The first thing that she did when she got home was to run to her father and lay the problem before him.
"What am I going to be when I grow up?"
He said nothing, but smiled and pinched her cheek. But she would not allow herself to be put off, and waited, teasing him for an answer. At last an older brother came in, and answered the question. Her greedy listening ears heard these words:
"What should a girl become? Why a Raden-Ajoe, [a Javanese married woman of high rank], naturally."
The little girl was satisfied with the answer, and went quickly and happily away.
"A Raden-Ajoe," she repeated several times to herself. "What is a Raden-Ajoe?" The idea was with her always; she thought constantly of the two words, "Raden-Ajoe." She must later become such an one. She looked around her, saw and came in contact with many Raden-Ajoes, regarded them attentively, studied them, and what she learned (as much as a child could understand) of the lives of these women, caused the spirit of opposition to awaken in her heart against this being a Raden-Ajoe--the ancient iron-bound rule, that girls must marry, must belong to a man, without being asked when, who, or how.
This little girl reached the age of twelve and a half, and it was time that she should say farewell to her merry childish life, and take leave of the school-benches upon which she had been so glad to sit; and of the little European companions among whom she had studied so willingly. She was old enough to come home according to the custom of her country. It demands that a young girl remain in the house, and be rigidly secluded from the outside world until that time when the man for whom G.o.d has created her shall come and take her to his dwelling.
She knew all too well that with the school door much that was unutterably dear would be closed to her for ever. The parting from the dear teacher, who bade her farewell with such sympathetic, cordial words, counseling resignation, and from little companions, who with tears in their eyes pressed her hand.
It was hard, but it was as nothing in comparison with the giving up of her lessons, the ending of her studies. She was so bent upon learning, and she knew that there was much more yet to be studied before one can even go through the lower school. She was ambitious, and she did not wish to stand below her little white friends, most of whom were going to Europe later, or her brothers who went to the High School.
She implored her father to allow her to go to the High School at Semarang with the boys; she would do her best; her parents would never have to complain of her. She crouched on her knees before him, her pleading hands resting upon his lap, her great child"s eyes were raised up to him full of longing, and in breathless suspense and anguish she waited for his answer.
Caressingly he stroked the dark little head, his fingers pushed back tenderly the rebellious locks from her forehead, and softly and yet firmly, the word "No" came from his lips.
She sprang up, she knew what "No" from him meant. She went away and crept under the bed to hide herself; she wished to be alone with her grief.
Once her teacher had asked her if she could not go to Holland to study with Letsy, his daughter, who was her friend. She listened eagerly and with shining eyes.
"Would you not like to go?"
"Do not ask me if I would like to go; ask me if I may," came hoa.r.s.ely from her trembling lips.
Good man, he had meant to be so kind to her. Stranger that he was to native customs, he did not know how cruel his question was. It was putting dainties before the eyes of one starving for bread.
Foolish girl, it was never the intention of your good parents to send you to school to raise rebellious thoughts in your heart. You were to learn Dutch, and Dutch manners, nothing more. Stupid little thing, if that had been all you had learned so much misery in the future would have been spared you. But the stupid little thing had not made herself, she couldn"t help it if G.o.d had given her a sensitive soul, and a heart which readily absorbed all that the Dutch language had helped her to think beautiful.
Poor little one. In her heart, Western thoughts found a joyous entrance, yet she saw herself fettered hand and foot by Eastern tradition. And her muscles were still too weak, too soft to enable her to break the chains which bound her. And later when she found herself strong, so that with a single jerk they could be wrenched asunder--did she do it? But we will not run ahead with the story, we have not gone very far as yet.
The school door lay behind her, and the house of her parents welcomed her to herself. Great was that house, and s.p.a.cious were the grounds, but high and thick were the walls that surrounded them and the closed in four cornered s.p.a.ce was henceforth to be her world, her all. Never mind, how s.p.a.cious and handsome, even comfortable a cage may be it is still a cage to the little bird that is imprisoned there.
Gone, gone was her merry childhood; gone everything that made her young life happy. She still felt herself such a child, and she was that in fact too, but the law placed her inexorably among the full grown. And she to whom no ditch was too broad to be leapt, no tree too high to be climbed, who loved nothing so much as to run like a wild colt in the meadows, must now be calm, composed and grave, as beseemed a Javanese young lady of a high and n.o.ble house. The ideal Javanese girl is silent and expressionless as a wooden doll, speaking only when it is necessary, and then with a little whispering voice which can hardly be heard by an ant; she must walk foot before foot and slowly like a snail, laugh silently without opening her lips; it is unseemly for the teeth to show, that is to be like a clown.
Ni sinned every second.
A dull, monotonous, slow mode of life began for her. Day after day pa.s.sed wearily away amid the same occupations, and the same people.
Sometimes there would be a bright spot in those first dark days, a visit from Letsy. It was like a holiday when Letsy was with her; she became as of old the merry child and forgot that she was a prisoner, but she suffered doubly for the temporary forgetfulness after the little white friend had gone.
The slow moving life went on, more stupid, more monotonous----
She watched her younger sisters with hungry longing every time that they went out of the door, armed with their school-books, to go to the temple of wisdom where knowledge was to be found.
For a time she tried to study her lessons by herself; but it seemed useless--a pupil alone without a master soon grows discouraged. With a deep sigh she hid her books away.
If pillows and cushions could but speak what would they not be able to tell! They could tell of the misery of a little human soul that with scalding tears cried herself to sleep on their bosom night after night.
Young people cannot learn to be resigned. In their silly little heads and hearts dwell a hundred wild, restless and rebellious thoughts. They feel themselves so alone, and draw back timidly from those with whom they live day in and day out.
It is very easy to live for years with one"s brothers and sisters and to remain always as strangers. Ni had an older sister who shared her imprisonment. She was fond of her but there was no confidence between them. They differed too much both in character and point of view. The older sister was quiet, conventional, calm and composed, and the younger one was just the opposite; all life and fire by nature. Her ideas were wrong in the eyes of the other, who believed firmly in all the old traditions and customs.
Often the younger sister had gone with shining eyes to tell of something which filled her brimful of enthusiasm; and when she had finished, the older sister would answer coldly, "Go your own way; as for me I am a Javanese."
Ni"s heart would stand still within her, as though touched by a rough hand, she would grow icy cold. The younger sisters too were estranged from her; the older one was not pleased when they were with Ni--Ni who had such strange ideas. And sister was very strong; the little sisters were afraid of her.
Ni found it hard, but not so hard as to feel that her own mother was opposed to her. She too closed her heart to her, because her child"s ideas were diametrically opposed to her own. Poor little Ni--her small soul was longing for tenderness and she found only coldness; where on her side she gave love, she received at best tolerance. Why was she always so strange, so peculiar, so different? Ah, she had tried so often to be like others, to think like others, yet always when she was almost happy, something would happen, that would make the slumbering thoughts burst forth tumultuously, and reproach her for her seeming forgetfulness, so that she would hold to them all the more firmly.
Still her life was not so wholly colourless and dull. There were two who held to her, who loved her just as she was; she felt their love warming her inmost being, and clung to them with all the tenderness of her thirsting heart. They were her father and her third brother--the youngest of her older brothers. It is true that they could not satisfy her most intimate and dearest wish to be free; could never gratify her longing to study. But her dear father was always so good to his little daughter, his own silly girl; she knew that he loved her, she felt it.
He would look at her tenderly, his gentle hands would stroke her cheeks, her hair, and his strong arms would go so protectingly around her.
And she knew that brother loved her too, although he had never told her so, had never spoken a loving word to her, had never caressed her. But a thousand little delicate attentions of which only a loving heart could think spoke constantly of his warm affection for her. He never laughed at her when she told him her thoughts, never made her shiver with a cold, "Go your own way; as for me I am a Javanese." And although he never told her that he sympathized with her ideals, she knew in her heart that he was as one with her, she knew that he was only silent because he did not wish to make her more rebellious. The books which he placed in her hands showed her that. Ni felt so rich with the love of her two dear ones, and with the sympathy of her brother.
But her father was not always with her; he had his work to do, and where he worked she might not go. She must never go out of the fast-closed place which was her dwelling. And her brother was at home only once in the year, for he went to school in Semarang.
Her oldest brother came home. He had obtained an appointment in the neighbourhood and lived with his parents. If Ni had suffered before his coming, from the coolness of nearly all those who lived in the house with her, from their indifference to all that interested her, from her imprisonment, there now began a series of teasings and tormentings which added a thousand times to her distress. Ni was wild; she could not dance to the piping of her brother. "Young people should be submissive and obey their elders," was constantly preached to her; and above all, "Girls must be submissive to their older brothers."
But headstrong Ni could not see why this should be. She could not help it, that she should have been born later than her brother; that was no reason why she should be submissive to him. She was not answerable to any one, only to her own conscience and her own heart. She would never give in to her brother except when she was convinced that he was right.
At first he was astonished, and later he grew angry, when he saw that a little girl who was half a dozen years younger than he dared to defy his will. She must be forcibly suppressed. Everything was wrong that Ni did.
She was severely reprimanded for each little fault. No day pa.s.sed that brother and sister did not stand facing each other in anger. He with a dark countenance and stern words that made her heart bleed, and she with quivering lips tremblingly defending her good right to do something which he wished to forbid.
She was entirely alone in her fight against the despotism of her brother--her future protector, whenever she should have the misfortune to lose her parents, until she should leave his roof under the protection of the man for whom G.o.d had created her! He took very good care not to torment her when her father was there; father would never have allowed it, and he knew well that she was too proud to tell.
But the others who lived in the house were silent too, although they knew that she was within her rights. It would not do to allow impertinence, and the girl was impertinent; young as she was, she dared to say "No" to the "Yes" of her so much older brother. A girl had no right to do anything which would even partially detract from the importance of a man. It was not right for this girl to oppose her ideas to those of her self-willed brother.
In later years, when Ni remembered all this, she could understand very well why the man was so egotistical. Always, by every one in the house, he was taught as a child to be selfish, by his mother most of all. From childhood he was taught to regard the girl, the woman, as a creature of a lower order than himself. Had she not often heard his mother, his aunts, and all the women of his acquaintance say to him in scornful, disdainful tones, "A girl is only a girl"? It is through woman herself that man first learns to scorn woman. Ni"s blood boiled whenever she heard deprecating words about girls spoken by a woman.
"Women are nothing--women are created for men, for their pleasure; they can do with them as they will," sounded brutally in her ears, and irritating as the laugh of Satan. Her eyes shot fire, her fists clenched, and she pressed her lips tightly together in impotent distress. "No, No," cried her fast beating little heart, "We are human just as much as men. Oh, let me learn. Loose my bonds! Only give me the chance, and I will show that I am a human being, a woman just as good as a man." She writhed and twisted, but the chains were strong and locked tightly around her tender wrists and ankles. She wounded herself, but she did not break them.
Too early ripened child, at an age when a young head should only be filled with dreams of merry play, she was busy with sombre dark thoughts about the sad things in life. It could not have been otherwise; she was not deaf nor blind and lived in the midst of a civilization which took no account of youth and sensitive feelings. Roughly the young tender eyes were opened to the realities of life, in all their coa.r.s.eness, ugliness and cruelty. From her parents themselves she never heard a harsh word that would have shocked her pure mind or wounded her sensitive heart, but she did not live only with her parents.
O Death! why are you called terrible, you who release mankind from this cruel life? Ni would have followed you thankfully and with joy. She had no one to show her what was lofty and beautiful in life, and that everything was not low and vile. Ni loved her father with her whole soul, and although she lived constantly with her parents she could never lay her inmost thoughts before them. Coldly the strong Javanese etiquette stood between them.
Ni avoided, as much as she could, those people who with their cynicism had withered her; and while the manners and customs of her country did not allow her stricken little soul to seek refuge in her parents" arms and on her parents" hearts, she found comfort in those quiet, silent friends "books."
She had always been fond of reading, but now her love for reading became a pa.s.sion; as soon as she had time, when all her little duties were done, she would seize a book or a paper. She read everything that came into her hands; she greedily devoured both the green and the ripe. Once she threw a book away which was full of horrors. She did not have to look into books when she wished to know of loathsome, nauseating things; real life was full of them; it was to escape from them that she buried her soul in realms which the genius of man has fashioned out of the spirit of fantasy.
There were so many beautiful books which gave her unspeakable pleasure, and which she will never be able to forget; stories of strong characters n.o.bly laying hold on life, of great souls and spirits, which would make her heart glow with enthusiasm and delight. She lived in everything that she read, while she was reading there was nothing more for which she wished, she was lost! Her Father took great pleasure in her love of reading and showered her with presents of books. She did not understand everything that she read, but she did not allow herself to be discouraged by that. What she could not understand in the first reading became in the second less obscure, and at the third or fourth, it would be quite clear. Every unknown word that she found she noted down; and later, when her dearest brother came home, she would ask him its meaning. And he helped his little sister so willingly, and lovingly.
If she had not had her loving Father, her dear brother and her books, she could not have lived through the sorrowful years. Father and brother stilled the yearning for love and affection, and the books gave to her hungry spirit food.
A little brother was born, and this helpless baby held Ni back from misfortune; he brought her again into the good path from which she had begun to wander. She was fast becoming a bad child toward her Mother.
She had closed her heart more and more toward her, and the little brother made the doors of that heart spring wide open again. Little brother taught her what a mother is, and what a child owes to its mother.