Letters of a Javanese Princess

long to be free, to be able to stand alone, to study, not to be subject to any one, and, above all, never, never to be obliged to marry.

But we must marry, must, must. Not to marry is the greatest sin which the Mohammedan woman can commit; it is the greatest disgrace which a native girl can bring to her family.

And marriage among us—Miserable is too feeble an expression for it. How can it be otherwise, when the laws have made everything for the man and nothing for the woman?

The difference of race forms an abyss so deep that though they may stand face to face and look into each other's eyes, it is as though they saw nothing.

It takes me back to times of which I must not think. It makes me weak and sad

We think sometimes with reason, what is civilization? Does it consist in a commanding tone, or in hypocrisy

Without strength, all other good qualities are of little worth

Those who embittered our childish years, were also our teachers, for they taught us to avoid being like themselves. Another proof that sorrow justifies its existence.

Physical punishment embitters, but never cures. That is our conviction

Javanese language? It is difficult—certainly, but it is beautiful. It is a sentient language; often the words seem to be conscious, they express so much

gamelan never rejoices, even at the most extravagant festivals, its tone is mournful

There is no word for poetry in our language. We say "bloementaal," and is it not well said