LETTERS OF A JAVANESE PRINCESS
and a bath house. A winding stair runs through the grotto and comes out on top of the hill, where two miniature temples stand. Fruit trees and flowers of all kinds grow and bloom everywhere; it is fairy-land become reality, only the fairy kings and queens and the silver shining little elves do not come out of the chasms in the rocks to make the illusion complete. The whole idea is like a poem expressed in art. But where is the art that is not poetry? Everything that is good, that is high, that is holy, in a word everything that is beautiful in life is poetry!
We have seen the creator of this wonder place. A deadly dull, commonplace sjofele baba.[1] Images in plaster, human dragons, and tigers are scattered among the grass; these too are the creations of his fancy.
It is a pity that at the entrance of the walk that leads to the fairy lake, two figures of European workmanship have been placed; they destroy the harmony.
You have been to Batavia to see the exhibition?[2] Yes, to be sure, and what do you say now of the brown race? What of its art?
Oh I am so proud of my people, they are capable of so much, but you Hollanders must lead us. And you will do that will you not? We are like children, and you are our protectors, who must guide us and help us to be grown up men and women.
—201—
