NEW ZEALAND--_Continued_.
THE TAPU.
THE TAPU, OR LAW OF PROHIBITION -- TAPU A SUBSTITUTE FOR GOVERNMENT
-- PROTECTION TO PROPERTY AND MORALS -- ABUSE OF THE TAPU -- THE
CHIEF AND THE SAILOR -- THE CHIEF AND HIS MAT -- A VALUABLE SPLINTER
-- THE HEAD OF THE CHIEF -- AN UNLUCKY MISTAKE -- HOW TAONUI GOT HIS
ARMOR -- HAIR CUTTING -- TROUBLES OF AN ARTIST -- THE CARVED HEAD
-- TE-WHERO-WHERO AND HIS PORTRAIT -- THE TAPU MOUNTAIN -- BANEFUL
EFFECTS OF THE TAPU ON NATIVE ART -- DESTRUCTION OF THE PAHS AND
HOUSES -- THE TERMINABLE TAPU -- THE BATTLE-TAPU -- TAKING OFF THE
TAPU -- DUTY OF THE TOHUNGA -- THE TAPU THE STRENGTH OF THE CHIEFS.
We now come naturally to the custom of Tapu or Taboo, that
extraordinary system which extends throughout the whole of Polynesia,
modified slightly according to the locality in which it exists.
The general bearings of the law of tapu may be inferred from the
sense of the word, which signifies prohibition. The system of tapu is
therefore a law of prohibition, and, when stripped of the extravagances
into which it often deteriorates, it is seen to be a very excellent
system, and one that answers the purpose of a more elaborate code of
laws. In countries where an organized government is employed the tapu
is needless, and we find that even in those parts of the earth where
it was once the only restrictive law it has fallen into disuse since
regular government has been introduced.
Were it not for the law of tapu, an absolute anarchy would prevail in
most parts of Polynesia, the tapu being the only guardian of property
and morality. In order that it may be enforced on the people, the
terrors of superstition are called into play, and, in the absence of
secular law, the spiritual powers are evoked.
Unprotected by the tapu, property could not exist: protected by it,
the most valued and coveted articles are safer than they would be in
England or America despite the elaborate legal system that secures
to every man that which is his own. In New Zealand, when a man has
cultivated a field of kumeras, or sweet potatoes, he needs no fence and
no watchman. He simply sends for the tohunga, who lays the tapu on the
field; and from that moment no one save the owner will venture within
its boundaries.
Sometimes a canoe is hauled up on the beach, and must be left there
for some time unwatched. The owner need not trouble himself about
securing his vessel. He has the tapu mark placed upon it, and the boat
is accordingly held sacred to all except its possessor. Similarly, if a
native boat-builder fixes on a tree which he thinks can be made into a
canoe, he places the tapu on it, and knows that no one but himself will
dare to cut it down. The mark of tapu in this case is almost invariably
the removal of a strip of bark round the trunk of the tree.
Then the system of tapu is the only guardian of morals. It has been
already mentioned that an extreme laxity in this respect prevails among
the unmarried girls. But as soon as a girl is married she becomes
tapu to all but her husband, and any one who induces her to become
unfaithful must pay the penalty of the tapu if the delinquents be
discovered. Nor is the tapu restricted to married women. It is also
extended to young girls when they are betrothed; and any girl on whom
the tapu has thus been laid is reckoned as a married woman.
It will be seen, therefore, that the principle of the tapu is a good
one, and that it serves as protection both to property and morals.
There are, of course, many instances where this system has run into
extravagances, and where, instead of a protection, it has developed
into a tyranny.
Take, for example, the very praiseworthy idea that the life of a chief
is most important to his people, and that his person is therefore
considered as tapu. This is a proper and wholesome idea, and is
conducive to the interests of law and justice. But the development of
the system becomes a tyranny. The chief himself being tapu, everything
that he touched, even with the skirt of his garment, became tapu, and
thenceforth belonged to him. So ingrained is this idea that on one
occasion, when a great chief was wearing a large and handsome mantle
and found it too heavy for a hot day, he threw it down a precipice. His
companion remonstrated with him, saying that it would have been better
to have hung the mat on a bough, so that the next comer might make
use of it. The chief was horror-struck at such an idea. It was hardly
possible that a superior to himself should find the mat, and not likely
that an equal should do so, and if an inferior were to wear it, he
would at once die.
As the very contact of a chiefs garment renders an object tapu, _à
fortiori_ does his blood, and one drop of the blood of a chief falling
upon even such objects as are free from the ordinary laws of tapu
renders them his property. A curious example of the operation of this
law occurred when a meeting of chiefs was called at the Taupo lake. As
the principal man of the tribes, the celebrated chief Te Heu-heu was
invited, and a new and beautifully carved canoe sent to fetch him. As
he stepped into it, a splinter ran into his foot, inflicting a very
slight wound. Every man leaped out of the canoe, which was at once
drawn up on the beach and considered as the property of Te Heu-heu.
Another canoe was procured, and in it the party proceeded on their
journey.
Another kind of tapu takes place with regard to any object which is
connected with the death of a native. If, for example, a Maori has
fallen overboard from a canoe and been drowned, the vessel can never
be used again, but is tapu. Or if a man commits suicide by shooting
himself, as has already been mentioned, the musket is tapu. But in
these cases the articles are tapu to the atuas, and not to men.
Sometimes they are left to decay on the spot, no man daring to touch
them, or they are broken to pieces, and the fragments stuck upright in
the earth to mark the spot where the event occurred.
Sometimes this personal tapu becomes exceedingly inconvenient. The wife
of an old and venerable tohunga had been ill, and was made tapu for a
certain length of time, during which everything that she touched became
tapu. Even the very ground on which she sat was subject to this law,
and accordingly, whenever she rose from the ground, the spot on which
she had sat was surrounded with a fence of small boughs stuck archwise
into the earth, in order to prevent profane feet from polluting the
sacred spot.
The most sacred object that a New Zealander can imagine is the head of
the chief. It is so sacred that even to mention it is considered as an
affront. Europeans have often given deadly offence through ignorance of
this superstition, or even through inadvertence. Mr. Angas narrates a
curious instance of such an adventure. A friend of his was talking to a
Maori chief over his fence, and the conversation turned upon the crops
of the year. Quite inadvertently he said to the chief, “Oh, I have in
my garden some apples as large as that little boy’s head”--pointing at
the same time to the chief’s son, who was standing near his father.
He saw in a moment the insult that he had offered, and apologized, but
the chief was so deeply hurt that it was with the greatest difficulty
that a reconciliation was brought about. The simile was a peculiarly
unfortunate one. To use the head of a chiefs son as a comparison at
all was bad enough, but to compare it to an article of food was about
the most deadly insult that could be offered to a Maori. All food and
the various processes of preparation are looked down upon with utter
contempt by the free Maori, who leaves all culinary operations to the
slaves or “cookies.”
One of the very great chiefs of New Zealand was remarkable for his
snowy white hair and beard, which gave him a most venerable aspect. He
was held in the highest respect, and was so extremely sacred a man that
his head might only be mentioned in comparison with the snow-clad top
of the sacred mountain.
The same traveller to whom we are indebted for the previous anecdote
relates a curious story illustrative of this etiquette. There was a
certain old chief named Taonui, who was in possession of the original
suit of armor which was given by George IV. to E’ Hongi when he visited
England. “The subsequent history of this armor is somewhat curious. It
passed from the Nga Puis to Tetori and from Tetori to Te Whero-Whero
at the Waikato feast, and came into Taonui’s hands under the following
circumstances.
“On the death of a favorite daughter Te Whero-Whero made a song, the
substance of which was, that he would take off the scalps of all the
chiefs except Ngawaka, and fling them into his daughter’s grave to
avenge her untimely death. The words of this song highly insulted the
various individuals against whom it was directed, more especially as
it was a great curse for the hair of a chief, which is sacred, to be
thus treated with contempt. But the only chief who dared to resent this
insult from so great a man as Te Whero-Whero was Taonui, who demanded a
‘taua,’ or gift, as recompense for the affront, and received the armor
of E’ Hongi in compensation.
“I made a drawing of the armor, which was old and rusty. It was of
steel, inlaid with brass, and, though never worn by the possessors in
battle--for it would sadly impede their movements--it is regarded with
a sort of superstitious veneration by the natives, who look upon it as
something extraordinary.”
A chief’s head is so exceedingly sacred that, if he should touch it
with his own fingers, he may not touch anything else without having
applied the hand to his nostrils and smelt it so as to restore to the
head the virtue which was taken out of it by the touch. The hair of a
chief is necessarily sacred, as growing upon his head. When it is cut,
the operation is generally confided to one of his wives, who receives
every particle of the cut hair in a cloth, and buries it in the ground.
In consequence of touching the chief’s head, she becomes tapu for a
week, during which time her hands are so sacred that she is not allowed
to use them. Above all things, she may not feed herself, because she
would then be obliged to pollute her hands by touching food, and such a
deed would be equivalent to putting food on the chief’s head--a crime
of such enormity that the mind of a Maori could scarcely comprehend its
possibility.
When engaged in his explorations in New Zealand, and employed in
sketching every object of interest which came in his way, Mr. Angas
found this notion about the chief’s head to be a very troublesome one.
He was not allowed to portray anything connected with food with the
same pencil with which he sketched the head of a chief, and to put a
drawing of a potato, a dish for food, or any such object, into the same
portfolio which contained the portrait of a chief, was thought to be a
most fearful sacrilege.
The artist had a narrow escape of losing the whole of his sketches,
which a chief named Ko Tarui wanted to burn, as mixing sacred with
profane things. They were only rescued by the intervention of Te
Heu-heu, a superstitious old savage, but capable of seeing that the
white man had meant no harm. Warned by this escape, Mr. Angas always
made his drawings of tapu objects by stealth, and often had very great
difficulty in eluding the suspicious natives.
Even the carved image of a chief’s head is considered as sacred as the
object which it represents. Dr. Dieffenbach relates a curious instance
of this superstition.
“In one of the houses of Te Puai, the head chief of all the Waikato,
I saw a bust, made by himself, with all the serpentine lines of the
moko, or tattooing. I asked him to give it to me, but it was only after
much pressing that he parted with it. I had to go to his house to fetch
it myself, as none of his tribe could legally touch it, and he licked
it all over before he gave it to me; whether to take the tapu off, or
whether to make it more strictly sacred, I do not know. He particularly
engaged me not to put it into the provision bag, nor to let it see the
natives at Rotu-nua, whither I was going, or he would certainly die in
consequence.
“Payment for the bust he would not take; but he had no objection to
my making him a present of my own free will: which I accordingly did,
presenting him and his wife with a shirt each.”
Once the natives were very angry because Mr. Angas went under a cooking
shed, having with him the portfolio containing the head of Te Heu-heu.
Even his hands were tapu because they had painted the portrait of so
great a chief, and he was subjected to many annoyances in consequence.
Finding that the tapu was likely to become exceedingly inconvenient, he
put a stop to further encroachments by saying that, if the people made
any more complaints, he would put Te Heu-heu’s head into the fire. This
threat shocked them greatly, but had the desired effect.
Sometimes this sanctity of the chief is exceedingly inconvenient to
himself. On one occasion, when Mr. Angas was visiting the chief Te
Whero-Whero, he found the great man superintending the plantation of
a kumera ground and the erection of a house for himself. Rain was
falling fast, but the old chief sat on the damp ground, wrapped up in
his blanket, and appearing to be entirely unconcerned at the weather, a
piece of sail-cloth over the blanket being his only defence.
He did not rise, according to the custom of the old heathen chiefs,
who will sometimes sit for several days together, in a sort of
semi-apathetic state. To the request that his portrait might be taken
Te Whero-Whero graciously acceded, and talked freely on the all
important subject of land while the painter was at work. Finding the
rain exceedingly unpleasant, the artist suggested that they had better
move into a house. The old chief, however, knowing that he could not
enter a house without making it his property by reason of contact
with his sacred person, declined to move, but ordered a shelter to
be erected for the white man. This was done at once, by fastening a
blanket to some upright poles: and so the portrait was completed, the
painter under cover and the sitter out in the rain.
Localities can be rendered tapu, even those which have not been touched
by the person who lays the tapu upon them. The chief Te Heu-heu, for
example, was pleased to declare the volcano Tongariro under the tapu,
by calling it his backbone, so that not a native would dare approach
it, nor even look at it, if such an act could be avoided. Mr. Angas was
naturally desirous of visiting this mountain, but found that such a
scheme could not be carried out. He offered blankets and other articles
which a New Zealander prizes; but all to no purpose, for the tapu could
not be broken. The chief even tried to prevent his white visitors from
travelling in the direction of the mountain, and only gave his consent
after ordering that the sacred Tongariro should not even be looked
at. So deeply is this superstition engraven in the heart of the New
Zealander, that even the Christian natives are afraid of such a tapu,
and will not dare to approach a spot that has thus been made sacred
by a tohunga. Reasoning is useless with them; they will agree to all
the propositions, admit the inference to be drawn from them, and then
decline to run so terrible a risk.
One of the finest examples of native architecture was made tapu by this
same chief, who seems to have had a singular pleasure in exercising
his powers. It was a pah called Waitahanui, and was originally the
stronghold of Te Heu-heu. It is on the borders of the lake, and the
side which fronts the water is a full half-mile in length. It is made,
as usual, of upright posts and stakes, and most of the larger posts
are carved into the human form, with visages hideously distorted, and
tongues protruded seaward, as if in defiance of expected enemies.
Within this curious pah were the cannibal cook-houses which have
already been figured, together with several of the beautifully carved
patukas or receptacles for the sacred food of the chief. Specimens of
these may be seen figured on page 831. In this pah Mr. Angas found
the most elaborate specimen of the patuka that he ever saw. It was
fortunate that he arrived when he did, as a very few years more would
evidently complete the destruction of the place. Many of the most
beautiful implements of native art were already so decayed that they
were but a shapeless heap of ruins, and the others, were rapidly
following in the same path. Of these specimens of Maori carving and
architecture nothing is now left but the sketches from which have been
made the illustrations that appear in this work.
Here I may be allowed to controvert a popular and plausible fallacy,
which has often been brought before the public. Travellers are blamed
for bringing to England specimens of architecture and other arts from
distant countries. It is said, and truly too, that such articles are
out of place in England. So they are: but it must be remembered that
if they had not been in England they would not have been in existence.
The marvellous sarcophagus, for example, brought to London by Belzoni,
and now in the Soane Museum, would have been broken to pieces and
hopelessly destroyed if it had been allowed to remain in the spot where
it was found.
Again, had not the Assyrian sculptures found a home in the British
Museum, they would have been knocked to pieces by the ignorant tribes
who now roam over the ruins of Nineveh the Great. Even had the vast
statues defied entire destruction, the inscriptions would long ago have
been defaced, and we should have irreparably lost some of the most
valuable additions to our scanty knowledge of chronology.
So again with the Elgin Marbles. Undoubtedly they were more in their
place in Greece than they are in England; but, if they had not been
brought to England, the iconoclastic hand of the Mussulman would have
utterly destroyed them, and the loss to art would have been indeed
terrible.
Thus is it with regard to the specimens of savage art, no matter in
what way it is developed. Taking New Zealand as an example, there is
not in England a single specimen of a Maori house. It could be easily
taken to pieces and put together again; it is peculiarly valuable to
ethnologists on account of the extraordinary mixture which it displays
of ancient Egyptian architecture and ancient Mexican art; and in a
very few years there will not be a single specimen of aboriginal
architecture in the whole of New Zealand. The Maories, who have
abandoned the club for the rifle, the mat for the blanket, and even the
blanket for the coat and trousers, have begun to modify their ancient
architecture, and to build houses after the European models.
Unless, therefore, means be taken to rescue specimens of Maori
architecture from destruction, it is much to be doubted whether in
twenty years’ time from the present date a single specimen will
exist as a type of native art. So it is with the canoes. Graceful,
picturesque, and adorned with the finest specimens of Maori art, the
canoes were unique among vessels. At the present day the more useful
but more commonplace whaleboat has superseded the canoe, and in a
few years the elaborately decorated vessels of the Maories will have
utterly passed away.
We may be sure that the tide of civilization is sweeping so rapidly
over the world, that a very few years will see the end of savage life
in all lands to which the white man can gain access. The relics of the
ancient mode of life are left by the natives to perish, and, unless
they are rescued, and brought to a country where they can be preserved,
they will necessarily vanish from the face of the earth. Having this
idea in my own mind, I set myself some years ago to collect articles
of daily use from all parts of the world. The light which they throw
upon anthropology is really astonishing, and, among some eight or nine
hundred specimens, there is not one that does not tell its own story.
Take, for example, the stone merai that lies before me. What a tale
does it not tell of the country where it was found, and of the workman
who made it! The stone shows that it was obtained from a volcanic
country; the short, weighty form of the weapon shows that it was made
for a courageous race who fought hand to hand; and the graceful curves
and perfect balance of the weapon show that the maker was a true
artist. More than that. The merai has been made by rubbing it with
another stone, and must have occupied years of labor. See, then, what a
tale this weapon tells us--the volcanic region, the courageous warrior,
and the worthlessness of time. Year after year the man must have worked
at that merai, bending his tattooed face over it, balancing it in his
hand, and watching its soft curves grow into perfection. Then, after it
was made, he has evidently carried it about with him, fought with his
foes, and dashed out their brains with its once sharp and now notched
edge. Afterward, when he, or may be his grandson, came to fight against
the white men, their fire-arms were too terrible to be opposed, and
the merai was taken from the hand of the dead warrior as he lay on the
field of battle, its plaited cord still round his wrist. Nevermore will
a stone merai be made, and before very long the best examples of Maori
weapons will be found in English museums.
We will now return to the subject of the tapu. Useful as it may be as a
guardian of property, it often exaggerates that duty, and produces very
inconvenient results. For example, some travellers were passing through
the country, and were hungry and wearied, and without food. Very
opportunely there came in sight a fine pig; but the animal contrived to
run across a piece of ground which was tapu, and in consequence became
tapu itself for a certain number of days, and could not be eaten.
There are thousands of such tapu spots in the country. If, for example,
a great chief has been travelling, every place where he sits to rest is
tapu, and is marked by a slight fence of sticks. In many cases, each of
these sacred spots has its own name. The same is the case when the body
of a chief is carried to his own pah for burial, every resting place of
the bearers becoming tapu. Therefore nothing was more likely than to
come across one of these tapu spots, or more easy than for the pig to
break through its slight fence.
A curious modification of the tapu took place before and after a
battle. The tohunga assembled the warriors of his own party, and went
with them to the lake or river, which had been made tapu for the
purpose. The men then threw off all their clothing, and went into the
water, which they scooped up with their hands and threw over their
heads and bodies. The priest then recited the appropriate incantation.
Thus the battle tapu was laid upon the warriors, who were thereby
prohibited from undertaking any other business except that of fighting,
and were supposed, moreover, to be under the protection of the gods.
This tapu was most strictly regarded, and the warriors had to learn
quite a long list of occupations which were forbidden to them, such as
carrying a load, cutting their own hair, touching the head of a woman,
and so forth.
After the fighting is over, it is necessary that the tapu should be
taken off from the survivors, so that they should be enabled to return
to their usual mode of life. This ceremony is rather a complicated
one, and varies slightly in different parts of the country. The chief
features, however, are as follows:--
Each man who had killed an enemy, or taken a slave, pulled off a lock
of hair from the victim, and retained it as a trophy. They then went
in a body to the tohunga, and gave him a portion of the hair. This he
tied on a couple of little twigs, raised them high above his head,
and recited the incantation; after which the whole body joined in the
war song and dance. This being over, the warriors clapped their hands
together and struck their legs, that act being supposed to take off the
tapu which had been contracted by imbruing them in the blood of the
enemy.
The war party then goes home, and a similar ceremony is undergone in
the presence of the principal tohunga of their pah, the hands being
clapped and the war dance performed. The remainder of the hair is given
to the tohunga, who, after reciting his incantation, flings the tuft
of hair away, and ends by another incantation, which declares that the
tapu is taken away.
As a general rule, the tapu can only be taken off by the person who
imposed it; but if a man imposed a tapu on anything, another who was
very much his superior would not have much scruple in breaking through
it. By courtesy the tapu was mostly respected by great and small alike,
and, by courtesy also, the very great men often put themselves to great
inconvenience by refraining from actions that would lay the tapu on the
property of inferiors. Thus we have seen how a chief refused to enter a
house, lest he should render it his property, and preferred to sit in
the pouring rain, rather than run the risk of depriving an inferior of
his property.
Should an object become tapu by accident, the tohunga can take off the
tapu and restore the object to use. A curious instance of the exercise
of this power is related by a traveller. A white man, who had borrowed
an iron pot for cooking, wanted some soft water, and so he placed the
pot under the eaves of a house from which the rain was running. Now,
the house happened to be tapu, and in consequence the water running
from it made the pot tapu. It so happened that a woman, who was
ignorant of the circumstance, used the pot for cooking, and when she
was told that the vessel was tapu she was greatly frightened, declaring
that she would die before night. In this difficulty a tohunga came to
her relief, repeated an incantation over the vessel, and made it “noa,”
or common, again.
Sometimes the tapu only lasts for a period, and, after that time has
elapsed, expires without the need of any ceremony. Thus, if a person
who is tapu by sickness is touched by another, the latter is tapu for
a definite time, usually three days. If a sick person dies inside a
house, that house is _ipso facto_, tapu and may never again be used.
It is painted with red ochre, as a sign of its sanctity, and is left
to decay. In consequence of this superstition, when the patient seems
likely to die, he is removed from the house, and taken to a spot
outside the pah, where a shed is built for his reception.
It will be seen from the foregoing account how great is the power of
the tapu, and how much it adds to the power of the chiefs. Indeed,
without the power of tapu, a chief would be but a common man among
his people--he would be liable to the tapu of others, and could not
impose his own. The tapu is one of the chief obstacles against the
spread of Christianity. Knowing that the missionaries treat the tapu
as a mere superstition, the great chiefs do not choose to embrace a
religion which will cause them to lose their highest privilege, and
would deprive them of the one great power by which they exercise their
authority.
Mr. Williams, the well-known missionary, sums up the subject of the
tapu in very bold and graphic language:--“It is the secret of power,
and the strength of despotic rule. It affects things both great
and small. Here it is seen tending a brood of chickens, and there
it directs the energies of a kingdom. Its influence is variously
diffused. Coasts, islands, rivers, and seas; animals, fruit, fish, and
vegetables; houses, beds, pots, cups, and dishes; canoes, with all that
belong to them, with their management; dress, ornaments, and arms;
things to eat and things to drink; the members of the body; the manners
and customs; language, names, temper; and even the gods also; all come
under the influence of the tapu.
“It is put into operation by religious, political, or selfish motives;
and idleness lounges for months beneath its sanction. Many are thus
forbidden to raise their hands or extend their arms in any useful
employment for a long time. In this district it is tapu to build
canoes; on that island it is tapu to erect good houses. The custom is
much in favor among chiefs, who adjust it so that it sits easily on
themselves, while they use it to gain influence over those who are
nearly their equals; by it they supply many of their wants, and command
at will all who are beneath them. In imposing a tapu, a chief need only
be checked by a care that he is countenanced by ancient precedents.”