_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.