten with rods; they are cruel people that willingly encourage the infliction of such punishment. It is bad in the Javanese, but still worse in the European, when he so debases himself. I have seen, a certainly not stupid, in fact a highly educated European, at a festival of the people, let first a child, and after that a woman, and a young girl, make the acquaintance of his stick in a most frightful manner, because the blunderers had not been deft enough in getting out of the great man's way. I ground my teeth together to keep from crying out aloud; each blow pierced me through the soul.

It is not the idea of pain that makes me abhor bodily punishment, but the deep humiliation that the victim must feel. And also the harm it does to the one who punishes. Physical punishment embitters, but never cures. That is our conviction.

As children of a ruler in a community where the idea is fast rooted that a Randen Mas or a Raden Adjeng is absolutely a being of a higher order, to whom a God-like reverence is due from the people, we have oftener than we would, been among scenes that made us tremble with exasperation. At such times we are struck dumb and stand still as death, we can neither speak nor smile, indignation and pity hold our mouths fast closed. An acquaintance of ours once said "We must do it well; how otherwise will our little handful be able to keep peace and order among thousands? Had they not been afraid of us, they would long ago have hunted us from the land, and driven us into the sea."

Obedience through fear; when will the time come when the God-like rule, which is called love, will penetrate millions and millions of hearts? One thousand nine hundred and two years ago the beautiful law of love was preached, but how many thousand years must pass before love will come into its own? Not only among the elect, but among the multitudes?

Your mother knows the whole history of our lives. Has she ever told you of our childhood years, when we lived under the despotic sway of older brothers and sisters? Among us it is a law, the younger ones must submit to the older in everything. That was not for sister Kartini; even in her early years, the desire for freedom had awakened. The result was that I was somewhat out of harmony with my older brothers and sisters, because I submitted to them only when I saw a reason in what they thought good. So I stood there a child of twelve years, alone against a hostile power. Bitter, bitter tears were wept by us as children.

Do you know who has always been our friend, our help and our support? Kartono. But most of the time he was not at home, he was at Semarang. Our friendship is quite old you see; it goes back to our earliest youth. My eldest sister married, my older brother went away, and then we began a new life. The watchword was "Freedom, equality and fraternity." We wished to be loved--not feared.

It is not a boast, but every one knows that our little ones would rather be with us than with the others. Love is the bond which binds us together. And how our little ones love us! They have taught us much. Those who embittered our childish years, were also our teachers, for they taught us to avoid being like themselves. Another proof that sorrow justifies its existence.

Those who formerly opposed us, now come to us with love and friendship. They do not tell us so in words, but deeds bear witness. In every letter, our sister asks us to come and visit her. Our presence does good, both to her and to her house, she says always.

God is great, God is powerful! Could not that bit of our life history, become the life history of two peoples, of the Hollanders and of the Javanese? Would it not be possible for nothing but mutual love and respect to bind the Netherlands and Java together? How this happy state of affairs has come about in our own family, I do not know; I protest, I do not know. Many times the question has been asked us, but we only know that we have much love in our hearts and that is the whole secret I believe.

Now, best Brother, I hope sincerely that this long discourse will not frighten you away from a further correspondence with your sisters. And that you will take it as a proof of our good intentions, when we say that we look upon you as our brother and our friend. We hope that many letters from Sawah Loento with Japara as destination will be forthcoming. Tell us about everything--your work--your life and your environment.

It is a pity that photography is such a luxury, for we should be glad to take some peeps, for the benefit of our friends, into typical Javanese customs. We, as children of the country, can go everywhere here with a freedom that would not be allowed to you.

[1] To Heer E.C. Abendanon.

XLVI

_August 20th, 1902._[1]

Lately we have received some people from Batavia who admire the art of our people, and who wish to do much for it. They were heads of the governing board of _East and West_ in India, who wished to have examples of native art for Santa Claus (Sinterklaas), and were anxious for Japara to be well represented. We have been busy with that work. It is such a pleasure to us to be able to work for the furtherance of our people's art. We think it a great privilege to be the avenue through which some of these expressions of their soul find a way into a new world. Works of art that compel wonder and admiration are made by the despised Javanese, whom the world in its simplicity has patronized.

When one looks at the splendid examples which we have, and after that sees their simple creator, and the primitive tools with which he works, one is filled with reverence for his work, and feels instinctively that here one is face to face with a true artist. Once when we were in ecstacies over something which he had made, we said to him "Oh, where did you get such beautiful designs?"

The lowered eyes were raised, and with an embarrassed laugh, he answered "From my heart, bendoro."[2] We were delighted at his answer, and afterwards we laughed so at ourselves, because we had sat upon the steps, and he was in a respectful attitude upon the ground, humbling himself before us, to whom he was a hundred fold superior.

* * * * *

It is splendid that through the untiring efforts of yourself and some others, the eyes of the Netherlands are beginning to be opened to that important part of a child's education--reading. Holland may well congratulate herself that she possesses such noble strength, which sets itself with heart and soul toward the forming of the mind and spirit of her youth. And in that respect the Dutch child is far more fortunate than the Javanese, who possesses no books except school-books.