Читать книгу Letters of a Javanese Princess - Raden Adjeng Kartini - Страница 10

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12th January, 1900. [1]

To go to Europe! Till my last breath that shall always be my ideal. If I could only make myself small enough to slip into an envelope then I would go with this letter to you, Stella, and to my dearest best brother, and near—Hush, not another word! It is not my fault, Stella, if now and then I write nonsense. The gamelan[2] in the pendopo[3] could speak to you better than I. Now it is playing a lovely air. It is like no other song—no melody, each note is so soft, so tender, so vaguely thrilling, so changing—but ah! how compelling, how bitterly beautiful: that is no tinkling of glass, of copper, of wood; it is the voices of men's souls that speak to me; now they are complaining, now sighing, and now merrily laughing. And my soul soars with the murmuring pure silver tones on high, on high, to the isles of blue light, to the fleecy clouds, and towards the shining stars—deep low tones are rising now and the music leads me through dark dales, down steep ravines, through sombre woods on into dense wildernesses, and my soul shivers and trembles within me with anguish and pain and sorrow.

I have heard "Ginonding" a dozen times, still now that the gamelan is silent I cannot recall a single note, everything is driven from my memory, the sad and lovely air is gone that made me so inexpressibly happy, and so deeply melancholy at the same time. I can never hear "Ginonding" without deep emotion, the first chords of the splendid prelude, and I am lost. Sometimes I do not wish to listen, it is too sorrowful, yet I must hearken to the murmuring voices, which tell me of the past, and of the future. The breath of its thrilling silver strains blows away the veil which covers the secrets of what is to be, and clear as though it were today visions of the future rise to my mind. A shivering goes through me, for I see dark sombre figures. I try to close my eyes, but they remain wide open, and at my feet there yawns a dizzy abyss. But I look up, and a blue Heaven arches above me, and golden sun-beams play with the fleecy white clouds, and in my heart it is again light.

There! Have I not convinced you what a foolish, mad creature I am? What silly thoughts, but we will not excuse ourselves to each other, Stella. Enough of that! I will now try to talk sensibly like a rational human being.

My sunny land which you so long to see, has been of late anything but sunny. There have been terrible rainstorms every day, and Sunday the Japara river rose from its banks, villages were flooded, and even the city itself was inundated by the rushing waters.

Ever since morning it has rained in torrents, and the wind has shaken our house frightfully. Outside several trees have blown down, the thick branches were broken off as though they had been match stems, and nothing remains now of the splendid koolblanda trees, but two cold, bare trunks. How terribly the kampongs around must have suffered, whole roofs have been torn from the houses. Today Papa has gone out on a tour of inspection, and to succour an outlying district where many villages are under water. Papa is sore pressed in these days. First it was storm, then an earthquake, now again storm. A colossal randoe tree was blown across a public highway, striking two passersby; they were taken from under it ground to pieces. A whole day, and a whole night we listened to the raging and the roaring of the wind. Poor Klein Scheveningen, the storm has wrought frightful havoc there. The way to the bath house is entirely covered with seething water, and the beach has disappeared, the insatiable sea has covered it. This afternoon, if it is not raining hard, I shall ask Father's permission to go and see it.

A week ago we were on Klein Scheveningen, we stood on a great rock to watch the surging of the waves. We were so intent upon the imposing spectacle that we did not see how the onrushing waters were covering our rock. Not until the children on the shore called to us affrighted did we realize that we were surrounded by a raging surf. We waded back to the children through water up to our knees.

Some time ago you asked me about the position of the "little man"[4] among us, but I had already written you so much that I put the question aside because it could not be answered in a few words. I wished, however, to come back to it another time, and so I come to it now; I shall then have answered the whole of your last letter.

I thank God that I can answer "No" to your question as to whether the condition of our people is as sad as Multatuli has described it. No, the history of Saïdjah[5] and Adinda belongs to the past. There may be hunger sometimes among the people, but that is not the fault of their rulers. The rulers cannot be held responsible for the long droughts when the "little man" needs rain so much for his fields, nor can they be blamed for the floods that the clouds send to destroy the harvest. And when the rice harvest fails, whether it be through a plague of insects, or through floods, or through the misfortunes which the long continued "East Wind"[6] brings, then all the people who suffer from these calamities have their taxes remitted by the Government, and in time of famine, money and food are doled out to them. If the fields are over-run by a plague of mice, the Government offers rewards for the destruction of the pest. If the "West Wind," as now, causes the rising of the waters in the rivers, and the dikes break, the rulers do all that is possible to mitigate the distress.

Last year a fishing village lay for a whole week under water; day and night Father remained at the scene of the disaster. Out of special funds that were at the disposal of the Government, the breaks in the dikes were restored for some kilometers. But who was to give back to the people what the water had taken away from them? And what of the fish in the rivers destroyed by the floods?

Then you have Demak in my Uncle's jurisdiction; that country could never be brought to a condition of prosperity, whatever one might do. From one remote valley to the other the East Wind dries up the rivers, and then the West Wind drowns the land with water. The Government has spent tons of gold to give water to the land in the dry season, and also in building heavy barriers against floods in the wet season, but so far without result. Splendid canals have been dug, which have provided work for thousands, it is true, but they appear to be of little practical value. During the East Winds the land perishes with thirst, and during the West Winds everything floats upon the water. The Government cares much for the well-being of the people of Java, but alas it allows them to be burdened by heavy taxes, under the load of which they can move but slowly.

No, Stella, the people are no longer wilfully plundered by their rulers. And if this should happen but a single time, the guilty one would be deprived of his office, be degraded. But an evil that does exist, is the taking of presents, that even I think as wrong and shameful as the forcible taking of goods belonging to the "little man" as in Max Havelaar. But perhaps I would not judge this so harshly, if I considered the circumstances. At first the natives thought that the offering of gifts to their superiors was a mark of respect—a declaration of homage. The taking of presents is forbidden to the magistrates by the government, but many native officials are so ill-paid that it is a wonder how they can get along at all on their meagre salaries. A district registrar who all day long writes his back crooked, earns at the end of the month, the incredibly large sum of 25 florins. On that he and his family must live, and pay house rent; he must dress himself neatly, and also keep up his prestige over the lesser officials. Do not judge them harshly, but rather pity these grown-up children, for that is what my fellow-countrymen are for the most part. If a district writer is offered something, perhaps a bunch of bananas, he may refuse it the first time, the second time he may also refuse it, but the third time he accepts it reluctantly, and the fourth time the present is taken without hesitation. What I am doing is no harm, he thinks, I have never asked for it, and yet it was given me; I should be an idiot to hesitate when it is the custom. The giving of presents is not only a token of respect, but also a safeguard against some possible misfortune, when the "little man" might need the protection of the one in authority. If he should be called to account by the wedono[7] for some little fault or other, then he can count upon the support of his friend, the district writer. The magistrates are poorly paid. An assistant wedono of the second class earns 85 florins. Out of this he must pay a secretary (assistant wedonos are furnished no secretaries by the Government, although they have as much need of written work as wedonos, djaksas[8] and others). They must keep a little carriage and a horse, and even a riding horse for journeys into the country; they must buy a house, furniture, etc. They have the expense of keeping up the house and, in addition, the entertainment of the Comptroller,[9] the Regent, and sometimes also the Assistant-Resident when they come on tours of inspection (for the assistant wedono lives far from the capital). On these occasions the gentlemen lodge in the passangrahan,[10] and to the assistant wedono falls the high honour of setting the food before their noble mouths. There must be cigars, ajer blanda,[11] wines, delicacies for the table, and these, I assure you, are for an under district chief no inconsiderable expense. It would not be meet to set before his honourable guests only the things which he has at hand; so all these table luxuries must be sent for to the city. It is not a law, but the host considers it his duty to set before the grand gentlemen the best of what he has, and has not. In Father's jurisdiction this does not occur, thank God. When Father goes upon a tour of inspection and must stay several days he always takes his own provisions with him. The Comptroller too does this, and also the Assistant-Resident, and no native official is ruined by the single cup of tea which he offers them.

If there is a murder or a robbery in the under district, the assistant wedono must naturally clear up the matter; it is his duty. And to trace out the guilty one he must go deep, very deep into his own purse. It has happened many times that the native chiefs have pawned the ornaments of their wives and children to obtain the money which was necessary before some dark deed could be brought into the light. But will that money which is paid out in the service of the Government be paid back by the Government? I wish indeed that it were so. Several magistrates have been reduced to beggary in this way. What, in Heaven's name, can the magistrates do, who cannot make their salaries suffice, and have no parents or other relatives upon whom they can fall back for support? And if the people come forward with gifts when they see their wives and children running around in ragged clothes—Judge them not harshly, Stella.

I know the trials of the native chiefs. I know the misery of the people, and what is the Government going to do now? It is going to reorganize the Inland administration. The native personnel will be reduced to the advantage of the European magistrates. From this reduction there will be saved annually an expenditure of 464,800 florins, and the European magistrates will reap the benefit of this. It is true that there are some ill-paid officials who will be bettered financially, and will become assistant wedonas instead of Government clerks; but what does that signify in comparison with the many important posts (it has not yet been demonstrated that they are superfluous) that will be abolished.

There are all kinds of rumours about the Government regulations. The bill for this re-organization has passed both chambers of the Volks Vertegenwoordigers, and on July 1st. of next year it will go into effect. Nearly all of the residents have protested, but his excellency the Governor General wishes it, so in spite of all protests, the re-organization will proceed. I hope that the Government will eat no bitter fruit as a result.

And now about the people, about the inhabitants of Java in general. The Javanese are grown-up children. What has the Government done to further their development? For the noble sons of the country, there are, so called, High Schools, Normal schools, and the Doktor-djawa[12] School; and for the people, there are various common schools—one in each district; though the Government has divided these latter institutions into two classes. The first class, composed of schools which are situated in the provincial capitals, are conducted just as they were before the division, but in the schools of the second class, the children learn only Javanese, reading, writing and a little reckoning. No Malay is taught as formerly, why, it is not made clear. The Government believes, to my thinking, that if the people were educated, they would no longer be willing to work the land.

Father sent a note to the Government on the subject of education. O Stella, I wish that you could read it. You must know that many of the native rulers rejoice at the action of the Government. The Javanese nobles are in favour with the Government here and in the Motherland, and everything possible is done to help them, and to make them blossom to perfection.

The aristocracy sees with sad eyes how sons of the people are educated, and often even elevated to their ranks by the government because of knowledge, ability and industry. Sons of the people go to European schools and compare favourably in every respect, with the high and honourable sons of the noble. The nobles wish to have rights for themselves alone; they alone wish to have authority and to make western civilization and enlightenment their own. And the Government helps and supports them in this; for it is to its own advantage to do so. As early as 1895 there was a decree, that without the special permission of his Excellency the Governor General no native child (from six to seven years old) would be admitted to the free grammar school for Europeans, that could not speak Dutch. How can a native child of six or seven years learn Dutch? He would have had to have a Dutch governess, and then before he is able to learn the Netherland language, the child must first know his own language, and necessarily know how to read and write. It is only regents who do not have to ask permission for their families to go to the European schools: most of the native chiefs are afraid of receiving a "No" in answer to their request and therefore do nothing. Is it presumptuous of Father to call attention to the fact that African and Ambonese children may go directly to the European schools, without understanding a word of Dutch? Stella, I remember well from my own school days that many European children went to school who knew as little Dutch as I, and I hardly knew any.

Father says in his note, that the government cannot set the rice[13] upon the table for every Javanese, and see that he partakes of it. But it can clear the board, where the food is to be spread, and that food is education. When the Government provides a means of education for the people, it is as though it placed torches in their hands which enabled them to find the good road that leads to the place where the rice is served.

I will not quote any further, Stella; perhaps another time I can send you the whole note. From it you will learn something of the present condition of the people. Father wishes to do everything that he can to help the people and needless to say, I am on his side.

Father is very proud of his ancient noble race, but right is right, and justice is justice. We wish to equal the Europeans in education and enlightenment, and the rights which we demand for ourselves, we must also give to others. This putting of stumbling blocks in the way of the education of the people, may well be compared to the acts of the Tsar, who while he is preaching peace to the world, tramples under foot the good right of his own subjects. Measure with two measures, no! The Europeans are troubled by many traits in the Javanese, by their indifference and lack of initiative. Very well, Netherlander, if you are troubled so much by these things why do you not do something to remedy the cause? Why is it that you do not stretch forth a single finger to help your brown brother? Draw back the thick veil from his understanding, open his eyes, you will see that there is in him something else besides an inclination for mischief, which springs principally from stupidity and ignorance. I should not have to seek far for examples of this; nor would you, Stella. Here before you lie the innermost thoughts of one who belongs to that despised brown race. They are not able to judge us, and the things that we do, and leave undone. Do they know us?

No, even as little as we know them.

If you are interested in this subject, get the October number of Neerlandia. It contains an address delivered by my brother in the Dutch language at the literary congress at Ghent. Professor Kern took him there and asked him to speak. The sentiments to which he gives utterance are also mine; they are ours.

"Has your father much power?"[14] you ask. What is power? Father has great influence, but the Governor alone has power. My brother pleaded for the use of the Dutch language officially. Read what he says, Stella, if not for your own satisfaction, then because I wish it.

The Hollanders laugh and make fun of our stupidity, but if we strive for enlightenment, then they assume a defiant attitude toward us. What have I not suffered as a child at school through the ill will of the teachers and of many of my fellow pupils? Not all of the teachers and pupils hated us. Many loved us quite as much as the other children. But it was hard for the teachers to give a native the highest mark, never mind how well it may have been deserved.

I shall relate to you the history of a gifted and educated Javanese. The boy had passed his examinations, and was number one in one of the three principal high schools of Java. Both at Semarang, where he went to school, and at Batavia, where he stood his examinations, the doors of the best houses were open to the amiable school-boy, with his agreeable and cultivated manners and great modesty.

Every one spoke Dutch to him, and he could express himself in that language with distinction. Fresh from this environment, he went back to the house of his parents. He thought it would be proper to pay his respects to the authorities of the place and he found himself in the presence of the Resident who had heard of him, and here it was that my friend made a mistake. He dared to address the great man in Dutch.

The following morning notice of an appointment as clerk to a comptroller in the mountains was sent to him. There the young man must remain to think over his "misdeeds" and forget all that he had learned at the schools. After some years a new comptroller or possibly assistant comptroller came; then the measure of his misfortunes was made to overflow. The new chief was a former school-fellow, one who had never shone through his abilities. The young man who had led his classes in everything must now creep upon the ground before the one-time dunce, and speak always high Javanese to him, while he himself was answered in bad Malay. Can you understand the misery of a proud and independent spirit so humbled? And how much strength of character it must have taken to endure that petty and annoying oppression?

But at last he could stand it no longer, he betook himself to Batavia and asked his excellency the Governor General for an audience; it was granted him. The result was that he was sent to Preanger, with a commission to make a study of the rice culture there. He made himself of service through the translation of a pamphlet on the cultivation of water crops from Dutch into Javanese and Sundanese. The government presented him in acknowledgement with several hundred guilders. In the comptroller's school at Batavia, a teacher's place was vacant—a teacher of the Javanese language be it understood—and his friends (among the Javanese) did all in their power to secure this position for him, but without result. It was an absurd idea for a Native to have European pupils who later might become ruling government officials, Perish the thought! I should like to ask who could teach Javanese better than a born Javanese?

The young man went back to his dwelling place; in the meantime another resident had come, and the talented son of the brown race might at last become an assistant wedono. Not for nothing had he been banished for years to that distant place. He had learned wisdom there; namely, that one cannot serve a European official better than by creeping in the dust before him, and by never speaking a single word of Dutch in his presence. Others have now come into power, and lately when the position of translator of the Javanese language became vacant it was offered to our friend (truly opportunely) now that he does not stand in any one's way!

Stella, I know an Assistant Resident, who speaks Malay with a Regent, although he knows that the latter speaks good Dutch. Every one else converses confidentially with this native ruler but the Assistant Resident—never.

My brothers speak in high Javanese to their superiors, who answer them in Dutch or in Malay. Those who speak Dutch to them are our personal friends; several of whom have asked my brothers to speak to them in the Dutch language, but they prefer not to do it, and Father also never does. The boys and Father know all too well why they must hold to the general usage.

There is too much idle talk about the word "prestige," through the imaginary dignity of the under officials. I do not bother about prestige. I am only amused at the manner in which they preserve their prestige over us Javanese.

Sometimes I cannot suppress a smile. It is distinctly diverting to see the great men try to inspire us with awe. I had to bite my lips to keep from laughing outright when I was on a journey not long ago, and saw an Assistant Resident go from his office to his house under the shade of a gold umbrella, which a servant held spread above his noble head. It was such a ridiculous spectacle! Heavens! if he only knew how the humble crowds who respectfully retreated to one side before the glittering sunshade, immediately his back was turned, burst out laughing.

There are many, yes very many Government officials, who allow the native rulers to kiss their feet, and their knees. Kissing the foot is the highest token of respect that we Javanese can show to our parents, or elderly blood relatives, and to our own rulers. We do not find it pleasant to do this for strangers; no, the European makes himself ridiculous in our eyes whenever he demands from us those tokens of respect to which our own rulers alone have the right.

It is a matter of indifference when Residents and Assistant Residents allow themselves to be called "Kandjeng," but when overseers, railroad engineers (and perhaps tomorrow, station-masters too) allow themselves to be thus addressed by their servants, it is absurdly funny. Do these people really know what Kandjeng means?

It is a title that the natives give to their hereditary rulers. I used to think that it was only natural for the stupid Javanese to love all this flim-flam, but now I see that the civilized, enlightened Westerner is not averse to it, that he is daft about it.

I never allow women older than I to show all the prescribed ceremonies to me, even though I know they would gladly, for though I am so young, I am a scion of what they consider an ancient, noble and honoured house; for which in the past, they have poured out both blood and gold in large measure. It is strange how attached inferiors are to those above them. But to me, it goes against the grain when people older than I creep in the dust before me.

With heavy hearts, many Europeans here see how the Javanese, whom they regard as their inferiors, are slowly awakening, and at every turn a brown man comes up, who shows that he has just as good brains in his head, and a just as good heart in his body, as the white man.

But we are going forward, and they cannot hold back the current of time. I love the Hollanders very, very much, and I am grateful for everything that we have gained through them. Many of them are among our best friends, but there are also others who dislike us, for no other reason than we are bold enough to emulate them in education and culture.

In many subtle ways they make us feel their dislike. "I am a European, you are a Javanese," they seem to say, or "I am the master, you the governed." Not once, but many times, they speak to us in broken Malay; although they know very well that we understand the Dutch language. It would be a matter of indifference to me in what language they addressed us, if the tone were only polite. Not long ago, a Raden Ajoe was talking to a gentleman, and impulsively she said, "Sir, excuse me, but may I make a friendly request, please, speak to me in your own language. I understand and speak Malay very well, but alas, only high Malay. I do not understand this passer-Malay." How our gentleman hung his head!

Why do many Hollanders find it unpleasant to converse with us in their own language? Oh yes, now I understand; Dutch is too beautiful to be spoken by a brown mouth.

A few days ago we paid a visit to Totokkers.[15] Their domestics were old servants of ours, and we knew that they could speak and understand Dutch very well. I told the host this, and what answer did I receive from my gentleman? "No, they must not speak Dutch." "No, why?" I asked. "Because natives ought not to know Dutch." I looked at him in amazement, and a satirical smile quivered at the corners of my mouth. The gentleman grew fiery red, mumbled something into his beard, and discovered something interesting in his boots, at least he devoted all of his attention to them.

Still another little story; it happened in the Preanger. It was in the early evening and the Regent of X was receiving visitors in his kaboepaten. There was an intimate friend of the Resident of the department; afterwards a little assistant-comptroller came in and joined the company. The son of the house, a school-boy at home on his vacation, ran into the pendopo. As soon as he saw that his father was not alone, he started to turn back, but the Resident had seen him and called him. His Excellency greeted the youth cordially and had a long and friendly talk with him. When the conversation with his Excellency was over, he went up to the young official and made a polite bow. The little gentleman saw no necessity for answering the courteous greeting with more than barely noticeable nod of the head, and while his cold eyes took in the boy disdainfully from head to foot, he said coolly the little word "tabee" (a Malay greeting). The young man turned pale, his lips trembled; two fists were clenched.

Afterwards he said to the intimate friend who had been present, "Sir, I like the Hollanders very much; they are among my best friends, but I shall never be able to forget the "tabee" of that Assistant; it cut me to the soul."

Oh, Stella, I have had glimpses into all sorts and conditions of Indian society; involuntarily I see behind the curtain of the official world. There are abysses so deep, that the very thought of them makes me dizzy. O God, why is the world still so full of evil deeds—of horror and of sadness? There are residents and assistant residents compared to whom Slijmering in Max Havelaar is a saint; but I do not wish to turn my letter into a scandal chronicle.

Oh, now I understand why they are opposed to the education of the Javanese. When the Javanese becomes educated then he will no longer say amen to everything that is suggested to him by his superiors.

In the last few days, articles written by natives have been published in the "Locomotief," the foremost paper of India. In these articles they lay bare the opinions, which have secretly been held for years about, not all, but by far the greater number of Indian officials. Not only the highest in the land, but also the most humble are allowing their voices to be heard. The paper calls this a good sign of the times, and rejoices. What the European officials in general think I do not know; a comptroller, who is one of the organizers of the Inland administration, says that good will come of it, not only to the Europeans, but also to the native rulers. He is pleading for a trained corps of native officials. The proposition will come before both chambers of the States General soon. It is also urged that the Dutch language be used officially in business between European and native chiefs. Splendid! then my brother does not stand alone. In July, the question of the education of women will come up too. The Javanese are emancipating themselves.

Still this is only a beginning, and it is splendid that men of influence and ability are supporting our cause. The strife will be violent, the combatants will not have to fight against opposition alone, but also against the indifference of our own countrywomen, in whose behalf they would break their lances. While this agitation among the men is on the tapis, that will be the time for the women to rise up and let themselves be heard. Poor men—you will have your hands full.

Oh, it is splendid just to live in this age, the transition of the old into the new!

I read the other day, "Turn not away, you who are old of days, from everything that is new. Consider all that is now old has once been new" (I quote from memory).

I have written so much, I hope that I have not made you weary; and forgive me, if I have been carried away by my enthusiasm and have here and there written something that may cause you pain. Stella, forgive me for having forgotten so entirely to whom I was speaking. I find such great sympathy in you; you have told me that you and I were kindred spirits, and even as such have I considered you. I am no Javanese, no child of the despised brown race to you; and to me you do not belong to that white race around us that holds the Javanese up to scorn and ridicule. You are white to me in your understanding of the truth, white in heart and soul. For you I have a great admiration. I love you with my whole heart, and many of my fellow countrywomen would do likewise if they knew you. O that all Hollanders were like you and some of my other white friends.

I have ordered "Berthold Meryan," but up to the present time I have not received it; most likely the book-seller had first to order it from Holland. I have read lately "Modern Women" translated from the French by Jeanette van Riemsdijk; disappointed I laid the book down. I had seen so many brilliant criticisms of this problem novel, it was said to be in all respects finer than "Hilda van Suylenburg," to be powerful and without faults.

But for myself I still think "H.v.S." the Ratoe (princess) of all that up to now has been written concerning woman's emancipation. I am on the lookout now for a critic (!!) to whom I may speak my mind about "Modern Women," for to my thinking that book lacks the strength and inspiration of "H.v.S."

I read "H.v.S." through in one sitting. I locked myself in our room, and forgot everything; I could not lay it down, it held me so.

It is a pity that my note-book is lost. I would ask you to read what I had written there. It is an outline of a translation from the English and called "The Aim of the Woman's Movement." I know of nothing better than that having been in the "Gids" or even in the "Wetenschappelijke Bladen," and then what you must read, if you do not already know it is "De Wajang Orang" by Martine Tonnet; it is in the "Gids" November number. It is about the Javanese and their art, and the court of Djokjakarta, very interesting; you would enjoy it. I have just read for the second time "Minnebrieven" by Multatuli. What a brilliant man he is. I am glad that soon a cheap edition of all his works will appear. I shall be very affectionate to Father.

The Father of our Assistant-Resident is a good friend of Multatuli's; and through him, we hear strange stories from the life history of that genius.

Couperus is still in India. When he is back in the Fatherland, I believe that a brilliant book about my country will appear. Is not his style singularly clear and beautiful?