MAORI THEATRICALS.

Observer, Volume 3, Issue 57, 15 October 1881, Page 72

MAORI THEATRICALS.

Or, " Everything at Sixes and at Sevens."

The reference the other day to a venture of an enterprising Southerner in proceeding with a troupe of Maoris on a money-making tour, recalls to my memory a transaction in which I had the honour to bear a humble part. It took place many years ago in my bachelor days, when no obtrusive barber felt impelled to allude to the limp appearance of my hair and press upon me his unfailing shilling " Restorer." Many old Auckland residents will remember Dr , who was Dr Philson's predecessor in the management of the Provincial Hospital. After severing his connection Avith the hospital, this enterprising disciple of Esculapius got together a number of Maoris and took them to Sydney for the purpose of exhibition. I was living in that city at the time, and seeing the notice of their arrival in the newspapers, felt rather curious, as an Aucklander, to know what the doctor's idea wus. Strolling down Grcorge-street, after office hours, one afternoon, I met him. After expressing his rapture at meeting me, with exuberant warmth, he gave an impassioned slap to his thigh, and said, "Bedud, ye'ro the very man I want this minute ; ye'llliclp me now, like a good fellow, won't ye ?" " Well, I don't know, what's your little game in these parts ?" " Listen ! IVe got a grand thing on— there's money in it, my boy." " Gflad to hear you say so. What is it ?" " Well, I've fetched over a dozen Maoris — there's one of them newspaper fellows writing a play for us, I've engaged the Lyceum, and, by the powers, my boy, we'll astonish the Cornstalks, so we will." "It seems a good idea," I remarked, "Of course, you can speak Maori." " That's just the devil of it, I don't understand the language, barrin' a word here and there ; you do, so I want ye, if ye please, to help the tiling along on the opening night." " Well, I'll think over the matter, doctor. Who are these Maoris you have brought over here ?" " Whisht ! me boy, I call them all chiefs" (with a laborious wink) " but don't let on if you can't agree with me in regard to the same, when ye see them." After a little more conversation we parted, on the understanding that I was to attend a rehearsal that evening at the Theatre. Being unable, however, to keep the appointment punctually, I could not be of any service on that occasion. The Maoris, when I arrived, were standing in a group near the side entrance, conversing in animated tones. I went and addressed them in their own language. One of them lat once recognised as a decent, honest fellow who used to follow the somewhat unchief tainlike calling of a fish-seller in the streets of Auckland. The features of another were familiar to me as belonging to a peach and melon vendor. All of them were simply ordinary Maoris, with no claim whatever to rank as chief s, a notion which they themselves were tickled at immensely. I asked them what they considered their prospects were. They replied (through their spokesman, the peach and melon man) that they were " pouri," in consequence of the " pokanoa"of that " kuare " (the doctor) — that they had received no money so far — that they were "mate i te hiakai" (half starved), and "mate rawa ite kore tupeka " (dying for want of a smoke). Of course I could not withstand their pathetic appeal for tobacco, and stood some plugs of Barrett's on the spot. The result of my talk with them was to convince me that the doctor was humbugging the poor fellows — that they were being deliberately fooled, in fact. Thereupon I formed a resolution to "assist" the medical im<pressario in such a manner as to render the gulling of the troupe, and the Sydney play-going public, of very short duration. The author of the melodrama (with a good spice of tragedy) intended for production on the opening night I •knew personally, and lie has since made his mark in colonial literature. It was fearfully and wonderfully worked up, and eminently suited the tastes of the majority of the Lyceum frequenters, who generally hankered after a plethora of gore, blue fire, and so forth. As it was during the time the New Zealand war was going on, the author had woven into his plot some highly sensational and blood-curdling incidents, supposed to be illustrative of Maori cruelty and revenge. The dramatis

personce included the inevitable " blood-thirsty savage " — the conventional heroic party who has to perform a rescue — and the well-known " fair maiden" who fills the role of rescuee. This character was represented by one of the ballet girls connected with the theatre. Amongst the most " fetching " features on the programme were a Avar dance and a " tangi " (the wail for the dead). The small theatre was well filled, and the curtain rose to slow music by the orchestra, consisting of a violin, flagolet, and a drum. It was not an imposing one, but it was the most efficient that the "management" could muster under the existing state of the exchequer. On going behind the scenes before the curtain rose, I found the doctor in a state of nervous agitation. It appeared that some of the troupe had turned rusty, and threatened not to play, unless he gave them some coin on the spot. This was a serious dilemma, and the exigencies of the situation demanded prompt action. In a brief and hurried colloquy he begged them to go on, promising faithfully to make it all right with them out of the proceeds. I knew perfectly well that he had no such intention, which explains my small share in what followed. The doctor arranged that he should command the right wing, and I the left. The first act opened with a war dance, to which the right wing contributed its contingent prompt to time ; but the rest of the warriors lagged considerably, which caused the doctor to use strong language, in clearly audible tones. This was an unfortunate beginning, but the liaka went off successfully when they did make a start, and the novelty of the thing pleased the crowd. At its close, the tawny chief fiercely harangues his tribe, and, stalking off the stage, summons them to follow him in a raid upon a neighbouring settler's homstead, and the scene closes. Scene II was supposed to represent the interior of a settler's house, with an only daughter, pondering, sad, and solitary. The father and brother, while out after cattle, have been already sent to the "happy hunting ground," by the aid of a tomahawk, but the pining maiden is not aware of this fact. Well, after going through her soliloquy, which wound up with " Hark ! I hear footsteps. Who can it be that thus stealthily approaches ?" she naturally expected the proprietor of the footsteps to make his appearance — so did the audience — so did the doctor. But as he didn't come, and the maiden's dramatic experience was not equal to judicious " gag," she had to fill up time by doing the soliloquy over again. Mingled with it this time were fragments of undiluted profanity from the right wing, as the doctor hissed out, " Ilaerami ! quick ; you d kurre" etc., etc., beckoning furiously to give emphasis to the words. Meanwhile the gas had been lowered, aud the violin was scraping out the trrrrr-rr-r, so closely associated in our memories with the burglar and assassin of the penny gaff. Finally the heroine concluded to retire, and just when the gas was turned on full again the bloodthirsty savage (the melon-man) glided slowly and stealthily in, furtively concealing a tomahawk and peering round, with rolling eyeballs, for his victim. Of course she wasn't there ! The doctor, in his frenzy, conceived the idea of carrying this part out at all hazards by sending the maiden on again. But as the young female thought she had been made a laughing-stock enough alread}-, she wouldn't oblige, so the ruthless savage had to go off, which he did in double quick time, to the howls and jeers of the " gods," and the muttered anathemas of the audience generally. There was nothing for it but to consider the first act as finished, and drop the curtain. The doctor was furious— he raved, and stamped, and swore — heavens ! how he did swear — and entirely lost control of himself. I implored him to be calm — to remember how difficult it must be for the Maori intellect to grasp the salient points of a play — to be lenient with them — and ti'y if we could not do better in the second act. I had the satisfaction of succeeding in my laudable efforts, and after a hurried, impromptu rehearsal, the curtain again rose. The audience was pretty well worked up by this time, you may be sure, and the row was something terrific. However, as the natives filed in and squatted down on the stage, in order to go through a tangi, curiosity for the moment, conquered, and silence was restored. Now, in a tangi, there is always some motive disclosed for the prolonged wails, and protracted nose-rubbing ; otherwise it has no meaning or significance. In this case, a messenger was supposed to enter with tidings of the demise of a rangatira, ■who had been killed in a skirmish with our forces. But, somehow or other he didn't enter — nobody came with any intelligence of any kind, and after waiting a while, the doctor, in desperation, told them (from the right wing) to go on with the tangi. They did so, in a listless, perfunctory kind of a way, pausing every now and then to make remarks to each other, sotto voce, of a scornful nature, as regarded the doctor. But when several of them, after a heavy rub, drew their hands across their probosces, in the simple, primitive fashion of their race, not yet demoralized by nose-rags, the people didn't care about any more — they had quite enough, and yelled out their opinion to that effect, calling loudly for the "management" to come forward and explain all about this thusness. But the "management," alias the doctor, had also had quite enough for one night, and declined their invitation ; so, hastily dropping the curtain, he executed a strategic movement to the rear, dealing out perspiration and profanity like a galley-convict. I did not meet with him after that, so had no chance of expressing to him my sympathy and condolence. He afterwards found ample leisure within the walls of Darlinghurst for ruminating on the obtuseness of the Maori intellect in matters pertaining to the stage. The several members of the troupe scattered about New South Wales — some, I afterwards met on the Burragong diggings, doing well, and they always expressed their satisfaction that I had consented to "assist" on that memorable occasion. I did not regret my action in the affair, as it served to nip the swindle in the bud, and it saved the melon-man, and the mullet-man, and their confreres, fx*om possible chronic liiakai in the streets of Sydney.