_January 3rd, 1902._[1]
When we were in Samarang, our eldest sister came over to see us.
"Sister, sister," was all that she said, when she had seen me. The arms
that were thrown around me trembled, and her eyes were rilled with
tears. We were silent; we understood each other. At last we have found
our sister.
At last, after years, we have gained her understanding and respect. That
gives us new courage, because at first, she was very conservative, and
was opposed violently to every innovation.
* * * * *
Formerly it was not the custom to send children to school. Now it is an
everyday occurrence; but when one has a little matter of twenty-five
children, can one educate them all?
The question is never raised, that one has not the right to awaken life
when one cannot maintain life. Alas, how simple I am!
* * * * *
I thought to myself that, if I did something terrible, which would call
down universal scorn upon my head; if every one passed me by, and I were
showered with insults, would Father and would Mother turn away from me?
No, they would not. I should still be their child, and have a place in
their hearts. All the time we were sitting quietly here in our room,
sewing on Kleintje's clothes. She will have nothing that a strange hand
has touched. We must do everything for her ourselves. The door opened a
little way and Father came from behind it to stroke the rebellious head
that surged with so many unruly thoughts.
After four weeks, sister will be with us no longer. "You will all miss
me very much; I know it," she said, "In everything always, we three have
been together."
[1] To Mevrouw Abendanon.
_February 15, 1902._
When some one does something unkind to me, it makes my blood boil, I
grow very angry, but afterwards something like joy comes to me. I am
glad that it is the other person who has injured me and not I that have
hurt him; for then it is I that should be base, and if I were troubled,
it would be because I had been guilty and injured another unjustly.
Forgive me for having taken so long to write. After the departure of our
darling, our heart and soul sister, I could not write.
Sister went from here to her new home on the 31st of January. God grant,
that our little girl may be as happy as it is possible for a young, pure
and innocent creature to be in this world. You know how we three have
always clung together and that she has been our darling, because she is
not strong, and needed our care. Before her marriage, we thought so much
about the coming separation; but when the great blow fell, we felt
nothing. We were so dismally calm, we were not capable of thought. We
saw her go with dry eyes.
Annie Glazer, our companion, who came on a visit, reminded us so much of
sister. One evening she played on the piano the pieces that sister had
loved most. And under the spell of her music the ice-crust melted from
our hearts. But with the warmth the pain too came back. Thank God, that
we could feel again. "Thank God, thank God!" we said, in spite of the
pain. For those who cannot feel pain are not capable, either, of feeling
joy.
She has gone far away from us, and we cannot realize that she will be
with us no more--our Kleintje, our own little girl. We see her in
everything, she is with us always, only we cannot prattle aloud to her
as formerly. We can only do that in our thoughts. It is still so strange
to us that we must take a pen and paper to tell her something or other.
Kleintje, our little one, have you really gone away from us? Ah, dear
sister, be happy in your new life and shed happiness around you there,
just as you did here, when you bound all our hearts so fast to yours.
There is a young man with a very clever head, and at the same time of
high position, who does not know us personally, but who has much
sympathy for our struggle, and takes as much interest in it as if he
were our own brother. We correspond with him and, later, he is coming
himself to make the acquaintance of his sisters. He is so different from
all the other men that we know. I read once that the greatest thing in
the world was a noble man's heart. I understand now, truly a noble man's
heart is the most priceless thing in the world; it is so rare. We are
happy because we have found such an one.
Sister Roekmini thinks of you often and has such a high opinion of you.
She is a fine child, so good, so faithful. You would like her I know, if
you could meet her; but you do know her already through me, do you not?
When I was sick, I tried to make her write to you, but she would not
because it might make you uneasy. When she was with me, and I was so
very sick, I thought to myself, it was very discouraging. Here is some
one who glows with enthusiasm for a noble cause; who longs to be strong
and brave, to overcome mountains, and see; now she lies helpless,
powerless. If some one picked her up and threw her into a well, she
could make no resistance because she would be wholly defenceless.
Now for the first time we understand what De Genestet[1] means in his
_Terugblik_:
What we wish and will and strive for
We pray high powers to grant.
For free man, you do not make yourself, and your own life
The eagle's flight is always fast enclosed,
The Almighty bends our will, our strength,
As the wind bends the wheat.
Still lay the ground out,
Plan your castles,
Mark the way you wish to travel.
The earth is wide and beautiful,
Choose your fate and seek your way,
By your own light.
God watches all the while,
And guides your foot-steps unaware.
And the same poet has given us much comfort in dark, difficult days.
[1] Peter Augustus De Genestet, noted poet. Born at Amsterdam in 1829
and died at the age of thirty-one.