We girls must have no ideas, we have but to think that everything is good as we find it, and to say "yes" and "amen" to everything.

I was asked a few years ago, by a Dutch auth.o.r.ess of reputation, editor of a Woman's Journal, with whom I correspond, and whom I like very much, for permission to publish a letter in which I had touched upon these questions. The publication of private opinions such as mine, would be good for the cause, she thought. She would have kept my ident.i.ty a secret, name, dwelling place, everything would have been concealed. Only those places would have been mentioned, wherein I allude to certain peculiar customs of my country. The letter was sent back to Java, so that it could be shown to Father. He said that it must not be published; "later perhaps." I knew what that "Later" meant. It meant that when I should have become harmless, by having the Raden Adjeng changed to Raden Ajoe.

Lately we had the same thing over again. Mevrouw Ter Horst, founder and editor of the Indian Woman's Journal, _The Echo_, sent me her paper. She knows personally much about the life of the native woman, and has great sympathy for the well born girls in the Vorstenlanden[2] who are given away like so many presents. She wanted me to begin a series of articles, "Talks between two Regents' daughters." Secrecy, should it be necessary, was absolutely a.s.sured with her. She also thinks that it would be a good idea to write sketches of the life around us. I gave the letter to Father, hoping for his permission, which was again denied. I must not tell my ideas too early, always it is "Later."

The Heer Boes, of Probolingo, wrote to Father and asked if I might write some articles for his paper, _De Nederlandsche Taal_, a periodical for natives.

The Heer Boes asked for a reply, and sent me a list of subjects that he would like to have treated, such as, "Native Education for Girls"--"Native Art," "Useful Native Inst.i.tutions."

At that time we had gone to Batavia. So many things came up after that I could not write, I was in such trouble that my pen refused to go. And I hoped that each day would be better than the one that had gone before.

But the next day would be just the same, and I would tear up what I had tried to write; that was stupid. But I was beside myself with waiting and delay. I was in despair. I was to be allowed to write only nonsense, earnest things I must not touch upon.

Then I began to think that if I did write upon serious subjects, 1 should have the whole native world against me; if I became a teacher, the people would not trust their children to me. I should be called crazy. The idea of serving our cause with my pen is so dear to me, and yet picture to yourself a school without children, a teacher without pupils!

But we have not gone as far as that. We must have education first. For that, we must first obtain Father's permission, and then we have to present our pet.i.tion to the Governor General.

We must not count too much upon the success of our suit. And if it should fail, O G.o.d, what then? There remains only one thing for us, to become accoucheuses; we should then have to give up our hope of being examples and of lighting the way for others, for then we could be of service only to a few. But we think that would be far better than just to be book-keepers, apothecaries' apprentices, or something of that kind. Work in which our lives should be so barren, so empty, we should be living only for ourselves, and we want to live for the good of society as a whole.

I have information about the Government school of Obstetrics at Amsterdam, where one can be educated for that profession absolutely free of charge. We should have to have the help of Prof. Hector Treub.

The course lasts two years. How should we be able to get to Europe? We do not know. Some way must be found.

We will not go into that, until we have exhausted every means in our power towards the carrying out of our other plans.

Alas, if we could but get into communication with our own educated young men, men like Abdulli Rivai and others, and win their sympathy for our cause. When will the time come when boys and girls, men and women shall look upon one another as equal human beings, as comrades? As it is now--Bah! how we women are degraded at every turn, again and again.

[1] To Mevrouw Abendanon.

[2] Vorstenlanden (Princes' countries) name given by the Hollanders to the central province of Java comprising the Residences of Soerakarta and Djokjakarta. _Nominally_ it is a princ.i.p.ality and is divided between two native princes, the Soeshoeman of Soerakarta and the Sultan of Djokjakaarta, whose power has been so reduced by the concessions which they have been forced to make to the Dutch Government that only its shadow remains. This semblance of power is encouraged by the Hollanders for diplomatic reasons, though the Sultan is virtually a prisoner in his own palace.

Soerakarta and Djokjakarta form the last remnant of the ancient Hindu kingdom of Mataram to which originally the name Java was given.

x.x.x

_January 3rd, 1902._[1]

When we were in Samarang, our eldest sister came over to see us.

"Sister, sister," was all that she said, when she had seen me. The arms that were thrown around me trembled, and her eyes were rilled with tears. We were silent; we understood each other. At last we have found our sister.

At last, after years, we have gained her understanding and respect. That gives us new courage, because at first, she was very conservative, and was opposed violently to every innovation.

Formerly it was not the custom to send children to school. Now it is an everyday occurrence; but when one has a little matter of twenty-five children, can one educate them all?

The question is never raised, that one has not the right to awaken life when one cannot maintain life. Alas, how simple I am!

I thought to myself that, if I did something terrible, which would call down universal scorn upon my head; if every one pa.s.sed me by, and I were showered with insults, would Father and would Mother turn away from me?

No, they would not. I should still be their child, and have a place in their hearts. All the time we were sitting quietly here in our room, sewing on Kleintje's clothes. She will have nothing that a strange hand has touched. We must do everything for her ourselves. The door opened a little way and Father came from behind it to stroke the rebellious head that surged with so many unruly thoughts.

After four weeks, sister will be with us no longer. "You will all miss me very much; I know it," she said, "In everything always, we three have been together."

[1] To Mevrouw Abendanon.

_February 15, 1902._

When some one does something unkind to me, it makes my blood boil, I grow very angry, but afterwards something like joy comes to me. I am glad that it is the other person who has injured me and not I that have hurt him; for then it is I that should be base, and if I were troubled, it would be because I had been guilty and injured another unjustly.

Forgive me for having taken so long to write. After the departure of our darling, our heart and soul sister, I could not write.

Sister went from here to her new home on the 31st of January. G.o.d grant, that our little girl may be as happy as it is possible for a young, pure and innocent creature to be in this world. You know how we three have always clung together and that she has been our darling, because she is not strong, and needed our care. Before her marriage, we thought so much about the coming separation; but when the great blow fell, we felt nothing. We were so dismally calm, we were not capable of thought. We saw her go with dry eyes.

Annie Glazer, our companion, who came on a visit, reminded us so much of sister. One evening she played on the piano the pieces that sister had loved most. And under the spell of her music the ice-crust melted from our hearts. But with the warmth the pain too came back. Thank G.o.d, that we could feel again. "Thank G.o.d, thank G.o.d!" we said, in spite of the pain. For those who cannot feel pain are not capable, either, of feeling joy.

She has gone far away from us, and we cannot realize that she will be with us no more--our Kleintje, our own little girl. We see her in everything, she is with us always, only we cannot prattle aloud to her as formerly. We can only do that in our thoughts. It is still so strange to us that we must take a pen and paper to tell her something or other.

Kleintje, our little one, have you really gone away from us? Ah, dear sister, be happy in your new life and shed happiness around you there, just as you did here, when you bound all our hearts so fast to yours.

There is a young man with a very clever head, and at the same time of high position, who does not know us personally, but who has much sympathy for our struggle, and takes as much interest in it as if he were our own brother. We correspond with him and, later, he is coming himself to make the acquaintance of his sisters. He is so different from all the other men that we know. I read once that the greatest thing in the world was a n.o.ble man's heart. I understand now, truly a n.o.ble man's heart is the most priceless thing in the world; it is so rare. We are happy because we have found such an one.

Sister Roekmini thinks of you often and has such a high opinion of you.

She is a fine child, so good, so faithful. You would like her I know, if you could meet her; but you do know her already through me, do you not?

When I was sick, I tried to make her write to you, but she would not because it might make you uneasy. When she was with me, and I was so very sick, I thought to myself, it was very discouraging. Here is some one who glows with enthusiasm for a n.o.ble cause; who longs to be strong and brave, to overcome mountains, and see; now she lies helpless, powerless. If some one picked her up and threw her into a well, she could make no resistance because she would be wholly defenceless.

Now for the first time we understand what De Genestet[1] means in his _Terugblik_:

What we wish and will and strive for We pray high powers to grant.

For free man, you do not make yourself, and your own life The eagle's flight is always fast enclosed, The Almighty bends our will, our strength, As the wind bends the wheat.

Still lay the ground out, Plan your castles, Mark the way you wish to travel.

The earth is wide and beautiful, Choose your fate and seek your way, By your own light.

G.o.d watches all the while, And guides your foot-steps unaware.

And the same poet has given us much comfort in dark, difficult days.

[1] Peter Augustus De Genestet, noted poet. Born at Amsterdam in 1829 and died at the age of thirty-one.