Formal Sexual Relations

The first attitude which a little girl learns towards boys is one of avoidance and antagonism. She learns to observe the brother and sister taboo towards the boys of her relationship group and household, and together with the other small girls of her age group she treats all other small boys as enemies elect. After a little girl is eight or nine years of age she has learned never to approach a group of older boys. This feeling of antagonism towards younger boys and shamed avoidance of older ones continues up to the age of thirteen or fourteen, to the group of girls who are just reaching puberty and the group of boys who have just been circumcised. These children are growing away from the age-group life and the age-group antagonisms. They are not yet actively sex-conscious. And it is at this time that relationships between the sexes are least emotionally charged. Not until she is an old married woman with several children will the Samoan girl again regard the opposite sex so quietly. When these adolescent children gather together there is a good-natured banter, a minimum of embarrassment, a great deal of random teasing which usually takes the form of accusing some little girl of a consuming passion for a decrepit old man of eighty, or some small boy of being the father of a buxom matron’s eighth child. Occasionally the banter takes the form of attributing affection between two age mates and is gaily and indignantly repudiated by both. Children at this age meet at informal siva parties, on the outskirts of more formal occasions, at community reef fishings (when many yards of reef have been enclosed to make a great fish trap) and on torch-fishing excursions. Good-natured tussling and banter and co-operation in common activities are the keynotes of these occasions. But unfortunately these contacts are neither frequent nor sufficiently prolonged to teach the girls co-operation or to give either boys or girls any real appreciation of personality in members of the opposite sex.

The first attitude a little girl learns toward boys is to avoid and oppose them. She learns to follow the brother-sister taboo with boys in her family group and household. Along with the other small girls her age, she treats all other small boys as natural enemies. By eight or nine, a little girl has learned never to approach a group of older boys. Hostility toward younger boys and embarrassed avoidance of older boys continue until thirteen or fourteen. At that age, the girls are just reaching puberty, and the boys have just been circumcised. These children are moving away from life in age groups and the hostility between those groups. They are not yet actively aware of sexuality. At this time, relationships between the sexes are at their least emotionally charged. Only as an old married woman with several children will the Samoan girl again regard the opposite sex so calmly. When these adolescents gather, they exchange friendly banter with little embarrassment and plenty of playful teasing. Usually, they accuse some little girl of a consuming passion for a feeble old man of eighty. Or they accuse some small boy of being the father of a full-figured married woman’s eighth child. Occasionally, the teasing suggests that two children of the same age are fond of each other. Both cheerfully and indignantly deny it. Children of this age meet at informal siva parties and on the fringes of more formal occasions. They also meet during community reef fishing (when many yards of reef are enclosed to make a large fish trap). They meet on torch-fishing trips as well. Playful wrestling, friendly banter, and cooperation in shared activities are the main features of these occasions. Unfortunately, these encounters are neither frequent enough nor long enough to teach the girls cooperation. Nor do the encounters give either boys or girls any real understanding of personalities among the opposite sex.

Two or three years later this will all be changed. The fact that little girls no longer belong to age groups makes the individual’s defection less noticeable. The boy who begins to take an active interest in girls is also seen less in a gang and spends more time with one close companion. Girls have lost all of their nonchalance. They giggle, blush, bridle, run away. Boys become shy, embarrassed, taciturn, and avoid the society of girls in the daytime and on the brilliant moonlit nights for which they accuse the girls of having an exhibitionistic preference. Friendships fall more strictly within the relationship group. The boy’s need for a trusted confidante is stronger than that of the girl, for only the most adroit and hardened Don Juans do their own courting. There are occasions, of course, when two youngsters just past adolescence, fearful of ridicule, even from their nearest friends and relatives, will slip away alone into the bush. More frequently still an older man, a widower or a divorced man, will be a girl’s first lover. And here there is no need for an ambassador. The older man is neither shy nor frightened, and furthermore there is no one whom he can trust as an intermediary; a younger man would betray him, an older man would not take his amours seriously. But the first spontaneous experiment of adolescent children and the amorous excursions of the older men among the young girls of the village are variants on the edge of the recognised types of relationships; so also is the first experience of a young boy with an older woman. But both of these are exceedingly frequent occurrences, so that the success of an amatory experience is seldom jeopardised by double ignorance. Nevertheless, all of these occasions are outside the recognised forms into which sex relations fall. The little boy and girl are branded by their companions as guilty of tautala lai titi (presuming above their ages) as is the boy who loves or aspires to love an older woman, while the idea of an older man pursuing a young girl appeals strongly to their sense of humour; or if the girl is very young and naïve, to their sense of unfitness. “She is too young, too young yet. He is too old,” they will say, and the whole weight of vigorous disapproval fell upon a matai who was known to be the father of the child of Lotu, the sixteen-year-old feeble-minded girl on Olesega. Discrepancy in age or experience always strikes them as comic or pathetic according to the degree. The theoretical punishment which is meted out to a disobedient and runaway daughter is to marry her to a very old man, and I have heard a nine-year-old giggle contemptuously over her mother’s preference for a seventeen-year-old boy. Worst among these unpatterned deviations is that of the man who makes love to some young and dependent woman of his household, his adopted child or his wife’s younger sister. The cry of incest is raised against him and sometimes feeling runs so high that he has to leave the group.

Two or three years later, all of this will change. Little girls no longer belong to age groups, so an individual’s withdrawal attracts less notice. A boy who begins taking an active interest in girls also spends less time with a group of boys. He spends more time with one close companion. Girls have lost all their casual confidence. They giggle, blush, act offended, and run away. Boys become shy, embarrassed, and quiet. They avoid girls during the day and on brilliantly moonlit nights. They accuse girls of preferring those nights because they like to show off. Friendships stay more strictly within the kinship group. Boys need a trusted confidant more than girls do. Only the most skillful and hardened Don Juans do their own courting. Of course, two young people just past adolescence sometimes slip away alone into the bush. They fear ridicule even from their closest friends and relatives. More often still, an older man, a widower or a divorced man, will be a girl’s first lover. In such cases, no go-between is needed. The older man is neither shy nor frightened. Besides, there is no one he can trust as a go-between. A younger man would betray him, and an older man would not take his love affairs seriously. But adolescents’ first spontaneous experiments and older men’s affairs with young village girls lie outside the recognized types of relationships. So does a young boy’s first experience with an older woman. But both kinds of experience are extremely common, so a sexual encounter seldom risks failure because both partners lack experience. Nevertheless, all these encounters fall outside the recognized forms of sexual relationships. Their companions accuse the young boy and girl of tautala lai titi (acting beyond their age). The same accusation applies to a boy who loves, or hopes to love, an older woman. Meanwhile, the idea of an older man pursuing a young girl strikes them as very funny. Or, if the girl is very young and naïve, they see the pursuit as inappropriate. “She is too young, too young yet. He is too old,” they will say. A matai faced the full force of their strong disapproval for fathering Lotu’s child. Lotu was a sixteen-year-old girl with an intellectual disability on Olesega. Differences in age or experience always strike them as funny or sad, depending on how great the differences are. In theory, the punishment for a disobedient daughter who runs away is marriage to a very old man. And I have heard a nine-year-old giggle scornfully at her mother’s preference for a seventeen-year-old boy. The worst of these departures from accepted patterns involves a man having sex with a young, dependent woman in his household. She might be his adopted child or his wife’s younger sister. He is accused of incest, and sometimes feelings run so high that he has to leave the group.

Besides formal marriage there are only two types of sex relations which receive any formal recognition from the community—love affairs between unmarried young people (this includes the widowed) who are very nearly of the same age, whether leading to marriage or merely a passing diversion; and adultery.

Besides formal marriage, the community formally recognizes only two types of sexual relationships. The first is love affairs between unmarried young people who are very close in age. Unmarried people include those who are widowed. These affairs may lead to marriage or be only a brief diversion. The second type is adultery.

Between the unmarried there are three forms of relationship: the clandestine encounter, “under the palm trees,” the published elopement, Avaga, and the ceremonious courtship in which the boy “sits before the girl”; and on the edge of these, the curious form of surreptitious rape, called moetotolo, sleep crawling, resorted to by youths who find favour in no maiden’s eyes.

Among unmarried people, there are three forms of relationship. First are secret encounters, “under the palm trees.” Second is publicly announced elopement, Avaga. Third is ceremonial courtship, in which the boy “sits before the girl.” On the fringes of these relationships is an unusual form of rape carried out in secret, called moetotolo, sleep crawling. Young men whom no young woman favors resort to this practice.

In these three relationships, the boy requires a confidant and ambassador whom he calls a soa. Where boys are close companions, this relationship may extend over many love affairs, or it may be a temporary one, terminating with the particular love affair. The soa follows the pattern of the talking chief who makes material demands upon his chief in return for the immaterial services which he renders him. If marriage results from his ambassadorship, he receives a specially fine present from the bridegroom. The choice of a soa presents many difficulties. If the lover chooses a steady, reliable boy, some slightly younger relative devoted to his interests, a boy unambitious in affairs of the heart, very likely the ambassador will bungle the whole affair through inexperience and lack of tact. But if he chooses a handsome and expert wooer who knows just how “to speak softly and walk gently,” then as likely as not the girl will prefer the second to the principal. This difficulty is occasionally anticipated by employing two or three soas and setting them to spy on each other. But such a lack of trust is likely to inspire a similar attitude in the agents, and as one overcautious and disappointed lover told me ruefully, “I had five soas, one was true and four were false.”

In these three relationships, the boy needs a confidant and go-between whom he calls a soa. When boys are close companions, this partnership may continue through many love affairs. Or the partnership may be temporary, ending with a particular love affair. The soa follows the example of the talking chief, who demands material rewards from his chief for nonmaterial services. If his work as a go-between leads to marriage, he receives an especially fine gift from the bridegroom. Choosing a soa presents many difficulties. The lover might choose a dependable boy, perhaps a slightly younger relative devoted to his interests and unambitious in love. If so, the go-between will very likely ruin the whole affair through inexperience and lack of tact. But the lover might choose a handsome, skilled suitor who knows just how “to speak softly and walk gently.” If so, the girl will be just as likely to prefer the go-between to the lover himself. Sometimes the lover tries to prevent this problem by employing two or three soas and having them spy on each other. But such distrust is likely to make the go-betweens equally distrustful. As one overly cautious and disappointed lover told me ruefully, “I had five soas, one was true and four were false.”

Among possible soas there are two preferences, a brother or a girl. A brother is by definition loyal, while a girl is far more skilful for “a boy can only approach a girl in the evening, or when no one is by, but a girl can go with her all day long, walk with her and lie on the mat by her, eat off the same platter, and whisper between mouthfuls the name of the boy, speaking ever of him, how good he is, how gentle and how true, how worthy of love. Yes, best of all is the soafafine, the woman ambassador.” But the difficulties of obtaining a soafafine are great. A boy may not choose from his own female relatives. The taboo forbids him ever to mention such matters in their presence. It is only by good chance that his brother’s sweetheart may be a relative of the girl upon whom he has set his heart; or some other piece of good fortune may throw him into contact with a girl or woman who will act in his interests. The most violent antagonisms in the young people’s groups are not between ex-lovers, arise not from the venom of the deserted nor the smarting pride of the jilted, but occur between the boy and the soa who has betrayed him, or a lover and the friend of his beloved who has in any way blocked his suit.

Among possible soas, two choices are preferred: a brother or a girl. A brother is loyal by definition, while a girl is far more skilled. This is because “a boy can only approach a girl in the evening, or when no one else is around. But a girl can stay with her all day long, walk with her, and lie beside her on the mat. She can eat from the same platter and whisper the boy’s name between mouthfuls. She can keep talking about how good he is, how gentle and faithful, how worthy of love. Yes, best of all is the soafafine, the woman ambassador.” But finding a soafafine is very difficult. A boy cannot choose one of his own female relatives. The taboo forbids him from ever mentioning such matters in their presence. Only by good luck might his brother’s sweetheart be related to the girl he has fallen for. Or some other good fortune may bring him into contact with a girl or woman who will help him. The fiercest conflicts in young people’s groups are not between former lovers. Nor do these conflicts arise from the bitterness of those abandoned or the wounded pride of those rejected. Instead, they occur between a boy and the soa who has betrayed him. Or they occur between a lover and his beloved’s friend who has in any way obstructed his courtship.

In the strictly clandestine love affair the lover never presents himself at the house of his beloved. His soa may go there in a group or upon some trumped-up errand, or he also may avoid the house and find opportunities to speak to the girl while she is fishing or going to and from the plantation. It is his task to sing his friend’s praise, counteract the girl’s fears and objections, and finally appoint a rendezvous. These affairs are usually of short duration and both boy and girl may be carrying on several at once. One of the recognised causes of a quarrel is the resentment of the first lover against his successor of the same night, “for the boy who came later will mock him.” These clandestine lovers make their rendezvous on the outskirts of the village. “Under the palm trees” is the conventionalised designation of this type of intrigue. Very often three or four couples will have a common rendezvous, when either the boys or the girls are relatives who are friends. Should the girl ever grow faint or dizzy, it is the boy’s part to climb the nearest palm and fetch down a fresh cocoanut to pour on her face in lieu of eau de cologne. In native theory, barrenness is the punishment of promiscuity; and, vice versa, only persistent monogamy is rewarded by conception. When a pair of clandestine experimenters whose rank is so low that their marriages are not of any great economic importance become genuinely attached to each other and maintain the relationship over several months, marriage often follows. And native sophistication distinguishes between the adept lover whose adventures are many and of short duration and the less skilled man who can find no better proof of his virility than a long affair ending in conception.

In a strictly secret love affair, the lover never visits his beloved’s house. His soa may go there with a group or on some made-up errand. Or the soa may also avoid the house and find chances to speak to the girl while she is fishing. He may also speak to her on her way to or from the plantation. His task is to praise his friend, address the girl’s fears and objections, and finally arrange a meeting. These affairs usually last only a short time. Both the boy and the girl may have several affairs at once. One recognized cause of quarrels is the first lover’s resentment toward another lover who visits later the same night, “for the boy who came later will mock him.” These secret lovers meet on the outskirts of the village. “Under the palm trees” is the usual phrase for this kind of affair. Often, three or four couples meet in the same place when either the boys or the girls are relatives and friends. If the girl feels faint or dizzy, the boy is expected to climb the nearest palm. He brings down a fresh coconut and pours its water on her face instead of eau de cologne. According to local beliefs, infertility is the punishment for promiscuity. And, vice versa, only continued monogamy is rewarded with pregnancy. Sometimes a couple having a secret affair become genuinely attached and continue their relationship for several months. If their social rank is so low that their marriages have little economic importance, marriage often follows. Local people also draw a knowing distinction between the skilled lover whose affairs are many and brief and the less skilled man. The latter can find no better proof of his virility than a long affair ending in pregnancy.

Often the girl is afraid to venture out into the night, infested with ghosts and devils, ghosts that strangle one, ghosts from far-away villages who come in canoes to kidnap the girls of the village, ghosts who leap upon the back and may not be shaken off. Or she may feel that it is wiser to remain at home, and if necessary, attest her presence vocally. In this case the lover braves the house; taking off his lavalava, he greases his body thoroughly with cocoanut oil so that he can slip through the fingers of pursuers and leave no trace, and stealthily raises the blinds and slips into the house. The prevalence of this practice gives point to the familiar incident in Polynesian folk tales of the ill fortune that falls the luckless hero who “sleeps until morning, until the rising sun reveals his presence to the other inmates of the house.” As perhaps a dozen or more people and several dogs are sleeping in the house, a due regard for silence is sufficient precaution. But it is this habit of domestic rendezvous which lends itself to the peculiar abuse of the moetotolo, or sleep crawler.

Often the girl is afraid to go out into the night, which is full of ghosts and devils. Some ghosts strangle people. Others come in canoes from distant villages to kidnap the village girls. Still others leap onto a person’s back and cannot be shaken off. Or she may think it wiser to stay home and, if necessary, call out to prove she is there. In this case, her lover risks entering the house. He takes off his lavalava and thoroughly greases his body with coconut oil. This lets him slip through pursuers’ fingers and leave no trace. He then quietly lifts the blinds and slips into the house. This widespread practice explains a familiar incident in Polynesian folk tales. Misfortune strikes the unlucky hero who “sleeps until morning, until the rising sun reveals his presence to the other inmates of the house.” Since perhaps a dozen or more people and several dogs are sleeping there, keeping quiet is enough of a precaution. But this habit of meeting lovers inside the home makes possible the particular abuse of the moetotolo, or sleep crawler.

The moetotolo is the only sex activity which presents a definitely abnormal picture. Ever since the first contact with white civilisation, rape, in the form of violent assault, has occurred occasionally in Samoa. It is far less congenial, however, to the Samoan attitude than moetotolo, in which a man stealthily appropriates the favours which are meant for another. The need for guarding against discovery makes conversation impossible, and the sleep crawler relies upon the girl’s expecting a lover or the chance that she will indiscriminately accept any comer. If the girl suspects and resents him, she raises a great outcry and the whole household gives chase. Catching a moetotolo is counted great sport, and the women, who feel their safety endangered, are even more active in pursuit than the men. One luckless youth in Lumā neglected to remove his lavalava. The girl discovered him and her sister succeeded in biting a piece out of his lavalava before he escaped. This she proudly exhibited the next day. As the boy had been too dull to destroy his lavalava, the evidence against him was circumstantial and he was the laughing stock of the village; the children wrote a dance song about it and sang it after him wherever he went. The moetotolo problem is complicated by the possibility that a boy of the household may be the offender and may take refuge in the hue and cry following the discovery. It also provides the girl with an excellent alibi, since she has only to call out “moetotolo” in case her lover is discovered. “To the family and the village that may be a moetotolo, but it is not so in the hearts of the girl and the boy.”

The moetotolo is the only sexual activity that appears clearly abnormal. Since the first contact with white civilization, rape by violent assault has occasionally occurred in Samoa. However, violent assault fits Samoan attitudes far less than moetotolo, in which a man secretly takes sexual favors intended for another. The need to avoid discovery makes conversation impossible. The sleep crawler relies on the girl expecting a lover or possibly accepting anyone without distinction. If the girl suspects him and objects, she cries out loudly, and the whole household chases him. Catching a moetotolo is considered great sport. The women feel their safety is threatened and are even more active in the chase than the men. One unlucky young man in Lumā failed to remove his lavalava. The girl discovered him, and her sister managed to bite a piece out of his lavalava before he escaped. The sister proudly displayed the piece the next day. Because the boy had been too foolish to destroy his lavalava, there was circumstantial evidence against him. He became the village laughingstock. The children wrote a dance song about the incident and sang it after him wherever he went. The moetotolo problem is complicated by the possibility that a boy from the household may be the offender. He may hide among those raising the alarm and joining the chase after he is discovered. The practice also gives the girl an excellent alibi. If her lover is discovered, she only has to call out “moetotolo”. “To the family and the village, the visitor may be a moetotolo. But in the hearts of the girl and the boy, he is not.”

Two motives are given for this unsavoury activity, anger and failure in love. The Samoan girl who plays the coquette does so at her peril. “She will say, ‘Yes, I will meet you to-night by that old cocoanut tree just beside the devilfish stone when the moon goes down.’ And the boy will wait and wait and wait all night long. It will grow very dark; lizards will drop on his head; the ghost boats will come into the channel. He will be very much afraid. But he will wait there until dawn, until his hair is wet with dew and his heart is very angry and still she does not come. Then in revenge he will attempt a moetotolo. Especially will he do so if he hears that she has met another that night.” The other set explanation is that a particular boy cannot win a sweetheart by any legitimate means, and there is no form of prostitution, except guest prostitution in Samoa. As some of the boys who were notorious moetotolos were among the most charming and good-looking youths of the village, this is a little hard to understand. Apparently, these youths, frowned upon in one or two tentative courtships, inflamed by the loudly proclaimed success of their fellows and the taunts against their own inexperience, cast established wooing procedure to the winds and attempt a moetotolo. And once caught, once branded, no girl will ever pay any attention to them again. They must wait until as older men, with position and title to offer, they can choose between some weary and bedraggled wanton or the unwilling young daughter of ambitious and selfish parents. But years will intervene before this is possible, and shut out from the amours in which his companions are engaging, a boy makes one attempt after another, sometimes successfully, sometimes only to be caught and beaten, mocked by the village, and always digging the pit deeper under his feet. Often partially satisfactory solutions are relationships with men. There was one such pair in the village, a notorious moetotolo, and a serious-minded youth who wished to keep his heart free for political intrigue. The moetotolo therefore complicates and adds zest to the surreptitious love-making which is conducted at home, while the danger of being missed, the undesirability of chance encounters abroad, rain and the fear of ghosts, complicate “love under the palm trees.”

Two motives are given for this unpleasant activity: anger and failure in love. A Samoan girl who flirts does so at her own risk. “She will say, ‘Yes, I will meet you tonight by that old coconut tree. It is just beside the devilfish stone. Come when the moon goes down.’ And the boy will wait and wait and wait all night long. It will grow very dark. Lizards will drop on his head. The ghost boats will come into the channel. He will be very afraid. But he will wait there until dawn, until his hair is wet with dew and his heart filled with anger. Still she does not come. Then, in revenge, he will attempt a moetotolo. He will be especially likely to do so if he hears that she has met another boy that night.” The other standard explanation is that a particular boy cannot win a sweetheart by any accepted means. And in Samoa, there is no prostitution except prostitution offered to guests. Some boys who were notorious moetotolos were among the village’s most charming and handsome young men. This makes the explanation a little hard to understand. Apparently, these young men have been rejected in one or two early attempts at courtship. Their friends loudly boast of their own success and mock these young men’s inexperience. Spurred on, the rejected youths abandon the established ways of courting and attempt a moetotolo. And once they are caught and labeled, no girl will ever pay attention to them again. They must wait until they are older men, with status and a title to offer. Then they can choose between some tired, unkempt, promiscuous woman and the unwilling young daughter of ambitious, selfish parents. But years must pass before such a choice is possible. Shut out of the love affairs his companions enjoy, a boy makes one attempt after another. Sometimes he succeeds. Sometimes he is caught and beaten, then mocked by the village. Every attempt leaves him worse off. Relationships with men often provide partly satisfactory solutions. There was one such pair in the village. One was a notorious moetotolo. The other was a serious-minded youth who wanted to keep his heart free for political intrigue. The moetotolo therefore complicates and adds excitement to secret lovemaking at home. Meanwhile, “love under the palm trees” has its own complications. Lovers risk having their absence noticed and face unwanted chance encounters away from home, rain, and fear of ghosts.

Between these strictly sub rosa affairs and a final offer of marriage there is an intermediate form of courtship in which the girl is called upon by the boy. As this is regarded as a tentative move towards matrimony, both relationship groups must be more or less favourably inclined towards the union. With his soa at his side and provided with a basket of fish, an octopus or so, or a chicken, the suitor presents himself at the girl’s home before the late evening meal. If his gift is accepted, it is a sign that the family of the girl are willing for him to pay his addresses to her. He is formally welcomed by the matai, sits with reverently bowed head throughout the evening prayer, and then he and his soa stay for supper. But the suitor does not approach his beloved. They say: “If you wish to know who is really the lover, look then not at the boy who sits by her side, looks boldly into her eyes and twists the flowers in her necklace around his fingers or steals the hibiscus flower from her hair that he may wear it behind his ear. Do not think it is he who whispers softly in her ear, or says to her, ‘Sweetheart, wait for me to-night. After the moon has set, I will come to you,’ or who teases her by saying she has many lovers. Look instead at the boy who sits afar off, who sits with bent head and takes no part in the joking. And you will see that his eyes are always turned softly on the girl. Always he watches her and never does he miss a movement of her lips. Perhaps she will wink at him, perhaps she will raise her eyebrows, perhaps she will make a sign with her hand. He must always be wakeful and watching or he will miss it.” The soa meanwhile pays the girl elaborate and ostentatious court and in undertones pleads the cause of his friend. After dinner, the centre of the house is accorded the young people to play cards, sing or merely sit about, exchanging a series of broad pleasantries. This type of courtship varies from occasional calls to daily attendance. The food gift need not accompany each visit, but is as essential at the initial call as is an introduction in the West. The way of such declared lovers is hard. The girl does not wish to marry, nor to curtail her amours in deference to a definite betrothal. Possibly she may also dislike her suitor, while he in turn may be the victim of family ambition. Now that the whole village knows him for her suitor, the girl gratifies her vanity by avoidance, by perverseness. He comes in the evening, she has gone to another house; he follows her there, she immediately returns home. When such courtship ripens into an accepted proposal of marriage, the boy often goes to sleep in the house of his intended bride and often the union is surreptitiously consummated. Ceremonial marriage is deferred until such time as the boy’s family have planted or collected enough food and other property and the girl’s family have gotten together a suitable dowry of tapa and mats.

Between these strictly secret affairs and a final marriage proposal, there is an intermediate form of courtship. In this form, the boy visits the girl. Such visits are seen as a tentative step toward marriage. So both families must be more or less in favor of the union. The suitor arrives at the girl’s home before the late evening meal, with his soa beside him. He brings a basket of fish, an octopus or two, or a chicken. If the girl’s family accepts his gift, they signal their willingness to let him court her. The matai formally welcomes him. He sits with his head respectfully bowed throughout the evening prayer. Then he and his soa stay for supper. But the suitor does not approach his beloved. They say: “If you want to know who the real lover is, do not look at the boy beside her. He looks boldly into her eyes and winds the flowers in her necklace around his fingers. Or he steals the hibiscus flower from her hair to wear behind his ear. Do not think the lover is the boy who whispers softly in her ear. Or the one who says, ‘Sweetheart, wait for me tonight. After the moon has set, I will come to you.’ Or the one who teases her by saying she has many lovers. Look instead at the boy sitting far away, with his head bent, taking no part in the joking. You will see that his eyes are always turned gently toward the girl. He watches her constantly and never misses a movement of her lips. Perhaps she will wink at him. Perhaps she will raise her eyebrows. Perhaps she will make a sign with her hand. He must always stay alert and watch, or he will miss her signal.” Meanwhile, the soa courts the girl with elaborate, showy attention and quietly argues his friend’s case. After dinner, the young people are given the center of the house. They play cards, sing, or simply sit around exchanging bawdy jokes. This kind of courtship ranges from occasional calls to daily visits. A food gift is not needed for every visit. But on the first visit, the gift is as essential as an introduction is in the West. Life is hard for these publicly acknowledged suitors. The girl does not want to marry or limit her love affairs because of a definite engagement. She may also dislike her suitor, while he, in turn, may be a victim of his family’s ambitions. Now that the whole village knows he is her suitor, the girl flatters her vanity by avoiding and frustrating him. He comes in the evening, but she has gone to another house. He follows her there, but she immediately returns home. When such courtship leads to an accepted marriage proposal, the boy often sleeps at his intended bride’s house. The couple often secretly consummate their union. The marriage ceremony waits until the boy’s family has grown or gathered enough food and other property. The girl’s family must also have assembled a suitable dowry of tapa and mats.

In such manner are conducted the love affairs of the average young people of the same village, and of the plebeian young people of neighbouring villages. From this free and easy experimentation, the taupo is excepted. Virginity is a legal requirement for her. At her marriage, in front of all the people, in a house brilliantly lit, the talking chief of the bridegroom will take the tokens of her virginity.³ In former days should she prove not to be a virgin, her female relatives fell upon and beat her with stones, disfiguring and sometimes fatally injuring the girl who had shamed their house. The public ordeal sometimes prostrated the girl for as much as a week, although ordinarily a girl recovers from first intercourse in two or three hours, and women seldom lie abed more than a few hours after childbirth. Although this virginity-testing ceremony was theoretically observed at weddings of people of all ranks, it was simply ignored if the boy knew that it was an idle form, and “a wise girl who is not a virgin will tell the talking chief of her husband, so that she be not shamed before all the people.”

This is how love affairs are conducted among ordinary young people in the same village and commoners from neighbouring villages. The taupo is excluded from this free and easy experimentation. She is legally required to be a virgin. At her wedding, the bridegroom’s talking chief will take the tokens of her virginity in a brightly lit house, before everyone.³ In earlier times, if she proved not to be a virgin, her female relatives attacked her and beat her with stones. They disfigured and sometimes fatally injured the girl who had brought shame on their family. The public ordeal sometimes left the girl bedridden for as long as a week. Yet a girl ordinarily recovers from first intercourse in two or three hours. Women seldom stay in bed for more than a few hours after childbirth. Although this virginity test was supposedly performed at weddings of people of all ranks, the ceremony was sometimes simply ignored. This happened if the young man knew the test was an empty formality. And “a wise girl who is not a virgin will tell her husband’s talking chief, so that she is not shamed before everyone.”

The attitude towards virginity is a curious one. Christianity has, of course, introduced a moral premium on chastity. The Samoans regard this attitude with reverent but complete scepticism and the concept of celibacy is absolutely meaningless to them. But virginity definitely adds to a girl’s attractiveness, the wooing of a virgin is considered far more of a feat than the conquest of a more experienced heart, and a really successful Don Juan turns most of his attention to their seduction. One youth who at twenty-four married a girl who was still a virgin was the laughing stock of the village over his freely related trepidation which revealed the fact that at twenty-four, although he had had many love affairs, he had never before won the favours of a virgin.

The attitude toward virginity is curious. Christianity has, of course, placed a moral value on chastity. The Samoans view this belief with respect but complete skepticism, and celibacy means absolutely nothing to them. But virginity definitely makes a girl more attractive. Winning a virgin’s love is considered a much greater achievement than winning the heart of someone more experienced. A truly successful Don Juan focuses most of his attention on seducing virgins. One young man married a girl who was still a virgin when he was twenty-four. He became the laughingstock of the village because he openly talked about his nervousness. His account revealed that, although he had had many love affairs, he had never before persuaded a virgin to have sex with him.

The bridegroom, his relatives and the bride and her relatives all receive prestige if she proves to be a virgin, so that the girl of rank who might wish to forestall this painful public ceremony is thwarted not only by the anxious chaperonage of her relatives but by the boy’s eagerness for prestige. One young Lothario eloped to his father’s house with a girl of high rank from another village and refused to live with her because, said he, “I thought maybe I would marry that girl and there would be a big malaga and a big ceremony and I would wait and get the credit for marrying a virgin. But the next day her father came and said that she could not marry me, and she cried very much. So I said to her, ‘Well, there is no use now to wait any longer. Now we will run away into the bush.’” It is conceivable that the girl would often trade the temporary prestige for an escape from the public ordeal, but in proportion as his ambitions were honourable, the boy would frustrate her efforts.

The bridegroom, the bride, and all their relatives gain prestige if she proves to be a virgin. So a high-ranking girl who might want to avoid this painful public ceremony faces two obstacles. Her relatives watch her closely, and the young man is eager for prestige. One young womanizer eloped to his father’s house with a high-ranking girl from another village. He refused to live with her because, he said, “I thought maybe I would marry that girl. There would be a big malaga and a big ceremony. I would wait and get the credit for marrying a virgin. But the next day her father came and said that she could not marry me, and she cried very much. So I said to her, ‘Well, there is no use now in waiting any longer. Now we will run away into the bush.’” The girl might often be willing to give up temporary prestige to escape the public ordeal. But the more honourable the young man’s ambitions, the more he would block her efforts.

Just as the clandestine and casual “love under the palm trees” is the pattern irregularity for those of humble birth, so the elopement has its archetype in the love affairs of the taupo, and the other chiefs’ daughters. These girls of noble birth are carefully guarded; not for them are secret trysts at night or stolen meetings in the day time. Where parents of lower rank complacently ignore their daughters’ experiments, the high chief guards his daughter’s virginity as he guards the honour of his name, his precedence in the kava ceremony or any other prerogative of his high degree. Some old woman of the household is told off to be the girl’s constant companion and duenna. The taupo may not visit in other houses in the village, or leave the house alone at night. When she sleeps, an older woman sleeps by her side. Never may she go to another village unchaperoned. In her own village she goes soberly about her tasks, bathing in the sea, working in the plantation, safe under the jealous guardianship of the women of her own village. She runs little risk from the moetotolo, for one who outraged the taupo of his village would formerly have been beaten to death, and now would have to flee from the village. The prestige of the village is inextricably bound up with the high repute of the taupo and few young men in the village would dare to be her lovers. Marriage to them is out of the question, and their companions would revile them as traitors rather than envy them such doubtful distinction. Occasionally a youth of very high rank in the same village will risk an elopement, but even this is a rare occurrence. For tradition says that the taupo must marry outside her village, marry a high chief or a manaia of another village. Such a marriage is an occasion for great festivities and solemn ceremony. The chief and all of his talking chiefs must come to propose for her hand, come in person bringing gifts for her talking chiefs. If the talking chiefs of the girl are satisfied that this is a lucrative and desirable match, and the family are satisfied with the rank and appearance of the suitor, the marriage is agreed upon. Little attention is paid to the opinion of the girl. So fixed is the idea that the marriage of the taupo is the affair of the talking chiefs that Europeanised natives on the main island, refuse to make their daughters taupos because the missionaries say a girl should make her own choice, and once she is a taupo, they regard the matter as inevitably taken out of their hands. After the betrothal is agreed upon the bridegroom returns to his village to collect food and property for the wedding. His village sets aside a piece of land which is called the “Place of the Lady” and is her property and the property of her children forever, and on this land they build a house for the bride. Meanwhile, the bridegroom has left behind him in the house of the bride, a talking chief, the counterpart of the humbler soa. This is one of the talking chief’s best opportunities to acquire wealth. He stays as the emissary of his chief, to watch over his future bride. He works for the bride’s family and each week the matai of the bride must reward him with a handsome present. As an affianced wife of a chief, more and more circumspect conduct is enjoined upon the girl. Did she formerly joke with the boys of the village, she must joke no longer, or the talking chief, on the watch for any lapse from high decorum, will go home to his chief and report that his bride is unworthy of such honour. This custom is particularly susceptible to second thought on the part of either side. Does the bridegroom repent of the bargain, he bribes his talking chief (who is usually a young man, not one of the important talking chiefs who will benefit greatly by the marriage itself) to be oversensitive to the behaviour of the bride or the treatment he receives in the bride’s family. And this is the time in which the bride will elope, if her affianced husband is too unacceptable. For while no boy of her own village will risk her dangerous favours, a boy from another village will enormously enhance his prestige if he elopes with the taupo of a rival community. Once she has eloped, the projected alliance is of course broken off, although her angry parents may refuse to sanction her marriage with her lover and marry her for punishment to some old man.

Just as secret, casual “love under the palm trees” is the typical breach of custom among people of humble birth, elopement follows another model. Its model is the love affairs of the taupo and other chiefs’ daughters. These girls of noble birth are carefully guarded. Secret meetings at night or stolen encounters during the day are not for them. Parents of lower rank may calmly ignore their daughters’ experiments, but the high chief guards his daughter’s virginity. He guards it as closely as his name’s honour, his place in the kava ceremony, or any other privilege of rank. An older woman in the household is assigned to be the girl’s constant companion and chaperone. The taupo may not visit other houses in the village or leave the house alone at night. When she sleeps, an older woman sleeps beside her. She may never go to another village without a chaperone. In her own village, she goes quietly about her tasks, bathing in the sea and working on the plantation. She remains safe under the watchful protection of her village’s women. She faces little danger from the moetotolo. In the past, a man who sexually assaulted his village’s taupo would have been beaten to death. Now he would have to flee the village. The village’s prestige is inseparable from the taupo’s good reputation. Few young men in the village would dare to become her lovers. Marriage to these young men is out of the question. Their companions would condemn them as traitors rather than envy them such a questionable honour. Occasionally, a young man of very high rank in the same village will risk an elopement. But even such an elopement is rare. Tradition says the taupo must marry outside her village, choosing a high chief or a manaia from another village. Such a marriage calls for great celebrations and solemn ceremony. The chief and all his talking chiefs must come in person to ask for her hand. They must bring gifts for her talking chiefs. Her talking chiefs must be satisfied that the match will be profitable and desirable. Her family must also be satisfied with the suitor’s rank and appearance. If both groups are satisfied, the marriage is agreed upon. Little attention is paid to the girl’s opinion. The belief that the taupo’s marriage is the talking chiefs’ business is deeply rooted. Because of this belief, Samoans on the main island who have adopted European ways refuse to make their daughters taupos. The missionaries say a girl should choose for herself. Once a daughter becomes a taupo, these parents believe they inevitably lose control over the matter. After the engagement is agreed upon, the bridegroom returns to his village to gather food and property for the wedding. His village sets aside land called the “Place of the Lady”. The land belongs to her and her children forever. The villagers build a house for the bride on this land. Meanwhile, the bridegroom has left a talking chief behind in the bride’s house. This talking chief serves a role like that of the more humble soa. The assignment is one of the talking chief’s best opportunities to gain wealth. He stays as his chief’s representative to watch over the chief’s future bride. He works for the bride’s family. Each week, the bride’s matai must reward him with a generous gift. As a chief’s future wife, the girl is required to behave with increasing caution. If she used to joke with the village boys, she must stop. Otherwise, the talking chief will return to his chief and report that the bride is unworthy of such honour. He is always watching for any failure to meet these high standards of behaviour. This custom gives either side particular scope to act on second thoughts. If the bridegroom regrets the agreement, he bribes his talking chief to take offence too readily. The offence may concern the bride’s behaviour or the treatment the talking chief receives from her family. This representative is usually a young man, not one of the important talking chiefs who will greatly benefit from the marriage. This is also when the bride will elope if her future husband is too unacceptable to her. No boy from her own village will risk the danger of becoming her lover. But a boy from another village will greatly increase his prestige by eloping with a rival community’s taupo. Once she has eloped, the planned alliance is, of course, broken off. Her angry parents may, however, refuse to approve her marriage to her lover. Instead, they may punish her by marrying her to some old man.

So great is the prestige won by the village, one of whose young men succeeds in eloping with a taupo, that often the whole effort of a malaga is concentrated upon abducting the taupo, whose virginity will be respected in direct ratio to the chances of her family and village consenting to ratify the marriage. As the abductor is often of high rank, the village often ruefully accepts the compromise.

A village gains enormous prestige when one of its young men succeeds in eloping with a taupo. So a malaga often focuses all its efforts on abducting the taupo. Her virginity is respected in direct proportion to the likelihood that her family and village will approve the marriage. Because the abductor is often of high rank, the village often accepts the compromise with regret.

This elopement pattern, given meaning by the restrictions under which the taupo lives and this inter-village rivalry, is carried down to the lower ranks where indeed it is practically meaningless. Seldom is the chaperonage exercised over the girl of average family severe enough to make elopement the only way of consummating a love affair. But the elopement is spectacular; the boy wishes to increase his reputation as a successful Don Juan, and the girl wishes to proclaim her conquest and also often hopes that the elopement will end in marriage. The eloping pair run away to the parents of the boy or to some of his relatives and wait for the girl’s relatives to pursue her. As one boy related the tale of such an adventure: “We ran away in the rain, nine miles to Leone, in the pouring rain, to my father’s house. The next day her family came to get her, and my father said to me, ‘How is it, do you wish to marry this girl, shall I ask her father to leave her here?’ And I said, ‘Oh, no. I just eloped with her for public information.’” Elopements are much less frequent than the clandestine love affairs because the girl takes far more risk. She publicly renounces her often nominal claims to virginity; she embroils herself with her family, who in former times, and occasionally even to-day, would beat her soundly and shave off her hair. Nine times out of ten, her lover’s only motive is vanity and display, for the boy’s say, “The girls hate a moetotolo, but they all love an avaga (eloping) man.”

This pattern of elopement has meaning because of the restrictions placed on the taupo and the rivalry between villages. The pattern also extends to the lower ranks, where it is practically meaningless. Girls from average families are seldom supervised strictly enough to make elopement the only way to consummate a love affair. But elopement is dramatic. The boy wants to build his reputation as a successful Don Juan. The girl wants to announce her conquest and often also hopes the elopement will lead to marriage. The couple run away to the boy’s parents or some of his relatives. There they wait for the girl’s relatives to come after her. As one boy told the story of such an adventure: “We ran away in the rain, nine miles to Leone, in the pouring rain, to my father’s house. The next day her family came to get her, and my father said to me, ‘Well, do you want to marry this girl? Shall I ask her father to leave her here?’ And I said, ‘Oh, no. I just eloped with her to let everyone know.’” Elopements are much less common than secret love affairs because the girl takes a much greater risk. She publicly gives up her claim to virginity, a claim that is often only nominal. She gets into trouble with her family. In the past, and occasionally even today, her family would beat her severely and shave off her hair. Nine times out of ten, her lover’s only motive is vanity and showing off. As the boys say, “The girls hate a moetotolo, but they all love an avaga (eloping) man.”

The elopement also occurs as a practical measure when one family is opposed to a marriage upon which a pair of young people have determined. The young people take refuge with the friendly side of the family. But unless the recalcitrant family softens and consents to legalise the marriage by a formal exchange of property, the principals can do nothing to establish their status. A young couple may have had several children and still be classed as “elopers,” and if the marriage is finally legalised after long delay, this stigma will always cling to them. It is far more serious a one than a mere accusation of sexual irregularity, for there is a definite feeling that the whole community procedure has been outraged by a pair of young upstarts.

Elopement also serves a practical purpose when one family opposes a marriage that two young people have decided on. The young people take refuge with the supportive side of the family. But the couple cannot establish their status unless the opposing family relents and agrees to formalize the marriage. This requires a formal exchange of property. A young couple may have several children and still be called “elopers.” Even if the marriage is finally formalized after a long delay, the stigma will always stay with the couple. This stigma is far more serious than a mere accusation of improper sexual behavior. For there is a clear feeling that two young upstarts have defied the community’s entire process for arranging marriages.

Reciprocal gift-giving relations are maintained between the two families as long as the marriage lasts, and even afterwards if there are children. The birth of each child, the death of a member of either household, a visit of the wife to her family, or if he lives with her people, of the husband to his, is marked by the presentation of gifts.

The two families exchange gifts as long as the marriage lasts, and even afterward if there are children. Gifts mark the birth of each child and the death of a member of either household. Gifts also mark a wife's visit to her family. If the husband lives with her family, gifts mark his visits to his own family.

In premarital relationships, a convention of love making is strictly adhered to. True, this is a convention of speech, rather than of action. A boy declares that he will die if a girl refuses him her favours, but the Samoans laugh at stories of romantic love, scoff at fidelity to a long absent wife or mistress, believe explicitly that one love will quickly cure another. The fidelity which is followed by pregnancy is taken as proof positive of a real attachment, although having many mistresses is never out of harmony with a declaration of affection for each. The composition of ardent love songs, the fashioning of long and flowery love letters, the invocation of the moon, the stars and the sea in verbal courtship, all serve to give Samoan love-making a close superficial resemblance to our own, yet the attitude is far closer to that of Schnitzler’s hero in The Affairs of Anatol. Romantic love as it occurs in our civilisation, inextricably bound up with ideas of monogamy, exclusiveness, jealousy and undeviating fidelity does not occur in Samoa. Our attitude is a compound, the final result of many converging lines of development in Western civilisation, of the institution of monogamy, of the ideas of the age of chivalry, of the ethics of Christianity. Even a passionate attachment to one person which lasts for a long period and persists in the face of discouragement but does not bar out other relationships, is rare among the Samoans. Marriage, on the other hand, is regarded as a social and economic arrangement, in which relative wealth, rank, and skill of husband and wife, all must be taken into consideration. There are many marriages in which both individuals, especially if they are over thirty, are completely faithful. But this must be attributed to the ease of sexual adjustment on the one hand, and to the ascendency of other interests, social organisation for the men, children for the women, over sex interests, rather than to a passionate fixation upon the partner in the marriage. As the Samoans lack the inhibitions and the intricate specialisation of sex feeling which make marriages of convenience unsatisfactory, it is possible to bulwark marital happiness with other props than temporary passionate devotion. Suitability and expediency become the deciding factors.

Before marriage, courtship follows a strict set of conventions. These conventions govern speech rather than behavior. A boy declares that he will die if a girl refuses to sleep with him. But the Samoans laugh at stories of romantic love and mock faithfulness to a wife or lover long absent. They firmly believe that one love will quickly cure another. Faithfulness followed by pregnancy is taken as definite proof of genuine attachment. Yet having many lovers never conflicts with declaring affection for each. Passionate love songs, long and flowery love letters, and appeals to the moon, stars, and sea all feature in courtship. These practices make Samoan courtship look much like our own on the surface. Yet the attitude is far closer to that of Schnitzler’s hero in The Affairs of Anatol. Romantic love as we know it in our civilization does not occur in Samoa. Such love is inseparably tied to ideas of monogamy, exclusivity, jealousy, and unwavering faithfulness. Our attitude combines many developments in Western civilization, including monogamy, the ideals of chivalry, and Christian ethics. Even a lasting, passionate attachment to one person is rare among the Samoans. This is true even when the attachment survives discouragement without ruling out other relationships. Marriage, on the other hand, is seen as a social and economic arrangement. The relative wealth, rank, and skills of both husband and wife must all be considered. In many marriages, both partners are completely faithful, especially if they are over thirty. But this faithfulness must be attributed to the ease of sexual adjustment and to other interests taking priority over sex. For men, these interests involve social organization. For women, they involve children. Faithfulness does not instead reflect a passionate fixation on the marriage partner. The Samoans lack the inhibitions and complex, narrowly focused sexual feelings that make marriages of convenience unsatisfying. As a result, marital happiness can rest on foundations other than temporary passionate devotion. Compatibility and practical advantage become the deciding factors.

Adultery does not necessarily mean a broken marriage. A chief’s wife who commits adultery is deemed to have dishonoured her high position, and is usually discarded, although the chief will openly resent her remarriage to any one of lower rank. If the lover is considered the more culpable, the village will take public vengeance upon him. In less conspicuous cases the amount of fuss which is made over adultery is dependent upon the relative rank of the offender and offended, or the personal jealousy which is only occasionally aroused. If either the injured husband or the injured wife is sufficiently incensed to threaten physical violence, the trespasser may have to resort to a public ifoga, the ceremonial humiliation before some one whose pardon is asked. He goes to the house of the man he has injured, accompanied by all the men of his household, each one wrapped in a fine mat, the currency of the country; the suppliants seat themselves outside the house, fine mats spread over their heads, hands folded on their breasts, heads bent in attitudes of the deepest dejection and humiliation. “And if the man is very angry he will say no word. All day he will go about his business; he will braid cinet with a quick hand, he will talk loudly to his wife, and call out greetings to those who pass in the roadway, but he will take no notice of those who sit on his own terrace, who dare not raise their eyes or make any movement to go away. In olden days, if his heart was not softened, he might take a club and together with his relatives go out and kill those who sit without. But now he only keeps them waiting, waiting all day long. The sun will beat down upon them; the rain will come and beat on their heads and still he will say no word. Then towards evening he will say at last: ‘Come, it is enough. Enter the house and drink the kava. Eat the food which I will set before you and we will cast our trouble into the sea.’” Then the fine mats are accepted as payment for the injury, the ifoga becomes a matter of village history and old gossips will say, “Oh, yes, Lua! no, she’s not Iona’s child. Her father is that chief over in the next village. He ifod to Iona before she was born.” If the offender is of much lower rank than the injured husband, his chief, or his father (if he is only a young boy) will have to humiliate himself in his place. Where the offender is a woman, she and her female relatives will make similar amends. But they will run far greater danger of being roundly beaten and berated; the peaceful teachings of Christianity—perhaps because they were directed against actual killing, rather than the slightly less fatal encounters of women—have made far less change in the belligerent activities of the women than in those of the men.

Adultery does not necessarily end a marriage. A chief’s wife who commits adultery is seen as dishonoring her high position and is usually rejected. Yet the chief will openly resent her remarriage to anyone of lower rank. If the lover is considered more at fault, the village will publicly take revenge on him. In less prominent cases, the reaction to adultery depends on the relative ranks of the offender and the wronged person. It also depends on personal jealousy, which is only occasionally aroused. If the wronged husband or wife is angry enough to threaten violence, the offender may need to perform a public ifoga. This ceremony involves humbling oneself before someone whose forgiveness is being sought. The offender goes to the house of the man he has wronged, accompanied by all the men of his household. Each man is wrapped in a fine mat, the country’s currency. Those seeking forgiveness sit outside the house with fine mats spread over their heads. Their hands are folded on their chests, and their heads are bowed in deep misery and humiliation. “And if the man is very angry, he will not say a word. All day he will go about his business. He will quickly braid cinet cord, talk loudly to his wife, and call out greetings to people passing along the road. But he will ignore the people sitting on his own terrace. They dare not raise their eyes or make any move to leave. In the old days, if his heart did not soften, he might take a club and go outside with his relatives. Together they might kill those sitting outside. But now he only keeps them waiting, waiting all day long. The sun will beat down on them. The rain will come and beat on their heads, and still he will not say a word. Then, toward evening, he will finally say: ‘Come, it is enough. Enter the house and drink the kava. Eat the food I will set before you, and we will cast our trouble into the sea.’” Then the fine mats are accepted as payment for the injury. The ifoga becomes part of village history, and old gossips will say, “Oh, yes, Lua! No, she’s not Iona’s child. Her father is that chief over in the next village. He ifod to Iona before she was born.” If the offender ranks much lower than the wronged husband, his chief must humble himself in his place. If the offender is only a young boy, his father must do so instead. When the offender is a woman, she and her female relatives will make similar amends. But they face a much greater danger of being badly beaten and harshly scolded. Christianity’s peaceful teachings have changed women’s aggressive behavior far less than men’s. Perhaps this is because those teachings opposed actual killing rather than women’s slightly less deadly clashes.

If, on the other hand, a wife really tires of her husband, or a husband of his wife, divorce is a simple and informal matter, the non-resident simply going home to his or her family, and the relationship is said to have “passed away.” It is a very brittle monogamy, often trespassed and more often broken entirely. But many adulteries occur—between a young marriage-shy bachelor and a married woman, or a temporary widower and some young girl—which hardly threaten the continuity of established relationships. The claim that a woman has on her family’s land renders her as independent as her husband, and so there are no marriages of any duration in which either person is actively unhappy. A tiny flare-up and a woman goes home to her own people; if her husband does not care to conciliate her, each seeks another mate.

If, on the other hand, a wife truly tires of her husband, or a husband of his wife, divorce is simple and informal. The spouse living away from their own family simply goes home, and the relationship is said to have “passed away.” Monogamy is very fragile, often violated and even more often ended entirely. But many affairs hardly threaten the survival of established relationships. Such affairs occur between a young bachelor reluctant to marry and a married woman, or a temporary widower and a young girl. A woman’s right to her family’s land makes her as independent as her husband. So no marriage lasts any length of time if either spouse is actively unhappy. At the slightest quarrel, a woman goes home to her own family. If her husband does not want to make peace with her, each looks for another partner.

Within the family, the wife obeys and serves her husband, in theory, though of course, the hen-pecked husband is a frequent phenomenon. In families of high rank, her personal service to her husband is taken over by the taupo and the talking chief but the wife always retains the right to render a high chief sacred personal services, such as cutting his hair. A wife’s rank can never exceed her husband’s because it is always directly dependent upon it. Her family may be richer and more illustrious than his, and she may actually exercise more influence over the village affairs through her blood relatives than he, but within the life of the household and the village, she is a tausi, wife of a talking chief, or a faletua, wife of a chief. This sometimes results in conflict, as in the case of Pusa who was the sister of the last holder of the highest title on the island. This title was temporarily extinct. She was also the wife of the highest chief in the village. Should her brother, the heir, resume the higher title, her husband’s rank and her rank as his wife would suffer. Helping her brother meant lowering the prestige of her husband. As she was the type of woman who cared a great deal more for wire pulling than for public recognition, she threw her influence in for her brother. Such conflicts are not uncommon, but they present a clear-cut choice, usually reinforced by considerations of residence. If a woman lives in her husband’s household, and if, furthermore, that household is in another village, her interest is mainly enlisted in her husband’s cause; but if she lives with her own family, in her own village, her allegiance is likely to cling to the blood relatives from whom she receives reflected glory and informal privilege, although no status.

Within the family, the wife obeys and serves her husband, in theory. Of course, husbands dominated by their wives are common. In high-ranking families, the taupo and the talking chief take over the wife’s personal service to her husband. But the wife always keeps the right to perform sacred personal services for a high chief, such as cutting his hair. A wife’s rank can never exceed her husband’s because her rank always depends directly on his. Her family may be richer and more distinguished than his. Through her blood relatives, she may actually have more influence over village affairs than he does. But within the household and village, she is a tausi, wife of a talking chief, or a faletua, wife of a chief. This dependence on her husband’s rank sometimes creates conflict, as in the case of Pusa. She was the sister of the last person to hold the highest title on the island. At the time, no one held that title. She was also the wife of the highest chief in the village. If her brother, the heir, took up the higher title, her husband’s rank and her rank as his wife would suffer. Helping her brother meant lowering her husband’s prestige. She cared much more about working behind the scenes than about public recognition, so she used her influence to support her brother. Such conflicts are not uncommon, but they present a clear choice, usually reinforced by where the woman lives. If a woman lives in her husband’s household, her interests mainly lie with her husband’s cause. This is especially true if his household is in another village. But if she lives with her own family, in her own village, she is likely to remain loyal to her blood relatives. Through those relatives, she shares in their prestige and gains informal privileges, although she gains no status.