x.x.xIV

_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, n.o.ble 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 mult.i.tude 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 mult.i.tude 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 a.s.sistance.

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 a.s.sures 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.

x.x.xV

_March 21, 1902._[1]

You are right. The separation from sister has been a great grief to us, we have been together so long, and so intimately. People were not wrong when they said that we three had grown to be one in thought and in feeling. We cannot realize that sister has really left us; the idea that she has gone away never to return is unbearable. We try to imagine that she is only away on a visit, and will be back some day.

We miss our Kleintje very much. But happiness will not stand still; this will not be the only hard parting, we know that; many others await us in the future.

It is wise from time to time, When a tender strong bond Binds and caresses the poor heart, To tear it asunder with our own hands,

says De Genestet. But it is easier said than done. Do you not find it so? We receive encouraging letters from little sister. She is happy and pleased with her surroundings. That makes us so thankful, her happiness is our happiness. And now I shall try and tell you something of her wedding.

A native marriage entails a heavy burden upon the family of the bride.

Days and weeks beforehand, the preparations for the solemnity are begun.

Sister's wedding was celebrated very quietly on account of a death in the family. One of our cousins, who was a sister of the bridegroom, died shortly before the marriage. Poor creature. She was still such a young thing, and she left little children behind her. You must know that Kleintje is married to her own cousin. His mother is father's sister. He was here with us long ago, but then she was only a schoolgirl and no one thought of an engagement; though it has happened that children have been affianced and married, and later, when both were full grown, the marriage would be celebrated over again.

The acquaintance of sister and her husband was renewed when the Governor General was at Samarang. It is not customary among us for young girls ever to leave the house until they follow a strange bridegroom; but as I have already told you, we have broken with many traditions, and can do what others cannot, on account of the unusual freedom of our bringing up; and now we are working to break tradition still further.

No Javanese girl must be seen before her marriage; she must remain in the background, usually in her own chamber; and in December we were at Semarang with sister, and she went openly into the shops to buy some things which she wanted.

A Javanese girl receives no good wishes upon her engagement; the subject is not mentioned before her; still less does she mention it herself. She acts just as though she knew nothing of it. I should like to have read the hearts of our fellow countrywomen when they heard sister speak openly and freely of her coming marriage.

A day or two before the wedding, we commemorated our dead. That is our custom: in the midst of joy we always invoke the memory of our dead.

There was a sacrificial meal, during which their blessing was asked for the offspring of the coming nuptials.

This takes place in the bride's family. My brother-in-law and his family came on the day before the wedding. The first thing that a European bridegroom would do on arriving at the home of his bride, would be to go to her. But among us that would be out of the question. The bridegroom must not see his bride until the knot is tied. Even his family must not see her.

On the day before the wedding, the bride was bathed in a bath of flowers, and after that she was taken in hand by the toekang paes, a woman whose business is the dressing of brides. The bride takes her seat on a cloth that is especially prepared for the occasion, it consists of katoentjes[1] and zijdjes, enough for a kabaja, joined together. This is the property of the toekang paes. At her side are placed sweetmeats besides sirrih, pinang nuts, bananas, a jug of water, uncooked rice, a roasted hen, a live hen, and a burning night candle. Incense is burned, and the toekang paes cuts the fine hair from the bride's neck and face; the hair on the forehead is cut, too; even the hair over the ears. And the eyebrows are shaved off with a razor. One can always tell a newly married woman, by the shorn hair across the forehead and ears and by the shaved eyebrows.

At about one o'clock in the day, the toilet of the bride begins. The forehead is covered with soft salve, even to the ears, and the face is whitened, while the hair is dressed in the form of a cap, and ornamented with flowers.

On the headdress are seven jewels, fastened upon spirals, which are constantly waving up and down.

A gold embroidered kain,[2] and a kabaja of silver gauze, with the usual jewelled ornaments, such as brooches, necklaces, bracelets, earrings, and sleeve-b.u.t.tons, completed her toilet.

In Java, young girls must not wear flowers in the hair; only married women may do that; one often sees very old women going around with flowers in their hair.

The evening before the wedding is called widodarenni; widodari means angel, heavenly being. On the last evening of her maidenhood, the girl on the threshold of matrimony is compared to such a heavenly being, and the evening is celebrated.

You must have seen the photographs of Javanese wood-work at Mevrouw Rooseboom's, and you may remember the picture of an article of furniture with three doors in front. That is called a kwade, and it is used at weddings.

A handsome carved kwade covered with gold figures on a purple ground, was in the great hall at the back of the Kaboepaten. All tables, chairs, and benches were removed from that apartment and the floors were covered with a great alcatief.