Part 12

Once when I was distraught with trouble, and leaned against the wall motionless, with wide open eyes that saw nothing, but only stared at the light, a cry of sorrow smote my ears and brought me back to a sense of reality. Father leaned over me, his arms were around me, though his face was turned away. "Do not give way like that, Ni. Have patience." Oh, my father, why have you not listened to the voice of your own heart; why have you heeded the voice of the world?

[1] To Mevrouw Abendanon.

[2] Servant of religion, in charge of a mosque.

[3] Grounds in front of a Regent's palace. Usually square in shape and surrounded by trees, sometimes with a group of trees in the center.

[4] Sirrih, the leaf of a vine. A paste composed of lime gamlier and betel nut is spread upon this and eaten by the Javanese women. It is customary for bride and bridegroom to present it to each other at weddings. The custom is of ancient origin.

XXIX

_December 31st, 1901._[1]

We do not want to sail any longer upon a weak ship, something must be done for this great, this unhappy cause. We should be satisfied if only the attention of the intelligent world were fastened upon it. Many times have I talked with women, both with those of the nobles and those of the people, about the idea of an independent, free, self-supporting girl, who could earn her own living; and from each one comes the answer, "There must be some one who sets the example."

We are convinced that if one has but the courage to begin, many will follow her. There must always be a beginning. One must go first to show the way, and the example must be good; each one waits for the other; no one dares to be first. The parents too wait for one another to see which one will have the moral courage to allow a daughter to become independent and self supporting--to stand by herself.

We know a Regent's daughter, our own age, who is also full of enthusiasm for the idea of freedom. She is crazy to study; she speaks excellent Dutch, and has read a great deal. She is the daughter of the Regent of Koetoardjo. There are two great girls, charming children; we are very fond of them. I know from a teacher, an acquaintance of ours, that the older girl is crazy to study. She has told me herself that she is very anxious to go to Europe. The second sister also is a dear, clever child. A few years ago they were at our house on a visit. When they first came, they began to draw and paint with us, and now the younger one paints very well. Their father has a great respect for an educated woman. We know another one of his daughters, who is married; she speaks no Dutch, but she has gone further than the others. She has a great admiration for the free, independent European woman; she would think it ideal if we could have the same conditions in our native world.

Another Regent's daughter has been here; she is a Sundanese girl; she does not speak a word of Javanese, but she was brought up with Europeans, so we talked in Dutch.

The first question that she asked me was, "How many mothers have you?" I turned to her in pained astonishment, and she went on (do not be shocked) "You know that I have fifty-three mothers and there are eighty-three of us. I do not know the majority of my brothers and sisters. I am the youngest, and never knew my father; he died before I was born."

Is not that deeply, deeply sad? In the Preanger, girls of noble birth are free to choose their own husbands, and many of them even know the man to whom they are betrothed. The young people meet one another, and become engaged after the European manner. Blessed land--and yet--!

There is a girl, a grand-daughter of a Regent, (her parents are dead) who has had a splendid bringing up, and if her teacher is a good judge, must be a wonder of learning. She plays the piano well, etc. She became engaged after the European manner and married some one, who had many wives, and a whole troop of children; some of them full grown. I knew one of her step-daughters, a charming little woman who speaks Dutch and is the mother of a two year old child. She was seventeen years old, a year or two younger than her step-mother. She told me that she chose her husband herself and was very happy.

* * * * *

The idea of publishing all that I think and feel about conditions among our Mohammedan women, has been with me for a long time. I thought of putting it into a book, in the form of letters between two regents' daughters--a Sundanese and a Javanese. Already I have written several letters, but I shall not go on with it at present. It will be perhaps some years before I can finish it, but I shall not give up the idea. That too was suggested by Mijnheer. The great difficulty is that father would not allow me to publish such a book. "It is good for you to be versed in the Dutch language," says Father, "but you must not make that an excuse for telling your inmost thoughts."

We girls must have no ideas, we have but to think that everything is good as we find it, and to say "yes" and "amen" to everything.

I was asked a few years ago, by a Dutch authoress of reputation, editor of a Woman's Journal, with whom I correspond, and whom I like very much, for permission to publish a letter in which I had touched upon these questions. The publication of private opinions such as mine, would be good for the cause, she thought. She would have kept my identity a secret, name, dwelling place, everything would have been concealed. Only those places would have been mentioned, wherein I allude to certain peculiar customs of my country. The letter was sent back to Java, so that it could be shown to Father. He said that it must not be published; "later perhaps." I knew what that "Later" meant. It meant that when I should have become harmless, by having the Raden Adjeng changed to Raden Ajoe.

Lately we had the same thing over again. Mevrouw Ter Horst, founder and editor of the Indian Woman's Journal, _The Echo_, sent me her paper. She knows personally much about the life of the native woman, and has great sympathy for the well born girls in the Vorstenlanden[2] who are given away like so many presents. She wanted me to begin a series of articles, "Talks between two Regents' daughters." Secrecy, should it be necessary, was absolutely assured with her. She also thinks that it would be a good idea to write sketches of the life around us. I gave the letter to Father, hoping for his permission, which was again denied. I must not tell my ideas too early, always it is "Later."

The Heer Boes, of Probolingo, wrote to Father and asked if I might write some articles for his paper, _De Nederlandsche Taal_, a periodical for natives.

The Heer Boes asked for a reply, and sent me a list of subjects that he would like to have treated, such as, "Native Education for Girls"--"Native Art," "Useful Native Institutions."

At that time we had gone to Batavia. So many things came up after that I could not write, I was in such trouble that my pen refused to go. And I hoped that each day would be better than the one that had gone before. But the next day would be just the same, and I would tear up what I had tried to write; that was stupid. But I was beside myself with waiting and delay. I was in despair. I was to be allowed to write only nonsense, earnest things I must not touch upon.

Then I began to think that if I did write upon serious subjects, 1 should have the whole native world against me; if I became a teacher, the people would not trust their children to me. I should be called crazy. The idea of serving our cause with my pen is so dear to me, and yet picture to yourself a school without children, a teacher without pupils!

But we have not gone as far as that. We must have education first. For that, we must first obtain Father's permission, and then we have to present our petition to the Governor General.

We must not count too much upon the success of our suit. And if it should fail, O God, what then? There remains only one thing for us, to become accoucheuses; we should then have to give up our hope of being examples and of lighting the way for others, for then we could be of service only to a few. But we think that would be far better than just to be book-keepers, apothecaries' apprentices, or something of that kind. Work in which our lives should be so barren, so empty, we should be living only for ourselves, and we want to live for the good of society as a whole.

I have information about the Government school of Obstetrics at Amsterdam, where one can be educated for that profession absolutely free of charge. We should have to have the help of Prof. Hector Treub.

The course lasts two years. How should we be able to get to Europe? We do not know. Some way must be found.

We will not go into that, until we have exhausted every means in our power towards the carrying out of our other plans.

Alas, if we could but get into communication with our own educated young men, men like Abdulli Rivai and others, and win their sympathy for our cause. When will the time come when boys and girls, men and women shall look upon one another as equal human beings, as comrades? As it is now--Bah! how we women are degraded at every turn, again and again.

[1] To Mevrouw Abendanon.

[2] Vorstenlanden (Princes' countries) name given by the Hollanders to the central province of Java comprising the Residences of Soerakarta and Djokjakarta. _Nominally_ it is a principality and is divided between two native princes, the Soeshoeman of Soerakarta and the Sultan of Djokjakaarta, whose power has been so reduced by the concessions which they have been forced to make to the Dutch Government that only its shadow remains. This semblance of power is encouraged by the Hollanders for diplomatic reasons, though the Sultan is virtually a prisoner in his own palace.

Soerakarta and Djokjakarta form the last remnant of the ancient Hindu kingdom of Mataram to which originally the name Java was given.

XXX

_January 3rd, 1902._[1]

When we were in Samarang, our eldest sister came over to see us. "Sister, sister," was all that she said, when she had seen me. The arms that were thrown around me trembled, and her eyes were rilled with tears. We were silent; we understood each other. At last we have found our sister.

At last, after years, we have gained her understanding and respect. That gives us new courage, because at first, she was very conservative, and was opposed violently to every innovation.

* * * * *

Formerly it was not the custom to send children to school. Now it is an everyday occurrence; but when one has a little matter of twenty-five children, can one educate them all?

The question is never raised, that one has not the right to awaken life when one cannot maintain life. Alas, how simple I am!

* * * * *

I thought to myself that, if I did something terrible, which would call down universal scorn upon my head; if every one passed me by, and I were showered with insults, would Father and would Mother turn away from me? No, they would not. I should still be their child, and have a place in their hearts. All the time we were sitting quietly here in our room, sewing on Kleintje's clothes. She will have nothing that a strange hand has touched. We must do everything for her ourselves. The door opened a little way and Father came from behind it to stroke the rebellious head that surged with so many unruly thoughts.

After four weeks, sister will be with us no longer. "You will all miss me very much; I know it," she said, "In everything always, we three have been together."

[1] To Mevrouw Abendanon.

_February 15, 1902._

When some one does something unkind to me, it makes my blood boil, I grow very angry, but afterwards something like joy comes to me. I am glad that it is the other person who has injured me and not I that have hurt him; for then it is I that should be base, and if I were troubled, it would be because I had been guilty and injured another unjustly.

Forgive me for having taken so long to write. After the departure of our darling, our heart and soul sister, I could not write.

Sister went from here to her new home on the 31st of January. God grant, that our little girl may be as happy as it is possible for a young, pure and innocent creature to be in this world. You know how we three have always clung together and that she has been our darling, because she is not strong, and needed our care. Before her marriage, we thought so much about the coming separation; but when the great blow fell, we felt nothing. We were so dismally calm, we were not capable of thought. We saw her go with dry eyes.

Annie Glazer, our companion, who came on a visit, reminded us so much of sister. One evening she played on the piano the pieces that sister had loved most. And under the spell of her music the ice-crust melted from our hearts. But with the warmth the pain too came back. Thank God, that we could feel again. "Thank God, thank God!" we said, in spite of the pain. For those who cannot feel pain are not capable, either, of feeling joy.

She has gone far away from us, and we cannot realize that she will be with us no more--our Kleintje, our own little girl. We see her in everything, she is with us always, only we cannot prattle aloud to her as formerly. We can only do that in our thoughts. It is still so strange to us that we must take a pen and paper to tell her something or other.

Kleintje, our little one, have you really gone away from us? Ah, dear sister, be happy in your new life and shed happiness around you there, just as you did here, when you bound all our hearts so fast to yours.

There is a young man with a very clever head, and at the same time of high position, who does not know us personally, but who has much sympathy for our struggle, and takes as much interest in it as if he were our own brother. We correspond with him and, later, he is coming himself to make the acquaintance of his sisters. He is so different from all the other men that we know. I read once that the greatest thing in the world was a noble man's heart. I understand now, truly a noble man's heart is the most priceless thing in the world; it is so rare. We are happy because we have found such an one.

Sister Roekmini thinks of you often and has such a high opinion of you. She is a fine child, so good, so faithful. You would like her I know, if you could meet her; but you do know her already through me, do you not?

When I was sick, I tried to make her write to you, but she would not because it might make you uneasy. When she was with me, and I was so very sick, I thought to myself, it was very discouraging. Here is some one who glows with enthusiasm for a noble cause; who longs to be strong and brave, to overcome mountains, and see; now she lies helpless, powerless. If some one picked her up and threw her into a well, she could make no resistance because she would be wholly defenceless.

Now for the first time we understand what De Genestet[1] means in his _Terugblik_:

What we wish and will and strive for We pray high powers to grant. For free man, you do not make yourself, and your own life The eagle's flight is always fast enclosed, The Almighty bends our will, our strength, As the wind bends the wheat. Still lay the ground out, Plan your castles, Mark the way you wish to travel. The earth is wide and beautiful, Choose your fate and seek your way, By your own light. God watches all the while, And guides your foot-steps unaware.

And the same poet has given us much comfort in dark, difficult days.

[1] Peter Augustus De Genestet, noted poet. Born at Amsterdam in 1829 and died at the age of thirty-one.

XXXI

_February 18th, 1902._[1]

We know how to be merry and playful too, just to be young. The Sunday after we got your dear letter we went down to the shore, and last Sunday as well, we were there. We thought of you and we spoke of you. If you could only have been with us, to look at the wild play of the waves, and at the wonderful colours, which stretched before us at sun-set. There was a strong wind, more than once our hair was blown down and we had to hold on to our clothes to keep them from flying away. There was not only life in the trees and in the water, there was life in the girls, who ran up and down through the waves. We had such a delightful time! Our voices rose above the noise of the water; we laughed aloud. Those were the teachers, the stately princesses, who ran and sported in the waves with blown hair and blown garments. We were so happy, so young, and so gay! Our attendants stood by staring and gaping with wide open mouths.

The next morning we went again to the shore; the sea was no longer blustering, the boundless stretch of water was calm. There were only little ripples playing upon the surface, and the sun-light danced in and out among them like brilliants.

We went into the sea, the ground was even, there were no pebbles, no sea-weed, no slime; we went far out till the water reached our chins. The baboe on the shore grew frightened, we could no longer understand her, but she ran up and down like a mad woman, waving her arms and calling us back. We only laughed at her distress. In the distance, she saw our heads sway around as we danced, and our voices sounded over the water, raised in a merry little song.

When we went back to the house, we took with us a lively feeling of hunger, you may be sure. After we had eaten ravenously, Annie sat down to the piano. Out of the fullness of her heart, she played a "Danklied" and we sang with her. It was as though we had grown half elf. Now quickly to work. In the back gallery our sewing stood ready; we sat at one table and worked busily, but it was not only the fingers that hurried along, our tongues were not idle and we were chattering and laughing and singing. In the twinkling of an eye, the time had gone by, and we must sit again at the table. At midday we took a little walk and wandered back to the shore.

After our walk, if it is not too dark, we usually drink tea in the garden, among the shrubs and flowers, and under the blue sky, where after awhile, a few stars and the pale gold moon come out. When we go in, we have music or we read together. When Annie plays the piano, we sit by her, and sew or write, for it is a delight to be able to work while there is music; the work goes so easily.

Cooking is also on our program. We practise that every day after the rice meal.

You and your husband must come to see us and rest here from that oppressive Batavia. Can you not come now? We shall expect you. Then you can amuse yourselves with our kind of life, which is so restful, so still, so quiet and so peaceful. We will take care of you and we shall have the help of the wind and the sea; and of the birds that greet us every morning with their songs.

Come, dear friends, come, and find fresh life in our modest, still, little place.

* * * * *

Of the wedding here, I shall only say that sister was a lovely bride.

She was married in wajang costume and looked beautiful. In the evening, at the reception, she looked like a fairy princess from the "Thousand and One Nights." She had on a golden crown, with a veil hanging down behind. It was a new idea, but I have no doubt that it will be imitated.

Resident Sijthoff was much interested in seeing sister for the last time as a young girl. He stayed through everything. He would have liked to press her hand in farewell, but that might not be. He could only greet her with his eyes.

As though carved in stone, she sat straight as an arrow, before the glittering golden canopy. Her head was held proudly high, and her eyes were looking straight ahead as though staring at the future that was so soon to be unravelled before her. There were none of the usual tears, but even strangers were affected. Only she and her two sisters were calm. Our emotions had been lulled to sleep by the Gamelan music, by incense, and the perfume of flowers. We were unmoved, we had looked forward to our parting as to something frightful, so every one was astonished. We are still stared at very hard, people are anxious to see how we hold up under the strain.

We talked to the Resident of our plans that very evening. Imagine our speaking at the end of a crowded feast about a cause which is so earnest and so sacred; but it was our only opportunity to talk to him alone, and we had to make the most of it. Alone! all around us there were people, and still more people. Surrounded by evergreens and flowers, with a shimmer of silk, and the glitter of gold and jewels before our eyes, amid the buzzing of a thousand voices, in a very sea of light, we sat there at midnight, with champagne glasses in our hands, to speak of grave matters.

We were afraid that he would laugh at us or at least think us "silly." But we did not let him frighten us. He talked first with me, and then with Roekmini, separately; to make sure that our ideas were our own and not borrowed from each other.

I have a request to make of you, an important one; when you see your friend, Dr. Snouck-Hurgronje, ask him if, among the Mohammedans, there are laws of majority, as among you. Or should I write myself to his Excellency for enlightenment? There are some things I should be so glad to know about the rights and duties, or, better still, the laws concerning the Mohammedan wife and daughter. How strange for me to ask! It makes me ashamed that we do not know ourselves. We know so bitterly little.

[1] To Mevrouw Abendanon.

XXXII

_February 28, 1902._[1]

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 book-case 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. Our dear, true, old friend. Many people would turn up their noses at him, but we love him because he has never left us, but has rejoiced with us in happy days; and through dark troubled ones, he has comforted and supported us. He is De Genestet. He has been such a consolation to us of late.

[1] To Mevrouw Abendanon.

XXXIII

_March 5th, 1902._[1]

Do you know who has painted so many wajangs for us? It is one of our gamelan players. The art of painting is part of the air in Japara. Little urchins, buffalo boys, draw excellent wajangs, in the sand, on the walls, on bridges, on the supports of bridges. The wall behind our house is always covered with wajang figures. All the bridge supports erected today are covered with them tomorrow, drawn with charcoal or with a little piece of soap-stone by naked, dirty little apes. Favored land our Japara. You do not know how proud we are of our dear, quiet place.