John Bull and Company

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XIII, Issue XVIII, 3 November 1894, Page 424

John Bull and Company

By

MAX O’RELL.

Englishman was one day swaggering before a Frenchman about the immensity of the British Empire, and he conclnded his reJofcilAV/ marks by saying : • Please to remember, my gj'T J ' dear sir, that the snn never sets on the possessions of the English.’ *I am not surprised r at that,’ replied the good Frenchman, * the i sun * 9 obliged to always keep an eye on the K rascals.’ France is the foremost country of the world. This is a fact which it were puerile to seek to prove, seeing that the French admit it themselves. Happy and content in their own country, which is able to support them, the French, of all the nations of the world, are the people who least bother their heads about what is happening outside it; in fact, the masses of the people are in crass ignorance about the rest of the planet. The Frenchman believes in bis heart that foreigners were created and sent into the world to minister to his diversion. He looks upon the Belgian as a dear, good simpleton, the Italian as a noisy nobody, the German as a heavy, pompons pedant, be thinks the Americans mad, and the English eccentric and grotesque. And he goes on his way delighted. I have seen French people laugh side-split-tingly when I told them that the English drink champagne with their dinner, and claret at dessert.

To be sure, my own way of looking at these things is very much the same. How should it be otherwise ? After all, a Frenchman is a Frenchman to the end of the chapter. Of one thing, at all events, I am firmly convinced, and that is that one nation is not better nor worse than another ; each one is different from the others, that is all. This is a deep conviction forced upon one by travel. To a great many people, the word foreigner signifies a droll creature, a kind of savage. In the eyes of a traveller.

a foreigner is a worthy man who is as good as himself, and who belongs to a nation which has as many good qualities as the one that be himself hails from. After all, no one is born a foreigner ; we all belong to somewhere, do we not ? I remember an American who opened a conversation with me by launching at me, as a preliminary, the following question : ‘ Foreigner, ain’t you ?’ * I shall be,’ I replied, * when I set foot in your country.’ Another conviction that I have acquired in travelling is that nations are like individuals : when they succeed at something, it is because they possess qualities which explain their success. And I hope the reader, when he closes these pages, will be able to explain to himself how the English have succeeded in founding the British Empire. In India is to be seen John Bull Pacha, a grand seigneur followed by gaily-robed servitors who do profound obehance to him. It is the master in the midst of a subjected people. In the colonies the conquered races have been suppressed. In Canada you see John Bull quite at home, busy, fat, and fiourisbirg, a pink tip to his nose, and his head snng in a fur cap ; it is John Bull in a ball. It is the sea*. In Australia you see him long and lean, nonchalant, happy-go-lucky, bis face sunburned, his head crowned with a widebrimmed, light felt bat, walking with slow tread, his arms pendant, his legs out of all proportion. It is John Ball drawn ont. It is the kangaroo. But it is John Bull still, John Bull, Junior, eating hie morning porridge, and living just as if be were still in bis old island, eating his roast beef and plum pudding, and washing it down with tea or whiekey. He is hardly changed at all. Let ns then study the English in all those countries that are to be seen marked in red on the maps of the world published in England, countries that John Bull has acquired at the cost of very little blood and a good deal of whisky, always converting the natives to Christianity, and their territory to bis own uses. • • • • • • « Like the English at home, the inhabitants of the English colonies are the most amiable and the moat hospitable in the

world. I say, and repeat emphatically, * like the English at home,’ for it would be a mistake to judge the English by the specimens one meets travelling on the continent. If one wants to judge of a man, one must.study him at home.

when he has his natural surroundings, and he is thoroughly himself. The Englishman at home pleases me, and I do my best to please him ; but let an Englishman in Paris stop me to ask, without even lifting his hat: * Ou est le roue de

Rivoley ?' and he displeases and annoys me at the same time, so that I promptly answer : * Connais pas !' Just like the English at home I f >und the Australians—and, to include the people of New Zealand and lasmania, I should say the Australasians—great in hospitality. The most hearty invitations were tendered frem all sides. In

the bush it is always open house hospitality ; the stranger may enter and eat, nay, in many cases he may sleep also, if it pleases him to do so. If the people of the colonies have all the little failings of

a young society, they have, without exception, all the qualities. In this they resemble the Americans. The fact is, however, the Australian begins to dislike hearing himself called colonial. He is proud of his country, the spirit of nationality is growing in him day by day. He is proud, not only of his country, hut of his little town, that he has seen spiing up through the earth, so to speak, and that he has laboured to make flourishing. Like the American, he asks you, as you leave the railway carriage, almost before you have had time to shake the dust from your garments, what you think of Australia, and how you like his little town that you have only just set eyes on, and, though that town should consist of but one small street, dotted with wooden cottages, he will offer, without delay, to take you round, and show you the sights of the town. The sights of the town I That is too funny for anything. I was talking one day to an Englishman who bad been established in the colonies nearly fifty years. We talked about Europe, and I bad occasion to mention Bismarck, and a few other well known names. I verily believe that he had never heard any of them before. Presently I said to him : * Perhaps you do not take much interest in the things that are going on in Europe ?’ ‘My dear sir,’he replied, ‘to tell you the truth I shall soon have been fifty years in this country, and now I can do without Europe altogether.’ Here, in Australia, as well as in the other colonies, I cannot help being struck with the fact that the English colonics are in the hands of the Scots. Out of seven Governors, five are Scottish ; the President of the Legislative Council is a Scot, and so are three-fourths of the counsellors ; the Mayor of Melbourne is of the same nationality, and the Agent General in London is another Scotchman. England ought not to call her colonies ■* Greater Britain,’ but ‘ Greater Scotland,’ ana the United States might be named ‘Greater Ireland.’ As for the south of New Zealand, it is as Scotch as Edinburgh, and more Scotch than Glasgow. Go to Broken Hill, the richest silver mine in the world, and you will see five great shafts leading to the treasures of the earth ; these five great shafts bear the following names : Drew, Maclntyre, MacGregor, Jamieson, and MacCullock, five Scots. It is the same thing everywhere. 1 Melbourne, the intelligent, the much alive, closes its museums on Sundays. A deputation waited one day upon Sir Graham Berry, then Prime Minister of the colony, to

ask him to close the taverns on Sunday. The deputation was chiefly composed of pastors belonging to all kinds of socalled Nonconformist churches.

* I am very willing,’ said Sir Graham, * to use my influence to try and get the taverns closed on Sundays, if you will consent to my using the same influence to get the museums opened instead.’ The reverend gentlemen appeared not to relish the terms, and as the P«ime Minister did not hear any more from them, it must be presumed that they preferred the public-house to the museum, as a Sunday resort for the people. In England every intelligent person is clamouring for the opening of the museums on Sunday, and they will succeed one day in obtaining what they ask; but it takes time, for the combat has to be carried on against all the allied forces of bigotry and Conservatism. And yet, it was the first and greatest of Protestants, Martin Luther himself, who said on this very subject: * If anywhere the day is made holy for the mere day’s sake, then I command you to work on it, ride on it, dance on it, do anything that will reprove this encroachment on Christian spirit and liberty.’

Of all the English colonies, New Zealand is one of the most prosperous, and by a great deal the most picturesque. The scenery is superb, a happy combination of all that Norway and Switzerland have to show in the way of gorges, lakes, and mountains. Add to this a perfect climate, a fertile soil, a well-spread population, intelligent and industrious, the upper classes of which are amiable, hospitable, and distinguished, a native population, agreeable, intelligent and artistic, and you will admit that here is a privileged country where people onght to be content with their lot. For that matter they are. They certainly might be with less.

I had not long to wait for the picturesque in New Zealand, for before landing at the Bluff, the southern point of the island, the steamer, out of pure amiability, went out of its direct route, to enter the two most beautiful sheets of water of the south coast, Milford Sound and George Sound. The entrance to Milford Sound is just wide enough to give passage to the boat, which for nearly an hour follows a narrow channel between immense perpendicular mountains. At every turn the scene changes, as if by enchantment. Scarcely have you fixed your gaze on some barren, rugged cliffs, when you have before your eyes a towering mountain clothed with ferns as tall as palm-trees and of a bright green. Soon the passage widens, and becomes a succession of little lakes, around which nature has surpassed herself in chains of mountains capped with eternal snow, gorges, cascades ; and the bush, such as one only sees it in New Zealand, of a radiant green freshness, apparently an impenetrable mass of ferns and lovely plants. I was interested to hear that, if one could draw a line through the centre of the earth to the surface of the globe on the other side, it would come out a few leagues from Paris. Thus it is impossible, while on earth, for a Parisian to be farther from his beloved city than in George Sound. The rapidity with which the towns grow is prodigious. A commercial enterprise starts. After a few weeks a publichouse is opened, a bank opens its doors, a newspaper is started, and population flows in and groups itself around this nucleus. In a very few years it has become a flourishing town. Not a soldier, not a functionary. This is what strikes a Frenchman, whose country is crippled by bureaucracy, hound down with red tape. A witty French traveller, M. Georges Kohn, in his • Voyage Autourdu Monde,* a volume full of clever observations and unflagging sprightliness, exclaims: * In onr colonies the first building is a police-station, the second that of the tax-collector, the third a statistic-office, and you have to wait for the colonists, who are to be looked

after, taxed, judged, and especially counted by the censustaker.’

In the English colonies the population first, the intervention of government afterwards. With us,it isthegovernment first, the population—where is it? It stays at home in France; and when our soldiers have guaranteed the tranquillity and the security of a country, the English, the Germans, the Danes, the Swedes, the Chinese, etc., etc., take up their abode there, and the good French tax-payer at home asks, as be pays the bill, * Ce qu'on est Mi fairs dans cette galire.’ I warrant that out of our thirty-six millions in France, there are not five hundred thousand who know just where the French colonies are. I warrant that there is not in France a single mother (that woman whose empire is supreme at home) who does not oppose the emigration of her sons, and prefer for them situations as quill-drivers at eighteen hundred francs a year. Try and found colonies while such sentiments reign 1 The British Empire was founded by the spirit of independence instilled and alimented in the Englishman from his tenderest age, not only at school but at home.

In Maoriland you find a race of superb men coupled to hideous women. With the exception of the young girls, and here and there a woman of a Jewish or an Italian type, who are passable, among the Maoris the fair sex is the male sex. The men are nearly all of the same type : tall, wellbuilt, and a look of firmness and kindness in the eyes. It is easy to see you are in the presence of a warlike, but chivalrous race/ The women are of many types. I have seen among the female Maoris, Jewesses, Spaniards. Italians, negresses, and even the Australian type. The skin is of a deep bronze, the mouth enormous, the hair short, thick, and badly kept, the figure of a heavy build with great, large haunches. When they are married, their lips and chin are tattooed.

Nothing is more comical than to see in certain towns these strange forms decked out in great, loose gowns of white or pink, humped by tournures and crinolines (over and above those with which nature has amply provided them), and great felt hats stuck with feathers, and, to complete the picture, the mouth is adorned with a short pipe, a regular navvy's comforter. Those grotesque creatures have a coquetry of their own. Some of them go so far as to have their backs tattooed, so as to be fascinating in the water when they swim, and I one day had as much as I could do to persuade a Maori belle that on this subject her word was sufficient for me.

With the men, tattooing has long been out of fashion, but among the older Maories I saw marvellous examples of the practice. The forehead, nose, and cheeks are covered with a freehand design in dark blue, making the faces repulsive but picturesque. The Maori men are grand seigneurs, who 2<nake their women wait upon them, but who never ill-treat them. They adore children, and make excellent fathers. When two Maoris meet, they are quietly demonstrative in their greetings. They press each other’s hands and stand, while one might count twenty, nose laid against nose, without movement, without speech : a few instants of mute exaltation, of friendly ecstacy. Their language is the softest in the world Like those of the Samoans and Hawaiians, it contains, I am told, only thirteen letters. It is K, P, L, N, that you seem to hear all the time. Here is some Maori; it is the notice posted in all the New Zealand railway stations : * Kaua e Kai paipa Ki Kone.i ’ (Smoking is prohibited) It has very much the sound of Greek, has it not?

The volubility of the women is prodigious. It is a torrent, an avalanche of words There are talkative women in all countries, but you would search the world in vain for a human being who could compete with a Maori woman.

You should see these gossips sitting in the sun, in a circle, pipe in month ; above all, you should hear them I To get a faint ides of their chatter, picture to yourself a swarm of sparrows around a handful of crumbs. The conversation does not seem to consist of questions and answers, or of remarks suggested one by the other ; all speak at once, without looking at one another, without appearing to listen one to the other, and loudly enough to make themselves giddy in a few moments. There is no pausing to take breath. While one cries at the top of her voice, * Kolomo Kalolulu, tarakiti, pikimolaka, rarapa !' another vociferates, • Kikiriki ratatata, molakolululu!' the others accompanying with • Karaicera, K itapuni, Kolololu, Molokulo !' Then all start together in chorus. It sets one’s head whirling to listen to it. The faces of these women remain immobile, and have a slight smile. What a pity that jealonsy should be unknown among them ! A scene of jealousy, a war of words between two of these chatterboxes would tie something never to be forgotten. I have seen men try to take part in the conversation. They mildly ventured to give forth a * Kolokulu ’ or two, which, no doubt, signified, * Have you a moment to spare?' Then they sat down, and, having apparently given op all hope of getting a word in edgewise, listened calmly to the babble, or composed themselves to sleep. The Maoris are lazy and proud. They pass their time in sleeping, smoking, and lounging in the sun, in a delicious otium cum dignitate. In Africa, the aborigines are servants, carters, drovers, errand-boys, general handy-men : in short, they work for the whites. The Maori does not work for the whites; it is the whites who work for him. Only the women make themselves useful. The Maoris are admirably treated by the English, who have left them, in the centre of the north island, a large territory with undisputed possession called King Country. They let their land to the English and live on their rents, and there is humour in English people having Maoris for landlords. Some of them enj >y large revenues. I heard of one whose income amounted to fifteen thousand pounds sterling a year. Near Wanganui I saw some English workmen making a pirogue for some Maoris, and actually executing Maori carvings, while their dusky employers, voluptuously stretched on the grass, smoking their pipes, gave them directions, without even taking the trouble to raise themselves.

Not more than thirty years ago the Maoris were cannibals ; but see how times have changed them I To-day four Maoris are members of the New Zealand Parliament, and one of them is said to have assisted in his youth at cannibal feasts where the menu consisted of human steaks and titbits. These Maoris are in Parliament to defend the rights and interests of the natives. Does not a fact like this help us to understand the success of the undertakings of the firm John Bull and Company ? In all parts of New Zealand, even in King Country, the Maoris go to school, and they shine everywhere by their intelligence. Some of them, at present, occupy honourable posts in Government offices. But such is the nomadic and wild instinct of the race that, when a Maori is seized with an irresistible impulse to leave the town, and revisit his * pa,’ he seldom returns. Drink, contact and intermarriage with the whites etiolate the Maoris, and in every part of New Zealand, except King Country, where they lead their natural life, their numbers are rapidly decreasing.

Adieu, New Zealand, most beautiful of lands ! Often I think of thy beautiful legends, and feast my eyes again in imagination on thy lovely landscapes ! I would fain again enjoy the hospitality of thy kind inhabitants and listen to the liquid language of thy natives. I fancy I hear again their melodious * Mokololulu Kirikitata, Warakewera, Waramanatikipu.' Goodbye! Tata!