_March 5th, 1902._[1]
Do you know who has painted so many wajangs for us? It is one of our
gamelan players. The art of painting is part of the air in Japara.
Little urchins, buffalo boys, draw excellent wajangs, in the sand, on
the walls, on bridges, on the supports of bridges. The wall behind our
house is always covered with wajang figures. All the bridge supports
erected today are covered with them tomorrow, drawn with charcoal or
with a little piece of soap-stone by naked, dirty little apes. Favored
land our Japara. You do not know how proud we are of our dear, quiet
place.
The grave of the Sultan of Mantangan is half an hour's ride, or somewhat
more from here. There is a whole connected narrative about the sultan's
grave, for it is a holy tomb. When the sultan came back from China, a
Chinese followed him and lies buried in the same place; over his grave
there is a patje tree. Miraculous powers are ascribed to this tree.
Barren women, who would gladly have a child, go there and take the
sultan flowers and incense wafers. When a patje fruit falls upon the
grave of the Chinaman, the woman must take it away, make it into a stew,
and eat it; her wish will then be granted. We have been told the names
of persons who had obtained their wishes in this way.
You see that the Javanese are a superstitious people fond of myths and
fairy tales. It is said that the children with which the Sultan of
Mantangan blesses the childless, will all be girls. Poor childless ones!
We shall have to look for a holy tomb that will bless the world with
boys, for there are all too many women in the world!
It was uphill work to make our artists carve wajang dolls. They were
frightened to death for fear the wajang spirits would be angry with
them. Father assured them that he would take all responsibility, that
all consequences would be upon his own head, and that the anger and
wrath of the spirits would smite him alone, the task-master, and not the
workmen who had merely carried out his will.
It was most difficult to take a photograph in the Kampong. A
superstition says that one shortens one's own life when one allows a
photograph to be taken, and that a photographer is a great sinner; all
the portraits that he makes will demand their lives of him in the after
life.
[1] To Mevrouw Abendanon.