# Letters of a Javanese princess/Chapter 48

XLVIII
October 11th, 1902.
I FEEL some anxiety as to who will carry on our work in directing the wood carving after we have gone away. Our little sisters are too young, and there is the financial responsibility as well. If a European comes here, naturally our artists will be exploited merely for his own profit; the one who devotes himself to this work should be disinterested and have in his heart a love for art and a love for Java. ··········
The world says that everything spontaneous must be suppressed, and everything that differs from it, is necessarily soiled and smirched. In all ages, the way of the idealist has been hard. No deviation from the set type is suffered. Every one who is not like the rest of the world, is tormented all his life, unless he throws away his own coat, and in its stead draws on the coat of custom. ··········
I do not want to promise you anything, Stella, for I am not sure that I should be able to keep my promise. Do you think Modjowarno so frightful? Which would you prefer, that we should go crazy here at home, or that we seek healing for the wounds in our souls there? If we are disappointed in our plans, we are determined that we will not remain any longer cloistered and imprisoned here for petty, futile reasons. We will not submit to conditions which we detest and despise ​with all our hearts. The enemy abroad does not frighten us, but the enemy in our own country eats into our souls. Nothing can help us but God.
Now do not say that you will be cast down and sad, when you receive a letter telling you to address me at Modjowamo. The idea has no terror for me. It is true that we shall go there with lacerated hearts, but that will not be the fault of Modjowamo, and even there, all will not be lost, Stella. You have often encouraged me to use my pen — I shall still have that, and there I shall have nothing to lose and nothing to venture save myself. Here I should venture much, if I said what I really think. If I became a teacher, I should be striking my own calling dead, because those whom I had offended would gird on their armour and hunt me down.
I have already said that we would not go to Modjowamo, save with deeply wounded souls. Do you know the effect that would have upon my pen? Nothing speaks so to the heart like suffering. And even I have made eyes grow wet. You know me too well, I hope, to accuse me of vanity when I say that. It is only to show you how very much the worth of a pen rises when one has heart's blood for ink.
A few months ago, some one wholly unknown to me burst out crying when she read some words of mine. She felt how I had suffered when the words flowed from my pen. She was so affected that she wished to begin work at once for the alleviation of the misery of which I had written. The next day she even offered to help us; alas, only to withdraw the offer a few days later, through the working of reason.
People think that they are pleasing me, when they assure me that I write "splendidly." What does it amount to? I want what I write to make a lasting impression, Stella, and I can only do that when I have had experience. When my heart has been written upon, then—only then—will what I say be of worth.