_February 18th, 1902._[1]
We know how to be merry and playful too, just to be young. The Sunday
after we got your dear letter we went down to the shore, and last Sunday
as well, we were there. We thought of you and we spoke of you. If you
could only have been with us, to look at the wild play of the waves, and
at the wonderful colours, which stretched before us at sun-set. There
was a strong wind, more than once our hair was blown down and we had to
hold on to our clothes to keep them from flying away. There was not only
life in the trees and in the water, there was life in the girls, who ran
up and down through the waves. We had such a delightful time! Our voices
rose above the noise of the water; we laughed aloud. Those were the
teachers, the stately princesses, who ran and sported in the waves with
blown hair and blown garments. We were so happy, so young, and so gay!
Our attendants stood by staring and gaping with wide open mouths.
The next morning we went again to the shore; the sea was no longer
blustering, the boundless stretch of water was calm. There were only
little ripples playing upon the surface, and the sun-light danced in and
out among them like brilliants.
We went into the sea, the ground was even, there were no pebbles, no
sea-weed, no slime; we went far out till the water reached our chins.
The baboe on the shore grew frightened, we could no longer understand
her, but she ran up and down like a mad woman, waving her arms and
calling us back. We only laughed at her distress. In the distance, she
saw our heads sway around as we danced, and our voices sounded over the
water, raised in a merry little song.
When we went back to the house, we took with us a lively feeling of
hunger, you may be sure. After we had eaten ravenously, Annie sat down
to the piano. Out of the fullness of her heart, she played a "Danklied"
and we sang with her. It was as though we had grown half elf. Now
quickly to work. In the back gallery our sewing stood ready; we sat at
one table and worked busily, but it was not only the fingers that
hurried along, our tongues were not idle and we were chattering and
laughing and singing. In the twinkling of an eye, the time had gone by,
and we must sit again at the table. At midday we took a little walk and
wandered back to the shore.
After our walk, if it is not too dark, we usually drink tea in the
garden, among the shrubs and flowers, and under the blue sky, where
after awhile, a few stars and the pale gold moon come out. When we go
in, we have music or we read together. When Annie plays the piano, we
sit by her, and sew or write, for it is a delight to be able to work
while there is music; the work goes so easily.
Cooking is also on our program. We practise that every day after the
rice meal.
You and your husband must come to see us and rest here from that
oppressive Batavia. Can you not come now? We shall expect you. Then you
can amuse yourselves with our kind of life, which is so restful, so
still, so quiet and so peaceful. We will take care of you and we shall
have the help of the wind and the sea; and of the birds that greet us
every morning with their songs.
Come, dear friends, come, and find fresh life in our modest, still,
little place.
* * * * *
Of the wedding here, I shall only say that sister was a lovely bride.
She was married in wajang costume and looked beautiful. In the evening,
at the reception, she looked like a fairy princess from the "Thousand
and One Nights." She had on a golden crown, with a veil hanging down
behind. It was a new idea, but I have no doubt that it will be imitated.
Resident Sijthoff was much interested in seeing sister for the last time
as a young girl. He stayed through everything. He would have liked to
press her hand in farewell, but that might not be. He could only greet
her with his eyes.
As though carved in stone, she sat straight as an arrow, before the
glittering golden canopy. Her head was held proudly high, and her eyes
were looking straight ahead as though staring at the future that was so
soon to be unravelled before her. There were none of the usual tears,
but even strangers were affected. Only she and her two sisters were
calm. Our emotions had been lulled to sleep by the Gamelan music, by
incense, and the perfume of flowers. We were unmoved, we had looked
forward to our parting as to something frightful, so every one was
astonished. We are still stared at very hard, people are anxious to see
how we hold up under the strain.
We talked to the Resident of our plans that very evening. Imagine our
speaking at the end of a crowded feast about a cause which is so earnest
and so sacred; but it was our only opportunity to talk to him alone, and
we had to make the most of it. Alone! all around us there were people,
and still more people. Surrounded by evergreens and flowers, with a
shimmer of silk, and the glitter of gold and jewels before our eyes,
amid the buzzing of a thousand voices, in a very sea of light, we sat
there at midnight, with champagne glasses in our hands, to speak of
grave matters.
We were afraid that he would laugh at us or at least think us "silly."
But we did not let him frighten us. He talked first with me, and then
with Roekmini, separately; to make sure that our ideas were our own and
not borrowed from each other.
I have a request to make of you, an important one; when you see your
friend, Dr. Snouck-Hurgronje, ask him if, among the Mohammedans, there
are laws of majority, as among you. Or should I write myself to his
Excellency for enlightenment? There are some things I should be so glad
to know about the rights and duties, or, better still, the laws
concerning the Mohammedan wife and daughter. How strange for me to ask!
It makes me ashamed that we do not know ourselves. We know so bitterly
little.
[1] To Mevrouw Abendanon.