Letters of a Javanese princess/Chapter 52
LII[1]
November 21st, 1902.
THREE of the four shelves of our book-case are plump full of books; the fourth we keep free for photographs and other souvenirs, so that we have all of our friends before us. You are between Mamma and Brother Kartono. A little further away is Dr. Adriana, the learned man who is such a friend of humanity. Then comes a charming little creature, a pure, fresh, unspoiled flower of nature, whom we love very much. Papa, too, has a place of honour. You are in good company truly. And we have you with us—every day; in fact, the day has not begun for us until we have seen our friends and looked into their dear, true faces.
We have an idea that we shall see you just once, and that the meeting will be brief. A meeting—a brief greeting and then a — parting; all in a few moments of time. We shall catch, as it were, a glimpse of one another, and then vanish for ever — each from the other's ken. It is silly, but we have this idea and are not able to get it out of our heads. But why do we yearn for the personal, bodily meeting when the spiritual meeting is so pleasant? We ought not to need anything more — is not the spiritual the best in us? ··········
What do you think of the Japaraesque fire-screen? It is splendid, is it not? Hail to all noble friends of Java, who brought the art of her people, and with it the beauty of their souls, into the light! We hope fervently that the interest now taken will not dwindle as has that in all too many other things, and that it will not prove only a fleeting fashion.
No, it shall not do that, although we realize that the majority of those who now show interest in our art do so only because it is the fashion; but those who gave the movement its first impetus did so from sincere conviction, and that will prevail in the long run.
You see, I should enjoy living so many different kinds of lives. I should like to be in a mining district—among mine workers; or in a native Christian community, among native Christians. In a Chinese or Malay camp, or what not. But above all I should like to experience life, as it is lived in Dessa and Kampong among our own people; that has always had a great charm for me. I know that my people would then grow still nearer to my heart. One cannot learn the soul of a people without living and working among them. The love that I have for our people is only a foretaste of what I should feel under more intimate circumstances. We try to come in contact with the people as much as possible. When we go out alone, we always stop and pay a visit to some of the Kampong houses. In the beginning they looked at us with strange, unfriendly eyes, but it is not so any longer.
A child's hand is quickly filled, so too is the hand of a childlike people. They are very sensitive to kindness and also have a quick sense of humour. Under the influence of a ready word which will bring a hearty laugh, a sullen karwei is changed into a cheerful human being. Every day for some months, we have had a gang of workmen from the water-staat on our place. They are busy building an addition to our house. We are going to have a splendid pendopo at our rear. During the rest hour, we often go and talk a little with the work-folk. Picture your sister, sitting on a heap of sand, surrounded by workmen who have almost no clothes on their bodies and who are smoking straw, or eating rice. Naturally we must begin the conversation, for an inferior would rather be silent a whole day than to speak first to his superior.
They work under the supervision of an "Indo."[2]
He is good to his people, who come and go freely in his presence, and are always treated with consideration. We often hear them make little pleasantries with the toewan, a certain indication that the "baas" is good to them. If they receive orders to work over-time, we never hear them grumble. That is pleasant, is it not? And this sinjo[3] might well serve as an example.