_March 14, 1902._[1]
I have already written you about my sister in a former letter. It is
such a great loss, we miss our heart and soul sister all the time.
Happily we have already had encouraging letters from her. She is such a
dear, noble child. She is worth more than the other two of us put
together. She likes her new home, and has met with much kindness from
every one. Her new family took her by the hand, and wherever she went
she found cordiality and sympathy from Europeans, as well as from her
own people.
You know already, from the marriage announcement that was sent you, that
her husband is Patih; that is one of the highest ranks in our native
official world; besides, our brother-in-law is heir to a throne. When
his father ceases to reign, he will, of course, succeed him. As the wife
of a Regent, sister will be able to do a great deal for the education of
women, much more than we will ever be able to accomplish. We have great
hopes that her husband will support her; at least, he was much in favour
of the plans of the Heer Abendanon.
He is devoted to his little wife, has a cheerful, energetic disposition
and a sympathetic heart. He maintains a whole multitude of poor
families; that is pleasant, do you not think so? But many Javanese do
that; they have much consideration for their poor neighbours. There is
hardly a single native chief who has not one or more poor families
living in his house, or on his support outside. It is not for nothing
that India is noted for its hospitality. Are you not satisfied now about
sister too?
She is only discouraged because people expect too much of her. She is
like her older sister, who never feels her littleness so much as when a
certain person in Holland (Amsterdam) sets her too much in the sun.
Truly Stella, you must not do that; I shall be too much of a
disappointment to you when the happiest of all happy stars brings me to
you. You have much too good an opinion of me, of my character, and of my
intellect; they are, if I speak the honest truth, not worth a dubbeltje.
But you will never be disappointed in one thing, and that is, in my warm
affection for you.
Lately, I had a letter from an old gentleman, who had great ideas about
my "gentle courage" and "sweet disposition" and my "skill in the Dutch
language." I smiled mournfully when I read it and thought to myself "if
you but knew."
Yesterday we received letters from Holland, and I said to myself, "Girl,
hold up your head, this will not be the only disappointment that life
will bring you; you may as well realize that the future has a whole
multitude of them stored in her lap for you." And yet I am in no wise
cast down. Life itself teaches one to be cold and unfeeling.
And now about the proposition from Mejuffrouw Van der Meij. In the first
place I thank you heartily, my true comrade, for what you have done for
me, and I thank you too for sending me "Belang en Recht." I went to
Father with your letter and asked him to read it.
Father will wait for the coming of Van Kol before he decides the
question. I have good hopes of his consent. Yes Stella, I will, but not
under my own name, I wish to remain unknown; tell that to Mejuffrouw Van
der Meij. But that will not help very much, when they learn here in
India of articles by a Javanese woman, they will know at once upon whom
to lay the blame. It is tiresome. I do not like to hear my work
discussed, especially as I hear nothing but praise. Ah! it is
interesting for a Javanese woman to write in Dutch; that is the whole of
my easily earned success.
But let me take advantage of that interest whatever its cause. Frankly
it has its good side too, for at least I can obtain a hearing.
But how am I to gain friends for our cause by writing for the public
unless I say things that will make an impression and will be talked
about, till they penetrate to the second chamber itself?
I have always wanted to write something scathing, that tells what I
feel, but I do not feel strong enough; I still lack experience, I have
yet to see and hear much, and to think over what I have seen. The fruit
is not yet ripe, Stella; when it is, I shall no longer hesitate on
account of the difficulties.
If we should turn to the Queen, it would not be in her official
capacity, and because we wished to obtain the help of the State through
Royal intervention. We should only ask the Princess for her personal
help. If you knew how proud we were, then you would understand what a
struggle it has caused us to make up our minds to ask for assistance.
But as you said, when large affairs come up, small ones must go to the
wall.
We set our own pride aside before the general good. In the present
instance our only chance of success lies in asking for help.
Every one who has met the Queen assures me that her Majesty is
interested to the highest degree in the welfare of her Indian subjects.
And the Queen Mother also takes a warm interest in Indian affairs. We
believe it; we are glad to believe it.
At the time of the Woman's Exposition, it was the Queen Mother who sent
her personal secretary to the president of the colonial department to
enquire about our work, and her Majesty asked the president, when he was
conducting her around, to read to her some extracts from our letters. I
feel confident of support, from the Government and from the Queen.
If this support does not materialize, there is only Modjowarno left, but
that is not what our hearts wish. Do you know whom I long for in
despondent, unsettled weather? For our friend who is far away in the
wilderness. Deep in the heart of our inland country living among
koppensnellers[2] in that distant place, doing good in many ways but
above all, through his knowledge of medicine. I would fly to him as a
bird with wounded wings, and he would stroke my tired head till my
sorrow could be stilled, and the peace which he breathes would fall
around me. But he too is human, he too must have his despondent moods,
his struggles.
Stella, Stella, if I could only throw my arms around you, and let my
head rest upon your heart.
[1] To Mejuffrouw Zeehandelaar.
[2] Head hunters, similar to the Dyaks of Borneo.