Letters of a Javanese Princess Part 4

Father knows everything that goes on in our hearts. Father does not tell us so, yet I am certain of it. Now and then Papa tells one or the other of us precisely what we have been thinking; something that we had kept to ourselves and never told to any one. It is without doubt, because Father loves us so much, and we so love him. Every now and then he discovers something, and lays it bare, that had been in the bottom of my heart, and of which I had thought no one except myself had the slightest idea. Does not that show true kins.h.i.+p of soul?

If I were more superst.i.tious, I should certainly think that Papa could read thoughts.

But I am telling you now of the pleasant Sunday morning, and not of the secret telephone-cable that runs from our hearts to that of our dearest Father.

The officers regretted so much that the _Edie_ would not remain longer in our harbour. It would have been such a pleasure to them to have had us on board. The _Edie_ must go to look for reefs on Karimoen Djawa, though the commander thought j.a.para interesting. Both gentlemen were going to do everything in their power to persuade the Commandant to come back; for if the _Edie_ set out from Soerabaja on Monday, either Sat.u.r.day or Sunday she could be back at j.a.para. If fortune should bring the _Edie_ here on Sat.u.r.day, then they will let us know of their presence by letting loose their fire-mouths (cannon). I have no idea that they will, but still it would be above all things pleasant if the boat should come again.

I told the gentlemen that if they pa.s.sed j.a.para again, they must break a screw or something, near our coast, so that the s.h.i.+p would be obliged to lay up in our harbour for repairs.

When the officers had gone, and we were back in our room, we thought it had been a dream. And truly it was as though we had dreamed. So suddenly, so unexpectedly, had they appeared to us, and again as suddenly had they vanished. A very pleasant happening--do you not think so too? I still have to laugh whenever I think of that funny adventure.

O little Mother, dearest Mevrouwtje, I wish that you were back with us.

Your daughters miss you so much. We long for the pleasant days that we spent with you to come again: the splendid times that we used to have in your dear little sitting-room, where you would read to us from great books, and where we spoke of so much, the memory of which shall always remain with us. I miss the intimate talks with you, when I used to tell my dear little mother all the rebellious thoughts that came into my head, and laid bare the feelings of my restless heart. When I was in a rebellious mood, I had but to see the love light in your face, and I was again the happy, careless child, that, in overflowing good spirits, could sing: "Whatever Heaven to me shall send, I'll set my shoulders bravely under."

Mevrouwtje, you gave us too much care; spoiled us too much. Now we do nothing but wish for those happy days to come back. And although we long for you, yet we hope that the journey to Djombang will be put off as long as possible. Why? We know--we feel, that at Djombang, we shall see each other for the last time. Seeing you again will mean farewell for good. You will not come to j.a.para again, and we shall never be able to go to you. For that reason, let the journey be put off as long as possible. It is splendid to have a pleasure to look forward to; so we should like to prolong the feeling of antic.i.p.ation. Once more the joy of meeting again, and then--all the prettiness will be over. No it will not be over even then, the memory will be with us.

We shall still be happy as long as you think of us and love us. You know very well, dear little Mother, that love is nothing but egoism. I think there is nothing finer than to be able to call a happy smile to a loved mouth--to see the suns.h.i.+ne break over another's face. Nothing is more splendid than to have a pair of dear eyes look at one full of love and happiness; then it is that one feels guilty for that very joy. How pleasant that Kokki also remembers us.

[1] To Mevrouw M.C.E. Ovink-Soer.

[2] A Javanese woman's dress consists of a sarong which is draped to form a skirt, and a kabaja, or jacket shaped garment. The kabaja is of Dutch origin and its use is a concession to European ideas of modesty, as formerly the upper part of the body was left bare.

V[1]

_12th January, 1900._

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 gla.s.s, 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 s.h.i.+ning 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 s.h.i.+vers 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 s.h.i.+vering 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 j.a.para river rose from its banks, villages were flooded, and even the city itself was inundated by the rus.h.i.+ng 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 pa.s.sersby; 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 onrus.h.i.+ng waters were covering our rock. Not until the children on the sh.o.r.e 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 G.o.d 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 Sadjah[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 fis.h.i.+ng 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 ca.n.a.ls 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 circ.u.mstances. 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 a.s.sistant wedono of the second cla.s.s earns 85 florins. Out of this he must pay a secretary (a.s.sistant 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 a.s.sistant-Resident when they come on tours of inspection (for the a.s.sistant wedono lives far from the capital). On these occasions the gentlemen lodge in the pa.s.sangrahan,[10] and to the a.s.sistant wedono falls the high honour of setting the food before their n.o.ble mouths.

There must be cigars, ajer blanda,[11] wines, delicacies for the table, and these, I a.s.sure 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 G.o.d. 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 a.s.sistant-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 a.s.sistant 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 p.a.w.ned 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 a.s.sistant 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 pa.s.sed 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 n.o.ble 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 inst.i.tutions into two cla.s.ses. The first cla.s.s, 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 cla.s.s, 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 n.o.bles 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 n.o.ble. The n.o.bles 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 n.o.ble 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 princ.i.p.ally 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 a.s.sume a defiant att.i.tude 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 pa.s.sed his examinations, and was number one in one of the three princ.i.p.al 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 a.s.sistant 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 cla.s.ses 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 a.s.sistant 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 a.s.sistant 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 a.s.sistant Resident--never.