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Fairy Folk Tales of the Maori

Fairy Folk Tales of the Maori — Introduction — Maori Legends of the “Patu-paiarehe.”

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Fairy Folk Tales of the Maori
Introduction
Maori Legends of the “Patu-paiarehe.”

A New Zealand poet once lamented the dearth of fairy lore in these islands, and in his ignorance made complaint:

Why have we in these isles no fairy dell,
No haunted wood, nor wild enchanted mere?

He declared that this lack of faerie glamour must be filled by the imaginative writer—“The poet's art—as yet without avail—must weave the story.” It was unfortunate that a writer with so sympathetic a muse had never heard of the Maori's rich store of fairy legend and wonder-tale, of endless folk-talk about the supernatural, the sprites of the woods, the elusive Patu-paiarehe, the mysterious wild men of the mountains, the strange spirits that haunt great pools at river-sources, and streams and lakes. For all this in endless variety we have in New Zealand. There is not another country, not even Ireland or the page 2 fairy-ridden Isle of Man, so full of folk-memories and primitive beliefs of this kind. The only reason that the pakeha does not know of it is that very, very few have gone to the trouble to delve into this class of myth and tradition and preserve while there is yet time the curious and poetic tales which crystallize for us the old Maori belief in unseen presences and the fairy folk that haunted many a lofty mountain and many a shadowy wood.

Fairies, giants, fabulous monsters, marvel-working magicians, strange apparitions of forest and alp, have ever been found in countries of such a mountainous, broken and generously-wooded character as New Zealand, and it would be strange indeed if so imaginative a race as the Maori-Polynesian had not peopled the land with all manner of curious extra-human beings.

Poetic above all the other myths of the strange and supernatural are the many stories which tell of that mystic race the Patu-paiarehe. This name Patu-paiarehe is the term applied by the Maori to the mysterious forest-dwelling people who for want of a more exact term may be described as the fairies of New Zealand. They are page 3 spoken of as an iwi-atua, a race of supernatural beings, and they are accredited with some of the marvellous powers attributed to the world of faerie in many other parts of the globe. Some folk-tales of the Maori describe them as little people, but the native fancy does not usually picture them the tiny elves common to the old-world fairydom. Most of the legends I have gathered give them the ordinary stature of mortals, while at the same time investing them with some of the characteristics of the enchanted tribes of other lands.

The Patu-paiarehe were for the most part of much lighter complexion than the Maori; their hair was of the dull golden or reddish hue “uru-kehu,” such as is sometimes seen among the Maoris of to-day. They inhabited the remote parts of the wooded ranges, preferring the highest peaks such as Hihikiwi, on Mount Pirongia, and the summit of Te Aroha. They ventured out only by night and on days of heavy clouds and fog. They lived on forest foods, but sometimes they resorted to the shores of sea and lake for fish.

They had a great aversion to the steam rising from the Maori cooking-ovens, and page 4 to the sight and smell of kokowai, the red ochre (hæmatite earth mixed with shark oil) with which the Maori bedaubed his dwelling and himself. They were greatly skilled in all manner of enchantments and magic, and they often employed these arts of gramarie to bewilder and terrify the iwi Maori. Nevertheless we find them at times living on good terms with their Maori neighbours, and indeed (see the Story of Tarapikau in “The Wars of the Fairies”) guarding the interests of their friends of the outer world and resenting any interference by Patu-paiarehe from another district.

The Patu-paiarehe, in a number of these fairy tales, constituted themselves the guardians of sacred places and visited their displeasure on those who neglected the rites for the propitiation of the forest deities.

This class of folk-tales no doubt originated in the actual existence of numerous tribes of aborigines who dwelt for safety in the more inaccessible parts of these islands. Many of them were reddish-haired, with fairer complexions than those of the Maori; the remnants of an immeasurably ancient fair-haired people who have left a strain of uru-kehu in most Maori tribes. As in the page 5 case of the ancient Picts (whence the word “pixy”), who were driven to take refuge in the caves and mountains of Scotland and Wales and the Peak of Derbyshire, the forest-dwelling refugees of New Zealand gradually became to the more powerful race an enchanted wizardly tribe, possessed of powers of transformation and of becoming invisible at will. The Patu-paiarehe were, as a rule, shy and peace-loving. The fiercer foresters, the Maero of legend, were not unlike the Fynnoderee of Manx country tales who played malevolent tricks on the farmer folk.

The dense and thickly-matted character of the New Zealand forest, with a closely-woven roof of foliage through which the sunshine was filtered to a twilight, in the inner sanctuaries of the Wao-tapu-nui-a-Tane, made strong impression on the imaginative Maori mind, and it was natural to people the heart of the bush with unseen presences and supernatural creatures. The conjecture-provoking sounds heard in the forest in the quiet of the night, noises known to those who have bivouacked much in the high woods, heightened the popular belief in the existence of fairy folk.

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Patu-paiarehe legendry in the North Island, so far as my enquiries go, is associated chiefly with the forested peaks of the Waikato-Waipa basin, the Cape Colville-Te Aroha range, and the hills about Lake Rotorua. That beautiful mountain Kake-puku, in the Waipa Valley, was a fairy resort; there is a deep wooded valley on the western side beloved of the Patu-paiarehe from Pirongia mountain. They did not venture to other parts of the mountain because they sometimes saw the Maori fires burning on the summit and on the eastern and northern sides. Their path was in the drifting clouds and low-lying banks of fog like the Irish fairy king in William Allingham's old song:

“With a bridge of white mist
Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately journeys
From Slieveleague to Rosses.”

In the South Island the sterner character of the landscapes, the tremendous craggy heights that wall Lake Wakatipu about, the vast white chain of the Alps, the solitudes of the tussock prairie, the silent forests, the deep, dark blue alpine lakes, tended to provide grim legends of the Maeroero, the page 7 wild men and giants of the mountains, rather than folk-talk of the Patu-paiarehe. There was also a basis of fact in the historical tradition of the Ngati-Mamoe fugitives driven into the trackless forests of the great south-west, there to disappear, to vanish like the moa. “They still haunt the western forests,” said an old man of mingled Ngati-Mamoe and Ngai-Tahu blood, when we discussed the mystery of the vanished clan of his people. “They are an iwi-atua, gifted with supernatural powers. The reason they are not seen by pakeha explorers is that they can call down the mists and clouds of the mountains to conceal them, as they did long ago when they were pursued into the wilderness beyond Lake Te Anau. Na te kohu i whakaora—the fog is their salvation.”*

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The Menehune, or Manahune, of Polynesian legend were a forest folk whose characteristics no doubt helped to develop the belief in fairy woodsmen. In Hawaiian legendry they were a people of small stature, big-eyed, with murmurous voices; they lived in frail houses of banana leaves. Like our Patu-paiarehe, they feared the daylight, and the herculean labours, such as stone-work, which they performed by night always ceased when the dawn appeared.

Maori folk-talk abounds with such legends. On the upper part of the Waitemata, or Auckland Harbour, there is a long black reef of lava, a flow from the ancient volcano Owairaka (Mount Albert) which extends from the southern side almost halfway across the harbour, towards Kauri Point. It is called by the Maoris Toka-roa, or “Long Reef.” Legend attributes to it a fairy origin. It was built by the Patu-paiarehe in a single night in an endeavour to make a bridge across the page 9 Waitemata. They were less fortunate, however, than the fairies of Irish legend who built a road across the bog of Lamrach for Mider their king. Daylight interrupted the labours of the Patu-paiarehe, and so the wonderful bridge was not finished. Here, as in many of our Maori stories, the coming of the dawn was fatal to faerie doings. The furtive folk could not endure the bright eye of Tama-nui-te-Ra.

There are many points of likeness between the Maori traditional accounts of the Patu-paiarehe and kindred beings and the fairies of Irish folk-talk. Lady Gregory, in her “Visions and Beliefs in the West of Ireland” (1920), describes the popular belief in the existence of the Sidhe, a fairy people fond of old forts. A fairy's voice is sometimes heard keening, a portent. There are fairy pipers among the Sidhe, making music, “the grandest I ever heard,” as one of the old people said. The Maori fairies, similarly, were much given to playing on the flute, the koauau and putorino, “the sweetest music ever heard,” says the Maori.

“There are two classes of fairies, the Dundonians, that are like ourselves, and page 10 another race, more wicked and more spiteful.” So says the west Irish peasant. The Maori has their counterparts, the fairy woodsman and the fierce malevolent Maero.

The Irish fairies cannot bear fire. The Maori Patu-paiarehe and Maero had a similar dislike to fire and also to steam from cooking-ovens.

The rumbling death-coach of Ireland has its parallel in the waka wairua, the ghost-canoe whose appearance was a portent of death.

The Mara-wara, a mermaid of the Galway coast, is like the Maraki-hau of Maori legend, the half-human half-fishlike being whose effigy is seen on the carved fronts of many houses in the Bay of Plenty and Urewera districts.

There are many such parallels in the folkbeliefs of these far-sundered poetic peoples. But the faerie lore of the New Zealand forests, hills and streams has a character all its own, developed by centuries of close contact with Nature in a very beautiful and wonderful environment.

* There are analogies in old Scotland. Ruberslaw mountain, above Teviotdale, “was a favourite lurking place for the persecuted Covenanters, and near its top is a craggy chasm, from which it is said Woodrow's ‘savory Mr. Peden’ used to preach to his scattered congregation. It was on this hill that the pursuing dragoons all but caught the preacher and his flock one day; they were caught indeed like rats in a trap, had it not been for Ruberslaw's well known character for breeding bad weather. The soldiers were advancing in full view of the conventicle. Way of escape there was none, nor time to disperse; mounted men from every quarter were scrambling up the steep face of the hill, and in that clear light what chance was left now to hide among the rocks and boulders? ‘O Lord,’ prayed Peden with extreme fervour, ‘lap the skirts of thy cloak over puir auld Sandy!’ And as if in answer to his petition there came over the entire hill a thick ‘Liddesdale drow,’ so dense that a man might not see two feet around him. When the mist cleared again there was no one left for the dragoons to take.” (Highways and Byways on the Border, by Andrew and John Lang, p. 184.)