LVII[1]
I MUST thank you once more for your advice. Your talk did us a tremendous amount of good. Why should I not acknowledge to you that we had never looked at things in that light before, and had never dreamed that if we went to Holland we might endanger our own cause. Our "Friends" would be only too glad to spread abroad the report that we had grown to be wholly "blanda,"[2] and many parents would shudder at the mere thought of entrusting their children to us. You have opened our eyes; we are grateful from our hearts.
This morning we were taking a drive and we witnessed a naive example of native faith. It was out in the fields. Men and animals were uniting in prayer to the All-Highest to bathe the thirsty earth with blessed rain.
In the foreground sat the priest and santries,[3] behind the priestesses in white garments and around them hundreds of men, women and children. Sheep, goats, horses and buffaloes were bound to stakes. A priest stood before them and led the service, praying in a loud voice. Most of the people fell in with "Amin-amin," in which chorus the bleeting of the sheep was blended.
This ceremony is called "sembajang istira." They prayed for three days and three nights. You can imagine the delight and gratitude of the people, because now it has rained. Their prayers were effectual and do you know what they say now? We cannot get the idea out of their heads, that we had a share in it.
Before this at other places the people had held "sembajang istira," but never a drop of rain fell. Chance willed it that we should be present at the solemnities here, so our simple people draw the conclusion that we gave strength to that last prayer and supplication which, plainly, was heard and answered.
Such childlike, confiding faith is touching.
I wish so often that I had a photographic apparatus and could make a permanent record of some of the curious things that I see among our people. There is so much which we should like to preserve, so that we could give to outsiders a true picture of us Javanese.
It would mean so much more than mere written description if they would see the whole scene on the paddi — the buffaloes and the botjok — angongs[4] included. I could then write what I, as a child of Java, think and feel about these things.
You know that I am always glad to be able to do anything for you, and when you ask a favour of me, it is a joyful occasion. I am also glad to do what I can for "East and West." I feel that I am only doing myself a service, for it is for our people, and I and my people are one. So dispose of my time as you will, with a quiet mind, and do not be afraid that you will be asking too much of me. I only ask your forebearance when something that you have ordered does not come quickly enough.
I have talked with the goldsmith about going to Solo to learn to work in tortoiseshell there. He is eager to go; already he can make little combs, he has the tools for that, but he does not understand polishing very well; he could learn that at Solo. He is also anxious to learn to work in horn and mother of pearl. That too could be learned there.
But the revival of our art is just beginning and naturally all of these things cannot be done at once. I have had a pleasant letter from Dr. Pijzel, one of the editors of Eigen Haard. I also received some copies of my article on woodcarving. The illustrations are reproduced beautifully. Do you not think so? I have one set of them made on very fine paper. Do you know what I think so splendid? That the very first time that I write for the public under my own name, "Moedertje" should introduce me. Though it is even as pleasant that the little article should be in demand. We have heard that in the Minahassa, a native girl has "crazy" ideas just as we have. You see we are not the only simpletons. If the nobles here disdain us, and we are rejected by the people too, then we can fly away and seek that sister soul. Far away from the whirl of the markets, in some forgotten place, together we will find work for the head, the heart and the hand. In the great wide world somewhere there must be a place for us.
My eldest sister has been here, but she went away yesterday, not back to Kendal, but to Koedoes to visit her mother-in-law and to try to arouse the latter's interest in our cause. Some one goes now to plead for us, who herself once bitterly opposed us. When she was coming here, we did not plan an elaborate speech that would soften her heart. We talked to her simply, just as we felt, and it was sweet and strange when our sister with moist eyes said tremulously "Good, may you carry out your plans and meet with success. I shall pray God to bless you."
We asked her, "Will you still cling to us if others revile us and condemn us?"
And she answered, "Even the loudest talkers will be silent some day." Sister thinks that her mother-in-law will help us, and that her husband too will have sympathy for us.
But how are things here at home? Formerly we must never speak to others about the subject nearest our hearts, now they bring it up themselves. We talked not long ago with a stranger about several things. My heart beat with joy and happiness when I saw Father standing next to me the whole time. "I am his child in spirit too," sang my heart! Father invited the stranger to come here so that we could exchange our thoughts and ideas. He thought it would be good for us. Oh is my dream to really become reality? Are we going on our way with our parents' full blessing? Before we had an opportunity to write to the Heer Sijthoff, we received a very cordial letter from him last week, reproaching us for our obstinacy. A few lines further on, he declared that we had forced his respect and promised to give us his support. When we need it, we have only to ask him.