XXXII[1]
February 28, 1902.
THE influence of blood cannot be denied. I attach a certain value to the descent of every one around me, and I have an idea that I shall be blessed by the ancestors of those persons whom I love and honour. I am eager to read the books you have sent me and I hope to be able to understand them easily. Do you not think me a little stupid? I am only a great child, who longs very much to be loved, and who longs too for knowledge and understanding.
Understanding is a very difficult art. Is it not so. Dearest?
But when one understands, one judges mercifully, and one forgives.
It is Friday evening; Gamelan evening. Our souls are wafted up to the blue heaven of our fancy by the sweet serene tones that are borne to us on the evening wind from the pendopo.
Let us dream as long as it is possible; if there were no dreams, what would life be?
We have taken away all the little trifles and ornaments from our room. It is no longer the joyful girls' room, where we dreamed dreams, where we wept, thought, felt, rejoiced and struggled! Only our bookcase remains unchanged, and our old friends smile at us still in their friendly, confident and encouraging way.
One of our best friends, who is no longer ornamental because he has grown old-fashioned, shows very plainly whenever the door is opened.
—163—
- ↑ To Mevrouw Abendanon.
