_January 27th, 1903._[1]
I have been thinking of the time that is past, the old time when I sat
with your father and your dear mother by the sea; those were moments of
delight, such as one never forgets. The last time too that we sat with
your father by the shore, and he talked to us of our plans, will always
live in our memory.
It was splendid to speak heart to heart with one whom we knew to be such
a noble, sincere friend. And what was the result; I could not sleep the
whole night, I tossed about in my bed with your father's earnest
affectionate words still in my mind and in my heart. That was what we
had needed, what we had longed for; an earnest affectionate word, spoken
face to face. The next morning early, your father had to go away, to our
great sorrow. We went with his Excellency in the carriage past the way
where we had talked on the sand; the result of that talk is that very
soon, with the full consent of our parents, we are going to present a
petition to the Government through the Governor General, asking it to
give us an opportunity to help the Javanese woman of the future by
completing our education at Batavia. Are you not startled, Brother? I do
not know what you will think--that we are fickle? To strive with all our
might at first to go to Holland, move heaven and earth to get there, and
when at last, thanks to the work of our friends, we can go--to say "I am
going to stay." What do you think of such instability? But is it not
better to turn! back and acknowledge one's mistake than to persist in a
wrong course for the sake of consistency?
Do you know when that idea of going to Holland first took such a fast
hold of us? It was in the December days of 1901, when we suffered
without knowing why. Then there came to us a wild longing to go
away--far away. Away, away--away into another atmosphere--to another
land, where we should breathe a different air, and all our soul's wounds
should be healed, where we should be strengthened in spirit and perhaps
also in body. Strengthened and born anew, we would come back to work for
the regeneration of our people. While we were away, people would cease
to think of us. Alas, that it would seem so good to be forgotten. We
should be forgotten by those for whom we would work, whom we so longed
to help.
O, poor illusions! You know that it has always been one of our dearest
dreams to be educated for our work, in Holland. But Father's last,
severe illness has made us think deeply. We understood at last as we
stood over his sick bed how fast his dear heart was bound up in us. But
I still ask myself, should we have come to this decision if your father
had not been here and talked with us? I do not know, but there is no
doubt that our parents have to thank your father for much, and we
ourselves, are very grateful to his Excellency too.
Sister and I have talked and pondered over your father's words for a
long time. The result is that our going to Holland is still in the
air--has flown to the moon, but that we hope to go to Batavia with all
speed.
This is all personal. More important, is the effect which our decision
will have upon our cause. In the first place if we go to Batavia, we
could begin to study at once. While if we go to Holland, we must wait a
long time. I think always of your father's words, "Why not do what can
be done at once--something will have been accomplished then, while in
Holland everything would lie far in the future." Your father spoke of
the wounded man who called for help; some one comes to him and says, "No
friend--I cannot help you now, I must first study, and learn how wounds
should be dressed." Then the some one goes away, and when at last he had
learned the art of binding wounds, the man who had called to him, had
long been dead.
Then your father spoke of a pearl lying deep in the sea. You know that
it is there but you do not know precisely where. You wade out into the
sea and try to find it. The water comes up to your lips, some one calls
to you and says-"Friend do not do that, go no further. The water already
comes up to your lips, if you are drowned, still you will not have the
pearl; get into a boat, measure and fish for it."
Your father said we could open a school at once without having to pass a
single examination. There is nothing in the law that compels one to pass
examination before teaching native girls. We could get some European
teachers to help us, that would be as we wished, but do you think it
would be well for us to open it at all without adequate preparation? It
is true that in "Our School" (how pleasant that sounds) we want to give
more of a moral than an academic education. If it is not erected by the
Government we would not have to follow the prescribed paths, and we want
the whole idea of our school to be the education of children, not as
though they were in a school, but in a home, as a mother would bring up
her own children.
It must be like a great home community. Where the inmates all love one
another and learn from one another, and where the mother is not a mother
in name but in spirit, the educator of the child's soul and body.
We have thought much about that other idea of your father's; but in this
way; if we are not able to study, but have to remain at home, could we
not take the little daughters of regents here, as many as the kaboepaten
would hold? Let them go to school outside, but give them their moral
education here with us. We could lead the young hearts through play and
help to form the young characters. During the hours when those children
would be at school, we could take other little children of native chiefs
here in our own neighbourhood and teach them elementary branches,
handiwork and other things. All the while unperceived, we would be
knocking at the little hearts and trying to get nearer to the little
souls. But if we find that we can open a school, then we had rather
study first. Do you not think we are right, Brother? The school would be
at Magelang or at Salatiga. Your father has talked with ours about it,
and there is no objection at all. That would be almost as good as going
to Holland. It would be splendid--Hé Brother?
Our grandfather in the past brought up the sons of other nobles.
Grandfather had a tutor for his children, and he took the sons of the
Pangerang of Solo and of a regent of middle Java to be educated with his
own sons. So you see there is nothing new under the sun; our idea which
is called startlingly new, is old, inherited from our grandfather. Our
plan of education--our spirit, has descended from him. Grandfather was a
pioneer; we are only carrying on his work--they were good people, both
grandfather and grandmother.
Your father has told us that according to form a note must be presented
in which our plans, and ideas are set forth plainly and exactly. It must
be written from the heart, not at all as though it was intended for the
Governor General. We should like for your father to read the note first,
but his Excellency does not think it necessary. We must write simply,
just as we feel.
[1 To Heer E.C. Abendanon.