THE bays of Anaho and Hatiheu are divided at their roots by the knife-edge of a single hill — the pass so often mentioned; but this isthmus1 expands to the seaward in a considerable peninsula: very bare and grassy2; haunted by sheep and, at night and morning, by the piercing cries of the shepherds; wandered over by a few wild goats; and on its sea-front indented3 with long, clamorous4 caves, and faced with cliffs of the colour and ruinous outline of an old peat-stack. In one of these echoing and sunless gullies we saw, clustered like sea-birds on a splashing ledge5, shrill6 as sea-birds in their salutation to the passing boat, a group of fisherwomen, stripped to their gaudy7 under-clothes. (The clash of the surf and the thin female voices echo in my memory.) We had that day a native crew and steersman, Kauanui; it was our first experience of Polynesian seamanship, which consists in hugging every point of land. There is no thought in this of saving time, for they will pull a long way in to skirt a point that is embayed. It seems that, as they can never get their houses near enough the surf upon the one side, so they can never get their boats near enough upon the other. The practice in bold water is not so dangerous as it looks — the reflex from the rocks sending the boat off. Near beaches with a heavy run of sea, I continue to think it very hazardous8, and find the composure of the natives annoying to behold9. We took unmingled pleasure, on the way out, to see so near at hand the beach and the wonderful colours of the surf. On the way back, when the sea had risen and was running strong against us, the fineness of the steersman’s aim grew more embarrassing. As we came abreast10 of the sea-front, where the surf broke highest, Kauanui embraced the occasion to light his pipe, which then made the circuit of the boat — each man taking a whiff or two, and, ere he passed it on, filling his lungs and cheeks with smoke. Their faces were all puffed11 out like apples as we came abreast of the cliff foot, and the bursting surge fell back into the boat in showers. At the next point ‘cocanetti’ was the word, and the stroke borrowed my knife, and desisted from his labours to open nuts. These untimely indulgences may be compared to the tot of grog served out before a ship goes into action.
My purpose in this visit led me first to the boys’ school, for Hatiheu is the university of the north islands. The hum of the lesson came out to meet us. Close by the door, where the draught12 blew coolest, sat the lay brother; around him, in a packed half — circle, some sixty high-coloured faces set with staring eyes; and in the background of the barn-like room benches were to be seen, and blackboards with sums on them in chalk. The brother rose to greet us, sensibly humble13. Thirty years he had been there, he said, and fingered his white locks as a bashful child pulls out his pinafore. ‘ET POINT DE RESULTATS, MONSIEUR, PRESQUE PAS DE RESULTATS.’ He pointed14 to the scholars: ‘You see, sir, all the youth of Nuka-hiva and Ua-pu. Between the ages of six and fifteen this is all that remains15; and it is but a few years since we had a hundred and twenty from Nuka-hiva alone. OUI, MONSIEUR, CELA SE DEPERIT.’ Prayers, and reading and writing, prayers again and arithmetic, and more prayers to conclude: such appeared to be the dreary16 nature of the course. For arithmetic all island people have a natural taste. In Hawaii they make good progress in mathematics. In one of the villages on Majuro, and generally in the Marshall group, the whole population sit about the trader when he is weighing copra, and each on his own slate17 takes down the figures and computes18 the total. The trader, finding them so apt, introduced fractions, for which they had been taught no rule. At first they were quite gravelled but ultimately, by sheer hard thinking, reasoned out the result, and came one after another to assure the trader he was right. Not many people in Europe could have done the like. The course at Hatiheu is therefore less dispiriting to Polynesians than a stranger might have guessed; and yet how bald it is at best! I asked the brother if he did not tell them stories, and he stared at me; if he did not teach them history, and he said, ‘O yes, they had a little Scripture19 history — from the New Testament’; and repeated his lamentations over the lack of results. I had not the heart to put more questions; I could but say it must be very discouraging, and resist the impulse to add that it seemed also very natural. He looked up — ‘My days are far spent,’ he said; ‘heaven awaits me.’ May that heaven forgive me, but I was angry with the old man and his simple consolation21. For think of his opportunity! The youth, from six to fifteen, are taken from their homes by Government, centralised at Hatiheu, where they are supported by a weekly tax of food; and, with the exception of one month in every year, surrendered wholly to the direction of the priests. Since the escapade already mentioned the holiday occurs at a different period for the girls and for the boys; so that a Marquesan brother and sister meet again, after their education is complete, a pair of strangers. It is a harsh law, and highly unpopular; but what a power it places in the hands of the instructors22, and how languidly and dully is that power employed by the mission! Too much concern to make the natives pious23, a design in which they all confess defeat, is, I suppose, the explanation of their miserable24 system. But they might see in the girls’ school at Tai-o-hae, under the brisk, housewifely sisters, a different picture of efficiency, and a scene of neatness, airiness, and spirited and mirthful occupation that should shame them into cheerier methods. The sisters themselves lament20 their failure. They complain the annual holiday undoes25 the whole year’s work; they complain particularly of the heartless indifference26 of the girls. Out of so many pretty and apparently27 affectionate pupils whom they have taught and reared, only two have ever returned to pay a visit of remembrance to their teachers. These, indeed, come regularly, but the rest, so soon as their school-days are over, disappear into the woods like captive insects. It is hard to imagine anything more discouraging; and yet I do not believe these ladies need despair. For a certain interval28 they keep the girls alive and innocently busy; and if it be at all possible to save the race, this would be the means. No such praise can be given to the boys’ school at Hatiheu. The day is numbered already for them all; alike for the teacher and the scholars death is girt; he is afoot upon the march; and in the frequent interval they sit and yawn. But in life there seems a thread of purpose through the least significant; the drowsiest29 endeavour is not lost, and even the school at Hatiheu may be more useful than it seems.
Hatiheu is a place of some pretensions30. The end of the bay towards Anaho may be called the civil compound, for it boasts the house of Kooamua, and close on the beach, under a great tree, that of the gendarme31, M. Armand Aussel, with his garden, his pictures, his books, and his excellent table, to which strangers are made welcome. No more singular contrast is possible than between the gendarmerie and the priesthood, who are besides in smouldering opposition32 and full of mutual33 complaints. A priest’s kitchen in the eastern islands is a depressing spot to see; and many, or most of them, make no attempt to keep a garden, sparsely34 subsisting35 on their rations36. But you will never dine with a gendarme without smacking37 your lips; and M. Aussel’s home-made sausage and the salad from his garden are unforgotten delicacies38. Pierre Loti may like to know that he is M. Aussel’s favourite author, and that his books are read in the fit scenery of Hatiheu bay.
The other end is all religious. It is here that an overhanging and tip-tilted horn, a good sea-mark for Hatiheu, bursts naked from the verdure of the climbing forest, and breaks down shoreward in steep taluses and cliffs. From the edge of one of the highest, perhaps seven hundred or a thousand feet above the beach, a Virgin39 looks insignificantly40 down, like a poor lost doll, forgotten there by a giant child. This laborious41 symbol of the Catholics is always strange to Protestants; we conceive with wonder that men should think it worth while to toil42 so many days, and clamber so much about the face of precipices43, for an end that makes us smile; and yet I believe it was the wise Bishop44 Dordillon who chose the place, and I know that those who had a hand in the enterprise look back with pride upon its vanquished45 dangers. The boys’ school is a recent importation; it was at first in Tai-o-hae, beside the girls’; and it was only of late, after their joint46 escapade, that the width of the island was interposed between the sexes. But Hatiheu must have been a place of missionary47 importance from before. About midway of the beach no less than three churches stand grouped in a patch of bananas, intermingled with some pine — apples. Two are of wood: the original church, now in disuse; and a second that, for some mysterious reason, has never been used. The new church is of stone, with twin towers, walls flangeing into buttresses48, and sculptured front. The design itself is good, simple, and shapely; but the character is all in the detail, where the architect has bloomed into the sculptor49. It is impossible to tell in words of the angels (although they are more like winged archbishops) that stand guard upon the door, of the cherubs50 in the corners, of the scapegoat51 gargoyles52, or the quaint53 and spirited relief, where St. Michael (the artist’s patron) makes short work of a protesting Lucifer. We were never weary of viewing the imagery, so innocent, sometimes so funny, and yet in the best sense — in the sense of inventive gusto and expression — so artistic54. I know not whether it was more strange to find a building of such merit in a corner of a barbarous isle55, or to see a building so antique still bright with novelty. The architect, a French lay brother, still alive and well, and meditating56 fresh foundations, must have surely drawn57 his descent from a master-builder in the age of the cathedrals; and it was in looking on the church of Hatiheu that I seemed to perceive the secret charm of mediaeval sculpture; that combination of the childish courage of the amateur, attempting all things, like the schoolboy on his slate, with the manly58 perseverance59 of the artist who does not know when he is conquered.
I had always afterwards a strong wish to meet the architect, Brother Michel; and one day, when I was talking with the Resident in Tai-o-hae (the chief port of the island), there were shown in to us an old, worn, purblind60, ascetic-looking priest, and a lay brother, a type of all that is most sound in France, with a broad, clever, honest, humorous countenance61, an eye very large and bright, and a strong and healthy body inclining to obesity62. But that his blouse was black and his face shaven clean, you might pick such a man to-day, toiling63 cheerfully in his own patch of vines, from half a dozen provinces of France; and yet he had always for me a haunting resemblance to an old kind friend of my boyhood, whom I name in case any of my readers should share with me that memory — Dr. Paul, of the West Kirk. Almost at the first word I was sure it was my architect, and in a moment we were deep in a discussion of Hatiheu church. Brother Michel spoke64 always of his labours with a twinkle of humour, underlying65 which it was possible to spy a serious pride, and the change from one to another was often very human and diverting. ‘ET VOS GARGOUILLES MOYEN-AGE,’ cried I; ‘COMME ELLES SONT ORIGINATES!’ ‘N’EST-CE PAS? ELLES SONT BIEN DROLES!’ he said, smiling broadly; and the next moment, with a sudden gravity: ‘CEPENDANT IL Y EN A UNE QUI A UNE PATTE DE CASSE; IL FAUT QUE JE VOIE CELA.’ I asked if he had any model — a point we much discussed. ‘NON,’ said he simply; ‘C’EST UNE EGLISE IDEALE.’ The relievo was his favourite performance, and very justly so. The angels at the door, he owned, he would like to destroy and replace. ‘ILS N’ONT PAS DE VIE, ILS MANQUENT DE VIE. VOUS DEVRIEZ VOIR MON EGLISE A LA DOMINIQUE; J’AI LA UNE VIERGE QUI EST VRAIMENT GENTILLE.’ ‘Ah,’ I cried, ‘they told me you had said you would never build another church, and I wrote in my journal I could not believe it.’ ‘OUI, J’AIMERAIS BIEN EN FAIRS UNE AUTRE,’ he confessed, and smiled at the confession66. An artist will understand how much I was attracted by this conversation. There is no bond so near as a community in that unaffected interest and slightly shame-faced pride which mark the intelligent man enamoured of an art. He sees the limitations of his aim, the defects of his practice; he smiles to be so employed upon the shores of death, yet sees in his own devotion something worthy67. Artists, if they had the same sense of humour with the Augurs68, would smile like them on meeting, but the smile would not be scornful.
I had occasion to see much of this excellent man. He sailed with us from Tai-o-hae to Hiva-oa, a dead beat of ninety miles against a heavy sea. It was what is called a good passage, and a feather in the CASCO’S cap; but among the most miserable forty hours that any one of us had ever passed. We were swung and tossed together all that time like shot in a stage thunder-box. The mate was thrown down and had his head cut open; the captain was sick on deck; the cook sick in the galley69. Of all our party only two sat down to dinner. I was one. I own that I felt wretchedly; and I can only say of the other, who professed70 to feel quite well, that she fled at an early moment from the table. It was in these circumstances that we skirted the windward shore of that indescribable island of Ua-pu; viewing with dizzy eyes the coves71, the capes72, the breakers, the climbing forests, and the inaccessible73 stone needles that surmount74 the mountains. The place persists, in a dark corner of our memories, like a piece of the scenery of nightmares. The end of this distressful75 passage, where we were to land our passengers, was in a similar vein76 of roughness. The surf ran high on the beach at Taahauku; the boat broached-to and capsized; and all hands were submerged. Only the brother himself, who was well used to the experience, skipped ashore77, by some miracle of agility78, with scarce a sprinkling. Thenceforward, during our stay at Hiva-oa, he was our cicerone and patron; introducing us, taking us excursions, serving us in every way, and making himself daily more beloved.
Michel Blanc had been a carpenter by trade; had made money and retired79, supposing his active days quite over; and it was only when he found idleness dangerous that he placed his capital and acquirements at the service of the mission. He became their carpenter, mason, architect, and engineer; added sculpture to his accomplishments80, and was famous for his skill in gardening. He wore an enviable air of having found a port from life’s contentions81 and lying there strongly anchored; went about his business with a jolly simplicity82; complained of no lack of results — perhaps shyly thinking his own statuary result enough; and was altogether a pattern of the missionary layman83.
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isthmus
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| n.地峡 | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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indented
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| adj.锯齿状的，高低不平的；缩进排版 | |
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clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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hazardous
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| adj.(有)危险的，冒险的；碰运气的 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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computes
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| v.计算，估算( compute的第三人称单数 ) | |
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scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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instructors
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| 指导者，教师( instructor的名词复数 ) | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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undoes
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| 松开( undo的第三人称单数 )； 解开； 毁灭； 败坏 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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drowsiest
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| adj.欲睡的，半睡的，使人昏昏欲睡的( drowsy的最高级 ) | |
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pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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gendarme
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| n.宪兵 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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sparsely
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| adv.稀疏地；稀少地；不足地；贫乏地 | |
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subsisting
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| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的现在分词 ) | |
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rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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smacking
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| 活泼的，发出响声的，精力充沛的 | |
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delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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insignificantly
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laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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precipices
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| n.悬崖，峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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buttresses
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| n.扶壁，扶垛( buttress的名词复数 )v.用扶壁支撑，加固( buttress的第三人称单数 ) | |
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sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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cherubs
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| 小天使，胖娃娃( cherub的名词复数 ) | |
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scapegoat
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| n.替罪的羔羊，替人顶罪者；v.使…成为替罪羊 | |
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gargoyles
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| n.怪兽状滴水嘴( gargoyle的名词复数 ) | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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purblind
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| adj.半盲的；愚笨的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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obesity
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| n.肥胖，肥大 | |
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toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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augurs
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| n.（古罗马的）占兆官( augur的名词复数 )；占卜师，预言者v.预示，预兆，预言( augur的第三人称单数 )；成为预兆；占卜 | |
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69
galley
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| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
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70
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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71
coves
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| n.小海湾( cove的名词复数 )；家伙 | |
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72
capes
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| 碎谷； 斗篷( cape的名词复数 )； 披肩； 海角； 岬 | |
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inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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surmount
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| vt.克服；置于…顶上 | |
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distressful
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| adj.苦难重重的，不幸的，使苦恼的 | |
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vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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79
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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80
accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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contentions
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| n.竞争( contention的名词复数 )；争夺；争论；论点 | |
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82
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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layman
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| n.俗人，门外汉，凡人 | |
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