Complete Works of Robert Louis Stevenson (Illustrated) (833 page)

Yet the work was accomplished.  By dusk, when his majesty withdrew, the town was founded and complete, a new and ruder Amphion having called it from nothing with three cracks of a rifle.  And the next morning the same conjurer obliged us with a further miracle: a mystic rampart fencing us, so that the path which ran by our doors became suddenly impassable, the inhabitants who had business across the isle must fetch a wide circuit, and we sat in the midst in a transparent privacy, seeing, seen, but unapproachable, like bees in a glass hive.  The outward and visible sign of this glamour was no more than a few ragged coco-leaf garlands round the stems of the outlying palms; but its significance reposed on the tremendous sanction of the tapu and the guns of Tembinok’.

We made our first meal that night in the improvised city, where we were to stay two months, and which - so soon as we had done with it - was to vanish in a day as it appeared, its elements returning whence they came, the tapu raised, the traffic on the path resumed, the sun and the moon peering in vain between the palm-trees for the bygone work, the wind blowing over an empty site.  Yet the place, which is now only an episode in some memories, seemed to have been built, and to be destined to endure, for years.  It was a busy hamlet.  One of the maniap’s we made our dining-room, one the kitchen.  The houses we reserved for sleeping.  They were on the admirable Apemama plan: out and away the best house in the South Seas; standing some three feet above the ground on posts; the sides of woven flaps, which can be raised to admit light and air, or lowered to shut out the wind and the rain: airy, healthy, clean, and watertight.  We had a hen of a remarkable kind: almost unique in my experience, being a hen that occasionally laid eggs.  Not far off, Mrs. Stevenson tended a garden of salad and shalots.  The salad was devoured by the hen - which was her bane.  The shalots were served out a leaf at a time, and welcomed and relished like peaches.  Toddy and green cocoa-nuts were brought us daily.  We once had a present of fish from the king, and once of a turtle.  Sometimes we shot so-called plover along on the shore, sometimes wild chicken in the bush.  The rest of our diet was from tins.

Our occupations were very various.  While some of the party would be away sketching, Mr. Osbourne and I hammered away at a novel.  We read Gibbon and Carlyle aloud; we blew on flageolets, we strummed on guitars; we took photographs by the light of the sun, the moon, and flash-powder; sometimes we played cards.  Pot-hunting engaged a part of our leisure.  I have myself passed afternoons in the exciting but innocuous pursuit of winged animals with a revolver; and it was fortunate there were better shots of the party, and fortunate the king could lend us a more suitable weapon, in the form of an excellent fowling-piece, or our spare diet had been sparer still.

Night was the time to see our city, after the moon was up, after the lamps were lighted, and so long as the fire sparkled in the cook-house.  We suffered from a plague of flies and mosquitoes, comparable to that of Egypt; our dinner-table (lent, like all our furniture, by the king) must be enclosed in a tent of netting, our citadel and refuge; and this became all luminous, and bulged and beaconed under the eaves, like the globe of some monstrous lamp under the margin of its shade.  Our cabins, the sides being propped at a variety of inclinations, spelled out strange, angular patterns of brightness.  In his roofed and open kitchen, Ah Fu was to be seen by lamp and firelight, dabbling among pots.  Over all, there fell in the season an extraordinary splendour of mellow moonshine.  The sand sparkled as with the dust of diamonds; the stars had vanished.  At intervals, a dusky night-bird, slow and low flying, passed in the colonnade of the tree stems and uttered a hoarse croaking cry.

CHAPTER III - THE KING OF APEMAMA: THE PALACE OF MANY WOMEN

The palace, or rather the ground which it includes, is several acres in extent.  A terrace encloses it toward the lagoon; on the side of the land, a palisade with several gates.  These are scarce intended for defence; a man, if he were strong, might easily pluck down the palisade; he need not be specially active to leap from the beach upon the terrace.  There is no parade of guards, soldiers, or weapons; the armoury is under lock and key; and the only sentinels are certain inconspicuous old women lurking day and night before the gates.  By day, these crones were often engaged in boiling syrup or the like household occupation; by night, they lay ambushed in the shadow or crouched along the palisade, filling the office of eunuchs to this harem, sole guards upon a tyrant life.

Female wardens made a fit outpost for this palace of many women.  Of the number of the king’s wives I have no guess; and but a loose idea of their function.  He himself displayed embarrassment when they were referred to as his wives, called them himself ‘my pamily,’ and explained they were his ‘cutcheons’ - cousins.  We distinguished four of the crowd: the king’s mother; his sister, a grave, trenchant woman, with much of her brother’s intelligence; the queen proper, to whom (and to whom alone) my wife was formally presented; and the favourite of the hour, a pretty, graceful girl, who sat with the king daily, and once (when he shed tears) consoled him with caresses.  I am assured that even with her his relations are platonic.  In the background figured a multitude of ladies, the lean, the plump, and the elephantine, some in sacque frocks, some in the hairbreadth
ridi
; high-born and low, slave and mistress; from the queen to the scullion, from the favourite to the scraggy sentries at the palisade.  Not all of these of course are of ‘my pamily,’ - many are mere attendants; yet a surprising number shared the responsibility of the king’s trust.  These were key-bearers, treasurers, wardens of the armoury, the napery, and the stores.  Each knew and did her part to admiration.  Should anything be required - a particular gun, perhaps, or a particular bolt of stuff, - the right queen was summoned; she came bringing the right chest, opened it in the king’s presence, and displayed her charge in perfect preservation - the gun cleaned and oiled, the goods duly folded.  Without delay or haste, and with the minimum of speech, the whole great establishment turned on wheels like a machine.  Nowhere have I seen order more complete and pervasive.  And yet I was always reminded of Norse tales of trolls and ogres who kept their hearts buried in the ground for the mere safety, and must confide the secret to their wives.  For these weapons are the life of Tembinok’.  He does not aim at popularity; but drives and braves his subjects, with a simplicity of domination which it is impossible not to admire, hard not to sympathise with.  Should one out of so many prove faithless, should the armoury be secretly unlocked, should the crones have dozed by the palisade and the weapons find their way unseen into the village, revolution would be nearly certain, death the most probable result, and the spirit of the tyrant of Apemama flit to rejoin his predecessors of Mariki and Tapituea.  Yet those whom he so trusts are all women, and all rivals.

There is indeed a ministry and staff of males: cook, steward, carpenter, and supercargoes: the hierarchy of a schooner.  The spies, ‘his majesty’s daily papers,’ as we called them, come every morning to report, and go again.  The cook and steward are concerned with the table only.  The supercargoes, whose business it is to keep tally of the copra at three pounds a month and a percentage, are rarely in the palace; and two at least are in the other islands.  The carpenter, indeed, shrewd and jolly old Rubam - query, Reuben? - promoted on my last visit to the greater dignity of governor, is daily present, altering, extending, embellishing, pursuing the endless series of the king’s inventions; and his majesty will sometimes pass an afternoon watching and talking with Rubam at his work.  But the males are still outsiders; none seems to be armed, none is entrusted with a key; by dusk they are all usually departed from the palace; and the weight of the monarchy and of the monarch’s life reposes unshared on the women.

Here is a household unlike, indeed, to one of ours; more unlike still to the Oriental harem: that of an elderly childless man, his days menaced, dwelling alone amid a bevy of women of all ages, ranks, and relationships, - the mother, the sister, the cousin, the legitimate wife, the concubine, the favourite, the eldest born, and she of yesterday; he, in their midst, the only master, the only male, the sole dispenser of honours, clothes, and luxuries, the sole mark of multitudinous ambitions and desires.  I doubt if you could find a man in Europe so bold as to attempt this piece of tact and government.  And seemingly Tembinok’ himself had trouble in the beginning.  I hear of him shooting at a wife for some levity on board a schooner.  Another, on some more serious offence, he slew outright; he exposed her body in an open box, and (to make the warning more memorable) suffered it to putrefy before the palace gate.  Doubtless his growing years have come to his assistance; for upon so large a scale it is more easy to play the father than the husband.  And to-day, at least to the eye of a stranger, all seems to go smoothly, and the wives to be proud of their trust, proud of their rank, and proud of their cunning lord.

I conceived they made rather a hero of the man.  A popular master in a girls’ school might, perhaps, offer a figure of his preponderating station.  But then the master does not eat, sleep, live, and wash his dirty linen in the midst of his admirers; he escapes, he has a room of his own, he leads a private life; if he had nothing else, he has the holidays, and the more unhappy Tembinok’ is always on the stage and on the stretch.

In all my coming and going, I never heard him speak harshly or express the least displeasure.  An extreme, rather heavy, benignity - the benignity of one sure to be obeyed - marked his demeanour; so that I was at times reminded of Samual Richardson in his circle of admiring women.  The wives spoke up and seemed to volunteer opinions, like our wives at home - or, say, like doting but respectable aunts.  Altogether, I conclude that he rules his seraglio much more by art than terror; and those who give a different account (and who have none of them enjoyed my opportunities of observation) perhaps failed to distinguish between degrees of rank, between ‘my pamily’ and the hangers-on, laundresses, and prostitutes.

A notable feature is the evening game of cards when lamps are set forth upon the terrace, and ‘I and my pamily’ play for tobacco by the hour.  It is highly characteristic of Tembinok’ that he must invent a game for himself; highly characteristic of his worshipping household that they should swear by the absurd invention.  It is founded on poker, played with the honours out of many packs, and inconceivably dreary.  But I have a passion for all games, studied it, and am supposed to be the only white who ever fairly grasped its principle: a fact for which the wives (with whom I was not otherwise popular) admired me with acclamation.  It was impossible to be deceived; this was a genuine feeling: they were proud of their private game, had been cut to the quick by the want of interest shown in it by others, and expanded under the flattery of my attention.  Tembinok’ puts up a double stake, and receives in return two hands to choose from: a shallow artifice which the wives (in all these years) have not yet fathomed.  He himself, when talking with me privately, made not the least secret that he was secure of winning; and it was thus he explained his recent liberality on board the
Equator
.  He let the wives buy their own tobacco, which pleased them at the moment.  He won it back at cards, which made him once more, and without fresh expense, that which he ought to be, - the sole fount of all indulgences.  And he summed the matter up in that phrase with which he almost always concludes any account of his policy: ‘Mo’ betta.’

The palace compound is laid with broken coral, excruciating to the eyes and the bare feet, but exquisitely raked and weeded.  A score or more of buildings lie in a sort of street along the palisade and scattered on the margin of the terrace; dwelling-houses for the wives and the attendants, storehouses for the king’s curios and treasures, spacious maniap’s for feast or council, some on pillars of wood, some on piers of masonry.  One was still in hand, a new invention, the king’s latest born: a European frame-house built for coolness inside a lofty maniap’: its roof planked like a ship’s deck to be a raised, shady, and yet private promenade.  It was here the king spent hours with Rubam; here I would sometimes join them; the place had a most singular appearance; and I must say I was greatly taken with the fancy, and joined with relish in the counsels of the architects.

Suppose we had business with his majesty by day: we strolled over the sand and by the dwarfish palms, exchanged a ‘
Kõnamaori
’ with the crone on duty, and entered the compound.  The wide sheet of coral glared before us deserted; all having stowed themselves in dark canvas from the excess of room.  I have gone to and fro in that labyrinth of a place, seeking the king; and the only breathing creature I could find was when I peered under the eaves of a maniap’, and saw the brawny body of one of the wives stretched on the floor, a naked Amazon plunged in noiseless slumber.  If it were still the hour of the ‘morning papers’ the quest would be more easy, the half-dozen obsequious, sly dogs squatting on the ground outside a house, crammed as far as possible in its narrow shadow, and turning to the king a row of leering faces.  Tembinok’ would be within, the flaps of the cabin raised, the trade blowing through, hearing their report.  Like journalists nearer home, when the day’s news were scanty, these would make the more of it in words; and I have known one to fill up a barren morning with an imaginary conversation of two dogs.  Sometimes the king deigns to laugh, sometimes to question or jest with them, his voice sounding shrilly from the cabin.  By his side he may have the heir-apparent, Paul, his nephew and adopted son, six years old, stark naked, and a model of young human beauty.  And there will always be the favourite and perhaps two other wives awake; four more lying supine under mats and whelmed in slumber.  Or perhaps we came later, fell on a more private hour, and found Tembinok’ retired in the house with the favourite, an earthenware spittoon, a leaden inkpot, and a commercial ledger.  In the last, lying on his belly, he writes from day to day the uneventful history of his reign; and when thus employed he betrayed a touch of fretfulness on interruption with which I was well able to sympathise.  The royal annalist once read me a page or so, translating as he went; but the passage being genealogical, and the author boggling extremely in his version, I own I have been sometimes better entertained.  Nor does he confine himself to prose, but touches the lyre, too, in his leisure moments, and passes for the chief bard of his kingdom, as he is its sole public character, leading architect, and only merchant.