_November 1899._[1]
O dearest, dearest Mevrouwtje, what a delightful Sunday we had
yesterday!
Father went out with my little brother, and after awhile they came back
home. Brother, with great excitement, ran to me and said, "O sister,
there is a man-of-war in the harbour; all the streets are filled with
sailors, and two of them have come home with us, they are with Father
now."
At the word "warship," we sprang up as though we had been shot, and
before brother had finished speaking, we flew to our room to make ready.
We saw two gentlemen dressed in white, come hesitating--through the
grounds. After a little while, we saw them sitting with Pa in the middle
gallery. Later, a boy came to us, saying that we must go to Father,
which we did with the greatest willingness. One, two, three, and we had
slipped on our best kabaais,[2] and a second later we were sitting in
rocking-chairs talking to two officers from the _Edie_. I do not know
how it came about, but we were immediately at our ease and spoke to the
gentlemen as though we had known them for years. But how did these
people happen to come to kaboepaten? I will explain that to you. Papa
went, as I have said, for a little drive; he met five gentlemen walking,
three of them turned another way, but these two had followed Papa's
carriage in to the kaboepaten. They thought (the gentlemen were new to
Java) that the way the carriage took was a public road, and our house a
fortress or something of the kind.
Papa sent a servant to ask the gentlemen if they wished to see him. They
were embarrassed, naturally, because they had made such a mistake and
followed some one to his own house. What would they do now? They did not
find it pleasant by any means, because they did not understand our
language, and spoke only very bad, broken Malayish. Papa put an end to
this awkward situation by going to meet them himself, and addressing
them in Dutch. Embarrassment was at an end. They would come with
pleasure into the house.
It turned out that one of them was a relative of some one whom Papa knew
well. I do not remember to have ever felt so much at my ease with an
utter stranger. I did not think once of the fact that I had never seen
these people before, and had not known of their existence five minutes
ago. It is strange how with sailors one feels at home right away.
Our hearts have always been set upon the sea; everything that concerns
it interests us. You know well what a delight it is to us to be taken
out even in a little row boat. We love the sea; you remember the time
when I lay half-dead in the bow of the opium skiff, even then I found it
pleasant to be upon such a bed? If I were a boy, I should not think
twice, but would become a sailor at once.
Imagine to yourself Father saying to the gentlemen, "My daughters would
be so pleased if they could be permitted to go on board."
Father knows everything that goes on in our hearts. Father does not tell
us so, yet I am certain of it. Now and then Papa tells one or the other
of us precisely what we have been thinking; something that we had kept
to ourselves and never told to any one. It is without doubt, because
Father loves us so much, and we so love him. Every now and then he
discovers something, and lays it bare, that had been in the bottom of my
heart, and of which I had thought no one except myself had the slightest
idea. Does not that show true kinship of soul?
If I were more superstitious, I should certainly think that Papa could
read thoughts.
But I am telling you now of the pleasant Sunday morning, and not of the
secret telephone-cable that runs from our hearts to that of our dearest
Father.
The officers regretted so much that the _Edie_ would not remain longer
in our harbour. It would have been such a pleasure to them to have had
us on board. The _Edie_ must go to look for reefs on Karimoen Djawa,
though the commander thought Japara interesting. Both gentlemen were
going to do everything in their power to persuade the Commandant to come
back; for if the _Edie_ set out from Soerabaja on Monday, either
Saturday or Sunday she could be back at Japara. If fortune should bring
the _Edie_ here on Saturday, then they will let us know of their
presence by letting loose their fire-mouths (cannon). I have no idea
that they will, but still it would be above all things pleasant if the
boat should come again.
I told the gentlemen that if they passed Japara again, they must break a
screw or something, near our coast, so that the ship would be obliged to
lay up in our harbour for repairs.
When the officers had gone, and we were back in our room, we thought it
had been a dream. And truly it was as though we had dreamed. So
suddenly, so unexpectedly, had they appeared to us, and again as
suddenly had they vanished. A very pleasant happening--do you not think
so too? I still have to laugh whenever I think of that funny adventure.
O little Mother, dearest Mevrouwtje, I wish that you were back with us.
Your daughters miss you so much. We long for the pleasant days that we
spent with you to come again: the splendid times that we used to have in
your dear little sitting-room, where you would read to us from great
books, and where we spoke of so much, the memory of which shall always
remain with us. I miss the intimate talks with you, when I used to tell
my dear little mother all the rebellious thoughts that came into my
head, and laid bare the feelings of my restless heart. When I was in a
rebellious mood, I had but to see the love light in your face, and I was
again the happy, careless child, that, in overflowing good spirits,
could sing: "Whatever Heaven to me shall send, I'll set my shoulders
bravely under."
Mevrouwtje, you gave us too much care; spoiled us too much. Now we do
nothing but wish for those happy days to come back. And although we long
for you, yet we hope that the journey to Djombang will be put off as
long as possible. Why? We know--we feel, that at Djombang, we shall see
each other for the last time. Seeing you again will mean farewell for
good. You will not come to Japara again, and we shall never be able to
go to you. For that reason, let the journey be put off as long as
possible. It is splendid to have a pleasure to look forward to; so we
should like to prolong the feeling of anticipation. Once more the joy of
meeting again, and then--all the prettiness will be over. No it will not
be over even then, the memory will be with us.
We shall still be happy as long as you think of us and love us. You know
very well, dear little Mother, that love is nothing but egoism. I think
there is nothing finer than to be able to call a happy smile to a loved
mouth--to see the sunshine break over another's face. Nothing is more
splendid than to have a pair of dear eyes look at one full of love and
happiness; then it is that one feels guilty for that very joy. How
pleasant that Kokki also remembers us.
[1] To Mevrouw M.C.E. Ovink-Soer.
[2] A Javanese woman's dress consists of a sarong which is draped to
form a skirt, and a kabaja, or jacket shaped garment. The kabaja is of
Dutch origin and its use is a concession to European ideas of modesty,
as formerly the upper part of the body was left bare.