Noa Noa Page 7

  To avoid the murder of men, the Maoris resigned themselves to the killing of children. Let us note besides that cannibalism was already a custom when the Areois appeared, and that to combat it and to destroy its causes they introduced infanticide. One might say that infanticide already constituted a distinct mitigation in their customs, even though the sinister humor of this observation might serve as a subject for the amusement of a vaudevillist. Doubtless the Areois had to exercise extraordinary energy to accomplish even this degree of progress. Probably they were able to achieve it only by assuming unto themselves in the eyes of the people all the authority of the gods.

  Ultimately infanticide was a potent means of selection for the race. The terrible right of primogeniture, which was the right to life itself, kept the strength of the race intact in that it protected it from the malign influence of an exhausted blood. It kept alive furthermore in all these children from their earliest youth a consciousness of unalterable pride. The primitive force and the last flower of this pride are what we still admire in the last scions of a great but dying race.

  The constant spectacle and the frequent return of death was finally an austere but vivifying doctrine. The warriors learned to despise pain, and the entire nation obtained from it an intense emotional benefit which preserved it from tropical enervation and the languor of perpetual idleness. It is a historic fact that from the day on which sacrifice was forbidden by law the Maoris began to decline and finally lost all their moral vitality and physical fruitfulness. Even if this was not the cause, the coincidence, at least, remains a subject for thought.

  Perhaps the Areois even understood the deeper virtue and symbolic necessity of sacrifice . . . .

  In the society of the Areois, prostitution was a sacred duty. We have changed that. Prostitution has not ceased on Tahiti since we have heaped upon it the benevolences of our civilization. On the contrary it prospers. It is neither obligatory nor sacred. It is simply inexcusable and without grandeur.

  The religious dignity descended from father to son, and the initiation began in infancy.

  The society was originally divided into twelve lodges, which had as grand-masters the twelve first Areois. Then came the dignitaries of second rank, and finally the apprentices. The different grades were distinguished by special tatoo-markings on the arms, the sides of the body, the shoulders, and the ankle-joints.

  The Matumua of the Areois is a Maori scene of ancient times which took place at the enthronement of the king.

  The new ruler leaves the palace dressed in sumptuous robes, surrounded by the chief men of the island. The grand-masters of the Areois precede him with rare feathers in the hair.

  He goes with his train of attendants to the maraë.

  When the priests, waiting on the threshold, see him, they proclaim with loud sounding of trumpets and drums that the ceremony has begun.

  Then when the king has entered the temple they place a human sacrifice, a corpse, before the idol of the god.

  The king and the priests recite and sing prayers in unison, whereupon the priest tears out the two eyes from the sacrifice. He offers the right eye to the god, and the left to the king, who opens the mouth as if to swallow the bloody eye, but the priest forthwith withdraws it, and places it with the rest of the body.3

  Change of residence.

  The statue of the god is placed upon a carved litter borne by the priests. Seated upon the shoulders of the chief priest, the king then follows the idol as far as the sea-shore, accompanied by the Areois, as though he were about to set out on a journey. Dancing along the entire way, the priests do not cease sounding the trumpet and beating the drum.

  The multitude follows behind, silently and reverently.

  The sacred pirogue undulates gently in a little bay on the seashore. It has been decorated for this ceremony with green branches and flowers. The idol is first placed aboard. Then the king is disrobed of his vestments, and the priests lead him into the sea, where among the waves the Atuas Mao (god-sharks) come to caress and lave him.

  Thus consecrated a second time by the kiss of the sea under the eyes of the god, as he was the first time in the temple by the god himself, the king ascends into the pirogue. There the high priest girds his loins with the maro oüroü, and places around his head the taoü mata. They are the bands of sovereignty.

  Standing upright on the prow of the sacred pirogue, the king shows himself to the people.

  And at this sight the people finally break their long silence, and everywhere the solemn cry resounds,

  “Maëva Arii (long live the king)!”

  When the first tumult of joy has subsided, the king is placed upon the sacred couch where just now the idol has been. Then they take up their way to the maraë again, almost in the same order of procession in which they came.

  The priests again bear the idol. The chiefs bear the king. They open the procession again with their music and dancing.

  The people follow behind. But now having given themselves over to joy they cry continually,

  “Maëva Arii!”

  The idol is solemnly replaced on its altar.

  With this the religious ceremony is at an end, and now the popular celebration begins.

  Just as he held communion with the gods in the temple, and with nature in the sea, so the king must now hold communion with his people.4 The king, couched on mats, now receives the highest homage of the people.

  It is the frenzied homage of a savage people.

  The entire multitude expresses its love for a man, and that man is the king. Grandiose even to the point of horror and terror is this spectacle which is like a dialogue between a man and the multitude. To-morrow he will be supreme master, freely able to dispose over the destinies of those subject to him, and all the future is his. The multitude has only this hour.

  Men and women, entirely naked, circle around the king dancing lascivious dances. They strive to touch certain parts of his body with certain parts of theirs. It is not always possible to avoid contacts or to keep from contamination. The frenzy of the people increases; it turns into madness. The peaceful island vibrates with frightful cries. The falling evening shows the fantastic spectacle of a multitude in ecstatic madness.

  Suddenly the sound of the sacred trumpet and drum is heard again.

  The homage is at an end, the festival is over; the signal of retreat has sounded. Even the most delirious obey, and all subside. There is an abrupt, absolute silence.

  The king rises; solemnly and majestically he reenters the palace, accompanied by his suite.

  Since about a fortnight there have been swarms of flies which are rare at other times, and they have become insupportable.

  But the Maoris rejoice. The bonitos and tunny-fish are coming to the surface. The flies proclaim that the season for fishing is at hand, the season of labor. But let us not forget that on Tahiti work itself is pleasure.

  Everyone was testing the strength of his lines and hooks. Women and children with unusual activity busied themselves in dragging nets, or rather long grates of cocoanut leaves, upon the seashore, and the corals which occupied the sea bottom between the land and the reefs. By this method certain small bait-fish of which the tunny-fish are very fond are caught.

  After the preparations have been completed, which takes not less than three weeks, two large pirogues are tied together and launched upon the sea. They are furnished at the prow with a very long rod, which can be quickly raised by means of two lines fixed behind. The rod is supplied with a hook and bait. As soon as a fish has bitten it is drawn from the water and stored in the boat.

  We set out upon the sea on a beautiful morning—naturally I participated in the festival—and soon were beyond the line of reefs. We ventured quite a distance out into the open sea. I still see a turtle with the head above water, watching us pass.

  The fishermen were in a joyful mood, and rowed lustily. We came to a spot which they called “tunny-hole” where the sea is very deep, opposite the grottoes of Mara.5

/>   There, it is said, the tunny-fish sleep during the night at a depth inaccessible to the sharks.

  A cloud of sea-birds hovered above the hole on the alert for tunnies. When one of the fish appeared the birds dashed down with unbelievable rapidity, and then rose again with a ribbon of flesh in the beak.

  Thus everywhere in the sea and in the air, and even in our pirogues carnage is contemplated or carried out.

  When I ask my companions why they do not let a long line down to the bottom of the “tunny-hole,” they reply to me that it is impossible since it is a sacred place.

  “The god of the sea dwells there.”

  I suspect that there is a legend behind this, and without difficulty I succeed in getting them to tell it to me.

  Roüa Hatou, a kind of Tahitian Neptune, slept here at the bottom of the sea.

  A Maori was once foolhardy enough to fish here, and his hook caught in the hair of the god, and the god awoke.

  Filled with wrath he rose to the surface to see who had the temerity to disturb his sleep. When he saw that the guilty one was a man, he decided that all the human race must perish to expiate the impiety of one.

  By some mysterious indulgence, however, the author himself of the crime escaped punishment.

  The god ordered him to go with all his family upon Toa Marama, which according to some is an island or mountain, and according to others a pirogue or an “ark.”

  When the fisher and his family had gone to the designated place, the waters of the ocean began to rise. Slowly they covered even the highest mountains, and all the living perished except those who had taken flight upon (or in) Toa Marama.

  Later they repeopled the islands.6

  We left the “tunny-hole” behind us, and the master of the pirogue designated a man to extend the rod over the sea and cast out the hook.

  We waited long minutes, but not a bite came.

  It was now the turn of another oarsman; this time a magnificent tunny-fish bit and made the rod bend downward. Four powerful arms raised it by pulling at the ropes behind, and the tunny appeared on the surface. But simultaneously a huge shark leaped across the waves. He struck a few times with his terrible teeth, and nothing was left on the hook except the head.

  The master gave a signal. I cast out the hook.

  In a very short time we caught an enormous tunny. Without paying much attention to it, I heard my companions laughing and whispering among themselves. Killed by blows on the head, the animal quivered in its death agony in the bottom of the boat. Its body was transformed into a gleaming many-faceted mirror, sending out the lights of a thousand fires.

  The second time I was lucky again.

  Decidedly, the Frenchman brought good luck. My companions joyously congratulated me, insisted that I was a lucky fellow, and I, quite proud of myself, did not make denial.

  But amid all this unanimity of praise, I distinguished, as at the time of my first exploit, an unexplained whispering and laughter.

  The fishing continued until evening.

  When the store of small bait-fish was exhausted, the sun lighted red flames on the horizon, and our pirogue was laden with ten magnificent tunny-fish.

  They were preparing to return.

  While things were being put in order, I asked one of the young fellows as to the meaning of the exchange of whispered words and the laughter which had accompanied my two captures. He refused to reply. But I was insistent, knowing very well how little power of resistance a Maori has and how quickly he gives in to energetic pressure.

  Finally he confided to me. If the fish is caught with the hook in the lower jaw—and both my tunnies were thus caught—it signifies that the vahina is unfaithful during the tané’s absence.

  I smiled incredulously.

  And we returned.

  Night falls quickly in the tropics. It is important to forestall it. Twenty-two alert oars dipped and redipped simultaneously into the sea, and to stimulate themselves the rowers uttered cries in rhythm with their strokes. Our pirogues left a phosphorescent wake behind.

  I had the sensation of a mad flight. The angry masters of the ocean were pursuing us. Around us the frightened and curious fish leaped like fantastic troupes of indefinite figures.

  In two hours we were approaching the outermost reefs.

  The sea beats furiously here, and the passage is dangerous on account of the surf. It is not an easy maneuver to steer the pirogue correctly. But the natives are skillful. Much interested and not entirely without fear, I followed the operation, which was executed perfectly.

  The land ahead of us was illumined with moving fires. They were enormous torches made of the dry branches of the cocoanut-trees. It was a magnificent picture. The families of the fishermen were awaiting us on the sand on the edge of the illumined water. Some of the figures remained seated and motionless; others ran along the shore waving the torches; the children leaped hither and thither and their shrill cries could be heard from afar.

  With powerful movement the pirogue ran up on the sand.

  Immediately they proceeded to the division of the booty.

  All the fish were laid on the ground, and the master divided them into as many equal parts as there were persons—men, women, and children—who had taken part in the fishing for the tunnies or in the catching of the little fish used for bait.

  There were thirty-seven parts.

  Without loss of time, my vahina took the hatchet, split some wood, and lighted the fire while I was changing clothes and putting on some wraps on account of the evening chill.

  One of our two parts was cooked; her own Tehura put away raw.

  Then she asked me fully about the various happenings of the day, and I willingly satisfied her curiosity. With child-like contentment she took pleasure in everything, and I watched her without letting her suspect the secret thoughts which were occupying me. Deep down within me without any plausible cause, a feeling of disquietude had awakened which it was no longer possible to calm. I was burning to put a certain question to Tehura, a certain question . . . and it was vain for me to ask of myself, “To what good?” I, myself, replied, “Who knows?”

  At home.

  The hour of going to bed had come, and, when we were both stretched out side by side, I suddenly asked,

  “Have you been sensible?”

  “Yes. ”

  “And your lover to-day, was he to your liking?”

  “I have no lover.”

  “You lie. The fish has spoken.”

  Tehura raised herself and looked fixedly at me. Her face had imprinted upon it an extraordinary expression of mysticism and majesty and strange grandeur with which I was unfamiliar and which I would never have expected to see in her naturally joyous and still almost child-like face.

  The atmosphere in our little hut was transformed. I felt that something sublime had risen up between us. In spite of myself I yielded to the influence of Faith, and I was waiting for a message from above. I did not doubt that this message would come; but the sterile vanity of our skepticism still had its influence over me, in spite of the glowing sureness of a faith like this rooted though it was in some superstition or other.

  Tehura softly crept to our door to make sure that it was tightly shut, and having come back as far as the center of the room, she spoke aloud this prayer:

  Save me! Save me!

  It is evening, it is evening of the Gods!

  Watch close over me, Oh my God!

  Watch over me, Oh my Lord!

  Preserve me from enchantments and evil counsels.

  Preserve me from sudden death,

  And from those who send evil and curses;

  Guard me from quarrels over the division of the lands,

  That peace may reign about us!

  Oh my God, protect me from raging warriors!

  Protect me from him who in erring threatens me,

  Who takes pleasure in making me tremble,

  Against him whose hairs are always bristling!

  To the
end that I and my soul may live,

  Oh my God!

  That evening, I verily joined in prayer with Tehura.

  When she had finished her prayer, she came over to me and said with her eyes full of tears,

  “You must strike me, strike me many, many times.”

  In the profound expression of this face and in the perfect beauty of this statue of living flesh, I had a vision of the divinity herself who had been conjured up by Tehura.

  Let my hands be eternally cursed if they will raise themselves against a masterpiece of nature!

  Thus naked, the eyes tranquil in the tears, she seemed to me robed in a mantle of orange-yellow purity, in the orange-yellow mantle of Bhixu.

  She repeated,

  “You must strike me, strike me many, many times; otherwise you will be angry for a long time and you will be sick. ”

  I kissed her.

  And now that I love without suspicion and love her as much as I admire her, I murmur these words of Buddha to myself,

  “By kindness you must conquer anger; by goodness evil; and by the truth lies.”

  That night was divine, more than any of the others—and the day rose radiant.

  Early in the morning her mother brought us some fresh cocoanuts.

  With a glance she questioned Tehura. She knew.

  With a fine play of expression, she said to me,

  “You went fishing yesterday. Did all go well?”

  I replied,

  “I hope soon to go again.”

  I was compelled to return to France. Imperative family affairs called me back.

  Farewell, hospitable land, land of delights, home of liberty and beauty!

  I am leaving, older by two years, but twenty years younger; more barbarian than when I arrived, and yet much wiser.

  Yes, indeed, the savages have taught many things to the man of an old civilization; these ignorant men have taught him much in the art of living and happiness.