She watched her younger sisters with hungry longing every time that they
went out of the door, armed with their school-books, to go to the temple
of wisdom where knowledge was to be found.
For a time she tried to study her lessons by herself; but it seemed
useless--a pupil alone without a master soon grows discouraged. With a
deep sigh she hid her books away.
If pillows and cushions could but speak what would they not be able to
tell! They could tell of the misery of a little human soul that with
scalding tears cried herself to sleep on their bosom night after night.
Young people cannot learn to be resigned. In their silly little heads
and hearts dwell a hundred wild, restless and rebellious thoughts. They
feel themselves so alone, and draw back timidly from those with whom
they live day in and day out.
It is very easy to live for years with one's brothers and sisters and to
remain always as strangers. Ni had an older sister who shared her
imprisonment. She was fond of her but there was no confidence between
them. They differed too much both in character and point of view. The
older sister was quiet, conventional, calm and composed, and the younger
one was just the opposite; all life and fire by nature. Her ideas were
wrong in the eyes of the other, who believed firmly in all the old
traditions and customs.
Often the younger sister had gone with shining eyes to tell of something
which filled her brimful of enthusiasm; and when she had finished, the
older sister would answer coldly, "Go your own way; as for me I am a
Javanese."
Ni's heart would stand still within her, as though touched by a rough
hand, she would grow icy cold. The younger sisters too were estranged
from her; the older one was not pleased when they were with Ni--Ni who
had such strange ideas. And sister was very strong; the little sisters
were afraid of her.
Ni found it hard, but not so hard as to feel that her own mother was
opposed to her. She too closed her heart to her, because her child's
ideas were diametrically opposed to her own. Poor little Ni--her small
soul was longing for tenderness and she found only coldness; where on
her side she gave love, she received at best tolerance. Why was she
always so strange, so peculiar, so different? Ah, she had tried so often
to be like others, to think like others, yet always when she was almost
happy, something would happen, that would make the slumbering thoughts
burst forth tumultuously, and reproach her for her seeming
forgetfulness, so that she would hold to them all the more firmly.
Still her life was not so wholly colourless and dull. There were two who
held to her, who loved her just as she was; she felt their love warming
her inmost being, and clung to them with all the tenderness of her
thirsting heart. They were her father and her third brother--the
youngest of her older brothers. It is true that they could not satisfy
her most intimate and dearest wish to be free; could never gratify her
longing to study. But her dear father was always so good to his little
daughter, his own silly girl; she knew that he loved her, she felt it.
He would look at her tenderly, his gentle hands would stroke her cheeks,
her hair, and his strong arms would go so protectingly around her.
And she knew that brother loved her too, although he had never told her
so, had never spoken a loving word to her, had never caressed her. But a
thousand little delicate attentions of which only a loving heart could
think spoke constantly of his warm affection for her. He never laughed
at her when she told him her thoughts, never made her shiver with a
cold, "Go your own way; as for me I am a Javanese." And although he
never told her that he sympathized with her ideals, she knew in her
heart that he was as one with her, she knew that he was only silent
because he did not wish to make her more rebellious. The books which he
placed in her hands showed her that. Ni felt so rich with the love of
her two dear ones, and with the sympathy of her brother.
But her father was not always with her; he had his work to do, and where
he worked she might not go. She must never go out of the fast-closed
place which was her dwelling. And her brother was at home only once in
the year, for he went to school in Semarang.
Her oldest brother came home. He had obtained an appointment in the
neighbourhood and lived with his parents. If Ni had suffered before his
coming, from the coolness of nearly all those who lived in the house
with her, from their indifference to all that interested her, from her
imprisonment, there now began a series of teasings and tormentings which
added a thousand times to her distress. Ni was wild; she could not dance
to the piping of her brother. "Young people should be submissive and
obey their elders," was constantly preached to her; and above all,
"Girls must be submissive to their older brothers."
But headstrong Ni could not see why this should be. She could not help
it, that she should have been born later than her brother; that was no
reason why she should be submissive to him. She was not answerable to
any one, only to her own conscience and her own heart. She would never
give in to her brother except when she was convinced that he was right.
At first he was astonished, and later he grew angry, when he saw that a
little girl who was half a dozen years younger than he dared to defy his
will. She must be forcibly suppressed. Everything was wrong that Ni did.
She was severely reprimanded for each little fault. No day passed that
brother and sister did not stand facing each other in anger. He with a
dark countenance and stern words that made her heart bleed, and she with
quivering lips tremblingly defending her good right to do something
which he wished to forbid.
She was entirely alone in her fight against the despotism of her
brother--her future protector, whenever she should have the misfortune
to lose her parents, until she should leave his roof under the
protection of the man for whom God had created her! He took very good
care not to torment her when her father was there; father would never
have allowed it, and he knew well that she was too proud to tell.
But the others who lived in the house were silent too, although they
knew that she was within her rights. It would not do to allow
impertinence, and the girl was impertinent; young as she was, she dared
to say "No" to the "Yes" of her so much older brother. A girl had no
right to do anything which would even partially detract from the
importance of a man. It was not right for this girl to oppose her ideas
to those of her self-willed brother.
In later years, when Ni remembered all this, she could understand very
well why the man was so egotistical. Always, by every one in the house,
he was taught as a child to be selfish, by his mother most of all. From
childhood he was taught to regard the girl, the woman, as a creature of
a lower order than himself. Had she not often heard his mother, his
aunts, and all the women of his acquaintance say to him in scornful,
disdainful tones, "A girl is only a girl"? It is through woman herself
that man first learns to scorn woman. Ni's blood boiled whenever she
heard deprecating words about girls spoken by a woman.
"Women are nothing--women are created for men, for their pleasure; they
can do with them as they will," sounded brutally in her ears, and
irritating as the laugh of Satan. Her eyes shot fire, her fists
clenched, and she pressed her lips tightly together in impotent
distress. "No, No," cried her fast beating little heart, "We are human
just as much as men. Oh, let me learn. Loose my bonds! Only give me the
chance, and I will show that I am a human being, a woman just as good as
a man." She writhed and twisted, but the chains were strong and locked
tightly around her tender wrists and ankles. She wounded herself, but
she did not break them.
Too early ripened child, at an age when a young head should only be
filled with dreams of merry play, she was busy with sombre dark thoughts
about the sad things in life. It could not have been otherwise; she was
not deaf nor blind and lived in the midst of a civilization which took
no account of youth and sensitive feelings. Roughly the young tender
eyes were opened to the realities of life, in all their coarseness,
ugliness and cruelty. From her parents themselves she never heard a
harsh word that would have shocked her pure mind or wounded her
sensitive heart, but she did not live only with her parents.
O Death! why are you called terrible, you who release mankind from this
cruel life? Ni would have followed you thankfully and with joy. She had
no one to show her what was lofty and beautiful in life, and that
everything was not low and vile. Ni loved her father with her whole
soul, and although she lived constantly with her parents she could never
lay her inmost thoughts before them. Coldly the strong Javanese
etiquette stood between them.
Ni avoided, as much as she could, those people who with their cynicism
had withered her; and while the manners and customs of her country did
not allow her stricken little soul to seek refuge in her parents' arms
and on her parents' hearts, she found comfort in those quiet, silent
friends "books."
She had always been fond of reading, but now her love for reading became
a passion; as soon as she had time, when all her little duties were
done, she would seize a book or a paper. She read everything that came
into her hands; she greedily devoured both the green and the ripe. Once
she threw a book away which was full of horrors. She did not have to
look into books when she wished to know of loathsome, nauseating things;
real life was full of them; it was to escape from them that she buried
her soul in realms which the genius of man has fashioned out of the
spirit of fantasy.
There were so many beautiful books which gave her unspeakable pleasure,
and which she will never be able to forget; stories of strong characters
nobly laying hold on life, of great souls and spirits, which would make
her heart glow with enthusiasm and delight. She lived in everything that
she read, while she was reading there was nothing more for which she
wished, she was lost! Her Father took great pleasure in her love of
reading and showered her with presents of books. She did not understand
everything that she read, but she did not allow herself to be
discouraged by that. What she could not understand in the first reading
became in the second less obscure, and at the third or fourth, it would
be quite clear. Every unknown word that she found she noted down; and
later, when her dearest brother came home, she would ask him its
meaning. And he helped his little sister so willingly, and lovingly.
If she had not had her loving Father, her dear brother and her books,
she could not have lived through the sorrowful years. Father and brother
stilled the yearning for love and affection, and the books gave to her
hungry spirit food.
A little brother was born, and this helpless baby held Ni back from
misfortune; he brought her again into the good path from which she had
begun to wander. She was fast becoming a bad child toward her Mother.
She had closed her heart more and more toward her, and the little
brother made the doors of that heart spring wide open again. Little
brother taught her what a mother is, and what a child owes to its
mother.
Mother had dark rings under her eyes, and looked weak and worn out, and
little brother had done that; little brother who would not let her rest,
but called her every night again and again. Never mind how wearisome the
heavy burden might be, there was never a single expression of impatience
on Mother's face; whenever little brother cried for her, in a second she
was by him. She would take him up and never lay him out of her arms till
he was in a sweet sleep. Had Mother held her, too, and never put her
down, till she was sound asleep? The ice-crust around Ni's heart melted,
and it beat warmly once more toward the woman who had given her life.
Brother was a healthy child during his first year, but when he was
weaned, and for three years after that the little one was sick, as
though he kept wrestling with death. And by his sick bed, Ni the young
child, learned to understand her Mother.
She saw her own shortcomings; she was too selfish, she was always
thinking of her own troubles, and never thought that others could have
troubles and that she could have a share in causing them. She had once
been always with Mother as little brother was now, she could do nothing
without Mother. Mother must have suffered and perhaps did even now;
well, she could not help it if she thought differently from her mother,
but she could be very careful to do nothing that would cause her pain.
Little brother taught her consideration; how to see the other side of
things; he taught her submission, and gratitude, and to give without
asking anything in return.
Four years went by, calm and quiet on the surface, but to those who
could see below it, full of strife for Ni. She learned much in those
years; self-mastery, submission, not always to think first of herself;
but peace and acquiescence she had not learned, could never learn; her
head was haunted by turbulent thoughts. Voices too still came to her
from the distant West in books, newspapers, and magazines, and in
letters from Dutch friends.
For a year her sisters and she had every day an hour's lesson in
handiwork from a Dutch lady. These were pleasant hours for Ni because
then she could speak Dutch, the language which she loved so much.
Her oldest brother, meanwhile, was given a position at a distance, and
Ni was ashamed that she should be so very glad. He was still her
brother, although he had not loved her.
Time and separation work wonders; they took away all resentment from
Ni's heart, and she grew to love her brother. She felt sorry for the
great boy who had allowed himself to be deceived by the silly flattery
of fawning, favour-seeking men. It comforted her to think that toward
the last she had noticed a change in his conduct toward her. He said
nothing in words, but his actions spoke of his sorrow for his former
injustice; and Ni thanked God with tears in her eyes that her brother
was beginning to be fond of her. She who had been formerly disliked and
hated was now first. She was always with him, and he would do more for
her than for any one else.
A half year before a younger sister had come to share the imprisonment.
Bemi was fortunate, at an age when Ni had already been for a long time
safely immured behind high thick walls, she could run freely around, go
on little journeys and do many other things that were forbidden to Ni.
Bemi was fourteen and a half years of age when she came home to stay.
Ni was now sixteen. The oldest sister married, and with the wedding
celebration changes came into her own life. Ni learned to know her
sisters, who up to this time had lived near her, but as strangers. There
could never have been very much confidence between her older sister and
herself; she was only an older sister. And Ni did not wish to be so
regarded by the younger ones: she wished to be loved, and not feared.
Freedom and equality were what she asked for herself; ought she not to
begin by giving them to others? The intercourse between the younger
sisters and herself must be free and unrestrained. Away with everything
that would hinder it. With Bemi and Wi, a little sister who had
meanwhile come to the house, Ni took sister's room. And the three lives
that had hitherto been strange to one another met, flowed together and
became as one.
[1] To Mevrouw Abendanon-Mandri.
_August, 1900._
O, the inward pain of caring for nothing. We must have something; work,
that will take entire possession of us, and leave no time for torturing
thoughts. That is the only thing that can awaken our slumbering souls,
and give us back our strength of spirit. Work, that is just it.
The longing for work that we will love is what presses upon us so
heavily. It is frightful to feel the power to work, and the will to
work, and yet be condemned to idleness.
We will not believe that our whole lives to the very end will be
monotonous, dull and commonplace. And yet we see no chance for a single
one of all our beautiful dreams to ever become a reality. We do not know
clearly what we shall do, but we are determined to follow only the
voices of our own hearts.
"If we had been boys, our father could have brought us up to be fine
fellows," we hear till we are weary. When it is certainly true that if
the same material is in us out of which fine boys could be made, the
same trouble could just as easily make fine women of us. Is it only fine
men that have been of use hitherto? And are fine women of no value to
civilization?
But we Javanese women must first of all be gentle and submissive; we
must be as clay which one can mould into any form that he wishes. But
why speak of this now? It is as though men on a sinking ship complained
because they had not remained at home, investigated the cause of the
misfortune, and punished those responsible for it. That would not
prevent the ship from going down; they would be drowned just the same,
and only the courage of the hand at the rudder, and pumping at the leak,
could have saved them from destruction.
X
_23 August, 1900._[1]
Your encouragement is a support--it strengthens me. I will, I shall
obtain my freedom. I will, Stella, I will! Do you understand that? But
how shall I be able to win it, if I do not strive? How shall I be able
to find it, if I do not seek? Without strife there can be no victory. I
shall strive, and I shall win. I am not afraid of the burdens and
difficulties; I feel strong enough to overcome them, but there is one
thing I am afraid to face squarely.
Stella, I have often told you that I love Father dearly. I do not know
whether I shall have the courage to carry my will through, if it would
break his heart, which is full of love for us.
I love him unspeakably, my old grey Father--old and grey through care
for us--for me. And if one of us should be condemned to unhappiness, let
me be the one. Here lurks egoism, for I could never be happy, even if I
had freedom, even if I gained my independence, if in attaining them, I
had made Father miserable.
In thinking over Javanese and European conditions and comparing them
with one another, one can easily see that it is hardly better there than
here in so far as the morality of the men is concerned, and that women
are unfortunate there as here, with this difference, however, that the
great majority there, of their own free will follow the man in the
marriage bond; while here the women have no say at all in the matter,
but are simply married out of hand, according to the will of their
parents, to whomsoever those powerful ones shall find good.
In the Mohammedan world the approval, yes, even the presence of the
woman is not necessary at a marriage. Father can come home any day at
all and say to me, "You are married to so and so." I must then follow my
husband. It is true I can refuse, but that gives the man the right to
chain me to him for my whole life, without ever having come near me. I
am his wife although I will not follow him, and if he will not allow me
to be divorced, then I am bound to him all my life, while he is free to
do as he pleases. He may marry as many women as he chooses without being
concerned in the least about me. If Father should marry me off in this
manner then I should find a way out at the beginning, one way or
another. But then Father would never do that.
God has created woman as the companion of man and the calling of woman
is marriage. Good! it is not to be denied, and I gladly acknowledge that
the highest happiness for a woman is, and shall be centuries after us, a
harmonious union with the man of her choice.
But how can one speak of a harmonious union as our marriage laws are
now? I have tried to picture them to you. Must I not for myself, hate
the idea of marriage, scorn it, when by it the woman is so cruelly
wronged? No, fortunately every Mohammedan has not four wives or more,
but every married woman in our world knows that she is not the only one,
and that any day the man's fancy can bring a companion home, who will
have just as much right to him as she. According to the Mohammedan law
she is also his wife. In the Government[2] countries, the women have not
such a hard time as their sisters in those ruled by the princes, as in
Soerakarta and Djokjakarta. Here the women are fortunate with only one,
two, three or four co-wives. There, in the princes' countries, the women
would call that child's play. One finds there hardly a single man with
but one wife. Among the nobility, especially in the circle surrounding
the emperor, the men have usually twenty-six women.
Shall these conditions endure, Stella?
Our people have grown so accustomed to them, and moreover they see no
other way in which every woman would be provided for. But in her heart
almost every woman that I know curses this right of the man. But curses
never help; something must be done.
Come, women, girls, stand up; let us reach our hands to one another, and
let us work together to change this unbearable situation.
Yes, Stella, I know it; in Europe, too, the state of morality among men
is tragic. I say with you, teach the young men to turn their backs upon
temptation and deplorable, half-acknowledged customs, and to feel
disgraced at the existence of those short-sighted girls who follow men
not ignorantly into the places where life is sordid. Yes certainly the
young mothers could do most there, I have already maintained that to my
sisters.
I should so love to have children, boys and girls to nourish and to form
after my own heart. But above all things I should never follow the
unhappy custom of putting boys before girls. We have no right to be
surprised at the egoism of men when we consider how as children they are
placed above the girls, their sisters. Even as a child a man is taught
to despise girls. Have I not many times heard mothers say to their boys
when they would fall and cry: "Fie, a boy cry just like a girl!"
I should teach my children, boys and girls, to regard one another as
equal human beings and give them always the same education; of course
following the natural disposition of each.
I should not allow my girl, although I wished to make a new woman of
her, to study as though she had no other desire in life; nor would I cut
her off in anything so that her brother could have more. Never!
And then I should let down the bars which have been so foolishly erected
between the two sexes. I am convinced that when this is done much good
will come of it, especially to the men. I shall never believe that
educated and cultivated men designedly avoid the society of women who
are their equals in education and enlightenment, to throw themselves
deliberately into the arms of disreputable women. While many men seek
the society where cultivated ladies are to be found, there is a vast
army who cannot take the slightest interest in a girl without thinking
of sex. Now all this will disappear when men and women can mingle freely
together from childhood.
You say, "We girls could do much toward bringing young men upon the good
path, but we know so little of their lives." Everything will change with
time, but here in Java we stand only on the threshold of the new age.
Must we not go through all the corresponding stages of development,
through which you have already passed in Europe?
Among my new treasures I have "Het Jongetje" by Borel.[3] A delightful
book. Many here think it sickly and over-drawn. But to me; it is sickly
not at all, and over-drawn even less. There may not be many like Borel's
little boy, but I know at least one. The child of the Assistant-Resident
is Borel's boy personified. Once he said to Kardinah "Tante, I like
girls so much. Girls smile so indolently. They are quite, quite
different from boys; they are so sweet, so soft." A little fellow of
five said this. He bit Kardinah's arm once, saying, "Tante, why are
women so soft?" Then he bit his own arm and said, "Though I am so
little, yet I am a man, that is the reason I am hard."
He is such a lovely child, with great dreamy eyes and brown curling
hair. Before he came here he made our acquaintance at Soerabaja through
our portraits.
His mother told him that they were going to the place where his dear
aunts lived. The child thought that he must marry and asked "Maatje,
must I marry all three or only one of them?"
When he came here and saw us, his mother said to him, "Well, little
brother, have you chosen which one of the aunts you will marry?"
"Maatje, I cannot choose, for I love all three just the same."
The dear little angel then turned to each one of us and said, "I love
you, I love you, I love you. Yes, I love the whole world for everything
is good, everything is beautiful."
If this had been told me by some one else, I should not have believed
it, but I saw and heard it with my own eyes and ears.
The subject which Mevrouw van Suylen-Tromp wishes to have treated is the
"The life of the Native Woman." On that I had rather not write just yet.
I have far too much to say, and could not possibly make an orderly whole
of it now. In a few years perhaps, when I shall have learned more, I
shall undertake it.
Now the thoughts blow and whirl through my brain like falling leaves
that are driven by the wind. What a comparison, eh?
* * * * *
The mornings are magnificent now and so are the evenings, but in the
middle of the day I should like to do nothing but lie in the water, if
that were not so warm. We enjoy the mornings so much, nature is then
splendidly fresh and beautiful. We wander around the garden where
everything is blooming and fragrant. It is truly a pleasure to be out of
doors in the morning. If you could only wander around with us; or do you
not care for flowers and plants? Mother has her vegetable garden, and we
our flower and rose garden; this last is next to our room, and when
there is a full moon it is so idyllic out there. The sisters bring their
guitars and sit under the flowering shrubs and make music. After the
concert, we sit idly, sometimes chattering and laughing.
* * * * *
Your indignation over the treatment which my two educated and
enlightened fellow countrymen had to endure, did me good. But believe
me, they are not all stupid men who conduct themselves so scornfully
toward the Javanese. I have met persons who are far from stupid, who
even belong to the aristocracy of the mind, but are so haughty and
over-bearing that they do not like to be in the same house with me.
Too often we are made to feel that we Javanese are not really human
beings at all. How do the Netherlanders expect to be loved by us when
they treat us so? Love begets love, but scorn never yet aroused
affection. We have many friends among the Hollanders whom we love
dearly, even more than we do friends of our own race. They have taken
the trouble to try and understand us, and they have won our love. We
shall never forget that we have to thank the Hollanders for the
awakening of our minds, for our civilization. They may wrong us, but we
will like them because we owe them so much.
People may say of the Javanese what they will, but they can never say
with truth that they have not hearts. They have them manifestly and they
know how to be grateful for benefits, whether they are of a material or
of an intellectual kind, although their immovable countenances change
not one jot to betray their inward emotion. But I shall never have to
tell you, I am sure, that all creatures of whatever colour, are human
beings, just as much as you yourself.
I am happy because I have been able to know you. I shall not let you go,
Stella. I love you so much that I do not know what would become of my
life, if, as God forbid, we should ever become separated. As though the
wide ocean were not already between us! But spirits among whom there is
great sympathy know no distance; they bridge the widest seas and most
far-away lands to commune with one another. Letters too are splendid.
Blessed be he who first invented them!
A week ago we had a visit from the Director of Education, Service and
Industry, and his wife from Batavia--and Stella, rejoice with me, the
Director came here especially to see Father and to ask his advice
personally about the erection of the native school for girls which the
Government is planning.
I was sick and miserable, not only from bodily pain, but misery of soul.
But Stella, I believed that my dream of freedom was on the point of
realization when Father gave me the Director's letter. That letter cured
me entirely. It did me such infinite good to know that in Batavia one of
the highest officials of the Government had a heart for the Javanese,
and for the Javanese woman.
Soon afterwards Mama came to look for me, and she found her daughter in
tears; I was so happy, so thankful.
Before he came I had the greatest desire to see him alone, if only for a
moment, just to express something of what I felt.
And he came--but not alone--his wife was with him. O Stella, never in
our lives have we made such a charming acquaintance! I had already great
sympathy for him, because I knew why he was coming; and the sympathy
grew, when I saw him ride into our grounds on the front seat of the
carriage with his wife on the back seat, and next to her Father who had
met them at the station.
I knew that Father would never have sat there without being pressed. You
would have seen nothing remarkable in this, and you will laugh at me
when I say that it impressed me very much, because it spoke of the
modesty of the Director, and told me that he was a stranger to all the
self-important airs and painful respect which so many officials here
demand. I was accustomed to seeing Father on the left side of Resident
or Assistant Resident, never mind how much younger the latter might be.
But not only I, Europeans even are seriously annoyed by the silly
regulations of rank here. The newly arrived European officials and the
Regents take their places upon chairs while the cold ground covered (and
sometimes uncovered) with a bamboo mat, is good enough for a native
wedono, who has grown grey in the service.
The most petty European sits upon a chair, while native officials of any
age, who are below the rank of regent, though they are often of
distinguished ancestry, must sit upon the floor in their presence.
It certainly does not please the heart to see a grey wedono creep upon
the ground before a young aspirant,[4] a youth who may have just left
the school benches. But enough of that, it was only to explain why the
courtesy of the Director, a man of such high authority, struck me so
forcibly.
We heard the Director say to Father, "I have been all over Java and have
talked with many chiefs, Regent. You have set the example by sending
your girls to school. I have asked girls who were going to the grammar
schools if they would like to go on with their studies, and they have
all answered enthusiastically "Yes."
He asked Father where he thought the girls' school ought to be erected,
whether in West, Middle or East Java.
O Stella, how my ears and eyes tingled and my heart beat with joy to
hear that. At last we are to have light in our poor dark woman's world.
While Mijnheer talked to Father, Mevrouw talked to us. We drew near to
her with such pleasure. She told me of the plan of her husband, and
asked what I thought of it.
"A splendid idea, Mevrouw, which will be a blessing to the native women,
but it would be a still greater blessing, if the girls were also given
an opportunity to learn a vocation, that would place them in a position
to make their own way in life, if after receiving an education, they
should feel reluctant to go back into their old environment. And the
woman whose spirit has been awakened, whose outlook has been broadened
might not be able to live again in the world of her ancestors. She will
have been taught what freedom means, and then shut up in a dungeon;
taught to fly and then imprisoned in a cage. No, no, the truly
enlightened woman could not possibly feel happy in our native
environment, not as long as it remains as it is. There is only one road
in life open for the native girl, and that is 'marriage.' And what
marriage means among our people cannot be unknown to you, who have been
so long in Java. Oh, we think it is splendid that your husband wishes to
give girls advantages and education, but let that last be also a
vocational education, and then your husband will truly have showered
blessings upon our native world."
"Do you hear that?" she said enthusiastically to her husband. "This
young lady asks vocational training for native girls."
Astonished, he turned to me and said, "Really, do you ask vocational
training for girls? How would you arrange it? But tell us what you would
like to be yourself?"
I felt all eyes fastened upon me; those of my parents burned into my
face. I cast down my own eyes. There was a buzzing and roaring in my
ears, but above it I seemed to hear the words "Kartini be brave, do not
waver."
"But tell me what do you wish to be?"
"I know you wish to become a writer; but you do not have to be educated
especially for that, you can become that by yourself."
Alas, for study I am too late; but at least I may "Raise my eyes on high
and go humbly and quietly forward."
Mevrouw spoke to me for a long time about what you and I have discussed
so often--"Woman." When we bade each other "Good-night," and were going
to bed, she took my hands in both of hers, pressed them warmly and said
"Little friend, we shall discuss this again some time; meanwhile I shall
write to you often; will you do the same to me?"
The following morning we went with her part of the way, and during the
three hours that we sat with her in the carriage she and I told each
other so much. Although it was twelve o'clock when we separated the
evening before, she had told her husband everything that she had learned
from us.
"O Regent," she cried again and again, "Give me one of your daughters,
let her come to Batavia with me. Do let this young lady come to visit
me; I shall come and fetch her myself."
Father told her that he thought of going to Batavia this year, "But they
must remain at home with Mama, Mevrouw!" With that she appeared overcome
with distress; was it earnest or a jest?
They wish us to come to Batavia to plead our cause, and the cause of the
native woman, in person before the high authorities. Oh, Stella, pray
that if it should come to pass I shall be able to plead well.
At parting she said to me, "Be brave, have faith and courage, this
cannot last for ever, some way will be found, be brave!"
Stella, am I dreaming or waking? Is there a happy future for us? Is it
possible to hope that our dream is coming true? She has told me more but
I dare not tell you now. It is still so far away, but it shines and
beams before me like a star of hope. Later, Stella dear, when I have it
in my arms and hold it tight, so that it cannot slip away, you shall
know what it is. I have asked my sisters if I were really alive; I felt
so unspeakably happy. Pray for me, dearest, that this may be no
illusion, no empty mirage, that would be terrible.
When the Director saw our work, painting, embossing, etc., he asked if
it would not be possible in a year's time for us to have an exhibition.
He was sorry that we had not sent more to the French exposition.
The next morning he said that he would speak to influential people at
Batavia and see if an exposition of native work could not be arranged
there for next year. "You must send a great deal of what you have shown
us."
O Stella I could not speak; I turned to him and to her with tears in my
eyes.
We felt as though we were in a dream, there was no yesterday--no
tomorrow for us; only the joyous, splendid day existed. It made me
dizzy, made me afraid! What if these dreams and illusions should vanish
like smoke!
When I came home, I took up my pen at once to write to our friend
Mevrouw Ovink. A few days ago I sent her a cry of despair, and my dear
Moedertje must know that her daughter is happy again. I have told her
nothing of what I have written here for you alone, I have only told her
that I felt happy and full of the joy of life.
But I have told you everything, with just one exception, although you
have a right to that too. For you have comforted me when I was in
despair; your enthusiasm has given me strength, when I was weak. Stella,
if I can ever do anything for my sisters in Java, it will be solely and
only because of you.
I told you that Mevrouw Ter Horst invited me to write for her paper on
the condition of the native woman; she believed that I was too reserved
and suggested a form herself under which I could treat the subject: "A
Talk between Two Regents' Daughters." She on her part will do everything
to further the good cause.
I have Father's permission, Stella. So much lies under my hand; God
grant that I can bring it to maturity.
All too often I write sketchy, commonplace things taken from our own
lives. One of them appeared in the "Echo." As pseudonym I chose "Tiga
Soedara" (The Three Sisters), although we three are one. Soon the
identity of "Tiga Soedara" was discovered, and there was a notice about
my work in the _Locomotief_ (a daily paper here in India).
I found it tiresome; I should gladly have kept my writing secret; I do
not like to be discussed. It may sound ungracious, but truly I did not
deserve so many compliments. Still that notice in the paper had its good
side too, and a very good one at that, for the next month two numbers of
a new newspaper for natives were sent to Father, with the request that
they be given to us, and also a letter came asking for the co-operation
of "Tiga Soedara."
This is the first Netherland newspaper that has been founded for
natives, and I expect many blessings for my people through the Dutch
language. It is like our lilies! Dutch flowers which bloom in added
fragrance and beauty when they are transplanted to distant India! The
_Echo_ is now the _Nederlandsche Taal_.
You can easily imagine that I wrote an enthusiastic letter to its editor
and founder (Director of the High School at Probolingo), placing my
services at his disposal.
And soon a letter came from him with a list of subjects which he would
like to have treated by me: the first was "Native Education for Girls";
after that "A Native Institute" and "Javanese Art." Kartini never say I
cannot--but I will. I will, Stella, I will. I hope fervently that you
have not over-estimated my strength. I shall do my best.
Now I shall tell you something else. We three have begun to study French
out of the little books of Servaas de Bruijn. We have wrestled through
most of the four volumes and we now want you to recommend to us some
simple, easy French books (not School books).
Father has also given us a German grammar. When we get through with our
French studies, and have German under our thumbs, we hope to begin
English, if we live long enough.
We try now to read French illustrated papers, but reading and
understanding are two different things; is it not true?
In the beginning we made the stupidest mistakes, but we have improved
slowly and we feel in fine good humour. Roekmini declared once that she
had dreamed in French, she was with Chateaubriand and in Louisiana, the
beautiful country of which he wrote.
The French language has many resemblances to ours, and the "h" is
exactly like ours. Our new friend said to her husband, "They are anxious
to learn languages, how glad I should be to teach them myself."
Yesterday I received a letter from her; it was twenty pages long. She
wrote so affectionately and said that she felt that she would see us
again. "Trust to the future," she wrote. And I will trust, so long as I
know that I have you and her on my side. Her letter made me ashamed just
as yours do; you and she think too well of me.
And yet, Stella, life is so full, of riddles and of secrets. Human
beings are subject to change and it is not always from feeble character.
Circumstances can come into life, which in the twinkling of an eye will
turn a hero into a coward. Do not judge any deed, never mind how base it
may appear, till you know all the causes which lead to it.
I have experienced much in these last days, many different emotions.
First I was almost in despair because my dream of freedom seemed to lie
deeply buried in the ground.
Then the friends from Batavia came and such happiness came over me that
it overwhelmed me; I was as though intoxicated! and then I was
frightened and awakened by a pain so heavy that I thought I should not
be able to breathe; that was not on account of myself, but of another
whom I love with my whole soul.
Why must happiness and misery follow one another so quickly?
Poor dear Father, he has suffered so much, and life still brings him new
disappointments. Stella, my Father has no one but his children. We are
his joy, his consolation, his all. I love my freedom, the idea is always
with me and the fate of my sisters goes to my heart; I would be ready
for any sacrifice by which good could come to them. I should only look
on it as happiness--the greatest happiness that could ever come to me in
life. But my Father is dearer to me than all these put together.
Stella, call me a coward, call me weak, for I cannot be anything else;
if Father is set against this dedication of myself, never mind how my
heart may cry out, I shall hold it still.
I have not the courage to wound that true heart that beats so warmly for
me, and to make it bleed again; for it has bled all too much already and
I myself have not been altogether without guilt.
You say that you cannot understand why every one must marry. You say to
oppose that "must" with "will"; as for me I should certainly say it in
so far as others are concerned, but never in opposition to Father;
especially now, that I know what heavy grief oppresses him. Whatever I
shall have to do will not be looked upon as compulsory because of a
"must" but as something which I freely take upon myself for his sake.
I write, paint and do everything because Father takes pleasure in it. I
shall work hard and try my best to do something good so that he may be
proud of me. You may call me foolish, morbid, but I cannot help it. I
should be miserable if Father should set himself against my plan of
freedom, but I should be still more miserable if my dearest wishes
should be fulfilled and at the same time, I should lose Father's love.
But I shall never lose that; I will not believe it possible, though I
could break his heart. From any one he could endure disappointment
better than from me. Because perhaps he loves me a little more than the
others, and I love him so dearly.
[1] To Mejuffrouw Zeehandelaar.
[2] Government countries under the direct administration of the
Dutch-Indian Government.
[3] Henri Borel, novelist and journalist born in 1869. Also noted as an
authority on Chinese art and literature. The author of "Kwan Yin," "De
Laatste Incarnatie," "Het Jongetje," etc.
[4] An "aspirant" is the lowest in rank among the Dutch officials in
Java.