The Village Vestals of Samoa

And the Ceremonies Surrounding Them That Have Survived the Encroachments of Modern Civilization

By FREDERICK O'BRIEN, Author of "Mystic Isles of the South Seas"

FREDERICK O'BRIEN

IN Samoa, more than in the other islands of the Pacific which lie on the purple sea below the line, certain customs survive among the native peoples, customs which even decades of white rule have not obliterated. In Tahiti, the wondrous minstrel society of the Arioi is long since ended, by Christianity and guns. In the Carolines, the Uritoi, a similar lodge of merry minstrels, declined into desuetude under the Jesuits.

Throughout Polynesia, civilization has effectually smothered the primitive genius of the people. In Samoa, because of the jealousy of the great Powers, the usual schemes of exploitation of the lands and labor of the aborigines, were, for a long time, delayed, and thus there have been left to the Samoans, though enfeebled, some of the exotic and bizarre rituals and conventions which amazed the world, when they were first disclosed in the diaries and logbooks of the great early navigators and missionaries.

None of these survivals is more impressive and astonishing to the visitor to Samoa today, than the institution of the Taupo, or Village Virgin. She is an almost sacred figure in every village, and is distinguished by her office and duties from all other women in the hamlet. The origin of the Taupo in Samoa is hidden, with a score of other mysteries, in the vast secrecy of the South Seas.

In every settlement in all the half dozen islands of Samoa, there is a Taupo. She has had predecessors since time immemorial. Her dynasty, though not lineal, had its beginning in the mists of the ages. She is the vestal of the tribe, the incarnated spirit of virginity, the symbol of maidenhood, the maid to be loved and sought by fairy princes, to be wooed bv suitors from near and far, whose mating is the culmination of her reign and vigil.

The Ultimate Loss of Rank

THE Taupo is the hostess of her tribe, the custodian of the holy grail of her village. Yet, ultimately, she is destined to be shelved, to lose her title and distinction. Marriage, her certain goal, means for her a loss of rank, a retirement to the common class of matrons, with only such glory left as she has won by her personal beauty, culture and peaceful achievements.

It is certain that the institution of the Taupo was, among the Samoans, at one time associated with their primitive religion. They were worshippers of the sun and of the principle of fecundity, and by that odd contrariety evidenced in so many ancient countries, the Samoans set up, to represent the principle of fecundity, a vestal, who should in her life, typify the principle of virginity, and concentrate in her self the prenuptial state, so ardently glorified by priest and poet in the songs of Babylon as in those of New York.

The religious significance of the Taupo, disappeared long ago, but she remains now, as for centuries, the lady of the guest-house, the virtuous odalisque of the settlement, and the intended magnet of fortune for her people. Her duties are often arduous and even distasteful in their demand upon her time and activities, but she is rewarded by the importance of her position, the fame of her name and beauty, and by being admitted to a degree of fellowship with men in great political and tribal ceremonies.

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I have lately returned to America after many months in Samoa. In the village in which I lived there was a Taupo whose daily life was an open book to me. Her house was mine; it was but a tent of thatch, exquisitely fashioned, with many pillars of wood, and a floor of small mats laid upon small rounded stones from the brook. Only when it rained hard,—or late at night—were the straw curtains lowered. The well whence all drew their drinking water was near, and the beach where we swam and lay for hours upon the sand, was within halloo. But, most interesting of all, the guest house was adjacent to mine, and its doings soon became my intermittent theater.

The Official Reception

I HAD been two weeks in my village before I was received officially. The chief was absent conferring with the governor at the capital; it would not be proper for me to entertain or be entertained before he signalized his recognition of my presence. One day a messenger brought me the message that the next morning I would meet the chief and his counselors in the Taupo's guest-house. That day the house was swept, and the mats, which had been rolled into a bundle in its center, were carefully spread. The malae, or sward, all about was made neat. At the hour appointed I saw the huge chief swing leisurely over the malae with four or five other men and, after inspecting the house and grounds, I saw them seat themselves upon the mats. Then a younger man came to notify me that all was ready.

I stepped over the stone coping of the oval structure and in silence placed myself as directed upon a mat, with my back against a pillar. Each of the men occupied a position relative to his rank. In a moment the Taupo entered. She was dressed in a kilt or skirt of tapa, a scarlet fabric beaten from the bark of a tree, and above her waist she wore only a string of sea shells, multi-colored, glistening against her golden flesh. She let herself down to the mat laid for her with extraordinary grace and put before her the kava bowl which she had brought. Its sanctuary was the chief's house; its history was an important part of his family record.

A handful of the kava root, broken into small bits, was handed to the chief. He examined it, and sent it to the Taupo. She put it into a wooden trench which had sixteen short legs, and poured water upon it. Then she mixed it with her hands, and clarified it with a cloth of fibre. Each time she raised the strainer she threw it, without looking, over her right shoulder, and it was caught by a young man, her page, who shook it outside the house with a peculiar gesture. When, after many minutes of preparation, she was satisfied with her decoction, she announced the fact in a set phrase.

The chief nodded, and the tulafale, or orator of the occasion, began the speech of welcome, after which the Taupo passed the kava cup to each man present as his name was shouted.

It is in this serving of the kava that a Taupo often wins distinction. Her manners must be perfect, the form as conventional as those of the musme in the cha-no-yu ceremony in Japan. On this particular occasion, the Taupo filled a polished cocoanut shell with the kava; then, bowing low, passed by the others, and, with a long sweeping gesture, raised the shell and presented it to me with a studied grace which was the result of years of practice. I took the shell, tossed a few drops of it over my shoulder for the benefit of the unknown God, and with a cry of "Manuia!" drained it "Soifua!" shouted the Taupo and all the chiefs, an admonition which might be interpreted as "Drink hearty!"

Perhaps every day for a week, perhaps only once in a month, the Taupo is summoned for the kava ceremony. But that is only one item in her round of duties. She must also lead in the village dances, the moonlight madnesses, and the barbarous pageants of her tribe. Always she is attended by one or two old women who are duennas of the strictest mien. They are the sybils of the settlement, wise in the ways of the young, guarding the village pride as the ancient priestesses watched the vestals in the temple at Rome. The duennas are especially watchful when the Taupo entertains, as her guest for the night, the man whom the village wishes to honor. All four—the Taupo, the visitor and the two duennas—lie upon the mats, the light burning, the eyes of the two sybils unclosed. The Taupo must welcome the guest, but must not even remotely tarnish the shield of her position, nor lessen her reputation in the alien villages of other districts.

The Taupo's chief aim in life, an aim guided by the village chiefs and by the best thought of her neighbors, is to win in marriage a dowry for the treasure chest of her native village.

Wealth in Samoa is measured by the number of fine mats one owns. Not diamonds nor pearls nor money will excite the acquisitive instincts of the Samoans as do these useless mats. They are a yard or so square, of a texture almost as fine as silk, and are heirlooms as sacred, as appreciated, as the thrones of kings or the canvases of Velasquez. They are not made to sit on, but only to keep hidden in chests, to talk about and to boast of. They are as precious to the Samoan as the first folios of the Elizabethans to the devoted book collector.

Wooing the Taupo

YOUTHS of many villages come courting the Taupo. Perhaps they are honored with her company at night, under the horrific glances of the duennas. But, whoever they are, no matter how handsome or how romantic, they must bring with them many mats to offer the vestal before wedlock, or else be refused her flower-like hand. And as the collection of mats in each village, of mats kept as sacred heirlooms in each native family's chests, is as well known in Samoa as the ownership of Gainsborough's Blue Boy might be in England, each wooer may be said to possess a defined value, weighed and argued out in the chief's house over many bowls of kava.

When, finally, the best possible husband, that is to say, the man with the most mats, comes to claim the Taupo in marriage, he brings with him his entire tribe and his collection of mats. The sybils of both villages have charge of the maid, and declare publicly that she has preserved the honor of her people as a true Taupo. Then, with dances, feasting and many speeches, she doffs the badge of her rank and melts into the mass of her relations—and the arms of her husband. Another Taupo is then chosen and the search for more mats begins all over again in the village.