[1]To Mevrouw Abendanon.
[1]To Mevrouw Abendanon.
March 14, 1902.[1]
I have already written you about my sister in a former letter. It is such a great loss, we miss our heart and soul sister all the time. Happily we have already had encouraging letters from her. She is such a dear, noble child. She is worth more than the other two of us put together. She likes her new home, and has met with much kindness from every one. Her new family took her by the hand, and wherever she went she found cordiality and sympathy from Europeans, as well as from her own people.
You know already, from the marriage announcement that was sent you, that her husband is Patih; that is one of the highest ranks in our native official world; besides, our brother-in-law is heir to a throne. When his father ceases to reign, he will, of course, succeed him. As the wife of a Regent, sister will be able to do a great deal for the education of women, much more than we will ever be able to accomplish. We have great hopes that her husband will support her; at least, he was much in favour of the plans of the Heer Abendanon.
He is devoted to his little wife, has a cheerful, energetic disposition and a sympathetic heart. He maintains a whole multitude of poor families; that is pleasant, do you not think so? But many Javanese do that; they have much consideration for their poor neighbours. There is hardly a single native chief who has not one or more poor families living in his house, or on his support outside. It is not for nothing that India is noted for its hospitality. Are you not satisfied now about sister too?
She is only discouraged because people expect too much of her. She is like her older sister, who never feels her littleness so much as when a certain person in Holland (Amsterdam) sets her too much in the sun.
Truly Stella, you must not do that; I shall be too much of a disappointment to you when the happiest of all happy stars brings me to you. You have much too good an opinion of me, of my character, and of my intellect; they are, if I speak the honest truth, not worth a dubbeltje. But you will never be disappointed in one thing, and that is, in my warm affection for you.
Lately, I had a letter from an old gentleman, who had great ideas about my "gentle courage" and "sweet disposition" and my "skill in the Dutch language." I smiled mournfully when I read it and thought to myself "if you but knew."
Yesterday we received letters from Holland, and I said to myself, "Girl, hold up your head, this will not be the only disappointment that life will bring you; you may as well realize that the future has a whole multitude of them stored in her lap for you." And yet I am in no wise cast down. Life itself teaches one to be cold and unfeeling.
And now about the proposition from Mejuffrouw Van der Meij. In the first place I thank you heartily, my true comrade, for what you have done for me, and I thank you too for sending me "Belang en Recht." I went to Father with your letter and asked him to read it.
Father will wait for the coming of Van Kol before he decides the question. I have good hopes of his consent. Yes Stella, I will, but not under my own name, I wish to remain unknown; tell that to Mejuffrouw Van der Meij. But that will not help very much, when they learn here in India of articles by a Javanese woman, they will know at once upon whom to lay the blame. It is tiresome. I do not like to hear my work discussed, especially as I hear nothing but praise. Ah! it is interesting for a Javanese woman to write in Dutch; that is the whole of my easily earned success.
But let me take advantage of that interest whatever its cause. Frankly it has its good side too, for at least I can obtain a hearing.
But how am I to gain friends for our cause by writing for the public unless I say things that will make an impression and will be talked about, till they penetrate to the second chamber itself?
I have always wanted to write something scathing, that tells what I feel, but I do not feel strong enough; I still lack experience, I have yet to see and hear much, and to think over what I have seen. The fruit is not yet ripe, Stella; when it is, I shall no longer hesitate on account of the difficulties.
If we should turn to the Queen, it would not be in her official capacity, and because we wished to obtain the help of the State through Royal intervention. We should only ask the Princess for her personal help. If you knew how proud we were, then you would understand what a struggle it has caused us to make up our minds to ask for assistance.
But as you said, when large affairs come up, small ones must go to the wall.
We set our own pride aside before the general good. In the present instance our only chance of success lies in asking for help.
Every one who has met the Queen assures me that her Majesty is interested to the highest degree in the welfare of her Indian subjects. And the Queen Mother also takes a warm interest in Indian affairs. We believe it; we are glad to believe it.
At the time of the Woman's Exposition, it was the Queen Mother who sent her personal secretary to the president of the colonial department to enquire about our work, and her Majesty asked the president, when he was conducting her around, to read to her some extracts from our letters. I feel confident of support, from the Government and from the Queen.
If this support does not materialize, there is only Modjowarno left, but that is not what our hearts wish. Do you know whom I long for in despondent, unsettled weather? For our friend who is far away in the wilderness. Deep in the heart of our inland country living among koppensnellers[2]in that distant place, doing good in many ways but above all, through his knowledge of medicine. I would fly to him as a bird with wounded wings, and he would stroke my tired head till my sorrow could be stilled, and the peace which he breathes would fall around me. But he too is human, he too must have his despondent moods, his struggles.
Stella, Stella, if I could only throw my arms around you, and let my head rest upon your heart.
[1]To Mejuffrouw Zeehandelaar.
[1]To Mejuffrouw Zeehandelaar.
[2]Head hunters, similar to the Dyaks of Borneo.
[2]Head hunters, similar to the Dyaks of Borneo.
March 21, 1902.[1]
You are right. The separation from sister has been a great grief to us, we have been together so long, and so intimately. People were not wrong when they said that we three had grown to be one in thought and in feeling. We cannot realize that sister has really left us; the idea that she has gone away never to return is unbearable. We try to imagine that she is only away on a visit, and will be back some day.
We miss our Kleintje very much. But happiness will not stand still; this will not be the only hard parting, we know that; many others await us in the future.
It is wise from time to time,When a tender strong bondBinds and caresses the poor heart,To tear it asunder with our own hands,
says De Genestet. But it is easier said than done. Do you not find it so? We receive encouraging letters from little sister. She is happy and pleased with her surroundings. That makes us so thankful, her happiness is our happiness. And now I shall try and tell you something of her wedding.
A native marriage entails a heavy burden upon the family of the bride. Days and weeks beforehand, the preparations for the solemnity are begun. Sister's wedding was celebrated very quietly on account of a death in the family. One of our cousins, who was a sister of the bridegroom, died shortly before the marriage. Poor creature. She was still such a young thing, and she left little children behind her. You must know that Kleintje is married to her own cousin. His mother is father's sister. He was here with us long ago, but then she was only a schoolgirl and no one thought of an engagement; though it has happened that children have been affianced and married, and later, when both were full grown, the marriage would be celebrated over again.
The acquaintance of sister and her husband was renewed when the Governor General was at Samarang. It is not customary among us for young girls ever to leave the house until they follow a strange bridegroom; but as I have already told you, we have broken with many traditions, and can do what others cannot, on account of the unusual freedom of our bringing up; and now we are working to break tradition still further.
No Javanese girl must be seen before her marriage; she must remain in the background, usually in her own chamber; and in December we were at Semarang with sister, and she went openly into the shops to buy some things which she wanted.
A Javanese girl receives no good wishes upon her engagement; the subject is not mentioned before her; still less does she mention it herself. She acts just as though she knew nothing of it. I should like to have read the hearts of our fellow countrywomen when they heard sister speak openly and freely of her coming marriage.
A day or two before the wedding, we commemorated our dead. That is our custom: in the midst of joy we always invoke the memory of our dead. There was a sacrificial meal, during which their blessing was asked for the offspring of the coming nuptials.
This takes place in the bride's family. My brother-in-law and his family came on the day before the wedding. The first thing that a European bridegroom would do on arriving at the home of his bride, would be to go to her. But among us that would be out of the question. The bridegroom must not see his bride until the knot is tied. Even his family must not see her.
On the day before the wedding, the bride was bathed in a bath of flowers, and after that she was taken in hand by the toekang paès, a woman whose business is the dressing of brides. The bride takes her seat on a cloth that is especially prepared for the occasion, it consists of katoentjes[2]and zijdjes, enough for a kabaja, joined together. This is the property of the toekang paès. At her side are placed sweetmeats besides sirrih, pinang nuts, bananas, a jug of water, uncooked rice, a roasted hen, a live hen, and a burning night candle. Incense is burned, and the toekang paès cuts the fine hair from the bride's neck and face; the hair on the forehead is cut, too; even the hair over the ears. And the eyebrows are shaved off with a razor. One can always tell a newly married woman, by the shorn hair across the forehead and ears and by the shaved eyebrows.
At about one o'clock in the day, the toilet of the bride begins. The forehead is covered with soft salve, even to the ears, and the face is whitened, while the hair is dressed in the form of a cap, and ornamented with flowers.
On the headdress are seven jewels, fastened upon spirals, which are constantly waving up and down.
A gold embroidered kain,[3]and a kabaja of silver gauze, with the usual jewelled ornaments, such as brooches, necklaces, bracelets, earrings, and sleeve-buttons, completed her toilet.
In Java, young girls must not wear flowers in the hair; only married women may do that; one often sees very old women going around with flowers in their hair.
The evening before the wedding is called widodarenni; widodari means angel, heavenly being. On the last evening of her maidenhood, the girl on the threshold of matrimony is compared to such a heavenly being, and the evening is celebrated.
You must have seen the photographs of Javanese wood-work at Mevrouw Rooseboom's, and you may remember the picture of an article of furniture with three doors in front. That is called a kwade, and it is used at weddings.
A handsome carved kwade covered with gold figures on a purple ground, was in the great hall at the back of the Kaboepaten. All tables, chairs, and benches were removed from that apartment and the floors were covered with a great alcatief.
On both sides of the kwade, which was draped and ornamented with flowers, stood two large copper vases, filled with young cocoanut leaves and flowers. These vases are called kembang majang, and must not be broken at a wedding.
At about half-past seven in the evening, when all of the women guests had assembled in the kwade-hall and were ranged on the ground in two rows, one on each side of the kwade, sister came in, led by the hand of our married sister and our sister-in-law, and followed by a woman who carried her sirrihdoos[4]and kwispeldoor.[5]Sister sat down in the middle of the room, near her family and the most prominent guests. The sirrihdoos and the kwispeldoor were placed next to her only as a matter of form, for Kleintje eats no sirrih; behind her, a little girl waved a koelte.
Sister sat with crossed legs before the gold shining kwade, motionless as an image of Buddha, between the gravely dressed, solemn-looking wives of the native dignitaries, equal in rank to her husband. Tea and cakes were served, every one took a cup of tea and several kinds of small pastries. The bride and the most distinguished guests each had an individual tea-service, and a tray of pastries. It was as though a whole carpet of pastries were spread out before the guests, here and there broken by sirrihdoozen and kwispeldoors of gold and tortoiseshell, of wood, or of silver. The company was composed entirely of married women. We unmarried ones were not there.
You have certainly heard that among the Javanese it is a great misfortune for a woman to remain unmarried. It is a disgrace as well. Not so long ago, in enlightened Europe it was looked upon in the same way; is not that true? So we must not think ill of the foolish uncivilized Indians.
If the bridegroom has a mother, on this evening she must be at the feast of her daughter-in-law-to-be.
Our masculine guests ate with father in the pendopo, while the bridegroom stayed at home in his lodgings.
Sister was so glad when, at half-past nine, the ceremonial was over, so far as she was concerned. She walked decorously and sedately from the hall, through the throng of women sitting around; but as soon as she was out of sight, and safe in our room all the formality was gone. She was again our little sister, our dear happy Kleintje, and no Buddha image. That evening was sacred to the Prophet. In the mosque there was a great slamatan (sacrificial meal, celebrated with prayers); the blessing of heaven was asked upon the approaching marriage.
At that meal, only men were present, our women guests, even the Regents' wives who had come to sister's wedding, ate at home with us.
Early the next morning, there was a stir in the kaboepaten. It looked quite gay, with its decorations of greens and flags. Outside on the highway, there was bustle and noise. The tricolour waved merrily among the rustling young cocoanut trees that bordered the road which led to the house of the bridegroom. In the green covered pasehuisen, two little houses on the aloen-aloen before the kaboepaten, the gamelan played lustily.
We were on the back gallery, where stood baskets of kanangas, tjempakas, and melaties. Women's hands were arranging the flowers into garlands, or suspending them on little swings, or tearing the blossoms from the leaves, so that they could be strewn in the way of the bridal pair wherever they might go. The kaboepaten was filled with gamelan music and the perfume of flowers. Busy people walked to and fro. In our room, the toilet of the bride was begun. Her forehead had been painted dark before; now it was decorated with little golden figures.
Sister lay down during the operation. Behind the figures there were two borders fastened to the hair—a dark one behind the gold; into this, jewelled knobs were stuck. With other brides the border-work is made of their own hair; but for sister we had a false piece set in, because the elaborate process is painful, and the poor child had just recovered from a fever.
Above the border-work came a golden diadem, and her hair at the back of the head was dressed like a half-moon and filled with flowers; from that, a veil of melati with a border of flowers fell, and reached to her shoulders. Her head was again surmounted by the seven jewels glittering on their spirals. Behind these, there was a jewelled flower, from which hung six chains of real flowers, suspended behind the ears, over the breast, and down to the waist. These chains, which were about as thick as one's fingers, were made of white flowers linked together with little bands of gold and ending in a round knob which was stuck full of melati flowers.
Her wajang costume was décolleté in front, so that neck, face, and arms were entirely uncovered. All that was visible of sister except the face, which was whitened, was covered with a fragrant salve. She wore a gold embroidered kain, over which there was a drapery of gold woven silk; the whole was held up by a sash of yellow with long hanging ends of red silk pointed with figures of gold. A dark green sash, growing lighter till it was pale green in the centre, was bound around the upper part of her body. Little glints of gold showed delightfully through this. Her arms and shoulders were left entirely free. The yellow girdle around her waist was called mendologiri. Sister wore one of gold, three fingers broad and ornamented with jewels; garlands of flowers, with hanging ends, were fastened to it, reaching from behind one hip to the other. Around her neck, she wore a collar, with three wing-shaped ornaments hanging down over her breast and almost to her waist. There were bracelets on her wrists and on the upper part of her arms, shaped like serpents with upraised tails and heads; golden chains dangled from these.
It was between three and four o'clock in the afternoon. In the kwade hall the wives of the native nobles assembled in gala attire. From the kwade to the pendopo there was a carpet of flowers, over which the bridal pair must walk. The bride was led forward by her sisters and took her place before the kwade. The lights were already lighted in the pendopo; the regents stood assembled in official costume, and there were a few European acquaintances who were anxious to see sister for the last time as a maiden. In the aloen-aloen, and all outside the kaboepaten, it was dark with people; only the road which was decorated with flags and green leaves remained free.
A streak of yellow could be seen in the distance; it drew nearer, till there appeared a train of open gold-striped parasols (pajoengs), under which the native officials walk on great occasions.
It was the retinue which preceded the bridegroom, who, with the other regents, was in an open carriage, which was covered with a glittering golden parasol. Gamelan music sounded from the pasebans and the kaboepaten, to greet the approaching procession.
It reached the kaboepaten and halted at the door of the pendopo. The whole company squatted down; the bridegroom got out of the carriage, and was led forward by two unmarried regents. They went into the pendopo, and all three knelt down in the middle of the room to do homage to father and the other regents. The two regents moved back, still on their knees, and left the bridegroom alone in the middle of the pendopo. The chiefs formed a circle around him, within which there was a smaller circle of priests. Father sat at the head of the regents, and the High Priest who was to perform the ceremony next to the bridegroom. Father announced to those present the reason for the calling of this assembly, and said that he now sought the assistance of the High Priest to bind his daughter in marriage to the bridegroom.
From the crowd of people in the pendopo there arose a mystic buzzing noise. They were praying.
I was so sorry that I could not be near enough to hear. A teacher who is a friend of ours, sister Roekmini, and I were the only women in the pendopo, which was filled with men.
But we were very glad to be allowed there at all, and to have that much freedom granted us. It would not have been seemly for us to appear among a crowd of men during the celebration of a marriage ceremony. It was a pity, as we should have been glad to hear the betrothal formulas. We could only see that during the betrothal service the Priest held fast to the hand of the bridegroom, who had to respond after him. The solemnity lasted a quarter of an hour at most; but we did not have a watch with minutes, so we could not tell exactly. It was impressive and still in the pendopo: not a sound could be heard save the mystic droning of the priests.
There was a stir among the crowd of men, and the priests rose from their knees. The ceremony was over.
The regents stood up; two of them lifted up the bridegroom, and now they started off over the carpet of flowers, followed by the most prominent regents. Back in the kwade hall, the bride was raised up by her sisters, and, supported by them, she too started down the road of flowers, followed by Mamma and all the women guests. As the bride and bridegroom came within a few steps of each other, those who were leading them fell back, and the bridal pair gave, each to the other, a rolled up sirrih-leaf filled with flowers. They took a few steps nearer, and then both knelt down and with them the whole company.
The bridegroom sat; on her knees, the bride moved nearer to him and made a sembah, both hands held together and brought down under the nose; that is our mark of reverence. Then she kissed his right knee. Again the bride made a sembah. The bridegroom rose and raised his wife, and hand in hand the young pair walked over the carpet of flowers to the kwade, followed by the whole company except the regents, who turned back to the pendopo.
Bride and bridegroom sat before the kwade like two images of Buddha; the family and the lady guests thronged around them. Behind the bridal pair sat two little girls wafting their koeltes to and fro.
In most cases, husband and wife see each other for the first time at this ceremony. At the stroke of half-past seven the regents came back, and formed a half-circle on the ground around the bridal pair; the women of their families formed the other half of the circle.
The bride and bridegroom saluted the older relatives with the foot-kiss.
The bride first raised herself on her knees and shuffled forward toward Mamma; she made a sembah and kissed Mamma's knee, to beg her mother's blessing on her marriage. From Mamma, sister went to the aunts, sisters, and cousins—to all those who were older than she—and went through with the same ceremony. Then she went to Father and kissed his knee, in order to receive his blessing; from him she went to her father-in-law; after that to her uncles and cousins. When she had finished kissing the feet of all and had returned again to her place, the bridegroom began the foot-kiss journey. He followed the example of his wife. When he had completed this ceremony, the regents went out, and tea and pastry were served as on the evening before.
At half-past eight bride and bridegroom departed. Hand in hand they left the hall. Usually they must go out on their knees; but as both of them had just recovered from illness, they were allowed to walk.
In other families the bridegroom must creep up the steps instead of walking, on coming to the house of his parents-in-law, before he pays his respects to the ladies of the family; that is the perfection of good manners.
The bridegroom went to the bridal chamber, and sister to our room, where we dressed her for the reception to Europeans.
Her bridal toilet, which had been the work of a whole day, was undone in five minutes. Only the headdress and the decorations on her forehead were left unchanged. We young girls ought not to have dressed her alone, but we did it just the same. We thought that it was entirely too stupid for us not to be allowed to touch sister in her bridal toilet. Sister now put on a kain of silk interwoven with gold, and a kabaja of ivory-coloured satin with silver embroidery. She wore another jewelled collar; the jewelled flowers in her hair and the diadem were taken off. In their stead she wore a golden crown from which hung a veil. On her head jewelled flowers on spirals were fastened. So veiled and crowned, it was as though she had stepped from a page of the "Thousand and One Nights." Sister looked like one of the fairy princesses. The costume was very becoming to her. What a pity that she could not have been photographed in it!
The bridegroom appeared in his official dress. Again the bridal pair sat before the kwade. At eight o'clock, they went arm in arm to the front gallery, where two gilded settees stood ready for them before a background of palms.
They received the good wishes of the European ladies and gentlemen, standing.
It was called a reception, but at the sound of the music, the dance-crazy feet turned toward the empty pendopo; bride and bridegroom both took a few turns around the pendopo.
It is not customary for young girls to appear at a wedding, but it would have been foolish for us to remain away from sister's feast.
It was not yet twelve o'clock, when the Resident, who was among the guests, toasted the young pair; his speech was answered by Father. Soon after the European guests took their leave, all but the Resident and a few others, among them a lady who is an intimate friend of ours. They remained for the native part of the feast.
After the departure of the European guests, the native nobles, who had absented themselves from the pendopo during the reception, came in and formed a half-circle, before which the bridegroom must give a proof of his proficiency in dancing.
The regents as well as the other chiefs had meanwhile dressed in more informal costume.
The gamelan played; a dancing-girl entered and began to dance. The Patih of Japara brought, on his knees, a silver waiter to the bridegroom, on which there was a silken cloth. When the bridegroom had taken the cloth, the Patih fell back.
Soft gamelan tones again sounded; it was a prelude, an invitation to the hero of the day to open the feast. The bridegroom rose and went to the middle of the pendopo; he fastened the silken cloth around him and named his favourite air to the gamelan players. The gongs chimed; it was immediately struck up.
I shall not attempt to describe the dance; my pen is inadequate. I shall only say that it was a joy to the eyes to follow the agile dancer in his graceful movements as he kept time to the beautiful gamelan music. Behind him danced the dancing-girl, also singing. The circle of native dignitaries accompanied the music by singing and beating their hands together. Toward the end of the dance the Resident went forward with two glasses of champagne. The gong sounded, and both dancers fell upon their knees. With a sembah the bridegroom accepted a glass from the Resident. He drank it and the Resident emptied his at the same time amid joyful gamelan tones and sounds of general mirth.
A servant took the empty glasses, and the Resident fell back. The bridegroom stood up and again began to dance. Now his father-in-law brought him a health[6]to drink; dancing, they advanced to meet each other, and at the sound of the gong, the young man knelt down to receive the wine-glass from the hand of the older one.
After a health had been brought to him by all the regents present, he left them and went back to sit by the side of his wife. Soon after that the bridal pair left the assembly; the European guests went home, but the feast was kept up till early in the morning. The European gentlemen had danced too, and our Assistant Resident acquitted himself excellently.
Mamma, our friend, sister Roekmini, and I stayed till the last European guest had gone.
The next day there was quiet in the house. In the afternoon the last ceremony took place. That is the first visit of the bridal pair to the parents of the groom. It is called in Javanese ngoendoh mantoe, which, literally translated, means "daughter-in-law plucking!" The daughter-in-law is compared to a flower which her husband's parents will pluck.
For this occasion both bride and groom should again put on their bridal costume; but that would have been much too wearisome, so the groom was dressed as usual and sister wore a kain interwoven with gold, and a silk kabaja; her hair was dressed in the form of a cap, and on her head was a small sheath in the shape of a cross, which was filled with flowers, and over the whole was a network of melati blossoms, and again the jewelled spirals waved to and fro above her head.
The bridal pair went in a procession, followed by the native chiefs on foot, to the house where the father of the bridegroom lodged.
Days and weeks after the wedding the newly married pair are still called bride and bridegroom. The bride is a bride until she becomes a mother. There are women, mothers, who all their lives are called nganten, short for penganten, which means bride and also bridegroom.
The day after the ceremony was spent in receiving visits from both Europeans and natives.
Five days later there was again a feast in the kaboepaten; the first return of the holy day which had opened the wedding ceremonies was celebrated.
The young couple left a week after the wedding; they were feted everywhere by various family connections with whom they stopped on their journey home. At Tegal the marriage was celebrated all over again; they remained there a week, and finally they reached their own home at Pemalang.
There, you have a description of a Javanese wedding in high circles. Sister's marriage was called only a quiet affair, and yet it entailed all that ceremony. What must a wedding be that is celebrated in a gala way?
We were dead tired after the wedding.
The Javanese give presents at a marriage; things to wear, such as kains, stomachers, headdresses, silk for kabajas, cloth for jackets; and also things to eat, such as rice, eggs, chickens, or a buffalo. These are merely meant as marks of good-will.
Kardinah also received a splendid bull from an uncle. This had to be placed on exhibition with the other presents!
When a buffalo is killed at the time of a wedding—and usually more than one is needed for the feast meals—a bamboo vessel filled with sirrih, little cakes, pinang nuts, and pieces of meat must be mixed with the running blood of the slaughtered buffalo. These vessels, covered with flowers, are laid at all of the cross-roads, bridges, and wells on the estate, as an offering to the spirits who dwell there. If these bridge, road, and water spirits, are not propitiated, they will be offended at the festivities, and misfortune will come of it. That is the belief of the people. Its origin I do not know.
A friend of ours says rightly that the Javanese are a people who are filled with legends and superstitions. Who shall lead the people out of the dusky realm of fairy tales into the light of work and reality? And then, when superstition is cast off, we do not want the poetry to be trampled under foot.
But of what good is my prattling? Let me rather ask you if you have been interested in this epistle, and if you will now forgive me for my long silence?
There is so much that is lovable in my people, such charm in their simple naïve beliefs. It may sound strange, but it is, nevertheless, a fact, that you Europeans have taught me to love my own land and people. Instead of estranging us from our native land, our European education has brought us nearer to it; has opened our hearts to its beauties, and also to the needs of our people and to their weaknesses.
Do not let me tire you any longer with the scribbling of a silly Javanese girl; I have written enough.
(Postscript)
In some places it is the custom when the bridal pair meet for the first time for the bride to wash the groom's feet as a token of submission before she gives him the knee-kiss. Whenever a widower marries a young girl, or a widow a young man, the giving of the sirrih at the wedding is omitted. The one who has already been married hands the other, who carries a watering-can, a piece of burning wood, the contents of the can are poured upon the fire, which naturally goes out; whereupon the charred wood is thrown away and the watering-can broken into pieces.
The symbolism of this I do not have to explain. It is plain enough. You should have seen sister as she sat there before the kwade. She ought to have been photographed, or, better still, painted, because that would have shown the colouring.
She stepped so calmly and sedately down the carpet of flowers; everywhere there were flowers and the perfume of incense; yes, truly, she was much like a Bodhisatwa! (incarnation of Buddha).
I cannot hear the gamelan or smell the perfume of flowers and incense, without seeing her image before my eyes.
The people picked up the flowers over which sister had walked and kept them; they bring good luck, it is said, and to young daughters, a husband!
[1]To Mevrouw de Booij-Boissevain.
[1]To Mevrouw de Booij-Boissevain.
[2]Pieces of cotton and silk.
[2]Pieces of cotton and silk.
[3]A scarf or shawl draped to form part of the costume.
[3]A scarf or shawl draped to form part of the costume.
[4]The box to hold the sirrih paste.
[4]The box to hold the sirrih paste.
[5]A spitting-box; for it is necessary to spit after chewing sirrih. These boxes are often of gold or tortoiseshell, and beautifully ornamented. They are placed by a Javanese lady on all formal as well as informal occasions.
[5]A spitting-box; for it is necessary to spit after chewing sirrih. These boxes are often of gold or tortoiseshell, and beautifully ornamented. They are placed by a Javanese lady on all formal as well as informal occasions.
[6]"heildronk" in the orig. Dutch—"toast" would be appropriate here. (M.D.)
[6]"heildronk" in the orig. Dutch—"toast" would be appropriate here. (M.D.)
March 27, 1902.[1]
It is always said of the girls here that, "they are well provided for, and comfortably taken care of." Have they a right to complain? Well means, well-being, happiness, the opposite of misery; and misery is what the women feel, and yet they have no right to complain—they are said to act always of their own free will. But how about their children? What is more wretched than a sad childhood, than children who too early have learned to read the shadow side of life?
I once copied something from a speech by Prof. Max Müller, the great German scholar who was so learned in Eastern tongues. It was almost as follows: "Polygamy, as it is practiced by the Eastern people is of benefit to women and girls, who could not live in their environment without a man to take care of them and to protect them."
Max Müller is dead; we cannot call him here to show him the benefits of that custom.
[1]To Mevrouw Abendanon.
[1]To Mevrouw Abendanon.
May 17th, 1902.[1]
I cannot tell you how great was my joy when at last I was able to begin my studies. So far it has been but a review of what I once learned at school more than ten full years ago. But there is one advantage in this late study. I can understand now much more quickly and readily than I could in my childhood, still it is a deep grief to me that I am now twenty-three years old instead of thirteen. I could then look forward so far. I could have carried on my studies indefinitely, but now time is limited on account of my age.
First, I am working at Dutch so that I shall have it thoroughly in my head, and then later I must study one or two of the native languages.
There, I have struck so hard with my pen that my pen-holder is broken through the middle, but even that does not make me give up. Poor pen! I have depended so much upon it and we have worked together happily for so long, I must be a strange creature to lament over a broken pen-holder!
In April, we went on a journey; we paid our sister a visit. We left our home without the least idea of seeing her again; we went to see another sister, our eldest, who was ill. While we were there, we received an urgent letter from little sister, begging us to come to Pemalang, to see her. We set out early the next morning. How can I describe that meeting to you? It was simply blissful! We did nothing the first few moments but look at one another and hold one another tight. And I was so thankful to see her well. She had never looked so fresh and blooming before. She had roses in her cheeks. And beyond everything, it delighted me to see how her husband valued and honoured her.
It is with great pleasure that I have learned to know my new brother-in-law. He is a good, sincere man, with many fine traits. He is very upright, just and true, and has a sympathetic heart. She is his comrade, his advisor, his friend, and a mother as well to his three children, who are as fond of her as if she were their own mother.
The children follow her footsteps everywhere, like little faithful dogs. The oldest child, a boy of seven, had lived with his grandparents. Sister took him in charge and the child is devoted to her now and loves to be with her; though his grandparents did not keep him at arm's length you may be sure. The two others are girls of six and four, she gives them lessons at home: so I might almost call them little pupils, Stella.
He leaves the education of his children entirely to her, and naturally sister will bring up her little daughters in our spirit. Sister has not been able to realize her early dream, as she had dreamed it, but is the task which she has undertaken less beautiful for that reason?
Our roads have divided, but both of us work for the same ideal; what matters it which road one takes if it but leads to the same goal?
I long to go to Holland for many reasons; the first is study, the second is that I want European air to blow upon the few remaining prejudices that still cling to me, so that they may be wholly driven away. There are not many left, it is true, but some obstinately remain. Only your cold air, Stella, can make of me in truth, a free woman. To mention but one of the persistent little prejudices, I should not be disturbed in the least if I were alone in a room filled with European gentlemen. But I can think of nothing, that could make me, under any possible circumstances, receive alone, even one well-born Javanese young man, who was unmarried. I think it is laughable, absurd, idiotic, but it is true. I dare not talk to a strange man without a companion, and even if there were company, I should think it tiresome, and should not feel at my ease.
So you see that in spite of my strong ideas of freedom, I cannot get away from the influence of my native environment, which keeps girls strictly secluded. When the idea has been strongly inculcated that it is not modest to show oneself to strange men's eyes, then it is a hard task to break away from it. It must not remain always so, that prejudice must go. How else shall we be able to work together with men? And that is part of our plan. One way in which we hope to accomplish much good.
Only the air of Europe will be potent to separate me from the influence of my Javanese education. Sometimes I laugh at myself and it drives away the foolishness for a little, but it always comes back.
We returned from our journey on the 19th of April. Father came several stations to meet us. He brought a long official telegram from the Resident, which announced that the Heer Van Kol would come to Japara the next day. That was a delightful greeting of welcome, and I found something still nicer when I got home—your letter.
All the government officials along the whole line received the orders from the Resident to wait upon the Heer Van Kol as he passed through. On Sunday afternoon, at the stroke of three, the travellers arrived. With Van Kol was a journalist, who served him as interpreter and guide, and Father, who had waited for him at the border.
Van Kol had made a resolution never to lodge anywhere except in a hotel, because he knows well the open hospitality of the country. But after he had made the acquaintance of our family, and received a pressing invitation, he stayed with us. Later we heard that it was we who had been responsible for his faithlessness to his resolution. He thought us worthy of scrutiny, he wished to observe the influence of European education on girls of the aristocracy, and could not let the opportunity pass. Happily we did not hear this till afterwards. The knowledge would have made us constrained and self-conscious.
At the table, he talked almost constantly of his wife and children. It was splendid to hear how this great man honours his wife. He met her through correspondence, a point of resemblance there, Stella. He corresponded with her at first about her literary work. It was only by chance that she discovered her great gift, her talent for writing. She was at that time a governess, and was staying with some friends at a villa on the slope of the Pinanggoengan (their villa now in Prinsenhage is called after that villa "Lali Djiwa"—soul's rest). One of the party must write a description of the place, and they drew lots to decide which one it should be. The lot fell upon her. She sent the article to a magazine and the editor wrote asking her for more.
Van Kol has been to all of the places where he lived and worked in his early days, and the children who formerly played with his daughter, he found mothers themselves when he went back. But he still remembered them and knew them all by their names.
Stella, we were happier that evening with the Heer Van Kol than we have been in a long time.
At first we showed them examples of the artistic work of our people, which called forth expressions of wonder and admiration, and Heer Van Kol made some sketches of them. Some of the company moved away and the chair next to him was empty; I slipped into it.
Then he began, "You have planned to go to Holland? Melchers told me so."
On my answering in the affirmative, he went on, "But it will be difficult for you later, when you come back. The greatest difficulty lies in coming back to the old life."
"Why do you think that?"
He spoke frankly and openly and said, "It would be too difficult for you, if later on, you should marry. After having lived in Holland you would never be able to make yourself contented as the wife of a native chief."
He instanced cases of well educated native girls their friends, who had married Hollanders. They and their husbands were devoted to one another but the Indian cannot be really happy amid European surroundings, and the Hollander can never accustom himself to the Indian life, so there is always an impassable gulf between husband and wife.
I let him finish quietly, before I brought my own ideas to the light of day; "Mijnheer Van Kol, if I should go to Holland, my intention is to be educated for a profession, that of teaching preferably, and when I come back I plan to open an institute for the daughters of native chiefs. It is to study that I wish to go there."
He looked at me in surprise; his blue eyes lighted up as though to himself he said, "That is a fine idea—a very fine idea." Then to me, "Do you not think it splendid to have an object in life?" There was so much enthusiasm in his voice and in the expression of his eyes, that I felt my heart grow warm, involuntarily my lips formed a word, a name "Stella."
Stella, if I could only have you here, but then the earth would be too small to hold my happiness. For that was happiness, that moment when I saw that my plans were understood and respected too, by a superior man like Van Kol. It was like the feeling that mothers must have when they hear their children understood and praised.
He asked if I had talked with Mevrouw Rooseboom. No, I had never had the opportunity; both times I had met her there had been a great company, a ball or a dinner. They seemed to have spoken of us at the palace, because Heer Van Kol told me as soon as he arrived that his Excellency the Governor General had said that he knew me.
Annie Glazer goes on her vacation next month to Batavia and to Buitenzorg. She will go for us to the Abendanons' and tell them all that we have in our hearts; she will go too to our friends at Buitenzorg. Could I but go with her!
What we have to do is to present a petition or something of the kind, which Heer Van Kol will write for us from Batavia. The petition will set forth our names, our ages and very briefly what we want to do. And to make sure that he will remember us when he gets to Holland I have at his instigation written to his wife and explained our plans to her.
He was delighted at Roekmini's idea of going to the Art Academy, and also to know that she wished to go through the household school. For indeed it appears that she has not enough talent to ever go very far in her art. He shared our belief that a teacher of Domestic Science could help our people very much. But he is anxious for her to be able to go to the Academy for a few months before she starts on her domestic studies. He thought it fine that we two should wish to work together and help each other. He said many times over "I think it splendid for you two to want to undertake so much."
I have talked to him about the idea of teaching hygiene and kindred subjects in our schools, and let him understand that I should be glad to take a course in hygiene and nursing, in order to teach them later. He thought that a good idea too.
"In India you could not study that except under great difficulties; in Europe it would be quite easy, there you would have everything under your hand, and you could easily get through in a few years, as you speak and write Dutch very well."
I told him of other reasons why we wished to sojourn for a time in Europe. He sympathized with us there too. And he was one with us in the belief that our ideas would be able to compel a larger following, that we could spread them broadcast, if we worked under the protection of the Government. The Javanese nation is like a great child that loves show and display. It respects everything with which the all powerful Government concerns itself.
We talked of the education, if such it may be called, of the daughters of the nobles. Van Kol knows Regents' wives, and knows of their monotonous dull lives.
It was time that something should be done for Javanese girls; he is the last man with whom I should have to argue about the importance of woman's place in society. He spoke of his own noble and highly gifted wife with such love and respect. He called her his counsellor and his guiding star.
It touched me deeply to hear this man making himself so small beside his wife. He is small in body, but great in heart and soul. It was delightful to be in his company.
I have been asked to put my ideas in writing in the form of a brochure or letter to the Queen. It would do much good to our cause if she, who is a woman herself, knows of the deep injustice that our women suffer. But I must know what I am doing. As soon as I let my voice be heard, I know that I shall bring down the anger and hate of many of the Javanese men upon my head.
For myself personally I do not fear their hate or anger, but if I should become a teacher I might have to stand before a class without scholars, because no father would trust his children to me. I should have touched the egoism of man.
I have received an answer to my question as to when a Mohammedan girl comes of age. It is "A Mohammedan girl never comes of age. If she wishes to be free, she would have to marry and after that be divorced." So we shall have to declare ourselves of age, and compel the world to recognize our independence.
You know that Van Kol came here with a journalist. He wrote a description of the journey that he made with Van Kol, also the visit to the kaboepaten is described, and something is told of our conversation with Heer Van Kol. Now people will know whither we are going. I only hope that making our ideas public will do good and not harm. For the first time my name would come out openly in connection with my people. I am proud of that Stella—to be named with the same breath with my people.
Keep this portrait in memory of the triple bond. Poor clover leaf, it was too beautiful, so it had to be pulled apart. It is the best portrait that we have; it is good of all of us. It was made at Christmas time and it is our last portrait, taken together as girls. The sight of the little group makes me sorrowful. Three hearts grew together on one stem, and now one of them has been torn away. Will the wound ever heal? It still bleeds at the least touch.
Oh Stella, you do not know how we miss her. Everything reminds us of her—speaks of her. We feel so old now; the past seems to lie behind us like an eternity, and yet a half year has not gone by since she left us.