CHAPTER IV

My life in Sarawak   •   第12章

CHAPTER IV

Then began a very agreeable time, such as usually comes with a new and interesting friendship. I think the Malay women as well as myself were mutually interested in one another, and I encouraged the frequent morning visits that one or another of the chieftains’ lady relations paid to me. I somehow managed to make myself understood, although my Malay must have sounded strange to them. Indeed, in their strenuous endeavours to understand what I said, I sometimes noticed a strained—​I might almost say painful—​expression flit across their faces. They were much too kind, however, to laugh or smile, or even to show a moment’s impatience. Little by little matters mended, and in a few weeks I became more fluent.

That mighty question of “chiffons,” which is usually thought to belong only to European womenkind, seemed to me to play quite as important a part in the minds of my new friends. One day, as I was admiring their beautiful silks, satins, and golden ornaments, Datu Isa (who was, you remember, the lady who had undertaken the care of me during the Rajah’s absence) said to me in a very ceremonious manner,

“You are the wife of our Rajah, and you ought to wear our dress.” I was simply delighted, and at once agreed. Lengthy discussions then took place as to what colours I should choose, and where the things should be made. Finally, the matter resolved itself into the Malay ladies joining together, and insisting on providing me with the whole dress, and I must say it was a beautiful one. The garment called “kain tape” (the Malay name for a woman’s skirt) consists of a narrow sheath; this was folded and tucked under my armpits, and made to cover my feet. It was woven in red-and-gold brocade. My jacket was of dark blue satin, and had gold rosettes sewn over it. The collar of the jacket was edged with plaques of gold, fastening in front with a larger clasp, shaped like outstretched wings. All down the sleeves of the jacket, which were slashed up to the elbow, were tiny buttons of gold that jingled like bells. A gauzy scarf of white and gold, obtained from Mecca, covered my head, and a wide wrap of green silk and gold brocade was flung over the left shoulder ready to cover my head and face when wearing the dress in my walks abroad. According to Datu Isa, my right eye alone should peep forth from the golden wrap on such occasions.

Datu Isa had a great many things to say as to the wearing of these garments. “You are my child, Rajah Ranee,” she said, “and I have thought a good deal as to whether, being a married woman, you ought to wear golden ornaments, because it is the custom in our country for virgins only to be thus decorated, but as you are the wife of our Rajah, I think that your Malay dress should be as splendid as possible, and we all agree that it will suit you well.” I did not share in this opinion. I loved wearing the dress, because of its beauty, but if the truth were told, a tall Englishwoman cannot expect to wear it with the grace which belongs to those tiny frail-looking daughters of the sun. They are all very small indeed, and the noiseless way they move about lends additional beauty to the dress. No European woman, accustomed as she is to freedom, exercise, and somewhat abrupt movements, can possibly imitate with any degree of success the way in which they glide about and manipulate their silken and gauzy draperies.

It is interesting to know the ideas Malay women entertain about the wearing of these clothes. I was somewhat embarrassed with the length of my sarong, ordered by Datu Isa, and arranged by her so that it should fall in folds draggling on the ground. “Never mind, Rajah Ranee,” she would say, “you will get accustomed to it by and by, and you must remember that the Rajah’s wife never shows her feet.” “But why?” I said to Datu Isa. “Because,” she answered, “she is never supposed to walk about. She must have servants and subjects at her call every moment of the day. Now, if you wear that dress properly, you would not fasten it in very securely anywhere, but you would sit on cushions almost motionless, because at the slightest movement your clothes would fall off. The wives of the Sultan of Brunei never secure their kain tapes.” This was all very well; moreover, it must be remembered that Datu Isa was strictly conservative. Her ideas concerning ceremonial dress and deportment in Sarawak were as rigid as were those of aristocratic old ladies in Early Victorian days. But Datu Isa’s daughter-in-law, Daiang Sahada, who is about my own age, reassured me when I felt a little anxious as to whether I could play my part satisfactorily and not derogate from the exalted position Datu Isa was always striving to put me in. “We understand, Rajah Ranee,” she would say. “You must not be too anxious; we all know Datu Isa; she is kind and good and you must humour her. Little by little, she will understand, and will not mind if you wear your kain tape so as to allow you to walk a yard or so.”

But talking of these sarongs and the wonderful cloths manufactured by the women of Sarawak, it always surprises me when I consider, given the idea that Sarawak was such an uncivilized country when the first Rajah went there, and that its people were sunk in a state of barbarism, how it was possible that the womenkind of the Malay population living in the place evolved the marvellous embroideries and brocades that nearly all the women of Sarawak are capable of weaving.

The patterns on these golden cloths are very similar, for no kain tape worn by the better classes of Sarawak women is considered quite correct unless the stuff, powdered all over its ground of red silk with open rosettes made of gold thread, is divided by a broad band of different pattern marked in gold thread in a series of Vandyck-shaped lines, reminding one of the dog-tooth design. Inside each tooth is an ornament, supposed by some to represent trees of life. This design is apparently to be met with all over Malaya.

Nor is the making of these cloths at all an easy matter. To help to amuse me and to while away the time, Datu Isa and her maidens brought to the Astana a great loom prepared with golden and silk threads, to teach me how to weave these brocades. The loom was so large that one could sit inside it. A sort of pad made of wood supported one’s back and acted as a lever with planks at one’s feet to keep the thread taut. A shuttle in each hand threw the thread backwards and forwards in the usual manner, but the effort of keeping the thread tight with one’s back and feet was a somewhat fatiguing experience. I must confess I never achieved many inches of these cloths, although it interested me much to learn the Malay methods of weaving them.

Datu Isa sometimes brought with her a friend, whom I got to know well. This lady was a Seripa, that is to say, a descendant of the great Prophet himself. Such descendants are numerous all over the Archipelago. I never quite made out how the many Serips[1] and Seripas[5] I met in Sarawak traced their descent from the great founder of Islam, but as their countrymen and women accepted their great position, it must have been unassailable, and I never attempted to solve the mystery. Seripa Madjena’s husband was also a Serip, for female descendants of the Prophet may not marry out of their rank, although Serips may marry whom they please. Serip Hussin was employed as an overseer at one of the Rajah’s coffee plantations not far from Kuching. Datu Isa told me, and I found out for myself, that Seripa Madjena could do most wonderful embroideries. As she was a poor woman, Datu Isa suggested that she should come so many hours a day to the Astana to work for me and to teach me her craft. Most Malay women, as I have said before, are able to embroider, and their methods greatly interested me. My first lesson was conducted in this fashion. The Seripa was seated in the middle of the floor of my sitting-room, and the lady Datus, their friends, and I, were seated round her to watch the proceedings. The Seripa asked for pieces of foolscap, which she cut into broad bands of about nine or ten inches wide and about a yard and a half in length. She then folded them into about five layers, and with a sharp penknife began punching out the design through the top layer. The penknife went in and out, cutting notches here, rounding circles there, without any preliminary lines to guide it. In fact, the Seripa was doing free-hand with a penknife! I had prepared boxes of betel-nut and sirih for the refreshments of my guests. Datu Isa never moved without her sirih box, and she prepared a mouthful of this delicacy for me from her own store. She took a leaf of betel-vine, smeared it with a little shell-lime, stuck a small portion of the areca-nut on the lime, wrapped the leaf into a bundle, and presented it to me. “Bagus sekali” (very nice), she said, and watched the effect on me as I began munching at this Malay delicacy. I did not like it, but did my best to appear as though I did. When the ladies present had been presented with betel-nut and sirih, we sat chewing in a silence only broken by ejaculations from the Seripa, together with long-drawn sighs and invocations to Allah. “She is working in earnest,” said Datu Isa. We all nodded assent, whilst giving vent to little grunts of approval. The punching went on, and the little scraps of paper lay like snow around the Seripa, who suddenly gave a louder sigh than usual and a more lengthy invocation to Allah, and shaking the pattern free from the cuttings of paper, we saw a delicate and flowing pattern of conventional leaves, of birds and of fishes, rustling itself free from her fingers to the floor. This improvised work over, she laid layers of foolscap one over the other, stuck them together, laid her prepared pattern on the top, and the punchings began afresh with the penknife. When the design was all cut out, the strip was laid over green satin stretched on a long, wooden frame, about a yard in length. We had chosen green, as it is the colour of the Prophet. The perforated pattern was stitched here and there on to the satin, and the Seripa worked gold thread backwards and forwards over the cardboard, until the design stood out from the satin background a compact mass of gold, recalling to my mind certain medieval church embroideries I knew of in Northern Italy, dating from the sixteenth century.

FOOTNOTES:

[5] Arabic: Sherif and Sheripa.