Dear Hilda:
Let me begin by sending you both, in the name of my sisters too, heartfelt wishes of happiness on the birth of your second son. We hope from our hearts that he may become just such a sweet, healthy little fellow as his brother, who will grow in time into a fine man, and make you both right proud.
How does our little friend act under his new dignity of big brother?
Does he not want to play with Alfred right away? The little one is too eager, is it not true?
A May child! De Genestet has written such a beautiful poem about that; the ending is sad but I fervently hope that the prayer of the poet in the last two couplets may be fulfilled for your May child. Although naturally you know the lines yourself, I cannot help repeating them again here:
"De G.o.d der lente spreide[2]
U rozen voor den voet De G.o.d der liefde leide U sachtkens, trouw en goed!
Bloei in uw vaders gaarde, Bloei aan uw moeders zij Hun schoonste bloem op aarde, Gij, knaapje van den Mei!"
I hear you laugh when you have read the verses, how foolish, eh? but do not be surprised at them, all old aunts become more or less sentimental, and to that category belongs she who now writes.
[1] To Mevrouw de Booij-Boissevain.
[2]
"May the G.o.d of springtime spread, Roses before your feet, May the G.o.d of love lead and Keep you gentle, true and good!
Bloom in your father"s garden, Bloom at your mother"s side, The loveliest flower on earth to them, Thou little blossom of May!"
XXI
_1st of August, 1901._[1]
We Javanese cannot live without flowers and sweet odours. The native flowers in their splendour awaken in me a world of thought and feeling whenever I breathe in their perfume. Days afterwards it lives in my memory, and I feel the strong Javanese blood coursing through my veins.
Oh soul of my people, that used to be too beautiful, that was full of kindness, poetry, gentleness and modesty--what has become of you? What have time and slothfulness not made of you?
It is so often said that we are more European than Javanese in our hearts. Sad thought! We know that we are impregnated with European ideas and feelings--but the blood, the Javanese blood that flows live and warm through our veins, can never die. We feel it in the smell of incense and in the perfume of flowers, in the tones of the gamelan, in the sighing of the wind through the tops of the cocoa-nut trees, the cooing of the turtle doves, the whistling of the fields of ripened rice, in the pounding of the haddi-blokken[2] at the time of the rice harvest.
Not for nothing have we pa.s.sed our whole lives amid surroundings where everything depends upon form; we have learned the emptiness of those forms, their lack of meaning and of substance; there is much good in the Javanese people. We are so anxious for you to admire our people. When I see something fine, some trait of character, that is peculiarly Javanese, then I think "How glad I should be if Mevrouw A. were with us.
She would be pleased at this thing, would appreciate it, she who has wide open eyes for everything that is n.o.ble."
Our little Javanese woodcarver-artist as you call him, has made something very beautiful with the whole wajanghistory[3] carved upon it.
Wajang figures on the cover, on the outside and inside both, and on all four walls. There is a case designed to protect it, which is also ornamented with wajang figures. The box is lined with orange satin, which is gathered and pleated, and it is set off by a silver rim, also of native workmanship. Indeed it ought to be very beautiful, for it is designed to hold the portraits of the Regents of Java and Madeira, which the queen has ordered sent to her. This mark of homage is a pretty idea.
The Regent of Garoat ordered the box and I was given free play. I might spend as much as I liked for both objects.
[1] To Mevrouw Abendanon.
[2] In Java the rice is beaten from the husks by great wooden mortars.
The pounding noise made by these on the sawahs (rice fields) at the time of the harvest produces a monotonous cadence.
[3] Wajang is the Javanese drama, it is very ancient and in the 9th century was already a traditional inst.i.tution in its present form. It presents always the romantic legends or sagas of the Island, though some of the stories are versions of those in Hindu mythology and were introduced after the Hindu occupation of Java. There are three princ.i.p.al forms of wajang, the most common is the wajang kelitik or little wajangs, puppets made of leather. The master of the show or delang manipulates the strings and recites the lines behind the scenes.
Sometimes the performances last from 7.30 in the evening until 6 in the morning. The wajang topeng or lyric drama existed in the year 1000 and probably earlier. The performers are men and women wearing grotesque masks. Animal masks such as tigers, elephants, wild boars, birds, etc., are often worn. In the presence of royalty the actors play unmasked.
The wajang beber is of very early origin and is a shadow play, shadows of marionettes being shown through a white cloth.
At the time of the Mohammedan conquest in the 15th century and after the forcible conversion of the Javanese to Mohammedanism, an effort was made to change the wajangs to conform with the Mohammedan law which forbade the representation of human beings, hence the introduction of the grotesque contorted masks still in use.
Wajang performances are always accompanied by gamelan music, explanatory verse and a chorus with chants.
XXII
_August 19, 1901._[1]
You must have thought it ungracious of me to remain silent for so long after your charming letter and your goodness in sending the dear kiekje, which I have enjoyed so much. The silence has not been from lack of appreciation, but because the one wholly sound Kartini had all of her time taken up with the little sick sisters. It was so warm, it was not hard to exaggerate a little indisposition, so that we could not help spoiling our invalids. Just now one of the pairs of eyes which I have seen so troubled, peeped over my shoulder and read this. Child, child, what do you gain by it? The children will never hear any praise from me, I a.s.sure you. But what am I doing now--speaking ill of my dear little sisters?
Nothing is impossible in this world. What we look upon today as an impossibility, tomorrow may be an accomplished fact.
There is a restlessness in our native civilization, the spirit of progress is moving among us. It is strongly combated by the inherent love which the Javanese has for the ancient "laws." There will be a hard fight before these h.o.a.ry ideas and customs shall be deeply buried in the ground, never again to rise.
[1] To Mevrouw H.G. de Booij-Boissevain.
XXIII
_August, 1901._[1]
I should be so glad, so happy, if I could be in a position to lead children"s hearts, to form little characters, to awaken young minds, to help to mould the women of the future who will be able to carry forward enlightenment like a torch. There is much misery in our Javanese woman"s world, there has always been so much suffering, so much bitterness.
The only road which lies open to a Javanese girl, and above all to one of n.o.ble birth, is marriage.
From far and near we know of the horrible misery of the woman caused by certain Mohammedan inst.i.tutions that are so easy for the man, but oh, so bitterly hard and miserable for her.
"She soon grows accustomed to it, she finds that it is nothing," say the wise men, and then "We should have no more peace if we put such ideas into her head."
Let me, a child of Java, nourished at her breast, who has lived here all her life, a.s.sure you that the native women have honest, simple hearts that can feel and suffer as well as the most delicate, sensitive woman"s heart in your country.