XLIII[1]
NELLIE'S[2] enthusiastic article in East and West has been copied in several papers here. One in the Echo also contains an appeal from that paper asking the sympathy and cooperation of all women in India. The Echo quoted, just as did Nellie, a few words from my letter, and asked our permission to publish it all — or a part of it. I think it would be better not to publish another letter; one is enough and that from Nellie throws full light upon the question. Hilda de Booj, the daughter of Heer Charles Boissevain, a director of the Algemeen Handelsblad, asked if she could publish one of my letters about a Javanese wedding. She sent a copy of this letter home, and her brother advised me to publish it. Such personal letters will show the Netherlanders that the Javanese are in some respects their superiors, in many respects their equals and perhaps in many others their inferiors. So says Heer Boissevain.
I am busy now with an article for Belang Enrect; I hope they will find room for it. If not, I shall send it to some other paper or magazine. We are collecting Javanese fairy tales for Nellie and sister R. is making drawings for them. Oh, I hear so much wisdom and truth from the mouths of the people, and it is expressed in such sweet, melodious words. If I only had your language well under my thumb, I should like to translate the beautiful inspired music, so that it could be understood and appreciated. We are not so deep by nature that it will break any one's head to understand our wisdom. There is no word for selfishness in our language. Happy language where that word has never penetrated.
I wish that I could teach you my language, so that you could enjoy its beauties in their original freshness. The deeper I penetrate the soul of our people, the finer I think it. Among you wise men and poets are drawn usually from a certain station, and only the upper classes are educated. The great majority are—may I say it?—crude. There are some superior spirits among the lower classes; but the many, Stella? You know them better than I.
But go around with me into Kampong and Dessa; let us visit the small huts of the poor submerged tenth, let us listen to their speech, seek out their thoughts. They are an unschooled people always, but music comes welling from their lips; they are tender and discreet by nature, simple and modest. If I am ever with you I can tell you much of our gentle people; you must learn to know and love them as I do. There are so many poets and artists among them, and where a people has a feeling for poetry, the most beautiful thing in life, they cannot be lacking in the instincts of civilization.
Everything that is high and fine in life is poetry; love, devotion, truth, belief, art, everything that elevates and ennobles. And poetry means so much to the Javanese people. The least, the very humblest Javanese, is a poet. And what do you think of the deep respect which children have for their parents? And of the touching piety of the living toward the dead? There is no joyful occasion where the dead are not called to our remembrance, and their blessing and the blessing of heaven invoked. In joy and in sorrow, we think of our dead always.
And the name of Mother—how holy that is! In hours of pain and doubt, the pale lips always murmur that name. It is Mother, and again Mother who is called upon, if we need help, if we need support. The honour of motherhood lies in this, in the calling of her name in deep, sorrowful hours. Why do we not call upon our father—why just our mother? Because we feel from childhood, instinctively that Mother, means a world of love and devotion.
Each object that falls out of our hands is picked up with the saying; "Oh, Allah, my child." Do I have to explain the meaning of that to you, what it shows?
Stella, I shall work earnestly at your language, so that some day I may be such a mistress of it that I can make all that is beautiful among our people clear and intelligible to the outside world. I want to study my own language hard as well. I want to teach our people to know that white race as I know it in its finer, nobler aspects. They must learn of your nobleness, of your greatness, so that they will honour and love you. I want to do so much that sometimes I wish that I had a double pair of hands. The will is great, but the strength is little. And I must not injure my health, that would be the most stupid thing that I could do. And yet I am often stupid, sometimes sitting and working till late at night and that is not good for me. I may defeat my own object if in the end it should do me harm and I could not overcome my bodily weakness, so I am doing my best to live soberly and sensibly.