_February 28, 1902._[1]
The influence of blood cannot be denied. I attach a certain value to the
descent of every one around me, and I have an idea that I shall be
blessed by the ancestors of those persons whom I love and honour. I am
eager to read the books you have sent me and I hope to be able to
understand them easily. Do you not think me a little stupid? I am only a
great child, who longs very much to be loved, and who longs too for
knowledge and understanding.
Understanding is a very difficult art. Is it not so, Dearest?
But when one understands, one judges mercifully, and one forgives.
It is Friday evening; Gamelan evening. Our souls are wafted up to the
blue heaven of our fancy by the sweet serene tones that are borne to us
on the evening wind from the pendopo.
Let us dream as long as it is possible; if there were no dreams, what
would life be?
We have taken away all the little trifles and ornaments from our room.
It is no longer the joyful girls' room, where we dreamed dreams, where
we wept, thought, felt, rejoiced and struggled! Only our book-case
remains unchanged, and our old friends smile at us still in their
friendly, confident and encouraging way.
One of our best friends, who is no longer ornamental because he has
grown old-fashioned, shows very plainly whenever the door is opened. Our
dear, true, old friend. Many people would turn up their noses at him,
but we love him because he has never left us, but has rejoiced with us
in happy days; and through dark troubled ones, he has comforted and
supported us. He is De Genestet. He has been such a consolation to us of
late.
[1] To Mevrouw Abendanon.